"Miss Granger?"
The brown-haired girl, seated at the Gryffindor table, looked up from the heavy, leather-bound book she'd read in and swallowed the piece of toast in her mouth. "Yes, Professor McGonagall?" she answered eagerly.
"I'd like to have a word with you, Miss Granger," the professor said crisply. "Please come to my office when you're done with your breakfast."
"I have a potions class to attend in only 10 minut..,..," Hermione reminded her teacher.
"I'm well informed about the seventh year's time table, having made it myself, Miss Granger." Minerva McGonagall pressed her lips together. "Therefore I've already spoken with Professor Snape. You're dismissed from his class." Without waiting for an answer, Minerva McGonagall turned and walked to the door, chin up, back erect, her long, dark blue robe sweeping over the stone floor of the hall.
"Whow - what was that about?" said Harry on Hermione's left side shoves an unruly strand of jet-black hair out of his forehead, his green eyes looking worried.
"Did you do something wrong?" the redhead on Hermione's other side asked.
Hermione cautiously closed the book and shoved it in her bag. Without looking at the boy she said quietly: "I don't think it's about something I did wrong. It's probably worse."
"Worse?" The freckled redhead was all wondering. "What could be worse? I mean, your parents are already dead ..."
Ron Ron!" The other boy shook his head. "It's only eight in the morning and you've already managed to put both your feet in this big mouth of yours."
"I ... I mean ... I wanted to say," Ron Weasley, not only best friend of the famous boy-who-lived, but of Hermione Granger too, stammered. "Hermione knows how I meant it!" he finally finished a bit lamely.
Hermione tried a weak smile. Although it was now over a year her parents had died in a car crash, she still mourned. Yet she really understood what Ron had tried to express - close as he was to his parents he simply couldn't imagine something worse than losing them. Unfortunately Hermione could - at least after she'd survived her parent's death already. Her glance wandered through the great hall to the table of the Hufflepuffs where a group of seven years had gathered around a girl who sobbed on her girlfriend's shoulder.
Harry Potter's green eyes followed Hermione's and he swallowed hard. "You think it's about this marriage law McGonagall wants to speak with you?"
Hermione nodded, now packing a quill and a piece of parchment in her bag. "I'm afraid so."
"But you're not 18 yet!" cried Ron. "So no one can ..."
"Ron, you forget: I've had this time turner during my third year." Hermione rose, throwing the heavy bag over her shoulder. "In nine days time I'll be 18 - at least in the magic world. Then every pureblood wizard can ask for me ..."
"But you don't have to worry about that!" Ron became agitated. "I or one of my brothers will marry you. We've already talked about this all over, haven't we?"
"Yes, Ron." Hermione looked up to the wizard's watch over the entrance of the hall. One of its hands just opened and gripped to a table with the inscription "Time for class". Hermione sighed - potion, though a fascinating subject, wasn't actually a favorite class of hers because of Professor Snape's acerbic way to belittle his students, especially when they were Gryffindors. But in this time she'd much rather go even a four hours detention with the potion master as to Professor McGonagall's office. Nevertheless she tried an encouraging smile in the direction of the boys. "You should be going - and so shall I see you later!"
