Chapter Four: Wherein Hermione writes many letters and receives a few in return.
Summary: In my head, this is an epistolary novel.
August 31, 199_
Granger Residence
Dear Headmistress,
I hope this letter finds you well and resting before the onslaught begins tomorrow evening. I'm writing to inform you that some interesting things have occurred to me over this summer. I know you're quite busy, but I wanted you to know before the Ministry is informed tomorrow.
Details I shall spare for a private conversation, but I had occasion to discover my genealogy at Gringotts, and it proved most interesting. I now have three surnames, each more surprising than the last. I could certainly never be accused of having blood the color of dirt, now. It's a rather more cerulean shade.
Fully aware of the irony of her situation,
Hermione J. Granger B. P., OM
August 31, 199_
Granger Residence
Dear Draco,
This is an olive branch. Do with it what you will.
Really quite sincerely,
Hermione
August 31, 199_
Granger Residence
Dear Ron,
I've thought a great deal about us over the summer, and I know you have as well. My mind is firmly settled on this, but please note I'm not speaking for you. Just for myself. I do not wish to be in an intimate relationship with you, and if that means we cannot be friends, it will make me sad, but it will not make me change my mind. And if we could be friends and friends alone, I would like that.
Given my decision, I didn't want to have this out on the Hogwarts Express, which is never truly private.
Whether or not we mutually choose to remain friends, I wish you every happiness.
Sincerely,
Hermione
Hermione did not think of the several crumpled up lines of ruled paper drafts for all three letters she'd written so far, some of them quite a bit longer than the final draft. Instead she gave clear instructions to her owl, Postmaster General. He was to give Ron and Draco's letters up to the owl post office, and she had put a few knuts in his tiny leg pouch for just that purpose. Then Postmaster General was to fly to Hogwarts to deliver his letter there, and there he should stay, and Hermione would join him tomorrow evening. And whether or not he had post to deliver in the morning, if he would always join her, she would always have bacon or sausage for him, and might have something for him to deliver, besides.
August 31, 199_
Home, still
Dear Mum & Dad,
I know I just wrote the other day, but I couldn't help but tell you all my news. I had given up hope that I would be able to have you back, your memories restored, and returned to whatever degree you wish to your old lives (I know you daydreamed about living in Australia, but an enforced move is altogether different), but I have just today made an alliance with a person I never thought I would have, and they have in turn promised to help me restore your memories to you. I hadn't expected to ever share any sort of confidence with this particular person, but all that is changed now. She was the last scion of a noble house, she doesn't expect to have any more children, and she named me her heir. It's clear she has multiple reasons for doing this, not least of which is aligning herself firmly and tangibly with me and Harry - she's also done a very kind and very large thing for him as well, and I'll tell you more about it, all about it really, in a day or two. I'm still getting my head around all of this, and also, she's provided a cure to the curse on my arm! But Mum, you'll never guess. Turns out you and Dad aren't so muggle after all! You each have two wizarding ancestors, and we've all descended from a branch - not always the cadet line, either - where a squib was born. Mum, great grandmother Bennoit was a first generation squib! And Mum, your mother's mother's mother's mother +58 was a descendant of Arthur. It's like a movie over here. Well, really, it's been like a movie ever since we found out I was a witch. It just wasn't always a good movie to be in. I would call it, 'The Rise and Fall of a Dark Lord: Highschool from Hell.' It would be just as popular as Buffy: The Vampire Slayer. And you know, it's quite mad, really. Every hellish experience I've had at school - I don't count minor bullying here, because I really could give as well as I got - all traces back to Tom Riddle's megalomania. It's like having Mussolini personally out to get your best friend. A vendetta seven years in the enactment. Minor things. Major things. All just pawns on a chessboard, except you know what happens when the pawn gets too far. It either gets chopped down or becomes an insanely powerful piece. I know you would have been afraid I would be chopped down. And there was that possibility. But Harry needed me as a queen piece and I had to do it. And we did it well, the deed was accomplished, and they're all getting knighted for it. And for my pains - literally - I've become a viscountess, heir to a countess. And strangely enough, the Pendragon lineage, which no one else has at the moment, which I wouldn't have access to, quite literally, without the pains, well. It's hard to say. But it's qualified me for a very strange position I don't fully understand, though I expect I'll be forthcoming with details when I find them. But I will apparently have a seat on the Wizengamot, as of tomorrow.
Well, that's another metaphor to justify what I've done to you, except that it rings hollow, like all the other ones.
More soon, and all my love,
Hermione
PS - I think I might start dating Viktor again. I tried, ever-so-briefly, dating Ron and that was an abysmal failure for so many reasons. But Viktor? I'm not sure he isn't practically perfect in every way. Daunting, perhaps. Delicious, definitely.
