Walkers With the Dawn

3. Deprimo

[DEE-prih-moh] Places immense downward pressure on the target, which may result in the violent fracturing of said target.

I don't want to believe that Neville and Ron have forgotten my birthday, but then again, you can't forget something you never knew.

I enter Professor Snape's Advanced Potions class alone and sit at the desk in the front as Gryffindors and Ravenclaws pour in. It's the fifth day of class and everyone has already chosen their seats for the year. Surprisingly, I have no desk partner. Neville and Ron paired up, of course and there aren't any Gryffindors or Ravenclaws that care to sit next to me, even if I am known to be smart. I've resigned myself to doing all of my potions work alone and I'm absolutely dreading it. Everyone knows that social rejects who don't get partners in Snape's class end up being his whipping boy for the year.

Joy.

I am pulling out my books and setting them on the table when someone plops next to me, sending a wave of scented air my way. It smells good; citrusy and fresh. I smile brightly; it's Zola and I'm surprised at how glad I am to see her.

"Zola," I say warmly as she settles in. "You're in Advanced Potions?"

"Yep," she says, allowing the last syllable to pop. "It took a little wrangling on Professor Sprout's part and an obnoxiously long pretest required by Professor Snape, but I'm in. I'm glad because draughts are my thing. I love Elixology and I'm really looking forward to seeing how British Wizards approach the subject."

An eyebrows rise as I study her. "That's unusual," I say, pursing my lips, "most people run from Potions as quickly as possible. I've never actually heard anyone say that they like Potions, much less love it."

It's more than unusual; it's so rare as to be weird. Among the upper year students, only Draco Malfoy is touted as a possible future Potions Master. It's for a very good reason; the discipline is strict, secretive and very difficult to achieve true Mastery in, taking decades of study in most cases. And that's just the study of ingredients and the countless number of techniques to handle them. That's not to mention what it takes to gather fresh ingredients and properly store them in all their various forms. From what I understand, it takes Journeyman Potioneers many years to establish the connections needed to secure a supply chain for Potions ingredients. In fact, one cannot become a Master Potioneers until it can be proven that a Journeyman Potioneer has a reliable supply network.

It's truly an incredibly challenging field. So, to hear that Zola embraces such a challenge makes me glad. I'm so used to people running from work, and anything that looks remotely difficult, that it's a pleasure to hear that someone is willing to tackle something difficult.

Zola shrugs. "That's how it's supposed to be," she says cryptically.

I digest her words, before smiling brightly at her, marginally noting that Neville and Ron have finally stumbled into class. Zola knows. She actually knows something about academia! When was the last time I talked to someone who had a deep well of knowledge about the scholarly world and wasn't old enough to be my grandparent? "Indeed, it is," I say, turning fully to face her. "Somehow, I'm not surprised that you're aware."

She smiles at me. "And you as well," she replies. "It seems so obvious now, doesn't it? Why it would be that way."

I nod. It does seem as though it would be obvious, but for the vast majority of the wizarding world, it's not.

It took me years to realize that there is a reason that Dumbledore refuses to allow Professor Snape to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts and insists that Professor Snape be the Potions professor. It is much more serious than the unkind reasons that school children can fathom. It isn't just because Snape is a very rare Master Potioneer, but also because the man is a right tool. There's a reason that the long list of Potions professors at Hogwarts have had certain dispositions. Whether they're extremely difficult like Professor Snape or have incredibly eccentric personalities like the former Potions professor, Horace Slughorn, the end result is that they make even beginner Potions classes exorbitantly difficult and undesirable as a future area of expertise.

The reason is simple; the Potions discipline is just too dangerous. On the very first day of class, Professor Snape said: "I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the minds, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even stopper death…"

At the time I couldn't fathom his words; I thought they were quite grandiose but didn't dwell on them beyond that. Now, however, I understand the truth of his words. Anyone with true knowledge of the art knows that Potioneering can cause any and all things to be. There are potions for falling in love, causing confusion, and even putting people into a death-like sleep. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. There is a saying among Potioneers: There is a potion for every need. If you can't find the potion you need, then it just hasn't been created yet.

This is true and the incredible importance of potions is impossible to overstate. Potions have not only saved my life, but it has saved the lives of Ron and Neville. It allowed Voldemort to return and allowed a criminal to masquerade as a respected Auror. Potions is too powerful a discipline to thrust a lot of people toward. In order to discourage interest in one of the most powerful disciples in the world, schools choose to make the discipline hard and boring, but more importantly, they associate it with poor professors.

In reality, it's a scarily brilliant move.

Before I can say anymore to Zola, Professor Snape sweeps in. Zola smiles at me one more time before we both turn to the front to pay attention as Professor Snape promptly begins class. However, Professor Snape's lecture cannot keep my attention and my thoughts pull at me once again.

A peculiar fear has been lurking through my mind since that last disastrous study session with Neville and Ron. Tomorrow is my birthday party and I haven't gotten any feedback from any of the attendees, not even a squeal of delight from Lavender and Parvati; nothing. It can only mean that Neville and Ron have forgotten to give them out. I don't want to believe it, but the evidence is in front of me.

Do I really mean so little to them, that they would forget something as important as my birthday? I've gotten them something for their birthdays every year since our friendship was solidified. I put thought, time, and effort into coming up with the perfect gift. The common, courteous thing to do would be to ask me my birthday in return, if only for reciprocity's sake. Neville and Ron have given me something for my birthday only twice, and one of them was Ron's half-eaten piece of Pumpkin pie.

It's not that I want stuff, I just want confirmation that they care. And it's not like I don't know that I matter to them. That would be unfair of me to say so. Ron and Neville have proven on multiple occasions that they'll destroy anyone who so much as looks as me wrong. But it's just not the same as knowing intimate, important details about me. It's not the same as giving a damn about the things that I give a damn about.

But it might not be true that they've forgotten. Maybe they've asked the attendees not to bother me, to give me the illusion that no one's coming. It'd be something that Neville and Ron would do. I cling to this possibility, ignoring the alternative. I don't think I could handle it if the alternative was true.

