Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any sort of profit from this hobby. All rights are reserved for J. K. Rowling. (AN: Please, leave a comment about the story, it would mean the world to me! I apologize if the many updates are confusing but I have noticed, as I have been rereading my work, that I have made a lot of grammar mistakes and what not. Forgive me if it has caused any sort of agitation. Lots of Love xx)
Only Time Will Tell
IX: Amber ashes and fiery flames
'PART III: OF REUNIONS AND RECKONINGS'
By
RedLillies
"We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.'' – William Shakespeare
September 12th, 1975
The morning mist that coated the ground was disturbed by a young woman walking on the grounds. Her black cloak, both stood out as well as blended in, in the grey landscape as she walked leisurely around the Black Lake.
Her footsteps made tiny squelching noises as they touched the damp grass. The scenery looked like it came out of a storybook about a far-away land. And, if you immersed yourself just a little bit enough, you could almost swear that you were suddenly transported to that same place you so longed for.
It looked ethereal, yet like every story, it had tales of terrible sadness interwoven within.
Looking a little closer at the girl's face, you could see the dreamy, yet sad expression, marring it. Her measured steps took her to the place where almost every tragic story begins.
The girl fiddled with her fingers as she approached the tiny graveyard. She looked just a little over the gravestones and saw the magical barriers sizzling and brewing, showing her, that indeed, it still worked and protected them from outside forces.
She knelt to the ground, right in the middle of the two gravestones and began speaking softly. Her shuddered breath was loud and clear in the early morning of dusk, ''Good morning.''
The vibrations of her voice thrummed and hummed all around her with laden energy, disturbing its peaceful surroundings. It felt like her feet were in the air and her head on the ground. Almost as if her head was going to collapse with the pressure of her voicebox.
She looked ashamed to the ground. Her golden curls tumbled into view as the hood, that once covered her face, fell onto her shoulders.
''I wrote a letter to Papa and Maman but I have yet to receive an answer,'' she told them despondently, ''I don't know if it is they are angry with me or that they just cannot respond…''
The wind began to pick up, ruffling the fallen leaves on the ground and creating mini-tornados. Although it picked up, it did not accelerate beyond control.
''I wrote to your parents as well,'' she traced their names with the tips of her fingers, smearing the condensation from the engraved letters, ''I could do nothing but express my condolences. I am so sorry I could do nothing more.''
Her fingertips left wet smudges on the gravestones. She looked at her fingers with morbid curiosity. The wet tips felt like they were dripping with blood and not water. At that thought, she hurriedly wiped them on her cloak.
''I did not wish for you to die, I could, and never would. I am incredibly sorry, that you meeting me, turned out this way; staying forever young. I love,'' she stopped herself and corrected her mistake, '' – I loved you so much.''
She swallowed the heavy lump in her throat before continuing, ''Do you remember all the things we wanted to do together, just the three of us, explore the world? Now, I feel like all the memories that you have left me with, are haunted. My heart just breaks, thinking – speculating, and feeling, like we were always meant to say goodbye…''
She once more stared at the now dry marks her fingers had left behind on the otherwise wet stones. Not once did she lose her focus from those marks, not once did she look away.
''Know that I love you so but I need to love you enough to let you go…''
This brokenly, haunted, sentence, came out of the depts of her heart, geared towards Harry, Ron and all the people she left behind in her 'other' life.
'''Why do the best people die?' I remember you asking me, Harry. Back then I had no answer. And as I think about it now, I would have liked to pose this question to you: when you are in a garden surrounded by beautiful flowers, which do you pick? You pick the most beautiful ones.''
Death always picks the most beautiful ones.
She wiped a tear from her eye and looked a little confused before asking a question, directing it to Gabrielle and Emily, ''Do you think Dumbledore knew what me coming here meant – what was going on around me?''
After she asked the question she mumbled something under her breath along the lines of 'At least I am not deceiving you any longer. I am no longer an imposter.'
She bent a little forward and brushed the fallen leaves from their graves. Without knowing it, she started telling them about the changes in her life, ''I am now a student of Hogwarts. Sorted in Gryffindor. Can you believe it?''
Her laugh was hollow, ''Of course, you cannot, you are not with me,'' she shook her head, ''Please forgive me for my words. I am not in the right state of mind.''
