4:00 a.m. 2nd September, 1996

It is the same dream she has been dreaming at Grimmauld Place for two months…

The floor is cold beneath her. The ache in her chest is excruciating. When Neville shifts her slightly as he grasps her wrist to feel for her faint pulse, she's sure she must scream in agony, but she doesn't hear her voice. Later, when she feels her body lifted, she loses consciousness from the pain.

She doesn't know how long she is in darkness, but suddenly her terrified peace is interrupted by the sound of laughter. Ron is laughing. She wants to smile too at the familiar sound, but she can't.

The laughter changes. Ron sounds panicked. He yells suddenly and then he's making struggling sounds. Hermione tries to turn to look at him but she remains frozen; utterly still.

He sounds as if he's choking. Why won't someone help him? She struggles – her mind battling her body, trying desperately to move, to look at him, to call out to him.

Now Ron is gasping and there is a sickening wet sound as he hits the ground. She hears the rustle of his clothes and the squeal of his trainers against the floor as he thrashes. It reminds her of the sounds of the twins wrestling after being Silencio'd by their father.

Her breath has quickened and she worries that she will again lose consciousness from the agony. She doesn't want to leave Ron alone, even if he can't hear her. She fights to stay awake.

And then, quite suddenly, Ron is silent. She prays that he has just fainted from the struggle, but she knows better.

She lies quiet and listens to Ron Weasley die…

Hermione awoke to find herself twisted almost painfully into her sheets and covered in sweat. Flying upright, she tore at the material, finding the sensation of being restricted absolutely unbearable. Quickly her movements changed from attempted escape to aggressive attack as she grasped the fabric and tried to shred it – tearing at it with her nails; beating it with her fists. The sudden taste of blood in her mouth gave her pause, and she realized that she had bitten her lip. Sweating and shaking, she collapsed back on the disheveled bed and stared up into the Gryffindor-red canopy until breakfast.

19th September, 1996

It had been another bad morning. The nightmare had woken her earlier than usual: a mere two in the morning. She'd had to lie awake for four hours before she could go to the kitchens for her strong, black coffee. The elves had grown used to her early morning presence, and no longer ran for fear of being forcibly clothed.

It was one of the days when she knew she would find it difficult to look at Harry, or hear the sound of his voice. She hid in her four-poster instead, curtains drawn, coffee pot as companion, while the rest of Hogwarts rose for a new day.

After casting her fourth warming charm on her mug, Hermione glanced down at her watch. 10:00 a.m. She should have been in Ancient Runes for an hour already. She wondered idly what Professor Babbling would do and say before realizing that she didn't care. The thought of sitting through an hour and a half's discussion of dead symbols was simply impossible. She poured another cup.

Trembling and exhausted, Hermione made her way to the dungeons forty-five minutes later for double Potions. Ancient Runes was an elective that she could live without, but skipping Potions wasn't worth the repercussions, Harry or no. Reaching the classroom door where students were gathering, she spotted him as he broke away from the crowd to meet her, smiling and saying her name as he walked.

"Happy Birthday, Hermione." At the sound of his voice she felt a rush of fury instantly followed by a sickening wave of guilt.

Hermione stared at him for a long, awkward moment, but was saved a reply by a boisterous Professor Slughorn.

The class seemed endless, and by the time they were finally dismissed Hermione was practically nauseous from the constant pitch and roll of her emotions. She packed quickly, ejaculated something about headaches to Harry, and made her escape.

The fresh, cool, fall air filled her lungs as she burst through the courtyard door. Throwing it shut behind her, she slammed herself back against the ancient wood and slowly bent forward, letting her head hang between her shoulders.

She remained in that pose for a few minutes before pulling herself up with effort. Turning toward the Forbidden Forest, she started to walk.

Hermione thought about Harry.

If she was honest, she hated him, and she despised herself for that. Academically she knew that the night at the Ministry wasn't his fault. None of this is his fault. He had only done what he thought was right. One could even look at this situation in really spiteful terms and say that he had paid his dues for his error. He had lost his best friend and his godfather as a result of his rash action, and the guilt that Hermione knew he felt day in and day out was indescribable. Academically, she knew that no one suffered as he did. But that didn't make it better. And in the end, as always, there was no more Ron and no more laughter. She would bear Dolohov's scar for the rest of her life. And night after night, she would be haunted by the horrible sounds that narrated the cruel taking of one, and the vicious gift of the other.

Hermione stopped walking and grabbed her hair with both fists. It was semantics, all of it. She could reason and rationalize all day, the facts of the situation were always the same. If Harry had just practiced Occlumency more, if he had just tried a little harder, maybe he would have been able to see that it was a trap. Hermione had nagged him all year; practiced with him; pleaded…and he hadn't listened.

