Hi, everyone. Many have been wondering about the lack of updates. Well, RL is in shambles at the moment, and I haven't got much time or inclination to write. I managed this new chapter, but I have no idea when I can write another.
I want to see this story finished, but I can't promise much development any time soon.
Enjoy the new chapter!
They remained sitting at the table, speaking little and trying to avoid any significant topics. Although they had an unspoken agreement that mentioning Ron was taboo, it still wasn't easy to talk.
"Erm, would you like to come and watch our Quidditch team play?" he asked, before he could make his nails bleed from the continued nibbling he did on them.
He knew her answer before she gave it, but he wasn't prepared for the amused smile she sent his way.
"I might have changed, Harry, but not even a lobotomy would make me enjoy Quidditch," she told him in a wry tone.
He snorted heartily and leaned back in his chair, making the old wood creak. "Sorry, Hermione, but to tell you the truth, I don't know what I can talk about with you," he admitted with a hint of humour and resignation.
She nodded and turned back to the window. "I'm not the most satisfying company, I know."
Seeing her withdraw again, he quickly leaned forward. "No, no. It's me. I'm just not good at leading a conversation. I like talking with you. You're fun!" Okay, that had been rather over the top, and her sardonically raised eyebrow only confirmed it.
She wasn't angry or insulted by his poor attempt to make her feel better, and looked at him intently.
"Listen, Harry. We are still friends. We don't have to hang onto each others' coat tails to prove it. I like it quiet these days, and idle chit-chat is far from what I need." She smiled, hoping to stop him from sulking.
"But you shouldn't be all alone. You'll end up as an old maid if you keep up…" He broke off when he became aware of the glare Hermione sent his way.
"You're doing it again, Harry Potter," she said sternly, making him shift in his seat at the use of his whole name. "You're trying to tell me how to behave, and what to do."
He looked at her with a sheepish grin, realising himself what he had done. "Sorry, can't seem to help myself."
"Yes, I can see that. You've always been like that, and I shouldn't have expected you to change this annoying habit of being a little too self-important as you get older." Her lips quirked in amusement when he grimaced at her description of him. "Besides, there are worse things than being a lonely old maid"
"Really?" he asked, with a challenging glint that made her fall into her deliberately swotty role with startling ease.
"Oh, yes. I could end up as a crazy old cat lady with only a scar-headed friend to drag her out to play Bingo with other wrinkled senior citizens, just to get her to mingle."
"How lucky the old bird would be to have such a concerned friend," Harry retorted jovially, making her punch him on the shoulder.
"Weirdo," she said softly.
"I love you, too," he said easily, a far cry from the shy boy he had been. He used to shy away from a hug when his bushy-haired friend had treated him to one of her many impromptu signs of affection.
Before she could wonder about the change in him over the summer, he spoke again. "It's lunchtime. Are you coming with me?"
"I will have to. The headmaster has forbidden me from eating in the kitchens," she grumbled and began to put her many untouched books away.
"So that's where you've been all the time," he said, helping her with the books, silently wondering about the lack of notes.
They wandered out of the library together; Hermione with her sweets in a pocket, Harry with the shrunken book he had vowed to exchange for something different.
Xxxxxxxxxxx
The hush that fell over the Great Hall was rather noticeable when Hermione followed a protective looking Harry through the doors. They hadn't seen much of her since the news about her rape had spread, and they all tried to catch a glimpse of the girl who had endured such trauma.
Hermione breathed lowly, keeping her eyes on Harry's back and her fists clenched tightly without realising it. She slid in to the free seat next to him without checking who was sitting next to her.
Only the soft "Happy birthday, Hermione," made her look up and into the face of Ginny Weasley, who gave her a smile that bordered on pity.
"Did Harry give you my present?" she asked and drew the flummoxed Hermione into a hug - the second one today.
"Erm, yes," the unsmiling birthday girl got out and was glad when she was released. She felt like succulent meat on a platter served to hungry werewolves in the all too quiet hall, and she barely managed to stutter out a belated thanks under the continued scrutiny of nearly every student.