She looked at the empty graves contemplating something, ''It looks so empty…''
She rocked back on her knees and shakingly kissed their carved names on the marble stone, ''I'll bring some flowers next time. Je t'aime.''
With her last parting words, she stood up and walked around the other half of the Black Lake to the Great Hall for her morning breakfast, leaving her lips reeling with the feeling of being stained red.
•
''Sirius! You put me down this instant!'' Her laugh boomed loud in the courtyard as she was slung over the shoulder of none other than Sirius Black.
This scene was a stark contrast to her morning. No longer could she feel the sadness in her body. At least, at this very moment.
''No!'' He jokingly exclaimed and ran further down the slope towards his and James' spot under the big beech tree that stood to the side of the lake. It had a perfect view of the rippling water and the school that towered high in the blue and clouded sky of the Scottish Highlands.
Hermione lifted her head to see Remus and James walking behind them. Her smile grew as her voice took on a pleading tone, ''Guys, you have to help me!''
She yelped as Sirius almost fell down the slope and frowned as James gave a booming laugh at her contorted face.
James' adoration grew at seeing her open up to his friends. He never thought it possible for her to meet them, to meet the Marauders. If he were honest, it all felt like a dream. Hermione, talking and laughing without abandon with his friends, being herself.
He never really entertained the idea of Hermione coming to Hogwarts, leaving France behind. Now that she was here, he couldn't imagine her being anywhere else.
And yes, he supposed that she never really left France – not on her own violation. But the fact remained that she was here, right in front of him. He felt conflicted as he thought about his best friend that way. Where had all these thoughts and feelings come from?
Sirius finally put her back on the ground and gave her an innocent smile. James and Remus caught up to Hermione, while Sirius and watched amused as she huffed and puffed, trying to right her golden hair.
As she flipped her hair over her shoulders, she put her hands in her side and stated frustrated, ''I can walk, you know?''
Sirius tapped her nose with his finger and watched she scrunched it up, ''Yes, but where is the fun in that?''
She threw her hands up in frustration and started walking away, the boys following, two laughing heartedly and one smugly.
She sat with her back to the bark of the tree and felt the wood poking and prodding her slightly. She watched as Remus sat down with his bag beside him and as Sirius balled up his jacket, lay on the ground and put it behind his head. Hermione opened her arms to James as he went to sit down.
He watched as her long hair blew gently in the wind as she opened her arms. James gulped and walked towards her. He sat tentatively in front of her and lay with his back to her. Her arms encased him as he lay his head on her shoulder, his legs outstretched in front of him.
James grabbed the snitch in his pocket with one of his hands and threw it up into the air, watching as its wings fluttered and the gold reflected on his and Hermione's body.
She observed as the students mingled and as some played Muggle sports. Hermione felt anchored, protected, safe, as she held James. She felt one of her hands reach for his own that wasn't occupied with the snitch, and played with his fingers, twining and loosing; and repeating the cycle.
Remus thought about something his grandfather had once told him as he watched how James and Hermione interacted, totally immersed within their own world.
'When soldiers, in 1945, came back home, back to their loved ones, there were a lot of issues with them. They came back, certainly, but not in the way people expected them to. They weren't crazy, neither were they the happiest of people.
They would jump at the tiniest sounds, would not perform certain actions because it made them feel guilty. And some, as it was said, searched for comfort beyond themselves. In a way, that it could ground them to reality – to this world.
Either searching that comfort with humans, or with animals, or books, etcetera. However, it was there. They would always keep that person, animal or object close.
Close enough, for them to reach out, to centre them again when times would get rough and when they were transported back to the front lines in their mind – to the numbness and the darkness. And that is when those anchors came through. They helped these bleeding soldiers to float above the water, to survive.'
''Do you think that looks like a sheep?'' Sirius suddenly asked, pointing at a cloud.
Remus scrunched up his face as he looked at the too bright sky, ''It definitely looks like a horse.''
Sirius scoffed and looked at Hermione, waiting for her answer, ''Hermione, love, please tell him that he is wrong. It is a sheep! Anyone can see that...''
She raised her eyebrow and looked at the sky that was slightly obscured by the leaves of the beech tree, ''Neither, I think it looks more like a giraffe.''
Sirius gave a shocked gasp as Remus burst out laughing.
''Serves you right, Sirius,'' Remus said as he returned to his book.
