Preface: Trigger warning for aggressive contact (Character A grabs the arm of Character B).
Chapter One - Saturday Morning Blues
There will never be an equation for a happy life. The variables will never be constant, and the outcome will be different when applied from one person to the next. But, a nice common denominator is the habit of constant honesty with oneself. Most people have some capacity to understand that to lie inwardly leads to nothing but the growth of something unhealthy. Nothing really refutes this rule, aside from the philosophy of positive thinking - but then, only if one squints when they look at the concepts side-by-side.
It seems to be a rite of passage for those who are wired to honesty and justice, that some struggle should develop. A struggle perfectly balanced to blur the lines between optimism and delusion. The difference between them still exists, but there comes a point for many when it may become as undefined and ever-flowing as the dust motes that swirl through a sunbeam.
Hermione Granger had, over the work of many years, somehow lost her ability to discern between those two points of balance. The way she lived quite literally required internal lies, and to her they were predominantly unconscious. They seemed harmless; didn't everyone need to believe that they could do whatever they want, with enough power of will, and mind? The untruths went unchecked, until they became an integral part of daily progression.
It was a Saturday morning and the sky which stretched over Hogwarts castle was a pristine powder blue, streaked with clouds bathed in the light of the rising sun. Already there was commotion outside the door, but the tromp of feet and raucous voices failed to wake her simply because she'd been awake an hour already. She had, in fact, started from sleep as if someone had grabbed her by the ankles and yanked her out of bed.
And this was typical. Wake as early as possible - pry your eyes open in the midst of a dream and leap from the sheets as though you've got a fire to fight. All that had changed was that it was no longer a chipper feeling to be awake. It was hectic, with the constant whirl of an imaginary list behind her eyes, which contained all that must be done with the limited hours of a single day.
Hermione was alone, at least, and thankfully. This was a perk of the Prefect's badge, and it allowed her to catalogue the most important items upon the List in peace as she dressed.
There was a foot and a half due to Snape on the proper use of darkness detectors for Tuesday, along with the analysis and response to the essay question of the chapter they'd been assigned to read. She'd yet to even read the chapter, a fact which knocked against her left temple like a persistent neighbour.
God, then there's Runes. She pulled a soft olive jumper over her mane of hair and smoothed it over her body. And wondered, not for the first time, why she'd elected to continue that infernal course. At one point it fascinated her to no end, but the subject (much like History of Magic) had become too redundant for all that it demanded.
She stuck one leg through a pair of black trousers hurriedly, and wobbled around for balance as she lifted the second. She tamed her hair into a bun at the crown of her head and tried to breathe slowly with her arms in the air. Anxiety quaked, naturally, but it was typically gone by the time she sat down for breakfast and her issue of The Daily Prophet.
Finished at last, she took through her bedroom in long, purposeful strides, and skipped down the spiral staircase into the common room. The place had already begun to burst with Saturday morning activity. Ron and Lavender Brown groped each other just in front of the staircase, as if Ron had accosted her the moment she'd come from her dormitory. Hermione nearly collided with them, only missed by a hair, and then had to sidestep a first year girl who ran past with a kitted bag clutched to her chest. The ponytail on the top of her head bobbed wildly.
Hermione sighed in exasperation, but the way was clear to the portrait hole and the traffic to the Great Hall was at its minimum.
At the Gryffindor table, Harry was already halfway through a bowl of thick porridge, with his face turned resolutely into the ribbons of steam that wafted from it. He only looked up when Hermione sat down.
"Morning." He picked up his orange juice and drank heavily.
"Hello," Hermione said cheerily. The ceiling above them reflected with brightened clouds. The air which swirled through the hall was crisp and cool, and brought with it the smell of soft cleanliness. "Hungry this morning?"
"I feel like I've been on a hunger strike." Harry said. "I dunno, maybe I just feel the need to bulk up."
"Of course, because you're such a feeble thing."
There was a heavy thud as Ginny Weasley fell onto the bench next to Harry. She dropped her forehead straight onto Harry's shoulder, as she let out a sigh to combat a god of winds.
"I don't want to be awake. Why am I awake, Hermione?" She twisted her head against Harry's shoulder to look at Hermione through bleary eyes.
