The hazel-eyed witch released a forlorn sigh but yielded to McGonagall's logic and soothing words. It wasn't the first time she'd had a pseudo-panic-fit in the Headmistress' presence in recent months, and it probably wouldn't be the last. Most of the Order members and some of her fellow students had been subjected to mini-breakdowns as of late; it was only natural considering the current climate, and Hermione was grateful that her professor could always calm her volatile thoughts. Even if it was only temporary.
"Do you feel better now, Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked. "Or do you have another question?"
"I have a thousand questions," she breathed, pausing to consider before a thought fluttered in her mind as she remembered what Neville had told her. "Actually, there is something I'm a little curious about."
"Go ahead."
"Neville mentioned that Luna has been leaving Hogwarts on the weekends," she explained, frowning when the Headmistress averted her eyes. "Can you tell me why?"
"I'm sorry, but I can't," McGonagall said after a pensive pause. "I can confirm that Miss Lovegood does sometimes leave the premises at weekends, but she told me her reason in strict confidence, and I assured her that I wouldn't tell anyone."
"Is she okay?" Hermione questioned. "She's not in any trouble or anything?"
"She's absolutely fine," the witch replied. "I can assure you that she is completely safe."
"Then why is she-
"It's a personal matter," McGonagall finalised brusquely. "If you want to know more, you shall have to ask her yourself."
.
.
The Hogwarts pupils were scattered randomly around the library, squeezed between the aisles and shelves, and huddled a little closer than normal to fight the cold. They sky was already winter-dark at seven o'clock, and Madam Pince had lit a few extra candles and cast a rather weak warming charm to accommodate the forty-or-so snug students.
Hermione sat by herself in the dark corner near the restricted section; lost in a lonely bubble that silenced the surrounding noise. She tried to focus on the scribbled pages in front of her, but she couldn't stop thinking about Malfoy and what had happened.
How could I have done it?
Every method of distraction she'd attempted had failed and left her with itching lips and more confusion. She wanted to know why and how it had happened, but she could hardly suggest a discussion about it with her Slytherin dorm-mate. What made it worse was she felt like everyone was staring at her, burrowing into her head and stealing her naughty secret and secretly despising her for it.
Paranoia is such a parasite.
But that wasn't even the worst thing. No matter how much she tried to reject the absurd notion, she couldn't help but think she'd been cheated in some way. It hadn't been a real kiss, and she felt like she'd missed out on some kind of conclusion or...climax.
It was like she'd been to Hell and not experience the lick of flames.
She shouldn't have wanted to, but she really, really did. Her curiosity was getting the better of her and she wanted more. She wanted...
"Hermione."
She started with a harsh gasp and gave the source of the interruption a sharp look. "Merlin's grave, Michael," she mumbled. "You scared me to death."
"Sorry," he chuckled casually in a way that made her think he wasn't sorry at all. "I was just wondering if you'd finished the list of duties for the prefects?"
"Oh," she breathed absently, shuffling in her bag for the requested list. "Yes...sure. Here."
Michael Corner accepted the sheet of parchment and gave it a quick scan before he turned back to give her a concerned stare. "Are you okay, Hermione?" the Head Boy asked. "You seem a little distant."
"I'm fine," she shrugged, bowing her head to hide her uncertainty. "Is there a problem with the rota?"
"No, it looks good," he replied. "I just thought you might like some company."
"I'll be leaving in a minute," Hermione answered, trying to be as polite as she could, despite her foul mood. "Sorry, I'm rather tired."
She made a mental note to apologise to Michael for her sour behaviour at a later date. She normally enjoyed a light conversation with the Ravenclaw, who had matured exponentially in the last year, particularly after he'd broken up with Cho. Initially, Hermione had been extremely wary of working with him, having heard some rather unflattering comments from Ginny, but he was nice enough, if a bit too competitive at times.
"It's no worry," he offered weakly, clearing his throat. "We need to organise a meeting to discus the Christmas dance soon-
"Is that really necessary?" she groaned, slamming her book shut. "There are more important things we should be thinking about than some silly little Ball-
"I think McGonagall's just trying to keep spirits up," Michael reminded her. "Come on, Hermione. It wouldn't hurt to have a bit of fun at Christmas. The people here need cheering up."
"I guess," she sighed sceptically, packing everything into her bag and rising from her seat. "We can discus it in Hogsmeade this weekend then. Is that okay?"
"That's fine," he nodded. "Would you like me to walk you back to your dorm?"
"No, don't be silly," she dismissed with a wave of her hand. "I think Terry and Anthony are trying to call you back anyway. I'll see you Saturday."
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