Chapter Text
"Hermione? Hermione? Pumpkin pie, where are you?"
The little girl quietly laughed to herself. They will never find me here.
"Darling? It's getting late dear. Come out now, you won."
The girl looked up at the sky. It was twilight already and slivers of clouds were flitting across the purple sky. It was a strange shade of purple — somewhere between lilac and maybe, calling out to her… that bewitching, star-spangled purple… and almost in a trance, she reached out her tiny hand…
The soft earth shifted beneath and she fell to the side, the cool, dark moss damping her frilly white dress, having been frayed at the edges when she rushed into the unkempt hedges earlier. She tried to get up, pushing the stray hair from off her face, then her hands fell on something. In the dripping dark, she squinted to see what was the smooth, round… and possibly a faint white thing?
"Darling, if you don't come out now…" she could hear the sound of her parents' voice dying in the far distance. She bent lower and… suddenly a blood curdling scream pierced the hypnotic sky and broke whatever spell it was that held her. She jumped up from behind the — wait, where is the wall? I remember there was a low wall and I hid in here. Mindlessly she ran out only to find that it had been no wall at all.
It was but a tomb!
Her eyes strayed to the smooth, round, white thing at her feet and to her utter horror, she could only whisper — "Momma!"
She tried to run but the sickly white, death cold claws clasped at her feet and dragged her down and down… into the earth below… into the unfathomable depths of dank darkness… like Hades who had dragged Persephone into his underground abode…
"Mom, Dad!" She was sobbing. It had surely been her mother's scream earlier. It's all my fault. I should have been a good girl. She went on sobbing.
"Hermione? Hermione, wake up! Wake up Hermione!" Her eyes flitted open, blinking confusedly at the dust motes swirling in the mellow winter sunshine spilling into the room. When reality hit her system like a shocking jolt, she sprang up on the four poster bed, soaked to the bones in what appeared to be tears and cold, clammy sweat.
"Ginny?" She asked in a voice that she hoped wasn't broken.
"What's wrong, Hermione? Bad dreams? You were weeping and tossing about and muttering all sorts of strange things like someone possessed. I had half a mind to pour water on you and save you from whatever it was that was hounding you like that in your sleep." After a quiet inhale, she looked at Hermione, looking all miserable and wrecked. "Are you ok?" Ginny sat down by her and held up her cold hands, rubbing them together.
"Hey, hey, look at me. Tell me what's wrong." Hermione turned to face the redhead, her eyes still brimming with unshed tears. "I miss my parents. I miss them terribly. It scares me to think that they are alone and unprotected out there, and I can do nothing but be helpless and watch from a distance. What kind of a daughter does that make me? I know the War's over and all but I still can't help be miserable about it. I'm so despicable, aren't I?"
Ginny pulled her into a bear hug and gently patted her. "I understand. It's ok, you know. I feel guilty too of not writing enough letters to my Mum and not asking about how things are back at home. I know George's having it tough with Fred gone now" —her voice broke slightly—"and having to run the joke shop alone. There's this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach that I should have just stayed behind, helping them sort out things, instead of just fooling around… it's a strange feeling. The War has changed us all, hasn't it?"
Hermione had pulled out of the hug to look at Ginny's face and she found a weak smile there. She just nodded, while tracing an infinity loop on Ginny's inner wrist.
"We all exist with our own scars, I suppose."
Ginny hummed in approval.
"I wish we could change."
After hurriedly dressing up, Hermione came down to the common room, her unkempt hair rebelling against the out-of-place headband (it was the birthday present from her parents for that year), and her robes falling off her shoulder. Her appearance told poorly of her, she reflected, and brought her wand to quickly fix her disarrayed dress. Pulling up her socks, and tying her unruly hair into a loose ponytail, she stowed away her wand in her skirt pocket. Harry and Ron were seated at the couch, eagerly discussing something when Ron spotted her and waved.
"Hey Mi."
Harry, who was seated with his back to Hermione, quickly turned around and gave a sheepish smile, almost knocking the centre table in the process.
"Ow… oh good morning, Hermione."
Suppressing a smile, she greeted them both and dropped on the couch, by Harry. "Quidditch?"
"Yeah, we were planning out the next practice session." Ron chipped in, delightedly.
"So you're going to be busy." She mused quietly to herself. Something about her drooping form alarmed both her friends.
"Hermione? Is everything alright?" Harry's voice trembled ever so slightly with a suppressed panic. Ron was gripping onto Harry's arm like his very life depended on it.
She gave a watery laugh. "It's fine, you guys! Why are you all so worried over me? You think I'm going mental, aren't you?" She half-screamed the last line, her hands curled into fists, white knuckled. The boys said nothing.
"Mi, I know that we're probably being very overbearing and maybe this isn't exactly very assuring, but can't you trust us enough?" Ron spoke up, uncharacteristically. "Yeah, Hermione. We're friends." Harry gave a small smile, nudging her by the elbow. With a deep breath, Hermione confessed, "Ok, I'm just going to feel left out again. That's it." She finished with a huff, averting her eyes.