"Because you're sensible, and you want to squeeze all you can out of life." She picked up an orange from the golden, glimmering bowl to her left.
"There's just something so awful about the morning." Was all Ginny said. She shut her eyes and kept them closed, until Ron and Lavender sat down to Hermione's right, arms around each other's waists.
"Pour some pumpkin juice for me, Won-Won." Lavender crooned and nuzzled into Ron's neck even as he worked to disentangle himself and reach for the flagon.
"Anything for you, my love." He replied seriously.
Ginny lifted her head from Harry's shoulder and looked Hermione in the eyes, her face a blank slate. "I think I see Luna."
With that, and a kiss to Harry's cheek - forceful enough that he leant a little to the side with wide eyes - she departed. As her robes swished behind her, Hermione heard the distinct mutter, "Bloody nut-jobs, those two."
Hermione glanced at Lavender, to see whether she'd heard as well.
Her face was pinched, and she looked after Ginny for a long moment. "I wish she would have stayed." She said forlornly. "I feel as if she's my sister, too, you know. We should really get to know each other, shouldn't we Ronald?"
"Well, if she's open - I mean, you can ask." He blustered for a moment as he waved this off, but as he looked to Harry he gave a poor imitation of casual performance. "Want to take the brooms out for a bit?"
"Perfect day for it," Harry looked up from his bowl for only the second time. "Sure, yeah. What'll you be doing, Hermione? Want to come down to the pitch?"
"I would, but I've got loads to do. I'll be barricaded in the library until next week."
"You can study at the pitch." Harry insisted. "Come on out with us."
"How can you stay in that musty old cavern on a day like this?" Ron demanded. "Hermione, you need the sun. And as of right now the only exposure you've have is through the glass during Herbology. Greenhouse gasses are bad for you, you know. I say this as your friend."
He pressed a hand to his chest in sincerity, only a hint of mockery on his lips. Lavender, tired of having no part of the conversation, spoke up with, "That isn't how greenhouse gasses work, you silly."
Hermione snorted into her juice and Ron only grinned as he clapped her on the back; he was doubtless accustomed to the way his humour sometimes glided straight over Lavender's head.
"As dear as your concern is, Ron, I need to be away from distractions." She said. "In fact, I think I'll go ahead and get there now. I have loads to do."
"Don't let him scare you off." Harry said, even as Hermione rose to leave. "You haven't eaten anything!"
He was right - she hadn't even stayed long enough to receive post.
"Yes, but unlike the two of you," She stared between Ron and Harry pointedly. "I prefer to get my things done before the last minute."
She stepped over the bench and strode through the hall, before she passed through the massive oak doors. She'd taken no more than three paces into the entrance hall when she collided with a solid barrier; or, rather, a solid barrier mowed her over, and sent her straight into the stone-hewn doorway of the Great Hall. A sharp pain echoed between her shoulder blades, but only for a moment.
"Of course it would be you, Granger." Hermione looked up into the scornful eyes of Draco Malfoy, complete with his trademark smirk. "Perfect way to start the day."
"It wasn't as if I meant to." Her colour rose immediately. "People run into each other every day. No need to let it ruin your life."
"Great advice, Mudblood." He sneered again as he adjusted the front of his robes. "Here's some for you: look where you're going, and you won't bother important people."
"You're daft." She shouldered past him with more guts than she thought she'd had. Usually it took much more provocation to do away with her inhibitions.
Perhaps Malfoy just made her seethe, in a manner that could melt away the shyness she experienced with people of his make. Either way, she'd had every intention to continue to the library without further remark - until he'd clamped a cold hand over her wrist - steered her round to face him.
"You owe me an apology, Mudblood." He said quietly. "I've hexed people for less."
Hermione jerked herself free and took a wide step forward, which forced him to contrive dignity in his backwards stumble.
"You and I both know I'd have you on the floor in agony before you so much as raised your wand. Don't waste your threats on me, Malfoy - you haven't come close to posing a challenge since third year."
She cocked an eyebrow at him, received a splendid and vivid flashback to the tingle of her open palm as it had struck his fearful face. "Or have you forgotten that I don't even need my wand to make you sorry?"
