A/N: This is just the start of something new I got inspired for. Please
tell me what you think! I really hope you guys like it!
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one.
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"Ginny, please make sure Hermione gets up and eats something." Molly Weasley looked uneasily at the brown-haired girl who was curled under several blankets in her only daughter's bed.
Little did she know that Hermione was awake behind her closed lids. She'd been pretending to be asleep a lot lately, mainly because she didn't want to see the pitying looks that Mrs. Weasley and Ginny kept shooting her way. Not that she didn't appreciate everything they were doing for- she did, very much. It was just that she didn't want their sympathy.
She was sick of Mrs. Weasley having to play surrogate mother to yet another child. It wasn't fair to her, and yet she did it willingly. And Hermione was grateful.
But she wanted her own mother.
It had been nearly a year since she'd last seen her parents. Last July to be exact. July was the month that Dumbledore had written her parents and asked if it would be alright if Hermione were to be transported to a "safer living condition."
Namely the Weasley household.
It had been fine the summer before. She'd understood why she needed to go. An all wizarding house would be much safer than the Muggle one she was living in- both for herself and her parents. She was in enough danger as it was being Harry Potter's best friend, but she was a target for another reason as well- she was Muggle-born, and Muggle-borns were the least safe of anyone.
So, she'd gone willingly, kissed her parents good-bye and told them she'd see them at Christmas. Christmas had come, though, and she was forbidden to leave the school. Oh, well. Easter then. But Easter, too, had come, and she'd once again been forbidden to leave the castle. And then summer had come, and while she couldn't stay at the school, she was forbidden to return to her parents. So, she'd gone straight home with the Weasleys at the end of the sixth year term.
She'd been there for about a month now, and she was miserable.
She missed her parents more than she'd ever have thought possible. They hadn't even been permitted to visit her, nor had she been able to even pay them a weekend visit. They owled her occasionally, but not as often as she would have liked because there was such a great danger that the owls could be intercepted and her hiding place discovered.
Hermione, though, thought that it was a bit odd that her hiding place hadn't already been discovered. The Dark Side wasn't stupid. They knew exactly who Harry Potter's best friends were, and Hermione really couldn't see what was so safe about hiding his two best friends together- at one of their houses nonetheless.
This thought, of course, brought her to think of another person.
Ron Weasley.
He was, as stated, Harry Potter's other best friend. Supposedly, he was her other best friend, too. But ever since they'd first met each other on their first day of school, they'd had their questionable moments. They were known for loud, angry rows, and to say that they were always on the best of terms with each other would be a downright lie. Somehow, though, they'd managed to stay best friends through it all, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione made an ideal trio.
But now… Now, Hermione didn't know what to think.
This summer things had been totally different. She wasn't fighting with Ron like normal. She wasn't even speaking to Ron. Well, they spoke sometimes, of course; it was inevitable. There was the occasional, "Please pass the butter," at the table, or even the random, "Have you finished your History of Magic essay?" But it wasn't as if they spent time together talking and laughing like normal best friends.
And Hermione knew exactly the reason why.
Harry.
They were both straining to pretend that nothing was wrong- that Harry was safe, and so were they. But they both knew deep down that they were lying. Harry wasn't safe, and neither were they. The hardest thing of all, though, was the fact that they couldn't even check up on their best friend. He was in hiding somewhere with his godfather, but the only person who knew their whereabouts was the Headmaster of their school. And he certainly wasn't telling anyone- not even Ron and Hermione.
They had absolutely no way of communicating with him at all. Any and all owls to him were absolutely and strictly forbidden. Ron and Hermione had already gotten strong lectures from not only Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but they, along with Harry, had received the same instructions from Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall before they'd left school at the end of sixth year. Any attempts of communication between the pair of them and Harry was absolutely forbidden- no exceptions.
Hermione missed him terribly. She was worried to death, and she was sick of pretending like everything was just fine.
Everything wasn't fine.
She knew without a doubt that their seventh year would hold more horrors than all the others put together. She'd already witnessed more than her share of terrifying incidents, and she was growing more and more fearful of her future. So far, miraculously, she'd managed to get out of everything unscathed, and so had everyone she cared about.
Some of her classmates hadn't been so lucky, though. She'd watched helplessly as Dennis and Colin Creevey had been sent home because their older brother had been murdered. She'd seen Justin Finch-Fletchley crying because his mother had been attacked and left for dead. She'd watched classmate after classmate collapsing with grief over a loved one's demise.
But so far, it hadn't hit her directly.
