Claraowl: Hello, again! Welcome to my 50th posted fanfic!
Yes, 50th! I'm very happy about this, and wanted to make it a romione as near to perfection as I could. That is my excuse for taking so long, however feeble it may be.
I'd like to send a million thanks to those who read chunks and gave me their opinions – and a zillion thanks to Hailey, who was my sounding board throughout this entire process and was kind enough to deal with my questions during Spanish class. Frankly, I'm surprised that she's still talking to me after that much pestering.
Also, no matter how much I beg, plead, and cry, I do not own Harry Potter. *sniffles* Sad, isn't it?
Thank you for dropping by to read this – I hope you enjoy it!
I miss you. I love you. I want you.
Hermione was four years old, sitting on her bed and bawling; she'd left her stuffed cat, Chessie – named after the Cheshire cat – at her grandparents' house, and couldn't sleep without him. Her parents tried to calm her, saying that he was with her, if not physically; she had any number of pictures of them together on her photo-wall. She sniffed, protesting that it wasn't the same. Her parents hugged her, saying that they'd go get Chessie back for her tomorrow. I miss you, even if it's just for tonight. She rubbed her eyes, upset and sleepy, and whispered, "Promise?"
"We promise," they had assured her, tucking her into bed. Her mother nestled a stuffed owl next to Hermione's head while her father moved one of the pictures containing Chessie down to eye level.
"Won't Chessie be lonely without me?" I love you. Please stay safe. "Will he be okay?"
"He'll be fine," her father soothed. "He's probably playing cards with your Granddad and Gran right now."
"I bet Granddad's winning again," little Hermione yawned, hugging her stuffed owl, Bill – named after the youngest owl in Owl Babies.
"I bet he is," her mother smiled. "What story would you like tonight?"
"A chapter from Alice in Wonderland," came the quick reply, "the one where she meets Chessie." Her mother had smiled, and complied; afterwards, her father sang her a lullaby. They then kissed her goodnight, and shut off her light. She stared up at her ceiling, the glow-in-the-dark stars reflected in her eyes.
"Chessie, please be okay," she murmured, floating on the hazy edge of sleep. I want you to come home. Please be okay. I need you.
The next day, she and Chessie were reunited. Hermione beamed, gripping her beloved cat tightly, as her grandparents informed her of her cat's many exploits the previous night – including losing to Granddad at cards.
I miss you. I love you. I want you.
She was six, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet as her mother and father walked her up the path to her cousin's house for her first-ever sleepover. It was her parents' wedding anniversary, and her Aunt Em and Uncle Joe had volunteered to watch Hermione for the night. Hermione, of course, had little idea of what was going on outside of the fact that she got to spend the night with her cousin, Ailsa. This, naturally, excited the young girl – she idolized her cousin; not only was the elder girl an expert on all things faerie, but she was also the reason that Hermione had started taking dance lessons. Ailsa was in secondary school, and was looking into dance as a career. Although they rarely got to see each other, the two cousins were very close; during the family gatherings, Hermione followed her cousin around like a puppy. Ailsa had done the same thing to an older female cousin, as had that cousin to another cousin – it was something of a tradition in their family, after all. I've been waiting to see you for so long. I miss you when we're not together. Hermione bounced some more, and repeatedly poked the doorbell with three fingers, just in case Ailsa couldn't hear it.
It was Ailsa who opened the door and swept young Hermione into a tight hug as Mrs. Granger beamed behind her. Hermione, of course, began a long series of babbles about what was going on in her life; Ailsa asked questions in return after greeting her aunt and uncle with hugs (their side of the family was, after all, a very friendly people). Mr. and Mrs. Granger then – after spending some time happily chatting with Mrs. Granger's sister and brother-in-law – bade Hermione goodnight, saying that they'd come pick her up in the morning and telling her to be good. Hermione promised to be on her best behavior, and hugged her parents tightly. She was both nervous and excited; nervous for a night without her parents, but excited for a night with her cousin, aunt, and uncle.
