Summer passing is—a blur of cringing, a melancholy kaleidoscope.
(It's moments of waking amidst a haze of sleep, a deluge of hopelessness with spots of color.)
Hermione keeps herself numb, and nothing is great but everything is fine.
(That's what she writes to Draco and Harry, anyway.)
/
When everything threatens to overwhelm her one day, she impulsively goes to the nearby hair salon, asking them to chop it just shy of her shoulders and put in some layers to make it less thick; she has them bleach it nearly Malfoy blonde, because why the hell not, with purple at the ends, and by the time it's done the contrast is shocking to even her own eyes.
It's—different, and a lot, and her family is royally pissed in ways that make her life a bit more difficult for a few days, lead to some really awful dark moments.
(But it was her choice, in her control, taking her own life into her hands, and—she loves it.)
Harry and Ginny both assure her they love it when she sends photos, and she teases a pouty Draco about the fact that he won't be able to see it till term starts.
Harry regularly writes to tell her of the happenings at Tonks Manor—apparently Sirius's ancestral home has been chosen as Order Headquarters, so almost every day he, Sirius, and Remus head over to work on making it presentable, Ted or Andy occasionally joining (and there's a house elf, but he mainly keeps to himself, and Sirius has some negative history with him so he doesn't ask him to do anything, really..)
Draco is—understandably quieter than usual.
He hasn't seen Voldemort yet, thank god, but because his father is so esteemed in Riddle's eyes, the rest of the Death Eaters are frequently in and out of Malfoy Manor after reporting for tasks or providing that which they've been asked to procure.
(Both Harry and Draco have overheard talk of a weapon, of something that would be different this time, but they don't have enough of the pieces to put together exactly what it is.)
And as of yet, they're not recruiting teenagers, but—
(But Father's already made it clear that when the time comes we'll be expected to do our part; I think about it and I can't breathe, Jules.)
( I don't know if I can do it.)
She hears from Ginny frequently; the younger girl and her soul mate are still "taking it slow", but given that they apparently pour out their hearts about their deepest fears Hermione and Harry have a running bet on when the two will give up the pretense. And her mental health is allegedly better, which Hermione would take with a grain of salt except even the twins seem much less worried about their sister, which makes Hermione think maybe Ginny really is on her way to recovery. And she'll be able to play Quidditch in the coming year, which is further cause for joy.
(Threads of hope, despite the sea Hermione is drowning in.)
She responds to all of them briefly, having just enough emotional energy to write about doing some bookkeeping at her parents' dental practice and the books she's looking to read, casually assuring them all she's doing well and just can't wait for school to start back up.
(She doesn't mention that she hasn't been able to focus long enough to finish a book since leaving the castle.)
Harry keeps asking when she'll come to stay; her parents are reluctant for her to be away, loving the "family" image her being around presents to their social circle and clients—her uncle is the beloved city leader, and their hometown has always loved that he's close with his brother and his charming sister-in-law and niece.
(The social capital is invaluable to them; she knows it's the only real reason they decided to have a child.)
Still, the reality is they like the idea of a daughter more than they like the actual thing, so a third of the way through the summer they relent.
Sirius Black shows up on their doorstep ten minutes after Hermione sends the missive telling Harry she can come, in his most refined clothing, an icy expression on his face like she's never seen.
(It's the version of himself his mother expected, she realizes—cold, and distant, and superior to everyone around him.)
"You must be Helen," he greets, forcing a pleasant tone and offering a hand to shake; his eyes are busy taking Hermione in, analyzing every twitch and minute movement of hers out of the corner of his eye.
(What he sees makes him have to restrain himself from hexing her idiot parents, knowing whatever has exacerbating her skittishness has been caused by them.)
"Yes, of course, Mister Black. This is my husband, Richard. We've heard so much about you, I must say it's a pleasure to put a face to the name."
Sirius gives a smile Hermione knows doesn't reach his eyes. "Likewise. We're so grateful you've agreed to let her come for part of the summer—Harry simply hasn't stopped talking about how much he misses her, and my cousin and her daughter are both desperate for another witch in the house."