She was just waiting, though. Waiting and waiting for the inevitable news that someone close to her had fallen to the Dark Side. She prayed that it wouldn't be her parents. Sometimes it scared her that they hadn't gotten to her family; surely, they could track them down if they wanted to. It was almost as if they were just waiting for the right moment to hit her and hit her hard. Perhaps, they knew that she spent all her time worrying and they drew pleasure from that knowledge.
But soon. Soon someone she loved was going to be hit. And she had no way of stopping it.
She heard Mrs. Weasley leave the room, and she kept her eyes closed until she heard Ginny finish dressing and exit the room as well. When she knew that she was alone, she finally allowed herself to open her eyes and glance around the now deserted bedroom.
She was used to it by now. She'd spent so much time in it that she knew it as well as she knew her own bedroom at her own house. The bedroom she missed so much. This one at the Burrow absolutely screamed Ginny. It was so different from her own room; this one was so girly and flowery. It's color scheme was quite naturally pink and purple. It was so cheery.
Cheery. Something Hermione feared she would never be again.
Sighing, she slowly got out of the bed and made her way to the closet she was sharing with the youngest Weasley. Her clothes hung on the right side while Ginny's hung on the left. Not that it mattered much. They were exactly the same size, excuse the single inch that Ginny had on Hermione height-wise. They fit into each others clothes perfectly, and they'd grown quite used to sharing with each other. She pulled out a white peasant- style blouse that her mother had sent her for her birthday the previous September, and she reached into a pile of newly laundered clothes that had not yet been put away and retrieved a pair of denim shorts that had flowers embroidered on the pockets. Sluggishly, she pulled off her pajamas and replaced them with the clothes she'd just picked out. Slipping her feet into a pair of brown sandals, she glanced into the mirror that hung across the room from her. She was surprised at how dark she looked, but she reckoned that spending so much time in the Weasleys backyard reading had naturally tanned her. Her brown hair was falling down her back differently than normal. She was letting it get longer, and as it started growing, it appeared as though some of her curls were getting weighed down, leaving her hair less curly and less bushy than it had been. She liked it, she supposed. It was much easier to tame. With that said, she quickly scooped it up into a loose ponytail.
After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she started down the stairs to face whichever Weasleys would be at the breakfast table. She almost hoped that they would all be gone because she didn't feel like talking to anyone really. The only Weasley children still living at home were Ron, Ginny, and the identical twins Fred and George. Fred and George weren't often there, though, as they had a new store they'd only opened a year before, and it still took a lot of their time.
Her wish of seeing no one did not come true. She was met with the sight of both Ron and Ginny at the breakfast table. Ginny smiled when she entered the kitchen and offered a weak, "Good morning."
Hermione did her best to return the smile and the greeting, but she was sure it sounded as half-hearted as it felt. Ron didn't speak to her; he simply went back to pushing his scrambled eggs around his plate silently. Hermione almost wished that he would say something, anything to make her feel as though he weren't as scared as she was.
It didn't happen.
They sat in silence for many minutes, nibbling mindlessly on the food in front of them. Hermione didn't feel much like eating anymore, and even Ron's appetite had deteriorated greatly in the past few months. It wasn't until the back door opened and Mr. Weasley entered the kitchen that the three teenagers looked up from their plates.
Arthur Weasley was usually a quite jovial man. Most always smiling and in a good mood. Today, however, his face was set in a grim expression, and he definitely looked as though he knew something he didn't want to share with the rest of them.
"What is it, Dad?" Ron finally asked. Hermione could tell he was getting annoyed with waiting.
Mr. Weasley looked at his son and then at the two girls. He sighed softly and sat down at the table beside Ginny. "There's been another attack on a Muggle-born's family."
All three teenagers stared at him expectantly. Ron spoke again, voicing the question that both girls wanted answered. "Who was it?"
Mr. Weasley looked down at then back up nervously. "It was one of your schoolmates."
"Who, Dad?" Ginny raised her eyebrows quickly, imploring her father to tell them whose family had been the target for the latest attack.
Mr. Weasley sighed once again and finally told them. "Dean Thomas."
Hermione felt her stomach drop. She didn't know what to say. Without thinking, she glanced at Ron whose face was looking just as shocked as she was feeling. He spoke quietly when he said, "Is he okay?"
Mr. Weasley just shook his head silently.
Ginny started to cry. Hermione just blinked once before staring into space blankly. Beside her, she heard Ron mutter, "Fuck."
No one scolded him for his language.
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Well? I've already got the next bit written, and I'll post it up if you guys want to see it! PLEASE leave feedback!!!!
