Chapter 11

The second panic attack happened on Halloween. All had been fine the whole day, but when Hermione entered the Great Hall, and saw all the students, and decorations, the food and drink, she was overwhelmed by memories. All the Halloweens at Hogwarts of the future, all the bad things that had happened. Of Ron, and Harry, and how their lives had once been so carefree, in spite of the dark happenings around them, and how, after it was all over and life should have gotten better, it had only become worse for Hermione.

During the feast, Hermione could feel the attack coming, the memories pushing at her consciousness, threatening to take her away from the present. But, she got through it. Smiling, laughing, flirting with the people around her. Pretending to have fun. It anchored her in reality.

Only for a while, however.

The pressure on her mind had become less as the feast ended, and when she got up and exited the Great Hall, she thought she had avoided it. Then, she had not paid attention for a second. She had bumped into someone. Had instinctively apologized. Looked up. And seen the pair of dark brown eyes, almost black, that still haunted her nightmares from time to time. She had frozen, but only for a second.

Then, she had screamed. Turned around, and ran away.

Somewhere, anywhere.

Anywhere.

When she snapped out of it, Hermione was cold, hungry and had no idea where she was. Her joints were stiff, and every slight movement hurt. She was outside, and it was dark. There were rocks around her, and a forest at her back. Not the Forbidden Forest. She would have recognized that. There was no magic in the air. She wasn't on Hogwarts' grounds anymore.

Her recollections were hazy at best. She knew she had been at the Halloween Feast, and that something had triggered another panic attack.

No, not something. Someone.

Bellatrix.

She had to go back. There was no telling how many classes she had missed. What day it was. People would have noticed her absence, sooner or later. If she was lucky, it was still Halloween. Or the morning of All Hallows' Day, to be precise.

She had to get up. Apparate to Hogwarts's front gates. Hope that she could get in somehow. Go back to her dormitory and pretend nothing had happened.

Hermione sighed.

One more minute. Then, she would leave.

Her surroundings were calm. A stream was flowing in the distance, and the sky was mostly clear, with only a few clouds obstructing the view on the stars. Hermione didn't know how long she had been sitting there, getting lost in the peacefulness of nature around her. A loud crack came from behind her. A twig breaking, she assumed. It pulled her out of her tranquillity.

Time to go.

Standing up hurt. And once she was upright, she had to hold onto a tree for a few seconds, until the world stopped turning around her, and the black spots obscuring her vision disappeared. It probably wasn't smart to apparate in her situation. There was a very real risk she would splinch herself.

As so often before, however, Hermione didn't really have a choice in the matter. She hated how familiar that feeling was.

Alright, she thought to herself. You can do this. Three, two, one... and... and Hermione turned on the spot and disappeared.

She had lost consciousness again.

When Hermione opened her eyes, the sun was just starting to rise. She was lying on the ground, again, and her body was even more sore than before. She had been successful, however, and before her eyes she could see the impressive school gates.

Thinking back, Hermione didn't think she had ever stood before them like she did now. How would she get in? Breaking in wasn't an option. Hogwarts was considered to be one of the most secure places in entire Magical Britain. There was no way she could just slip between the bars, or climb over them, student or not.

So, she had to wait for someone to come and open them for her. Except, who would? No teacher would just accidentally walk down to the gates and see her. And a student even less. So, what to do? She could send a Patronus, true. But whom would she send it to?

Or she could call Tildy. She didn't doubt the little House Elf would be only too happy to assist her, and she would definitely keep it quiet. However, she didn't want to take advantage of her like that. And she wasn't even sure if Tildy had advanced in her training enough to actually be able to follow her request. Besides, Hermione was quite sure there were some kind of regulations in place that forbade students to call on their personal House Elves for whatever it might be.

It seemed like, for lack of better options, a Patronus it was. The only people Hermione could think of sending it to were Professor McGonagall or Madam Pomfrey. She didn't really want to bother either of them. Madam Pomfrey had the advantage of being a Healer, meaning this could possibly fall under her confidentiality oaths. She would have to explain herself for those to be applicable, however, and that would mean Healer Winters coming in and questioning her again, and pushing her to show her scar. And Hermione didn't know if she could deal with that kind of stress now.

So, Professor McGonagall it was. They had sort of started bonding over their chess sessions, so that, combined with the fact that she was Hermione's Head of House would hopefully ensure this whole episode stayed under wraps.

Alright, a good memory. Involuntarily, the first thing that came to mind were her, Harry and Ron, staying up all night chatting, after the troll fiasco. It was the first time she had felt as if everything was going to be all right, and she craved that feeling again. Still sitting in the ground, Hermione raised her wand.

