Chapter three: First Letter

Hermione didn't see anyone else from the Order for the next few days, though the four Weasley's that were there and the part Veela that would become a Weasley seemed to be taking shifts in looking after Hermione and Evie. Hermione had always had difficulty sleeping, and the nightmares she had were only making this harder, but whenever she came downstairs for a glass of water- Mr. or Mrs. Weasley was there and appeared to be waiting for her. Then she would go back to sleep only to discover Ginny was awake and watching Evie. Ron didn't say much to her, which wasn't surprising as the two were never as close as when Harry was there. Whenever it was obviously his turn, he just stammered and looked around awkwardly while he picked at his chessboard or something.

The person who was around her the least happened to be the person she preferred. Fleur didn't give her any pitiful looks, or murmur some sort of terribly worded condolence for her parents. Instead, she made it clear to Hermione that should she need to talk that the older girl was more than happy to listen. She didn't smother Hermione on her shifts, insisting that Hermione and Evie couldn't be alone in a room the way the others did. She would settle for being nearby, not staring, and occasionally talking with Evie- who she said reminded her of her own sister, whom she missed.

Hermione hoped that Harry's impending arrival would make them flock to him instead, only feeling marginally guilty about wishing them upon her friend, but it was clear when he wouldn't meet her eyes that they'd simply drafted him into their schedule as well.

"This has to stop," Hermione said, talking to Fleur with Evie off helping Mrs. Weasley. "If I have to see them avoiding my glance one more time, or hear them ask me if I'm okay, I'm going to scream and break all the windows and refuse to help clean it."

They'd taken to speaking in French for their own amusement, seeing as the female Weasleys couldn't seem to stand the older girl set to marry their oldest. Fleur knew what they said about her, but never commented on it around them- choosing to ignore it for her fiance. Whom Fleur could barely go more than ten minutes without mentioning.

"That's an interesting medium to use for revenge," she replied. "Wouldn't it just be easier to talk to them? I've tried to tell them, but you know how they are with me."

Hermione nodded. She did know. "I tried. This morning I physically caught them switching off when I couldn't sleep. I admit they were better this morning and now they're trying to sneak around better, but it's only insulting my intelligence that they think I don't see their shadows."

"They're worried that you don't seem affected," Fleur told her flatly, coming out and saying what no one else would to her. "They're afraid that you'll lose your head and completely close off."

"But I'm fine," Hermione insisted passionately.

"Exactly," Fleur said, giving her a look over her Witch Weekly. "They're afraid you're taking this too well."

Hermione frowned, thinking. "But you don't?"

Fleur sighed, uncrossing her legs and shifting forward. "I don't have the right to say anything about how you're taking it. I'm not the one in your situation. You've just lost your parents and at the same time became responsible for your very young sister. No one has the right to say how you should react except you. Personally, I don't think its quite sunk in yet. I don't think you've had enough time to decide how you feel and this," she motioned towards the kitchen where Mrs. Weasley could be heard cooking and talking to Evie, "isn't going to help you."

Hermione realized Fleur had a point. She wasn't sure how to deal with this. Was she a horrible person for not taking it harder than she was? Was it wrong for her to be thankful she didn't have to set up a funeral and face her family- to be glad to be perceived dead? Should she be more distraught and refuse to leave her room for days on end? She knew that if any of the Weasleys were in the same position she was, their reactions would be very different. Or Harry's. He hardly knew Sirius when you thought about it, but he was acting much different than she was after losing her parents- whom she'd known and loved for almost seventeen years. And now they were gone. But she felt nothing. She felt numb.

Hermione frowned, suddenly feeling lightheaded and the urge to be away. She looked to Fleur, who was back to reading her magazine. "Cover for me? I think I'm just going to go lay down."

Really she wanted to leave. Go find an inn in the muggle world somewhere and just be away from the smothering for a day- two at most- but she had Evie to think about. And while her sister had latched on to Ginny and Fleur like a leech- the latter annoying Mrs. Weasley and her daughter- Hermione couldn't just leave her even for such a short time as she had in mind. Maybe if she took her with her... but no. It was too dangerous, even here.

She walked up the stairs and into their shared room with Ginny, though instead of laying down like she'd told Fleur she found herself at the small desk and in front of a bit of parchment. How was one supposed to react after losing their parents? After becoming their young siblings' guardian in a world of war? How could she possibly take care of Evie when there were plenty of people wanting to kill her? They'd killed her parents. Evie would grow up and understand it was all her fault and hate her. If Hermione was alive to be hated.

