A/N: My name (still) isn't JK Rowling, and I don't lay claim to any of her hard work.
Hi guys,
My laptop crashed so I had to wait till I could buy a new one before I could upload the next chapter. I'm so sorry for the delay D:
I wish you all a happy 2016 filled with well-written fanfiction and incredible books.
Love,
Kelly
III A Soul of Ash
On the 25th of December Hermione woke up on the couch. The fire crackled merrily, and Hermione stared into it for a few breaths. She wondered what it felt like to burn with such ferocity that you left everything behind in shambles and ashes.
When she turned her head sideways, she found out what had woken her up; Seamus and Dean were eagerly unwrapping their Christmas gifts. The pile under the Christmas tree was big, but it didn't lure Hermione from her spot on the couch. It was only when Dean gave her a suspicious look that she pushed herself to her feet.
It seemed important to her right then that her fellow Gryffindors never found out how the war's fire had burned her soul to ash.
"Who did you bribe to get so many presents, Hermione?" Dean asked her amusedly.
Hermione followed his pointed finger to the stack of presents that, apparently, now belonged to her. She counted them quickly and frowned when she came to the conclusion she had no less than twenty-four wrapped boxes waiting for her. "Oh, wow," she breathed and sat down as if in a dream.
She felt torn and unsure. Hermione wasn't happy with all the attention and presents; she hadn't thought to send that many people a gift this year. She bit her lip and grabbed the first present. It turned out to be a new watch from Harry.
It was spelled in a similar way to the Weasley's kitchen clock. It still said the time, but with the spell Harry had enclosed Hermione would be able to use it as a timetable. It would come in handy to time manage her school work more. A small smile decorated her face as she set it aside gingerly.
Her next present was from Ron. The Life of the Average Salem Witch by Zammelie Zane. Hermione was touched that he remembered her mentioning this book during the summer and her desire to read it. She gently laid it next to Harry's present.
From her parents she got a new set of quills, and from Mrs Weasley she got a batch of freshly baked cookies. She'd always been fond of Mrs Weasley's cooking, and she made a mental note to send Molly a lengthy thank you letter.
The next present was from Ginny and Luna both. They'd gotten her a book about mysterious magical beasts whose actual existence were still in doubt. The other presents were from people she didn't really know. Parents who wished to thank her for her part in the Second Wizarding War, a lengthy letter of the Ministry of Magic wishing her a merry Christmas and the promise of an internship next July.
When she arrived at the last present, a long, black box, she hesitated for a moment. The wrapping paper had been a gorgeous silver with dancing snowflakes, and she found it a pity to tear it. Hermione ignored the laughter of Dean as something blew up in Seamus' face. At least some things never changed.
She swallowed and then opened the box. In it was a small, enchanted bracelet. It twinkled like dancing starlight and spelled the word "WITCH" in long, curling letters. It was a gorgeous piece and the elegant handwriting was enchanted to twinkle.
Hermione put it back in the box and stared at it, dumbfounded. The letters had stopped moving. Curious, Hermione let her fingers caress the smooth exterior, and they started pulsing once more. She held her other fingers to her throat and smiled. "It's my heartbeat," she breathed.
She tried to find a note but none was attached. Her enthusiasm dimmed a little. Could it be cursed?
It seemed like an expensive gift to send without a simple note. She grabbed her wand, and Hermione spoke the first few detection spells she could think of. Only when those gave her the clear, did she grab the box again. She abruptly stood up and spelled her presents to float to her room.
"Where are you going?" Seamus asked her, his face still had a few black smudges here and there.
"McGonagall," Hermione replied absentmindedly.
"Will you come to the feast tonight, Hermione?"
Hermione mumbled something affirmative as she dashed through the portrait hole, ignoring the complaints of the Fat Lady for disturbing her this early in the morning.
If any curses were entwined in the silver, McGonagall would find them.
2. Anger
Hermione reread her Arithmacy homework for the hundredth time and barely managed to swallow the frustrated scream. It was all wrong, wrong, wrong.
In a fit of chagrined resentment, Hermione tore the parchment to pieces and threw it across the dorm. She silently watched how the pieces fluttered to the ground and sighed. She'd have to redo the whole assignment now, but somehow Hermione couldn't find it in her to care. She wouldn't have handed it in anyway. It was horrid.
