his is the story of how I saved the world.
Listen to it.
Understand.
Learn from the mistakes of the past.
And whatever you do, don't look in the looking glass.
-
A tall slender figure stooped over the Pensive which stood proudly behind the dusty old shelf of books in Hogwarts' library. A jar of silver vapor was tightly captured by her trembling fingers, a jar labeled neatly Hermione Granger : 278dqa : Postwar Investigation. Her grandfather had talked about it once, just once, and now he was dying of something no Healer could cure. And that jar could hold the answer – the jar that held the memories of Hermione Granger, War Heroine.
She could remember when she was a first year, barely reaching the top jars. Her younger self groaning and laughing with her friends, talking about their War Hero assignment, was a vague memory but it pricked her sharply like a thorn. She had done Harry Potter. Over the years she had returned, taking great pleasure to see the memories from years of their adventures through Hogwarts until she had left in her seventh year, graduating from Hogwarts herself. She had never bothered to see what happened after they won.
With a gulp, she realized that now she finally would. It might even save her grandfather's life. Her bright terrified eyes darted up, flooding with relief when the sudden thump she heard proved to be nothing. The caretaker wouldn't bother with the library, nostudent snuck to the library anymore anyways. The girl didn't see the boy crouching behind her in the shadows, watching the girl who wore old dress robes that no one wore and had very red hair in silent fascination.
Her whole body was trembling, fists clenched, face ghostly pale. Dazedly, lowering her head so her vibrant hair veiled the sides of her cold face, her gaze finally met the daunting silvery liquid. For a split second, everything seemed to go stock-still, but then her lips touched the vapor, and she simply vanished into the Pensieve.
Sand quietly burst into the air as her feet landed onto the shore of a beach with a barely heard thump. It was incredibly realistic, Hermione Granger's memories, but the Pensieve had developed over the years. Rummaging in her bag frantically, she sighed in relief when her hand made contact with the rough paper. Pulling it out, she held it out for a moment, re-reading the title solemnly. The book was written by the heroine herself, the woman whose memories she now explored, one of the few on the Postwar, titled The Investigation in cramped print. It had taken her nearly all of autumn to find the book but only two weeks to copy it down by hand. It was a small book but expensive. What could be better than reading her thoughts while watching it all happen?
Folding the skirts of her robe when she sat, she folded her arms in her laps carefully, one eye out for the action to start. A crack of Apparition muffled another quiet thump in the shore, so she didn't notice the boy had followed her in. Looking down at the text, Bless Whyte began to read:
It had been ages since I had visited Bill and Fleur, but Ginny told me they moved down closer to Mrs. Weasley. I guess everyone wants to get back home with the war over. I felt like a child in a grown-up's body, not feeling quite right in it.
It was really cold. I had absolutely no idea what drove me to come here after so long. It was New Year's, but here I was at a memorial of the war. It's just that I didn't want to forget.
A woman, thickly layered with a coat and scarves, was heading towards a dark crouched figure near a stone, but she didn't seem to see it yet. Her face was turned towards the starry sky, looking somewhat wistful and sad. This was the war heroine Hermione Granger.
It was shocking how normal she looked, except for the look on her face. There was something about it that reminded her of her grandfather. The look that says you've seen things no one should that young.
I know they'll wonder where I am when I don't turn up at the party, but I really don't mind, not really. I don't turn up to a lot of stuff nowadays. They're used to it. I would come, sometimes at one. Then I would really feel the new year.
Oh, I feel just like how Harry looks. It must be the environment.
But there was someone kneeling by Dobby's grave.
Not being able to help herself, Bless stood up, scrutinizing the dark robed shape by the grave, or so the book said. She couldn't resist walking on for a closer look. Walking first, then running, she knelt by the man, looking at him. His eyes were a faint gray, the color of the silver liquid of the memory. His hair was a pale blond, and his skin looked discolored. He must have been more handsome once, even though he was still was. He had the look of war about him. But it was much worst.
I haven't seen him for a bit, not since the trial. I was glad when the Malfoys were let go, but I'll admit not completely. The scar on my throat seemed to tingle.