They were silent for a long time. Each absorbed in their own world. Sirius tossed and turned on the ground, trying to find a comfortable position, arguing with his mind and consciousness.
He frowned at the sky before turning around and laying on his stomach. He faced James and Hermione, looking at her the longest.
He contemplated her trustworthiness as she matched his stare. He took a glance at Remus before turning around, sitting up and facing them completely, sitting criss-cross. He grabbed his jacket and opened the pocket.
''My mother is such a cunt,'' Sirius stated suddenly, scrunching up his face, ''She wrote me a letter to come home for the weekend. Can you believe it? The crazy bint actually believes that I will take her up on that offer. If I never saw her again, it would still be too soon.''
Remus looked up from his book at Sirius as he talked and reached towards the letter Sirius tried to hand him. His eyes skimmed past the prettily formed words and curved letters that said nothing and everything at once.
James rolled his eyes behind his golden-rimmed glasses and stopped fiddling with the snitch that was clutched softly in his hand while the wings fluttered mercilessly, ''What does she want you to do now?''
Sirius shrugged from his position on the ground, ''I don't even want to know.''
''So, are you going or not?'' asked Remus, handing back the letter.
''I don't know, yet, to be honest,'' Sirius looked at Remus, ''I might.''
Hermione remained silent as the boys talked. She chafed off a chilling sensation as Grimmauld Place and Walburga's presence crept into her imagination. She couldn't help but hear the screeches of the woman's portrait in her mind. The derogatory words echoed in her ears as she saw the once pretty Pureblood woman sit stoically in the confines of the painting.
''But when I do see her, I hope that she will at least behave normally,'' Sirius continued, ''Well, even if she wanted to behave normal, she would still be classified as a nutjob.''
''Do you think it will be safe for you to go, Sirius? The last time she saw you, she threatened to disown or kill you.''
''Well, yes, she did. But you have got to remember that she screamed at me because I pranked Reggie and her. Kreacher had to clean up for days after my stunt. I can't truly fault her for that. It may be toxic to think that way, but I am still holding out hope – I just wish that she will finally see me for me, not a delinquent that just happens to be her son.''
Remus jumped up in fright as his wrist-watch started making loud sounds, letting him know that class was about to begin. He looked apologetically at Sirius before standing up and brushing the invisible dust from his slacks. He nodded his head to the entrance of the school.
James stood up from his position and Hermione immediately felt his loss. She never was the one to, unexpectedly and so soon, be emotionally attached to someone. That was why it freaked her out so much. She couldn't help herself, however, after the events in her life, her mind finally caught up with the trauma. And now…
…Now she paid the consequences of always being in the thick of it.
James turned towards her as he stood and reached out a hand. She looked at it for a moment, before grabbing it and hauling herself up.
•
It was deep into the night, maybe even early morning, when Hermione was walking in the halls of Hogwarts. She had just left the Gryffindor girls' dormitory, deciding to go for a walk as she could not sleep. Above her nightgown, she had on a bathrobe that looked like the purest silk, her school crest stitched onto her breast, while the inside of the soft fabric kept her warm from the cold and dreariness.
Her naked feet padded aimlessly in the deserted and darkened halls. Her hair hung in loose ringlets past her shoulders, to the swell of her back. Even though the ground was freezing, her feet were warm. If one was to see her now, they would think her crazy.
Her eyes roamed in the strange world of the dark that was knotted with fears, that in broad daylight, would have perished without recognition.
She felt the shadows watch her and observe her, creeping along with her as she walked. When people say that the dark really changes the view on a room or outside world, they are correct, either meaning it literally or metaphorically.
She noticed that her feet had led her to the stairs of the Astronomy Tower. She looked apprehensively at the stairs and groaned. She really did not want to walk a set of stairs at this time. At any time, really.
However, deep in her heart, she knew that she had to have a breath of fresh air. The girls' dormitory simply felt too stifling for her to sleep in it – to be in it. The girls may be nice but sharing a dorm with Lily Evans, Mary McDonald, Marlene McKinnon, and Alice Dunn was not what she wanted right now.
Lily Evans was really not what she had expected. She was nice to her, that she was, but she was lazy and conceited. Mary McDonald was not much better, although she did not have the same arrogance Lily did. It was more of an appreciation of her own talents that she knew she had and being thankful for them.
