Chapter Five: Hermione Granger

It's hard enough interviewing people when you're prepared. Notes, research, it all goes out the window when people start speaking and inevitably something you had no idea about crops up. Even harder, it turns out, is interviewing someone you have no idea is going to be there and discovers you wearing your favourite football team's jersey and half the make-up you put on that morning.

After a hurried apology and an insanely fast search for jeans and a top, I found myself baffled and confused in my own living room.

"Tea?" I asked, after hovering for several seconds unsure whether to point Hermione to the sofa or one of the chairs in our kitchen. It was like trying to join in a game halfway through with a rulebook written in a foreign language you couldn't speak.

"Milk, no sugar, thank you," Hermione smiled. She had come over in her Ministry robes, her hair as bushy as it had been at school. It was becoming rather disconcerting, so many people I knew not remembering me, but then that wasn't really surprising. Slytherins all blended together under Malfoy's irritating banner. Because we didn't socialise with them we were just names on a bit of parchment, a memory a decade old and buried under so much agony it was probably hard to fish out.

"I'm sorry about Harry," Hermione said, when the boiling of the kettle had died away and I was busy stirring her tea, I'd fished out some pumpkin juice for me - although I'd been tempted by the wine in the same cupboard. "He, well, he doesn't really like talking about the war."

"I noticed," I said, not angrily, it was an observation more than anything else. "What did he say, out of interest?"

"Well, quite a few things you probably don't want me to repeat," Hermione began, accepting the tea I handed to her with a small smile. "He doesn't really like reporters, and when he heard you were trying to cover the battle he…"

"Took against?"

"Slightly," Hermione nodded. "I think he'll come 'round, I really do. It's why I'm here. I thought, well, I thought if I spoke to you and told him what it was like, then maybe he might be okay with it all. I spoke to Neville," she added hurriedly, answering my unasked question about just why she wanted to help me. "And Susan, and Hannah, and George. And they all said you were very thoughtful and understanding. I know you were in our year, obviously, and, well, you can't have seen all of that and not understand. So... so, I wanted to try and tell you our side. Not everything, of course, but some of it."

When she finally took a breath, I gestured to the sofa before quickly summoning my notepad and a pen from the bedroom. Quills were all well and good but sometimes you didn't need to be constantly dipping into an inkwell or relying on self-inking charms that faded after a few years.

"Where do you want to start?" I asked when Hermione had sat down, taking the spot usually reserved for Daphne when she was reading.

"Well, I know you're really trying to talk about why we did what we did. For some of the others I guess that year is enough really, maybe even a bit before, but for me it was a lot earlier than that. You see, Harry was the first friend I ever really had, him and Ron. Over the years it kind of became inevitable really, that we would have to fight Voldemort. It wasn't a conscious decision, we didn't sit down and say 'this is it' but when he came back, I guess that really made our minds up.

"I remember, Harry tried to leave without us. Ron found him, this was the summer before the battle. I think he thought we were doing it for him and if he wasn't there he could protect us," she smiled at the memory, clutching her tea, her eyes somewhat glassy in the fog of memory. "And we were, but that wasn't all it was. I guess for Ron it was different, his whole family was already fighting."

"And you?"

"It's hard to accept a regime that wants all muggleborns killed or kissed," Hermione said, a little dully. "Nevermind my mum and dad. They're safe, I made sure of it."

"How? Surely Voldemort would've attacked them to get to you?"

"He probably tried," Hermione nodded, "but I wiped their memories and sent them to Australia. We went to get them, Harry, Ron and I, after it was all over. It was… it was pretty horrible. They were happy there, you see, they didn't even know who I was." Her voice cracked slightly and she busied herself by sipping her tea. "Anyway, we were there for a few weeks, getting them adjusted to everything and then we flew them home. They're okay now, I don't think they'll ever really understand it though. To them wars are fought by soldiers on the TV, not their daughter in a castle in Scotland."

"When you put it like that, I don't think many parents would understand. I remember dad tried to stop me going back in seventh year."

"And why did you?"

"Because they'd have killed him if I didn't," I shrugged. Dad was a muggleborn, mum was the pureblood in the family. "Not that it stopped them, but mum managed to get them into hiding before that bloody Muggleborn Registration Office got round to them. I reckon if I'd skipped school we'd have Death Eaters at our door in days. I didn't hear off them 'til after the war. Weirdly enough Hogwarts was the safest place for me. Halfblood Slytherin, the Death Eaters didn't think anything of it."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine, it wasn't your fault." I smiled grimly. Dad's disappeared into the muggle world really since. He's an accountant now, oddly enough, but he doesn't like using magic these days. "And what was it like? Fighting the Death Eaters?"

