Late Night Studying

A peaceful quiet had settled over the Gryffindor common room. The curtains had been drawn, and the only light came from the flickering fire. Hermione sat curled up in her favorite armchair by the fireplace, surrounded by books, quills, and pieces of parchment. An Herbology textbook rested on her lap, and she made careful notes as she read.

It was always better trying to study after everyone else had gone to bed. Ron and Harry were great company, but awfully distracting at times. Hermione stifled a yawn. It was late, and she knew that she had best get to bed, but she couldn't help trying to get a little bit more studying time in...

Suddenly she heard footsteps coming down the boys' dormitory stairs. She looked behind her, expecting Harry to appear. She knew that he often wandered downstairs when he couldn't sleep, and it seemed that lately he hardly ever slept.

"Harry, you really must try to get some sleep," she said, standing up to face him. But it was not Harry who stepped out of the shadows. It was Fred, looking rather disheveled in his striped pajamas and messy bed head. He was yawning and squinting in the light.

"I swear I tried, Mum. But you should have heard George's snores." He smiled good-naturedly at Hermione, who smiled back a little and returned to her position in the chair.

"What are you doing up?" she asked as she readjusted her notes on her lap. Fred wandered over and sat in the chair next to her. If he was surprised she was still awake, he didn't show it.

"I could ask you the same question." He yawned again. "But since you really seem interested, George actually was snoring up a storm. Normally it doesn't bother me, but tonight, it just kept me up." He shrugged.

"I understand. Lavender talks in her sleep," Hermione answered. Fred chuckled and looked at her spread on the table.

"Are you still studying?" He asked. Hermione nodded. "Ron mentioned once that your boggart was McGonagall telling you that you failed," he continued. "I don't know why you're always so worried. You're bloody brilliant.

Hermione felt her cheeks pinken slightly, and she hoped Fred couldn't see. "They're the O.W.L.s, Fred. Our futures depend on these." She turned back to the mess on the table and sighed.

"Hey, George and I only got 6 O.W.L.s total, and neither of us are worried about our future."

"Yes, but you wouldn't have to," Hermione answered before she could stop herself. Fred looked at her.

"What do you mean? Like I said, you're brilliant. You know all these subjects forward and backward and in and out of Merlin's left pocket. What are you worried about?"

Hermione looked at his concerned face, aware in the back of her mind that this was one of the few times she had ever seen Fred serious. Normally he and George were off goofing around or holed up in their dormitory making products.

"Well...you know you're going to be okay," she answered finally. She looked back at the fire. "You're a pureblood. And I'm..." she trailed off, looking back at Fred, who held his gaze on her. "You don't know what it's like being a muggle-born. Even as a first-year, I felt like I didn't belong. Like I had to prove myself and show everyone I had just as much right to be here as they did." She stopped and turned her gaze back to the fire, still flickering but getting lower.

She had never told anyone that before, not even Harry and Ron. She hadn't meant to tell Fred, either, but the way the flames flickered over his skin and reflected in his eyes had made it so easy. It felt easy telling him these things. Natural, even.

She thought about when Professor McGonagall had arrived at her doorstop on her eleventh birthday, nearly six years earlier. How suddenly every strange thing in her childhood had made sense. How she never quite felt like she fit in at her old school. How surprised but proud her parents had been to learn she was a witch. The excitement she had felt at the prospect of attending Hogwarts.