"Good," Ginny replied, and held out various dishes and plates for Hermione to chose from. "I have to tell you that I will steal you away and drag you…" She paused with pinched lips. "Bad choice of words. Sorry," she said contritely and put two more rashers of bacon on Hermione's already overfilled plate to make up for her faux pas.
"You really should be pampered tonight, I wanted to say," the youngest Weasley continued, garnering a hum from the girl next to her which could have meant anything.
Hermione suddenly noticed that Ron wasn't there, and was more than glad to be spared his comments. She could imagine his disdainful sneers at seeing her receive hugs and presents. She didn't even want to know where he was, and tried to begin eating, hoping to be able to swallow with her tight throat.
She was just about to munch on some bacon when Neville stood from a few seats away to come nearer.
"Hey, Hermione. Happy birthday," he said quietly, without the slightest blush on his face. This year it was Hermione that looked uncomfortable with getting so much attention.
"Thank you, Neville," she said, waiting on tenterhooks for the next hug that would undoubtedly follow. She was surprised when he simply stood next to her and pressed a gentle kiss on her temple.
The gesture was so sweet, and so decidedly unexpected that happy and embarrassed tears filled her eyes.
"Thanks," she croaked again and buried her face in her goblet, almost choking on her pumpkin juice.
Hermione hoped that people would finally turn back to their own breakfasts, and their own lives, but it wasn't to be. Normally, these three people, excluding Ron, would have been the only ones to even know, remember or acknowledge her birthday. But for some reason, this year, many more people decided to pay more attention to her, even if it was out of pity.
Dean and Seamus got up together and handed her a few pretty flowers, which she took with a shocked expression. Before she could gather her scattered wits and thank them, Rosalie approached with a small cuddly toy that had some chocolate attached to it.
"Chocolate is good in almost every situation," she told the older girl before bustling off again.
A group of four young boys had the guts to deliver their presents. They were fourth-years, as far as she could remember, and were blushing to the roots of their hair by the time they had stuttered out "Happy Birthday." They ran off again, moving as a pack, revealing two more well wishers.
The two young girls who had apprised her of Ronald's tirade of hatred stood in front of her, holding out two small boxes.
"We heard it's your birthday, Miss Granger," they chorused, looking utterly cute with their luminous eyes and wide smiles.
"Thanks, girls," Hermione choked out, spilling a few more tears at the unexpected support she had gotten. She mentally scolded herself for completely forgetting her own birthday, already thinking of how disappointed these young students might have been if she hadn't shown up all day.
The girls giggled happily at Hermione's grateful smile before bouncing off, leaving Hermione with an armload of small presents and flowers.
The last one to approach her was Luna, who came over from the Ravenclaw table.
"Happy birthday, Hermione," she said, in her typically dreamy voice, looking totally unfazed by the attention they were getting. "Look at this one later, I'd say," she said cryptically and placed the heavy looking present in Hermione's lap. Instead of hugging the overwhelmed Gryffindor, she softly ran her fingers through her wild tresses a few times before placing a small black rose in them. "You're a beautiful woman." With those unexpected words, she flounced back over to her table.
"It's not the first time a student has celebrated his or her birthday," the headmaster's voice suddenly boomed through the still quiet room, finally giving Hermione a moment of peace. "But let it be said that I wish Miss Granger a happy eighteenth birthday. Spend it with true friends, and you will find joy even in the darkest hours. I speak for all of us," he said, indicating the entire staff, "in saying that we wish you a bright future, peace and fulfilment. Be strong, my dear."
That was the final straw and Hermione bent her head to obscure her face as hot tears dripped rapidly down her face, accompanied by bitter sobs. She really loved the old man, and felt ashamed for trying to disobey his orders. She was also filled with utter remorse over speaking so disrespectfully to her Head-of-House the day in the infirmary.
She realised how much she had changed after what had happened in France – and definitely not for the better. She was an ungrateful, snotty, disagreeable shrew, and it made her stomach clench with self-hatred. With blurry eyes she looked up at the High table, making eye-contact with McGonagall, who cocked at her head in question when she noticed that Hermione was looking at her.
The old lady wore a slightly pinched and confused expression, before realising what the young witch was mouthing repeatedly. At the sight of the tear-stained face of her favourite student, combined with the 'Sorry' that was being sent her way, the usually stern teacher felt her own eyes water.