Hermione's parents both tense at the mention of magic, and Sirius arches an eyebrow. "Well, Hermione, we'd best be off. If we leave Remus and Harry alone for too long we'll come back to the most miserable self-deprecating conversation in the world, emo martyrs that they are."
She laughs, smiling in thanks when Sirius reaches to help her with her trunk and the bag of Crooks's things.
(She doesn't notice how careful he is not to intrude on her space, how worriedly he watches her.)
When they land in the Tonks's fireplace, everyone but Harry immediately bounds toward her.
Hermione flinches back from the arms reaching to hug her—briefly, so minutely almost no one notices.
(Almost.)
She's tense until she reaches Harry, and only then does she relax, his arms a safe haven even the darkest parts of her mind know she can trust.
(She'll have to go back soon enough, she knows that, but in this moment—she can breathe.)
/
Summer at Tonks Manor is—contentment and calm, in a way Hermione hasn't really had before.
As much as the Burrow has always been a place full of tangible love and warmth, it's also a place full of noise and constant interaction and just—
(it's hard to feel safe there, when you're a person who jumps at every unexpected sound and touch.)
This, though, is her and Harry camping out in the living room to marathon shows they both like, it's sleeping in late and staying up to enjoy the quiet of the night, it's being able to say she needs some introvert alone time and having just that without being made to feel guilty for it.
Which, Remus and Sirius had considered moving into Grimmauld Place on their own, but they like being around family, and being able to spend full moons in the woods, and having space for Harry to fly; so instead of moving, they just invested in expanding the manor.
It's a longer, better version of Christmas; she and Remus swap books, and he helps them get ahead on learning important spells and techniques—which they can actually practice, since it's a magical household.
And being able to see Tonks all the time is just—the best. The older woman is like an older sister, and while she's goofy, she's one of the most perceptive and thoughtful people Hermione's ever met—and it's so nice, not having to be the mature one begging everyone to be responsible for once.
She's still at her parents' house often—they like her to be home at least once every week or two, for appearances' sake, and the back and forth is jarring, in a way that seriously fucks with her head, but she's grateful for any time she doesn't have to be there, however much the contrast fucks with her head when she gets back
She goes through the motions whenever the situation calls for it—laughing at Sirius's jokes, smiling and telling funny stories from the dental office whenever Andy and Ted ask.
(But it's all an act—she's a hollow shell, numb and apathetic.)
Most of her time is spent sleeping—late into the afternoon, the hours between family meals, any time she can convince Harry she's reading and getting ahead on schoolwork, just—curled in bed.
Whenever sleep won't come—whenever she can think coherently—she reaches for the water bottle on her nightstand, downing its contents until her mind is blunted enough to not have to think, to fall into drowsiness.
(It's the easiest way to not have to be.)
Her replies to everyone who writes get shorter and shorter, tone colder and colder, but she cites being busy with research and school prep, and it's believable enough that they almost believe her.
(She gets away with it ten times better because Draco's summer is such hell he's rarely able to check in, their conversations not long enough for him to confront her about what's wrong.)
/
/
They're still slowly working to make Grimmauld Place habitable and potentially serve as a safe house as needed; they've all received multiple injuries from the cursed objects Walburga had amassed over the years.
"By the way," she tells Sirius, one night early on in the process. "Last night Draco told me Kreacher still speaks with his mother and Bellatrix, sometimes—Bellatrix wants to woo him over and use him against you."
"Motherfucker, of course she does," Sirius moans, an annoyed expression on his face. "Good to know—tell your boytoy I said thanks for the heads up."
She raises her eyebrows, ignoring the commentary. "I did tell you weeks ago to start treating Kreacher better. Imagine if Draco hadn't told you—who knows what Kreacher might've done to sabotage you."
"Yes, well, he did tell me, didn't he, so now we don't have to worry about the little beast!"
Hermione glares at the insult, and Sirius holds up his hands apologetically. "Okay, okay, I get it. But kitten, do keep in mind that Kreacher had a hand in quite a bit of my suffering, when this was my home. It's not lightly that I direct my hatred towards him. Someone had to put the bit in my mouth and pour salt on my lacerations for her all those years—and he didn't just do it because he was ordered to. He reveled in it."
