TW: self-harm and mild representation of drug use, it gets somewhat dark in this chapter.
7 am
Hermione had gotten up early on the first morning of classes. She had cast a Quietening charm on her four-poster's drapes, shutting out the sound of snoring and shuffling from the rest of the Gryffindor dormitory. She had not had the chance to do any of her intended reading last night, as she had broken into tears in the girl's lavatory after the conversation with Ginny. Hermione did not quite understand how she was still able to cry about this subject when she had already wept all summer. It was a miracle that her tear ducts were nevertheless in their working condition.
Hermione thoroughly read her Ancient Runes Made Easy and studied Rune Dictionary. She was delighted to see just how much she still remembered from her last year, the beginning of the semester still fresh in her hypothalamic neural pathways. After two hours of revising, with a proud grin on her face, Hermione got out of her bed, took a quick shower and put on the new robes she had gotten when shopping with Hannah in the Diagon Alley at the beginning of August. What a dreadful time that had been. Laced with getting high while miserably trying to suppress her emotions and drinking which alternatively not only made her past memories disappear but also completely vanish every other night's events. Thank Merlin.
What a time had it been? No, the ticking tide was still fully keeping on with its course. In fact, it had taken the steering wheel in its hands and was now pushing the pedal on the right into the ground. Hermione was not even in the seat anymore. No, she had been shoved into the glove compartment, but there was no resistance coming from the brave and the once determined lioness. Hermione had surrendered herself to the invisible rut of self-pitying.
Her class schedule for this semester looked tight, but even with all the elective courses Hermione had chosen, it did not seem as time-filling as she would have wanted in a perfect dream world. She really needed to take her mind off of any unnecessary thinking and lessons with endless homework would be the best distraction, no doubt.
Monday
Defense Against the Dark Arts (with Slytherins)
Divination (with Ravenclaws)
Care for Magical Creatures (with Hufflepuffs)
Tuesday
Ancient Runes (with Ravenclaws)
Charms (with Ravenclaws)
Herbology (with Huflepuffs)
Apparition (elective, 2nd semester)
Wednesday
Form of Mind (with Slytherins)
Charms (with Ravenclaws)
Care for Magical Creatures (with Hufflepuffs)
Thursday
Herbology (double with Hufflepuffs)
Potions (with Slytherins)
Defense Against the Dark Arts (with Slytherins)
Friday
Transfiguration (with Ravenclaws)
Potions (double with Slytherins)
Alchemy (elective, 2nd semester)
Hermione headed to the Great Hall to have a quick breakfast, she had not noticed how much time had passed and was already running late. On her first day. When she entered the large and with the September-morning-brightness-filled room, Hermione was instantly greeted by Hannah who was frantically waving her hands to catch the Gryffindor's attention. Hermione joined her and a few of Hannah's Hufflepuff friends. With a swift motion, she sat down and reached for a toast and pumpkin jam.
Had it been the greatest of ideas to sit at another house's table? Possibly not, but after last night Hermione was on an emotional verge to break at any second. And looking at her old friends would be a hard enough push to shove her from the edge of the mountain on which she was tipping right now into the endless sticky black void that resided at its feet.
"How is your schedule, Hermy? I know we have Herbology together today," Hannah wiggled her eyebrows in a playful way towards Hermione, who was munching fastly on her piece of bread.
"I have to run," she swallowed the last piece of the pumpkin covered toast, "Cannot miss Ancient Runes."
Both Ancient Runes and Charms classes passed fairly quickly and Hermione had managed to answer every question correctly. Even to those not directed towards her. She felt exhilarated. This is what had been missing from her life. The lost puzzle piece. And maybe throwing herself into school work was not one of the best ways to cope with her losses, but she thought it worked pretty well for her right now. That and ignoring Harry and Ron during their classes together. She had successfully managed to refrain from making any eye contact with the two, though Hermione was hurting about the fact that they were not fighting for her friendship when even Ginny had tried. Were they truly still in denial about where Hermione's loyalty stands? Should they not know better?
