Hermione


A varied assortment of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs sat in what once was Amycus Carrow's Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom on the fifth floor. This room hadn't been repaired yet, and Hermione preferred it that way. She and Neville swept broken stone into the corners while they searched for how to begin the conversation. This was their second meeting and the attendance was much higher than the first one despite the controversial location.

"So we're just talking about the war, right?" a third-year Ravenclaw asked. Hermione nodded. "Should we be talking about last year? Like, the Carrows? Or about our families?"

"Whatever you feel you need to share is fine," Hermione said kindly.

The meek girl, whose dark brown hair was plaited down her back, turned her back to the group and lifted the braid. A long scar stretched from the collar of her robes into her hairline. "They whipped me last year when I cried during class. The whip was too long and caught the back of my neck."

Hermione stared at the scar, horrified by the girl's story. She knew things had been horrible at Hogwarts, and she'd seen the evidence of physical abuse on her friends, but this disturbed her on another level. This girl was a child. She had been a second-year. She had been twelve or thirteen.

"My dad didn't want me to come back. I'm a half-blood—Dad's a Muggle—so when Mum allowed me to come back this year, he picked up and left. He's going to sue Mum for custody of me. I'll be going to Muggle school if he wins."

Another family fallen victim to Voldemort, Hermione thought. He didn't even have to kill one of them to tear this one apart.

A Hufflepuff moved to stand next to the Ravenclaw girl. He unbuttoned the top half of his robes and lifted his undershirt to bare his stomach. Pink lines crisscrossed his skin. "They whipped me across my front so that I could see it coming," he said to her.

Lisa Turpin pushed back the sleeve of her right arm and showed a single, thick scar. "I wouldn't give up my notes to one of the Slytherins, so Alecto made him use the Cruciatus Curse on me. He didn't want to at first, but... I cut my arm open while I was—you know. They didn't let me go see Madam Pomfrey to get it mended."

Student after student removed their robes, pushed aside their hair, or rolled up the legs of their trousers. Student after student displayed scar after scar inflicted by their teachers and their classmates.

Dean pulled down the collar of his shirt. A star-shaped scar decorated the top of his spine. "After Neville and Hannah helped me escape, I spent last year on the run, but I got caught. The Snatchers did that to identify me as a Muggle-born."

Hermione felt her pulse quicken as the number of people who hadn't confessed a scar dwindled. She rested a hand over her left arm. She wasn't ready to let that secret go yet.

But maybe that was the point. She was surrounded by people baring their souls because she and Neville had given them a safe space to do so. Maybe it was time she shared, too.

She stood up and felt the room go still. McGonagall was right when she said the students would treat the eighth-years like heroes. All Hermione had to do was walk in a room for it to grow quiet.

Now the students watched as she pulled up her left sleeve to reveal the word Mudblood carved into her skin. The redness of the lettering had never faded, and Hermione suspected it never would.

The looks on Ginny's and the Muggle-borns' faces were the worst. The Muggle-borns looked pale to the point of being sick. Ginny's hand covered her mouth and she shook her head as hard as she could.

"Bellatrix Lestrange did this when Dean and I were taken to Malfoy Manor." She nodded to Dean, who took a breath and cleared his emotions.

"It looks fresh," Ernie said, almost accusingly, as if she'd pulled out a knife in the middle of their meeting so that she had a scar to share with everyone else.

"I believe it will always look like that. The blade was cursed." Hermione dropped her sleeve and sat back down. The silence in the room was overwhelming.

Ginny was still shaking her head, looking shocked. "I didn't know," she whispered. "You never said anything."

"There was nothing to say," Hermione replied as a fifth-year started sharing his story. "I don't want anyone looking at me like I'm a victim, and your mum would have been beside herself."

"Yeah, but Hermione—"

"No. I'm done discussing this. The point of this is to move on. I'm moving on."

The looks people gave her as the meeting ended made Hermione want to run back to her dorm and hide behind the curtains of her bed. She didn't want their attention, and she certainly didn't want their pity. She stood still, however, and took each condolence with grace. It occurred to her several hours later that by breakfast the next morning, the entire school would know her secret. She wondered how early the eighth-years would be allowed to leave for their first visit to Hogsmeade.