He eyed her warily, but his tone suffered no change. "The only reason you failed to lose that weak hand of yours was because I don't hit women." He said. "Although, the term woman may not even apply here."
"Well if I were to do it again, what would you do now?" She took another step closer.
He went dumb, and she allowed herself a chuffed sort of chortle.
"Right." Was all she said, and she left; wholly unbothered and aware he'd watch her leave - even if he did so with contempt.
Very little could trouble her, once she'd passed into the library. This was the home of all the information the castle had accrued throughout its storied existence, and she loved it dearly. She loved the vaulted ceiling, steep enough to make the place feel like a cathedral. Whether books were read by candlelight alone, or aided by the beams of sun through the great, latticed windows placed strategically throughout; could only matter so much. The musty old cavern was beautiful and welcoming, always.
The morning lived and died with Hermione nestled in her favourite spot - an alcove in the muggle section, with a window and cushioned bench underneath it. There, the coursework for DADA, Arithmancy, and Runes had been completed; a potion which she'd anticipated coming up in Slughorn's class from the first session had been researched; and a handful of possible warding spells had been catalogued in her preparation notebook.
When she emerged at last from the library, just in time to make it for lunch in the Great Hall, the frenetic energy with which she'd awoken had all but dulled into something more tolerable. There was always a pang of uncertainty, whenever she broke from work, but it was nothing that couldn't be ignored. Such ease, however, could rarely last.
As she approached the entrance hall, she tried to savour the feel of Hogwarts. During first year it had been an instinctive response to the castle's incalculable aura of comfort and greatness; this year it was a regular and conscious attempt. One that didn't always produce results.
She would always love this place. In all likelihood, if one's life truly does flash before one's eyes in the moments before death, Hermione's condensed featurette would be stuffed with images of these halls, the classrooms, the people she'd grown to love within it all. Yet, it had been some time since Hogwarts had carried for her that majesty of the past.
Indeed, that aura of comfort boded more as a façade in the climate of today. Every student in these halls believed the castle was the safest place on Earth, yet year after year some evil had found its way in - or was, perhaps, invited.
Hermione herself had come to Hogwarts at eleven years old, after more than a decade of ignorance to the world of magic, and to the magic that dwelt within her. The only expectations she'd had were for happiness, achievement and wonder - no very tall order, of course. Just, perfection. What anyone would wish, after they've spent their small life with the deeply-held conviction that the world into which they'd been born, had never actually belonged to them.
There was little Hermione wouldn't have ignored, to keep that blissful feeling of having found her niche. Her people. Never mind anything especially odd, anything that may have risen hairs, or terrified. Anything that made her frightened of Hogwarts would have made her frightened of who she was. And then, she'd been a child, and children have the supreme ability to expand their expectations of normalcy to admit the extraordinary.
She was older now, which is a fate inescapable to all organic beings. Things were happening, and all of those things seemed to be an amalgamation of sparks that had ignited years ago. The Stone - the opening of the Chamber - Pettigrew, hidden under her nose one moment, back at his master's side the next - and so on, until finally she was here. Back at Hogwarts. Back to the safety that hadn't actually been all that safe. At best this was the place where she narrowly avoided catastrophe after catastrophe with Harry and Ron, based on pure dumb luck.
Harry alone could say that he'd felt the peak of all the terror, could say he'd avoided Death so many times it was insane to even think about. But she'd felt it all, right alongside him.
She saw Harry now, his arm over Ginny's shoulders as she copied notes onto parchment over her fifth year potions text.
A contented smile tugged at the corners of Hermione's mouth the moment she laid eyes on the happiness shared so freely between them.
I wouldn't change it for the world.
She must have kept the smile even as she sat down across from the pair.
"You're in a good mood." Ginny remarked, as she glanced up at Hermione through her lashes. "I'll assume you've just finished reading something highly educational."
"Indeed I have, thank you for noticing." Hermione looked over to Harry. "I've now memorised the recipe for the Draught of Living Death."
Harry grinned easily. "Well. I'm happy for you, Hermione."
"I plan to start practicing the actual brew next week. Got the ingredients and everything."