Honestly, I don't know why it matters so much this year. For so long, Neville and Ron have been this way. What's different now? Why are there so many things about Neville and Ron that are suddenly unsatisfactory to me? Could it be the final battle last year? My belly churns at the thought. The mere memory of that event makes me want to puke.

"Miss Granger," a voice says silkily. I look up; it's Professor Snape and he's standing right in front of me, looking down at me with a sneer that is deeper than usual. It suddenly occurs to me that this isn't the first time he's called my name.

"Yes, Professor," I respond politely.

"It seems as though what's inside of your head is more important than my lesson," he glowers. "You must know all there is about potions, hmm, since you obviously don't need to pay attention in my class."

I say nothing, only continue to gaze at him passively.

His lip curls and I can feel Zola tense beside me. "Since you are unrepentant and arrogant in your disrespect, recount the Seven Key Principles of Potion Making in order of importance, and describe to me what each are according to the Aresenius Jigger Addendum," he says, eyes sharp on me. Then he pauses, a sly smile stretching his face. "No, according to the abridged Zygmunt Budge Instrument. Failure on your part will mean the whole class receives a failing grade for the day."

The class gasps in horror and the outbreak of protests is stopped only by Snape's sharp rap on the desk with his wand. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Neville and Ron's jaws drop, aghast at Snape's edict. They look helpless and clueless, along with the rest of the class. In this instance, I don't blame them. No one in here can afford a failing grade, especially considering the difficulty of the class. It's something most of them will have great difficulty recovering from. If that's not enough, what Snape's asking me to do is not in the assignment and is something that is in the curriculum to only touch on toward the end of the year.

That's because his demand is at a much higher level than advanced potions in Hogwarts; it's master's level Potion theory, the esoteric stuff, that is only known to those studying to be Master Potioneers. Snape is trying to give me a task that he is positive I can't complete. But I think he's forgotten who he's dealing with.

I am Hermione Granger.

Closing my eyes, I rest my hand under my chin and focus. I begin to tap on the desk absently, the motion I use to delve into my Mind Palace—Greek and Roman in origin, but ultimately a nod to one of my favorite Muggle telly shows—to look for the information. I believe I studied the various theories of potion making last year while attempting to make a few of the less legal draughts. It was a dense, but fascinating reading, and I learned an incredible amount of information from it.

Dimly, I hear Snape speak, probably more fear tactics, but I don't know for sure. When I'm in my Mind Palace, I'm so focused on the internal, that the outside world is blocked out. After a few moments, I find the information that I'm looking for. I keep my eyes closed and read the words from my memory as though it's a book sitting in front of me.

"The Seven Maine Principles of Potion Making according to the Zygmunt Budge Instrument, abridged in 1648," I intone, interrupting Snape mid-sentence. "From the letters written in the Isles, to the most Excellent Lorde of Magicke, the Immortal One, who is wise, stalwart and ever regnant. The Seven Maine Principles of Potion Making presented to the succeeding contemporaries, the first being that of a focused mind in order to concoct the most perfect elixir…"

I relax as the words pour forth. The Seven Maine Principles of Potion Making is truly a masterpiece and revolutionized the discipline of Potion Making, being part of Budge's Book of Potions. It is responsible for many of the breakthroughs seen today, including the cure for Dragon Pox, created by Gunhilda de Gorsemoor. Although Zygmunt Budge was a man with a violent temper, he was a bloody genius and paved the way for future Potioneers.

The only thing that's curious about his works is who Zygmunt Budge wrote them to. In all of his letters, he addresses 'the most Excellent Lorde of Magicke, the Immortal One'. It begs the question; who is the Immortal One? And why would Budge refer to someone as immortal? I did some research regarding who would command such a lofty title from Zygmunt Budge of all people, but found nothing as did those who researched before me.

Further study has shown that while there were powerful Wizards during that time, as with any time, there weren't any with the overwhelming strength of Dumbledore or even Grindelwald. While it's possible that such a Wizard could succeed in remaining anonymous, that is unlikely. Wizards worship might and immortalize powerful Wizards whether good or bad. Dumbledore and Voldemort are both examples of that. So, how could a powerful Wizard, deemed an Immortal by a famous and revolutionary Potioneer, escape notice?

It's a mystery that has yet to be solved and I admit, I'm extremely curious. However, I don't see how I'll ever discover the truth. Many have tried before me and failed. It'll have to be one of the many things that I will live without knowing.

Finally, I finish reciting the instrument and I smile as I feel the warm glow of a task accomplished. It fulfills me whenever I have the opportunity to share knowledge and honestly, I quite love it. It's why I am seriously considering being an educator as a future career path. With a deep sigh, I allow the information to slip away, reinserting itself into the walls of my Mind Palace.

I open my eyes.

The class is deathly silent.

Everyone is staring at me. Neville and Ron are looking at me as though they've never seen me before. Even Professor Snape is staring at me strangely. I'm confused. What did I do? Why is everyone staring? I turn to look at Zola, to see if she can provide any clues. But she too is looking at me strangely, but more in awe, as though she's seen something extraordinary.

Finally, Professor Snape speaks and it's the softest, most mellow words that I've ever heard uttered from his lips.

He looks down at me, pensively for a moment before saying, "Twenty points to Gryffindor."

It takes a moment to register his words, but when I do, my eyes widen and the jaws of everyone in the class, nearly drops to the ground, including my own. As a rule, Snape is only marginally civil to his own House, although they've been known to be on the bad end of his temper as well. Yet, in all my years at Hogwarts, Snape has never given points to another house in-class, ever. But he just gave points to me! A Gryffindor!

His gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before sweeping back to the front of the class.

I can only stare as Professor Snape begins his lecture once again. I don't know how he can do it so normally when my worldview has imploded, because surely pigs are flying, and Voldemort is going on a date with a Muggle lady all while denouncing blood discrimination.

I look around and sure enough, everyone looks poleaxed. I can only shrug and pull my attention back to Snape's lecture. This has been a strange class indeed.

#*#*#*#*#

When class ends, Neville and Ron practically materialize next to my desk.

