The bench creaked as Neville Longbottom sat down beside the lone figure at the Gryffindor table. "They're not coming, Hermione," he said softly, his voice heavy with pity.
Hermione didn't look up from the untouched plate before her. "Why not? They were part of this. They should be here, celebrating with everyone else."
Neville shifted uncomfortably, wringing his hands. "It's... it's really bad, Hermione. The rumors... I heard the prefects saying they went down there alone. That they disobeyed Dumbledore directly and almost ruined the whole plan."
Hermione's head snapped up, her eyes flashing with indignation. "That's absurd! A vile lie! They saved Ginny! They're heroes!"
"Is that the story you're telling yourself, Granger?" a cool, sharp voice cut through the air from behind her. "That they're heroes?"
Hermione spun around. Shya Gill stood there, flanked by Talora and Mandy. Any trace of their past collaboration was gone from Shya's face, replaced by pure, undiluted contempt. "It's the truth!" Hermione insisted, standing to face her, her fists clenched at her sides.
Shya let out a short, humorless laugh. "The truth is your two best friends are pathetic, useless morons who nearly got the entire school killed tonight. They didn't save anyone. We found them in the corridor, dragging a sobbing Lockhart along like a twisted party favor for their own funeral. They were a walking catastrophe, and they were ready to curse anyone who tried to stop them."
"That's not true! Harry would never—"
"HE POINTED HIS WAND AT CASSIAN'S CHEST!" Shya's voice cracked through the like a gunshot, making several remaining students jump. "Ron was so hysterical he physically shoved Talora. They weren't brave, they were deranged. Stunning them and floating their unconscious bodies to Dumbledore wasn't a choice; it was a public service. We contained a disaster in the making."
Hermione's face was ashen, but she fought back, her voice trembling. "You don't understand the pressure they were under! Ginny was going to die!"
"And the Professors, the actual trained adults, were minutes from going in!" Talora interjected, her tone more pleading than angry. "We told them that! We begged them to just go to Dumbledore, to let Harry open the door as part of the real plan. They screamed at us. They said there was no time for plans. Their pride, their stupid, reckless pride, was more important than everyone's safety."
"The only reason they aren't being expelled right now," Shya continued, her voice dropping to a venomous hiss, "is because their bodies physically didn't cross the Chamber's threshold. But make no mistake, they are finished. Their wands have been confiscated. They're on full magical probation—they can only use them in class under direct supervision. They've lost all privileges, Quidditch is gone, and they've been moved to a disciplinary dormitory. You won't see them in the Gryffindor common room because they're not allowed in it. They have lost every shred of trust from the staff, and from anyone with half a brain in this castle."
Hermione shook her head, desperate to find a flaw. "They've faced worse! They've always succeeded before!"
"BECAUSE OF YOU!" Shya roared, finally losing the last of her composure. She took a step forward, jabbing a finger at Hermione. "Don't you get it? Every single time! Who brewed the Polyjuice Potion ? You. Who figured out the logic puzzle guarding the Philosopher's Stone? You. They bumble around, breaking rules and relying on dumb luck, and you're back in the library doing the actual heavy lifting that keeps them from dying! Without you, they are exactly what they proved themselves to be tonight: two utterly useless wizards with more arrogance than talent, whose only real skill is almost getting themselves and everyone around them murdered!"
"As annoying as you are granger, you are a decent witch, it's a shame that you have to lumber around with those two idiots weighing you down. I'd even half respect you if you weren't so desperate for being needed that you would surround yourself with idiots who don't appreciate you or acknowledge all that you do" Shya trailed off.
The words landed like physical blows. Hermione staggered back a step, her breath catching in her throat. The truth of it was a poison, seeping into the cracks of every adventure they'd ever had.
Shya looked her up and down, a final, cruel twist of dismissal on her lips. "You want to live in your delusion? Fine. But if you have a single doubt, if even a tiny part of you wonders if I'm lying to you, go and ask Professor McGonagall. Look her in the eye and ask her if everything I just said is true."
Without another word, Shya turned on her heel and strode away, Talora and Mandy falling in behind her.
Hermione stood utterly frozen, the echo of Shya's voice a branding iron on her mind. The celebratory feast around her felt like a grotesque dream. The foundation of her world—her faith in her friends, her belief in their shared heroism—lay in ruins, shattered by a truth too brutal to ignore.
