Hermione woke up with a jolt. It took her a while to realize where she was, mainly because she had associated her nights in the tent with nightmares. And last night there had, mercifully, been none.
She's thirteen and seems unable to stop her nights from being filled with nightmares consisting of her being completely unable to move. Sometimes she's distanced from it, as if observing her still form from above. Other times she's conscious enough to know what's happening, yet unable to move, trapped in her body despite her mind screaming at her to get up, just get up! Those are usually the times that make her wake up terrified and drenched in sweat. She knows her parents are starting to get worried. There are only so many times they'll let hearing her daughter yelling in her sleep slide, but she doesn't dare tell them the truth. She tells herself over and over that the basilisk is dead, she's safe now, she's home, but it rarely works. It would probably be better if she talked to Harry or Ron about it, but after what they both went through that year, she can't bring herself to burden them further. This is my problem and I'll deal with it on my own, she thinks decisively, only to have her resolve crumble the next time a nightmare chooses to invade her sleep.
Not that she was complaining, really, but it was still surprising, especially given what had happened last night.
She's eighteen and sitting at the table in their tent, perusing the book Dumbledore had left her in his will, for lack of anything better to do. It's a subdued afternoon, the only sound coming from Ron's efforts to guess the correct password on the radio. Harry's at the other side of the table, his head bent over a piece of parchment lying on the wooden surface. No one's saying anything and it is slowly driving Hermione crazy.
''What're you writing there?'' she asks Harry when she can't take the silence anymore. ''Harry!'' she says loudly when he shows no signs of having heard her the first time.
''What? Oh, nothing,'' he says quickly, his hands hovering over the parchment, as if shielding it from her.
If he hoped to convince her that way, he's in for a surprise. If anything, his reply only spiked her interest. ''What is it?'' she asks again.
''I told you, it's nothing.''
She shakes her head. ''Harry, you really should know better than trying to fool me after all this time. Now let me see.''
''No,'' he says forcefully. ''It's none of your business.'' A hint of panic is evident in his tone.
She looks at him in surprise. Harry's definitely acting weird. Even Ron has stopped fiddling with the radio and is regarding the pair of them silently.
''Harry, what's going on?''
''Nothing,'' he tells her stubbornly. ''Can't you just mind your own business?''
''No, actually, I can't,'' she says, starting to get annoyed and more than a little worried. What could possibly be on that piece of parchment that he's so desperate to hide? ''With everything that's going on, the worst thing we could do right now is keep secrets from each other. Why do mind so much if I see it?''
''It's mine,'' is his somewhat childish answer.
She lets out a sigh. ''I'm not going to argue about the ownership of a piece of parchment,'' she says before lifting her wand. ''Accio parchment!''
He tries to take hold of the parchment, but he's too slow, it's already flying towards her. She takes it and promptly looks down on the words scribbled on it. She barely reads the first couple of lines before she looks up again, her expression a mix of disbelief and outrage. She must look pretty fearsome, since both boys visibly cower before her.
''Harry James Potter.'' Her voice starts off low but increases with each word she says until she finds herself shouting. ''Tell me this is some sort of a joke. Tell me you were not just writing your bloody WILL!
Casting a look around, she could see the other two were still asleep. She tried to make as little sound as possible while she got up, lest she woke them up. After all, it was still early and they could all do with a bit more sleep. She was pretty tired herself, but didn't want to risk any nightmares by going back to sleep.
She's fifteen and barely manages to stifle her scream as she wakes up. It takes her a couple of minutes to calm down. She reaches for the glass of water she keeps by her bed, careful not to wake the sleeping girls next to her. Looking around the dark room, she does her best to erase the memories of her dream; or rather nightmare. Unsurprisingly it had to do with the Triwizard Tournament. Nobody knows what the first task will entail and her mind has taken it upon itself to create several horrific possibilities, all of which end with Harry dead. She refuses to entertain the idea that this could very well end up being true. Really, what were they thinking, letting him compete in the tournament? He's only fourteen-years-old for crying out loud! And Ron, what is he doing, picking fights with Harry? Rationally, she knows why Ron's behaving that way, she understands how he must feel. Right now however, rationality is not the first thing in her mind. Harry needs all the support he could get. It's that thought that brings her racing, panicking mind to a halt. Harry needs her. He needs her to support and encourage him, not spend half the night worrying that giant flobberworms will be unleashed and devour him at the first task – which seriously? Flobberworms? Her subconscious is undoubtedly going crazy. She settles back down on the mattress and wills her brain to shut up and go to sleep.