She bites her lip guiltily, not having considered exactly why Sirius might be so awful toward the elf when he's never been anything but kind to Winky and Dobby. "I'm sorry, I hadn't—sorry. I should've assumed you had a reason. You've never been prejudiced historically."
"It's fine, kitten. I admit there are better ways for me to handle the situation." He sighs, redoing the loose bun of his hair out of habit. "I'll go ahead and lay some strict orders to prevent him divulging secrets and send him to work at Hogwarts, I know they can always use extra hands."
Hermione smiles at him, softly squeezing his shoulder before returning her attention to cleaning out the broom cupboard before her.
They've made at least the first floor relatively safe by the morning of an Order meeting—with one exception.
"Can't believe the cunt is managing to make my life hell even beyond the grave," Sirius growls, shrugging apologetically when Harry winces at the vulgar language. "Sorry, pup, but the bitch deserves it."
"It's not like she's saying anything we haven't heard before," Hermione rolls her eyes. "Words from a racist and abusive monster can't hurt us. And just think—the more heated she gets, the more it means what we're doing is working. I say we make her scream more just to spite the old bat."
Sirius and Tonks burst out laughing, the young woman reaching to high five Hermione, her currently aqua hair catching the light.
Harry tilts his head, lips pursed at the offending wall. "Okay, I know there's a permanent sticking charm so we can't take it off, or anything. But—couldn't we put something over her? Like if we covered her with a new tapestry wouldn't it do the same thing?"
Hermione opens and closes her mouth, Sirius looking likewise dumbstruck. "I—yes, actually. That's a brilliant idea."
Tonks cracks up at the shock on both of their faces, her laugh fading into a small smile. "Right on, Harry. What kind of tapestry do you have in mind?"
"Oh—I mean, it's not my house, and—"
"Like hell it isn't," Sirius says, throwing an arm around Harry, eyes taking on the determined glint they do whenever signs of Harry's insecurities and ripples of childhood mistreatment peek through. "You're my kid, so what's mine is yours. And Remus and I already have it written in our wills that we'll be leaving everything to you, anyway. What do you want to do with the wall?"
"I was thinking…well, a picture of the constellations would be symbolic, for the house of Black. Or—that photo, of the original Order?" He bites his lip, like he's nervous Sirius will hate the idea. "It—it might be nice to have everyone we've lost along the way halfway here."
"Brilliant idea, pup." His godfather ruffles his hair. "I bet we could get someone to synthesize the images of the old and new Order, have everyone on at once. Take out the rat."
"Oh, like photoshop?" Tonks asks. "My dad's been working on integrating muggle and magic photography for years, I bet he'd be happy to help. And to tarnish Walburga's memory."
"Perfect," Sirius beams; Harry reaches to pull Hermione nearer, and she leans her head on his shoulder to placate him.
"It still doesn't feel real sometimes," he whispers.
(that they have people who love them and value them—that this is their family, their lives.)
Hermione reaches to squeeze his hand in agreement.
/
The conversation about whether or not they'll be allowed in Order meetings later that night is—volatile.
It's the second reconvening of the order, but given that only a few essential members were present at the first it holds a ring of importance.
(Not to mention, unbeknownst to those around her, it's the first time Hermione's spent entirely sober in weeks.)
Many familiar faces trickle into Grimmauld Place, all nodding in appreciation of the temporary tapestry of the night sky hung near the entryway.
"Fleur!" Harry exclaims when the blonde enters alongside Bill; a tinkling laugh escapes her as she holds her arms out for the hug he's catapulting himself into.
" 'Ello, 'Arry! I'm so glad to see you." She reaches for Hermione when he pulls away, pressing a double kiss to her cheeks. "And 'ow are you, 'ermione? I love ze 'air—it suits you!"
"Oh, thank you! I'm better now that you all are here," the younger girl teases. "How's the life of a tournament champion?"
