September 1998—
Life at Hogwarts had stabilized for Hermione in the weeks that followed her first real conversation with Malfoy. She continued to spend her meals and occasional evenings with Ginny, though most evenings she spent a couple hours in the library and then ended up in the Head common room with Padma and Ernie. She'd even had a few more short writing sessions with Malfoy. Her friendship with Padma was growing, and the two had begun confiding in each other little things when Ernie wasn't around. At the same time, Hermione was enjoying being around Ernie more and more, and he seemed to cast a lot of intimate smiles in her direction. This made both Ginny and Padma very probing and excitable, which in turn made Hermione flush with such regularity that she wondered if her head would turn into a giant beetroot.
The first Hogsmeade weekend of the term had finally arrived, and Hermione met up with Ginny at the queue in front of the castle, where Professor Slughorn was collecting signed permission forms and ticking off names of students ready to make the trek across the grounds. Both girls were of age in the wizarding world and no longer needed permission slips.
"Ah, Miss Granger! And Miss Weasley," Slughorn called to them cheerfully. "I have you both down—off you go! I'll be sending owls round for my next dinner party, so do look out for them." They smiled politely and thanked him, but Hermione inwardly groaned. She had not enjoyed being a part of the Slug Club in her sixth year, though Ron's jealousy was no small part as to why.
"Godric's grave, I hope we don't have to go to many more of those foul dinner parties," Ginny spat when they were out of earshot. "He's probably beside himself with our connections to Harry at this point."
"I don't want to think about it," Hermione groaned aloud this time.
"Though, he'll probably invite Ernie Macmillan along, don't you think? I seem to remember him being a part of the club before."
"Oh, shut it! We are right now headed to meet Harry and Ron for half the day, and you cannot be going on about Ernie the whole time."
"Half the day?" Ginny raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah! You're big meet up with him!"
Hermione groaned again. She was excited to spend some time with Ernie one-on-one, but she was dreading the way Ron would react. Her last letter from him had been short and wanting. She remembered every word of it, which wasn't really an impressive feat.
Dear Hermione,
Glad to hear you got Head Girl. Congrats! Knew Old McGonagall would pick you! Auror training is pretty rough, and Harry is better at it than me. I'm doing well with the practical exams, but the written portions, well, let's just say nothing's changed since school. Hope you're having fun in the library without us. I might tag along to Hogsmeade when Harry meets up with Ginny.
Yours,
Ron Weasley
Yes, he had even signed his last name, as if she might get confused about which "Ron" were writing to her. Would it even phase him to learn she had a date lined up for today? If you could call it a date, that is. Hermione couldn't decide whether the idea of him being upset or him being indifferent were worse. Either way, she wasn't looking forward to finding out.
"Let's talk about something else," Hermione said. "What do you plan on doing with Harry?"
"You mean Harry and Ron? Well, that's a rather good question. I'm hoping we can ditch Ron for a while when we visit George so we can have some time alone together."
"Yeah, Ron'll love that," Hermione said dryly. "You'd think after all this time he'd get used to seeing you two together."
"Actually, he didn't seem to care much about anything over the summer. I'm kind of hoping he's back to his usual groaning and moaning self."
They chatted all the way to the Three Broomsticks and found Harry and Ron already seated at a round table off to the side with four butterbeers. Hugs were exchanged all around and, though Ron stiffened a bit when Hermione hugged him, he seemed to have some of the usual color back in his cheeks.
"Tell us all about your training!" Hermione demanded.
"It's bloody brilliant," said Ron. "You really feel like you're doing something, y'know? We're learning all sorts of jinxes and counter-curses, but it's a lot of physical training, too."
Ron talked more than Hermione or Ginny had heard in months. He told them all about their weekly schedule, their drills and exams, their fellow trainees, the Aurors that the girls didn't already know from the Order, and their instructors. Harry added tidbits here and there, but for the most part let Ron talk. He raised his eyebrows suggestively and flashed a subtle smile Hermione's way. She understood Harry's meaning perfectly, and she too found herself smiling broadly to have this much of the old Ron back. It felt like things had been before, sitting in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room or huddled together in Ron's room at the Burrow before it had been destroyed. Things felt normal, and Merlin knows Hermione needed more normal back in her life. But the conversation took a turn before Hermione was ready for it.
