Into the life of Hermione Granger

12 February 1993: Friday

Our first visit to Hagrid’s hut since I got out of the hospital wing. Hagrid was so happy to see me–instead of rock cakes today, he gave us sweets he’d bought in Hogsmeade, the nearby wizarding village.

‘Oh, try this, Hermione,’ he said, pulling something wrapped in brown waxed paper from the depths of his shopping bag. ‘It reminded me of you and your Christmas tea–it’s a Peppermint Humbug!’

I don’t know what it is about peppermint that is so delicious to me, but as soon as I popped the little sweet–shaped like a beetle with curly antennae–into my mouth, I was in heaven.

Ron and Harry had a lot of fun daring each other to eat varying colours of Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavour Beans. Ron picked a brilliantly lime green bean for Harry. I thought it would taste like lime or green apple, but Harry announced, pulling a face, that it was actually bogey flavoured. Ron ended up eating an orange and brown bean that he feared was vomit flavoured, but actually tastes like pumpkin. This is why I don’t eat Bertie Bott’s–I really don’t fancy expecting something to taste okay, only to have it be the worst thing possible, and vice versa.

It was a nice day. We didn’t discuss the Chamber of Secrets, T. M. Riddle’s diary, or anything. In fact, Hogwarts is starting to feel kind of…normal again. Of course, there’s a certain discomfort, looking over to see Justin not in Herbology or Colin Creevey missing from the Gryffindor table in the morning, but we know they’ll be okay. The mandrakes are growing well, according to Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sprout, who I overheard discussing them outside Greenhouse Three. Before we know it, everything will be right again.

8 February 1993: Monday

My stay in the hospital wing made it so that I didn’t know what was going on with the other students. I only knew what Harry and Ron told me, which, it turns out, wasn’t much.

I thought by now that everyone would be a little less suspicious of Harry. It’s been two months since the last attack and the night that Harry spoke parseltongue. I would think, given the fact that I was vulnerable for most of that time, everyone would realise Harry isn’t behind the attacks. After all, he could have called Slytherin’s monster at any point, and I’d have had no common room to hide in.

But while the Slytherins and most of the Gryffindors don’t suspect Harry, a good majority of the Ravenclaws and almost every single Hufflepuff refuses to have anything to do with him. I suppose the Hufflepuffs have good reason to fear–the snake almost attacked Justin and, to their eyes, it looked like Harry was telling it to. Just a day later, Justin was attacked and has been petrified since.

But the Ravenclaws…it just doesn’t make sense to me. You’d think, with their penchant for seeing logic and reason, they’d understand. But instead, all their skills of deduction are leading them in a different direction.

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2 February 1993: Tuesday

Harry, Ron, and I decided to explore the trophy room today during one of our breaks. It was Harry’s idea–maybe if we examined Riddle’s trophy, we might have a better idea if he’s connected to the Chamber of Secrets at all.

With a scowl that told us he’d rather be anywhere else, Ron led us to the back of the room, where T. M. Riddle’s special award–a golden medallion on a hard wood plaque–hung among other special awards. I squinted to read the tiny lettering stenciled beneath his name:

T. M. Riddle
Special Services to Hogwarts
1943

‘It doesn’t explain why he won this,’ I said with dismay.

‘Good thing, too,’ Ron said, standing next to me and shaking his head at the trophies surrounding us, ‘or it would be even bigger and I’d still be polishing it.’

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9:11 pm

‘Didn’t you say you had something to show me?’ I asked Harry as we settled into our usual chairs in Gryffindor Tower. ‘A book or something?’

‘Oh, right!’ Harry said, leaping to his feet like his seat burnt him. ‘I’ll go get it–I’ve been keeping it in our dorm. You know, since someone tried to chuck it in a toilet. I figure it may be dangerous.’

I winced as he said the last part. The common room wasn’t exactly empty. Even though she was across the room and we can probably trust her, since she’s Ron’s sister, I couldn’t help but notice how Harry’s words sparked a small amount of interest for Ginny. She peeked up from the essay on the table before her, eyes shifting between Harry’s retreating back and Ron and me. If Harry was loud enough for Ginny to hear from the homework table, what if someone we didn’t want to hear had?

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3:18 pm

What an awful day. First Potions, then Herbology, where I singed my hair harvesting seeds from a Fire Frond. Then Charms, where it took seven attempts for me to correctly cast a Scouring Charm (Scourgify!). Professor Flitwick, who expected me to clean the Drooble’s Best Blowing gum from the bottom of my desk, stood close by and got to a point where he was tapping his toe and suggesting maybe I practise for homework. ME!

The only class I didn’t have any difficulty in was Defence Against the Dark Arts, and that’s because we had a test over Wanderings with Werewolves, which I’ve now read six times.

‘Merlin, Hermione,’ Ron said as we headed back up to our common room after class ended early, ‘you did worse than me today.’

I couldn’t say anything. I was speechless, because he was absolutely right. Ron at least finished his potion. Ron didn’t singe any of his hair. Ron performed the Scouring Charm after three tries, even with his broken wand. I can only hope he did poorly on Professor Lockhart’s exam, which I feel horrid saying.

It was Harry that got me talking. ‘You were just jittery, because it’s your first day back after more than a month. Anyone would have struggled.’

‘You really think so?’