Tugging her hair hard and squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione let the pain redirect her thoughts…There was, after all, another side of the logical coin. Forget Harry. None of this would be of consequence if not for Voldemort. Dolohov. Lestrange. Malfoy. She clenched her teeth and trembled.

The names rolled through her mind like a mantra as she made her way back up to the castle for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Somehow the lunch hour had passed.
...
Hermione was nearing the one hour mark of watching Dean Thomas try to disarm her non-verbally. He looked like he seriously needed to have a lie down, and maybe even a cry out. At this point she was tempted to toss her wand in the air for his benefit, if only to give her something to do in retrieving it.

Hermione, by contrast, had disarmed Dean less than five minutes in. She usually tried to hold herself back – to only be the best by a reasonable margin. Apparently she hadn't had the patience to feign incompetence today, and she was about to pay for it.

"Typically abysmal, Longbottom." The disinterested chastisement resonated in deep tones under the high vaulted ceiling.

Neville had just made an especially animated attempt at disarming Harry, and had managed, in the process, to trip over his own rapidly growing feet.

"Since no amount of written theory has yet been able to awaken the necessary mental faculties for nonverbal casting, perhaps you would benefit from a demonstration." Neville turned, if possible, even pinker and studied the floor with great intensity.

"Miss Granger." Hermione's eyes closed for a moment as if in prayer. "At the front," a pause, "and Mr. Malfoy, I think."

Hermione froze.

"A problem?" the professor asked in a tone that clearly forbade an affirmative answer.

"I…No, sir." Hermione managed before taking a shaky step, and another. She stared down at her feet all the way to the slightly raised platform at the front of the room.

She didn't trust herself to look at Draco Malfoy. She didn't want to look up at him and see Lucius – a man who was there that night, a man who brought with him Antonin Dolohov, a man who was part of the distraction that left Ron all alone.

Hermione watched her hands begin to tremble as the familiar rage overcame her. Through the haze of memory she realized that the professor's voice, which had slowly drifted out of her conscious mind, had ceased, which only meant that the demonstration had begun. And if the demonstration had begun, and Hermione herself hadn't cast, then Draco was about to…

Without thinking Hermione slashed the air with her wand, sending Draco's perfectly respectable Impedimenta ricocheting off to her left. A split second later, she flung her arm back across her body and knocked Draco off his feet with the force of her Expelliarmus. She heard his wand clatter against the stone wall somewhere behind her.

Hermione knew she should get control of herself, knew she should stop, and knew as she lifted her eyes to look at her wandless opponent that she couldn't help herself. His Slytherin green tie became monochrome with his blond hair and gray eyes as she raised her wand again.

Just as Hermione's arm fell, just as her curse was about to burst forth, she felt what seemed to be a wall of energy blast into existence just in front of her. She stopped short of the incredibly powerful Protego shield and saw the image of a cowering Draco Malfoy blur slightly through the magical film. The next second it was gone and Hermione turned, with wand arm at the ready, to glare at its source.

Professor Snape appeared bored as he stared down Hermione's fury and lazily flicked his wand towards her. She didn't react to the sensation of the thin length of wood flying out of her grip. She simply watched as the professor caught it easily and pocketed it in a fluid motion. A professor had never been forced to confiscate her wand before. Never. In the culture of wizarding students, it was akin to being struck with a ruler.

Above the thundering of her heart she heard her professor dismiss the class. She didn't know how long it took for the last student, probably Harry stalling for her, to file out. The heavy door slammed. Hermione flinched at the sound and looked up sharply, her eyes refocusing on the room.

"Professor Babbling tells me that you were not to be found this morning," the cold voice said quietly behind her. She turned slowly, her skin prickling, to face the professor. He looked, as always, like a marble statue; barely human but for his disdain.

"Where were you?" The question was punctuated by a narrowing of his black eyes.

"Reading…sir." Hermione was surprised by the tone of defiance in her own voice.

Professor Snape's eyes roamed over her for a moment, as if he were searching for something. Hermione managed to keep still under the scrutiny only by digging her nails into her palm. When the professor raised his eyes to hers again, one dark brow was arched mockingly. It made her think he'd noticed.

He straightened to his full height and silently produced her wand from within his black robes. The pale hand stretched forward, offering it to her handle first. As Hermione reached out to take it he spoke again.

"You will come to the Headmaster's office tonight at eight o’clock. If anyone should inquire, you will tell them that you are serving a well deserved…" he paused for emphasis, "…detention with me."

Hermione was castigated and confused at once, but she simply replied, "Yes, sir," and closed her fingers around the familiar wood before turning quickly towards the classroom door.

"And Miss Granger," her hand stilled on the iron handle, "Behave."