She’d really thought they would have given up this silly tiff by now, especially when Harry’s broom turned out to be alright. But then of course Scabbers had gone missing and naturally it was all her fault for not keeping Crookshanks on a two-meter leash at all times. He was a cat. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t as though she had taken a tuft of Scabbers’ fur and held it under Crookshanks’ nose, crooning for him to track and kill the little rodent! It was perfectly clear after three months that her friendship with Ronald Weasley, and therefore, by extension, Harry Potter, was over. The Boy Who Lived had chosen Ron over her many times, had chosen a broomstick over her for pity’s sake, and it did not surprise her when he began to reluctantly avoid her with his red-haired friend. If she ever had anything bad to say about Harry, it was that he was afraid of standing up to his own friends.

Hagrid had been more than understanding about people being stupid when it came to their pets. Hermione watched as Buckbeak spat bloody bones out onto his bedspread before curling up for a nap and knew that he was an authority on the matter.

Professor Lupin offered to speak with the boys about their behavior, and for one glorious moment she had almost smiled and begged him to. Harry looked up to Lupin a great deal, that much was certain. However, the more she thought about just how Hermione it would be to hide her problems behind a teacher, the more she knew that sending Lupin in her stead would only make them hate her more. She shook her head slowly and left his classroom with a vague sort of good-bye.

To be perfectly honest, she hated her Time-Turner. It was horrible and she hadn’t fully understood the mechanics of the thing until she had accepted it, and by then she was determined not to disappoint Professors McGonagall or Dumbledore. She slept maybe four hours a night, knowing full-well that she could use the Time-Turner to get more, but always felt that nagging guilt that it was given to her for academic purposes. She used it only to get to classes or to squeeze in a few more hours of studying every night after everyone had gone to bed, sometimes leaving her with twenty-hour days. It was exhausting, but she knew that she would have to keep up if she wanted to be taken seriously as a witch.

The evening of Buckbeak’s execution, she went down to Hagrid’s hut to see him. Harry and Ron were nowhere in sight, but the way Hagrid’s eyes kept darting nervously about the cabin suggested they were somewhere nearby, probably under the Invisibility Cloak. Her heart sank; they really didn’t want to see her this badly?

Weariness and despair over her broken friendships weighed her down as she poured Hagrid another cup of tea, staring derisively at the two empty cups at the table across from him. Even other people like Neville and Dean had stopped talking to her, because she wouldn’t stop snapping at them for interrupting her studies. If only they knew just how tired of it all she was, how she had taken to lying awake at night despite her fatigue and thinking about just ending it all and taking a long rest, maybe then they would look at her like a normal person instead of just some pathetic no-friends loser.

She accidentally over-filled Hagrid’s teacup and burnt his hand. Lightning-fast, the treacherous thought - why can’t I do anything right? - whispered across her mind, tears blurred her eyes, and the teapot fell from her hands to the floor. Thankfully, it was already mostly empty from the enormous man’s tankard-sized cup. The next thing she knew she was sitting on the cabin floor, sobbing her pathetic eyes out while Hagrid watched, and looking helplessly into one specific corner of the room before kneeling down beside her.

“’ermione, i’s alrigh’, i’was only a pot! It kin be fixed!� he assured her, patting her on the back so roughly that her whole body shook.

Hiccupping, barely able to breathe, she shook her head. Her horrible ugly hair stuck to her face, which was probably sticky with disgusting snot. She wiped at her face, trying to ignore the muffled footsteps in the corner. “It’s - not - the teapot!� she gasped between sobs. “It’s just - just everything! I try so hard to - to do things right - and to make - make people happy, but – but every time – I do what I – I think is best and - and they just think - I’m being bossy and controlling! But I’m not!� Sniffling pathetically and wiping at her eyes with her sleeve, she finally managed to catch her breath long enough to speak in full sentences. “I’m just trying to protect them, but they’re so wrapped up in their broomsticks and rats that they can’t even see that. I love them, Hagrid. They’re my best…they’re my only friends.�

She hoped that maybe they could hear her, and maybe they understood now. Then she heard the door creak behind her. They had gone. She briefly considered blurting out that she often thought about how wonderfully, gloriously peaceful it would be to die rather than go through yet another lonely tiring day, but thought against it. Hagrid didn’t need to be burdened by that. Not today.