She padded silently across the room to pick up the plates from last night's dinner. They were still on the table, no one remembering to clean them with everything that had transpired later.
She's three and her parents watch in confusion and fascination as their baby girl makes the plates on the table move around. Of course, she doesn't remember that. She overheard her parents talking one night, years later, when they probably thought she was long asleep. It was the day she had gotten her letter from Hogwarts and found out she was a witch. Her parents were discussing that incident and expressing their relief that they finally had an explanation for it. She heard her father say, ''At least now we know it's nothing bad. She's normal.''
''No,'' her mother said firmly, shaking her head. ''She's not normal. She's extraordinary.''
Done with that task, she snuck a look over her shoulder. If Ron's loud snores were anything to go by, both he and Harry were still sound asleep. She was grateful, but still couldn't help remember how long it usually took them to get up in the mornings.
She's sixteen and is standing in the fifth year boys' dormitory, her patience decreasing with every passing minute. ''Harry! Ron! Wake up already,'' she says loudly for the fifth time; or is the seventh? Honestly she's lost count. The only answer she's got so far has been a grunt from Harry and a nearly unintelligible mutter from Ron, which sounded like 'five more minutes'. By now Neville, Dean and Seamus have all got up and are quite happily watching her trying and failing to get two lazy fifteen-year-olds out of bed, without lifting a finger to help her, thank you very much.
She lets out a sigh and is preparing to shout again, when Harry slowly opens one eye and then the other, blinking owlishly at her.
''Wha's goin' on?'' he asks.
''What's going on is I have been standing here for the last twenty minutes, practically begging you and Ron to get up,'' she replies, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice.
''Oh,'' is all Harry has to say. At least he looks more awake and alert now.
''Oh? Is that all? Just oh?''
''Hermione, it's,'' he looks around as if waiting for a clock to appear and show him the time, ''early and-''
''Eight o'clock,'' Neville pipes up from his bed. Hermione gives him a glare which makes him swallow audibly.
''Eight o'clock,'' Harry repeats. ''On a Saturday. Why exactly am I up?
''Because,'' she says sternly, ''you and Ron both promised me that you would wake up early today in order to start organising your revision schedule for the O.W.L.s. And no, there is no way you can get out of it,'' she adds as she sees realisation crossing Harry's face. ''You're already behind on Transfiguration, Potions…''
''Okay, okay,'' Harry cuts her off quickly.
Resigned to his fate, he gets up and walks to the bathroom. By the time he comes back, Ron has still not moved a muscle, despite the rest of the boys now joining forces with Hermione. Seamus suggests that maybe he's awake but pretends not to hear them in the hopes that they will go away and Hermione would be inclined to agree if she didn't know better. Ron is still away in Dreamland.
''Hold on,'' Harry says just as she's seriously contemplating shaking Ron awake. ''I have an idea.''
He tells everyone to gather around Ron's bed, leaning close so that their faces will be the first thing he sees when he wakes up. Then, in a very soft voice, he singsongs, directly in Ron's ear, ''Ron, time to wake up now,''
''Please Mum, just five more minutes,'' Ron mumbles.
''No, Ron, you have to wake up now,'' Hermione says as the other boys are trying to smother their laughter.
When Ron's only reaction is burrow his head deeper in his pillow, Hermione mouths to the others, ''On three. One, two…''
''RON!'' they all yell at the same time, causing the boy in question to jolt awake.
''Wha-AAAAHHHH!''