"Enough about us," Ron said. "Tell us about this common room you're sharing with Malfoy! Of all people, what was McGonagall thinking?"
"Actually, it's been fine with Malfoy," Hermione said, and both Harry and Ron's mouths fell open. "Oh, stop it, you know he's been through a lot too. He keeps to himself mostly. I don't think the Slytherins are very fond of him."
"That's disconcerting," Harry interjected. "That sounds like our sixth year when he was working on the vanishing cabinet."
"Yeah, you better be careful, Hermione," Ron added in, and his eyes grew dark. "We've all changed from the war, but I don't think Malfoy'll ever turn good."
"At least he's leaving her alone," Ginny offered. "It's true he keeps to himself, but I dunno. He doesn't exactly look like he's bitter or plotting. He just looks pathetic, really."
Harry scoffed, but Ron grinned with a distant, satisfied look in his eyes. "Hold on, I want to imagine Malfoy dejected and pathetic," he announced.
"The common room is pretty amazing, though," Hermione changed the subject. It's not as big as the Gryffindor common room, but it's huge for four of us." She described the common room and layout of their rooms at length, answering tons of questions from Ron and a couple from Harry. Ginny had heard most of it already, but seemed happy to listen along. After a while, Ginny got up to buy them another round of butterbeer, but returned to the table with three glasses plus Ernie Macmillan in tow. He was carrying an extra chair and two more glasses, which he thunked down on the table beside Hermione.
"Ernie!" Harry greeted him and clapped him on the back. "It's been too long!"
Ron shook Ernie's hand while eyeing him up and down. "Blimey, you look different, mate," Ron said at last.
Ernie flushed lightly. "Yeah, I suppose I grew a bit since we last met."
"A bit? Bloody hell, you're as tall as me now!"
"Oh, come off it! Just a late bloomer I guess." Ernie let out a roaring laugh and seated himself in the chair he'd wedged in between Ginny and Hermione. He smiled warmly at Hermione, half-hugged her from his chair, and pointed to her butterbeer. "Your drink as promised," he grinned, and his eyes danced over her smiling face. From the side, Hermione saw Ron's complexion darken a shade.
"I'll consider your debt repaid," she said lightly.
"Oh no no! I owed you a drink and a brand-new quill, and I plan on fully making good." Ernie turned to Harry and Ron. "She got me out of a tight spot in Potions on our first day, but Hogwarts has got to be rather boring to you two at this point, eh?"
Harry and Ron exchanged blank looks.
"Training as Aurors, I mean—wow!"
"Oh right," Harry jumped in. He recounted a brief version of their training for Ernie, who listened eagerly while draining his butterbeer.
"Well, not so much has changed for us," Ernie began.
"Us?" Hermione saw Harry mouth to Ginny, who shrugged her shoulders slightly. Ernie seemed not to notice, as he was too busy retelling everything Hermione had just said about their common room, then continued to describe his schedule and each of his classes. Hermione added some side commentary on the variances between schedules, thinking that highlighting their time apart might be a good thing. Somehow, she ended up making it sound like she spent a lot more time with Ernie than she did, but she didn't know how to correct it without sounding obvious. It didn't help that Ginny was eyeing them and smirking at Harry when she thought no one else was watching.
Then, the moment Hermione was dreading came. As soon as she took the last swig of her butterbeer, Ernie asked her hopefully, "Well, should we get going?"
"Get going where?" Ron asked, shock splayed across his face. Hermione nearly choked on her butterbeer and started coughing loudly. Ron patted her back.
"It's like I said," Ernie's voice was hesitant, and his eyes darted between her and Ron, "I owe Hermione a quill. I promised her I'd buy any one she picked out."
"Oh, right, yes." Ron said darkly.
"Er, you want to come along, mate?" Ernie asked, still sounding uncertain.
"No," Ron said as he crossed his arms over his chest. Hermione had the sudden urge to vomit, and she realized she'd been clenching her stomach and holding her breath for the past minute. She cast Ginny a pathetic look and rose to her feet.
"Alright, well. I s'pose we'll see you in a bit then?" Ernie said.
"Yeah, alright," Ron said flatly.
Ernie turned and started off but glanced over his shoulder at Hermione as if he were checking whether she would follow him.