She grabbed the book Ron had given her and tried to read a few pages. When she caught herself reading the same paragraph for the fifth time she slammed the heavy book shut with a thud. Hermione dropped it on her bed and ignored the groan of her bedsprings.
She didn't know what to do with herself. A look on her new watch told her that it was only three in the afternoon. She still had three more hours before dinner, and she had no idea how she was going to spend them. She'd already done all of her homework, save her Arithmacy assignment but she didn't feel up to the task.
She bit her lip and stared blankly ahead with balled fists. Frustration formed a bottomless pit in her belly, and she wanted to rip into something. Her heartbeat sped up and her breathing became heavier.
When a soft ticking noise echoed through the room, she loudly screamed: "WHAT?!"
The owl on her window ledge didn't seem impress with her anger management issues. She crawled out of bed and walked towards the window, opened it and grabbed the letter gently.
Hermione had never heard she made when the owl nipped at her fingers come out of her before. It nearly resembled a growl and, if Hermione had been in her right mind, she would have been troubled by her irrational anger with an innocent animal.
"Just go," she finally said. "Leave like the rest of them."
She turned her back to the owl and walked back towards her bed. It was Ginny's reply to her earlier letter. Hermione read it quickly and found that Harry had bought Ginny her own owl for Christmas.
When Hermione looked back up, the owl was still sitting on the ledge. Disgruntled, Hermione got up and transformed her book into a bowl. "Aguamenti," she whispered and tapped the bowl. She put it in front of the owl, who happily drank most of it.
Hermione watched the owl until it took off and closed the window again. She sighed and let herself slide, by the wall, to the floor.
She pulled up her knees, hid her face between her arms and wept.
For the occasion, the House Elves had transformed the Great Hall into an icy paradise. If Hermione didn't know any better, she would have thought to be in a fairy winter wonderland. The Hall was lit by blue dancing flames, the wooden tables were replaced by glass ones and everything was decorated in various shades of blue and silver. The ground was even covered in magical snow that didn't feel cold to the touch when Hermione bent down to feel.
She sat down at the, still empty, table and waited. She'd taken an old copy of Witch Weekly that she'd found in the common room with her and had just started reading, when she heard someone sit down beside her.
Hermione didn't need to look up to know that it was Draco Malfoy. She'd recognise his smell anywhere. It was a mix of something typically masculine that she couldn't really name, but that reminded her of a panther; elegant and dangerous. It was probably some expensive magical cologne she'd never heard of. Malfoy also smelled like wood, the kind of smell Harry usually had after having flown and cleaned his broomstick. The combination of the two scents had been haunting her ever since she'd solved his crossword puzzle.
"There are other seats," Hermione said, teeth clenched, "you do not need to sit beside me."
He didn't reply.
Hermione exhaled through her nose and imagined her breath to be smoke. She felt like a character in a Muggle caricature; roughly sketched and ridiculous. "Ferret got your tongue?"
That got a reaction out of him. He turned his head and narrowed his eyes. "Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's impolite to be rude to your table guests?"
"No," Hermione snapped. "Not if they want me out of the wizarding community."
Malfoy's expression remained calm, but there was something in his icy eyes that seemed to heat up. "You presume too much, Granger."
Hermione gave his sleeve, that successfully hid his Death Eater's mark, a pointed look.
He pursed his lips and looked away from her.
Hermione knew she'd caught the Snitch with that last one but didn't feel any better. She somehow felt worse. Malfoy was part of the movement that had killed so many people, and he was sitting right there; unmarked by the war, while night terrors still haunted her.
"You disgust me," she snarled, her lip curling with distaste. Whenever she saw him, she got a foul taste in her mouth.
"Take a Peppy Mint," Malfoy suggested. "That should cheer you up and get rid of the taste in your mouth."
It threw her off for a moment until she realised she must have spoken aloud. She pursed her lips and decided against violence. This time.
Together they sat in uncomfortable silence as Hermione read how to make her lipstick last through the night, and Malfoy made another crossword puzzle.
If the professors and their fellow students thought their behaviour weird, they didn't say anything when they spotted them. As soon as everyone, save McGonagall, had taken their seats, Hermione noticed that Dean was giving her the stink-eye. Ah, so they had noticed her weird behaviour then.