Minerva smiled tenderly at her pupil to convey her forgiveness, before burying her face in her hands. It had become impossible to keep a clear head around that girl, so deep were her feelings for Hermione. Any other student would have earned a heavy tongue-lashing for their impertinence and the gall to talk back to a teacher, but Minerva was simply too affected by Hermione's tragic experience and her affection for the young witch to react appropriately.
"Everyone who isn't eating and minding their own business in three seconds will be thrown out of the Great Hall," the dangerous drawl of the potions master rang out through the once more silent hall.
Instantly, the clatter of cutlery and hushed whispers could be heard. Severus hated to see her on display like this, and sent a glare to Albus, who seemed intent on ignoring him. The potions master had noticed the exchange between Hermione and Minerva, and wasn't surprised that she regretted her sneakiness and disrespect. He sighed at Hermione's all-too-apparent Gryffindor behaviour.
With a barely concealed snarl, he rubbed his chest as a dull pain spread across it, making it feel like a ton of bricks was pressing down on him. He could still hear her sobs all the way from the Gryffindor table, and all he wanted to do was to hide her in a quiet, safe place for the months to come until everyone had forgotten what had happened to her. It was impossible and probably harmful for her in the long run, yet this was what he felt.
He was distracted by the arrival of the post, as were many students, who seemed to forget the drama around the Gryffindor girl for a moment. There were always more owls on Saturdays, and it was a noisy and messy spectacle as the owls brought their deliveries.
When most owls had settled on the various tables, more owls arrived with a concert of hoots and screeches. Four winged beasts were sailing down from the ceiling carrying something enormous between them. The sight was so unusual that another interested hush fell over the student population.
Many people watched fascinated as the quartet made out their goal and headed straight to the Gryffindor table. With a perfectly timed manoeuvre, they carefully dropped their delivery - in front of a dazed Hermione.
Helplessly, she looked at the four owls that now stood next to the enormous item they had brought.
"I think it's for you," Harry finally pointed out when nobody dared to say anything.
Hermione looked at him, wondering who he was speaking to, and drew back when she noticed he meant her.
"It can't be. There isn't anybody else who knows my birthday," she pointed doubt, not lifting a finger to inspect the cloth covered thing.
"Maybe it's from Remus or Sirius," Harry said under his breath, and heard her snort in doubt.
When she still made no move to look at the item, Harry touched what looked like a name tag.
"It's for you," he pointed out with a gloating smile. "Come on, let's see what it is." He sounded more eager than the girl the present was intended for.
With a face that was more suited for a fight with lethal banshees, Hermione tensely shifted forward in her seat and touched the deep blue cloth that hung over the big object. Slowly, she lifted it and was met by the sight of two huge, amber eyes that stared at her without blinking.
Hermione wasn't the only one who gasped when the creature greeted her with a deep, "Hoot."
"That's one big owl," Harry said with a short laugh, pointing out the obvious.
It really was a big specimen, Hermione agreed, as she studied the animal through the bars. It surely was as long as her arm, she reckoned, a little unnerved by the the bird's continued regard. It patiently held an envelope in its yellow beak, waiting for Hermione to open the cage to read its contents.
Everyone watched with baited breath as she opened the cage and put her hand inside, somehow scared to get close to the enormous beak that could injure her quite severely. When the feathered head dipped to release the letter, Hermione pulled back her hand with a squeak, earning her some laughter from various onlookers.
Squaring her shoulders, she reached inside again, trying hard not to cringe in fear when the huge head dipped yet again to hand over the letter. As soon as she had the missive she drew back.
The bird's only comment on her quick retreat was a calming, drawn-out "Hoooot."
The people closest to her tried to get a closer look at the letter, wondering who had sent the animal to her, but were disappointed when she didn't read it aloud or said anything about the contents.
But when her eyes filled with tears, Harry put a gentle arm around her to comfort her, and used the opportunity to read over her shoulder. What he read made him gulp in discomfort and fear for his friend's fragile state of mind.
Dear Hermione,
Happy birthday, darling girl. Finally eighteen! My, how time flies. Now your maturity will finally be accepted legally, but for us you have been well beyond your years since the age of four.
