Grace

By Fidelius Charm

Summary: The wizarding world abandoned religion, but I knew in that moment Hermione wasn't about to do the same. Even if she's considered a walking sin.

Note: I always thought about how paradoxical it is that wizarding families celebrate Christmas, even though the Christian religions reject witchcraft as sin. Just a thought.

Part I:

Devotion

She was always considered the devoted one: devoted to her studies, devoted to her friends, devoted to her causes and beliefs, always so devoted. But I never really considered her truly devoted to anything, just determined. Devotion required a certain level of faith, and Hermione had lost her faith in almost everything these days, even Ron and Harry, you could tell it by the way she talked to those around her and that empty look she got in her eyes. Determination only required willpower, belief in oneself, something Hermione carried with unusual grace despite the on going war and the death of so many of her friends. She never gave up on herself; she always had a fire that helped her to continue on.

It was something I envied about her for so long, her determination, because I was slowly falling a part, I couldn't find a reason to go on. Without George I wasn't the same, because…I suppose, up until that point, he was the only person I was ever truly devoted too. As horrible as it sounds I didn't really care about what happened, as long as George was all right. I didn't want to fight in this war, this wasn't my battle—it was someone else's. Someone more powerful, someone more determined, someone more devoted. I was devoted to George; he was my brother and my twin, and my best friend. I didn't need to be devoted to a war that didn't concern me. But when George joined the Order and decided he wanted to fight I didn't hesitate to follow him; because if anything happened to him, I would simply fall apart.

And I did.

That's why Hermione decided to stay with me in muggle London (That and my mother would have forced me to move home otherwise). Because she wanted to put me back together. She was determined to help me get past George's death.

It wasn't going to happen.

Her determination to save me wasn't going to work. It wouldn't be enough to save me. But she tried anyway. She would get me self-help books; try taking me out to Hogsmeade, taking me to see a muggle movie. She would try to get me to talk, about how I was feeling, or what I wasn't feeling. But nothing ever came out. I didn't want or need her help. But she kept trying, trying to get me to talk to her. I didn't talk to my own mother, why would I start talking to my baby brother's best friend?

Our charade continued on for months, but she never gave up. She never stopped trying. And I couldn't understand why, not even determination could keep her going for this long, it just couldn't. I needed to know what kept her hopeful. And I got my answer on a beautiful Sunday morning in April.

"Fred I'm leaving for a bit, I'll be back in about an hour!" I heard her call from the front door, "Do you want anything from the grocery store?"

I got up from the couch in the living room and walked into the foyer of my modest apartment and leaned against the arch of the doorway. I shook my head no. She smiled weakly.

"I'll see you in an hour then." She grabbed her spring jacket, her bag and closed the door quietly behind her.

She did this every Sunday, she got up, showered, ate a small bowl of cereal and left for an hour wearing somewhat fancy clothes with a tired, solemn look on her face, only to return refreshed: As if she had gone for a swim, or went jogging to relieve stress. But nether of those things made sense because of her outfit. I always liked to imagine where she went, and I enjoyed pretending she was some kind of superhero fighting crime, like Spiderman, the superhero she loved so much. But that didn't make any logical sense either.

For some reason I was overcome with the need to know what she did on Sunday morning every week, the logical truth. So I grabbed my coat as well and followed her. She walked at a fairly quick pace, the sound her shoes made slowly became a melody of click-clacks and shuffles. I entertained myself with the song, and soon my feet were in time with hers. Click-clack, shuffle, shuffle, click-clack, click-clack. I wonder if she ever noticed she walked with such musical steps.

It was a nice distraction that lasted all the way to Hermione's destination. I stopped and watched her climb the steps of the humble building and enter through the rather large doors. I looked up seeing a cross at the roof's peak. She had just entered a Protestant church. To say I was shocked was an understatement. What was Hermione doing at a church? Hadn't she heard of the Puritans and the Salem Witch trials? She must have! Hundreds of witches and wizards were killed when that religious group had discovered their powers in the colonies. It took the Ministry years to oblivate of all of the colonials in order to restore peace. After that the wizarding world had rejected all religion, out of fear that any connection with it would end the wizarding people forever. Hadn't she taken Binn's class all through her Hogwarts career?

(I mean, yeah, most of us celebrate Christmas, but we don't look at it as the birth of Christ. We look at is as a time for family, friends and appreciation for life. We don't sing 'Silent Night' or set up a nativity. We're to busy decking the halls and drinking too much eggnog. And yes, I did pay attention in Binn's class. I found his lessons interesting.)

I needed to get her out of there. It was dangerous. If any of them found out…

It was beautiful. The small church had windows decorated with stain glass that made the entire room seem surreal. The seats were made of dark mahogany and the air smelled like peace, if peace ever had a smell associated with it. I couldn't help but sit down and soak in the simple beauty of the church, even if I didn't believe in what the building stood for. Then I saw her, kneeling and desperately clutching on to a necklace. Her eyes were closed, her hands close to her face. She was praying. Then I remembered. Hermione wasn't from a wizarding family, she was Muggleborn. She might have come from a religious background. I had completely forgotten that about her. I had been around her for so long I just assumed she was just like the rest of us. But she wasn't.

The congregation rose.

And I, not to bring suspicion to myself, rose as well. I listened to the Priest as he read a passage; I think they called it the Gospel. He had a rich, clear voice, and he read with such passion and devotion. You could hear his faith seep from each word. But I listened, maybe not so much to the words but to what they meant. When you get down to the core of what he was reading, it's not really that religious, its morals and ethics really. The message was of peace and fulfillment. It was actually quite nice except: "Reject that devil and his use of witchcraft." Witchcraft, in my opinion, isn't a sin as long as it is used for good and not evil. It's like having a gun. A gun can be a good thing if you're protecting your family from a burglar, it can also be evil if you use it to rob a store.

The rest of the hour went by fairly quickly. I listened, tried to be open, and waited for the end to whisk Hermione out of the church and back home. Where I knew she would be safe. I didn't participate in the whole receiving the flesh and blood of Christ, and neither did Hermione. But it was interesting to watch so many people with such great faith celebrate the God in which they believed in.

It had finally ended and the congregation slowly filtered out of the peaceful church, all except for Hermione, who remained kneeling. And now crying.

The wizarding world abandoned religion, but I knew in that moment Hermione wasn't about to do the same. Even if she's considered a walking sin.

I guess I was wrong about her.

(Devotion turns slowly into Faith)

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Part II should be out soon!