"Mi… we're not going to abandon you!"
"Yeah, Ron's right. Besides I think both of us could do with a bit of help in our homeworks." Harry smiled sheepishly. "Yes please?"
Hermione gave a loud laugh, "You two are impossible! Ok, give me your class schedules later so that I can work my time around it and come up with weekend study sessions."
"Thanks Hermione. You are a lifesaver."
"Yeah, yeah I know I am extra nice to you guys and that's why I should give you a header that Professor McGonagall doesn't like people being late to her class, in case you forgot about first year."
"Oh crap! We totally forgot! Harry, pack your scrolls! We're going to be late!"
And Hermione left the common room, leaving behind Harry and Ron in a flurry of parchment and writing quills.
When she reached near the Great Hall, she felt a lingering hesitation colouring her footsteps. Was I completely honest with them? Honestly, she didn't even know herself. I feel like I will suffocate. Feelings had never been her forte. She had poured herself in books with a voracity unmatched, consciously distanced herself from all those feelings creeping up from behind, robbed her eyes of colours and blinded them with the dying yellow of parchment. Anything but feelings.
Suddenly very overcome by a fatigue that had more to do with the mind than the body, she slumped by the first statue that she could spot in the deserted corridor. It was still early for breakfast and only a few prefects were on a light patrol. Harry and Ron and several others were already having their extra classes (which took place before the breakfast). These extra classes were designed to help Eight Year students earn extra points for their NEWTs by giving them advanced lessons. Hermione had hers on Thursdays which was tomorrow, so naturally she was free and to her worry addled mind, this looked like an excellent opportunity to have a trip to the library. However, her grumbling stomach made her stay there. It's time for breakfast anyways… suddenly her mind wandered into another bylane, dusty and seldom travelled… to the skeleton that was dragging her down and down and down…
"Look if it isn't, cranky Granger." Hermione snapped out of her reverie. With a jolt, she looked up, her eyes meeting with a towering lean frame.
"Draco Malfoy." It wasn't spiteful or very inclining either. Just a greeting out of bound courtesy, very mechanical and lifeless.
"So now you are hiding behind statues? What happened, War Hero's scared?" He drawled in his trademark sneer, and it seemed to Hermione as if the drafty corridor had grown colder. Upsetting as much as it was to her that she should be still bothered by his words, she sighed and stood up, dusting her skirt. "It's not even eight yet. Can't I expect you to be civil at this hour?" She said almost exasperatedly. Last night had been terrible and she felt like she'd drop anytime what with how the day was beginning. She didn't really feel like having another explanation session, least of them being with none other than bloody Malfoy.
"You are no one to expect anything from me, you filthy Mudblood." Then Draco walked off, his long black robes billowing behind him, giving him a very Snape-like presence. Hermione stayed standing by the statue, staring unblinkingly at his retreating figure, which gave away nothing but hate. Waves of hate and disgust and apathy rolling off him. Unconsciously, her fingers strayed to her inner wrist where the word 'Mudblood' had been branded. It was an angry pink then, blossoming against her sunlight deprived, papery skin. Wincing at the recall of the memory seared at the back of her head like a tattoo, she withdrew her hand and went off to the Great Hall.
She was hungry and needed something healthy to stuff down her throat before she went to Defense Against The Dark Arts. Well it was common sense by then that it was going to be a long and testing day and she needed to quiet down her protesting stomach if she were to make any progress.
DADA was cancelled that day. The reason? The new teacher who was appointed for the post left vacant after Snape's death, had taken ill and won't be able to resume anytime soon (a really great start to a year supposed to be dedicated to NEWT preparation, Hermione sardonically lamented). Well, she'd always felt that the goddamn position was doomed anyways. So now, against her better judgement, she was trudging off to the Astronomy Tower. "On account of unforeseen circumstances, I am afraid that students who have Defense Against The Dark Arts in their curriculum will have to make do without it for the time being, unless we are fully assured that all the classes can be conducted properly. As a safeguard, we suggest you take up the Divination course currently available — and also a part of the many choice subjects that the NEWTs endorse — for it will be another amazing way of earning extra points as well as quality exposure to… anything that you might decide to do in your future. I hope you have a nice day ahead." Professor McGonagall recited to the mass of students at the Great Hall, some of them (including Hermione, Harry and Ron) gaping at the Headmistress.
"The pancakes don't taste so good now." Pansy said, almost balking but really trying not to show.
As the grim news sinked in, the students who had lived the War and have had their fair share of compromise for their lifetime, took in the fact, with a sense of despondence that was unsettling at its best.
So here she was, Hermione Granger heading for the Divination class. Luckily for Ron and Harry, they still had the relief of their DADA class being on Friday. Enough time to gall themselves up, Hermione mused. Her mood surly and grim, she made her way into the cramped overstuffed classroom and settled down at the far end, trying to distance herself from whatever stupidity that awaited her.