Ron's scream is all it takes to send them all rolling on the floor laughing. It's at least five minutes before they manage to calm down and then Dean chokes out, ''You should have seen your face,'' at Ron and they're howling with laughter again, while Ron mutters under his breath about idiotic friends who come to disturb his peaceful slumber and it being ''way too bloody early to deal with this.''
She returned to the table and sat down, picking up The Tales of Beedle the Bard and leafing absentmindedly through it, never lingering on a page too long in order to properly read it.
She's five and has just finished reading 'Matilda'. During the course of the book she has fallen in love with the smart little girl and feels really glad that eventually she gets a happy ending. Suddenly, as if following orders, she puts down the book and looks around her room, her gaze finally concentrating on the bookcase at the opposite wall. Her eyes focus on the books, she stares at them, willing herself to think of nothing else. Move, she thinks, move! After a while her eyes catch a slight movement at the upper right shelf. Seconds later the pages of a book lying open at the bottom shelf start moving, as if someone is rifling through them. Then, slowly, so slowly, several books escape from the shelves and end up hovering mid-air as she watches with an awestruck expression on her face. As more and more books join the ones floating around her, she lets out a joyful scream, which causes her concentration to break and the books to come crashing down to the floor of her bedroom. Barely a moment later, her mother rushes into her room looking quite alarmed.
''Hermione, is everything alright?'' she asks.
''Mummy, the books can fly,'' she replies happily, pointing to the cluster of books on the floor.
Her mother looks even more worried before her gaze lands on the one book that's next to her on the bed and her expression clears. ''Of course they can, dear,'' she says softly.
Eventually she gave up and closed the book. By that point she was more fanning herself with the pages than reading. Seeing as books provided no distraction, she let her gaze wander and it landed on Harry's hand. It seemed he was clutching some piece of parchment and the sight of it made her anger from last night resurface. She knew it couldn't possibly be the same one, seeing as she had ripped it apart yesterday, but she was still filled with an intense desire to get up and pluck whatever it was from his hand. When she got closer, however, she realized it wasn't just any piece of parchment. She pried it gently from his closed fist and found herself faced with The Marauder's Map. Harry must have forgotten to wipe it after using it. It made her heart ache just by looking at it; not only because she could see so many familiar names and places, but also because she knew full well why Harry checked the Map every day.
She's seventeen and standing in the common room and Harry has just kissed Ginny. Harry's eyes lock with hers for a second and she's beaming, because she's happy for them, because she knows Ginny has been in love with Harry for years and Hermione has been waiting a long time for Harry to realize he has the same feelings and do something about it. And what happened definitely constitutes as 'something'. She also knows that what Harry wants right now is not her approval but Ron's. She looks at him the same time Harry does and feels relief to see their friend simply nod his head, as if saying, Well-if you must. Harry grins and leaves with Ginny and she can tell it's far from over, has a feeling she will have to endure a lot of Ron's ranting and changing his mind about it and she knows both Harry and Ginny depend on her to make Ron see reason, whenever it's needed. For now, though, Ron seems fine with the whole thing-or maybe he's just too shocked to fully comprehend what happened-so she relaxes and amuses herself with watching the various reactions of the other Gryffindors. And, if there is a tiny part of her that screams jealousy, she is determined to ignore it.
She placed the Map gently on the pillow next to Harry's sleeping form. Hermione might be mad at him, but that didn't mean she had stopped caring about her friend. She knew Harry missed Ginny a lot and even though they were both aware she couldn't, it wasn't the first time she wished she could something, anything to comfort him. She couldn't imagine how it must feel to be separated from someone you love so much, worrying constantly about their safety and having no way to contact them. But you can, a poisonous little voice whispered in the back of her mind and she immediately looked over at Ron, as if checking to make sure he was still there. Careful not to make any sudden movements she approached Ron and sat by his side on the bed. He looked younger when he slept, she mused, the worry and fear from the day fading away to leave behind the familiar, freckled face she had fallen in love with. She shook her head. All those years she had been determined to ignore that particular fact. She had done her best to convince herself the only thing she felt for Ron was friendly affection, that he was, like Harry, like the brother she never had. There was only one problem with this plan, however. She doubted one normally dreamt of snogging one's brother senseless.