Marlene McKinnon was a healthy, confident mix of everything. Not too confident that you would not want to be in her company, only boasting about herself, neither was she self-conscious.
Alice Dunn was the exact opposite of Lily and Mary. She was clumsy, adored everyone – Hermione in particular – was studious, snarky and simply hilarious. At the time, she did not know that Alice Dunn would be the mother of Neville Longbottom. It was a shock, however, when she did find out.
Really, the only highlight in that dorm was Alice Dunn.
As she opened the door at the top of the stairs, she saw someone standing against the railing. His elbows were leaning heavily on the railing as he balanced his head on his fists, looking at the night sky. His shoulder-length hair fell slightly past his shoulders as he stood in that position.
She had to admit, the stance looked a bit awkward.
She was startled as the door closed behind her with a thud. She looked at the door with great offence before slowing turning her head, looking if Sirius had acknowledged her presence.
''The quiet night, the crisp air – it truly puts your troubles into perspective, doesn't it?''
She jumped at his voice and regained her wits as she slowly walked towards him, standing side-by-side, looking at the sky. The wind ruffled and danced playfully with her hair.
''I often times come here when I need to make an important decision.''
They were silent for a while before he rubbed his eyes and laughed playfully, ''Fuck, I really sounded like Dumbledore there, didn't I?''
She chuckled quietly before her voice died down. She turned her head towards the breeze and closed her eyes. Enjoying the feel of the wind caressing her face.
''Hermione?''
''Hmm?''
''Although the situation is not ideal, I am really glad that you have come into our lives. James has talked so much about you, that I feel like I have known you for forever. The real version, however, is way better than I have imagined,'' he teased playfully as he looked at the grounds before turning serious again, ''I heard that you give quite good advice. Could you give me one of your famous quotes?''
She opened her eyes and looked at him. I mean, really looked at him. His eyes portrayed the vulnerability that he so tried to hide from the outside world.
A moment later, she realized that James had told his friends about her so-called 'famous quotes'. She didn't know whether to strangle him or give him a hug for being so nice.
''Well, if you look at the decision as an ethical one – it typically chooses between two options: one we know to be right and another to be wrong. A defining moment, however, challenges you in a deeper way by asking yourself between two or more ideals in which you deeply believe. Such actions rarely have a 'correct' response…''
Sirius listened mesmerized as he looked in front of him. His brows furrowed as he concentrated on her words.
''Rather, they are created by circumstances that ask us to step forward and 'form, reveal, and test' ourselves. We form our character when we commit to irreversible courses of action that shape our personal identities. We reveal something new about us to ourselves and others because defining moments uncover something that had been hidden or crystallized something, that had been only partially known. And we test that because we discover whether we will live up to our personal ideals or only to pay them lip service.''
She looked at him, ''All the events we have experienced in a lifetime up to this very moment, have been created by thoughts and beliefs we have formed yesterday, last week, last month, last year, ten years ago. However, that is your past. It is over and done with. What is important at this moment is what you are choosing to think and believe and say right now. For these thoughts will create your future. Your joint of power is in the present moment and is forming the experience of tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, and so on.''
She leaned towards him with a teasing smile on her face, ''Those were Louise Hay and Neale Walsch, by the way.''
He smiled and shook his head, ''Hermione, you truly do not disappoint.''
''Thank you,'' she said proudly.
She sighed before turning the rest of body towards him, a frown on her face, ''I know that it is easier to give advice to someone else instead of following your own words or following someone else's advice. I don't want to sound cheesy, but I'll risk it anyway. I really want what is best for you, only if I have known you for such a short amount of time.''
She continued before he could reply, ''Sirius, nobody can make this decision for you. Whether you go or not, it is you who has to choose. It is your life, not someone else's.''
Sirius sighed deeply and closed his eyes with a pained expression. ''I know, Hermione. And that is what makes it so difficult. In this situation, one where I have been horribly treated by the ones I love… or loved. Whether they are awful or not, they are part of me. Maybe I don't like it, but it is true. I make excuses for them – for my family. One that does not deserve my forgiveness. Yet, I give it anyway. Because they are family.''
He shook his head at his own naivety, ''I have this stupid hope and longing in me that one day, they will change. And I know that will never happen. I now realize that such dreams are foolish. They can't and will never happen. And I want to apologize for that. To myself, to them, to the world even, when I know that it isn't my fault. Yet, I do apologize. I do it all the time.''
