Finding The Light

The Horror Of Valentines Day (edited)

I met Ron and Harry in the Gryffindor common room the next morning, and they told me about Hermione now being half cat. There was a flurry of rumour about her disappearance when the rest of the school arrived back from their Christmas holidays, because of course everyone thought that she had been attacked.

So many students filed past the hospital wing trying to catch a glimpse of her that Madam Pomfrey took out her curtains again and placed them around Hermione's bed, to spare her the shame of being seen with a furry face. Harry, Ron and I went to visit her every evening and when the new term started, we brought her each day's homework.

"If I'd sprouted whiskers, I'd take a break from work," said Ron, tipping a stack of books onto Hermione's bedside table one evening.

"Don't be silly, Ron, I've got to keep up," said Hermione briskly.

Her spirits were greatly improved by the fact that all the hair had gone from her face and her eyes were turning slowly back to brown.

"I don't suppose you've got any new leads?" she added in a whisper.

"Nothing," said Harry gloomily.

"I was so sure it was Malfoy," said Ron, for about the hundredth time.

"What's that?" I asked, pulling a card out from under her pillow.

"Just a get well card," she said, trying to grab it back.

"To Miss Granger, wishing you a speedy recovery, from your concerned teacher, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most- Charming-Smile Award."

I threw it back at her and wiped my hands on Harry as if it was covered in some disease - knowing Lockhart it probably was.

"You sleep with this under your pillow?" Ron asked.

But Hermione was spared answering by Madam Pomfrey sweeping over with her evening dose of medicine.

"Is Lockhart the smarmiest bloke you've ever met, or what?" Ron said to Harry as we left the infirmary and started up the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower.

"That's Filch," Harry muttered when we heard an angry outburst above us.

We hurried up the stairs and paused, out of sight, listening hard. I couldn't make out much of what was said, being stuck behind the boys.

"You don't think someone else's been attacked?" Ron asked tensely.

We stood still, heads inclined toward Filch's voice, which sounded quite hysterical.

"Even more work for me! Mopping all night, like I haven't got enough to do! No, this is the final straw, I'm going to Dumbledore -"

His footsteps receded along the out-of-sight corridor and I heard a distant door slam. We poked our heads around the corner. A great flood of water stretched over half the corridor, and it looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

Now that Filch had stopped shouting, we could hear Myrtle's wails echoing off the bathroom walls.

"Now what's up with her?" said Ron.

"Let's go and see," said Harry. He pushed open the door and we all slipped inside. "What's up, Myrtle?"

"Who's that?" glugged Myrtle miserably. "Come to throw something else at me?"

"Why would I throw something at you?" Harry asked.

 "Don't ask me!" Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. "Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me . . ."