"How can you sit next to him?" he asked, nodding to Malfoy.
"It was not by choice," Hermione said pointedly, although sheer pride had been the only thing stopping her from claiming another seat.
Seamus gave her a look. "He shouldn't be at this table in the first place," he muttered darkly.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, before she looked down her nose at Malfoy, who'd put the newspaper away. Their eyes caught. "I know."
A muscle near his mouth ticked.
"Miss Granger?"
Hermione looked away from her neighbour as if burned. The Headmistress was standing beside her with a bracelet in her hands. Her Christmas present. "We couldn't find any curses," McGonagall said kindly. "Mr Flitwick and I spent the better part of the afternoon on it, and although it offered a fun pastime now that most students have left, we didn't find a single thing wrong with it." She looked down her nose at her student and something told Hermione that the Headmistress was pitying her.
"It's good to be cautious," McGonagall continued and handed over the bracelet. "You did well bringing it to me."
Hermione took it and looked up at the professor, who gently padded her on the shoulder. She watched McGonagall walk up to the dais, where the other teachers were sat, and then looked down at the bracelet. It was softly pulsing in time with her heartbeat, and Hermione attached it to her right wrist.
"It's so pretty," said Anita.
"Was it a Christmas present? Who is it from?" Rina asked.
"Yes, and I don't know," Hermione said as she looked at it.
"Hm," Rina said, "curious."
The boys, not ready to spend their Christmas meal talking about jewellery, quickly started a conversation about Quidditch. Hermione zoned out and went through the motions on autopilot. She was happy for the distraction, when McGonagall wished them all a merry Christmas and the food appeared.
When she went for the pitcher with pumpkin juice, her hand bumped into Malfoy's. She immediately retreated and glared fiercely at him.
Well then, seemed like she wasn't having pumpkin juice after all.
"Get off it, Granger," Malfoy said, apparently having had enough of being treated like a social pariah.
"Excuse me?" she asked, outraged.
"Do you need your ridiculously small ears checked? Or maybe your giant hair is blocking sound now, too, in addition to my view in class."
"Fuck off, Malfoy," Dean said angrily. "Leave her alone."
"No, I'm done with this nonsense." He turned his icy glare on her and Hermione felt her ire spike. "Maybe everyone's okay walking on eggshells around you, Granger, but I'm done participating in this folly. You're not the only one that went through the war. You're not the only one who lost people, and you're certainly not the only one at breaking point. So suck it up, like the rest of us, and stop bloody crying about it."
Hermione's mouth fell open as he angrily got up from the table and grabbed some bread. Without another word he walked out of the Great Hall.
"What the bloody hell," she said in true Ron-fashion, as she watched Quinten following him in a mad dash.
She turned to her table mates but none of them would look at her. Dean and Seamus were busy glaring at Malfoy's retreating back, and the others pretended to be busy with something - anything - else.
Hermione looked at the teacher's table, only to see that McGonagall was eyeing her worriedly.
Had she truly become so fragile that everyone just stayed out of her way? She felt her shell harden as she sat up a little straighter. "I'm not hungry," she said, blinking away angry tears and got up from her seat. She grabbed her Witch Weekly, and after hesitating, grabbed Malfoy's copy of the Daily Prophet which had lain between them on the bench.
"Hermione," Dean started, only to fall silent again.
"He's full of it," Seamus spat. "You don't have to go."
She forced a smile and nodded at them. "Thank you, but I don't want to ruin the mood. Merry Christmas, everyone." With that said, she turned on her heel and marched out of the Great Hall.
Merry Christmas indeed, she thought bitterly. Hermione only slowed down when she reached what she'd come to consider her spot, several stories up. She wasn't dressed to spend much time in the chilly corridor, but like Ron would say: was she a witch or not?
Hermione muttered a spell that warmed the air around her and sat down on the window seat. She laid the Daily Prophet down before her gingerly. She stared at it as if it could burst into flames at any moment. Hermione bit her lip and hugged her copy of Witch Weekly close.
Hermione didn't know how long she sat there, but when she finally reached the Gryffindor common room just before midnight, she'd finished the crossword puzzle that Malfoy had started again.