The bulb emitting the gleam started to flicker.
Hermione was now running to the greenhouses for her Herbology. Without the free periods, she usually had when she was not trying to squeeze every additional class into her schedule, the Gryffindor sweetheart felt pleasantly overwhelmed. Hermione could only hope that this fast-study routine would not come to a halt.
She moved quickly to stand besides Hannah and looked down at the large table, dividing the steamy space into two parts, to see pots with green, spiky and what seemed like a teeth-covered plant. Oh, of course, it was the Venomous Tentacula, again something they had gone over during last year.
"You and me, tonight, Astronomy Tower," Hannah instructed, whispering in her ear.
"What? Are they making us re-take Astronomy, too? I got an outstanding in the fifth year," Hermione threw her arms in exasperation. It was then, when a very out-of-breath Ron and Harry barged into the hot space, earning a look of disapproval from Mrs Sprout. Not so collected without Hermione's colour-coded timesheets.
"No, silly," Hannah chuckled silently while swatting away the plant's swaying limbs which were trying to grab the Hufflepuff's hands, "We are having a small gathering."
Hermione's brows furrowed in confusion. It was only when Hannah puckered her lips, brought two thin fingers to her mouth and exhaled theatrically, that the perplexed Gryffindor understood what the meeting was going to be about. She had caught her year Slytherins just before the Yule ball three years ago on the said tower, exhaling the same thick, white smoke Hermione was so familiar with. She grinned to Hannah and turned her head towards professor Sprout who was instructing the students on how to handle the poisonous plant.
11 am
4 pm
Skipping lunch was an activity Hermione Granger had been participating in ever since she started at Hogwarts. But when before the War she had done so in order to raid the Hogwart's library or to do more studying before her after-lunch classes, then now she did it so she would not have to sit at that sodden table in the Great Hall. Even though she should not have to be the one to hide from her old friends.
That is why the wrapping paper from a half-eaten turkey sandwich laid in the short green grass beside her ochre-coloured satchel. The Gryffindor had found herself near the remains of Hagrid's old hut. It had been demolished and the site never cleaned. But the memories still lingered in the air as though the desolated pieces needed something to latch on to too.
A great, large oak tree was pressed against Hermione's back, as she shut her eyes and rested her head against the hard bark, her mind flooding with vile darkness. Something she had been so desperately hiding from all day, but the frail veil of books, essays and homework could only separate her from it all for so long. And she broke into tears, large drops of salty dilution falling from her lower eyelashes and forming into pools around her jawline and down her neck. It had taken her less than 48 hours to snap.
The light bulb then shattered. No worries, it had been from a rather weakly build.
Most of the time, Hermione knew what she had been saddened about, though now it was rather difficult to pinpoint the exact reason. Too much had occupied her mind lately and at the same moment, it felt as if there was nothing taking up the large portion of her frontal lobe's pathways. It was an obscure feeling.
One that had brought upon unbearable sorrow. One that she did not know how to mend. One that pained her greatly. One that could be faded by more immense infliction.
With a prompt motion of her wand, Hermione drew a straight line horizontally across her left wrist, a spark of yellow light casting through the tip of the vine wood gripped in her shaking fingers. The spark had laid a slash upon the young witch's arm and a scarlet substance poured out of it, trickling down onto her black skirt.
There was no emotion on Hermione's features regarding the newly created wound. If anything, it even felt relieving. It felt as if she could finally feel something else for a chance. It felt like Hermione could somehow accumulate the strength to kick open the compartment box she was captured in. It felt like her mental dances had become the stand-in actresses and Hermione had been promoted from the substitute to the main role.
Another one. And another horizontal line.