"Hermione," Ron says in a strange tone. "What the hell was that?"

I'm confused. "What?" I reply shortly. I don't appreciate his tone or his words.

"Hermione," Neville tries, shooting me a quick smile as he slides between Ron and me. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" I ask, calming in the face of Neville's smile.

"Well, how did you know all that information?" Zola interrupts from beside me, her eyes shining with awe. "You quoted the Zygmunt Budge Instrument word-for-word as though you were reading from the text itself."

This surprises me. "You know it?" I ask her. It's the only way she could know that I didn't summarize it, but rather quoted the abridged version in its entirety.

She smirks. "Of course. How long did it take you to memorize it like that?"

I shrug. "I read it once," I answer, moving to pack my things. I frown as I peer into my bag. I don't want my things to be messy in there; taking a few minutes to tidy up won't hurt. It's then that I realize how silent the three of them are. They stare at me with wide eyes.

"What's wrong?" I ask, curious.

"Hermione, just when I think you can't get any freakier, you surprise me," Ron mutter.

My eyes narrow. "What did you just say to me?" I ask frostily.

"What he means," Zola interrupts, pinning Ron with a dangerous glare. "Is that it's absolutely brilliant that you're able to do that."

Ron frowns, clearly unhappy with being corrected and it finally turns their attention from me to Zola. They don't even bother to try to hide their suspicions as they eye her. It's so blatant that I frown. It's one thing to be cautious, but quite another thing to be rude especially when she hasn't done anything to warrant it. I glare at them and thankfully, they stop looking at her as though she's a closet Death Eater. They should because although she's mysterious, everything inside of me is telling me that Zola isn't a threat. As a matter of fact, it seems that she could care less about Neville. I'm not sure she's here without any purpose at all, but I think I can say with some confidence that Neville has nothing to do with it.

But as she proved a few days ago with Malfoy, Zola has no problem defending herself.

"Do you have a problem with me?" she asks, her voice neutral, though an elegant eyebrow lifts.

Neville shakes his head slowly. "No, just wondering why you decided to transfer to Hogwarts in your seventh year."

"And I'm wondering why that's any of your damn business," Zola says, eyes narrowing.

Ron frowns. "We're just curious," he says shortly.

"No," Zola countered, "you're not curious, you're concerned. You think that I'm here because of your friend. Don't think I don't know who you are, Mr. Longbottom."

Ron reddens, a sure indication of his rising temper. Neville frowns, eyes narrowing at Zola's words. "There's no need to be rude," he says, glaring at her. "Are all Wizards like this, where you're from?"

"I don't know," Zola answers, crossing her arms with a smirk. "Do all British Wizard think the world revolves around them?"

"You can't talk to him like that!" Ron says in shock. "He's the Boy-Who-Lived!"

Even Neville looks surprised at the way Zola so readily dismisses him.

"And I'm the Girl-Who-Doesn't-Give-A-Shit," Zola says, rolling her eyes. "Now, run along—"

"Zola," I interrupt, finally intervening, giving her a meaningful look. She meets my eyes unflinchingly before giving in, her shoulders dropping in a clear sulk.

"Fine," she mutter. I smile at her, grateful that she cooperated.

I turn to Neville and Ron, intent on defusing the tension between them and also of asking Neville about my party invitations. As much as I would like to hold to hope to see if they gave them out, it's more practical to ask them. Now would be best because my Head Girl duties have kept me extraordinarily busy. But before I can form the question, I'm called.

"Ms. Granger," Professor Snape says, standing in the doorway of his office. "See me in my office. Now."

Zola, Neville and Ron look at me. I don't know what to say, only nod in affirmation. "Yes, Professor."

He sweeps back into his office. I frown for a moment before excusing myself and moving to Professor Snape's office. In all my years at Hogwarts, I've only been in Professor Snape's office once and I can count the amount of times that Professor Snape has personally spoken to me on one hand. I'm very curious about what Professor Snape is calling me for.

Professor Snape is sitting behind his desk when I enter. He is silent as he watches me sit down cautiously.

"Granger," he says finally, after a long moment. "Today you reminded me of something that I'd nearly forgotten, what with your friendship with Longbottom and Weasley. Behind your well-maintained know-it-all demeanor is a very intelligent young woman."

I frown slightly, unsure of how Professor Snape perfected the ability to insult and compliment in one sentence. Could he have possibly taken a class? What I do know is that I'm unimpressed. I don't need someone like Professor Snape to tell me that I'm intelligent; I have a pair of loving parents for that. What annoys me is that he insulted my friends. Why does everyone keep putting Neville and Ron down?

"As such, I have a task for you, should you choose to accept it," Snape continues. "You will be working with two other students in your year on a project of a very delicate and sensitive nature. This type of project requires your upmost discretion, which means you would have to keep it from your…" Snape sniffs in disdain. "…friends."

My mind begins to calculate the situation, picking his words apart.

"I'm assuming that I won't be told what potion we're making or for what purpose it's being used," I respond evenly. "But it's enough that it's for Headmaster Dumbledore."

Snape looks at me expressionlessly, except for a slight raising of his eyebrows. "I never said that that you would be making a potion, or that I wouldn't tell you what it was. I also didn't say that it was for Headmaster."

I smile faintly at him. "You have a verbal tic, Professor," I say, amused at the way his eyebrows shoot into his head. "Whenever you talk about potions, you refer to them as 'delicate', or 'sensitive'. Not only that, you want me to keep it from Neville and Ron which means you don't want any snooping from them… or me. You want me to help create this potion without asking questions which I'll definitely have after working on a potion that takes such a long period of time to create, nearly the whole year possibly."

"The only way you'd ask me, of all people, to do that was if you were doing it for Headmaster Dumbledore," I continue. "You are well aware of how Neville and Ron feel about you and you'd naturally assume that I share their sentiments. You'd only risk asking me to do this if this potion was commissioned on the orders of the Headmaster whom you know I respect without question."

They were simple deductions based on his words. Yet, Snape is again looking at me as though for the first.

"Why Granger," Professor Snape says softly, staring at me. "It seems the summer has done you some good. You've grown."