The Golden Trio had been officially split into different class schedules, "for they attract too much attention together, making it impossible to proceed with a class without having to tell off starstruck students." Professor McGonagall had told Professor Sprout when she had asked out of utter curiosity. Hermione quietly agreed with the decision. She didn't mind the rare moments of quietude when she wasn't being totally swamped by raving girls or having to worry about Ron spilling ink on his books or Harry writing misspelled words or them bickering and trying to eat her head off… She was thinking all that when suddenly Professor Trelawney burst into the room, her eccentric, patched robes all over the place and hair, not unlike Hermione's, wild and unkempt and pushed up with a bright paisley print scarf. Embodiment of all things loony. Hermione scribbled at the edge of her parchment, finding immense satisfaction at that seemingly idiotic sentence. However her joy was as short-lived as the deceiving summer rains.
Professor McGonagall (again) had entered the room too and along with her was none other than Draco Malfoy, looking pissed off as ever and shooting murderous glances towards Hermione.
Good Godric, what the bloody hell is his problem? Years of being under the influence of the Weasleys had made expletives a very normal way for her dealing with stress.
Professor McGonagall coughed. "Attention everyone. I have another important announcement to make. Mr. Malfoy, who had been away due to certain reasons —" everyone started whispering.
"Silence!" All the voices went quiet. Hermione could only hear her ragged breath as her sixth sense already anticipated an impending doom. "Naturally Mr. Malfoy has fallen behind his semester. Since the Eighth Years have been specially called upon to prepare for their NEWTs, I expect everyone understands the importance of being up to date with whatever that has been happening since the past two weeks regarding your schedules. As the Headmistress of this school, it is my responsibility to make sure Mr. Malfoy isn't deterred from giving the NEWTs since he has been acquitted of all charges. It would be really helpful if someone stepped up to help him with the notes. Anybody willing, please raise your hand." However no one came up. Who would? No one wanted to be near Draco Malfoy, a former Death Eater.
His expression doesn't help with that too, Hermione thought.
Professor McGonagall's eyes scanned the entire classroom, only to be met with utter disappointment. "It saddens me to see you are still holding on to past grievances and letting them define your present judgement. I understand that forgiveness is difficult but — "
"But Professor McGonagall, he's a Death Eater! He's killed people! He's a murderer!" Someone shouted at the back. Others followed suit.
"Yes ma'am! How do we know he isn't scheming anything again?"
"My parents would rather not like me associate myself with some dirt of a scumbag who's still serving his sentence at Azkaban!
"Send him to where his father is! Send him to Azkaban!"
It was a mess and Professor McGonagall looked clearly flustered. Draco on the other hand, was taking it pretty well, as if this were a mere trifle. To someone else he'd have looked totally composed and fine. However Hermione wasn't a fool to not have seen him flinch when they were hollering about his father — and that was enough.
"Everyone stop it!" She suddenly stood up, sending the chair grate loudly on the floor and the whole class went still. "See, we all know that he was a Death Eater and that he has done unforgivable deeds in the past but it's all different now. I'm sure he had his reasons and the Wizengamot has found sympathy with that and given him a shot at redemption. Shouldn't we trust their decision? After all, isn't this what we fought the War for? To stop ostracizing everyone and giving all a chance to be better? So that no one has to live shamefully? I know nothing of this justifies anything. I know there are many who have lost their loved ones to the cause of the War, and me standing here and blabbing all this doesn't really make anything any better, but…" Hermione paused, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. Everyone was gaping at her like she had suddenly grown two heads. Malfoy, as much as he tried to maintain his composure, couldn't help but be shocked.
"But can't we rise above our pain and sorrow and be more impartial? He has suffered enough and there's probably an inkling of regret lurking in that apparently cruel heart of his, so why don't we give him a chance and see for ourselves if he's really changed for the good? People change, don't they? You are all no better than him, all pouncing on him the first chance you get and creating a ruckus to send him off to Azkaban!" She quieted down, her hands trembling, the blood rushing to her head, making it impossible to look.
What was she doing? Defending the person who had made her life a living hell since they met? Caused her immeasurable hurt, defamed her dignity as a human and repeatedly poked at where it hurt? Suddenly all that didn't even matter anymore. Like every other person suffering, to Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy came off as a victim crushed under the shadow of a past that no one should ever be obliged to — and that's why she stood up to defend his rights because that was just and she'd do her job anyway.
It was Professor McGonagall who broke the haunting silence. She began clapping, the faintest of a smile gracing that stern face of hers.
"As expected of you, Miss Granger. I'm glad to see that you chose the right thing to do. So I take it that you are best fit to oversee Mr. Malfoy's progress with the semester, Miss Granger? You are after all the Brightest Witch of Your Age, and a very righteous one at that, I must add."
Draco, who had been staring unabashedly at Hermione all this while, wondering if he had heard it all right, suddenly jerked his head around to look at Professor McGonagall. Hermione looked up too, her hazel brown eyes wide.
They both shouted together. "What?"