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one.
********************************
"Ginny, please make sure Hermione gets up and eats something." Molly Weasley looked uneasily at the brown-haired girl who was curled under several blankets in her only daughter's bed.
Little did she know that Hermione was awake behind her closed lids. She'd been pretending to be asleep a lot lately, mainly because she didn't want to see the pitying looks that Mrs. Weasley and Ginny kept shooting her way. Not that she didn't appreciate everything they were doing for- she did, very much. It was just that she didn't want their sympathy.
She was sick of Mrs. Weasley having to play surrogate mother to yet another child. It wasn't fair to her, and yet she did it willingly. And Hermione was grateful.
But she wanted her own mother.
It had been nearly a year since she'd last seen her parents. Last July to be exact. July was the month that Dumbledore had written her parents and asked if it would be alright if Hermione were to be transported to a "safer living condition."
Namely the Weasley household.
It had been fine the summer before. She'd understood why she needed to go. An all wizarding house would be much safer than the Muggle one she was living in- both for herself and her parents. She was in enough danger as it was being Harry Potter's best friend, but she was a target for another reason as well- she was Muggle-born, and Muggle-borns were the least safe of anyone.
So, she'd gone willingly, kissed her parents good-bye and told them she'd see them at Christmas. Christmas had come, though, and she was forbidden to leave the school. Oh, well. Easter then. But Easter, too, had come, and she'd once again been forbidden to leave the castle. And then summer had come, and while she couldn't stay at the school, she was forbidden to return to her parents. So, she'd gone straight home with the Weasleys at the end of the sixth year term.
She'd been there for about a month now, and she was miserable.
She missed her parents more than she'd ever have thought possible. They hadn't even been permitted to visit her, nor had she been able to even pay them a weekend visit. They owled her occasionally, but not as often as she would have liked because there was such a great danger that the owls could be intercepted and her hiding place discovered.
Hermione, though, thought that it was a bit odd that her hiding place hadn't already been discovered. The Dark Side wasn't stupid. They knew exactly who Harry Potter's best friends were, and Hermione really couldn't see what was so safe about hiding his two best friends together- at one of their houses nonetheless.
This thought, of course, brought her to think of another person.
Ron Weasley.
He was, as stated, Harry Potter's other best friend. Supposedly, he was her other best friend, too. But ever since they'd first met each other on their first day of school, they'd had their questionable moments. They were known for loud, angry rows, and to say that they were always on the best of terms with each other would be a downright lie. Somehow, though, they'd managed to stay best friends through it all, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione made an ideal trio.
But now… Now, Hermione didn't know what to think.
This summer things had been totally different. She wasn't fighting with Ron like normal. She wasn't even speaking to Ron. Well, they spoke sometimes, of course; it was inevitable. There was the occasional, "Please pass the butter," at the table, or even the random, "Have you finished your History of Magic essay?" But it wasn't as if they spent time together talking and laughing like normal best friends.
And Hermione knew exactly the reason why.
Harry.
They were both straining to pretend that nothing was wrong- that Harry was safe, and so were they. But they both knew deep down that they were lying. Harry wasn't safe, and neither were they. The hardest thing of all, though, was the fact that they couldn't even check up on their best friend. He was in hiding somewhere with his godfather, but the only person who knew their whereabouts was the Headmaster of their school. And he certainly wasn't telling anyone- not even Ron and Hermione.
They had absolutely no way of communicating with him at all. Any and all owls to him were absolutely and strictly forbidden. Ron and Hermione had already gotten strong lectures from not only Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, but they, along with Harry, had received the same instructions from Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall before they'd left school at the end of sixth year. Any attempts of communication between the pair of them and Harry was absolutely forbidden- no exceptions.
Hermione missed him terribly. She was worried to death, and she was sick of pretending like everything was just fine.
Everything wasn't fine.
She knew without a doubt that their seventh year would hold more horrors than all the others put together. She'd already witnessed more than her share of terrifying incidents, and she was growing more and more fearful of her future. So far, miraculously, she'd managed to get out of everything unscathed, and so had everyone she cared about.
Some of her classmates hadn't been so lucky, though. She'd watched helplessly as Dennis and Colin Creevey had been sent home because their older brother had been murdered. She'd seen Justin Finch-Fletchley crying because his mother had been attacked and left for dead. She'd watched classmate after classmate collapsing with grief over a loved one's demise.
But so far, it hadn't hit her directly.
