As the train came to a stop, Hermione Granger jolted awake.
Her vision remained mostly blurred for a few moments, before she attempted to blink away the sleep from her eyes. It took a few seconds, but she felt her physical form and soul return once more.
She ran her hands through her hair, her fingers catching in the frizzy knots that curled around her face- she hadn't bothered to do much with it on the last day. She barely saw a point. She'd been trapped on a stuffy train all day, and then would be bundled away to the Weasleys. She'd simply be wasting energy.
Her memory twisted and turned for a while, before it returned to her with a force.
And it hit hard.
Desperately pushing back her mind in an attempt to block it out, she reached to her pocket, the crumpled and smudged letter was still laying loyally in her pocket.
She knew she should really throw it away; keeping it on her person would only bring her down.
But her fingers clenched around the parchment protectively. The thought of ridding herself of it suddenly sent a pang of fear through her heart, and she knew she wouldn't be able to bring herself to do it.
She stepped from the scarlet train with Harry and Ron close behind her, Crookshanks twisting around her ankle, purring. She took a glance around, taking in her surroundings. Children trying to control their owls, others having trouble pulling their trunks and luggage- some fretting about loosing things, or leaving their possessions back at the castle, a few running back to pick up their coats and jackets they had left in the massive vehicle.
Parents embraced their children closely, pulling them into a hug that swept most of them off their feet. She saw a mother so happy to see her little daughter she was actually crying.
"- We'll make your favourite dinner tonight!" Came a whisper from behind her, and she very almost turned around.
"Thanks, Mum!" Replied a feminine voice, and the sound of scraping skin signalled that whoever it was, they had connected hands.
Did mother ever remember my favourite meal? She thought bitterly. Do I have one? She didn't even bother to reinforce basic child-like habits..
She knew she should shake the thoughts from her mind, and keep herself from thinking such a way, but this time..
Why didn't she? Is there something wrong with me? I try my hardest..
"Oh, Hermione dear!" Came a motherly voice, and her heart skipped a couple of beats.
She turned around, immediately being engulfed into a pair of arms, feeling her body being pressed against another.
Her eyes flashed open, and her heart dropped.
Of course, she didn't really expect it to be her mother. Only a fool would really ever muse that. But.. it didn't manage to get rid of the empty feeling threatening to invade Hermiones mindset.
"Mrs Weasley" She smiled pleasantly, returning the embrace with as much positive energy as she could, but she couldn't seem to fuel any energy into her arms, and they must of felt very limp.
"Tired, dear?" Mrs Weasley grinned at her, gently placing a warm, comforting hand on the younger witches cheek. "No worries!" She clapped her hand, before darting forward to pull Ron into a rib-crushing hug as he began to approach her.
"Plenty of time to sleep when we arrive at home!" Mrs Weasley shouted over her shoulder.
Hermione nodded, allowing the mother to tend to her child, smirking slightly at she began to point out the fact that his teeth where filthy with sweets.
"How are we getting home?"
Ginnys voice came from behind her, and Hermione very almost fell from her skin in fright, placing a shaking hand on her chest, Hermione closed her eyes, breathing heavily.
"Dammit, Gin." She laughed shakily.
Ginny shrugged- the redhead was still a bit bitter towards Hermione. The incident in the main hall stuck with Ginny, and Hermione knew that wasn't good.
But they had situations like this before, some much worse, and Hermione and Ginny always pulled through; they weren't ones to stay fighting.
"Some muggle cars." Mrs Weasley waved her hand, her gaze lingering slightly on Harry, who still had a bit of blush on his cheeks from when he'd been shouting at her.
"Been busy, Harry?" Ginny winked at him.
"Not really." Harry replied cooly, his voice low, and lacked any severe amount of emotion. His eyes were slightly narrowed, his eyes continuously flicking towards Hermione.
Ginny followed his gaze, and found Hermione looking very awkward.
Ginny raised her eyebrows, giving her a I-Thought-You-Had-Standards look, but Hermione shrugged, returning her look with a frown.
"Muggle cars?" Rons voice was suddenly very loud. "How are we supposed to fit in them?"
"Muggle cars with enchantments." Mrs Weasley sighed. "Now, hurry up. It really is freezing here."
She cast one more disapproving look at Harry, before leading them away.
The trip was a fast one, albeit unpleasant. A single, gruff wizard from the Ministry had decided to escort them. While they all piled into the back, feeling very uncomfortable indeed, the man who had dubbed himself 'Wolfskin' lounged.. well.. not happily, seeing as he sat with the most depressed scowl on his face, but he seemed rather happy to take up almost 3 seats in the front, despite the fact he was a skinny little git.
And, of course, Hermione had the worst seat. She ended up having to actually sit on Rons lap, much to her sheer embarrassment.