"Expecto Patronum", she whispered. Her throat hurt. Blue tinted white light came out of her wand, and formed, to Hermione's surprise, not the otter she had expected, but a butterfly.

Metamorphosis, she thought. It is fitting, I suppose.

She could feel her exhaustion catching up with her more and more, but she wasn't done yet.

"Nuntium Minerva McGonagall", she said clearly. "I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you, Professor, but I'm outside the gates and I was hoping you would maybe let me back in?"

She didn't know what else to say. She wanted to add something, anything, but didn't know what.

Oh well, I'm just gonna leave it, I guess.

It wouldn't do to get caught up in her frustration. There was a spell she had to finish.

"Confectus est. Abi!" Hermione let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding as she watched her Patronus leave. She realized that she hadn't been sure she would be able to cast a spell this complex with her current energy levels. Her eyelids were fluttering as they threatened to fall closed. Hermione knew that if she let that happen, she would inevitably fall asleep. Under the circumstances, probably not the best of ideas.

She didn't know how long she was sitting on the ground, trying her best to stay awake, until she saw a figure approaching from the other side of the gate. No words were exchanged when Professor McGonagall raised her wand to tap the metal bars, and Hermione stood up, dead on her feet, and stumbled onto the school's grounds once again.

Professor McGonagall resealed the gates, and Hermione followed her quietly up to the castle. The sun was only rising, and her breath showed up in front of her because of the cold. She hadn't noticed before, but she also wasn't really freezing. She was too numb, she supposed. It was when they were getting near the castle, the Forbidden Forest and Hagrid's Hut left behind them, that Hermione spoke.

"Thank you." Her voice came out as a whisper.

"Detention", Professor McGonagall answered. "Every day, until Christmas. For now."

Hermione couldn't suppress a shocked gasp. Detention for something like this? It wasn't her fault! Not that it had ever been all the other times she had received extra hours. Still, this was way different. She couldn't even remember what had happened!

"No need to sound so surprised, Miss Potter", Professor McGonagall said shortly.

Damn. Professor McGonagall was angry. Angry enough to not take points, like she did in their first year, but to hand out detention. And mean it.

Hermione hated the feeling that made itself known inside of her. She didn't know how to describe it, didn't even know if there was a word in existence that would fit her situation. She was sad. She had disappointed her Professor, the one she had always looked up to most, and she had screwed up. Probably, by sending that Patronus, she had made it even worse.

And still, she had come and fetched her. When she didn't have to. She could have sent someone else, or just not come. And worst of all, she still didn't know what had even happened! What it was that Professor McGonagall was angry at her for. If it was something she had done. Had she cursed Bellatrix, amongst all those students? Had she hurt someone? Even worse, had she killed someone?

It was certainly within the realm of possibility, loath as she was to admit this, even to herself. She had fought a war. She had won a war. The cold air outside was saturating her body more and more, and squeezing her heart with an icy grip. The uncertainty, the not knowing, the fear of what damage she could have done, it was getting too much. She had to know, but she couldn't ask.

Could she?

It was only when she wrapped her arms around her torso that she noticed she had stopped walking.

"Miss Potter?" Professor McGonagall was several steps ahead of her already.

"What did I do?", Hermione blurted out, and was met with an incredulous look.

"Are you making fun of me, Miss Potter?"

She must have seen something in Hermione's expression, for before Hermione could deny anything, she continued.

"No matter. You ran away, Miss Potter. You screamed, shocked the whole school with your outburst, and before anyone could follow you, you had run away. You were nowhere to be found. The school grounds were empty! We spent the whole night searching for you. Almost all the teachers. The students were scared out of their minds. They think you were possessed or something similar. We worried. I worried, Miss Potter."

Guilt and relief were the primary emotions Hermione felt, battling for dominance. Guilt, for the worry she had caused, for running away, for everything that she had possibly done that Professor McGonagall had left out, and relief that she had not hurt anyone. If she had, the Professor would have mentioned it.

"I'm sorry", Hermione offered in a small voice. "I don't know what came over me."

And how else was she supposed to explain something she herself had no explanation for?

"Follow me to my office, please", Professor McGonagall replied, and they resumed walking.

On the entire way, Hermione's thoughts were churning. What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do? She had never liked not having a plan, and unlike Harry, she never was good at winging it. Except... maybe she was.

Harry was a Potter. How often had he been told that his father had had the same talent of getting in and out of trouble as he did? Could there be any chance that this characteristic applied to her as well? She was a Potter, after all.