After her parents had left, Hermione followed Ailsa up to the older girl's room. Hermione stared, wide-eyed, around at the posters and sketches that plastered the walls, and the worn-out point shoes tacked to the sides of the bookcases. Her eyes took these in, and her gaze then lit upon the various statuettes and miniature sculptures that were scattered throughout the room at odd intervals. Ailsa grinned, leaning against her doorframe as her young cousin danced around her room, exclaiming over the decorations. She laughed as the young girl halted, transfixed, before the latest addition to the collection.
Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She hadn't seen anything so – what was that new word Mum had taught her? – captivating ever before. A chill swept through her body, and she visibly shivered. This statuette had captured her imagination; it was almost as if it breathed… rather, as if its two inhabitants breathed. A rustle of fabric alerted her to her cousin crouching down next to her.
"Do you like that?" Ailsa smiled, indicating the faerie and dragon statuette with one carefully painted fingernail.
Hermione nodded, speechless for the first time in her young life. It's amazing. She looks like she should be a villain, but that little dragon is looking at her so trustingly. It's cuddled up to her like she's its mum. Her heart fluttered, and she tentatively reached out to touch it, glancing up at her cousin for permission. When Ailsa nodded, the young Hermione carefully stroked first the dragon's, and then the faerie's wings. I love you, she realized, her fingers tracing the contours of the statuette. Will you let me see you breathe, like Ailsa is saying that you do when no one's looking? Will you let me in on a bit of magic? She turned to her cousin, eyes sparkling, and requested more information about faeries. Ailsa, grinning widely at the chance to be able to share her obsession with her young cousin, expounded upon the traits of faeries.
Hermione was a logical child, and looked at things analytically… but now, as her cousin explained the finer points of faeries – the traditional type, not those airheaded, flower-wearing morons – she realized that some things just did not fit in the regular world. Some things could not be explained with the knowledge she now held. There must be something more, a deeper meaning – there must be some other world, some magical world, that was yet hidden from her eyes. A spark was born, somewhere deep inside her heart; she wanted to exist in such a world – she needed to find it and know it to be truly real. I want you to let me find you. I want – need – to live somewhere where all this insanity is explained.
"Is something wrong, Hermione?" Ailsa inquired, noting her cousin's uncharacteristic silence – until moments previously, the young girl had been interrupting every other sentence with one complicated question or another about the faerie world.
Hermione shook her head, grinning. "What about the Seelie court? They're in charge of spring and summer, right?"
"Yup!" Ailsa grinned, pulling her cousin into her lap. "The Unseelie court is in charge of fall and winter. Do you remember the days that the rule switches?"
"The summer and winter solstices, right?" she returned, giggling.
"Correct!" Ailsa proclaimed. "For that, I'll give you a treat."
Hermione snapped her head up. "Do I get to try on one of your recital costumes?"
"If you wish, then by all means, yes," Ailsa grinned, sliding Hermione off of her lap. "Which one do you want to try on?"
"The elf one!"
The older girl grinned, and pulled the leafy elf costume out of her closet. "Hey, Hermione," she whispered, crouching down confidentially as the younger girl started to pull on the leaf-decorated leotard, "I discovered something interesting yesterday."
"What is it?" the younger girl inquired chirpily, spinning in the recently-donned elf costume.
"Your name means 'messenger' or 'earthly,' and mine means 'elf victory.' So together, we're the earthly messengers of elfin victory!" she exclaimed, watching her cousin's reaction to this news.
Hermione gasped happily, "We can tell everyone about faeries, and help them know the reality of magic!"
Ailsa nodded. "Remember: Magic is real, even if most people can't see it. We need to bring it to them."
Hermione offered her hand; Ailsa shook it. The two girls then went out for a walk, Hermione still garbed as an elf, to spread the news of magic to whomever they came across in the small neighborhood.
Hermione, even during the complex years of primary school, never quite stopped believing in magic; rather, her desire for its reality only grew in the years to come.
I miss you. I love you. I want you.
