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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫

"'Mione, exactly how many classes are you taking?"

"A fair few," said Hermione vaguely, taking back the books you've been inspecting for the past few minutes while waiting for Professor Lupin.

You crinkle your nose. "But Ron said you only had Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon."

Hermione was an overachiever, but cramming her schedule to the point she had no free time was crossing the line. It was confusing enough when her subjects overlapped, making it impossible for her to attend all of them, but she somehow manages to keep herself from being tardy to each one. When you question her about it, she tends to avoid answering or just ignores it altogether.

"I keep telling you, she just appears out of nowhere," Ron insists, jabbing Harry's side with his elbow. "One moment, she was walking with us up the stairs, then she was suddenly back at the bottom! Tell her, Harry."

Before you can talk more about her self-destructive habits, you hear someone calling for you on the other side of the room. It was Seamus, waving you over to where he, Neville, and Dean were standing. You give Hermione an exasperated look, silently telling her this conversation wasn't over, before you stride toward the trio.

The room used for DADA was emptied of desks by the time everyone went in. Professor Lupin was nowhere to be found, so the entire class was lounging around while waiting. The last time you were there, live portraits of Lockhart dotted the walls, positioned in ways so that you'd see his smile with every turn of your head. Now, it was thankfully empty of his presence. The classroom has reverted to its simple furnishing, although you swear that strange wardrobe against the front wall was new.

"How's your arm doing?" Seamus said the moment you were within earshot. "Heard you ran into Malfoy. He didn't make it worst, did he?"

"I'm fine," you chuckle, punching his shoulder with your right hand. "Asking every time we see each other won't make it better either."

Despite not hitting him hard enough, he still rubs his shoulder with a small frown. Sometimes you marvel at how you were able to befriend Seamus. You didn't think that the boy who barely spoke to you in your first year would be this concerned over your injury. You'd get even an inch closer in his personal space and he turned as red as a brick. You're glad he was comfortable with you now that he hardly gets shy anymore.

"Stop fussing, Seamus," said Dean. He tenderly pokes your left arm, then shoots him a smug look when you barely reacted. "See? You're worried over nothing, mate."

"Just making sure," he grumbles, crossing his arms defensively. "Who knows what that rat's capable of? He—"

Neville hushes him, suddenly turning pale while pointing to the entrance. A sour-faced Malfoy was there surrounded by his Slytherin friends, leaning against the doorframe while glaring at nothing in general.

Seamus rolls his eyes. "Seriously, Neville? He's far away enough that he can't hear us."

"I'm not sure about that," you said. "He could hear us just fine with everyone talking during Hagrid's class."

"Gossiping aside," Dean interjects with a grin. "Seamus didn't just call you over to fret over your arm. You know how Hogsmeade visits are coming up?"

"In a couple of weeks, right?"

He nods. "We were wondering if you'd come with us."

"We're going to Honeydukes," Neville added eagerly. "Have you tried other sweets that weren't Muggle-made?"

You think over it before shaking your head. The only wizard-related treats you've ever eaten were Pumpkin Pasties and Cauldron Cakes. And those two hardly involved any magic.