"We were lucky to get out alive," Hermione answered simply, "if it hadn't been for Harry, I'm not sure we would've done. When we thought… when we thought he was dead. That was the worst moment, I think. Because it just seemed so hopeless."

"But you didn't give up?"

"I think we did," Hermione admitted a little quietly. "I think for a moment we really did. Only we didn't want to stop. It wasn't so much fighting as dying knowing at least we wouldn't have to live in Voldemort's world."

The idea that someone, who was barely even two decades old, lived and thought like that made my heart break. But then we all had in a weird way. When dad and mum had gone into hiding, I guess I'd hidden with them. The difference to Hermione is I was too scared to lose the life I had to risk it all, they were. Two sides of the same line.

"And Harry and Ron, what was it like being with them for all those months?"

The Wizarding World knew drips and drabs about what had happened, but not really. We knew some of the story, pieced together other bits - the little squabble and Malfoy Manor and the bloody dragon stood out - but not much.

"Well, it was hard," Hermione admitted. "I don't want to say too much…"

"No, I understand, how about during the battle?"

"We split up, Ron and I went looking for the Basalik —"

"You mean that's actually a thing?"

I owed Alice a galleon for that one, I never did get around to paying her either. "In the Chamber, yes." Hermione smiled, she was after all confirming that an ancient childhood fairytale was true. "Ron got us in."

"How?"

"I'll let them tell you," Hermione said, "but by the time we got back everything was crazy. People like to say they knew what they were doing, and some of us did, but most of it was just luck. We weren't aurors, we weren't trained. We just did the best we could. Luckily, our best was good enough."

"And Harry," I prompted, wanting to get to the real reason that we were having a formal interview the evening after I'd been kicked out of work. "How come he doesn't want me to write about this?"

"He's a very private person," she spoke with a voice full of tact, but there was an edge to it that clearly showed she disagreed with him. Her finger lazily traced the rim of her cup of tea, which had long since been emptied. "I know that must sound odd, for someone whose whole life has been in the papers, but he is. At least, he tries to be. He doesn't really like journalists much."

"I know the feeling," I said with a small smile, working at Weekly made me realise just how awful other papers and magazines could be. The story still came first, but Katherine at least had a shred of humanity. She remembered we were talking to people, real, actual people. That for us it was a story but for them it was their whole lives, out there in black and white. We tried our best to be as accurate as we could, but that isn't always easy. People lie, after all. "But some of us are okay."

"I hope so," for the first time she sounded unsure of herself.

"I am, I promise. Anything you've told me, if you don't want it published or you think you want to revisit it, just let me know. This isn't about trying to trip you up."

"Neville said you'd say something like that."

"It's true," I shrugged, setting down my notes and pen. Sometimes, it's more important to be trusted. Most of the time, really. "Anything you want to say?"

"Thank you," it wasn't what I was expecting. I remember blinking and staring at her like a dumb-struck goldfish, who'd just learned there really was a world outside my tank. I'd like to say I hid it well, but a second later Hermione was smiling and I knew it was obvious. "Really. I know some people aren't going to like this, but it's really worth it. Telling the story how it should be told."

"It's your story," I shrugged again, feeling more than a little self-conscious. "I just get to write the words."

"That's it?"

"That's it. Some of us like to think we're more important than maybe they should, maybe even sometimes twist things to suit the narrative they want to tell. Maybe they think it'll sell. Maybe it does. Me. If I wanted to do that I'd write bestsellers or poems or those crappy bits of marketing you get owled five times a week but never asked for.

"I'm in this for the truth and because I want to help people, it's as simple as that. Your story, I think it really will help. Our readers, their friends, their families. I mean, I should know. It's helping me."

I didn't look at Hermione in that moment, but passed her shoulder and at the empty room opposite my own. The battle was about so much more than just a once in a lifetime opportunity, because really it wasn't once in a lifetime. Those types of fights happened every day, just on a much smaller scale. I'd hidden from that one like I'd hidden from myself and hidden from Daphne, and Alice and my parents. Maybe it was time to be honest. The truth is, well, the truth is I'd wanted to tell her for years. I'd wanted to but never found the words or the right time. The funny thing is there's never a right time, just the one you find yourself in.

"You really mean that?"

"Every word."

"I'll talk to Harry, Ron too."