"Exhausting, but—I believe I am making progress wiz ze organization. Working with Remus has been phenomenal; I am so lucky 'e agreed to be my partner. If you're at all interested in an internship or remote work, let me know, yes? I would love to have your brain on board."
Moody enters behind them, a nod to Harry and Hermione before he begins conversing in a hushed whisper with Tonks and Dumbledore in the kitchen.
The arrival of the rest of the Weasleys is evident when the noise level rapidly rises; Hermione gleefully accepts hugs from Ginny and the twins, waving to Percy and returning an awkward fist bump from Ron, who's quickly drawn into a discussion about Quidditch with Harry and Charlie.
When Andy and Ted arrive, Percy's entire head and neck flush, but he moves to greet them, stammering when he introduces them to his own parents; Molly is overjoyed, as is to be expected, and Arthur lights up and begins discussing all things muggle with Ted, who looks baffled but pleased to be able to share his experiences.
Others trickle in, Fred and George whispering the names of those Hermione has yet to meet as they pass by.
"Potter!" Oliver Wood shouts as he enters, voice resounding, the way athletes do during a game.
The yell makes both Harry and Hermione cringe a bit and curl inward.
(the way you do when you know to fear a raised voice, because raised voices become raised fists-)
The moment passes and they both force a smile, pretending they're not rattled.
Fred beams when Oliver comes to stand beside him.
"Are you two public now, then?" Hermione asks, heart warm at the sight of Fred's happiness.
Oliver nods, slipping his fingers through Fred's. "Yep. I signed onto Puddlemere, so I have a secure job and income, and—"
Fred interrupts, "and in times like these there are bigger things for people to worry about than who athletes are getting off with."
"Always so crude," Oliver groans, earning a wink from his boyfriend.
Sirius calls out that dinner's ready, and they all file into the dining room that's been enlarged several times over to accommodate everyone; they're seated at a round table Sirius had insisted on for the Arthurian symbolism of it all, and it's—they're all here for a dark purpose, but it's still one of the most fun dinners Hermione's ever had.
Once the kitchen is cleaned, Dumbledore straightens his posture at the head of the table. "Minevra and Severus are both unable to attend tonight, as well as several others, so as son as you all are ready we'll begin.
Molly clears her throat. "Alrighty, kids—upstairs you go!"
Ron and Ginny sigh but begin to head upstairs; meanwhile, Hermione looks to Harry, who meets her eyes with a grimace.
(this is it, then.)
"Harry and I have a right to be here," she declares, bracing herself for the onslaught of disagreement her statement will bring. "And given everything we've been through, we deserve to know what's going on and have a voice in the steps that are being taken."
Molly scoffs, gently smiling at Hermione. "Sweetheart, I understand you want to be included, but don't be ridiculous. This is a war, and you're children."
"We might be young, but we're the ones on the frontlines," Harry argues, reaching for Hermione's hand under the table to hide that his own is trembling with the instinctive fear that he still fears when disagreeing with adults. "Hogwarts is where the beginnings battle have already been fought. Or did everyone forget that I was attacked and witnessed multiple murders on the school grounds last year?"
The man who'd been introduced as Kingsley Shacklebolt raises his eyebrows, impressed, while Molly's expression only grows more upset.
"Which is all the more reason you should be kept from further danger!"
"Ignorance won't protect us from danger, it will only insure that we're unprepared to face it." Hermione's entire body is tense, but she refuses to relent. "Can you imagine how much worse things could have been if we didn't know about Barty Crouch last year? If Harry didn't know what he was up against prior to the first two tasks? If we hadn't known it was a basilisk second year, and looked in its eyes?"
Dumbledore clears his throat. "Miss Granger, be that as it may, you all are simply too young to have such sensitive information in your hands, and beyond that, it is not in your best interests to be part of the Order."
"I don't give a—"
Harry claps a hand over her mouth before she can say anything further about exactly how little she thinks of the headmaster's opinion. "Quite frankly, sir, it's our lives, we have the right to make these decisions. And don't say we're children—because we're not. We haven't been children for a long time, largely thanks to things that have happened on your watch."
