Chapter 3

Special thanks to my fabulous betas! Ladies, you are terrific.

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Hermione Granger sat in the study of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Or, more correctly, Hermione Granger was sprawled across the study of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Books, crumpled balls of parchment, quills, jars of ink, fresh sheaves of parchment and a disgruntled orange cat were scattered across every surface of the room.

In the centre of the chaos, the young woman in question lay on her stomach on the threadbare carpet, brushing the end of a quill thoughtfully back and forth across her chin as she studied the text in front of her. Every now and then, she would pause to scribble a note on a piece of parchment.

Ron Weasley paused in the doorway, looking around in bafflement. How Hermione could find order in such chaos always astounded him. She had always seemed so ordered and in control at Hogwarts, but it seemed he and Harry had only seen the final part of her studying habits, where most of her notes were already contained to a few, concise feet of parchment. Now it seemed that the more space there was available, the more space she took over to do whatever it was she did.

Ron smirked evilly when he spotted Crookshanks’ grumpy face. The only time Ron had ever seen a different expression on the beast was after he had eaten the custard slice Ron had been saving. Then his expression had been one of smug satisfaction that he had worn for the rest of the day. Ron did get the satisfaction of wiping that self-satisfied look off the half-kneazle’s face by leaving a canary cream out “accidentally” that evening. Needless to say, Hermione had not found it half as hilarious to see her familiar shedding yellow feathers. The upside was that now the ugly creature wouldn’t eat anything Ron had touched.

Clearing his throat, Ron stepped further into the room.

“Hermione, you’ve already passed your N.E.W.T.S with about a billion Outstandings and the three of us agreed to take a while off to relax before we have to get jobs or start further training. What can you possibly be studying now?!”

Hermione rolled over and stretched lazily, smiling at her friend. They had tried dating for a few weeks, but after the hundredth time of both of them giggling hysterically whenever they kissed, they both decided it was much better for them to remain best friends.

“I’m not actually studying. I saw something interesting in The Prophet today, and I suppose I just got carried away with looking it up. It’s quite fascinating really. In 1576 the Wizengamot passed a motion-”

“-That affected someone and made some creature’s life a misery and now you are finding out what happened and how it affects the creature now?” Ron interrupted her, smiling fondly at the blush that crept up her face.

“It’s all very interesting, I’m sure. You’ll have to tell me all about it some time.”

Ron turned away as if to inspect a book on the couch. “Preferably when I am unconscious or in a coma,” he muttered under his breath.

“Come on,” he urged, turning back to her and reaching out a hand. “Kreacher has made a huge chicken pie for dinner and I am starving. I hope Harry gets back soon. Kreacher won’t let me eat until he is.”

Hermione accepted Ron’s assistance. Her grin slid from her face as she contemplated their friend. Harry had refused all their offers to go with him to Godric’s Hollow. She remembered too well what had happened there the last time they were there and did not want him to have to face those memories alone.

But Harry had insisted it was something he had to do alone and had Apparated away before they could argue further with him.

That had been a few hours ago, and it was time for him to be back already. Hermione knew she would never forgive herself if something happened to him. There were still a few Death Eaters out there that would love to harm Harry Potter. What better time or place to do it than when he was visiting his parent’s graves?

Without her noticing, Ron had led the way down the stairs and into the kitchen. She had been too busy worrying to notice. Ron always told her that all her worrying and fretting would give her premature wrinkles. Hermione rubbed her fingers along her forehead before raising her gaze to meet the smirking one of her red-headed friend.

“You look just like Professor Snape when you do that,” she retorted, stifling a snigger when he paled.

“I’m only kidding, Ron. It would take a lot more than a smirk for you to look like Professor Snape.”

Ron still didn’t reply, his pale face going slightly green, making his freckles seem to jump off his face. He opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it again, and then opened it again, leaving it to gape open unbecomingly.

“Honestly, Ron. If such a joke could leave you such a gibbering idiot, I won’t do so again.”

“I highly doubt your sense of humour could reduce Mr Weasley to a level I have already established he exists on,” came a deep sneering voice from behind Hermione.

Hermione turned around slowly, hardly believing her own ears.

“I rather expect it is the presence of my self that has reduced your beau to a …‘gibbering idiot,’ was it?”

“Oh, Professor Snape,” whispered Hermione as she sat heavily on the chair behind her. “Uh, um,” she stuttered as her mind struggled to come to terms with the vision she was seeing. Finally, her brain remembered the correct thing to do when unexpected company arrived.

“Welcome to Grimmauld Place. Would you like some tea?”