After another sleepless night, Hermione went down to the common room before six A.M. She wasn't surprised to see Neville and Dean already sitting in overstuffed armchairs, talking in hushed tones.

Neville saw her first and waved her over. "I was just telling Dean that Wainwright said we can leave whenever we want."

Professor Wainwright, the new Head of Gryffindor House, had proved to be as level-headed and strict as McGonagall. She was an exceptional Defence Against the Dark Arts professor and focused heavily on the practical application of spells. Her class became a sort of therapy for the seventh- and eighth-years as the professor allowed them to practice jinxes and hexes on her directly. For the students who had attended Hogwarts the previous year, being allowed to hex a teacher was satisfying.

Hermione, for one, had trouble with the concept of harming a teacher and spent most of her time practicing counter-spells and healing charms in the event her classmates were unable to reverse the damage. Her preparation had come in handy more than once.

"We're waiting for Seamus to wake up and then we're going to head out. Rosmerta's opening the Three Broomsticks at eight. We're just going to wander around until then," Dean said.

"D'you think we should wait for Parvati?" Neville asked.

Hermione shrugged. "She's already awake. She's been revising since four. I can ask, but she might want to stay with Lavender since the school's going to be so empty."

"Could you?" Dean looked at Hermione hopefully and a chuckle rose unbidden in her throat.

"Are you sweet on Parvati?" she asked with disbelief.

He chuckled too and shook his head. "Not me. Ernie's got a bit of a thing for her, and she might be the only chance we have of shaking him. Justin's staying in on account of his leg and Hannah's got a date with our Neville here."

"There's a greater chance of him crashing our date than bothering you and Seamus," Neville said darkly. The man looked pleadingly at Hermione. "Could you ask? Please? I've had enough of that prat after what he said to you last night."

By the time Hermione convinced Parvati that a trip out of the castle would do her some good (in spite of the fact she would have to entertain Ernie for a few hours), Seamus had woken up and joined the men in the common room.

"Ready?" Seamus asked the women.

"Let's just go," Parvati answered. She turned to Neville. "I hope you appreciate what I'm doing for you."

"You told her?" Dean demanded of Hermione.

"Just know that if I kill him, it'll be on your conscience," Parvati said by way of response.

Neville gave a grave nod. "I'll risk it."

"Who knows? Maybe he won't turn out so bad," Hermione said. The other four turned incredulous faces to her. "I'm not saying it's likely. Just possible."

"Are you sure Bellatrix didn't addle your brains?" Seamus asked.

Dean, Neville, and Parvati froze. A thousand emotions ran through Hermione, from offence to despair to deranged giddiness.

To their relief and confusion, she burst out laughing. "Are you okay?" Neville asked with alarm.

She waved a hand as she caught her breath. "Yeah," she said with equal surprise. "I am. No one's made a joke about it before. Everyone's been treating me with kid gloves for months and I just—it's a relief, honestly. Not to be treated like I'm going to break." She gave Seamus a genuine smile. "Thank you. I needed that."

"You're welcome." Seamus patted Dean's shoulder. "Come on, then."

Hogsmeade was quiet, but in a peaceful way, unlike the last time Hermione had seen the streets empty. There were no Dementors, no Death Eaters, no sirens. The shuttered storefronts were picturesque as dawn slowly backlit the heavy clouds.

Parvati was the first to break the silence. "It's so—"

"Creepy," Seamus said.

"I think it's lovely," Hermione answered.

"I feel like a Death Eater's going to pop out at any moment." Parvati shivered and hugged herself.

Hermione took her roommate's arm and linked hers through it. "The last time I was here, Harry, Ron, and I set off some sort of alarm because we arrived after curfew. Trust me, this is really quite lovely by comparison."

"If you say so. It's giving me the shakes," Seamus said. "When's the Three Broomsticks opening?"

"Another hour," Neville replied, taking a glance at an ornate pocket-watch. "Let's walk through one of the neighbourhoods. It'll be nice being someplace normal."

"Nah, I say we go to the Shrieking Shack." Seamus gave them all a wicked grin.

"Didn't you just say this was creepy?" Dean asked, rolling his eyes.

