A/N: Takes place after the fifth book. Written at 4:20 am, forgive any spelling/grammar errors. I'm trying to decide whether or not to continue, or just leave it at this. The title comes from the song "Blackbird" (from the movie "I Am Sam").

Blackbird singing in the dead of night,
take these broken wings and learn to fly.
All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to be free.
Blackbird, fly.
Into the light of a dark black night.

Disclaimer: Do I look rich? Do I look British? Obviously, characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I can only thank her for creating them and allowing me to mess them up a bit.

Blackbird

"Hermione! Hermione!"

Turning to the sound of her name, Hermione's face broke out into a huge smile. From the crowd of wizards and witches, two muggles emerged. Her parents looked out of place on Platform 9 and 3/4, but she had never been happier to see those two faces. Elizabeth and Mark Granger welcomed their daughter with eager hugs.

"Mum! Dad! Oh, it's so wonderful to see you again!" As she wrapped her arms round her parents, she took a moment longer just to rest from all the stress of this latest year. Fifth year had just ended, the wizarding world was in turmoil, and things were not going well with the Golden Trio. "Just give me another moment, I'll be right back," she said, letting her parents guard her luggage momentarily.

Before Harry had a chance to disappear, Hermione yelled after him. "Harry! Don't forget to write!" His green eyes looked at her, offering a small smile, and then he was gone.

Hermione sighed. It's going to be a long summer.

A heavy silence lay thick in the Granger's kitchen. Elizabeth and Mark were only dentists... and after having heard their daughter tell them of what had happened this year, they weren't taking the news very well.

"...so?" Hermione asked, waiting for their reaction.

Her father cleared his throat, glancing at her mother for confirmation before continuing. "Dear, we really think... perhaps your friends are not as... cautious as they ought to be?" He sounded more confused than anythign else.

"What do you mean?"

"Well... we don't mean to be rash, but honestly it would be best for you to befriend somebody else. You are going to get seriously hurt. We don't want to risk --"

"Befriend somebody else? I'm going into my sixth year, I've been fine for the past five years and now you want me to just up and change my friends? But... Ron, Ginny and Harry... and even Neville and Luna... there's no way I can turn my back on them. We've gone through so much..." Hermione's sentence drifted off as her thoughts turned again to the events in the Ministry of Magic Headquarters.

"Hermione, I know that you're very close to your friends," her mother said, putting a hand on Hermione's arm. "We're just getting so worried. Every year, you come back with some new terrifying adventure to tell us about. As parents, we can't take chances anymore."

Hermione's brow wrinkled. She wasn't one to jump to conclusions, but it sounded like her parents were giving her an ultimatum.

"What we're saying is... it's time to change friends, Hermione," her father intoned seriously. "And if you don't, then... maybe it's time to change schools too."

His words hit Hermione like heavy stones on her heart. Leave Hogwarts? Leave everybody? They would get into so much trouble without me... and I wouldn't get the chance to finish my learning... no. With fresh determination setting into her bones, she told her parents her decision.

"I'm sorry to hear that," replied her father, no emotion showing on his face. "We're grounding you. No telephone, no television, no mail."

"No mail? That's ridiculous!"

"Enough. Go to your room, Hermione."

She stood up, slamming her chair away from the kitchen table. Fury crackled around her... thankfully she wasn't yet legal to use magic outside of school, or else the whole house might have started shaking. She was half-way out of the kitchen door when her mother's voice held her back.

"Oh, and... welcome back, dear."

Hermione stared miserably out of her bedroom window at Hedwig, who sat hooting just as miserably outside on her windowsill. They stared at each other with blank looks, each one knowing it was futile.

"It's hopeless, Hedwig. I can't let you in. I can't even take the letter. Just stop trying." A feeble hoot was the response. This must have been the twentieth time that someone had sent her an owl and by now she was used to sitting dejectedly at her window, studying books and telling the owls to bugger off. She had started skipping meals, preferring to read and avoid her parents. They seemed perfectly fine with that.

With one last hoot, Hedwig spread her wings and disappeared, the letter still tied to her leg. Hermione didn't even blink. A moment later, there was a knock at her door and her mother announced that they were going out for dinner tonight, and would Hermione like to join them? A muggle couple with a daughter around her age would be there and it would be a good opportunity to socialize.