His gaze was unfocused as he opened his eyes, looking at the grounds stretched before them. ''My mother hasn't been my mother since I was a little child. I feel horrible saying that now. I know that she is my mother, I know that she is the woman that birthed me, yet, I don't know anything personal about her. I can't remember her hugs, her affection, none of it.''
He cleared his throat as he let all his thoughts spew out of his mouth, ''My father is out of the picture, serving a mad-man that has decided to take over the world. He has left me and my brother with a crazy woman. Even when he was in the picture, he was never truly there. He has dragged all of my family members into this man's dark and charming words, yet never realizing who this man truly is. He was manipulated by a monster - a psychopath.''
''And I miss him. I feel bereft. Bereft of the things I have never gotten to experience with him," he shrugged his shoulders sadly, "My situation at home might not seem much compared to other people, my parents never physically beat me, but for me… it has left me growing up much faster than I should.''
''If my mother's letter is some sick ploy to get me to join this 'Dark Lord'… I don't know what I'll do with myself. I don't want them to own me – my guilt to own me – if I choose not to visit. As you said, I need to make my own decision. However, which option is right or wrong?''
Hermione's worried eyes bore into him as she lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, ''You will get there in the end, Sirius. You truly underestimate yourself.''
Sirius looked appreciatively at her as he squeezed the hand on his shoulder, ''Thank you, Hermione, truly.''
She gave him warm smile in response as he slowly made his way to the winding staircase of the tower to go to his dormitory.
Hermione watched him go and turned around once the door closed and Sirius was out of sight. Her eyes roamed over the moonlit grounds as the wind picked up again.
The icy wind blew harsh against her thinly clad body. Wrapping her arms around her body, she closed her eyes, closing herself off from one of her most important senses. She felt the hairs on her arms rise as her hypersensitive skin felt a great burst of flame nearby.
''Hi Fawkes,'' she said softly and tiredly, ''what are you doing here?''
The great, red, flaming bird cocked his head to the side at her questioning voice. He squawked as Hermione made tiny and slow steps towards the magnificent bird, her heart hammering all the while. The last time Fawkes appeared before her with a message, the sender had led Hermione and Emily into a false state of security and peace.
She looked at his feet and saw the note dangling from his ankle. Her hand reached towards the rolled-up parchment, all the while maintaining eye contact with the bird as a show of respect. He squawked loudly again as her fingers grazed the parchment.
''I just have to take this letter, Fawkes,'' she told him gently, ''I am not going to hurt you.''
Phoenixes were rare and Hermione, as usual, had read enough about them to know how to approach one if they ever came near humankind.
She untied the string from his foot and felt the heat emanating from him as he disappeared in a great ball of flames. Hermione looked at the note tightly clutched in her hand and opened it with her heart lodged in her throat. Why would Dumbledore try to contact her at this hour? She smoothed down the crinkled paper against her stomach and read.
The Mother Phoenix has risen, the daughter must come at once. Our hands will be merged.
She furrowed her brows in confusion and looked at the back of the letter to see if something else had been written. Nothing was.
All of a sudden, her eyes widened in realization. She grabbed her long nightgown firmly in her hands and ran from the tower. Her feet hurried down the stone halls. The flames in the torches lit up as she ran and ran.
She did not even notice that she had reached the Headmaster's office, nor that the Griffin had already opened. The muttering of the Headmaster did not withhold her from opening the door as soon as she saw the entrance to his office.
He looked up as the wood that separated them suddenly opened. His eyes looked at her attire and back to her. Hermione blushed as she felt his eyes and self-consciously crossed her arms over her breasts.
She did not bring her wand, so she could not transfigure her clothing into something more suitable. She looked down at her feet as her they shuffled awkwardly.
''Good evening, Miss Delacour,'' Dumbledore said, facing her properly, ''I did not expect you to come so swiftly.''
Her rounded eyes followed him as he resumed his pacing and she caught her breath, ''Something both terrible and astonishing has happened. By your state, you have already guessed what this may be. It has awakened.''
Hermione nodded her head wordlessly.
''We cannot talk here. The walls have ears.'' He looked pointedly at the paintings of his predecessors.