You are probably wondering how we managed to get you this owl, considering we cannot go to Diagon Alley without your help. We are still in occasional contact with Arthur Weasley, you see, and he has been kind enough to pick us up via the 'Flu' system. Only his continued fascination with all things Muggle, and his never ending kindness allowed us to buy something magical, rather than something mundane from our world.
Besides, it is always a wonderful experience to step into a world that resembles a fantastic story. I'm not sure I could actually live in the Wizarding world, but it is simply marvellous to feel like a part of the old regency era for a long afternoon.
For once, we didn't want to get our bookworm yet another tome, and decided on another pet – one that might prove more useful than Crookshanks, not that we don't like the big lump.
We liked the idea of an owl, as it would allow you to write to us without having to use a school owl all the time. Well, your Dad was quite keen to get his little girl one of those Pygmy Puffs, but I managed to convince him otherwise.
So we chose the lovely owl that sits in front of you now, and goes by the name of Laszlo. He's from Bulgaria, and apparently his old owner didn't want to live with the bird's constant need for petting. Or rather, the aggressive streak he developed when he didn't get the cuddles he wanted.
While your father was a bit worried about such a dubious character, I reminded him how much love you are willing to give any creature in need. We both were hoping that the poor fellow will find a suitable home with you.
He is two years old, and has another peculiar habit that has earned him the nickname 'Jogger'. It was your Dad's brilliant idea to give him that name…
Anyway, my dear, we bought him before your summer holiday, and it would have been difficult to bring him home with us. So we managed to arrange with the shopkeeper to have your gift sent out to you on your birthday.
We hope you are happy with your present, love, and that he and Crooks will get along. Write back as soon as you can – we have to see if your owl is as dependable as he was made out to be.
Have a wonderful day, my dear.
Mum & Dad
PS.: We are very proud of the young woman you have become, and are looking forward to see what you will achieve in the years to come.
By the time Hermione was finished, her eyes were burning with tears, and they fell onto the letter, promptly smearing the ink. She mewled in distress when the words Mum &Dad dissolved into a blur, and folded the missive with shaky hands to stuff it into the envelope. When she couldn't do it, Harry gently lifted the entire thing from her weak fingers.
Only he and Ginny had been able to read the content of the letter, and were anxious to see how their friend would react to this surprise.
"Who is it from?" Neville asked softly, leaning over the table with his upper body to keep the words as private as possible under the circumstances.
Two red-rimmed eyes looked at him, not distracting from the quivering lips that tried to form some words.
"M-my p-parents," she choked out, not knowing whether to smile or cry.
Neville frowned. "But I thought they are…" He couldn't continue, but his meaning was clear.
"They are," the distraught witch confirmed, as her mouth finally decided to give into its desire to cry, let out a soft sob. "And I buried them yesterday."
"What?" he asked in surprise. He caught Harry's eye, who gestured him to wait with this discussion until a later time, and subsided.
She didn't notice much of what was going on around her, and her eyes found the owl that looked back at her with its head cocked. He was the last connection with her parents – he had actually seen them, heard them. He had no doubt felt their hands on his feathered body.
She envied him. She was jealous of a bloody bird.
"Are you alright, Hermione?" Harry asked, exchanging a worried look with his girlfriend when she didn't answer.
Still crying silently, Hermione picked up the cage with the owl still inside, and stood up.
"Do you want us to come with you?" Harry tried again, on his feet already.
Only then did Hermione glance at him for a moment. "I'll be fine," she said softly, and carried the heavy cage away.
"She left all her other presents," Neville pointed out with a deep sigh that spoke of how much he was affected by Hermione's never ending pain. "What a birthday."
They Gryffindors weren't the only ones to watch Hermione leave the hall with silent steps. The entire faculty, as well as almost every student observed her, but only a pair of black eyes blinked agitatedly in indecision.
When Severus suddenly saw Ronald Weasley enter the Great Hall, he was on his feet before he could think, but he wasn't the only one. Harry, Neville and Ginny were standing as well, wands in their hands in case Ron was about to hurt Hermione again.
As all eyes were on the redhead by the door and the approaching Hermione, nobody saw a blond Slytherin walk out of the hall through the other door.