Maybe if she had been nicer to her family, hadn't argued with Ooma, then they might have stayed at the party longer and not have been there when the Death Eaters came for them. But they likely had wards that told them when they were there. How had she not felt them? If she was a stronger witch, if she knew more, she could have fought them. She shouldn't have run away like a coward. But she had Evie. If she hadn't run to the Burrow, she wouldn't have been able to save her parents and she definitely couldn't have held off six Death Eaters while looking out for Evie.

She should be more distraught. Her parents were killed. If she closed her eyes she could still hear the smek their bodies made against the stairs. She could make out their forms, twisted and poking out where they shouldn't be. And yet she only thought about Evie. She thought of Hogwarts, her grades, Harry and how he was handling Sirius' death, Professor Snape. Somewhere in there was the mystery of Dumbledore's hand- that Harry mentioned briefly the headmaster had refused to explain. She couldn't even think about her parents for more than a minute.

Hermione looked down at the parchment in front of her and frowned, mindlessly digging through the drawers and pulling out a quill and ink pot. And she wrote. She wrote about her parents, about Evie and her fears of inadequacy. She wrote about her fear for the Wizarding World and the war that she felt growing bigger around them. She wrote about Fleur and Evie being the only things keeping her sane. She wrote to anyone. No one.

'I feel as though I have been caught in a trap', she wrote, 'that I am at the bottom of a jagged chasm with no way out and I should be screaming, but I can't find it in me to care. My single mindedness hasn't taken it in yet and it seems the only things I can think about for longer than a minute are Harry's survival, Evie's safety, and whether I can manage to earn an O from Professor Snape. Perhaps it's just as well they're dead and can't be as disappointed in me as I know they would be.

As I am.'

Hermione looked at her letter, addressed to no one, and slumped at her own darkness and uselessness. When had she become so bitter? It was long before her parents' death. Perhaps it was her injury at the Ministry, that still hurt like hell if she moved right. Maybe it was Voldemort's return and the realization that the years prior had been nothing more than adventures- like Evie called them. But at the end of fourth year, it stopped being a game.

She sighed, folding her letter up and moving to lay down as she'd told Fleur she would. She was just settling in when the door creaked open and Evie came in. Hermione sat back up as Evie walked over and climbed in next to her.

"They're really gone," Evie said, "aren't they? They're dead."

Hermione closed her eyes and nodded. She expected a quiet declaration of hatred, or even an accusation of fault or blame, but Evie burrowed herself further into Hermione's embrace.

"I'm glad you're not," the girl said.

"Me too," Hermione said, meaning it for the first time. "I love you, Evie."

"I love you too, Mione. And you'll never leave, right? You'll be there?"

Hermione pursed her lips and felt tears spring to her eyes and her already heated face heat up more. "I promise," she said. "I'll never leave you."

They were quiet for a few minutes and Hermione felt Evie's soft snores, but never noticed her own. Fleur found them not quite an hour later, checking on Hermione before it was Harry's scheduled turn to shadow her, the two sleeping in their embrace and looking like they were getting the rest that neither of them had in the past week.

The blonde was about to turn around and leave again when something on the desk caught her eyes and she ventured farther into the room. It was a letter, written in Hermione's hand. Though Fleur had yet to see Hermione's handwriting, she'd seen Ginny's and this wasn't it. And it was too neat to be the child's.

It was addressed to no one, literally.

Fleur read only the first few sentences and folded it back, looking towards the younger girl who wouldn't be for much longer and sighed sadly before looking back to the letter. She needed someone like Bill. When Fleur was stressed, even before their relationship was romantic, she could always go to Bill for comfort and advice. Hermione needed someone who could give her that- and Merlin knew the friends she currently surrounded herself with wouldn't be. Fleur shifted on her feet, feeling conflicted about the thought that came to mind seeing the owl asleep in the corner. Pig, Ginny called it.

She stepped over and nudged the bird awake, using her Veela gift to communicate what was needed.

"Take this to someone good," she told him. "Someone intelligent and perhaps someone who needs her as much as she needs them. Someone to be her confidante and friend."

The owl seemed to sit up straighter at this, as if trying to say he was up to and worthy of such a job. Fleur carefully held the letter out, letting her magic reach to and help it make the journey. After the owl, Pig, was gone, Fleur carefully tiptoed back to the door and glanced towards the open window and then to the sleeping girls.

"Be fast," she whispered after the owl. "Be fast, and please be right."

A/N: I know this one is a bit short, but it was necessary. The next will be longer and have the reply and Hermione's reaction as well. Let me know what you think. The next chapter also has more interactions with Dumbledore, Snape, and meeting McGonagall. Thank you for reading!

Dasvidanya, Mia