She was just waiting, though. Waiting and waiting for the inevitable news that someone close to her had fallen to the Dark Side. She prayed that it wouldn't be her parents. Sometimes it scared her that they hadn't gotten to her family; surely, they could track them down if they wanted to. It was almost as if they were just waiting for the right moment to hit her and hit her hard. Perhaps, they knew that she spent all her time worrying and they drew pleasure from that knowledge.
But soon. Soon someone she loved was going to be hit. And she had no way of stopping it.
She heard Mrs. Weasley leave the room, and she kept her eyes closed until she heard Ginny finish dressing and exit the room as well. When she knew that she was alone, she finally allowed herself to open her eyes and glance around the now deserted bedroom.
She was used to it by now. She'd spent so much time in it that she knew it as well as she knew her own bedroom at her own house. The bedroom she missed so much. This one at the Burrow absolutely screamed Ginny. It was so different from her own room; this one was so girly and flowery. It's color scheme was quite naturally pink and purple. It was so cheery.
Cheery. Something Hermione feared she would never be again.
Sighing, she slowly got out of the bed and made her way to the closet she was sharing with the youngest Weasley. Her clothes hung on the right side while Ginny's hung on the left. Not that it mattered much. They were exactly the same size, excuse the single inch that Ginny had on Hermione height-wise. They fit into each others clothes perfectly, and they'd grown quite used to sharing with each other. She pulled out a white peasant- style blouse that her mother had sent her for her birthday the previous September, and she reached into a pile of newly laundered clothes that had not yet been put away and retrieved a pair of denim shorts that had flowers embroidered on the pockets. Sluggishly, she pulled off her pajamas and replaced them with the clothes she'd just picked out. Slipping her feet into a pair of brown sandals, she glanced into the mirror that hung across the room from her. She was surprised at how dark she looked, but she reckoned that spending so much time in the Weasleys backyard reading had naturally tanned her. Her brown hair was falling down her back differently than normal. She was letting it get longer, and as it started growing, it appeared as though some of her curls were getting weighed down, leaving her hair less curly and less bushy than it had been. She liked it, she supposed. It was much easier to tame. With that said, she quickly scooped it up into a loose ponytail.
After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she started down the stairs to face whichever Weasleys would be at the breakfast table. She almost hoped that they would all be gone because she didn't feel like talking to anyone really. The only Weasley children still living at home were Ron, Ginny, and the identical twins Fred and George. Fred and George weren't often there, though, as they had a new store they'd only opened a year before, and it still took a lot of their time.
Her wish of seeing no one did not come true. She was met with the sight of both Ron and Ginny at the breakfast table. Ginny smiled when she entered the kitchen and offered a weak, "Good morning."
Hermione did her best to return the smile and the greeting, but she was sure it sounded as half-hearted as it felt. Ron didn't speak to her; he simply went back to pushing his scrambled eggs around his plate silently. Hermione almost wished that he would say something, anything to make her feel as though he weren't as scared as she was.
It didn't happen.
They sat in silence for many minutes, nibbling mindlessly on the food in front of them. Hermione didn't feel much like eating anymore, and even Ron's appetite had deteriorated greatly in the past few months. It wasn't until the back door opened and Mr. Weasley entered the kitchen that the three teenagers looked up from their plates.
Arthur Weasley was usually a quite jovial man. Most always smiling and in a good mood. Today, however, his face was set in a grim expression, and he definitely looked as though he knew something he didn't want to share with the rest of them.
"What is it, Dad?" Ron finally asked. Hermione could tell he was getting annoyed with waiting.
Mr. Weasley looked at his son and then at the two girls. He sighed softly and sat down at the table beside Ginny. "There's been another attack on a Muggle-born's family."
All three teenagers stared at him expectantly. Ron spoke again, voicing the question that both girls wanted answered. "Who was it?"
Mr. Weasley looked down at then back up nervously. "It was one of your schoolmates."
"Who, Dad?" Ginny raised her eyebrows quickly, imploring her father to tell them whose family had been the target for the latest attack.
Mr. Weasley sighed once again and finally told them. "Dean Thomas."
Hermione felt her stomach drop. She didn't know what to say. Without thinking, she glanced at Ron whose face was looking just as shocked as she was feeling. He spoke quietly when he said, "Is he okay?"
Mr. Weasley just shook his head silently.
Ginny started to cry. Hermione just blinked once before staring into space blankly. Beside her, she heard Ron mutter, "Fuck."
No one scolded him for his language.
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Well? I've already got the next bit written, and I'll post it up if you guys want to see it! PLEASE leave feedback!!!!