"We won't take long," Hermione said, too quickly. "It's like he said, you see. He promised to buy me a quill, and he insisted that I pick it out for myself. It'd be nice to have a new quill, you know. I mean, I've been taking a lot of notes—"
"Go on!" Ginny encouraged her. "We'll be fine without you for a few minutes, won't we, Ron?"
Ron nodded, but refused to meet anyone's eyes. He stared intently at the last bit of butterbeer in his mug.
"We're headed to see George, anyway," Ginny continued. "We'll meet you there in a little while, but I want to go to the new broomstick shop first!"
Ron perked up a bit at that, and Hermione quickly waved and made her way out. Ernie was waiting for her patiently outside, a pensive look on his face.
"Ready?" he asked her.
"Yeah, let's go," she said, feeling dejected. Seeing the shock on Ron's face made her feel far more dreadful than she'd imagined.
"Say, Hermione... There's nothing... I mean to say that, er, I'm not... stepping on any, er, toes or anything asking you out, am I?"
"No!" Hermione knew how unconvincing she sounded. "It's just..." she stopped and turned to face Ernie. "Look, there may have something between Ron and me once, but nothing ever happened. He's just not the same since his brother died."
"His brother? Blimey, I had no idea. Which one?"
"Fred. I'm sorry, I thought you knew."
"No," Ernie hung his head. "He was a good bloke. That's just awful."
"Look, let's just enjoy ourselves, shall we? Honestly, I could do with a bit of fun."
Ernie grinned and took her hand. "I think a bit of quill shopping and a trip to the bookstore is in order for you then, Miss Granger!"
The next hour passed by in a blissful flash. She and Ernie looked at all the quills in Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, ogling the more expensive ones and laughing at the dramatic, frilly ones that Hermione could only imagine in the taloned hands of Rita Skeeter. In the end, she settled on a graceful pheasant quill with a delicate silver nib. The test quill glided pleasantly over the parchment, though she had to admit it felt nowhere near as wonderful as her Twinned Quill. Professor Flitwick had told her about many incantations for Twinned Quills, including one that would make it function like a normal quill in her hand until she reversed it, but she blushed at the thought of using the quill in any of her classes, especially the ones she shared with Malfoy. This new quill would make an excellent substitute.
Next, the pair made their way to the new Flourish and Blotts shop in Hogsmeade, which had taken a page out of the Weasleys' book and opened up a secondary location while their original one in Diagon Alley was being rebuilt. It was small and cramped, with crooked shelves overloaded with books in every size and color. The organizational method was an abstract, living art form that the employees couldn't even keep proper track of. Hermione and Ernie roamed the shelves for almost an hour, and they both ended up purchasing three new books.
"Please let me pay for one of your books," Hermione begged Ernie. "The quill was too expensive. I'll get this one for you." She slipped a green text labeled Rune Cracking: A Cutting-Edge Art out from under his arm and added it to her stack on the counter.
"All right, but that's my most expensive book. Here, I'll pay for this one of yours, and we'll call it even." He snatched a small purple and black journal from her stack and held it high in the air. Hermione huffed and shot Ernie a mock-dirty glare, knowing the futility of trying to snatch at it.
Outside, Ernie made a show of presenting the book to her, doffing an imaginary cap, bending low, and even proffering a "m'lady" from his repertoire. Hermione reciprocated with a sarcastic "my liege" as they traded tomes. They wandered down a back street in the general direction of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes with their arms linked, book parcels in their free hands, and matching broad grins on their faces.
In a few minutes, they reached the back of the shop and squeezed into the small alley alongside the building that led round to the front. Ernie suddenly stopped, and Hermione, arm still linked to his, didn't register the change in momentum quickly enough to avoid getting yanked backwards a step. She dropped her book parcel, but caught it by the wrapping string inches before it hit the ground. She looked up at Ernie, who had a funny look on his face. His eyes were scrunched up and distant, as if he were solving a difficult arithmancy problem in his head.
"What's up?" she asked him.
"Look, I don't think your friends want me to join you in there." Hermione tried to protest, but Ernie cut her off. "No, I'm sure they want to catch up with you, and I really don't mind. Tell them I enjoyed seeing them earlier, though, would you?"
"Yeah, of course I will. Are you sure?"
Ernie nodded. "This was a lot of fun. You're an incredible woman, Hermione. I hope we can do this more often."