I let out a small laugh. Apparently, the difference between the Hermione of this year and last year is indeed great if both Professor Snape and Potter think so. "I had to do it at some point, Professor," I say ruefully. "It's the only way I'm going to survive in this world."

He looks at me closely for a moment longer before nodding slightly. "Indeed," he murmurs. "I'm assuming that you accept this task, hmm?" he asks, standing.

I bow slightly. "I would be honored to participate, Professor. Thank you for considering me." My words are sincere, and by the startled look on Professor Snape's face, I know that he can tell.

I smile again, wryly. "Like I said before, we both know how Neville and Ron feel about you, but don't assume I feel the same way. You're not the nicest man, but you're brilliant and Headmaster Dumbledore trusts you. As far as I'm concerned, you're one of us."

I quiet, staring at him, but I don't leave because I have something to say. "Professor Snape," I say calmly. "I am aware of the fact that the only reason I can sit here and sass you right now is because you saved my life last year." I look my Potions professor straight in the eye and slowly bow. "Thank you, Professor Snape, for saving my life. Grangers don't believe in having debt, so I will repay."

I hear him suck in a deep breath but I am already gone before he can say anything more. I know that I'm not supposed to know. When they found us last year, I was so damaged that it's a miracle that I'm here today. Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, all of them thought I was too injured to realize what was happening. And for the most part, I was. But the little sliver of memory that I retained was enough to make me suspect and now Snape has confirmed it; he saved me. I owe a Life Debt to Professor Snape and it will not go unfulfilled. I don't worry that I'll have a chance to fulfill it. Unfortunately, with the horrors on the horizon, I know I may be able to repay it all too soon.

When I re-enter the classroom, everyone's gone. Although I expected it, I feel a sharp pang in my chest. Of course Neville and Ron didn't wait for me.

"Finally, you're out!" a voice says in exasperation. I turn and there, sitting in the corner, is Zola. My eyes widen upon seeing her. Zola waited for me. She actually waited for me. I look at her as she stands and begins gathering her things.

"What's wrong?" she asks, cocking her head as she notice my staring.

I shake my head slowly. "Nothing," I reply. "Nothing at all."

Reaching into my bag, I grab one of the spare invitations that was left over from the batch.

"I was just wondering if you would like to come to my birthday party?" I ask, smiling hopefully at her.

"You want me to come and party?" Zola says, eyebrow lifting.

I can't help but laugh. "Yes, I'd like that very much," I reply with a smile.

"Then, I'm totally there. After all, it's not a party without Zola," she says with a smirk.

I think I can believe it. "I can't wait to see what you have in store," I say jokingly as we walk out of the dungeon. "I promise it'll be a certified no-judgement zone."

She laughs and my heart lightens as we walk through halls of Hogwarts, the cheerful rays of the late morning sun accompanying us.

#*#*#*#*#

It's the evening before the day of my party and I've decided to swallow my pride and disappointment and ask my House mates about the party invitations. I've only had my own dorm for a few weeks, but going back to the Gryffindor common room already feels odd. I've become accustomed to having a private space and it's wonderful. I haven't seen very much of Potter, which I am incredibly grateful for. Thus far, none of my fears regarding living with him have manifested, and I'm cautiously optimistic that perhaps, we can live together in peace. And although I get along just fine with my housemates, I very much enjoy the silence and solitude of having a semi-private dorm.

I am almost to the Gryffindor portrait when Lavender and Parvati exit. I smile at them and they smile back. It's actually good to see them as we rarely have classes together now. Mine are all advanced, while they've chosen classes more suited to their interests.

"Hermione! Long time no see," Lavendar says, beaming. "For a minute there, I thought you'd forgotten about us!"

I can't help but smile. Lavender's infectious energy is just what I need what now. "How could I ever forget you?" I say with wide eyes. "You're so incredibly unforgettable!"

"I should hope so," Parvati says, sniffing snootily.

"So…" I say, smiling at them. "My birthday is coming up and I'm actually throwing a party!"

Their eyes widen. "You are throwing a party?" Parvati says incredulously.

"Are you the real Hermione Granger?" Lavender says suspiciously.

I can't help but laugh. "Yes, I am. I figured that since it's my first year into adulthood, I should do something different."

"Smashing idea, Hermione," Parvati says approvingly. "Nothing like a party to celebrate the new adult you!"

"But, why weren't we invited to this party?" Lavender asks frowning, affronted.

"You were. Ron and Neville didn't give you the invitations?" I ask, unsure of why I insist on torturing myself.

Parvati shook her head with a frown. "No, they didn't and how dare they!" she says in semi-mock outrage. "They must not have wanted us to come!"

"I'm going to get that Weasley," Lavender mutters with a gleam in her eyes and I smirk at it. Ron and Lavender had a less-than amicable break up a few years ago, now, it seems as though she's finally found a reason to get some payback.

"Don't hurt him too badly," I tease. "He's still one of my best friends."

Lavender sniffs. "No promises, Hermione."

"Thank you for the invitation, Hermione," Parvati says, beaming. "We can't wait to help you celebrate your birthday. You're the first among us to reach legal age, which means we can all benefit! Maybe now we can drink the hard stuff instead of having to settle for butterbeer!"

Lavender gasps in delight at the thought. "We're counting on you, Hermione," she says slyly.

I can't help but chuckle as they launch into a tirade on all the contraband items I can now smuggle into Hogwarts for them. Honestly, it's refreshing. Seeing people my age who have normal problems and being gleeful over possibly being able to drink hard liquor amuses me.

I quiet as I take a second to reflect on this moment. Even a year ago, I would chastise both of them for such frivolous and immature thoughts, but now, I understand that they're harmless. Going through the horrors of last year have really helped me to loosen up. Dodging Unforgivable Curses and seeing the horrors that blood supremacists can commit against another human being has a way of helping one put the normal mischief of youth into perspective.

"It seems as though you both are happy about my birthday," I say, finally interrupting their spiel. "So, I hope to see you there?"

"Of course, Hermione!" Lavender responds cheerfully.

"We can't wait," Parvati added. "We're happy to help you celebrate."

