19 August 2014

This is a complete rewrite of a story I published here roundabout four years ago. For those of you who were fans of Looking Back, this new edition will be better than ever.

I own nothing you recognize from the Harry Potter books or films.

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It surprised Hermione every single year when she entered St. Eunice's Hospice Care Facility to find that the holiday spirit was nearly as strong as it was on the streets outside. During most of the year, St. Eunice's was plagued with the unfortunate pall of illness and death that obviously came with the territory of caring for the ill and dying.

During the two weeks surrounding the Christmas holiday, however, there were trees decorated with strands of bright, colored lights and strings of popcorn to be found around every corner. Shiny tinsel adorned every doorway, and the nurses and staff passed around cups of eggnog and spiced cocoa.

The holiday spirit almost entirely eliminated the despair of oncoming death for the residents of the hospice, but in some doorways, the sadness lingered. Most often, it was for those who had no loved ones left to visit them. Most often, it was those who were truly, truly alone.

"Hermione," came a voice from behind Hermione, who turned to see a nurse beaming at her, holding a tray of still-steaming food. "Happy holidays, my dear."

"Happy holidays, Betty," Hermione returned, smiling. "How are you? How is your family?"

Betty gave a little half shrug and a wry shake of her head. "Jeremy's home with the twins; they've caught head colds again this year. But Alan, my youngest, has decided to take up piano. Says he's going to be the next great composer, but he's still learning the notes." She sighed fondly. "Anyway, you must be here to see her. I'm actually headed there now. She wasn't hungry earlier, when everyone else ate lunch, so I'm going to give it another shot now."

Hermione followed Betty's lead into a room at the end of the hallway. She was pleased to see that someone had decorated this room, too, with a strand of lights lining the doorway and a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the jamb.

"Helene?" Betty said brightly, setting the tray upon the bedside table. "You've a visitor, dear. Take a look."

Hermione stepped forward, loosening her scarf and smiling down at the woman lying up against the pillows. "Hi, Mum."

Helene Granger looked up at Hermione in surprise. "'Mum?'" she repeated. "Are you my daughter?"

This fazed Hermione not a wink. It had been years since her mother had been able to recognize her on the spot. When Helene was having a good day, and did recognize her daughter on sight, it was often short-lived.

Of all the Muggle and magical advances in the area of medicine, there was still no cure, still no real treatment for Alzheimer's disease.

"I'll leave you to it," Betty said, patting Hermione's shoulder comfortingly before heading out and shutting the door behind her.

"Yes, Mum," Hermione said, in answer to Helene's bewilderment. "I'm your daughter. My name is Hermione Jean."

"Hermione Jean," Helene mused, looking Hermione over with a close eye. "That's a marvelous name. Tell me, since you're my daughter, was that my idea?"

Hermione smiled. "It was."

"Well, I have excellent taste," Helene declared. "If I do say so myself."

Hermione lifted the tray from the bedside table and set it gently across her mother's lap. "It's lunchtime, Mum. Time to eat what Betty brought for you."

"Oh, but I don't feel very hungry," Helene told her daughter. "Maybe later."

Hermione eyed her mother with a concerned eye. Helene had obviously lost weight since the last time Hermione had come to visit, and since it had only been a week, Hermione was rightly worried.

"Let's make a deal," she said, knowing that whatever memory her mother had lost, there was a competitive spark in her that would never die away. "If you eat the lot, I'll tell you a story." Combined with Helene's inherent love of stories, Hermione was sure this would get her mother to eat.

And Hermione was right. Helene sat up a little straighter and reached for her napkin. "Is it a love story? I do so enjoy love stories."

Hermione nodded. "It's also an adventure, Mum. About a witch and her friends."

"A witch?" exclaimed Helene . "Is she a good witch, or a bad witch?"

"She's a good witch," Hermione assured her mother, relieved when Helene started in on the chicken and rice. "A good witch just trying to make her way in the world, when something happens to her. Something she never expected in a thousand years would happen."

Helene looked up at her daughter, intrigued. "Sounds exciting, dear. Do go on."

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"Come on, Hermione," complained Ron as he, Hermione, and Harry made their way from the groudns outside to the Gryffindor common room to gather their belongings. "The train'll be leaving soon. There's nothing left to study for."

"I'm just going to take one last look in the Dark Arts section," she told them in an undertone as they passed a group of subdued first year students. "I know there's something there that can help us find the Horcruxes. I know I've read the name before, but I just can't put my finger on it."