Hermione sighed quietly. It seemed like she had to find out the hard way.

The first thing Professor McGonagall did once they entered her office was place a Floo call. And to Hermione's surprise, it was none other than Healer Winters who came through after a few phrases were exchanged.

"Hello, Miss Potter."

"Hello", Hermione replied, unsure of what the other woman was doing here.

She had expected Professor McGonagall to question her about what happened, why she had acted the way she did, not for a Healer to be specifically called.

"Please, sit down", Professor McGonagall said.

She conjured three comfortable looking armchairs that were all facing each other, in front of her desk. Hermione was beginning to feel even more reluctant concerning the conversation to come. Once they had all settled down, a heavy silence lay between them.

"You know I have to ask", it was finally broken by Professor McGonagall. "What exactly happened? What do you remember?"

"I...", Hermione trailed off.

Looking up into Professor McGonagall's eyes she knew there was no avoiding this.

"The last thing I remember is the Halloween Feast. I just... I don't know... panicked, I guess."

"Do you have any idea why?"

This time it was Healer Winters who had asked the question, her voice soft.

Bellatrix, Hermione thought. But she didn't want to say it. How would she explain?

"Please, it is important that you are honest with me", Healer Winters added, after Hermione didn't say anything for a while.

Hermione couldn't help her eyes flashing up to Professor McGonagall for just a second. For some reason, she didn't want her to know, a reservation she didn't have with Healer Winters. Maybe it was because she hadn't known Healer Winters in her old life, or maybe it was because she was bound by her Oaths. Ultimately, it didn't really matter.

"I can leave, if you want me to", Professor McGonagall offered. She had picked up on Hermione's glance and interpreted it correctly. "I only thought you might want me to be present as a familiar face."

Hermione didn't reply, she thought just dismissing her Professor would be respectless, but again, she didn't have to. Professor McGonagall stood up and vanished her chair, before exiting her office. When Hermione stayed quiet, Healer winters gently spoke up.

"You know I'm still bound by my Oaths. Anything you tell me will be treated with the utmost confidentiality."

"If you weren't bound by your Oaths, would it still be?"

"Of course."

It's easy for her to say that, Hermione thought, it's not like she could ever prove the opposite. She still believed it, though, and that was good enough.

"Bellatrix", she said.

"Black?", Healer Winters asked surprised. "Did she do anything?"

"No, nothing", Hermione admitted.

In this case, it was true.

"Can I cast a Diagnostic Charm on you?"

"You're a Healer, do you even need permission?"

"Should I take this as a 'yes'?"

Hermione nodded. She didn't feel a single thing when the charm hit her, and the shapes and colours popping up didn't tell her a single thing.

"What does it say?", she asked curiously.

"From what I can tell, you're much in the same condition as the last time we met. Your magical signatures have separated again, and your age seems blurred."

"My age?", Hermione asked surprised. She didn't think it was mentioned the last time around.

"Yes. At the beginning of the summer, you displayed two ages. Do you remember?"

"I suppose so", Hermione replied. She wasn't one hundred percent sure, but there seemed to be a memory confirming this.

"When you came back for you final checkup, you were firmly sixteen years old. Then, two months ago, you didn't have a definite age, as is the case right now."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that something with your Hereditary Magic appears to be even more unusual than it already is."

"Could you maybe elaborate a little more?"

"On what point exactly?"

"Well, to start with: What even is Hereditary Magic?"

Now it was Healer Winters' turn to be surprised.

"You don't know?"

Is this something I should know?

"No matter. Hereditary Magic is, in the broadest sense of the term, when another wizard's or witch's magic is similar enough to yours that after their death, it doesn't dissipate into the environment but attaches itself to your own magic."

That was... interesting, and it had more implications than Hermione could even try to make sense of right now. Her fingers were itching for a quill and some parchment to write down everything before she forgot, though.

"What makes my case unusual?"

"First, your age. Hereditary Magic is believed impossible to occur after one's thirteenth birthday, as it is then the magic settles into maturity. And second, the disruption on your left arm, that you were adamant I don't see. It should have made the attachment impossible, regardless of your age."

"So. For all intents and purposes, I shouldn't even have this magic in the first place", Hermione said. "Is it like with organ donations, my body is rejecting the foreign magic?"

"Essentially, yes. How you know about organ transplants, though?"

"Oh, I'm interested in muggle stuff."

"Alright then."

They fell silent again. Suddenly, a though came to Hermione's mind.