She had warned her house elves - there might be screaming, after all, and she certainly wouldn't want breakfast right away. Hell, there might be vomiting, and she dare not take anything other than a slight sip of water before it. But of course, once Hermione told the twins, they refused to be anywhere else but by her side, do anything else but help.
They did not ask who had done it. They made no mention of the word itself, or it's meaning. And once Hermione had accepted that they were determined to help, she was determined to accept them.
At five each morning for the next eight days they would rouse her and have the equipment ready to go: a tray, an empty bowl, a cup of water, a wet cloth, a dry cloth, more bandages and tape, the ointment and one of the new straight blades of the pack of ten Hermione had found in the catch-all drawer in the kitchen. They would be prepared to cast a privacy charm and would banish the blades and the blood afterwards, and let Hermione sleep off the trauma for another hour before she rose for the day.
And the first morning, September 1st, Tampy refused to give her the blade after all else was ready.
"No miss. You cannot do this."
"Tampy, it must be done, and I'm in pain all the time. Better to start it now."
"Yes, miss. Tampy knows the curse. Tampy knows the remedy. Tampy will do it."
Hermione was horrified on her behalf. "No, Tampy. I couldn't possibly ask you to do that. It's too much. It's too much." Her arm spasmed, as if to emphasize her words.
"Tampy has been asked many things. Far too many things. So Tampy will do this, too."
Hermione closed her eyes and withdrew her arm farther away from the elf with the blade. There was no bandage on it, so she had to be extra careful. Anything brushing it was a spike of agony. Hell, the air currents hurt.
"No, Tampy. That's exactly why I can't ask you to do this. I won't be the sort of person who makes her elves do all the unpleasant things."
Hermione opened her eyes to see Tampy shaking - not a nice sight, with someone holding something sharp - and her eyes filled with tears.
"Don't be mad, miss. You are good, miss. Don't be mad, miss," Pampy said from her other side, laying her smaller but long and thin hand on her shoulder. Both were kneeling on either side of her on the bed.
"I'm not mad, Pampy," Hermione spoke in a gentler tone. All the same, she didn't take her eyes off the one with the blade. "This is just horrifying work, is all. I wouldn't ask my best friend to help me, not because he wouldn't, but because it would add to his nightmares. And I won't add to yours anymore than I can help."
"This does not add to nightmares, miss. This makes them go away, miss. Pampy is the elf who made the poison for Miss Bella, miss. Tampy is the elf who made the salve for Mistress Cissy, miss."
Hermione's stomach dropped and her eyes closed. The wave of tears came, along with a wave of horror at her loss of control.
And two house elves, one on each side, held her in their arms as she cried for all three of them. And they were very careful of her wound.
"Tampy and Pampy know, miss," the one of her left said, and Hermione could hear that at this point all three were crying. "We know. Miss Bella tested it on us, miss. Wouldn't let us heal it until Mistress came and took us away. It will hurt. Pampy had to do Tampy's. Tampy had to do Pampy's. Miss will not do her own. No, no. Miss will not do her own, alone. No, no."
Hermione sniffed, eyes still watering uncontrollably, but at least she could control her breathing. "You both know Bellatrix is dead?"
"Yes, miss. We hung our heads like good elves, miss," said Tampy.
"But we didn't cry, miss," the other said mutinously.
"Would you like me to someday introduce you to the witch who killed her in battle?"
"Ooo, miss might do this? This witch must be a very nice witch. A very good witch," Tampy said, and Hermione was just beginning to see some difference in the attitude of the twins.
"But we would not disparage the Black name, miss. Miss Bella was just broken," Pampy said, and Hermione had to rethink her observations. Clearly she would need their names embroidered on their pillow slips.
Hermione nodded and cleared her throat. "Well, alright. Let's get this over with then. I'll do my best not to scream. And thank you both very, very much for helping me. And for confiding in me."
She stuck out her arm with all the bravery and resignation of her house, shoved her other fist in her mouth to stifle the urge to shriek and simply whined instead while one elf carved into her forearm carefully, earnestly, inch by inch, and the other gently rubbed her back and cooed.
When it was all over, whether she slept or fainted, Hermione wasn't certain.
One down, seven to go.
September 1, 199_
Malfoy Manor
Granger,
But does it have olives on it?
DM
September 1, 199_
Hogwarts Castle
Miss Granger,
Wonders never cease. If you would meet with me at 9pm this evening, I would be quite grateful to be put entirely in the know. The password for the evening is 'tribulation'.
Hoping you are well,
M. McGonagall
September 1, 199_
Malfoy Manor
My dear Hermione,
Thank you. It was unexpected, and I am profoundly grateful.
Looking forward to our visit,
Narcissa
End note: I think we must be having fun already.