"Might as well capitalize on it." Seamus began walking the direction of the 'haunted' building.

"I don't want to," Parvati said resolutely. "We've got enough ghosts at Hogwarts."

"There are no ghosts in the Shrieking Shack," Hermione said. "No ghosts, no poltergeists, no spirits. There's literally nothing to be afraid of."

"I don't believe you."

Hermione looked at her fellow Gryffindors and realized that none of them knew the true purpose of the building. "Dumbledore had it built so Professor Lupin could attend Hogwarts when he was a kid. They encouraged the rumours about it being haunted so that people wouldn't try to break in."

"Because of the werewolf thing," Dean said as he caught on.

"Right." Hermione turned to her roommate. "It's perfectly safe."

"Yeah, but it's a little less exciting now that we know it's not actually haunted," Seamus pouted.

Neville cracked a grin. "Unless we haunt it."

Seamus's jaw dropped. "Neville Longbottom, are you suggesting that we break into a building and terrorize the people of Hogsmeade?" The Irishman nodded with approval. "I am truly impressed. But we need to stop by Zonko's first."

Dean looked wary. "Why?"

"Because we need supplies, of course."

"You aren't going to make me regret telling you this, are you?" Hermione asked. The gleam in Seamus's eye told her everything she needed to know. "Just be careful and don't burn it down," she said with an air of regret. "McGonagall knows what it's used for and since Voldemort let Greyback run loose last year—" She stopped talking as Parvati whimpered. Hermione put a hand on the woman's arm. "Just don't do anything to harm it. We may need it in the near future."

"Yes, ma'am." Seamus saluted her and headed for the Three Broomsticks. "D'you think she'll open early if she sees us sitting out here?"

"She's already opening early. Don't press your luck." Neville turned to Hermione. "What time do you think Harry and Ron'll get here? Hannah and I'd like to see them."

"Harry and Ron are coming?" Dean asked.

Hermione nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised if they Polyjuice, though. Harry's not keen on getting swarmed by a bunch of people. He had enough difficulty at the Ministry the first few weeks of his training."

"You'll be at Hog's Head, then?" Neville asked.

"Yeah. We figured we'd be better off over there."

"Excellent. Hannah and I'll swing by around eleven if you're still there."

"If they're not too busy snogging in some deserted alley," Seamus sniggered. He waggled singed eyebrows (which were casualties of an experimental potion of his own creation).

Neville's ears pinked. "Stay out of it, Finnigan."

"I think Dean and me might need to chaperone this date."

Light flooded through the windows of the Three Broomsticks and Hermione saw Madam Rosmerta organizing something behind the bar. Neville avoided Seamus's eyes and tried the locked door in spite of what he'd just said about not pressing their luck. The barmaid looked toward the disturbance and shook her head with an amused smile. A flick of her wand later, the Gryffindors seated themselves at a table near the counter.

"What'll it be? Pumpkin juice, butterbeer...?"

"A pint of mulled mead," Seamus said.

"It is seven-thirty in the morning," Parvati admonished her house-mate.

"Better late than never," he responded with a wink.

"You're ridiculous."

"A pint for the lady, as well," he said to Rosmerta.

"Seamus!"

"And you'll drink the whole thing."

Dean sighed and rested his cheek on the heel of one hand. "Sometimes, I don't remember why I'm friends with you. Pumpkin juice for me, please."

Before Rosmerta could acknowledge the order, Seamus waved a hand. "Ignore him. A round of mead for the table. They can drink whatever they want after that."

A few minutes later, Hermione sipped her mulled wine with reservation, but found the warmth of the drink surprisingly invigorating. "I'm not saying I approve of this," she prefaced with a very serious look at Seamus, "but thank you. This is delicious."

After the group went their separate ways, Hermione took a few minutes to tour Honeydukes before heading to the Hog's Head. She trailed a hand across the box of Sugar Quills with an odd feeling of sadness. The candy seemed so juvenile now, like it belonged in a childhood she could no longer return to.