"But wait, that doesn't make sense. If it's like the transplants, then how did my body accept the magic in the first place? At the final checkup, you said everything was alright."

"My theory is that something happened to aggravate the situation since then."

"Yes, but why-", Hermione was cut off by Healer Winters continuing to speak.

"The only way for the signatures to mix would have been if you were unconscious, or if you had projected essentially all your magic outwards."

"Why unconscious?"

"Magic is as much a physical as a mental force. Were your brain 'out of order' so to speak for an extended period of time, the disruption in your left arm could have been easily ignored, especially because the two signatures are extremely compatible apart from that."

"Alright, but I wasn't ever unconscious. Just asleep, and that doesn't count, does it?"

"No, the extended period I was speaking about would have to be at least seven days. Also, the brain is still active while you're sleeping."

"So the only other option would be for me to have projected my magic outwards", Hermione mused. "Is that something that can happen accidentally?"

"Yes, however at your age, I would think it wouldn't occur anymore."

At Hermione's questioning look, she once again elaborated.

"The current state of research states that Accidental Magic and Magical Projection are essentially the same."

"So what's the difference between projecting and wandless magic, then?"

"Are you sure you aren't a Ravenclaw?", Healer Winters chuckled. "From what I can remember, you would have fitted right in there."

"You were a Ravenclaw?", Hermione asked.

"I was. But back on topic. Wandless magic is shaped magic. Projected magic is raw magic."

"So like the magic you use to charge Runes? Would that mean wandlessly charging Runes is projecting?"

"Yes, exactly."

"I didn't do any of that either, though", Hermione countered. "The only thing I did is meditate, I think. It was like a switch flipped."

"How do you mean?", Healer Winters echoed Hermione's question from earlier.

"Just like I said. I was trying to do some research and wasn't really getting anywhere, so I decided to just take a break and clear my mind, and I just suddenly felt... good. Like I belonged."

"Hm." Healer Winters looked pensieve. "That shouldn't have been possible. Was there anything else you maybe did before that, something you usually wouldn't do, that maybe challenged your magic in a different way?"

Hermione hesitated. She didn't know if she should mention the Formalization.

"Need I remind you again that I will not breach your confidence?", Healer Winters asked gently.

Just tell her, Hermione, she admonished herself. You want answers, don't you, and this is the only way to get them.

"I had taken part in a Formalization the morning of that day."

Healer Winters' eyes widened, and Hermione recognized her expression as desperately wanting to ask more questions. It was one she had worn many times before herself. As she had correctly gathered, however, Formalizations were usually kept private between the parties involved, and Healer Winters was holding back her questions for propriety's sake.

A part of Hermione was indignant – no knowledge should be withheld because of so flimsy a reason – but another part of her was quite glad she wouldn't need to go into further detail about something she was expected to keep quiet about.

"That might have been the reason, Miss Potter", Healer Winters finally said. "In old ceremonies such as this one's magic is directed outwards, much like projecting it, in order to directly mingle with the other participants'."

As realization struck, Hermione couldn't help the small gasp that escaped her.

"So, you mean to say that my magic and the Hereditary Magic I somehow got were projected out of my body and mixed there. Then, when I shut off my brain for once, my body more or less accepted this as fact, but the more time went on, the signatures started separating again because I was thinking more? But wait, you said the scar was part of one of the signatures, so that doesn't really make sense...", Hermione trailed off.

"Scar?", Healer Winters asked surprised.

Hermione internally cursed herself at her blunder.

"Never mind. Yes, the scar you talked about is part of your magical signature, but it is ultimately anchored to your body, and your mind's knowledge that it is there. So, without your body and mind, it stands to reason that it wouldn't hinder the magic from mixing. This is only a theory, however. There have been no other comparable cases."

"But how does that relate to my panic attacks, exactly?"

"Well, have you noticed anything that they had in common? Any triggers, perhaps?"

"Obviously, I don't remember everything", Hermione started. "And as for triggers, I don't know, does identity crisis count?"

"In this case, yes. It makes perfect sense, actually. At your age, many people are struggling with who they are."

"That's not how I meant", Hermione objected. "I meant, it feels like I'm two different people, and I don't know who I am anymore, and it just all overwhelms me."

"It almost sounds like whomever you Inherited the magic from isn't quite ready to let go of who they were in life yet."

No kidding. If I let go of Hermione Granger, I wouldn't be anyone anymore.

"So what's your advice?", Hermione asked instead.

"For now, it would probably be smart to write down all instances where you feel this disconnect, or when you feel close to another panic attack. Like that, it will be easier to possibly recognize a pattern, and then we'll work from there."