Ron didn't seem to keen on it either, blatantly remembering the last time he had attempt to have her this way.
She crossed her arms and glared out the window, pretty certain the sheer amount of anger radiating from her could be felt for miles.
"Stop looking so sour." Came a whisper close to her ear, and she whipped around, locking eyes with Ron.
"Excuse me?"
A bump in the road made them jostle awkwardly, and she had to grab his shoulders in an attempt not to fall backwards, but as soon as she was okay once more, she released her grip swiftly.
"You know what I mean." He whispered back, and she rewarded his attempt at hitting on her with a mouthful of her hair.
Leaning back, she grinned, very aware that she was crushing Ron.
"Hermione, when was the last time you ate?"
She twisted around, leaning forward, arching an eyebrow at Ron. "Why?"
"You're skinnier than usual." He sighed.
She felt her cheeks redden. "I'm eating normally." She lied.
Of course, that wasn't entirely true, but she wasn't a complete liar, either. She had been eating. Just.. not at much. She went days where she convinced herself that she didn't need to eat, the days when she managed to ignore the grumbling in her stomach.
But, then she had days when she gave in. The pain in her belly proving to much, and she'd eat. She'd eat a lot.
She didn't think she'd lost weight; a simple change in her routine shouldn't do that. If anything, she was eating more.
"'Mione. Move."
"Mmm?"
"We're here, Hermione."
She looked up at the window, and realised they had arrived at the burrow. Not only that, but the entire Weasley family had already exited the vehicle, along with Wolfskin and their driver, leaving only her, spread out in Rons lap, and him grinning widely.
A raging blush suddenly bloomed on her cheeks, and she scrambled very ungracefully to escape this scene. Her dozing off and thinking about her eating patterns had lead to her dignity getting a stab. "Sorry!" She mumbled, clambering from the vehicle with a sigh.
Ginny gave her a confused like, and Hermione couldn't blame her. Ginny was under the loose impression that Hermione had done something with Harry, and now she was, what could very easily be perceived as, flirting with her brother.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders, skulking to the back of the group.
Hermione received another letter that night.
Her hands shakily held the paper, her eyes drooping from the lack of sleep, and she mumbled it out loud, trying to hold back the hiccups of tears.
I must say, Hermione. I'm shocked to see you didn't try to crawl back and beg to stay with me- Really.
This stupid little owl keeps turning up, and won't leave until it gets a letter, so here, have your letter.
And take your skanky little magical thing with you- I don't care much for birds. Especially for this one.
Work your freakish magic on this animal; I don't want it returning any-more. And if you succeed, then maybe your unnatural deformity may prove to have use.
Feel free to reply; I won't reply- But I know your pathetic, tiny little mind might thrive at the prospect of awaiting a letter.
Like the first time, she found it hard to take it in. It was as if this letter wasn't meant for her; like it was never meant for her. The more she read it, the more convinced she was that this just wasn't hers.
But of course, it was.
She absent-mindedly leant down, running a soft fingertip across the underside of her wrist, stopping as she felt a rough patch.
She looked down, seeing a dark brown scab.
From the owl. She realised. When I got the first letter.
She ran her fingers over it again, slightly amused at how it felt. When she brushed it one side, it was rough, prickling at the edges, but the other way was nothing short of smooth, and sleek.
She turned her finger slightly, so her nail dragged turned up the sides of it, sending small pricks of pain running up her arm.
She cast a analytic glance over it, realising that with all her musing of the injury she had almost removed the majority of it. The dead skin hung loosely from it.
No use leaving it like that. She thought. It would just get caught on something.
Grasping the scab between two fingers, she tugged at it gently, immediately recoiling at the sharp pang of pain that tore through her.
"Gahh." She snapped, shaking her arm, as if trying to shake off the pain.
She resumed her previous position, grasping it once more, closing her eyes.
Ignore the pain. She told herself. Just get this over and done with.
And she tore it from her skin.
Tears prickled in her eyes as a spasm of heat ran over the area, and she held back a grunt of pain.
She peeked through her eyes, her whole body screaming in reluctance, and she let out a faint gasp at what she saw.
Blood pooled from the seemingly tiny open wound, coming in thick, gushing waves, the liquid hot and relentless, dripping and spilling onto the white sheets beneath her.
She grimaced slightly, feeling queasy, pulling her wand and mumbling hushed spells to reduce the blood.
After her wandwork, a small, red-raw injury remained, and she was exhausted. Her eyelids began to droop, and she wiled them to stay open, desperate to raise her wand and remove all traces of it, but her body had other ideas.
"Nuh.." She managed to grumble out, but her head fell to her pillow, and her eye lids finally dropped, seemingly gluing themselves shut.