I smile at them, moved by their excitement about my birthday. Whether it's just because they have another opportunity to party, or because they care about me, I don't care at this point; they've both shown more care than Neville and Ron.

"Thank you both, so much," I say, with a wobbly smile, trying to keep my emotions under control. "And please tell the others to come; everyone is invited."

"Of course, we will," Lavender says with a smile, Parvati nodding her agreement. "We can't wait for tomorrow! We wouldn't miss your birthday party for the world!"

#*#*#*#*#*#

My party was scheduled for Saturday at 1:00 pm. I arrived early and turned the room into a wonderland. Soft lights float all around. There are moving pictures of my time with each of the invitees, arranged into huge number 18s all around the room. Then, I stood by the door, jittery with excitement as I waited for the guests to arrive.

It is now 3:00pm.

No one's here.

I sit among the decorations with my party crown, silent. I feel dead inside. I don't feel angry, or sad, or disappointed: I don't feel anything. Maybe that's for the best. Slowly, I stand to my feet. With a wave of my wand, the music playing in the corner stops. I am about to begin cleanup when the door opens with a slam.

"Finally, I found it!" a voice cuts cheerfully through the silence of the room. "I, Zola Keita, am here!" I blink as Zola appears in the doorway.

"Hermione! So sorry I'm late, I overslept then I got lost. But I'm ready to party now," she says happily, only to pause at the lack of celebration, the lack of music, the lack of people.

It only takes her a moment to realize what's going on.

"Hermione," Zola says slowly, face filling with dread. "What's going on?"

My voice is emotionless as I tell her. "I planned a birthday party that no one came to," I respond, matter-of-factly. "I gave the invitations to my two best friends, but they forgot my birthday and they forgot me. Even the people I invited personally didn't come. After all, Ron's promotion to Quidditch captain is more important. It's right that they celebrate his achievement. This is no biggie. I'm used to it."

I give her a wide smile, but she's blurry for some reason. Oh, it's my body. It's choosing now to betray me. The tears that I thought were absent have returned with a vengeance.

I can't see Zola's face as she walks toward me. All I know is that moments later, I'm enveloped in warmth and citrus. I don't even last a second before sobs shake my body so hard that I can't stand. Zola wraps me in her arms and comforts me as I allow all my pain, sorrow and disappointment burst out of me.

I am so hurt, so hurt. Merlin, why can't I get the same devotion that I give? Will I forever be a giver? When will I find people who are truly mindful of me? Who loves dorky, nerdy, studying Hermione?

As I sob into Zola's shoulder, she rubs my back, soft murmurs of comfort coming from her.

Finally, I lift my head from her shoulder. I feel pain all over, but I don't know how to make it stop. It makes it worse that I allowed that pain to show in front of Zola. We've really hit it off, but we're not close enough for this and I'm quite embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my throat raw. "I didn't mean to dump on you like that."

Lifting my wand, I wordlessly summon all the door prizes I prepared, placing them in front of her.

"Since you're the only one who showed up, you get all the prizes," I say, forcing humor into my voice. "Today's your lucky day."

"Hermione," she begins softly, but my cup is already overflowing with self-pity. I don't need hers too.

I try to smile at her, but it fails. "As you see, there's no party, so there's no need to stay. I'm just going to clean up and be on my way. Thank you for coming, though."

I turn away from her and continue to banish the decorations. The streamers begin to disappear, so do the huge number 18s I prepared with all my friends… acquaintances in mind. Then, something else disappears too, but I didn't do it. I turn around to see Zola with her wand out, quietly and efficiently packing up the items.

A fresh wave of tears threaten to overtake me. Zola… she is much too kind. It's both a balm and a sore to my senses. It's a balm because it shows that someone cares about me; it's a sore because it's basically a stranger and not the people I thought were my best friends.

I take a deep breath as tears begin to fall again without consent. Merlin, but I wish I could stop crying.

Thankfully, it doesn't take long for us to finish.

"Thank you," I say softly, not looking at her. "I really appreciate your help."

"It's no problem," she says, and I can hear the kind smile in her voice.

I nod at her, too exhausted to attempt another smile and turn to leave. However, she stops me.

"I'd like you to come with me," Zola says carefully. "If you're willing."

I pause, turning around to gaze at her. Her eyes are steady and warm, serving to relax me a bit. I really, really don't feel like going to someone else's room. But I refuse to go to the Gryffindor common room where everyone is a throwing party in honor of Ron's promotion to Quidditch captain. I want to go to my room, but I cringe at the thought of running into Harry Potter, especially since it's obvious I've been crying. I definitely can't handle him right now. Zola's room is probably the safest.

Silently, I nod.

She smiles and gently takes my hand as she leads me to the Ravenclaw dorm room.

Thankfully, she's silent and I close my eyes as she leads me. It's a silly habit, it helps me to center myself. It takes a bit of walk to her room, so I take my time to attempt to clear my mind of all thoughts. I'm not sure what Zola wants to do, but at this point, I don't care. I just want this day to be over. Happy 18th birthday, Hermione.

Finally, we reach Zola's room and I'm surprised to find that it's not with the rest of the Ravenclaw dorms.

Zola winks at me cheekily and speaks clearly to the picture in a foreign language. An eyebrow twitches slightly at her words. I don't recognize any part of the language, which is probably the point.

The picture moves immediately and we enter. My eyes widen. Her room is much like mine as Head Girl. There's a couch, several drawers for clothes, and a large mirror. It's rather bigger than normal dorms, being only slightly smaller than my Head Girl dorm. It's bright, warm and cozy and I immediately feel welcome.

"I asked for these accommodations and they were more than happy to give it to me," Zola explains. "I'm the first transfer student to Hogwarts in about a hundred years. All the students in the dorms have been with each other for six years. I didn't want to have to tackle something like that, so, they permitted me these private quarters."

I nod slowly, still unsure. While Zola's explanation makes sense on the surface, it doesn't make sense. Even if she did have to adjust to a close-knit group, adjust she could have, especially with her personality. Why did Headmaster Dumbledore concede to her wishes? Once again, I remember that I don't know Zola. Even though we've clicked and hit it off extremely well, I have no clue who she is and it's making me uneasy. I don't want to make friends with someone who will hurt me. I've have enough of that.