The stream of saltiness had stopped escaping the brave Gryffindor's golden eyes and had now dried on her cold cheeks. A large gulp of bile had come upwards from Hermione's internal organs from the dire sight of the damage she was inflicting on her own body. She ignored the message sent and swallowed, the acid burning the epithelium at the back of her mouth. It was only now that it felt somehow explainable, justifiable to herself, but words could not form when trying to find an elucidation that could be presented to anyone asking. As if anyone ever would. It was delirious to even consider someone would notice.
Hermione was all alone in this.
At the far corner of her mind, she bore the warning that no matter how much this was a battle between her and her only, there still was another person in this world that would share the horrid of it. Another person who would be subjected to this torture. But Hermione had to ignore that, it was all too much for her small, frail body to carry now. She would handle the consequences later.
After she was done with drawing red across the outline of the ugly serpentine, she closed the wounds, white scarring forming into their places, looking as though months had passed since the accumulation. Maybe the pale lines would in time cover the greyish stain on her ivory skin. Maybe it could overshadow it. A mission she could finish herself. A mission no one could outvote Hermione from. Because no one had the right to, but her.
5 pm
10 pm
It was rather easy to tell yourself that the actions you allow your body to participate in, are acceptable. That is when no one around you seems to notice the slight and maybe to the naked eye invisible changes. That is when the people you surround yourself with are oblivious to the fact that you are not alright. That is when everyone beside you is as damaged as you. That is when they have no more strength in them to fight for their loved ones. That is when they can barely push themselves to get up in the morning.
It had a simple definition. And it was the War aftermath.
Though not everyone was exposed to it and not everyone knew what it was like to suffer even when the light and good had already won. When everything painful and sad supposedly had been put behind their backs, there was no need to reflect on the past anymore.
Every person was on their own. On their own to fight with their mind. It was more often for the opposing side to have the winning hand. On their own to carry the bags, filled with thoughts that weighed like a thousand bricks. It was over and over again seen how the bricks sink their bearer deep into the ground. Maybe they had a companion to share it with. On a rare occasion. Someone who would take half of the load and help to carry the burden.
Hermione had had Hannah to aid with the heaviness, but as of returning to Hogwarts, the Hufflepuff had been less and less present. And it was just the second day. She undoubtedly could be there for Hermione, if the mess of curls needed her, but it was not like spending their days and nights together at the Leaky Cauldron. It was far from what their lives had been during the summer. Hannah resided by the kitchens in the Hufflepuff basement, while Hermione was far away in the high tower of Gryffindor. Severe dependency and separation anxiety were the muggle definitions Hermione had read about and now had accumulated in her relationship with the blonde-haired badger.
And while Hermione was with her now, puffing the lemon-scented smoke out of their lungs, she felt as if there was an imaginary wall between them that Hermione herself had built in the mere amount of a few hours they had been separated for. Could Hannah tell that her friend had built a wall of resentment towards the Hufflepuff?
The Astronomy tower was magnificent in the moonlight, it's gothic characteristics shadowing marvellously onto the features of the damaged students. There on the stoned ground of the tall tower were wizards and witches, who during the night found comfort in muffling the train of thoughts, that tortured them relentlessly during the light of the day, with substances that overtook their physiologically normal brain activity by inducing a euphoric-like state of mind.
Tonight's hors d'oeuvres were bottles of Firewhiskey, that burnt off the sensation in the user's taste buds and nerves of the throat. The entrée had already been introduced, as the poignant scent of the Canadian treasure enveloped the misty air. Or vials of different substances. The dessert? That is something each of them would provide for themselves. Something that was brought to the table and enjoyed in a secluded circle. One could only guess what that was.
Draco Malfoy sitting in the far corner with his lean legs displayed in front of him was already enjoying a bite from his sweet course tonight. Pansy Parkinson was glued to his side, sucking his neck intensely with her deep-red stained lips and planting soothing, wet kisses after each of the attacked areas, while he tipped his head in an unbothered manner to inhale the contents of his spliff. It was a rather intimate sight, one which Hermione felt uneasy to watch, the inescapable prudish side of her reflecting on her facade. And an unwelcome pang of envy stinging her in the chest.