"And for you to say we shouldn't possess sensitive information when we're the ones who stopped Voldemort from stealing a powerful object inside your school, the ones who closed the chamber of secrets, who figured out that Sirius was innocent, who figured out Barty Crouch—" her volume raises with each incident she recounts, until it's nearly a yell that, commandsing the room.
Harry picks up right where she left off, in an equally righteous tone. "We have done nothing but help the Order's cause since before it was even reconvened, we've kept students safe at your school, we've provided invaluable intel, and we are always the first ones to be endangered. No one deserves to be a part of this more than us. And if you try to keep us out of this, we'll keep the information we discover to ourselves going forward."
Molly huffs, crossing her arms angrily as her cheeks grow even more red. "That doesn't mean we'll begin allowing children into war efforts! And Fred, George, I don't know what you two think you're still doing down here, go upstairs with your siblings."
Both twins sigh, George turning to their mother first. "Mum, we love you, and we respect you, and we know you want what's best for us."
"But," Fred picks up, "we're of age, and we're going to be a part of this, whether you want us to or not. We might still be in school, but we're adults, and you can't stop us from joining the Order."
She sputters, but Arthur puts a hand on her arm, shaking his head with a grimace. "They're right, Molls."
Sirius clears his throat. "Honestly, I believe Harry and Hermione have every right to be here. As Harry's guardian, I wholeheartedly give my permission, and while I may not be Hermione's—"
"You're exactly right, you're not hers, so you don't get to exert your judgement—"
"Right, my parents aren't here to give their judgement because they have no legal rights in the wizarding world," Hermione hisses, trying not to think about how laughable the idea of her parents being involved in her life is. "Because they're muggles. And I am a mudblood to the people we are fighting against—their entire aim is to eradicate my existence, to treat people like me as less than human, and they don't give a fuck about whether or not I'm of age, they'll kill me all the same."
Dumbledore frowns. "That doesn't mean—"
"You don't get to tell me what it means!" she exclaims, fury racing through her veins (for so, so many reasons where this man who thinks he knows best is concerned). "You—all of you, with the exception of Ted—you don't have any right to weigh in, because none of you are muggle born! You've never been there—you don't know what we go through every day, how it impacts our entire experience in the magical world. And your lives aren't the ones at stake! You're fighting in this war because you think the future will be better if the Light wins—I'm fighting because if we lose I won't have a future."
They're all quiet for a moment; Andy meets Hermione's eyes, smirking proudly and giving the girl a wink, and Remus likewise nods his approval.
Moody clears his throat. "We're wasting time arguing. Also, Potter has an invisibility cloak in his bag and Granger has muggle bugging devices in her pocket, they're going to find a way to learn the information regardless. Seems to me if we allow them to take part they can at least be an asset."
Hermione and Harry blush at the mention of their contingency plans, but hope blooms in their chest at someone not already on their side speaking up.
Dumbledore purses his lips, gaze flitting to the two of them; Hermione stares him down, raising an eyebrow to make it clear she has no intention of relenting.
The older man sighs. "Very well, then. You'll be expected to take the same oaths of secrecy as the other Order members, and since you're underage you'll be assigned a more experienced member as a mentor for your first year."
"As long as it's not Snape," Harry mutters under his breath.
\
McGonagall strolls through the floo one morning a couple days later, just a few hours before Hermione's scheduled to head back to her parents' for a few days, so she's already in a state of mental dissociation.
"I heard you gave quite the speech at the meeting the other day."
Hermione scowls, crossing her arms defiantly. "Yes, well, I wouldn't have had to if they would've all been reasonable."
"That fire of yours," the older woman shakes her head, eyes sparkling. "It's going to be a pleasure to watch you shake the world. Just be careful it doesn't consume you."
(My own mind is likely to destroy me first, Hermione resists the urge to respond.)
"What are you here for, Professor? I thought we weren't scheduled to—that is, my letter to you about the intel wasn't—"
"This isn't about that," McGonagall cuts her off before she can give herself away. "I'm here because I've been assigned to be your mentor for the next year. Convenient, isn't it?"