Hermione stood frozen for a long moment after Shya and the others left, the words "useless wizards" and "ask Professor McGonagall" echoing in her mind. A desperate, stubborn part of her refused to believe it. They were exaggerating. They had to be. She had to hear it from someone she trusted.
With a determined set to her jaw, she turned and hurried from the Great Hall, her footsteps echoing in the suddenly too-quiet corridors. She didn't stop until she reached the familiar door to Professor McGonagall's private office, located in a turret adjacent to the Transfiguration classroom. She took a steadying breath and knocked.
"Enter."
Professor McGonagall was at her desk, surrounded by stacks of parchment. She looked up, her face etched with a deep, weary disappointment that seemed to age her.
"Miss Granger," she said, her voice hoarse. "I rather thought I might see you tonight."
"Professor," Hermione began, her voice trembling. "I... I heard some things. About Harry and Ron. Shya Gill and the others... they said they had to be stunned. That they were going to curse them. Please, tell me it's not all true."
McGonagall removed her spectacles and pinched the bridge of her nose. She gestured for Hermione to sit.
"I wish I could tell you it was a fabrication," she said, her tone heavy with a finality that crushed Hermione's last shred of hope. "But it is the unvarnished truth. They were found attempting to breach the Chamber with Lockhart. When Miss Livanthos, Miss Gill, Mr. Black, and Mr. Nott attempted to reason with them, Mr. Weasley became physically aggressive, shoving Miss Livanthos. Mr. Potter then drew his wand on Mr. Black."
She leaned forward, her gaze sharp. "Let me be perfectly clear. They raised their wands against a group of students who, just hours before, had provided the key intelligence that saved this school. Students who, by the way, subdued them in under three seconds. The sheer, staggering absurdity of it—thinking they could face a millennium-old basilisk when they couldn't even overcome a handful of their own pacifying classmates—should tell you everything about the delusion they were operating under."
Tears welled in Hermione's eyes. "But... Ginny..."
"Ginny Weasley was saved by a coordinated effort led by the staff, utilizing the intelligence provided by Miss Livanthos's group," McGonagall corrected firmly. "Had Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley succeeded, they would have unleashed a creature that feeds on magical energy upon a defenseless castle. It would have been a massacre. They risked every single soul in Hogwarts for a vainglorious stunt."
The sheer, horrifying scale of it finally broke through Hermione's defenses. She began to cry in earnest.
McGonagall watched her, her expression shifting from sternness to a profound, maternal sadness. She leaned forward, her voice dropping.
"Miss Granger... Hermione," she began quietly. "What I am about to say is... unorthodox. It is not my place to comment on a student's friendships. But I feel I must, because I see a brilliant mind being squandered."
She paused, letting the words sink in. "You are one of the most promising witches I have ever taught. I thought the three of you were a remarkable combination. But after this... I see the dynamic more clearly. While you were petrified, did Mr. Weasley visit you? Even once?"
Hermione's breath hitched. She thought of the endless, silent days in the hospital wing. "H-Harry came. Almost every day. But Ron... no. He never did."
"Precisely," McGonagall said, not unkindly. "And now, looking back, I see a pattern. I believe Mr. Potter has the capacity for true loyalty and growth. But I also believe Mr. Weasley consistently brings out the worst in him, and in your dynamic. He encourages the recklessness, dismisses the preparation, and takes your intellect for granted. You are not their equal partner. You are their caretaker. You research for them, you plan for them, you solve the problems their recklessness creates."
Hermione looked up, stunned by the professor's bluntness, but unable to deny the painful truth in it.
"You are spending your formative years," McGonagall continued, her gaze intense, "the years you should be using to push the boundaries of your own formidable mind, constantly managing their chaos. You need to decide what is more important: being their caretaker, or using these limited, precious few years to learn as much as you can and be brilliant. I know young girls can be cruel, and finding one's place is difficult. But you do not need friends who merely put up with you. You need friends who will challenge you, who will match your dedication."
McGonagall sat back, the formal mask returning, but her eyes remained kind. "That is all I will say on the matter. The decision, of course, is yours."
Hermione sat in the silent study, the professor's words settling over her with more weight than any punishment could. It wasn't just about what Harry and Ron had done. It was a devastating audit of her entire life at Hogwarts. The path forward, for the first time, felt terrifyingly solitary, but also, for the first time, entirely her own.