She's seventeen and in the hospital wing with Harry and Ginny as they wait for Ron to recover after having been poisoned. There have been very few times in her life when she's felt she can't cope with something, can't come with a logical solution. This is definitely one of those times. How is she supposed to deal with this? How is she supposed to deal with the fact that her best friend, the boy she loves - and really what's the point in denying it anymore? - has been poisoned. One of the first thoughts that popped in her head after they had been assured that Ron was going to be okay and that there would be no lasting damage from the poison, was He could have died and never hear me say I love you. Part of her screams she's being selfish, that Ginny almost lost a brother and Harry his best friend, yet she can't stop imagining such a scenario. It's a terrifying thought and she spends the time until they're allowed to see him ignoring Harry and Ginny's obsessive discussion about how Ron has been poisoned and instead trying to make sense of the tangled knot of feelings inside her.
Determined to keep away any memories about the time Ron had been away from her mind, she ran a hand through his vividly red hair. Surprised to find them soft to the touch, she repeated the action several times. There was something soothing to just being there next to him, touching him, that she lost track of time and only Ron's voice snapped her back to the present.
''Her-mione,'' he said, so softly it could have been a whisper. At first she thought he had woken up and was racking her brain for something to explain what she was doing, when she heard him repeat the word and realized he was just saying her name in his sleep. Her heart swelled in her chest and she had to fight the urge to lean down and kiss him, telling herself firmly that their first kiss was not going to be her practically attacking him with her mouth while he was still asleep. Still, she couldn't resist reaching out to take the hand that wasn't tucked under his pillow and hold it in hers, her fingers running slow circles in his palm. Unfortunately, that had the undesirable effect of tickling him and therefore waking him up. As Hermione felt Ron stir, she startled and in her haste to remove herself from his bed, she tripped and ended up being in much closer proximity with the floor of the tent than she had ever wanted.
''Hermione?'' Ron squinted at her, obviously still half-asleep. ''Are you okay?''
''Of course,'' she replied quickly, patting the space next to her, as if being sprawled on the floor had been precisely her goal. ''I'm perfectly fine.''
Harry had woken up as well and now both boys were peering at her curiously. In her attempt to avoid Ron's gaze, she looked at Harry and remembered she was still cross at him.
''What're you looking at?'' she snapped at him. ''Get up already, we can't afford to waste time sleeping.''
Harry remained silent as he tossed the covers away and busied himself with getting ready for the day, but he looked so hurt and regretful, she almost felt bad for her behaviour. Then, however, she remembered the reason she had yelled at him and any feelings of regret vanished instantly.
She could feel Ron's piercing gaze at her as he too readied himself, but she directed her attention to the – for the first time – wholly unappealing books on the table, determined to ignore both of them.
All in all it was a tense morning and as the day gave way to night, the situation did not seem to improve. Ron tried to ask her a couple of times about why she had ended up on the floor this morning, but she kept changing the subject until he eventually gave up. By late afternoon she found herself sitting in the tent entrance, at guard duty. Further away, to her left, she could see Harry and Ron, heads bent close together, talking intently. She had no intention of listening in to their conversation, but if she had to guess, she'd say Harry was trying to justify himself to Ron about the incident with the will. To be honest, she didn't know how Ron would react. After all, he hadn't exactly been chummy with Harry today, even if last night he had assumed the role of mediator, to keep things from transcending into a full-blown argument. A vindictive part of her wanted Ron to not forgive Harry, to show him the consequences of doing such an unbelievably idiotic thing. But the larger part just wanted the two of them to work things out. She knew full wel how much each missed the other when they were in a fight.
As for her… well, honestly, she didn't know if she'd be able to have a civilized conversation with Harry about what had happened and not ending up cursing or hitting him. Which was probably the reason why he hadn't attempted to do it. Harry seemed to be debating whether the best course of action was to make small talk and be helpful or to just not speak to her at all until she got over it. She scoffed. That wasn't happening any time soon, as far as she was concerned.