"Not finished.." She tried to say, but it was merely a breath.
Sleep was merciful, Sleep took her into its embrace.
"Get up, 'mione!"
"Yeah, move it, lazy."
"Don't call her lazy; that's just plain rude!"
"Really, Ron. I thought you'd have more respect for the woman you plan on bedding."
"WHAT!"
"Oh, we can see the way you look at her.."
"We can see the way you smile.."
The voices suddenly joined, singing, "Rejoice, my dear son, and make a pretty child!"
There was a scuffle, and muffled laughter entered the air.
Hermione opened her eyes slowly, blinking. "Ron?" She asked, feeling energy course into her limbs, and she pulled herself forward.
"I never pegged you as one to sleep so scandalously, Hermione."
Fear shot through her as she heard Freds voice, and she gasped, suddenly bringing her blankets further around herself. She slept in a small, blue lacy bra, with a pair of light-blue shorts hanging from her thighs rather unflatteringly; they were too big for her, she had kept them as a present from Viktor Krum in fourth year. Apparently he had a thing for shorts.
"I.. I-.. Get out!" She blushed, throwing a pillow into the twins face.
"You look very nice." George winked, before exiting the room, Fred doing the same.
"Why did you let them in here?" She sighed, sending an accusing glance at Ron, who'd taken a seat at the foot of her bed.
He shrugged, leaning back. "How was I to know you slept basically naked?"
"I'm not sleeping naked!"
"You're not exactly dressed, either." He countered, casting an almost critical glance over her.
Feeling very vulnerable and self-conscious, she pulled herself out of her bed, moving towards her wardrobe, running her hands against the layers of clothes within. Her hand immediately found what she would normally wear, a plain, long sleeved grey shirt, but she gave it a second look this time. It was plain, boring, and covered up almost every part of her. It looked very..
She couldn't think of the word. Nerdy? She considered. Boring?
Her hands skimmed on through, opting for a red short sleeved shirt with golden stripes etched on the sides.
She pulled it over her head, the fresh fabric feeling refreshing on her skin; she hadn't worn this shirt yet. Brought on a whim and left to collect dust.
She grabbed a pair of plain jeans and turned to raise an eyebrow at Ron.
"Out." She ordered.
"But.."
She glared at him, and he took the hint, pulling himself up, stretching, before exiting the room and leaving Hermione by herself.
She removed her shorts, and her underwear, leaning towards to pull out the draw that was built into the bed, picking out a pair of plain back knickers, pulling them over her legs swiftly, her fingers briefly stroked her womanhood, and she felt a slight tickle of pleasure run through her.
She paused, wondering..
No. She thought firmly. There isn't even a lock on the door. Who knows who could walk in?
She continued getting changed, pulling on her jeans slowly, realising she'd have to shave her legs soon.
I'll take a shower later on. She decided. Besides, that meant she'd once more be able to submit to the calming embrace of the cold water that would rain onto her.
She pushed open the door of her bedroom, pausing to glance over the empty corridor.
Ron and that must of gone down for breakfast. She realised, placing a hand on the banister sliding her palm across as it as she descend, cringing lightly at the thin layer of dust that began to cover her hand. The burrow may of never been the cleanest of places, and she knew that, but she still felt a bit...
Her house had always been clean; her mother had seen to that. Everything had a place, and nothing was to be moved from it. On the rare occasion that a possession must be removed from its normal living quarters, it must be returned as fast as possible, with not even a speck of imperfection left on it.
She liked it that way; it was organised, secure. It was safe. It was home.
To busy thinking, Hermione missed the last step of the stairs, sending her tumbling forward. Her hands stuck out, grasping desperately at anything around her, managing to close her fingers around one of the wooden beams holding up the stairs banisters, and kept her grip on that- causing her body to swing slightly, her ribs colliding with the wall.
Her breath was pushed out of her, and she saw stars, but she managed to hold back her scream of shock, not wanting anyone to see her in such a undignified state.
"Hermione?"
Rons voice was a call, a summon. Not a 'talking to' voice. He still presumed she was upstairs, getting changed, not almost-breaking her neck while thinking about things she really shouldn't be thinking about.
She didn't answer at first, pulling herself up, brushing herself down. She reached instinctively to her pockets for her wand, but it wasn't there. She'd left it by the side of her bed.
To lazy to go back and get it, she stepped forward, pushing open the kitchens door with a semi fake smile on her face.
"Morning." She smiled at the group around the table.
Ron was sitting nearest to her, a cup of tea in his hands, feet resting against the large table that stood loyally in the middle of the room. Next to him was Harry, elbows resting on the table, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of toast. Ginny was next to him, absently-mindedly sipping a glass of milk, her hands playing with strands of her vibrant red hair that was now so long it rested against her breasts.