The very thought of food turned Hermione's stomach and she declined. But the opportunity to spend an evening alone was welcoming, so she stayed quietly in her room until she heard her parents lock the door and the car turn out of the driveway. Staying a few extra moments to finish the chapter she was reading from her Charms textbook, she finally allowed herself to shed her studious role.

With a flick of a switch, her radio blared to life with loud pounding rock music. Hermione didn't really like it, but it sounded angry and made her feel slightly better... what would make me feel even better would be some whiskey.

"I don't give a damn about my reputation..." she sang along with the song as she danced happily down the stairs and to the liquer cabinet. Hermione filled herself a glass and flopped onto the couch. Two hours and ten glasses of whiskey later, she was laying down on the couch, delivering a monologue to an invisible psychologist.

"... always studying, getting everyone out of tough sit- sit-... situatons? Situtions...? Situations! Anyway, as I was speaking... well, saying. Anyway it's real hard. I'm a perfect little Prefect and I can't stand it. I want to have a life... Merlin, even Harry got himself a girlfriend last year. Although he and Cho didn't get along so great. But his life is just fucked up. Can't say I didn't see it coming. Why are all our lives so messed up? Why? We could fix them if we just gave a damn. But I don't. Let it get ruined. Perfect planning, for once with a mistake! News flash: Hermione Granger, less than perfect!" With her last statement, she flung her arm out in an extravagant gesture, but the movement made her drink slosh out of the glass and onto her white shirt.

"Shit! Stupid glass... stupid arm... stupid me." She tried to wipe off the liquid and glanced at the clock above the fireplace. Almost 10. Her parents would be home soon, she was drunk, and whiskey was spilled on the floor. With a sigh she stood up and began cleaning the mess. Ten minutes and she was done, back in her room and changing her stained clothes, with the house now silent. As predicted, the car engine could be heard in the driveway. In an odd sudden panic, Hermione turned off the light in her room to give the impression that she was sleeping already. They didn't notice.

She laid down on her bed, not bothering to change out of her jeans and t-shirt, and looked out the window. It was escape for her... so close, and so untouchable. It was torture. A lone tear escaped her eyelashes and clung to her clammy skin. It's a hot summer, she thought distantly. Heavy depression hit her. She was expecting it, as always after one of her drinking sessions. But that didn't make the pain any less real. She had given up on trying to pull herself out of these moods, mostly because she realized that they were truthful.

What happened to me? I used to be so happy with it all... the friends, the school, the family... the life. Now I'm just... blank. Or really pissed off. I have no life anymore. Can't talk to my friends, my parents think I'll be happy with some muggles and my books. At least books won't yell at me about the friends I have. Or had... I suppose they would hate me by now, since I haven't written or read any letters. I feel ridiculous. I feel sick. I feel... very little. Another tear slid down her face. How pathetic can you get, Hermione? You're drunk, crying, have no social life, and are actually disappointed that you might not be able to go to school. Pathetic, whiny, confused little girl. Why don't you just die?

A pounding inside her head woke Hermione. Rubbing her eyes, she tried to remember what she did last night and why she was still fully dresssed. She pulled herself out of bed, grabbed a towel and went to take a shower, hoping that the hot water would get rid of the pounding headache.

When she returned to her room, the August morning light had lit up her room and her headache had not yet gone away. The incessant pounding seemed to have transcended her head and just become a rhytmic beat that assaulted her ears... and then she noticed that the sound actually was outside of her head. It was actually the result of a small bird, an owl, most likely, throwing itself repeatedly against her window. When she realized that this poor creature had been banging itself for at least half an hour, she threw the window open not giving a damn about the no-mail restriction her parents had placed on her. Pig zoomed into her room, flew in a few erratic circles, chirped and landed on her desk with an uncharacteristic silence (except for that one chirp).

"Hullo Pig. No letter?" she asked curiously, noting that there was no letter accompanying the tiny owl.

Upon hearing her voice, as though it activated something, Pig's tiny chest puffed up and his beak opened. Hermione was expecting mroe twittering, but instead she heard something quite different.