The solitary trip to the pub helped settle her disquiet as she thought about her forced ascension into adulthood. She felt a distinct disconnect from her childhood self, and she knew exactly which moment divided her past from her present. Even now, the beaded bag was hidden inside her coat, and within the bag was a heavy book on the nuances of Memory Charms. The day she saw her parents again could not come soon enough.

Aberforth stood behind the bar of the Hog's Head, pouring a drink for a shadowy figure seated on a rickety stool. The last remaining Dumbledore gave her a nod and gestured to the back of the dim room. Turning, she saw Harry and Ron—not Polyjuiced—in deep conversation, with three drinks spread between them.

The men stood up when she arrived and gave her long hugs. She sat in the booth next to Ron and examined the glasses on the table. "What's this?"

"Firewhisky," Ron answered. He picked up his glass and downed it in a single swallow. His cheeks flushed for a moment as the whisky burned hot in his throat.

Hermione groaned. "What is it with men and alcohol today? Seamus already made us drink mulled mead with breakfast."

"Hermione Granger, drinking already? Are we in some sort of alternate universe?"

"This is a one-time thing. I only did it because Seamus made me."

The men laughed. "Hermione, there is not a single person on this planet who can make you do something against your will," Harry said.

They quieted down a moment as Hermione remembered Barty Crouch, Jr. putting her under the Imperius Curse in class. In all reality, there were far too many people who could make her do things against her will. She held back from saying so; she didn't want to ruin Harry and Ron's moods by reminding them of reality.

For an hour, the trio swapped stories of Hogwarts classes versus Auror training. From the sound of it, they had to sit through as many lectures as she did, and do just as much homework. Unlike previous years, the new Auror class hadn't been required to sit for their N.E.W.T.s, which meant they were coming into the Ministry with less education. The department had been trying to pick up the slack, but according to Harry and Ron, there were a few students who were hopeless.

"Regina—you remember Regina Crenshaw, she was a Ravenclaw—not an ounce of common sense," Ron declared. "She can cast the most complex charms this side of Flitwick, but ask her to duel a troll and she's useless. Nearly in tears that day, she was."

Hermione gave a wry grin. "Just because you could best a troll as a first-year..."

"That's exactly my point! I was eleven."

"You were lucky we'd just been working on the Levitation Charm." She playfully knocked into him. "And you were lucky that I taught you how to say it."

Ron glared at her. "That wasn't luck. That was pure genius on my part and you know it. Nerves of steel, I've got."

Another memory rose in Hermione's mind and she fought it back with all her strength. She would not think about last year, about their fights and Ron's 'nerves of steel'. It was the Horcrux, she said to herself. It was the Horcrux.

She repeated the phrase in her mind like a mantra until she almost had herself convinced that the man next to her would never cause her that sort of heartache again.

Almost.

The men launched into an animated discussion about Auror politics, which somehow led to recapping an inter-departmental Quidditch match. As they rehashed who got hit with which Bludger and something about the Snitch hanging out at the goal posts for fifteen minutes, Hermione let their voices fade into the background.

She half-consciously examined her best friends for signs of the war. When she looked too close, the two men almost seemed foreign. Gone was the grime of battle and the hard lines of lost hope. Unlike so many students at Hogwarts, Harry and Ron hadn't collected any physical scars over the last year, except for where Ron had been Splinched. Harry had been Crucio'd and brought to Death's door by Voldemort himself, but Ron... Ron hadn't suffered under someone else's wand or whip or knife the way the Hogwarts students had. The way she had. Hermione suddenly felt a gulf open between them, where nightmares and scars became the choppy waters separating her from the man at her side.

"Any news on the Death Eaters?" she asked, bringing them round to a topic they'd have to cover sooner or later. "The Daily Prophet said you'd caught Bellatrix's husband. Is that true? Does he really know where Malfoy and Nott are?"

Harry nodded. "McInturff and Jameson brought him in. Not without casualties, though. Lestrange took out two Muggle hostages and an Auror."

That gave Hermione pause. She watched her best friends, careful not to show any fear on her face. For the first time, she allowed herself to realize this job was dangerous and potentially deadly. They'd survived a war only to step into the line of fire.

She took Ron's hand under the table and squeezed it. "What about the others?"