Since Hermione's arrival, his grey eyes had been fixed on the mentally beat-up Gryffindor's golden-brown ones across the floor. While Draco's blank stare almost never failed to give away the emotion of its wearer, tonight it reflected a tinge of concern. Though he had not said a word to her helpless gaze which was indulged in the darkness of the sky, it could be sensed that Draco Malfoy would not let Hermione Granger escape his line of sight tonight. He had been studying and capturing the silent physical messages her body was emitting, while Pansy tried desperately to relax him with her skilful mouth.
And while the Gryffindor had yet to acknowledge that his gaze was ultimately always capturing her every movement, it was unaware as to why it was that way.
Every time Hermione's eyes diverted from counting the stars under one of the arcades facing the north side, she met his pools of dark. Her mind went spiralling during each of those moments. It had never occurred to her until now that hurting herself during her lunch activities, would put another person under the suffering too. Him, who Hermione had accused of altering her body not that long ago. Him, who she had knowingly marked with the same awful deep lines that decorated the snake on her forearm. She was a moron. A gas-lighter. A hypocrite, worst of all.
The longer she studied Pansy sliding her arms under his robes and biting his pale and inviting skin, the more Hermione became appalled by their lack of privateness. The only thing worse was his staring which never faltered from burning holes into her eye-sockets. His determined watch was sending towards Hermione knowing signals of what would decorate the nape of her neck tomorrow morning too. As if saying, that he will return as much favour for blemishing his exterior, as she had managed to before.
"Leave something for the bedroom, Pans, eh?" Blaise's deep voice echoed against the stone pillars.
Parkinson's tongue left Draco's skin with its last wet flip, as she adoringly looked up at his side-profile and glazed her fingers against the blonde Slytherin's sharp jawline, "I do as he pleases."
"Oh, that is so sweet I want to fill a pillowcase with dead batteries and beat you with it," Blaise retorted.
The usual company of Slytherins broke into small snickers around the tower. To say that Hermione had felt a bit out of her place, was an understatement because, along all of their year's serpentines, there was barely a handful amount of students from the other houses. To be precise, Hermione was the only Gryffindor, participating in the questionable after-classes activity. From Hufflepuffs there was Hannah and her friend Ernie Macmillan, while the only Ravenclaws joining them were Padma Patil (yes, alone without her twin sister) and Michael Corner, who had been dating Ginny two years ago.
They talked, made jokes, tossed around profanities, indulged themselves into various substances of different natures, but mostly they sat in silence and swam deep into the loneliness of their minds.
But that feeling of not fitting with the rest of them quickly evaporated when the effects of the powerful strain took over her mentally and physically, her mind shadowed by a perception of well-being and her limbs completely still, as her muscles fell into a state of pleasing atrophy. And it was somewhat hard to tell how much time had passed since they had arrived at their isolated space.
The black marbled floor was flooding with white and thick vapour. It slid beautifully over the fragments of glass.
Hermione's syrupy haze of nothingness in her skull was aired out by Theodore Nott sliding down against the wall to sit beside her, "Tell me, why is this your scene now."
She turned to the gentle Slytherin next to her and saw the comfort and worry that filled his oceans of green, "It is to cope with the pain and the loneliness."
A flash of concern washed over Theo's face as if he really cared about the broken girl he barely knew. But it was rather astray to see the Golden girl, one of the beacons of hope, sitting so miserably and exhaling out her pain, which is why Hermione did not consider the Slytherin's soft gaze as anything more than pity. It was only when his hand landed lightly onto hers, silently whispering that he understands and maybe even promising her that he could be counted on if she ever needed him. Hermione did not think much of the gesture. There was no room for childish assumptions.
For the first time that night, Draco Malfoy averted his watch from the Gryffindor sweetheart and stared at his childhood friend's and her interlocked hands. His expressionless face was as unreadable as always.
23 pm