Dumbledore stretched his hand out towards her and she grabbed it tightly. In a moment, she felt her body compress and stretch to accommodate the magic of the Apparition.
They landed unsteadily in an empty field surrounded by land that stretched for miles and miles. The grazing of cows accompanied the sight of the rolling green hills. She looked at the scenery a bit off. Why would Dumbledore bring her to this strange place?
Dumbledore let go of her hand and searched in the pockets of his robe, extracting a slip of paper. He gave it to Hermione and watched as her eyes roamed over the paper, trying to memorize it.
Aberforth Dumbledore lives within Number 7, Abby Road in Falmouth.
The wards rippled and stretched in the landscape before her, showing her an old cottage. The roof was slightly slanted and if it wasn't for magic, the quaint little house would have toppled over a long time ago.
The white paint of the window sills was slowly being chipped away by the wind and the rain and other conditions of nature. The yellow foundation of the house had gotten less and less bright as the years had gone by, leaving it in the state it now was.
The lights in the house were turned on and she could see people walking in front of the sheer-curtain covered windows and disappearing again behind the safety of the walls.
Her still naked feet entered through the wards and slowly walked towards the front door. Dumbledore was a little behind her and kept oddly silent.
The old light blue door creaked as she turned the doorknob and opened it. She stepped into the dimly lit hallway cautiously. She neared a second door that was made almost entirely from stained glass, and walked straight into a fully lit room filled with all kinds of people; young and old, tall and short, male and female.
They were talking and laughing until their eyes landed on her. No, not on her but behind her. She stood petrified watching the crowd in front of her before she turned her head and saw Dumbledore standing behind her.
She exhaled in relief and not being the centre of attention and stepped to the side to let him pass through. The group of people, suddenly, all stood straight and proud.
''Good evening, Albus,'' spoke one of the men in the room. His pristine robes seemed to be slightly out of sorts compared to all the others.
''Good morning, Lord Potter.''
Hermione's eyes became a little wide and worried, at the declaration of the person's identity. The woman next to him seemed to be looking intently at her, seemingly restraining herself not to run to her and give her a hug.
''Hermione?''
In the back of the room, a woman's disbelieving exhale could not be heard. Her flowing blond hair and soulful blue eyes were remarkably important as she pushed through the crowd to try to get a better look. Apolline's eyes filled with tears as she saw her daughter standing there, alive, for the first time in months.
The woman rushed to her oldest daughter and embraced her ferociously, crying all the while. Hermione shot out of her stupor and embraced her mother equally as hard. They could not seem to let go of each other.
Not far away from his wife, Jack, Hermione's father, pushed through the crowd following his wife closely and embraced them equally as ferocious; afraid of what would happen should he let go.
The order stood petrified, watching the emotional scene from afar. Looking on with heartfelt gazes and sadness.
Hermione's head, that was once buried in her mother's hair, looked up. Her eyes widened slightly as they connected with a shy girl standing in the corner of the room clutching her blue, cotton bunny, shuffling nervously on her feet, all the while worrying her lower lip.
A nine-year-old child. Nine years of memories. A girl, who was born too early, who was not supposed to live. She should have never been nine years old. She should have been born in two years' time. Not nine years ago.
And yet, here she stood: the physical representation of the grown woman Hermione had always known.
''Fleur,'' came Hermione's breathless voice.
The light-blond, curly-haired girl jumped a little in fright as her older sister spoke her name in such a revered and fear-filled voice.
Her old-fashioned, white cotton, night dress moved with her body as she slowly walked to Hermione. Her mother and father carefully untangled from her, yet still watched her, trying to keep her within arms' distance.
The young yet, fragile girl picked up her pace as she came closer and closer to Hermione until she almost sprinted across the room. Fleur jumped in Hermione's arms and sobbed into her neck, her legs around her waist, her blue bunny held tightly in her fist as they clutched desperately to each other.
Hermione almost toppled over from the sudden weight and carefully moved down to the ground until she sat on her knees, not letting go of the girl.
Hermione felt the girl's sobs wreck over her body as her little sister murmured and sobbed incomprehensibly into her ear. One of her hands raised to Fleur's head and gently stroked her girls calming her down, ''Shh, solnyshko, it'll be alright.''
The fact that she was holding Fleur both scared the living daylights out of her, while at the same time, fuelled her aching heart with love and adoration.