"The Americans think they have a trace on Nott, but we're still waiting for confirmation. No sign of Malfoy yet, though. And we're still coming up empty on the others."

"Interesting thing to note," Ron cut in. "The final reports came in on Malfoy Manor. It appears there was only one person living there when we seized it."

"Draco?" Hermione asked.

"That's the assumption. His room was the only one mussed up. It was weird—sheets over all of the mirrors, for some reason. You'd think a narcissist like him... Anyway, Lucius and Narcissa's chambers were thoroughly stripped."

"Do you think he fled to America and caught up with his parents?"

Harry shook his head. "My instincts say no. Not after everything that happened. He was forced into Voldemort's service because of his father's mistakes. You saw what that did to him. I don't think he'd willingly run away with them."

"What will happen to him if—when—he's caught?" The further she got from her experience at Malfoy Manor, the more she'd been able to appreciate the magnitude of Malfoy's situation. It didn't absolve him of his sins—she still couldn't forgive him for trying to turn Harry over to Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts, or for the fact he'd been a generally horrible person for the previous seven years—but she acknowledged that he hadn't had much of a choice in choosing his loyalties. Not when Voldemort was literally living in his house.

"It depends on if the Wizengamot chooses to prosecute him as an adult or as a minor," Harry answered. "If he's tried as an adult, he'll go to Azkaban for sure. If he's tried as a minor, Azkaban is off the table, but he'll still have to pay reparations of some sort."

"He's eighteen now. Do you really think they might try him as a minor?"

"He was sixteen and under duress when he took the Dark Mark, so he has a chance."

"I hope they prosecute him as an adult, personally," Ron said. "Bloody git deserves worse than Azkaban in my opinion."

"They've reinstated the Dementors, haven't they?" Nothing could be worse than suffering the Dementors day in and day out. Hermione shivered at the thought.

"Kingsley fought it, but yeah. Said they were too volatile, but there's still too many people in the Ministry who turned a blind eye to the Dementors defecting to Voldemort's side," Harry said with an air of annoyance. It was hard to believe anyone could contradict Kingsley. In Hermione's experience, he was one of the most logical, level-headed people she'd ever met.

"A few rounds with the Cruciatus Curse would do him some good," Ron muttered.

"Kingsley?" Hermione asked, horrified at Ron's statement.

"What? No. Malfoy. All the Malfoys, for that matter."

"Narcissa saved my life," Harry pointed out.

"Fine. Just the male Malfoys then. Torture 'em until they can't remember their own names, I say."

A shadow fell over their table and the three friends looked up to see Neville's stormy expression. Ron furrowed his eyebrows. "Hi, mate. How are you?"

Neville glared at Ron. "I don't know who you're talking about, but that's not a fate I'd wish on anyone. Remember that you're fighting for the good guys."

Ron, of course, promptly displayed his extraordinary talent for digging his own grave. "Sometimes the bad guys deserve a taste of their own medicine. It's the Malfoys. No one'll miss 'em anyway."

Neville turned to Harry and shook the man's hand. "Nice to see you again. I hope your training's going well."

"Thanks, Neville. It's been interesting, though from what Ginny and Hermione have told me, you lot are getting some hands-on experience, too."

Next to her boyfriend, Hannah lit up. "Professor Wainwright's the best teacher we've had since Moody. I mean..." The blonde Hufflepuff trailed off when she saw Harry's features contort.

Hermione jumped to Hannah's defence. "Regardless of the circumstances, we did learn loads that year, Harry."

"I know that," he admitted. "But he was still a Death Eater."

Hermione noticed that Neville had distanced himself from Hannah as well. She looked pained and confused at the shift in Neville's attitude.

"Have you told her?" Hermione asked, hoping that she wasn't overstepping. Neville shook his head.

Hannah looked between Hermione and Neville, growing irritated as they shared a silent pain she couldn't understand. "Told me what?"

"Not yet," Neville said to his girlfriend. "I can't—not yet." He gave her a pleading look that melted the irritation on her face. "Please don't push me. Not yet."

"Okay."

Neville glanced at the door to the pub. "I—we—I think we're going to head back to the castle. Loads of revising to do, you know. When are you coming back, Hermione? Hannah found a brilliant book on Illusion Charms in the Restricted Section."