She felt the heat radiating from her cheeks. "Thank you for the quill. And the book!" she grinned up at him. His face was suddenly very close to hers. Her mind went blank, and she became very conscious of her breathing.
"Don't forget the butterbeer," he whispered, and he closed the last few inches between them. His lips were delightfully soft on hers, and his free hand crept up through her wild curls, lightly cradling the back of her head. Hermione felt her lips part, and his tongue flicked tentatively against hers. She could easily get lost in his kiss, and her mind started to tingle wonderfully with pleasure.
BANG!
Hermione and Ernie jumped apart at the sound, and she whirled around. Ron stood at the end of the alley, his face an alarming shade of red. He stood rooted to the floor next to a dropped box of empty bottles, eyes locked on Ernie and shaking. Hermione edged her way out of the narrow alley entrance and tried to smile at Ron, though she was sure she looked sickly. She felt like she was about to get sick, too.
"Ron?"
No answer.
"Ronald?" she tried again. "Are you okay?"
He neither responded nor acknowledged her presence. Ernie squeezed out of the alley behind Hermione, assessing Ron with a troubled look.
"Everything alright there, mate?" he asked. His words seemed to activate Ron, who sprung into motion. He decked Ernie square in the nose. Cartilage crunched with a sickening crraaaacckk, and blood spurted everywhere. Ernie reeled, Hermione screamed, and Ron whirled around and stomped back into the shop, almost pushing over a pair of young girls who were making their way out at precisely the wrong moment. People passing by on the street had stopped to stare, and they were now whispering loudly and pointing in Hermione's direction. She heard snippets like "girl from the Golden Trio" and "helped defeat You-Know-Who" and "punched him right in the nose." Hermione ignored them.
"Ernie! Are you okay?"
Ernie tried to nod, but moving his head just sent more blood rushing out his nose.
"Here, let me fix it." Hermione moved his hands out of the way. "Episky!"
There was a loud snap, and the blood flowing from his nose stopped immediately. He wiggled the bridge of his nose back and forth experimentally, and relief flooded his face.
"Thanks," he whispered, but at that moment he caught sight of his hands covered in his own blood and frowned. "I think I need to clean up," he said as he surveyed his badly soaked jumper. Hermione casted a quick tergeo followed by a scourgify to make his walk back to Hogwarts a bit easier. A lot more effort would be needed to get the blood completely out of his clothes, though.
"I'm so sorry, Ernie. I don't know what's gotten into him! He's been acting horribly for months, but it seemed like he was back to his usual self again today."
"I think I have a fair idea what's wrong." Ernie smiled ruefully. "Listen, we can talk later tonight in the common room. Don't worry, I'm fine. You go on ahead and talk to him." Hermione was shaking her head, but he pressed on. "I promise, it's okay! Look, I'll see you later, and we'll sort this out." Ernie smiled again at her subverted protests and turned to leave.
"Oh, Hermione," he said over his shoulder. "Try not to kill the poor bloke. Realizing he's missed his chance with you has got to be a much worse blow than the one he gave me." With that, Ernie walked away as a pale, stunned Hermione stood frozen and quite alone on the crowded street.
The top of the astronomy tower was bathed in near darkness. Out the window, stars dotted the sky. Hagrid's hut gave off a soft glow through the gaps in his curtained windows, but the rest of the view was blackness. No moon hung in the sky, and the wind had an unforgiving bite to it. Hermione stood alone, gazing into the pitch-black expanse and letting her thoughts consume her.
As soon as Ernie left Hogsmeade, Hermione went chasing after Ron. Instead, she found Ginny very red-faced and Harry looking rather confused. Ron was nowhere to be seen, having apparated away moments before. George alone seemed to be collected. He offered Hermione a tight hug and a dashing smile before wandering off to tend his customers. Once again, it seemed, Ron was ignoring her. She stayed a while longer with Ginny and Harry, but ended up heading back to Hogwarts early. She then spent the rest of the afternoon and evening alone with her thoughts, finally winding her way up to the Astronomy tower to watch the sunset. Had Ron thought there was still more between them? Had he assumed she felt the same? If he had bothered to speak to her over the summer, she knew she would have felt more for him. His continued silence, though, had left a hole in her heart, which was already empty with the possible loss of her parents. So much unknown was eating away at Hermione. How could Ron not realize that? Was he so consumed by his own grief that he couldn't even see or care for hers?