An eight-year-old Hermione sighed, her cheek propped against her knuckles. She rolled her eyes in frustration as – for what seemed like the twenty-seventh time, but was really only the twelfth – one of her classmates asked the teacher to repeat how to solve the current math problem. The young, bushy-haired girl – utterly bored – doodled absently on the inside cover of her notebook, continuing the intricate pattern that she'd been working on for the past four periods – she'd already finished the class work, of course, and had finished the book she'd brought that morning. She sighed again, this time fondly, as she thought of the thrill that had come from reading it for the first time. There's nothing quite like reading an excellent book for the first time, she mused, sketching the final symbol from the book series into its place on her notebook cover. She set down her pencil and brushed her fingertips over the binding of the book in question, which was tucked safely inside of her desk. I miss you, but it'll never be the same. I'll re-read you, of course, but the thrill will be different. The bell rang; this time, she sighed in relief, putting away her school things, grabbing her book, and swinging herself out of her chair to go meet her two friends on the playground.
"Evie, you were right. It's an exceedingly excellent book," she grinned, having found her pale friend sitting beneath the schoolyard's lone tree. The other children on the playground gave the twisted elm a wide berth, so it had become their haven over the years.
"And you didn't think that you'd like it," Evie Dubois smirked, twisting one of her blond ringlets around her finger. "Aren't you glad that I made you read it?"
"Exceptionally, Evie," the brunette laughed, plopping down next to her – only to elicit a slight 'oof' from what she had thought was a tree branch, but proved to be someone's arm.
"Watch it, will you?" Ethan, Evie's older brother, grumbled, sitting up and dislodging Hermione's perch.
"Maybe you shouldn't lie on the ground like a dead frog," Hermione suggested kindly, giggling.
"Have you seen a lot of dead frogs?" Ethan inquired, distracted.
"No," Hermione admitted, "but I have read a bit about them."
"You read such cheerful books when I don't suggest stuff," Evie noted sarcastically.
"You know what they say – 'Truth is stranger than fiction,'" Hermione countered.
"Who are 'they,' anyway?" Ethan asked, sprawling on the grass again.
"Er… grown-ups?" Hermione suggested; Evie nodded enthusiastically in agreement.
"Going back to the subject of the book that I suggested," the blond girl giggled, now playing with her brother's bangs for the pure purpose of irritating him, "what was your favorite part?"
"I really liked the tension," Hermione grinned, "especially when the main character had to figure out that puzzle in such a short time. I'd like to be like her!" Her gaze floated off to the treetop as Evie replied, her words suddenly lost to Hermione's ears. Such a strong, smart girl character… could I ever be like her? She absently plucked a blade of grass, shredding it with her fingers. I love your character, and I love the things you do – I love you, but I'd love to be like you even more. What would I have to do to be the main character of my own story?
"Earth to Hermione," Ethan called, sticking a blade of grass up her nose. Hermione started violently, waving her hands madly about. The bit of grass stuck where Ethan had put it, sending the Dubois siblings into peals of laughter. Hermione, giving in after removing the vegetation from her nostril, joined them in laughter. The main character in her book had always been very open with her friends; that was one thing that the two of them had in common. Hermione sat up abruptly, clenched her fist, and nodded. I've set my sights on her level – on your level. I'll catch up to you, just you wait. I want you to know that I've accepted your challenge… and nothing is going to stop me from being every bit as strong as you.
"You're thinking about the main character, aren't you?" Evie grinned. "You've just taken the challenge at the end of the book, right?"
Hermione nodded. "Did you?"
Evie winked. "I'll race you to see who gets there first!"
"You're on!"
"Wait, where are we racing?" Ethan cried, jumping to his feet excitedly. The two girls looked at each other, laughed, and got to their feet – then, without any warning to Ethan, dashed off toward the flagpole. The blonde boy gave a strangled yell and gave chase, and the three ran, laughing, all the way there.
I miss you. I love you. I want you.
It couldn't be true; she, age ten, refused to believe it. Granddad couldn't be gone – sure, he'd been sick for a little while, but it wasn't anything serious. She couldn't be here, looking at a lifeless corpse lain out before the cremation in two days – it just wasn't possible. "Granddad, wake up." She touched the side of his face softly, hoping that he would sit up and laugh, happy to have tricked everyone for so long, but he did not stir; his skin was cold, lifeless. Tears stung her eyes. She'd never again see his smile, never hear his laugh. I miss you already, Granddad. Come back, please, come back! Her knees buckled, and she collapsed to the ground, sobbing. It couldn't be true – she refused to accept it.