Fred and George was sitting cross legged on the floor, passing between them a glass of what look liked firewhisky, littered around them small cups of milk, tea, coffee, and few others she didn't recognise. As she observed them, she saw Fred place the milk in with the firewhisky and drink it, shrugging his shoulders. George took it back, pouring the tea in, and almost throwing up from the taste of it.
Mrs Weasley stood hunched over her oven, the smell of bacon and eggs reaching Hermiones nose gradually, smoke rising from the food to signify that something was burning.
Only Ron and Harry turned to see her, and they both returned her smile politely. "Morning."
She nodded, taking a seat next to Harry, leaning over to pinch a bit of his toast he'd left on his plate. He didn't seem to mind, so she took a small nibble of it.
"You okay, Hermione?"
Harrys small talk was welcomed, and she responded with as much enthusiasm as she could.
"I'm good. Yourself?"
Harry made a rough nose in his throat to indicate he was fine, before turning the page of his paper.
The smell of fresh cooking suddenly met Hermiones nose, and Molly Weasley leant over, placing a few sausages onto the plate infront of them.
She went to reach for one, but Harry suddenly grabbed her shoulder.
"Harry?" She blinked, looking confused.
His expression turned grave, and he stood, not releasing his grip on her shoulder. "Upstairs." He ordered her.
"You can't just tell me-.."
"Move." His voice was low, almost a growl.
Fear stabbed at her heart, but she obeyed, ignoring the looks of confusion everyone gave her.
She walked up the stairs slowly, reluctant to face whatever Harry was about to throw at her, dragging her feet, she closed her eyes.
No, no, no. What did I do wrong? Have I done something wrong?
Her stomach gave unhealthy flips, and she finally go to the top of the stairs, making for her room, Harry followed her closely.
A blush crept up her neck as she realised half her clothes were strewn across the floor, and she kicked them away, but Harry didn't seem to care. His eyes were narrowed.
He's going to demand to see the letter. She realised, heart dropping. I knew it.. Why did I bring him up here? Stupid..
"Show me your wrist."
His voice brought her back, and she blinked in confusion.
"Your wrist, Hermione."
She stuck out her wrist, giving him a quizzical look, running her own gaze across her skin, before finding..
Oh.
"And what the hell is this?" He suddenly snarled, grabbing her wrist forcefully, glaring at the raw wound from where she had removed the scab. Dried blood smudged around it where it had opened up doing the night.
She let out a soft laugh. "It was an owl bite." She told him. "One of the school owls. The scab came off last night."
He didn't look convinced, he cast his gaze over to her bedsheets. The blood from last night was still there.
I fell asleep before I could clean it off. She realised. Shit.
She felt bad for swearing; even if it was just in her mind.
"I was tired last night." She explained, although her arguments were true, they sounded weak. "I fell asleep before I could clean the blood from the sheets."
She couldn't help but be confused, what did he think the blood and the wound had come from?
"Really, Hermione?"
"Yes!" She snapped impatiently, standing up. Her stomach gave a audible grumble. A little bite of toast was all she had in well over 24 hours.
"Go eat something." He almost growled at her. He didn't look at her, slamming the door behind him.
She collapsed on her bed, feeling emotionally drained. She looked down at her wrist, and then exhaled.
Stupid owl. She thought bitterly. It brought bad news, and left bad news.
She reached for her wand, tapping the wound. It closed, leaving a faint scar.
She wanted to remove the little white mark it had left, but she knew she couldn't. It was another tradition of her family. They always preached about how scars were a prize from their past. A badge of honour, almost. To prove how strong you could be.
Her mother had a lot of scars. Hermione never knew why.
She cleaned her bedsheets, and fell back, laying on her back. His outburst left her confused. She couldn't think why he had reacted in such a way, and she doubted she'd ever find out. Harry was like that. He never really explained his outburst like that unless it held some importance. He let them fester inside. She'd never been able to shake the habit from him.
She looked down, realising her stomach bulged slightly, and she felt a bit repulsed. Ginny had a flat stomach. Cho Chang had always had a flat stomach, as did Lavender.
Her stomach complained noisily about its hunger, but she ignored it, knowing it was out of gluttony. Her stomach looked to big to be hungry.
She rolled over, attempting to sleep away her feelings.
Haaaaa. This took a while, sorry. But this is quite long, and I'm just gonna proof-read it..
Hurr. So I hope you like it. I'll try to get another chapter out tomorrow, depending how I feel. Please remember to review, guys. It really inspires me to write more!
Also, this website is a bit annoying, where it likes to randomly delete words. |: So if you see any incomplete sentences, rest assured its not me being an idiot, it's the website.
-Kali
xx