The night continued to deepen, and Hermione knew that loitering in the tower all night would do her no good. She made her way down the winding steps and across the castle to the materializing stained glass door. The common room was empty, but the fire was blazing brightly. She wondered whether one of the others had just recently gone to bed, or if the fire were kept blazing for her. Either way, it was a small stroke of luck that she had no one to deal with that night.
"Thank Merlin," she murmured to the empty room and made her way straight up her red staircase.
Once inside her room, Hermione seated herself at her desk, pulled out her new quill and journal, and began to write.
This new journal is dedicated towards reflections of my seventh year at Hogwarts. The pages that follow are intended for myself alone, and woe be to any other uninvited readers who think they can peruse these pages and get away unscathed. If you haven't received my permission to continue, set this down volume and stop now. If you choose not to, what will happen to you is your own fault. You are forewarned.
Hermione skipped over the next page. She'd already created one entry that she would affix to this page later. Of course, she had jinxed her journal, much like she had jinxed the Dumbledore's Army signup sheet three years ago. She took her privacy very seriously, and this was her only means of feeling comfortable in writing her inner-most thoughts on paper. Hermione re-dipped her quill, then began a new entry.
I seem to be as boy crazy as any of the giggling girls I usually despise these days. Ron is mad at me, Ernie is probably avoiding me, and Malfoy can't stop writing to me. It's all idiotic. The only thing I want to do is get through this year and find my parents. What good is the end of the war when you have no family to share it with?
Hermione stopped. This was a true problem for her, she realized. The war couldn't and wouldn't be over for her until this piece of her life were sorted out. She continued to write.
I am beginning to feel like I should ignore everyone and allow myself to be alone. Those who are worth it will continue rallying to my aid. Those who are not will dwindle away, and fate will be decided. If I'm really to follow through with this, I'll have to be prepared to accept the consequences first, which I'm not yet sure I'm ready to do.
HJG
Loneliness crept into Hermione's heart so quickly that she wandered over to her trunk and collected a ginger mound of fur. Crookshanks had moved a pillow there and curled up right on top. He fidgeted in her arms but gave in when she nestled him into the crook of her arm. Then, on impulse, she collected the blue journal tucked away beneath her spare potion supplies.
Hermione returned to her desk chair with Crookshanks in her lap. From within her center desk drawer, she withdrew the elegant, sapphire quill. Holding the grip firmly, Hermione whispered the incantation that Professor Flitwick had taught her to initiate the connection between the Twinned Quills.
"Incipio implexis."
Then, she wrote her first message onto a fresh page in the blue journal, which would transcribe on Draco's end when he next used his quill. Under Professor Flitwick's quick instruction, Hermione learned that the Twinned Quills are paired to their respective owners on the first simultaneous use. The connection will then remain, and the quills will only respond to their owners, until forcefully broken. After that, the quills could be used to convey messages whether both parties were using their quills at the same time, almost like an answering machine. Or, you could just wait for the other person to pick up the quill at the same time as you to complete the connection, as Draco had done with her so far.
'Are you awake?' she wrote, then added, '(Saturday night, approx. 11:30 p.m.).'
'Good evening, Miss Prim and Proper,' came the reply a few minutes later. Hermione scowled. Why was she even bothering with Malfoy?
'If you were asleep, wouldn't it be useful to know when the message was written?' she wrote back.
'Asleep before midnight? Really?'
'Yes, well, I'd love to be asleep right now. And I know it's Saturday.'
'For once, I can't argue with that.' They both had trouble sleeping, she knew. When Hermione didn't reply for several minutes, her quill began scratching on its own again. 'Did you want to talk about something, or is my delightful company growing on you? I can only imagine that any correspondence above a first-year level is a treat for you after spending so much time with Pottyhead and the Weasel.'
'You're one to talk. Or, did you forget how much time you spent with Cra—' Hermione stopped mid-word. For an instant, she had forgotten that Vincent Crabbe was dead, killed by his own fiendfyre. 'I'm so sorry,' she wrote instead.
'Don't be.'
'That was thoughtless of me.'
'It doesn't matter.'
'Yes, it does. He was your friend. I shouldn't have said that.'
'And he shouldn't have cast a spell he couldn't control. That idiot nearly killed all of us, in case you've forgotten.'