Zola notices my discomfort.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Hermione," she says softly. "I know I'm a mystery, but not all mysteries are bad or harmful."

I shake my head, taking a seat on her couch. "That hasn't been my experience," I say wearily. "Things that I don't know typically come back to bite me, with a vengeance."

"I know I'm asking for a lot, but please trust me," she says intently. "I won't do anything wrong to you. I promise."

I smile sadly at her, but remain silent. Finally, after a long moment, Zola speaks.

"So," she begins slowly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I pause for a minute and then shrug. "There's not much to talk about," I say lightly.

"Then, why don't you talk about the little that you can?" Zola suggests gently. "It may help."

At my hesitation, she reassures me again. "Don't worry, Hermione. Nothing you say will leave this room."

I gaze at her passively as I ponder her words. Normally, I wouldn't give the slightest thought to talking to Zola about my problems. For so long, I've kept everything in, mostly because I've never had a true confidant. Neville and Ron don't fulfill that role, not that they've expressed any desire to.

But here is a person that actually wants to listen to me, and I appreciate it more than I can say. It even serves to ease a bit of tension out of me. The best thing Zola is doing for me right now is giving a damn about how I feel.

As I look into Zola's soft, brown eyes, I want to trust her. I'm desperate for a companion. But it's too soon. Although I want to release, I still don't know her well enough and I'm not brave enough to take a the leap of faith.

I look away from her, trying to form the words politely in my mind. But I don't need to. Thank Merlin, I don't need to.

Zola reaches out and takes my hands. Her palms and soft and smooth; comforting. They remind me of my Mama's and I feel tear prickle at my eyes.

"It's alright, Hermione," she says gently. "You don't have to talk. I just want you to be comfortable, to be okay. I don't want you to do anything that you don't want to do, okay?"

I stare at her for a moment and nod, a lump in my throat.

"Thank you," I croak. "You're being so nice and I'm giving you a hard time."

"You're not," she says, gently squeezing my hands. "You hardly know me, so I understand. Soon, though, we're going to be best friends and we're going to tell each other everything. But until then…"

Zola stands up and pulls out her wand. With an incredibly elaborate bow, that actually makes me smile slightly at how silly it is, she flourishes her wand and a cake appears on the table.

I start, surprised. A cake? Zola made me a cake. I look at her questioningly and she smiles proudly. I study it. It's a simple cake, two-layer cake with white frosting. It smells like vanilla and lemon and home. Suddenly, I miss my parents very much. They wouldn't have forgotten my birthday. Actually, their present is probably on the way right now.

"How did you know that lemon was my favorite?" I ask, staring as the cake rests on the table in front of us.

Zola merely looks at me smugly as she brandishes a knife out of nowhere, plates appearing on the table. " Wouldn't you love to know?" she says loftily. "This bad boy is the other reason I was late to the party today. I figured you would have one, but I still wanted to bring my own."

"You made this?" I ask in amazement.

"Of course," Zola says, sniffing. "Store-bought cake is a travesty for a birthing day celebration. But let me tell you, it was so difficult to find the kitchen and then when I did, it was horrible trying to convince the house-elves to let me make it myself. And, what the hell is going on with those house-elves by the way? It was really strange how earnest they were. And the self mutilation? Scared the shit out of me."

My look of amazement deepens. She thinks house-elf enslavement is odd too? Why is it that no one else does?

Zola chuckles at the look on my face. "Please, don't launch into any spiels right now, Hermione, there's cake to eat!"

She waves her wand again and music starts playing. It's upbeat, but soothing and I immediately like it. I blink for a moment, overwhelmed. Did Zola prepare all of this beforehand?

"So, let's talk and eat!" Zola says in excitement, cutting into the cake. "Let's start with the basics. What's your favorite color! Oh, and your favorite number! You have to have a favorite number."

I smile at her as she plates a piece of cake and places it on the table.

"Zola," I say suddenly.

"Hmm," she says, eyes gleaming as she licks a bit of frosting off the tip of her fingers. She turns to me, right into my arms.

She stiffens, but I grip her tight as I hug her. After a second, she relaxes and puts her arms around me too.

"It's going to be okay," she murmurs, as I begin to cry again. "It's going to be okay."

I hug her for a long time. Finally, I pull away and smile at her brightly. Tears are still in my eyes, but I feel like I've made a connection with someone. I feel like I've made a friend and maybe… maybe for this birthday, that's the only present I need.

#*#*#*#*#

The next day, I'm quiet. I leave the Heads dorm early because I need to think.

The irony of it all doesn't escape me. For years, I've wanted to be free of Voldemort and the terrifying ordeals that accompanied working to keep Wizarding Britain free of tyranny. The battle of last year has given us a brief reprieve; the huge blow that we dealt would damage even Voldemort's formidable forces. But now, I've been given time to see my relationship with my 'best friends' through mature eyes and it has been found incredibly wanting.

They're my best friends, but I'm not theirs. It makes me wonder; has it always been this way? Has all this been a desperate grasp for companionship on my part since the very beginning? My mind races at the thought and it's then that the conversation comes back to me. It was the first conversation I had with one Harry Potter in our shared living space, not even two weeks ago.

"I'm not quite sure why you take so much pleasure in bothering someone who wants absolutely nothing to do with you," I say stonily, staring hard at him.

He pauses, the small smirk fading from his lips. Cocking his head, he stares at me.

"I learned from the best, Granger," he answers softly, eyes intent on me.

I stand there stunned, Potter's words echoing through my head.

Harry Potter knows. He knows. Is that why he's considered me pathetic all these years? Because I've run down behind Neville and Ron, desperate for companionship?

It feels like ice begins to crawl down my spine as I slowly, mentally review my time with Neville and Ron. It doesn't take long for my heart to begin to sink. There is a horrible pattern in our interactions that I've never seen until now. While Neville and Ron were tied at the hip, I was a third wheel. No, they didn't exclude me like others did, and eventually got used to my presence, but they didn't seek after me until the middle of second year and usually only for help with their school work. I was pulled into the conflict with Voldemort because of my close proximity with them and because it was clear that I was useful.

