Searching for help

Hermione stood in front of the now-empty portrait frame, in shock. She had been so certain that this would be the end of her ordeal, and now the Fat Lady had refused her entry.

She could stand there and wait for someone else to go through the door and then slip through, but she did not know how long that could take, or who it might be. And without the Fat Lady in her frame the door could only be opened from the inside. If someone arrived from her side she might be stuck in the corridor with them for a long time.

She would need to find someone to help her, but who? One of the professors could override the lock and open the dormitory for her, but she did not particularly want to approach any of them in her frayed and failing underwear. Likewise she did not want to find Harry or Ron, both for the embarrassment and because she did not know how much use they would be; they usually relied on her to solve their problems.

A girl, then. But not a Slytherin, they would be more likely to dump her in the great hall like this rathet than assist her.

Hermione got a firm hold on her panties to stop them falling down again and set off down the stairs. But when she reached the corridor below she found another issue; her clumpy black leather shoes made a loud clatter on the stone floor, making sneaking around all but impossible. On her previous trip she had aimed for speed, now she wanted stealth. So reluctantly she slipped off her shoes, her feet now clad in tattered remains of her tights where the moths hadn't reached them, but these remains dropped straight off. She left her shoes carefully in the corridor, hoping she could retrieve them later, and snuck along much more quietly.

She had lost track of time, the arithmancy lesson had been scheduled to finish at 4:30 so it was at least 5, maybe later, which would mean most of the students were in the great hall for dinner. This was both good and bad for her, as it meant she was less likely to run into someone unfriendly, but also less likely to find someone to help her.

On reflection Hermione felt it was best to steer clear of the great hall, so she went higher up in the castle. A winding staircase led her to the next level, from there she would end up in the owlery and a dead end, so she got off the stairs before then and went along the upper corridor instead.

Voices ahead. Hermione froze, looking around desperately, at bare stone walls. Nothing, nowhere to hide... then she saw a cupboard a few metres down. Hermione ran for it, pulling at the door which was stiff and her hand slipped off the handle. She pulled again, hoping it was not locked, hearing voices coming closer...

The door opened, Hermione jumped into the cupboard and pulled the door closed, no more than half a second before a group of students wearing Ravenclaw colours walked into the corridor. Hermione crouched down to look through a knot hole in the door, and watched the six pupils who had appeared.

"No way Belgium makes it to the final again." A girl was saying, "They've lost or drawn their last five games."

"You can't lump losses and draws together." Her male friend argued, "Look at Argentina four years ago, drew every match and made it to the quarters."

"Again with Argentina," a second girl said, "The chances of that happening again are... hey, what's that?"

"Nice job trying to distract me," the boy replied, "but I know the odds..."

"No, really." The girl said as she picked something purple and floral up off the floor, "Look at these."

In the cupboard, Hermione had to shove her fist in her mouth to prevent her making a noise. She had dropped her panties in her dash for cover! And knowing Ravenclaw, it was only a matter of time before they discovered...

"The label." The girl holding the panties pointed out, "Says they belong to H. Granger."

"That name sounds familiar." One of the boys said.

"She's a couple of years up," another boy said, "frizzy hair, cute bum."

"Oh, what's her name, Hillary?"

"Something like that. Think she'd appreciate us returning these?"

The Ravenclaws moved on. When she was certain the coast was clear Hermione stepped out of her cupboard, both hands clasped firmly against her bare crotch. She cursed her bad luck, but turned away from where the Ravenclaws had gone and carried on her search for assistance.

She would not realise that she had also left her bra behind, snagged on a hook inside the cupboard, until it was too late to do anything about it.