"Oh!" Hermione brightens. "That's—wonderful news, really. There's no one I look up to more. Do you know who Harry's is?"
"Kingsley Shacklebolt. Those of us who are senior members believe he could benefit from some…shall we say, non-Gryffindor influences. Andy and Ted have already done him a world of good."
Hermione snorts, nodding in agreement. "Tell me about it. Maybe he'll be able to teach him to be less hot-headed."
The older woman sighs, eyes far away. "You know, everyone always thinks he's like his father, with his looks and Quidditch and getting into so much trouble. But that temper, the sarcasm and playfulness…merlin, it's pure Lily Evans."
"Really?" Hermione asks curiously.
"Oh, yes. Those boys had the reputation for fooling around, because they took credit for their pranks, but in reality James was a worrywart who mostly tagged along to make sure Sirius never got himself hurt. Lily was…feisty, and goofy, and never took life too seriously." The nostalgia on her face is almost painful to witness, and she forces a smile as she turns back to Hermione. "Forgive me, we have other matters to discuss." Her eyebrows raise meaningfully.
Hermione immediately casts a silencing spell, before reaching into her bag for the parchment she's been jotting notes on, spelled with an encoding charm and a notice-me-not, and charmed to only reveal itself to her or McGonagall. "The thing they're after—Draco overheard them say it's in the Department of Mysteries. They've all been instructed to maintain a low profile, to discredit Harry's claim and convince the ministry not to seek them out, and allow Voldemort to move freely. And—they're trying to plant someone at Hogwarts, again."
McGonagall scowls. "That last one we knew about—we've been hearing the suggestions that have been offered up to and from the ministry. We're working on a plan to counter them."
Hermione nods, handing off the parchment for reference, so McGonagall can read it through thoroughly once before burning it.
The older woman eyes her shrewdly for a moment. "Are you doing alright, Hermione?"
"Yes of course," she affirms with a smile.
(It doesn't reach her eyes—none of them have, lately.)
/
"Winky?" Hermione calls, snuggled up against several pillows with a nest of blankets around her. It's a day at her parents' house, one that she'd particularly like to wash away.
The elf in question materializes before her, ears drooped with distress. She hurries to sit on the bed, a hand gently moving a lock of Hermione's hair out of her face while she looks on with worry. "Yes, mistress?"
"I need another—I'm afraid I'm out again."
Winky frowns. "Mistress, I is thinking you is not taking care of yourself. Winky can get you some foot, maybe tea—or hot chocolate, Winky is knowing that's your favorite."
"Just the vodka, please, Winky."
"But Mistress, you is not needing—"
"You don't know what I need," Hermione snaps, curling in on herself further. "No one does. I'm not begging your permission, I'm ordering you to bring me what I asked for."
Winky's eyes go wide, and she crosses her arms, jaw tight. "You can be mean all you wants. But I is knowing this isn't you. And I is not going anywhere."
Hermione laughs bitterly, eyes closed. "This isn't me? You don't know me, Winky. No one does, really. Even Draco and Harry…they have no idea." She swallows heavily. "You're sweet for caring, Winky. But I don't deserve it." Pulling the blankets higher, she burrows into the bed further without making eye contact. "The liquor, please, Winky."
The elf frowns sadly, popping away and returning almost immediately with another of the familiar bottles.
Hermione takes another gulp, and lets her thoughts wash away before going back to sleep.
A/N: hello my loves! Hope you're all still doing alright. grateful for you beyond words now and always.
*chapter title from
Things have stabilized some on my end, and I'm already 2000 words into the next chapter, so update should come in the next few days!
In the meantime, I'm distracting myself from the world when possible by rereading old beloved fics—currently rereading my all-time favorite, The Debt of Time, it's in my bookmarks if you haven't already read it, 10/10, owns my actual heart.
If you have any hermione-centric(down for most pairings), percabeth, bellarke, or most any twilight fic recommendations plz shoot them my way! like seriously, any that you love or make you feel something, i would love to have on my radar.
Take care, you lovely humans.