"Hermione! Where have you been?" Ron's voice issued forth from Pig's beak. "All our letters come back unopened... we're getting worried, me and Harry. Everyone's at the Burrow until school starts up. Come visit us! And write! Oh, by the way, I learned something! I bewitched Pig... well, I had Fred do it, but still! Now you can't yell at me for wasting my summer!" There was laughter in his voice and Hermione wondered how people could possibly be so cheerful. "We'll be waiting! Bye!"

Pig's beak snapped closed and he took off, zooming around the room. Unfortunately, the noise had awoken her parents and she could hear footsteps approaching her door. She jumped up, snatched Pig from the air and threw him unceremoniously outside before slamming the window down just as the doorknob began to turn. She made a motion as though turning off her radio in an attempt to conceal the truth.

"Hi, honey. What was that noise?" Her mother asked with a sweet voice that badly masked her suspicions.

"Just the radio, but it's all talk-shows during the morning anyways," Hermione replied, smiling though it didn't reach her eyes.

"Oh..." she almost seemed disappointed by the reply. "We'd like to speak with you... would you come down for breakfast?"

"Sure, I'll be there in a minute." She was left in the stillness of her room and suddenly felt an urge to giggle. She used a pillow to stifle her laughter. I'm acting so childish. So terrified of getting caught. But the thrill. There was no doubt in her mind that the thrill that ran through her veins at nearly getting caught was something she wouldn't mind repeating. Pulling herself together, Hermione descended and braced herself for the speech her parents had undoubtedly already planned out.

The greasy bacon and soggy toast had to be the most unappealing things Hermione had ever set her eyes on. She pushed the food around her plate with a fork and droned out what her parents were saying.

The moment she had walked into the room, facades of kindness had been pasted onto the faces of her parents. They had began gently questionning how she was, and what she had planned for the school year, since summer was nearing its end. Her mono-syllabic responses and inspired them to start lecturing her and saying that they only wanted what was best for her. I'm nearly sixteen, I know enough to take care of myself! I'm the smartest witch in my year... but you wouldn't know. Deciding that getting angry would not be wise at this time, she just drifted off and let their words fall on her deaf ears.

"... going on with you?"

She caught the last of the demand made by her father. Today, hung-over as she was, she simply didn't feel like lying and saying she would make friends with some Hufflepuff's, or better yet, transfer to a Muggle school.

"Well, father, I'll tell you what's going on with me. I'm getting a bit depressed, I've read all my textbooks twice, I still plan on being friends with the same people as always, and I'm hung--... I have a headache." She quickly fixed her slip-up, about to confess her drinking habits, and instead rose to find some medicine for her head.

"That's not a good answer," her father said, dark warning lacing his tone.

"Oh, I see. It's not the answer you'd like to hear," Hermione replied saucily. She gulped down an aspirin and wondered why wizarding families seemed so much more normal than her muggle family. "But it's the true answer, so I guess you're just going to have to deal with it."

"I beg your pardon?!" Her mother's voice cut through her like a sharp, high-pitched lance.

"You heard me. I'm not going to appease you."

"Watch your tone, young lady!"

"Why? So I can continue to be your perfect little girl? I think what had at the end of term just proves that it isn't possible anymore. I have a war to fight. There's no time for perfection, and certainly no cause to watch my tone!"

"There will be NO fighting of wars for you," her father intervened. "You will not be going back to that school. It was a mistake to ever allow you to become a-- a-- .."

"What? Can't you say it?" Hermione questioned as he stuttered. "It was a mistake to ever allow me to become a WITCH! I'm a WITCH, father. I'M A WITCH! It's all that I will EVER be! WITCH!"

Her words echoed around the stony kitchen. Neighbours might have heard, but that was the least of her worries. She could keep control of herself and little bursts of magic made the table shake and energy to crackle around her. She had read about this... when a wizard or witch becomes too emotionally unstable or loses control of themself (for instance, from being drunk or drugged) it was possible for wandless magic to occur. Her rational mind locked onto this fact eagerly, and it replayed itself over and over in her mind while her irrational mind wanted to scream and yell.