“I’ll get a new teapot,� she sniffed inelegantly, getting up onto wobbly legs to rummage through the cupboards. As she was digging about through the detritus of the cupboard she heard a scritch-scratching noise in a nearby milk jug. Concernedly, she peered into the jug to make sure there wasn’t a mouse or something in there, and felt a cry of shock escape her lips at the sight of, “Scabbers!�

Hermione scooped the rat up into her eagerly trembling hands and, even as the poor terrified thing squealed and writhed, she could tell by the savaged ear and missing front paw that he was definitely Ron’s rat. She could have kissed the mangy little creature, but instead forced him into her sweater pocket and buttoned it so he couldn’t get out. Her tear-streaked face rearranged itself into a tremulous smile as she stood up with the new teapot, and she started a new pot of tea even though they had not touched their cups yet.

When the Ministry officials arrived she remained stubbornly by Hagrid’s side, even when the Minister of Magic himself walked in and told her she really ought to get going back to school. Every tiny bit of her rational mind was screaming at her to just do what the Minister says before you get yourself in real trouble, but the rest of her was convinced that he couldn’t do anything too horrible just for wanting to stay with her friend. The exterminator stared out the window for a long time at Buckbeak until he was told that he had to pay attention.

As they all listened to Hagrid attempting to make his last appeal, Hermione nodding earnestly at him from over the shoulders of the Ministry officials, she heard the faint sound of two very disgruntled boys trying to talk Buckbeak into moving. She froze, encouraging smile plastered to her face as she strained every muscle of her body into hearing what was happening outside.

“C’mon, Buckbeak!� Harry whispered urgently. “We need to get out of here!�

“Yeah come on, you bloody pigeon! I’ve got a dead ferret in my pocket!�

She threw in a few nods to Hagrid, pleased to see that she was apparently the only person who could hear the rustling of leaves outside as the hippogriff trotted away. Though Dumbledore did look a bit too cheerful, come to think of it. She tried to catch his eye, but he was too busy whistling.

She made a point of making herself scarce when they realized Buckbeak was gone, running out of sight and then slipping into the treeline of the Forbidden Forest. “Harry! Ron!� she hissed urgently, moving carefully in the fading twilight. Though she couldn’t see them, it didn’t mean a thing now that she knew Harry had his Invisibility Cloak. Instead, she stood very still and listened, following the sound of a hippogriff chirruping until finally stumbling upon them near a deep puddle, Buckbeak foraging for worms in the soft dirt.

“Would you shut up!� Ron snapped at her. “We’re trying not to be found, thanks!�

“You think I don’t know that?� she countered, feeling a flare of hurt and irritation. Harry was shifting anxiously from foot to foot, watching them with a large degree of trepidation. Up close, it didn’t look like he’d been sleeping very well lately, either. “I came out here to help you. You made such a racket getting him untied, I’m surprised half the castle didn’t hear.�

Just as it looked like the redhead was firing up a scathing retort, Harry trod on his foot. “You don’t think anyone did hear us, do you?� he asked uncertainly. She shook her head; she’d only said it out of annoyance. He let out a relieved sigh. “Good. Come on, we can go around that way, near the greenhouses and the Whomping Willow, set him free, and just hope he flies away.�

As much as she didn’t like it, Hermione couldn’t think of anything better that didn’t involve trying to get past Dementors or trying to get Buckbeak into the castle. It was only when she felt her pocket wriggle when they were halfway to the Willow that she remembered Scabbers.

“Oh, Ron, I nearly forgot!� she gasped, unbuttoning her pocket. “I found - ow!� Scabbers had bit down into her finger, probably cross at her for being confined to such a small space for so long. She managed to keep a grip on the mangy little thing even as her finger started bleeding all over the place, and presented him to Ron breathlessly.

Then Crookshanks came darting out from the underbrush. “No, Crookshanks, no!� she cried out, but it was too late. Scabbers sank his teeth into her again and made a mad dash for the Whomping Willow the moment her fingers slackened enough for him to wriggle free. Oh, no...

“Now look what you’ve done!� Ron cursed over Buckbeak’s confused squawking, taking off after his rat.

Hermione felt three separate rushes of emotion: one of guilt, one of anger, and one of determination that she would not let Ronald Weasley make her feel any worse about that damn rat! And so she ran after him, putting on a burst of speed to get ahead of the gangly ginger idiot. He put up an effort to get past her again, but she pushed him and he tripped. Then she dove for Scabbers, nudged Crookshanks aside with her elbow, and snatched the rat up. “Gotcha!�

Buckbeak let out a squawk of terror, and she could hear him frantically flapping his wings to get away as a dog started barking very nearby. Hermione stood, tucking Scabbers safely into her pocket, and looked up just in time to see Harry being bowled over by an enormous dog - one which was now running very rapidly in her direction - with rolling black eyes and a long red tongue.

And for some reason, all Hermione could think about was The Hound of the Baskervilles.

Bollocks.