Two days later, her heart broke afresh as her mother, tears streaming silently down her face, placed Granddad's urn on the mantelpiece. No. There it was, the irrefutable proof. No. Even if he had been alive, the flames would have reduced him to ash; unbidden images burst into her mind, coupled with imagined screams of agony. Her mind likened burning flesh to the scent of the burnt, blackened marshmallows that Granddad had so loved. No. I love you, Granddad; you can't have died. You're too tough. One of the constants in her life, gone forever.
She sniffed, plopping down onto the carpet and staring at what had once been her Granddad, her champion. She needed him in her life; how could she go on without his smile? I want you to still be here, Granddad. Please, please come back. She'd put her head on her knees and cried; her mother and father joined her on the carpet, and the three mourned together. That night, her Granddad's picture was moved to her eye level next to her bed, to be joined half a year later by that of her Gran. Her heart, Hermione knew, had never been the same after the death of her husband. Tracing their faces in her copy of their wedding photo, Hermione wished that someday she might love someone that much, and be loved that much in return. For now, she would grieve.
I miss you. I love you. I want you.
September first seemed too far away; she thought that her head might burst from the stress of waiting. That world… how could she have lived so long without knowing it? It all made sense to her, now – all the strange happenings, all the bizarre occurrences – everything had fallen into place. How had she survived without knowing world – that amazing, wonderful, utterly magical world – for so long? She'd only had a taste of it, just the barest flavor, the previous Saturday, when she'd been taken to Diagon Alley, but she already yearned for it. Come to think of it, she had probably yearned for it her entire life. I barely know you, but I already miss you. Please… please let this actually be real, and not another fantasy from some wonderful book.
She'd always been a little out of place in – what had Professor McGonagall called it? – the Muggle world; of course, she'd had a couple of friends, but she'd been an outcast most of the time. They'd caused her to lose control of what she now knew to be her magic, and had cast her from them like a filthy sock. Now – if she wasn't imagining things, like usual – she would actually be somewhere where she was normal. This world, this culture… it would accept her, treat her like any normal young girl. I love you already. Please don't be my imagination playing tricks on me again.
A thought struck her; what if normal wasn't good enough? What if this world, this wonderful, marvelous, fantastical world, decided that she wasn't special enough, and cast her aside as they had, before she'd met Ethan and Evie? She didn't think that she could handle that again… she needed to learn as much as possible about this world, so that she wouldn't be disposed of, not again. I want you to accept me. I promise that I'll work my hardest – please just don't cast me out again. She pulled back her hair, opened Hogwarts: A History, and began to prepare for her future.
I miss you. I love you. I want you.
Nothing – absolutely nothing – had changed. Yes, she was in this wonderful, bizarre world, but she still wasn't accepted. What had she done wrong? Had she learned too much about this world? Had she expected too much? Her head fell into her hands, the breeze from the window playing with the hangings on her bed. Evie, Ethan – I miss you. You were the only real friends I had, and now I can't even talk to you. All those years, the three of them had played and danced together – how could she have not realized how precious that time was? She had always had friends, two wonderful friends, but she had been worried about the others, the ones who whispered behind her back. What a fool she had been – how could she have taken all of that for granted?
And now... she had no one. She was completely alone; she didn't know how to approach her dorm-mates, however nice they might seem; she'd been taken in and tossed aside too many times before. But Evie… Evie had been her most sacred confidant and her most dependable book recommender. Ethan had been her dance partner and her most trustworthy ally. How she longed to see either of them, to tell them how much she missed them… how much she needed their friendship, the siblings she had never had…. Please hear me, Evie, Ethan. Please know that I'm thinking about you, that I love you. She pulled herself up and threw open her curtains to face her dorm-mates – and saw an empty room.
I want you here, with me. She was lonely, heartbroken; how could anyone in her situation not be? Yes, she was in the world that she had longed for, learning things infinitely more interesting than anything she would have studied in the Muggle world – but she was completely, utterly alone. And the worst part? She could never tell her two dearest friends everything, could never keep them as close as they had been. Picking up her books, she picked up the pieces of her heart and glued them into a strong façade. She paused for a moment, looking at her internal, shattered mirror… and then opened the door, and walked down to breakfast.