After a while, Harry and Ron finished their conversation and went back inside the tent. There was no sound afterwards, save for Ron's sporadically blurting out different names and places at the radio, since he insisted he needed ''complete silence and calmness'' to guess the password. Whatever. Usually she and Harry sat outside the tent together, talking in low voices and more than once having to smother their laughter when Ron asked them what was going on. Today, though he stayed inside, until it was time for him to play guard. Their shoulders brushed as Hermione walked inside and for a second he looked like he was going to say something. In the end he remained silent.
''I am extraordinary, I am extraordinary.'' She's twelve and keeps repeating her mother's words to herself when she's sitting alone at the breakfast table, when she has to spend all her free time alone, when she hears Ron Weasley and many others mocking her and calling her insufferable and know-it-all. ''I am extraordinary,'' she whispers as she tries to convince herself that she doesn't need friends when there are so many new things to learn, spells and potions to master. ''I am extraordinary,'' she says firmly to the owl looking at her impassively as she waits to deliver her letter to her parents, a letter which tells them that she's having the time of her life, that everyone here is nice and welcoming, that she's made lots of friends and is happy. Basically, a letter full of lies so that they won't worry.
It takes her a while to realize she has stopped saying it, even thinking it. The realization hits her one day as she's doing her homework and her head shoots up in surprise. Next to her, Harry looks up from the parchment he's scribbling on and asks her if she's alright. She nods yes and he flashes her a smile before returning to his own homework. Of course, she thinks, that's it! This little routine of hers has stopped since that fateful day, when Harry and Ron rescued her from the troll in the bathroom. Ever since they became friends and started to spend all their time together. Every time she tells them sternly to stop wasting time and complete their assignments, every time they beg her to let them copy her essay at the last minute, every time Ron teases her gently about being the top student, every time she checks their homework because they look at her like sad, little puppies she's unable to refuse, it's one less time she has to assure herself she's extraordinary. Being friends with Harry and Ron will do that to you, she supposes. She doesn't have to tell herself she's extraordinary anymore. Their friendship makes her feel like she is, better than any words could have.
Hermione opened her eyes slowly, registering the sun shining through the fabric of the tent. She must have overslept, she thought and her suspicions were proven true when she found both Harry and Ron awake and waiting for her with a whole breakfast at the table. Well, Harry was waiting. Ron had already helped himself to several pieces of food, judging from his half-empty plate. Harry gave her a tentative smile, which she returned just as tentatively. She felt good today, even if she couldn't put her finger on exactly why. Perhaps it was because this had been her second consecutive night without nightmares in a while. Perhaps it was because she had had a good dream, though it had faded away the moment she opened her eyes. Perhaps it had nothing to do whatsoever with her sleep.
Whatever the reason, Hermione felt positive today. She felt ready to do more research, to visit more places where Voldemort might have hidden Horcruxes, to discuss new theories. She even felt better about Harry. She wasn't ready to forgive him, not yet, and the thought of him giving up enough to write a bloody will still filled her with anger. Yet she felt calmer now, figuring she might give him a chance to explain himself.
After Ron had stuffed himself with enough breakfast to last him for the whole day – though, knowing him, he'd claim to be starving after a couple of hours – he settled himself down with the radio and announced to the room that he was really close to figuring out the password for Potterwatch. It was nothing he hadn't said at least five times before, yet for some reason, today Hermione believed him. The possibility of hearing familiar voices, finding out news about the rest of the world after all this time left her almost giddy with joy and hope. Maybe everything would work out in the end. She was allowed to hope, after all.
A week later they got captured by Snatchers.
A/N: When I first started working on this, I wanted to write Hermione in different points in her life. However, in the end it turned out like this (also much longer than I originally expected) and, well, I like it better this way. I don't think I've gone off cannon anywhere, but if I have let me know. Hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are always highly appreciated ;)
Of course I don't own a single thing from Harry Potter. As if that's a surprise.