Harry, who'd been nearly silent since the declaration of his intent to hunt Voldemort and his Horcruxes minutes earlier, said irritably, "The answers aren't always going to be in a book, Hermione. It's not that easy."

"And when have too much reading and too much research ever been a detriment?" Hermione asked fiercely, frowning at them. "Maybe I won't find anything, but what if I do? And if I don't, what's the harm in trying?"

"Fine," Harry sighed wearily. "We won't stop you. Do what you like; we'll see you on the train."

Hermione watched as her two best friends continued on with the tide of other Gryffindor students on their way from Dumbledore's funeral.

She knew they weren't really upset with her; it was to be expected that emotions would be running high after such a day. Albus Dumbledore had been a great wizard and a great mentor for Harry. Without him, Hermione supposed she understood that Harry would be feeling especially vulnerable.

Hermione sighed and turned, heading down the hall toward the library. As she entered, there was a tightness in her throat and a heaviness to her heart. This was her favorite place in the whole world. She'd never felt safer or more at home than when she was here, searching and reading and learning.

And now, this would very likely be the last time she'd ever visit it. The last time she'd ever breathe in the familiar scents of old books and fresh quill ink that were distinctly Hogwarts. She had to admit to herself that she'd fallen victim to sentiment, that visiting the library one last time was as much a motivation for separating from her friends that afternoon as was finding information on Horcruxes.

Absently and by memory alone, Hermione found her way to the Dark Arts section of the library, heading up one of the aisles at random. She ran her fingers lightly over the spines of the books, most of them the familiar feel of aged leather with a light cover of dust.

No one much visited these books, and for good reason. Those who were eager to learn the Dark Arts were disappointed to find that these books held no directions for becoming a dark witch or wizard, and those who had no interest in being affiliated with the Dark Arts steered clear on principle.

Hermione had found herself exploring these aisles when she was a fourth year student. She spent most of the year pondering the choices of Peter Pettigrew, wondering what could possibly motivate him to betray his friends to their deaths. Those answers hadn't been in these books then, either, but her time here had helped Hermione to understand more fully the respect she felt for those who stood up against the Dark Arts, and those who practiced them.

She chose one of the books off a shelf at random, and recognized the title. The Darkness In Us, by Gamora Song. She must have read this one at some point in the last several years, but then again, Hermione had read so many books since coming to Hogwarts that it was sometimes hard to place a specific volume, even in her sharp, long memory.

"My, my, Granger, gotten quite brave, have we?"

Hermione turned quickly, seeing that Blaise Zabini had snuck up on her, and was standing quite close.

"What do you want, Zabini?" she snapped. "I don't have time for your nonsense."

Zabini's mouth crept upward in a sinister smile that transformed his face from his normally neutral, bored expression to one of cruel intent. "You'll have to make time, then, Mudblood."

Hermione's instincts rang in alarm, but she had little time to react, as Zabini shoved her back against the shelf. Her head snapped back against something hard; she thought absently that it must have been one of the shelf partitions as Zabini pulled out his wand, pointing it at her chest.

"The Muggle-lover Dumbledore is gone, now," he reminded her in a soft, deadly voice. "And so is that prat, Malfoy. He should have had us rid of you ages ago, but then again, he always was the weakest of us all, surname be damned."

"What is your point, Zabini?" Hermione ground out, hiding her fear with indignation.

"Don't come back to Hogwarts," he told her. "Simple as that. Stay away, and you might live a long, Muggle life. Return, and I'll make absolutely sure you don't live long enough to see the Sorting."

"Why should I be afraid of you, Zabini?" Hermione wondered, still clutching the book tightly. "You, who can barely perform a simple Switching Spell?"

Zabini smiled again, unfazed by the insult. "It's been a long year, Mudblood. I've been practicing, and my tutor has taught me some new things that these useless professors know nothing of." He chuckled darkly, sending a shiver down Hermione's spine. "He's quite pleased with my progress in the Dark Arts."

"Stay away from me," Hermione demanded, refusing to let herself be horrified by the fact that Blaise Zabini seemed to be apprentice to the Dark Lord himself. "Just leave me alone, Zabini." She thrust her hand into the pocket of her dress, her hands curling around her wand just as Zabini aimed a punch at her chest.

There was the dainty tinkle of breaking glass, and with a surprised "Oh," Hermione Granger disappeared.