She stayed for a few more minutes, but more to ask me what we planned to do with it. I told her about the cover I wanted, what some of the others had said, how it was fitting into the rest of the issue. Like most people, Hermione assumed Witch Weekly sold the idea of being a housewife to the over 30s and how to be sexy to boys for the over 17s. It's never an easy conversation and for your sake and mine, it's one I'm not going to have here for the millionth time of my life.

The next day I got letters off both of them. One was quite civil and polite, explaining that while he was happy with what we were doing that he wasn't quite ready to talk about it just yet. Understandable given that he'd lost a brother and from what I'd heard had dropped out of being an auror out of stress. Ron Weasley, regardless of the crush I'd had on him at Hogwarts, was one of the people I'd expected to dodge me. If I'm honest, I expected more of them would.

The second was much shorter and simply read:

St James' Park. 2 o'clock tomorrow.

Harry Potter

"He's not very chatty, is he?" Alice said, when I showed her the note that lunch time. Katherine was flexible about when we could take lunch, but Alice and I always liked to take it together. It was fun to get out of the office and stretch our legs. There was a bakery nearby, but that shut down, so instead we'd apparate to the Peak District on a sunny day and take lunch there.

"It's better than the dressing down I got last time," I said as we found a spot on the rolling countryside, we weren't far from a small pub that we frequented from time to time. Nestled away, just by the treeline, we could see gorgeous hills and beautiful fields as far as we looked. Sometimes magic only let you see what was already there. A soft breeze blew Alice's hair in her face and, rolling her eyes, she tied it back before selecting one of the sandwiches she'd packed.

"You nervous?"

"Me? Nervous. Pfft. Never."

"You, Miss Davis, are a terrible liar. You'll be fine though, I know you will. Just like I knew you'd be great at this piece."

"No-one likes a know-it-all," like anyone could dislike Alice. After Daphne, she was the closest friend I had. In fact, at that point I was slowly beginning to lean on Alice more than Daphne. Seemingly without me noticing she had slipped further and further away. Like when you suddenly lose all your pieces in chess and realise you really should've paid attention five turns ago when you brazenly took a pawn and screamed in their face that you were the best player ever. I never was great at winning, or losing for that matter.

"At least you acknowledge my genius," Alice smirked, before biting into her sandwich and lying back against the tree we'd settled by. The muggles that walked right passed us didn't even look thanks to the charms I'd put up, they weren't strictly speaking necessary but we were on a deadline and talking to ramblers wasn't on the top of my to do list that day.

When I didn't reply, she continued, "You'll be great, I promise. He's just another person, like you and me."

"Except he killed the darkest wizard that ever lived, survived a killing curse and is now one of the most exceptional aurors in living memory. Did you know he's closed more cases this month than the entire department put together?"

"Okay, maybe not exactly like you and me, but you work hard too. Speaking of, how's that first person piece coming?" I groaned into my chicken wrap. "That good, huh?"

"Yup." I wished that it was because I didn't know what to write, but I knew the words exactly. They haunted me at night, when every other distraction fell away and the pressing weight of them threatened to squeeze my heart so hard it could stop beating. It was one thing lying to yourself, it's quite another realising the lie is there.

"Worst part is I know what I want to say," I confessed to Alice, who was magically banishing the flecks of mud from her exquisite green blouse. We always were the exact opposite in that regard. "It's just not something I really want to talk about."

"A personal story that's too personal?" When she put it like that I felt a little childish, but it was exactly true. It was the story I wasn't quite yet ready to share because, unsurprisingly, it's so much easier to tell other people's stories. While I'll protect their interests as much as I can, I'm not the one in their shoes.

"Something like that, I guess this battle's got me thinking about a few things. Things I should've done, a long time ago."

"We've all been there, but you'll smash it."

"Why do you have so much faith in me?"

"Why do you have so little faith in yourself?" Alice countered, "besides, you'd say the same if it was me."

"That's different."

"How?"

"You're incredible," I said simply, because she was. There were few witches like Alice and even fewer writers.

"And what if I said the same about you?"

"Then you'd be lying or delusional and I'd have to take you to St. Mungo's." Alice rolled her eyes and laughed, before going on a tirade in a bid to convince me that I was just as amazing in her eyes as she was in mine. I wanted to believe her, but there's something about compliments I've always struggled to accept. Still, our lunch helped steady some of the nerves but as the next day loomed large, I couldn't shake the sense of dread that washed over me. It's the one and only time in my life I've been scared, truly scared, to interview anyone. Looking back, I really should have been more terrified than I already was because if I'd known what was coming I might never have gone to St. James' Park.