"Okay", Hermione agreed.

What was one more thing to keep track of?

"One last question, though."

Healer Winters waved her hands in a 'go ahead' motion.

"Why do you care?"

"Because you are my patient. I care about all of my patients."

"Why am I your patient, then? I looked you up, you know, and I know you're in training for Administrator. Isn't it counterproductive to take on someone new in that situation?"

"On the contrary, it brings me one step further to where I aspire to be."

Hermione frowned. "I don't understand."

"It is a well kept but still open secret that the Administrator of St. Mungo's Hospital has far more duties than to sign off paperwork. The Administrator is the one person with access to all research material of the Department of Mysteries, and therefore the expert on anything strange or unusual, as your case has proven to be."

Access to all research material of the Department of Mysteries, Hermione repeated in her head. She was so jealous right now. But wait...

"Isn't that just asking for trouble? Only having one person with this kind of clearance? What if something happens to them before a successor could be trained, or there are several such cases that would require the attention of more than one person?"

"That is something I am unfortunately unable to answer, due to my Oaths. Be assured, however, that in all the history of this system being in place, it has never happened. There are precautions being taken."

Hermione desperately wanted to ask what kind of precautions, but she knew she wouldn't get an answer, and only make herself unpopular by continuing to poke her nose into things that she had no right to know.

"I will have to believe you, then", Hermione sighed.

"That you will", Healer Winters said. "Was there anything else?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

"Good. I will let Minerva know she can come back in, then."

Healer Winters left the office, leaving Hermione alone, but before she could decide if she wanted to give into her curiosity and get up and look around, Professor McGonagall entered the office again, Healer Winters directly behind her. She threw a cursory glance through the room to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything, said a quick goodbye and then stepped into the fireplace to Floo to St. Mungo's.

"I trust you have settled everything?", Professor McGonagall asked.

Hermione nodded.

"You don't have to tell me anything, but as I said, I am here should you ever need someone to talk to."

"Yes. Thank you, Professor."

"If there isn't anything else, I will see you this evening at eight, here in my office."

"Yes, Professor", Hermione said. "Goodbye. And thank you."

"Goodbye, Miss Potter. You're welcome", Professor McGonagall replied.

When she left the office after that, Hermione softly closed the door and went back to Gryffindor Tower. Real life was waiting for her.

It was a small miracle that Hermione didn't fall asleep during her classes that day. She was mentally, physically and magically exhausted, and she struggled so much to keep her eyes open that the course material completely went past her. Luckily, they had a theory lesson in Potions – apparently Slughorn wasn't awake enough to pay attention to people brewing either – so she avoided the inevitable explosion in that one.

In Arithmancy, she solved every single equation wrongly, and it was a testament to her tiredness that she couldn't even find the energy to get irritated with herself. Ancient Runes passed similarly, one part theory and then some rune-drawing practice. Hers were all lopsided, and had she charged them, they would either have done nothing or exploded in her face.

Several people, among them her teachers, Gideon and Fabian and even Bellatrix had tried and failed to catch her attention during the day. Hermione had contemplated going to the Hospital Wing for a Pepper-Up potion, but from fear Madam Pomfrey would keep her, had decided against it. She had also decided against napping in her free periods. She didn't want to risk oversleeping and missing her classes. Not so much for fear of being behind afterwards, she knew that wasn't a risk, but for fear of having either Professor McGonagall or Madam Pomfrey find out. She didn't want her chess lessons to be canceled, and she didn't want to stay in the Infirmary either.

She was fine.

Well, not exactly, but whatever it was that was wrong with her wouldn't be fixed by lying uselessly around in a bed for an extended period of time. The worst, Hermione found, was having to stay awake for her detention in the evening. Otherwise, she would have gone to bed straight after Runes.

The twins especially were worried about her, and her unresponsiveness only made it worse, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. In the end, even they relented in their badgering. The worried looks they kept exchanging, however, were so obvious even Hermione picked up on them, and she knew she wouldn't be able to escape their questions forever. As long as they were leaving her alone, though, she didn't much care about that at the moment.

Time seemed to pass so much slower than usual, and still, in her haze of tiredness and exhaustion, it could have been a day or it could have been a minute before she had to make her way to Professor McGonagall's office. She was incredibly thankful she didn't meet anyone, and she felt like a zombie wandering the corridors. Raising her hand and knocking on the heavy oak doors had never felt so hard.

Only when the door opened and she stumbled inside did Hermione realize she had leaned against the door for support. As a result, she fell against Professor McGonagall with almost all her wight, knocking them both down.