'How can you think like that?'
'How can you not? Plus, shouldn't you be defending your dearly beloved right now, not pining over a lost cause?'
'He isn't my dearly beloved,' Hermione wrote, allowing the pain to etch lines across her face once again.
'Trouble in paradise, then? Is that why you wanted to talk? Sorry, but I couldn't begin to understand the infantile mind of that freckled mockery of a wizard.'
'You're pathetic, Malfoy.'
'Struck a nerve, have I? Did the Weasel King dump you?'
'No, he didn't dump me! We were never together to begin with.'
'What? Were you with Potter then? Wait, no... I heard he's with the Weaselette. What's the problem then?'
'None of your business.'
'So, it was just my company you were missing.'
'Get over yourself. Why do I even bother with you?'
'Because you've realized I'm an actual person, and it surprises and intrigues you.'
Hermione's eyes widened. Malfoy was more perceptive than she gave him credit for, even if his arrogance over it made her choke. It also had not escaped her notice that, through some sick twist in fate, she had more in common with Malfoy just then than anyone else. They both had returned to Hogwarts without their friends, felt isolated and alone while surrounded by a sea of people, had been destined to be Heads but no longer yearned for the honor or accomplishment, had abandoned school last year and were now desperately trying to find normalcy through it, were unsure how much longer they'd have any family left, were drowning in their lives' uncertainties, and were plagued with attention-drawing scars and dreams of torture. This, above all else, was why she kept writing to him, and it probably was the true reason he kept writing to her.
'I thought you were trying,' she finally replied. It was Malfoy's turn to pause.
'Okay, you win. Tell me what's wrong.'
'If you must know, it is Ron. Don't gloat. He's spent the past months ignoring me, and just when I thought he was snapping out of it, he's back at ignoring me in full force. It's not really his fault. He's been grieving over Fred, but I've been grieving, too. I don't understand why he can't see that.'
'I was right, he is a pathetic git.'
'Oh, very funny. Joke's on me for believing you were serious in wanting to help.'
'I am serious. He lost one brother, but how many others does he have?'
'You are sick. Don't ever make jokes like that again, or I will stop this right now and snap your bloody quill in half. It doesn't matter how many brothers you have when you lose someone.'
'No, you're wrong. Calm down you maniac and think about it, like that feckless git should have. He is literally surrounded by family and support. You have only Muggle parents who probably don't understand anything you tell them, if you even tell them anything at all about our world. You were tortured and marred by that insane, dead aunt of mine, and all he suffered were a few scratches and hours in a cell. Yes, he lost a brother, but we've all lost people—on both sides. He doesn't get to treat you like dirt because he can't handle a bit of heartache. Plus, he still had you and the Chosen Prat there the whole time. Even now you're making excuses for him and being your usual, too-understanding self. And somehow, he thinks his suffering is worth more than anyone else's. Like I said, a pathetic git.'
As much as Hermione hated to admit it, Malfoy had a point hidden in that tactless rant. But he was wrong, she didn't have her parents anymore. Tears began to fall freely down her cheeks. She found herself writing back, unsure what she would even say until the letters formed.
'I might not have parents anymore. I modified their memories last year. They've moved across the world and don't know I exist or that they ever had a daughter. I had to; it was the only way to keep them safe.'
'He knows this, too?'
'Yes.'
'Can't it be undone?'
'I don't know. I won't know until I've found them and tried. McGonagall thinks I should wait till next summer, when I've sat my N.E.W.T.s and everything here has calmed down.'
'She's right, you know.'
'Yes, I know. But that doesn't really help, you see. I have no parents, Ron won't speak to me, Harry and Ginny try, but they are so wrapped up in each other, and I just feel so... out of place, I guess. Go ahead—laugh.'
'Laugh? Yeah, I guess that fair. I probably would've before. I know what it's like to feel alone, though. And, I know exactly what it's like to be uncertain whether you'll lose your parents.'
Hermione didn't respond. She knew from his letter that Narcissa Malfoy was drowning in sorrow and regret. She also knew that Lucius Malfoy was awaiting trial in Azkaban. What could be said to comfort either of them? She was spared trying when Malfoy came up with the answer for her, and the quill drafted one last line in his neat, angular script.
'Hermione... I'm sorry.'