Miss Granger's Diary

Time:	4:10 am.
Mood:	blank.

Harry strolls through the fireplace, brushing dust and soot off of his robes and out of his hair. He removes his glasses and wipes them clean...at least, he wipes them as clean as possible. He doesn't look back at the fireplace.

He climbs the stairs to his room, sets down his wand on his nightstand, and begins to undress, methodically folding his soiled clothing and stacking it on his trunk. He wraps a towel around his waist and makes his way to the showers. His skin comes clean, though the water in the drain is black. Out of the water, he dries off, and replaces the towel around his waist.

Back in his room, Harry dresses for bed. His pajama pants have golden snitches on them, and the shirt is orange, advertising the Chudley Cannons across the front. It was a present from Ron. He sits on the edge of his bed. He takes off his glasses, folding them carefully, and places them on the nightstand.

He crawls under the covers, taking a deep breath and letting go of his emotions. He almost forgets everything.

Harry sleeps peacefully that night, just like the last.

Time:	7:51 am.
Mood:	numb.

Hermione laid facedown on the bed in the faraway room for a long time. She screamed into the dusty pillow until her throat could no longer stand it. She was exhausted, physically and emotionally. What the hell had just happened? she thought to herself. What planet was she on?

She glared over at the tiny vial sitting on the dust-laden table. Harry. Thinking she hadn't made any extra. She shook her head, still completely baffled by...well, just about everything. She was suddenly glad she hadn't told Harry that there was another bottle of the substance being watched over by Sirius; she didn't think she could handle knowing he could come and find her again. She also thought this would be a good thing to keep to herself; after all, she now had a place to escape where nobody else could follow...and given what had been going on with both Harry and Ron in the past two days, she suspected she might need such a place.

Hermione sat up on the bed and looked around the room again. She saw the letter that Harry had abandoned in his haste to get away from her. She thought of the intensely emotional moments they'd shared as they read that letter, and she wanted to scream again. He had been right, of course; she couldn't just pretend none of this had ever happened. But she suspected he could. And that was the thought that crushed her as she laid back down among the dusty blankets and willed herself to sleep in this dark, dank, completely silent room.

Time:	1:38 pm.
Mood:	angry.

Ron can't remember the last time he was this angry. He tried not to show how badly his hands were shaking as he held her hand, violently wishing his ears didn't turn beet red when he was upset. He couldn't believe what she was telling him...he couldn't believe he'd been playing a bloody game of Gobbstones last night when...all that...was happening. He cursed himself furiously in his head, a look of worry permenently fixed to his face as he watched coughing spasms take hold over her body. "That's where the conversation started...about love..." she said inbetween coughs. There was a strange buzzing in his ears. A large part of him was secretly relieved that they were finally talking about this, but the way it came about, the way she got in this condition...

(Bloody Hell?!)

Time:

2:37 pm.

Ron left the hospital wing at practically a run. "Well, can't believe I just did that..." he muttered to himself, though not unhappily. He hurried as fast as was decent up to the owlery, scratched out three seperate notes, and was instantly very glad he had such an eager owl afterall. He turned and left the owlery as quickly as he came, plans and theories rocketing around his brain, when he got a pang that the one person he'd want to talk to about everything now was...unavailable, for reasons best left unmentioned. He went instead to the Staff Room to find Professor McGonagall, unsure whether or not she had a class this late in the afternoon. Hesitant for a moment, he knocked lightly, but briskly on the heavy oak doors...

Time:	3:13 pm.
Mood:	sick.

She was halfway through her day of classes when she snuck into the girls' bathroom to take a moment. Hermione dragged herself up to the mirror over the sink and gasped at what she saw. She looked terrible. She'd been coughing all day; her lungs were quite sore, actually. She felt dizzy and hot. There were deep, dark circles under her eyes, which stood out that much more given the shockingly white base of her face...

Suddenly wracked by yet another coughing fit, doubling over with the pain, Hermione knew she'd finally run herself into the ground. It would take her days to get all of the dust out of her system. Catching her breath, she looked around miserably and decided a trip to see Madame Pomfrey was the only solution.