"Miss Potter!", Professor McGonagall exclaimed. "What is the meaning of this?"

Hermione knew she should feel embarrassed, but through her exhaustion the feeling didn't manage to come to the surface.

"'msorry", she mumbled.

Now that she was finally in a horizontal position, the floor seemed magnetic. Professor McGonagall maneouvered them around and stood up, trying and failing to pull Hermione with her.

"Miss Potter?", she said again, though this time it was a question. "Are you alright?" Hermione wanted to confirm she was, she really did, but the floor was so soft, so inviting, and she was so tired that instead of her mouth opening and words coming out, her eyes closed and she fell asleep instantly.

That Saturday, Hermione luckily was fully rested. She had woken up in her bed on Friday morning, and her memories of what had passed before she had gone to sleep were hazy at best. She thought she had been in detention, and even though she couldn't remember a single thing that she did there, she was fairly sure that even in her exhausted state, she hadn't given away any crucial information.

She had been awake enough to make it back into her dormitory, after all. Or so it seemed. It also seemed like she had completely slept through Thursday, a theory only supported by the thirst, hunger and need to pee she had felt on waking up.

Nonetheless, she was feeling a lot better now, almost back to normal, and that was definitely a good thing. It was the day of the Slytherin-Gryffindor Quidditch match, and she didn't want to break her promise to the twins that she would come and cheer them on.

From what she could see, it wasn't different at all from what she remembered it being in the future. The Slytherins still were an all-boys team, and played unfairly, bending if not outright breaking the rules whenever they could get away with it, and the Gryffindors were doing their very best to come out in top in spite of it.

Unlike the Weasley twins, Fabian and Gideon weren't Beaters but Chasers. The third Chaser was Patrick Johnson, her fellow prefect. She didn't know either of the beaters or the seeker. The keeper was Arthur Weasley, to her never ending surprise. Although, the Weasley children had to get their talent for Quidditch from somewhere, didn't they?

On the Slytherin team, she recognized Lucius Malfoy as being the seeker, and she was pretty sure both Lestrange brothers were playing as well. If she had to guess, she would say Rodolphus was a chaser, and Rabastan a beater.

Despite the engaging commentary, however, she didn't quite manage to keep her attention focused on the game. She did cheer whenever Gryffindor scored, but that was about it. Standing there just made the memories hurt even more. The only good thing was that she wasn't dissociating.

The teams were still tied. Or again, rather. Not that it really made a difference. It was clear that whoever would catch the snitch would win. The energy in the stands was rising when Malfoy made a sudden turn and shot up into the sky.

"And he's seen the snitch. Malfoy has seen the snitch, and he's chasing it, alright. Oh, and here comes Baker, following him closely. Can he make up the distance? Malfoy has the superior broom, and he's in the lead already. Chances aren't good for Gryffindor, I'll say. But the game's still going.

"There we have the Gryffindor Chasers, attacking once more, maybe for the last time today? And there's Prewett with the Quaffle, passes to Prewett, to Johnson, back to Prewett, and there's Selwyn, intercepting him, and woah, look up here, the snitch seems to have turned around, the seekers both diving, Gryffindor now in the lead, and the Quaffle is back with Prewett, oh, there's a bludger heading right for Baker, and he doges it, but now Malfoy's caught up to him, and they're going downwards, Johnson has the Quaffle, and he scores, 120 to 110 for Gryffindor, and, a sharp turn from Baker, he's back in the game, Malfoy follows closely, they're head to head now, but what's that?

"Another bludger, heading towards them, they swerve in different directions, and it seems like Malfoy's closer to the snitch once again, and there's the Slytherin Chasers, making one last attempt at a goal, Weasley blocks, Johnson gets the Quaffle, passes to- No, he doesn't pass to Prewett, he throws the Quaffle towards the seekers, and could that have been on purpose? Malfoy has his arm out, the snitch is almost caught, he doesn't see the Quaffle heading towards him, knocking his arm to the side, and he looks to the side, seems like he's glaring at someone, oh, but he shouldn't have done that! Baker swoops in, and he catches the snitch, 270 to 110, Gryffindor wins!"

The cheering around Hermione was deafening. The Gryffindors were screaming and shouting, getting up from their seats and jumping up and down in celebration, making the stands tremble. Had Hermione not known they were reinforced with magic, and had she not experienced similar scenarios before, she would have seriously been afraid of it collapsing.

