Ancient Magician (Severus x Reader)

Chapter 37: The secret diary

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𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 37: "𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑠𝑒𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡 𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑦"

"𝐵𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡"

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Hermione stayed in the hospital wing for weeks after the holidays. When everyone returned from Christmas break, her absence sparked a wildfire of gossip. Whispers swept through the corridors like wind, and speculation buzzed louder than a hive of Cornish pixies. Most assumed she'd been attacked, considering the state the school had been in lately, and curiosity swelled with each passing day. Crowds of students tried sneaking peeks through the infirmary door, hoping to catch a glimpse of her—maybe to confirm their suspicions, or maybe just for the thrill of it.

Eventually, Madam Pomfrey had had enough of it. She yanked the curtains closed around Hermione's bed and refused to let anyone in except us—Harry, Ron, and me. Even then, we had to promise not to wear her out with questions or chatter.

Every evening, the three of us would stop by after lessons to visit her. We brought her all the homework from the day—even the dullest essays from Binns—and she never once complained. Honestly, if I had sprouted fur and whiskers, I'd have taken the chance to skip class entirely. Hermione? She acted like she'd just had a slightly inconvenient cold.

One evening, Ron arrived with a tower of books and parchment teetering dangerously in his arms. He dropped them with a dramatic sigh onto the small table next to her bed.

"Surely if I'd grown a full beard and whiskers, I'd take a break from studying," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

Hermione, who had just returned her nose to a more human shape and was no longer having to squint through a haze of ginger fur, gave him a stern look. "Don't be ridiculous, Ron. I have to stay on top of things."

"Yeah, yeah. Even death wouldn't stop you from turning in your Charms essay on time," I teased with a smirk.

Hermione didn't rise to it—she actually looked brighter than she had in days. Her skin was no longer blotchy, and her eyes had returned to their normal warm brown instead of that odd yellowish tinge they'd had earlier in the week.

Leaning in, Hermione lowered her voice to a whisper. "Any progress? Any new clues?"

We all glanced around instinctively—Madam Pomfrey had just vanished behind her office curtain, but Hermione wasn't taking any chances.

"Nothing," Harry muttered, sinking into the chair beside her bed.

"I still think it's Malfoy," Ron said, crossing his arms. "You-Know-Who's biggest fanboy if ever there was one."

"You've said that ten times this week," I pointed out.

"More like twenty," Harry added with a sigh.

"Well, I still believe it," Ron replied stubbornly.

"I did too," I admitted, fiddling with a loose thread on my sleeve. "But it's not him. We've been keeping an eye on him for weeks and—nothing."

Harry, who was seated closest to Hermione, suddenly noticed something glinting under her pillow. "What's that?" he asked, pointing to the edge of gold peeking out.

"Oh, just a get-well card," Hermione said quickly, trying to shove it further under the pillow. Too late. Ron had already swiped it up before she could stop him.