Chapter 211
"Hermione? Hermione? Are you alright?"
Hermione Granger jolted awake, hearing a concerned voice calling her.
She looked up to find her roommate, Lavender Brown, standing behind her, watching quietly.
It took Hermione a moment to realize—
she had been dreaming.
A nightmare.
She pressed a hand to her chest and let out a slow breath. The scene had felt far too real. Even now, the fear lingered.
Lavender covered her mouth as she yawned, then glanced at the mountain of books and parchment on Hermione's desk.
"You're really working yourself to death," she sighed. "Fell asleep doing homework again? Did you take extra classes or something?"
But she didn't seem surprised.
This was normal for Hermione.
"Still, I think you should relax a bit," Lavender continued, her cheeks turning slightly pink. "Why do girls have to work so hard? Wouldn't it be better to find a good boyfriend who can take care of you?"
"Oh! And guess what—Professor Trelawney said I'll get a boyfriend this year!" she added excitedly, eager to share.
Even on days without class, Lavender had a habit of visiting Sybill Trelawney. She trusted her predictions completely, believing they would guide her future.
"I-Is that so?" Hermione replied awkwardly.
If she remembered correctly, Lavender had said the same thing last term.
But Hermione didn't argue.
She had already stopped attending Divination. There was no need to make things awkward.
"It would be amazing if Viktor Krum liked me," Lavender went on dreamily. "Tall, handsome, a Quidditch star—and foreign too. That's so romantic…"
Her expression softened, then dimmed.
She knew it was unrealistic.
They were worlds apart.
When Lavender mentioned Krum, Hermione's expression stiffened slightly.
She remembered the library.
How she had hurried away.
And how Krum had awkwardly asked to be her friend.
But she said nothing.
Mentioning it would feel like showing off.
"Be honest," Lavender said suddenly, dragging a stool closer and sitting down with a teasing smile. "Out of the two of them—which do you like?"
"Which two?" Hermione blinked, caught off guard.
Lavender didn't seem to hear. She began counting on her fingers.
"You three are always together—people are already guessing. The Boy Who Lived is famous, and he's not bad-looking either… though I don't really know his personality. I just feel like something might be… off. I mean, he grew up without parents."
"Oh! I didn't mean it like that," she added quickly. "Don't tell him! I think he's actually quite nice."
She lowered one finger and continued.
"The Weasley one is good too. Funny, kind… I think he has a great personality."
Hermione noticed Lavender's cheeks turning red.
"And then there's Cedric Diggory. Tall, good at studies… honestly, he doesn't even seem like a Hufflepuff. It's a shame he didn't become a Champion."
Lavender sighed, clearly drifting beyond their usual circle now.
"Slytherin's—"
Hermione cut her off immediately.
"Sorry. I'm really tired. I'm going to sleep."
"Alright then. Sweet dreams!" Lavender smiled brightly.
Then she glanced at the clock on Hermione's table—and her expression changed.
"It's so late already! I should sleep too. Staying up late is terrible for your skin—that's what Madam Pomfrey says!"
—
After washing up, Hermione lay in bed, surrounded by crimson curtains.
Her eyes were closed.
But sleep didn't come.
Maybe she had slept too much earlier.
Or maybe—
she was worried.
She turned restlessly.
The dream replayed in her mind.
The dragon's fangs.
Blood splattering across the ground.
The boy collapsing—
motionless.
The red spreading across stone.
In the stands, Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy screaming.
Chaos everywhere.
Poppy Pomfrey rushing forward.
Albus Dumbledore stepping in to subdue the dragon.
The images refused to fade.
"If he already knows, then warning him won't matter… If he doesn't… then I'm just putting him back on equal footing."
"I'm just returning a favor. That's all."
"I'm not… being emotional."
Hermione finally seemed to reach a decision—
even as she tried to justify it.
She stretched a hand out from behind the curtain, fumbling for a quill.
"Accio parchment," she whispered.
A sheet of parchment flew through the gap and floated down beside her pillow.
"Lumos."
A faint light illuminated the space beneath the covers.
She propped up the blanket with one hand and awkwardly began to write with the other.
The position was uncomfortable—
the handwriting worse.
Crooked.
Uneven.
Nothing like her usual neat script.
Even Minerva McGonagall wouldn't recognize it.
Partly because of the awkward angle—
but mostly because Hermione intended it that way.
She didn't want to be identified.
"I'm done…"
She exhaled softly, studying the barely legible words.
Then she whispered—
"Crookshanks?"
The large ginger cat, curled beneath the bed, leapt up with surprising agility and landed beside her.
Hermione leaned close and whispered instructions into its ear.
The cat listened.
Attentively.
She stroked its fur gently.
"Don't let anyone see you. I'll give you extra food tomorrow."
Her voice was soft—
but resolute.