Harry Potter. Hermione X Male Reader Story

Lack of Control and Early Parole

(Y/N)'s POV

When Hermione's Daily Prophet arrived, she smoothed it out, gazed for a moment at the front page, and then gave a yelp that caused everyone in the vicinity to stare at her. Mine arrived a few seconds later, along with a letter. I read it, horror-struck.

My heart started to rocket out my chest, illness overtook me and I was nearly sick. I could feel acid begin to rise from my stomach, but then, I thought back to Dumbledore's advice, his warning.

I had to get stronger, I had to get better, if what I had seen was true, it was only a matter of time, and I knew come hell or high water, I'd be ready. The same things I had been feeling since last year were replaced by one thing. Hatred.

Hermione's POV

"What?" said Harry and Ron together as I gasped at the article. We shared a glance until (Y/N) kicked off next to us. Ripping up a letter he had just received. "No! NO!" he screamed; I heard a little bit of fright in his voice, but it quickly changed to anger, he was shaking furiously and breathing deeply.

He drew his wand and vindictively slashed the paper, so much that the table had a large chunk sliced out of it too, then he quickly sped out of the room, looking to the others we all decided to see why, although I think we all knew why in the back of our minds.

Looking to the others we all decided to see why, there on the page in black and white, was a name and a picture, a name I had heard only a few times before, and a picture I would have recognised, but it had been cut through violently.

Under the words "ESCAPED" and a now shredded portrait read the name, "Antonin Dolohov" I quickly turned to see where (Y/N) had run off to, but he was to quick, I couldn't catch him before he disappeared into the crowded staircase.

I spread the newspaper on the table in front of us and we read on, pointed at ten black-and-white photographs that filled the whole of the front page, nine showing wizards' faces and the tenth, a witches.

Some of the people in the photographs were silently jeering; others were tapping their fingers on the frame of their pictures, looking insolent. Each picture was captioned with a name and the crime for which the person had been sent to Azkaban.

"Antonin Dolohov," read the legend beneath a wizard with a long, pale, twisted face who was sneering up at us, "convicted of the brutal murders of Gideon and Fabian Prewett."

"Augustus Rookwood, said the caption beneath a pockmarked man with greasy hair who was leaning against the edge of his picture, looking bored, convicted of leaking Ministry of Magic Secrets to He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Our eyes were drawn to the picture of the witch. Her face had leapt out immediately. She had long, dark hair that looked unkempt and straggly in the picture, she glared up through heavily lidded eyes, an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth.

Like Sirius, she retained vestiges of great good looks, but something, perhaps Azkaban, had taken most of her beauty. "Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom."

Upon reading this we looked over the table at Neville, who was reading, his mouth slightly agape looking pale and clammy, but then, just like we had seen with (Y/N) a few seconds earlier he grit his teeth, his eyes flashing with an anger that was very uncommon in him, we could see the rage on his face from here.

I turned to Harry and Ron, who were still staring off in the direction (Y/N) had stormed off, "I'll talk to him" they nodded. I had to wait for after classes, in which he sat and just did work, barely making conversation. Even the teachers seemed put off by his silence, several asking if anything was wrong or if he had to visit Madam Pomfrey.