‘Well, yeah,’ Harry said. ‘I struggle in Potions after the weekend, let alone after how long it’s been for you.’

‘Not to mention,’ Ron added, jumping aboard the Cheer-Hermione-Up bandwagon, ‘the last time you did a potion, you turned into a cat. Of course you were nervous.’

They’re right. I struggled in Snape’s lesson, because of the Polyjuice Potion. And the reason I had a hard time the rest of the day, was because I couldn’t get Potions out of my mind. I essentially jinxed myself.

Well, not tomorrow. I refuse to let anything else break my concentration.

10:15 am

Potions was dreadful. I was shaky and not at all as up-to-speed as I once was. I think it’s because I’m so used to sitting around and reading all day long. I spilled my Eye of Newt bottle twice, eyeballs bouncing across the dungeon floor both times. Eventually, Professor Snape cleared away my potion and told me to clean up my mess.

‘I’d say I’m disappointed with you, Granger,’ he sneered, ‘but this isn’t he first bad mark you’ve gotten in my class this year.’

He was talking, of course, about the time early last term when he made me leave class early for defending Neville. I seethed, crawling through Slytherin legs to gather the newt eyes. The worst was picking them up around Draco, who stomped every eye into a slimy pulp before I had a chance to gather them. Once, he even stepped on my hand.

‘Oh, sorry,’ he said mockingly, ‘for a moment there, I couldn’t tell the difference between you and the Eye of Newt.’

From my usual table, I heard frantic shuffling and knew that Harry was holding Ron back.

I’m so embarrassed by how poorly I did today. I hope that none of my other lessons go the same way. Maybe it was just knowing I had to be face-to-face with Professor Snape that made me so nervous?

1 February 1993: Monday

8:03 am

Ah, freedom. This morning, after one last examination, Madam Pomfrey deemed me 100% human.

It’s so nice to see the Gryffindor common room again. I forgot how comfortable these squashy armchairs are.

Just waiting on Harry and Ron to come down for breakfast. They better hurry–we have less than an hour before Potions.

9:01 pm

My tail is finally gone, by the way, and my ears have turned a peach colour and shifted down on my head a little. Madam Pomfrey expects they should be back to normal within the next couple of days.

Which means I’m almost out of the hospital wing! I’m so excited! Madam Pomfrey has been lovely, of course, but I miss being able to move around and enjoy the castle. I miss seeing my friends all day long. I miss going to lessons. I even miss Potions a bit.

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30 January 1993: Saturday

6:45 am

Letter to Mum and Dad:

Dear Mum and Dad,

I’m so sorry you had to find out about the cat-incident through Professor McGonagall. I would have told you myself, but I just haven’t found a good way to articulate this in a letter. I have to say, I agree with Dad–this is the sort of thing that’s laughable. I haven’t been negatively impacted by it at all, really. Ron and Harry have been taking notes for me in lessons and delivering my homework every evening. I’ve been able to keep up in all my classes and have gotten good marks on everything during my stay in the hospital wing.

What you heard from Professor McGonagall is completely true. I was practising Transfiguration with my friend Ron. His wand has been broken since the beginning of the year, and we thought we had it under control. I did a lot of research for him in our first week on how to control his wand, and even though he has little accidents here and there, we were comfortable practising a little. His spell ricocheted off the object he was transfiguring and it turned me into a cat, somehow. I was horrified at first, but it hasn’t been as awful as you may expect.

I know you’re angry, and I’m so sorry for everything. I really do not like upsetting you. I should have told you about it as soon as it happened, but it was hard to write anything, with my hands all covered in fur as they were. I hope you can forgive me.

I love you,

Hermione

Yes, the entire letter is a blatant lie. I feel horrid sending this to them, but I can’t tell them the truth, can I? How would they feel, knowing I stole potion ingredients from my professor, concocted an illegal potion in the girls’ loo, and did this to myself? And if I told them the truth, that would mean I’d have to tell them about the Chamber of Secrets and the Muggleborns that have been petrified. They’ll know I’m in danger and demand I come home.

No, it’s better this way, unfortunately.

29 January 1993: Friday

Got a letter from Mum and Dad, dated 5 January. I don’t know why it took so long to get to me, but I unfortunately read it while I was sipping my morning pumpkin juice.

Hermione,

Your father has begged me not to write until I cool down a little, but I don’t think I’m ever going to get to a point where I’m level-headed about this. You were turned into a cat over Christmas?! Why did I have to find out about this through Professor McGonagall? I think I’m going to get to a point where, anytime I see her writing on a letter, I’m just going to assume you and your friends have done something absolutely awful.

Please, tell me how this happened. Professor McGonagall believes that you were practising magic with a friend who has a broken wand. Why would you do that? Surely, you know better than to tamper with something magical that’s broken!

You better have a good explanation for this. Your father thinks that this is something that we’ll be laughing about over summer break, but I can’t imagine ever laughing at my little girl being turned into an animal over her own stupidity!

Mum

Oh, Merlin. The moment I read that Mum knew, I spit my pumpkin juice all over my newly cleaned bed sheet. I should have known this would have been one of those instances that Professor McGonagall would feel the need to inform my parents of. Now I have to lie to them, too, which you know I hate doing.

It’s a good thing Muggles don’t have Howlers, because I would have definitely gotten one today.