Hermione stood up and began to fight her way out of the masses. She wanted to congratulate the twins, and then get back as fast as possible, before the party started. There would be one, of that she was sure, and even though she was happy her House had won, she was not in a partying mood. She was shoved rudely several times in the course of leaving the stands, which did nothing to improve her temper.

She was out of breath and could feel several bruises forming where she had been impaled by her house mates' elbows when she finally made her way down to the dressing rooms. She knew better than to enter, but luckily for her, the time she had taken to find her way down there had been almost enough for everyone to change and shower. So she didn't have to wait long before the doors opened and the whole team exited.

"Congratulations", she said warmly to the twins once they were in front of her.

"Thanks", Gideon smiled.

"Patrick won us the game, though", Fabian teased.

"By accident only, I swear", Johnson said, but he was grinning widely.

"Accident or not, you did it", Gideon said.

"Listen, guys", Hermione began. "I don't think I'll be at the party."

"Why not?", Fabian asked surprised. "Don't you want to celebrate out win?"

"Honestly", Hermione said dryly. "No."

"But-"

"No. I really am not in the mood", she interrupted Fabian's protests. "And I won't ruin this for you."

Whatever Gideon was going to say, he didn't get to it as a loud voice could be heard from behind them.

"Don't worry about it, Lucius", someone said. "Rod will understand it there wasn't anything else you could have done."

"Indeed", a smooth voice said. Hermione had turned around and now saw Lucius Malfoy, walking with whom she supposed was Rabastan Lestrange, and coming up behind them was his brother Rodolphus. She recognized him from the Slug Club party.

"You have done your best, Malfoy, even though it wasn't enough."

He was the captain of the Slytherin team, Hermione guessed.

"I-", Malfoy started. "But my brother is right", Rodolphus continued as if Malfoy hadn't opened his mouth. "I cannot blame you for that. Had that mudblood not been so inept at aiming at the goal posts, we would have been victorious."

Hermione could feel the three boys stiffen at the insult, but that only registered at the very back of her mind. How often had she insulted herself like that, in her thoughts and even out loud sometimes? The associations she had with that word were a lot more negative than anyone else's, and with her temper already frayed, she couldn't help herself.

When the three Slytherins passed them, a cocky smile on Rodolphus's face that seemed to Hermione to be aimed at her specifically, mocking her, she spoke.

"What was that you said?"

They had heard her, she knew they did, but they didn't react, only ignored her as they walked by. And she wouldn't take it. Nobody deserved to be insulted like that, not ever and especially not when she was there to hear it. So, she sent a silent and wandless Stinging Hex at them, and it hit Rodolphus straight in the middle of his back.

He whirled around immediately, his wand out and his eyes narrowed, focusing on all of them in turn before finally settling on Hermione. The energy around them seemed to change, the air growing heavy with tension and magic. Hermione could almost feel it whirling inside of her, pushing to get out, to discharge.

"Who was that?", Rodolphus hissed, although it was clear he knew it had been Hermione.

She could feel the confusion of the three boys behind her, and for once she was glad they wouldn't be standing up for her. Had it been Harry, he already would have stepped forward, taking the blame for whatever it was. But this was a battle she needed to fight for herself.

"I did", she said quietly but firmly and took a small step forward.

One of the three sucked in a harsh breath behind her. Whoever it was, he was quicker on the uptake than the other two.

"Care to repeat what you said?"

"How about you do the same?", Hermione retorted.

"I didn't say anything", Rodolphus said.

Through the haze of her anger, Hermione almost didn't notice the genuine confusion that tinged his words. It was the only thing that held her back from cursing him outright.

"Mudblood", she hissed.

Maybe she only imagined it, but she felt her scar twinge at the word, coming from her. It had never done that before.

"That's what you said. Take it back."

Rodolphus laughed mockingly.

"Why should I? It's the truth, after all. You should know. After all, you're one of us, Gryffindor though you may be. As are they", he nodded to the twins.

"I will never be one of you."

"You don't have a choice."

Briefly, Hermione wondered if they were even having the same conversation at the moment, but quickly discarded that thought. It didn't matter, anyway.

"Now that that's cleared up, though", Rodolphus continued. "You hexed me", he said, and his voice suddenly seemed that much deeper, more dangerous than before. "I will get you back for that."

"You won't", Hermione said. "Not now. There's witnesses. And you don't have numbers on your side."

Rodolphus scoffed. "I don't need numbers to win against you. I have Rab and Malfoy here, they're much more qualified than the Identicals behind you will ever be."

"We have names, you know", Fabian called.

It seemed the time had come for them to intervene. But dammit, she didn't want them to intervene. This was her battle.