It did not matter that all these people around her were staring at her. It did not matter that they were looking with their piercing gazes. It did not matter.
The loving arms of the little girl did not once consider relinquishing their hold, even when the Headmaster cleared his throat, even when she stood up and moved to the couch, her parents following her.
Hermione vaguely heard Dumbledore start his speech, talking to this group of people, piercing them right in their hearts as his words left his mouth. His words climbed and grew as if they were weed birthed from soil, tar, and utter sadness; that had blossomed from the ground and warped and twisted slowly, climbing, up against their legs and claiming more and more of their bodies and souls.
''And it is to my great sadness that we have lost another one of our brave children: a true survivor,''
Hermione's interest peaked as Dumbledore spoke those words. Her eyes lifted to him and she opened her ears.
''May Louis Allert, a once bright sixteen-year-old, rest in peace and be enveloped with love and guidance into his next great adventure.''
She remembered a little ten-year-old, blond boy from her sorting. Someone who she barely saw besides meal times and occasionally classes.
Her mouth parted, and a rattling breath escaped her lips. She wasn't the only one left. There were more. A greedy voice in her mind lapped at the information that there were more of her kind, more survivors.
''What?'' She voiced aloud, although it came more out like a whisper. Hermione felt Fleur's arms tighten even further at the news of the death of one of her year mates.
''There are more?'' She questioned hungrily, yearning clear in her voice, as her eyes roved over her Headmaster's face.
''Yes, Miss Delacour, although not many, there are more survivors of the terrible tragedy that occurred in the Battle of Beauxbatons.''
''That is what they are calling it?'' Her voice broke at the proclamation.
Her eyes burned as she blinked fast and heavily. She looked down to her arms in preparation and tightened her arms around Fleur.
''How many?'' she asked, her voice thick.
I never knew what was going through her head at that time, what horrors she must have faced, what she mustn't have thought. I could have never comprehended how someone would react to such news – the news of a missing or deceased person – until I saw it first-hand.
I always found her brave: my hero. And as I think back to that gloomy and desolate time, I cannot help but admire her even more.
''It is getting harder and harder to reach the children but,'' Dumbledore looked straight at her now, ''only three have survived, besides yourself.''
She nodded and looked down at the dark stained, wooden floor, away from the Headmaster's piercing eyes. She breathed through her nose. The airway in her throat tightened. She couldn't be in that room any longer. She could not handle the piercing gazes of the Order of the Phoenix.
Hermione moved Fleur carefully from her lap, assuring her that she would come back as she tried to cling heavily to her, and left the living room. She walked aimlessly through the tiny cottage until she randomly opened a door and entered it.
She did not notice the cold blue colouring of the tiles, nor the warm light that hung from the ceiling, giving the room a yellow glow. Neither did she notice the white, fluffy, towels that hung from little hooks on the wall.
Her body collapsed against the door the moment she closed it. Putting her hand on her mouth she willed the bile that gathered in her throat to go back down. How could only three people and herself have survived the attack? She knew that the chances were slim, but one could only hope.
She had never really given herself the luxury to think back about the attack. Now that she did, she could only think about the fact that it meant that more than a thousand students and teachers had died on that fateful day.
With that thought, Hermione crawled to the toilet in haste and spewed all the fluid that had gathered itself in her throat, out of her body.
She wiped the traitorous tears from her eyes before they could escape past her cheeks and into the toilet. Her head rested heavily on her arms that hugged the loo. She couldn't actually believe that this was all happening.
Hermione sniffed loudly and gathered herself from the floor. Her little sister needed her, she couldn't wallow. People needed her. They needed her to be strong.
The ring on her left middle finger felt heavier than ever. Not only did it represent this life she had created, but her past life as well. It was a reminder. A reminder to go on.
She righted her nightgown and walked to the basin. Her hands opened the cold-water tab. Cupping her hands under the streaming her water, she gathered it and gently let the water glide over her face, hiding the red blotchiness that had formed itself on her once porcelain skin.
She looked in the mirror and saw only a shell of the young and vibrant woman she used to be in her own time behind her eyes, before Hogwarts, before all the tragedy had started.
She shook her head. She mustn't think about that.
Hermione opened the door and was assaulted with a screaming match. She hurried from the hallway into the living room. What greeted her was utter pandemonium.