Later on, they came to love me, but as I ponder the times we spent together, I finally realize something; I don't think that Neville and Ron actually like me. They love me for what I do for them, but they don't need me around. It's a far cry from Neville and Ron's close relationship, where they go everywhere together and are constantly in need of each other's presence. Neville and Ron have grown to love me and because they do, they tolerate me, but if I'm not present, that's fine too.

I've been an outcast as long as I can remember. It was true in the Muggle world and, in the beginning of my first year, it soon became clear that it would be the same in the Wizarding world too. But then Neville and Ron were courteous to me and I latched onto it. It was the smallest bit of regard from people who just happened to dislike me less than my other peers and I took that regard and named the two people who gave it my best friends. They adapted to my feelings and accepted me, but they never grew to like my personality. Now that I think about it, they probably don't even know what my personality is.

As I look at our relationship through clear eyes, something becomes startlingly clear; I am a fool.

And yes… My heart doesn't want to believe it. So, although all the evidence points to the truth, I cling to hope. But I can't stop being Hermione Granger. I spend the next week observing our present interactions, hoping that I'm wrong.

I stop nagging Neville and Ron about schoolwork, and instead choose to simply observe them and everyone else. I need to see clearly how I'm being treated without my self-imposed blinders. Neville and Ron notice my newfound reticence and are clearly concerned about it, but say nothing. That's unsurprising; they're probably happy for the reprieve from me and the thought is more bitter than I'm comfortable with. But I am bitter, and I'm angry too. Everyone in Gryffindor forgot my birthday, even the ones I personally told. Lavender and Parvati haven't even mentioned my party. They're still gushing about how much Ron and Neville have grown over the summer.

Is the bar for friendship really this low? This can't be what real friendship looks like. It's probably more likely that no one here really gives a shit about me.

The thought is angry and very much unlike me, but it won't leave me alone.

Now, it's Friday. The school has eaten dinner and everyone is looking to enjoy the beginning of the weekend. Neville, Ron, Ginny and I leave a little early. Once again, I'm quiet.

I am conscious of the fact that incredible resentment roils through me. It has risen with each passing day that my friends see that something is wrong, but say nothing to address it. And now, I'm at the tipping point. I can feel it. My emotions are erratic and I am a hair's breadth from losing my temper. Or crying.

Now, as we walk from the Great Hall, their mindless chatter grates on my nerves. Ron and Ginny talk about Quidditch while Neville mumbles to himself about watering some rare plants he recently acquired. But it all has to do with fun, fun, fun. That's all they want to do is have fun! When the hell do they plan to start growing up? And quite suddenly, I can't take it anymore.

"Shouldn't you include studying in there somewhere?" I ask irritably, because is Quidditch and plants the only damned thing that matters on this whole fucking planet?

The complaints begin immediately.

"Come on, Hermione!" Ron groans. "I just got nominated as Quidditch captain! We need to celebrate!"

"Yes, that's right," Neville says with a grin, clasping Ron's shoulder. "We have to make sure everyone knows how great Gryffindor's new captain is!"

"Ron, Neville," I say through clenched teeth. "You've celebrated. Your party has been the talk of Hogwarts all week. Now is the time to focus on something besides having fun! You both know what's happening outside of these walls! You need to start taking your studies more seriously—"

"Hermione!" Ginny hisses. "Will you just shut the hell up about studying please! This is probably why you don't have a boyfriend now! I know that you're a Muggleborn and don't know these things, but we grew up with magic, we know how things work! For the love of Merlin, would you please just stop badgering my boyfriend and my brother about reading your stupid books!"

Silence falls.

Neville and Ron looked at Ginny, stunned by her outburst.

I turn to stare at her. I blink once, then twice. She flinches as my eyes bore into her, but she looks me in the eyes, defiant to the end.

I just continue to look at her, my face expressionless.

It's been obvious to me for a while that Ginny resents me, that she hates my place in Neville and Ron's lives. I share experiences with them that she can't compete with and it makes her feel like an outsider. She wants my relationship with them and sees me as someone who has hogged the time and attention of two of the most famous people in the school and in Wizarding Britain, both of whom have special connections with her. If only she knew of the work I've put into them. If only she knew my sacrifice.

Everyone wants what I have, but no one is willing to suffer as I have. Ginny doesn't know what I've done for Neville and Ron. Even they themselves don't know it all, but they know enough. It's for this reason that I turn to look at Neville and Ron.

And I wait.

For them to defend me.

For them to chastise her.

But they don't.

Of course, they don't.

I knew that they wouldn't, but the knowledge still well and truly breaks my silly heart.

"So, that's it?" I ask them expressionlessly. "You're just going to let her talk to me that way?"

Ron and Neville look at one another.

"Hermione," Ron says uneasily. "I'm sure Ginny didn't mean it that way."

"Oh?" I respond, tilting my head. "Then how did she mean it?"

"I just mean that you're bugging them too much, Hermione," Ginny says stiffly, clearly unhappy with being talked about like she's not there. "Don't take it so seriously, okay? This is their last year and you're down their throats every second of the day about studying!"

"It is a bit much, Hermione," Ron says apologetically. "Is it okay if we have fun this year? The last couple of years have been murder, literally, and we just want to enjoy our youth. That's all we're saying."

"Enjoy your youth, huh?" I murmur. I resist the edge to rub my belly, where the smoothness of my stomach is marred by rope-like scar tissue. While they enjoy their youth, I suffer. It's so laughable that I want to cry. Haven't they been enjoying their youth all along? Haven't they been having the time of their lives while I work and struggle on my own? How amusing.

How amusing.

"But didn't you just chastise Pansy Parkinson for saying something just like this to me the other day?" I muse aloud. "So, it's not okay for Slytherins to do it, but it's okay as long as it's Ginny, right? Or maybe any Gryffindor will do?"