I miss you. I love you. I want you.
It was all so dark… all so very dark. What had happened? Was this death? Had the mirror not worked – would those yellow eyes be the last thing she ever saw? No; this couldn't be death; there must be something besides darkness in the afterlife, and she could feel something… something warm. What was that? A blanket? She struggled to open her eyes – only to realize that they were already open. Had she been able, she would have screamed; she had no control, and no way to tell what was going on, nor how much time had passed. If she could not tell what was happening, then how could she ever have a chance of getting back to her old self?
Slowly, though, she grew accustomed to it – and that scared her even more. Was she growing complacent? No – that was unacceptable. She would not grow complacent; for if she did not fight to regain her consciousness – if she did not fight for her life – she would wither away. If she did not regain her previous life, then… well, what would she have left? Had she been able to, and had her pride allowed her to, she would have succumbed to tears; if her future was to be nothing but a blank darkness, then she'd rather not have one. Nothing but darkness… she yearned for light, for sight of anything at all. I miss you; I can't live like this. She could not spend her forever in darkness… darkness?
Darkness… darkness was, by definition, the absence of light. For it to be dark, there must be the possibility of light. Therefore, if light were a possibility, then so must be a return to her previous life – but how? She considered her options, pulling up a mental diagram of her body. She had been holding the mirror, last thing she knew; if she were not dead, then this must be petrification. Perhaps she could manipulate her body mentally, or somehow rub life back into it from within? Normally, victims of petrification could only be cured through the use of mandrakes, but she might as well attempt to help herself. It wasn't like she had anything better to do while she was trapped in the confines of her own mind – the mandrakes wouldn't be ready for stewing for some time, after all, and she really couldn't count on anyone finding the paper in her hand.
Several days (or weeks, it was impossible to tell in her situation) later, however, she was mentally sighing in frustration. She had tried everything that she could think of trying, but to no avail: the darkness still surrounded her, immobilizing and nearly smothering her. Part of her wondered if she would be mad by the time she was released from this – and worried for the mental stability of those who had been petrified before she had been, as they must be trapped in this same scenario. Once she escaped the darkness, she knew, she would never wish to disappear again; for if she were to disappear, it would no doubt be into this darkness. Life, light, sound… I love you. Anything would be better than this. I'm going mad, alone in here, and I haven't been able to do anything. Please… wait for me to come back. I'll make it back.
In the long term, the lack of sound was perhaps even more wearing than the impenetrable darkness. For most of her life, she'd been surrounded by exceptionally loud people – even if they didn't necessarily like her, as in primary school – and had grown used to having to seek out silence and solitude. To think that she had ever lusted after such things was now a cruel joke to her – now, when she yearned for any sort of sound, any sign of life! How could she have been such a fool to reject those blessings, to think that they had been nuisances? What would she do with herself, now that she could do nothing but wait for an antidote to be prepared? Something snapped inside of her, and she begged silently, to those who could not hear her: Please, mandrakes, hurry – grow quickly. I want you to grow faster than any plant has ever grown in history. You're my only hope. Please… please….
"…please wake up now, Miss Granger. That's a good girl," Madam Pomfrey nodded as Hermione stirred. "You've all been out for quite a while. Be careful when you sit up, now – your muscles will be stiff."
Hermione slowly sat up, muscles creaking, and beamed in relief, causing her dry lips to split. She could see, she could hear – she was alive. Her voice cracked when she spoke. "It was a basilisk."
"I know," Madam Pomfrey replied, now fussing over Colin Creevey. "I suppose that you'd all like to hear what happened?"
The previously petrified students nodded creakily; and so, Madam Pomfrey, over the wailing and mewling of an extremely happy reunion of Filch and Mrs. Norris, told them the thrilling tale of what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets.
Claraowl: And that's it for the first chapter! There will be some romione next chapter, don't worry. ;)
This was actually just supposed to be a one-shot… and then it got ridiculously long, so I had to split it into a three-shot. Eh-heh.
I hope that you enjoyed this! Please let me know your thoughts by dropping me a review~! :D