Time:	3:52 pm.
Mood:	depressed.

Harry left Professor Lupin's office. He had been looking forward to the meeting, but his course of study remained unresolved and he felt as miserable as he had when he entered Lupin's office. He walked the halls. He wasn't sure if he wanted to run into someone or not, but at least there was distance to cover. At least he could look less aimless than he felt.

Time:	3:56 pm.
Mood:	worried.

Sirius had spent the night roaming around the castle, undetected by even the most prying of eyes. He saw Mr. Filch wallking the halls with Mrs. Norris by his feet. The cat hissed at him as he passed, but Filch himself noticed nothing as he continued his normal patrolling duties. "This castle is enormous..." thought Sirius as he moved from one area to another, "so many secret rooms..." As he continued on his way, Harry's godfather stumbled across the Hospital Wing. He lurked in and suddenly stopped as he saw Hermione lying in bed looking deathly ill. Creeping into the closest portrait, Sirius listened to the last bit of conversation that she and Ron were having. He would wait there patiently for Hermione to be alone, before he made an attempt to talk to her.

Time:

4:33 pm.

Harry finally tired of walking, and returned to Gryffindor Tower. He had remembered the set of books Sirius and Lupin had given him the previous Christmas: Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dart Arts. He had been distracted somewhere during the second volume last term and had never finished the series. He went down to the common room and began to look for spells to learn.

Time:

6:07 pm.

The hospital wing was surprisingly quiet. Hermione didn't mind; she was exhausted and needed the peace. Every breath she took felt like an emormous effort. It felt like she had a Hippogriff sitting on her ribcage. Even so, she managed to get her quill to take down a short note, and she asked Madam Pomfrey to have it sent for her. It was addressed to "Snuffles"; Madam Pomfrey looked rather quizzical, but didn't ask.

Hermione stayed very still in her bed for a long while. She coughed less that way. Her fever had gone down since Ron had visited; the compresses he'd put on her forehead had helped. So had his company. She raised a weak hand to her lips...she could still... She smiled to herself and closed her eyes. It was almost time to take the potion that Professor Snape had so kindly sent to her. She wondered if Ron's visit would counteract the nightmares that were supposed to come along with this potion. Ah, well, she thought. He'll be back later. That's enough for me.

"Madam Pomfrey...?" Hermione managed as the nurse came by with a response from "Snuffles". "Could I have my potion soon?"

"Yes, Miss Granger, dear." Madam Pomfrey handed her the bottle as well as a rolled up piece of parchment. Hermione set the bottle aside and read the note quickly, smiling again.

"Oh, and...Madam Pomfrey? Can I also have that lovely portrait of the meadow moved closer to my bed? I...I think it'll make me feel better."

(10 Hermione is smart, isn't she? |Bloody Hell?!)

Time:

8:04 pm.

He was wandering the halls again, lost in thought after his conversation with Hermione. It had dug up a lot of memories he would have rather kept buried. He had talked about it with Hermione the night before... about the past, reliving past emotions that he thought had died out. He wasn't completely honest with her; how could he be? He didn't want to accept it himself. Lying to others made it easier to lie to himself. He had lived that way for most his life it almost became second nature to him.

But tonight. The talk. His heart felt like it was going to break all over again. He saw her face in his mind. He saw those green eyes staring back into his own as they kissed...

Sirius shook his head. He wouldn't... no he couldn't think of that. That was in the past and though he managed to push it back into the furthest recessess of his soul, his heart still wondered... "what if..."

He had given up looking for Harry. He knew he should talk with his godson, especially after what took place, but he didn't know if he could do it; not right now anyway.

The handsome young man passed through the Fat Lady's portrait, disrupting her sleep as he did so. She muttered something under breath but it went unnoticed by Sirius. He kept wandering about, until he found himself near the dungeons. Even through the canvas, he could smell the dank and dirty air. It was enough to disgust him. He was about to turn and leave when he saw Draco lurking about a dimly lit corridor. Overcome by curiosity, Sirius followed quietly, hiding himself behind other portrait occupants or in the background. He wouldn't be so careless around Draco this time...