"I'll still be a few hours," she answered. "I've still got a few errands to run."

"Alright then. Hope to see you again soon, Harry." Neville waved to them and walked for the door, ignoring Ron completely. Hannah gave them a confused wave goodbye and chased after her long-legged boyfriend.

After they were safely out of earshot, Hermione turned on Ron. "You can be the most insensitive wart sometimes, Ronald Weasley."

"I was just stating my opinion!"

"To a man who lost his parents to the Cruciatus Curse."

Delayed understanding dawned on Ron's face. "Oh right. I forgot."

"You forgot? You FORGOT?" Hermione was vaguely aware of her voice getting higher and higher as she lectured. "You forgot that someone you spent six years with, who fought alongside you, whose parents you met in the long-term residents ward of St. Mungo's—"

"It's not like we ever talked about it again! And I had my own dad to worry about at the moment, if you remember."

"I remember everything, Ronald."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Hermione snapped. She looked at her watch and felt annoyed when she saw it was only eleven-thirty.

"What, do you need to run off and revise now, too?" Ron sounded extremely put out over the whole situation.

"If you had been listening, you would know I already said I had errands to run before I go back."

Harry stood and gestured to the door. "Come on, we'll go with you. We don't have to get back for tea at Muriel's until four."

Hermione didn't feel like having her friends along, but couldn't see a way to shake them without being rude. "It won't take long. I do need to get back to the castle soon."

"You've only been here for a couple of hours," Ron protested.

"The eighth-years were allowed to come out early. We got here at seven," Hermione said tersely.

Ron held up his hands in surrender. "I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry. Okay, Hermione? I'm sorry."

The curly-haired witch stopped in her tracks and gave Ron a glare to rival Neville's. "You need to start thinking before you speak. It wouldn't hurt you to be a little bit more sensitive."

"Who are you to talk about being sensitive? You've said some of the most insensitive things I've heard in my life. But I guess when you say it, it's just considered being 'honest,' now, innit?"

"Guys," Harry said in a vain effort to stop the bickering.

"I learned my lessons, Ronald. I've grown up, but clearly you've still got some work to do."

"You haven't 'grown-up' as much as you think you have, otherwise you'd see that you're being completely ridiculous right now."

"I'm ridiculous? You're—"

Hermione felt her vocal cords constrict and started gasping for air, as if it would release them. Next to her, Ron was mouthing words with such ferocity that he turned red.

"Oh, thank God for Professor Wainwright," came Ginny's melodic voice. Hermione spun around in time to see Harry kiss Ginny's cheek in thanks.

Glaring at her traitorous friend, Hermione pulled out her wand to do the counter-jinx.

"Expelliarmus," Harry said almost lazily. The vinewood wand flew out of her hand and Ginny caught it in mid-air.

Unbeknownst to everyone, Hermione had one more trick up her sleeve—though she'd only used it with simple spells in a controlled environment.

Accio wand, she thought, and focused all of her energy on the wand in Ginny's hand. It didn't move. Ginny looked amused, assuming that Hermione was just glaring.

Hermione redoubled her efforts and narrowed her field of vision to the wand and the wand alone. Accio wand, she thought again, but this time gestured for the wand to come to her. It remained in place.

You can't Summon a magical object as powerful as a wand while it's in the power of a witch or wizard, a whisper in the back of her mind chided. Right then.

EXPELLIARMUS, she screamed internally and visualized the wand flying out of Ginny's hand and into her own.

The vinewood wand and Ginny's wand ripped themselves from the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain's grasp and flew full force at Hermione. Only instinct moved Hermione's hand in time to block the wands from hitting her smack in the face.

She picked up the wands from the ground and wordlessly performed the counter-jinx while the other three stared.

"You can do wandless magic?" Ginny asked incredulously as she took her wand back from Hermione.

Harry looked like a proud father sending his firstborn off to school. "It's Hermione. Of course she can do wandless magic." The bespectacled man nodded at Ron. "Are either of you going to perform the counter-jinx on him?"

Hermione and Ginny looked at Harry, Ron, and then each other. "No," they chorused, and headed for Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop with two silent men in tow.