The looks on her parents' faces were priceless. Pure shock, pure outrage... Hermione felt powerful, just for being able to shock them silent. But in spite of her small victory, she knew that this familial war would probably end in her defeat, so before the last echoes of her words had faded from the walls, she turned on her heel and ran to her room.

Hermione flicked a lighter and watched as the parchment slowly caught fire and was consumed by the dancing flames. The Ministry of Magic, still clinging to the belief that life might be normal, had sent her a letter scolding her for the use of under-aged magic. Instead of focussing on the resurfacing of Voldemort, they were busy keeping up appearances. She sighed and let the parchment burn in her metal trash can. Her parents would smell the burning and think she was smoking. Good. Maybe that will give them a shock too.

She was becoming careless and didn't know whether or not she wanted to stop. It did have its merits, but Hermione's mind was one built for logic. She wasn't sure she would be able to be a normal kid. Not that ever had been normal. Over the summer, she had gotten skinnier and her face looked older. She wrote it off as just not having enough sleep. Even her normally bushy hair had drooped and now lay straight on her back. Her body and mind were convinced that she was older than her birth certificate claimed, and her heart felt younger than ever. Hermione just wanted to be free of this house, hoping it would solve all her problems.

"Why not?" she whispered to the silence of the twilight. Having spent the day holed up in her room, she wanted to escape. The window had never looked so appealing as it did tonight, showing her the inky blue summer sky. The sounds in the house quieted down, her parents were content to leave her to her solitude. Ron's message was tempting her. I could go to the Burrow. Mum and Dad wouldn't find me there. I could go to Hogwarts as usual. I would be safe.

Hermione froze. Why would she think that she was unsafe in her own home? A million responses came to her mind and she continued flicking the lighter on and off as they were listed in her mind. Her parents were trying to change who she was. She could lose control of her anger and magic again. Her father might beat her into submission (not that surprising, considering he was raised in a family where discipline came in the form of wrestling). She would be forced into being a Muggle. Her parents might take away her school books.

Flick on, flick off. On. Off. The brief flame was hypnotizing and soothed Hermione's frazzled mind. This summer had been hell, and there was no way she would endure spending the rest of it here. On. Off. Go. Stay. Normal. Perfect. The options became too tempting. With a resolute motion, she tossed the lighter onto her bed and began to pack.

The house was silent and dark. It was three o'clock in the morning, Hermione had managed to drag her trunk down the stairs with relatively little noise and now sat before the fireplace in her living room. An empty glass was by her hand, formerly having been occupied by vodka. The strong alcohol had cleared her mind of the early-morning late-night cobwebs and she stared apprehensively at the cold hearth.

The problem was she couldn't remember whether or not travelling by Floo made any noise. If it did, her parents would immediately notice she was missing. If it didn't, she stood a good chance of not being discovered as gone until sometime in the afternoon. Either way, at one point her parents were bound to find out. Sooner, or later? Hermione took the lighter out of the pocket of her jeans. The shiny silver was comforting in her hand. The thought of having a lighter and not smoking seemed absurd, but at 3 a.m. it made perfect sense to her. She flicked it on and off.

No, I've procrastinated long enough. I'm through with waiting and analyzing. She stood and dragged her trunk with her into the fireplace. it wasn't a wizarding fireplace, so it was really cramped, but she managed to grab a handful of Floo powder from a pot on the floor. Hermione had her house connected to the Floo network years ago to ease her travelling around the wizarding world. Taking a breath, she said, "The Burrow", threw down the Floo powder, and was whisked away from her prison.

It was silent and dark in the Weasley household, until a soft thump and muffled crash came from their fireplace. Hermione Granger stepped out of the fireplace, checked her watch (now 3:14 am) and left her trunk where it was, too tired to be bothered with practicality. She crept up the stairs silently, checking the rooms as she went to try to find Ron and Harry. After four rooms and no luck, the fifth one found the two teen boys sleeping in a jumble of blankets on the floor. Smiling, Hermione finally relaxed. She was with friends now, and everything would be alright. Not caring that Mrs. Weasley would probably yell at her in the morning for sleeping with the two boys, she lay down between them, reveling in their warmth. Surrounded by her two best friends, Hermione drifted off into an undisturbed slumber. Everything would be alright.