It's in that moment that I realize something: Ron didn't argue with the Slytherins to defend me. Perhaps that was a cursory bonus, but the chance to fight with the Slytherins, Ron's most hated rivals, could not be resisted. I was just a convenient and valid excuse to lash out at his rivals. I nod at the thought. Seems I am useful for this too.

"Wait, Hermione, that's not—" Neville begins earnestly, eyebrows drawing together.

I hold up a hand. "Save it, Neville."

I turn to look at both of them; Neville and Ron.

"Since you both agree with what Ginny is saying, I will refrain from now on," I say matter-of-factly. "Sorry to have been such a bother. Goodnight."

With that, I turn on my heel, ready to leave. As I do, I look up and catch Neville's eye.

In the future, when I look back on this moment, I will acknowledge it as the point when our relationship severed. Later, I realized that Neville, ever the perceptive one, realized it too. However, he was too immature to handle the dissolution of something that he would discover had come to define him. But whatever he saw in my eyes at the moment made his eyes widen in alarm.

I wonder what he saw. Was is despair? Sadness? Defeat? Any of these things could be true.

"Hermione," Neville calls after me, something like confusion and (fear?) in his voice. "Hermione!"

But it's not enough for him nor Ron to come after me. It's hard to break old habits after all. They've allowed me to storm away many times, sure in the knowledge that I will forgive them of all trespasses that they've committed against me. Even though Neville feels that this time is different, I've forgiven them so many times before that surely I'll do so again.

Ron's next words are confirmation.

"Let her go, mate," Ron's says, voice low due to the growing distance between us. "You know how she gets when she's upset. She'll be okay by tomorrow."

There is a long pause. Then I hear their footsteps.

Moving away from me.

So, that's it then.

I make my way to my room. Each step feels like a mile, but I keep moving. If I can just get to my room, I can cry in peace.

But I don't make it. Unable to continue on, I move off the side of the main hall and cover my face with my hands, trying to hide the silent tears falling down my face. So, this is how it is. It's overwhelming and difficult for me to stare my own loneliness in the face. I've always felt it, but also consoled myself with the fact that I had Neville and Ron. But I don't really have them, not at all. I don't think I ever did and that is more devastating than I could have imagined.

I straighten up quickly as I hear movement from the adjacent hallway. I quickly move to wipe any traces of sorrow from my face, hoping that whoever stumbles across me is kind enough not to mention it. I just hope it isn't a Slytherin. Merlin, let is not be a Slytherin.

Turns out, it's much worse.

Initially, I relax upon hearing the voices; it's Dean and Seamus. But then I tense again in horror and disbelief as my mind processes their words.

"…if they've started studying, what with Hermione controlling every aspect of their lives," Seamus is saying snidely. "They said they've been able to waylaid her thus far. Asking Ginny for help was brilliant though."

"They still need to complete their homework," Dean responds, a note of censure in his voice. "They're only delaying it, not avoiding it."

"Ron might be in a bad way, but Neville is good," Seamus says, snorting. "Everyone knows that Hermione won't let Neville fail."

"That's true," Dean says reluctantly, "but it's still uncool. He shouldn't be using Hermione like that."

"You know Neville is a nice guy," Seamus says dismissively, "he can't help that Hermione does whatever he wants her to do. Everyone knows that she's bonkers in love with him."

"I know," Dean says, pity in his voice. "He has expressed discomfort with the whole thing and it's not like he asked for it. It's just…"

"So easy," Seamus finishes. "We know he feels like shite about it, but there's nothing he can do."

"Well," Dean says, "he could, you know, stop asking her to do stuff for him."

"Are you crazy?" Seamus asks, aghast. "Why stop a good thing? Neville and Ron are happy because they're passing and Hermione's happy because she's helping Neville. It's a win, win situation."

My arms are locked across my chest and I stand stock still as their voices get closer. But I don't move.

I don't move.

They round the corner.

They see me.

They pause.

Their eyes widen and I can see it, the split second panic. They're wondering if I heard what they said. Normally, I'd pretend not to. But that was old Hermione; new Hermione heard.

"Please," I say lightly. "Don't stop on my account."

Seamus' face turns a bright red and Dean looks as though he could sink into the floor. They take in my face and it's all too obvious that they are painfully aware of my red eyes, the tear streaks on my face.

"You were just getting to the good part," I say expressionlessly. "Something about how big of a damn fool I am? Please continue."

They both look sick. Seamus' eyes drop to the floor while Dean's face turns pleading.

"Hermione," Dean begins, nervously. "We didn't mean…"

"Since I was mistaken in thinking that we're friends," I interrupt calmly. "I'll do you a favor in the name of our previous interactions; I give you permission to pretend that I'm not here. Just keeping walking and talking and laughing at my expense because it really is laughable, isn't it? And please, don't consider it mean-spirited," I tell them kindly. "After, all it's just Hermione Granger, right? The one no one really gives a shite about."

They both flinch.

"Hermione," Dean says softly, shock and something dangerously close to revelation coloring his voice. "That's not true."

"You'll forgive me if I don't take your word for it," I say flatly, pushing away from the wall. "Good day, gentleman."

They say nothing as I walk away and I don't look back as I round the corner out of sight.

I really didn't think I could go any lower, but it seems like I was wrong. I feel so hollow that I can't cry. Anger and deep humiliation hover at the edge of my consciousness, but this nothingness is better. Seems as though everyone knows that I'm in love with Neville, even Neville himself. He knows it so well that he and Ron have apparently worked out a system to better get me to comply with their wishes and as I reflect, I realize how scarily effective it is. When Neville asks me to do something, I really do it.

Not only has my 'well-kept secret' made me the butt of Hogwarts jokes, it's also been wielded to use me.

Merlin, I'm such a fool.

I'm such a fool.

I find myself at the Astronomy Tower. The wind is cool on my skin, caressing dry cheeks. It's night and the lights of the castle gleam off the Great Lake. Normally, its loveliness could soothe a great deal of my heartaches. But not today, not this time.

I don't know how long I stay there, but it's for a long time. Too long, apparently, because that's where Harry Potter finds me.

End Chapter Three

Chapter 4: Bombarda