She looked on as members of the Order of the Phoenix argued with each other. Loudly.
Her mother stood in the middle arguing with Dumbledore, her father beside her. Her eyes swept past all the members in search for the most important one. She stopped searching when she saw her little sister crying openly on the couch.
The ruffles on her nightgown accentuating the dishevel she had created herself while twisting it with one hand, the other clutching her blue toy tightly against her chest; lips against it.
She was incensed. How could they have led their arguments this far that her sister was becoming so distressed? She put her fingers to her mouth and blew harshly. The sound that followed from her action caused people to stop in their tracks and look at her at once.
''Calm down,'' she pleaded, not so much with her words but with her voice, ''whatever went wrong, we have to resolve it peacefully. Otherwise, nothing will come to pass.''
A rather proud looking man looked down his nose at her and sneered, ''And what would you know about war, girl. You have experienced nothing.''
Hermione looked at him with a sharp glare. She did not deign him a response, rather, she asked something instead, ''And who might you be?''
He straightened his posture before answering, looking proud, ''Elphias Dodge.''
''Well, Elphias,'' he bristled at the use of his first name, ''sometimes the most unexpected people have the deepest scars.''
Elphias Dodge scoffed and looked at the rest for support, none gave him what he sought, however, and he frowned, looking at his shoes.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, ''Yes, well Miss Delacour is correct. We have to resolve our problems in a calm manner.''
Someone that stood in the back of the crowd suddenly piped up, ''Albus, but how can you be absolutely sure Lord Voldemort is now hunting those survivors as well?''
The woman next to him hissed at him, ''Were you not here in this very room only seconds ago, Dearborn, or are you that stupid?''
The woman that stood beside him now spoke to all of them, ''He Who Must Not Be Named has been searching endlessly for those survivors. There are rumours on the streets that he will murder anyone that will harbour 'One of his children', 'Lucifer's Angels' he calls them.''
Hermione felt sick once more. She felt her mother move to her side and grab her hand tightly against her own. Hermione thought she was assuring herself that she was still there, still alive, but she couldn't be sure.
She looked back at the couch and saw that her father was finally consoling her little sister.
Hermione steeled herself for what she was about to do, ''If it comes to pass and the Order will need help, I will. I will sacrifice myself if it is needed to win this war. I may be young in your eyes, but I have seen things that you could never imagine. I can fight. I know how his mind works. I know how his follower's mind works. Please don't make the same mistakes our country did, my school did...''
"And how would we do that, by listening to you?" Dodge asked.
Hermione looked at him with disappointment, "Would that be so terrible?"
The Order looked confused, some angry, and some indifferent at her before her father sprung from the couch, anger marring his still youthful face. ''NO. Absolutely not, Hermione,'' her father piped up, ''You will not be a sacrificial lamb in this war. I will not allow it!''
Dumbledore looked pointedly at her, wanting to make his previously made points clear: he was right.
She looked at her father once more, ''Papa,'' she said almost pleadingly, ''You have heard the woman. They are coming either way, whether we want to or not. They are searching for me. Why can I not help?''
''I said no, Hermione,'' his voice was stern and as hard as steel, ''you will not give yourself up for this stupid crusade of yours. It will do you no good!''
She closed her mouth and looked at Dumbledore. She knew that she would not get any help from him at this moment but knew, that he knew, that she was their only hope.
Be it she would become a sacrificial lamb, or not. It did not matter. She was truly losing her mind if she kept thinking that way.
Hermione nodded reluctantly and moved to the couch to gather her shaking sister in her arms, "May she sleep in my bed tonight, Headmaster?''
The old man stroked his beard and nodded once, ''We will have a room prepared for your parents as well. They would have to leave in the morning though, I am afraid.''
Her parents exhaled relieved. They did not have to part from their daughter at this very moment.
''We are taking leave. Expect my next Patronus. Thank you for your time," He said as he signalled the Delacour family to follow him with a wave of his hand.
Before he closed the front door of Aberforth's house, he could hear an outraged shout from Caradoc Dearborn, ''Albus?!''
I never knew until this very moment how much I loved and cherished her. How she saved me from my own monster plaguing my mind. I wondered then, would she, once upon a December still be here, or would I forget her voice like a sound is lost in the harsh wind?
Will you forever be here, swirling across my memory?
Thank you, Hermione, truly, for all that you have done.