"Yes, and what about me, or Johnson? We all take Defence. We can duel."

"Yeah, right. I'm trembling", Rodolphus said dryly. "What good can you do, anyway? You're an insufferable know-it-all, not a fighter. And him... he's just a mudbl-"

"Stupefy!"

Rodolphus didn't get to complete his sentence before Hermione's spell cut him off. Immediately, there was another spell cast, this time directed at her, and even though she instinctively ducked, she remembered the three people behind her in time to put up a shield. It was shattered by the spell, also a Stunner, Hermione registered, but the curse was destroyed along with it.

Her mind was turning, taking in her situation fully, and even as she could feel the three boys behind her prepare to attack Malfoy and Lestrange the younger, she noticed something. Rabastan had cast a spell, true, but its purpose had not been to attack her, but to wake his brother up, which he had succeeded at doing. The stunner she had blocked had come from a different source.

Behind the three Slytherins, come to see her boyfriend and congratulate him on the game, or perhaps continue to spew hateful prejudice towards the Gryffindors, one muggleborn chaser by the name of Patrick Johnson in particular, was Bellatrix Black. And she was smirking.

"And what do we have here?", she asked rhetorically. "The little teacher's pet getting up to no good? Oh, wait, don't tell me. You're only getting some practical experience in duelling."

The sarcasm dropping from Bellatrix's words was so heavy, Hermione was almost impressed she wasn't being weighed down by it.

"And what do we have here?", she instead echoed the other witch's question. "Coming to your boyfriend's rescue? Have to fight his battles for him?"

Hermione's could have sworn Bellatrix chuckled, if only a little.

"As a matter of fact, I do", she replied, unexpectedly serious.

She was coming closer now, completely ignoring the fighting that had broken out between the boys, intuitively sidestepping a stray curse heading her way. Hermione wouldn't let herself be backed in a corner again, however. Not today, and not now.

She started walking away briskly, first towards Bellatrix and then passing her, out into the open. The stadium was emptying quickly now, most of the students were already on their way back to the castle. She really wanted to start throwing curses, just to relieve herself of some of the tension she felt, get it out of her system so to speak, but she knew that wouldn't be smart. She had spent the last few days magically exhausted, and even though she was well enough now, she definitely shouldn't push it unnecessarily.

Her hope of getting back to get her stuff and flee to the library before the party started was futile now, not to mention that she wouldn't be able to concentrate with all that adrenaline still running high anyways. There was nowhere she could go. Except... the Room of Requirement. She had never truly forgotten about its existence, but for some reason, she had also never really thought about it either. She had just avoided it altogether.

Maybe because Hermione Potter didn't know about it? Did that even matter?

She looked back once, but it seemed like Bellatrix hadn't followed her. From what she could tell, spells were still flying. Should she try to break them up? Prevent the three boys from getting hurt? Especially with Bellatrix in there with them, they wouldn't last long. Undecided, Hermione stood on the grass.

I can't, she realized after a moment. She wasn't feeling up to it at all, and it would take more than one well-placed spell to stop the fight. And she couldn't throw herself into it. She didn't have the energy, and she also suspected she didn't have the mental strength to separate the current situation from the Battle of Hogwarts.

The people were the same, the location was the same, and her memories had never truly stopped haunting her. She knew flashbacks were a thing people had, and it was something she would rather not experience. Ever. It was enough to have to live though everything night after night, although that had been getting a lot better ever since she had 'arrived' in this time.

Could she do it though? Could she just walk away? She knew herself well enough to know she would be beating herself up for any injuries they received because she didn't intervene. Especially because it was er who had started the fight in the first place.

Death Eaters or not, her mind whispered, they're just students now. They wouldn't do anything that could get them expelled. And some things even gold and your family name cannot compensate for.

With a heavy sigh, Hermione turned around to the castle, her steps now swift and assured. She had reprimanded Harry often enough for always rushing into danger to save people. And while the situation wasn't exactly the same, it was comparable, at least in her mind.

The twins could hold their own, from what she had seen in class, and Johnson... Well, she didn't know, to be honest. But they were up against one seventh and two fifth years. They had a chance.

Or at least that's what Hermione told herself over and over again as she started climbing the Grand Staircase.

Sometimes, she felt, you had to be selfish.

Alright, so my semester is officially over. I'm hoping that, now that I have more time and I'm hopefully over my writer's block as well, the time between updates will become shorter again. No guarantees though.

Also, if you enjoyed the chapter (or even if you didn't) please do consider leaving a review. They make me happy :)