We were connected by the hatred and torture of Bellatrix Lestrange.
And by the magic of Hogwarts.
I knelt by him, and he didn't look at me.
Dobby died a free elf.
It always made me ache inside.
I thought Harry blamed himself for it.
The clock from the village donged. Twelve times. Fireworks lit up the sky. They were celebrating living again. Seeing another year. There were laughs.
Draco Malfoy looked at me. I wanted to either punch him or kiss him.
And so I did.
The chapter ended there. It was an incredibly short first chapter, but it started a whole twisted mystery, But there were so many things the book didn't include. And she was positive this memory could explain it all. She looked up quickly, wondering if Hermione had kissed or punched Draco Malfoy. She couldn't tell from the book when she had copied it.
They were kissing fiercely, arms tightly wrapped around each other, swaying. It was like they thought the world would end if they stopped. Something seemed to pass between them, some sort of emotion that couldn't be expressed in words. She supposed it wasn't love or hate. Maybe their stories, their scars, something in that, something Bless was too young to know or to understand.
Her throat was sore, feeling like she was intruding in their memory. But she had to save him. It was painful, but if it could help... She would stop at nothing.
Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy separated. They didn't pause to look at each other; their eyes didn't meet one another's even once. Perhaps kissing was more than that. She was no stranger to kissing or even snogging. As an ex- prefect, she had more of a good look than she desired. After she graduated and even before, she had her fair share of it. The experience was incredible but not the same. It seemed fake compared to this.
Lost in her thoughts, she had missed Draco Malfoy Disapparating into the night. Hermione Granger stood, her face pale in the colorful lights up above in the sky. Then the woman spoke, "This message will be passed on only to the first one who sees this. If you are hearing this, it must be you. I edited this, and now I am ninety-three. You can probably tell, child."
Every particle of her simply jolted up, her heart was beating faster than anything in the world. Hermione Granger meant for someone to see this, for someone to understand. Especially as the world started to fall again but with no villains or saviors. Bless could tell that this was edited now, how the image of Hermione wavered, how the voice was aged like her grandfather's. But Hermione Granger thought this was a student of Hogwarts, she had never thought a woman might steal in to see the memory. Still, she doubted it would matter much.
"I couldn't write this. Have you found the book? It might be hard to obtain, maybe almost impossible by the time you are listening to this. But it has part of it, and this memory is part of it, but even together they aren't the whole."
At those words, her heart sunk. It couldn't be that easy. She was missing something. But what? The only other thing she could think of was Hermione Granger herself, but it was impossible. That was everything that the Golden Trio didn't believe in.
"No way," A murmur escaped from somewhere behind her. Instantly she twisted around, her eyes flaring, but she was only thinking over and over again, 'let it not be someone real and live and today.' Because that was really all she could think of. Her heart hurted so much after this. After thinking of her grandfather, the War, the deaths, the kiss, the emotions, and the future that evaded her despite anything she did. It burned in her like rage.
It was a boy. He clearly didn't belong, wearing a ghost of disbelief on his face. A startled look was caught in his bright eyes, and by what she could see, he was a seventh year. Around her age most likely.
"What the heck are you doing here?" She shrieked, her anger finding something to channel into. Her rage was hot and fierce, just like her grandmum's.
He whirled around, frantically looking for somewhere he could hide. But there was nowhere in the world, not in Hermione Granger's memories. "I... I..." He stammered, stumbling back. He wore black and yellow sharply striped pajamas, Hufflepuff.
Bless snorted. A petty Hufflepuff. It should be too much trouble. As soon as she thought that, she regretted it. Grandfather was always strong for House Unity. She never had been though. "Listen, boy," She twirled her wand for effect, "I could make you disappear. I have the resources. I know the right people. Your mother wouldn't know for ages. It would be too late by the time she did." She wouldn't ever do that, but she could.
Like he ought to, the boy looked terrified. But his next words shook her world.
"Please! I know what Hermione Granger means! I know! I know what you need!"
Then, in a quiet voice, he added.
"You could save the world."