"Great."
"I plan to have it perfected."
"I feel as if you're fishing for something here," Harry said.
"I mean, it's bound to come up in class at some point."
Finally, comprehension dawned over Harry's face, and his grin turned amused. "I'm telling you, the Prince has got you beat."
"There's no way, Harry." When Harry only shrugged, Hermione leaned in, with a lowered tone. "I really hope you're at least thinking about what I said. No good can come of it. If your grades are the worry then I can obviously help you more, but..."
"Seriously, Hermione, it's not a huge deal." Said Ginny, and for once Hermione wasn't thankful for her input. "I've looked at the book loads of times and there's nothing really in there aside from alternate directions and a few spells - but those are harmless. Growing toenails, that sort of thing. The worst that could happen would be Harry blowing up his cauldron, and Neville's got him beat in that race."
Hermione chose not to answer. She reached for one of the ham sandwiches piled high on one of the golden plates (compulsively sending her mental thanks to whichever house-elf made it for her) and bit into it with dim frustration. She'd been brushed off, and there was little she could say to argue against it that she hadn't already said, so instead she turned a gaze about the hall.
She glanced over at the Ravenclaw table where Cho Chang sat with her chin in her hand, with a positively dejected expression on her face. At the staff table, Professor Vector was alone, and had only her fork to take her attention whenever it wasn't paid towards the students to make sure none of them hexed each other. When Hermione's gaze came to the Slytherin table, they automatically swept its length for the House's main embodiment.
Vincent Crabbe and Pansy Parkinson sat on either side of Draco Malfoy, who gazed off into the distance with a languid glaze to his eyes.
And she found herself cast back to the first time he'd ever called her Mudblood. He'd also insulted Ron and Harry, and laughed as Ron backfired a curse onto himself in his attempts to defend Hermione. Since then, Malfoy's every sentence aimed her way was punctuated by the slur.
Bullies were universal. Every child had one, whether they knew it or not. Some had multiple, and Draco Malfoy had not been Hermione's first. She'd gone to public school in her primary years, after all. But the insults of primary school were shallow - her wild hair and prominent front teeth of which she'd yet to rid herself were the frequent topic. And yes, it had stung at the time.
Her time in Hogwarts, however, had brought with it her first understanding of hateful discrimination - of bigotry. Things that one can only truly sympathise with if one has experienced them. She'd never, until then, known what it felt like to be hated for something so arbitrary, and completely out of her control. For people to wish death upon her for it.
Every time Malfoy looked at her, his thoughts were legible in his eyes. They seemed to say, I know that I am better than you. I know that you are less than I am. He deserved everything she did not.
The entrance of Professor McGonagall broke her from such tempestuous thoughts. As the woman strode between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables, Malfoy chanced to look up and catch Hermione mid-stare. The disgust was instantaneous, and she felt her own blink stutter involuntarily in response, before she could finally look away.
McGonagall stood above her.
"Afternoon Miss Granger. I trust I find you well." Her manner, as usual, was brisk. "It's only your third Saturday this term and I realise you may have other things you would rather do, but the weather will soon turn, as you can see," she indicated the enchanted ceiling above them, and indeed the sky churned lazily with puffy, gunmetal clouds. "Three Prefects are to supervise the younger students here in the hall until it clears, and one of them will have to be you."
"Of course, professor." She answered at once, but thought wistfully of the library. "I don't mind in the least."
"I thought to hear no less." McGonagall gave her a nod of approval and swept away.
Her steps echoed dully through the hall as she made a sudden left and travelled all the way to the Slytherin table. Hermione gave an involuntary sigh of dread as the professor stopped over Malfoy. As though to ward off any snide remarks, McGonagall seemed to adopt a far more stern countenance.
Harry craned his neck round to see Hermione's line of vision and chuckled. "I'll bet you mind a lot more now."
Hermione flushed with anger as Malfoy suddenly cast a dark look in her direction, his nostrils flared in hateful resignation.
"I really do." Hermione muttered.
"No, this is good. This is great actually..." Harry shifted forwards, his voice lowered as though every classmate might listen in. "Hermione, you can watch him. See if he does anything suspicious."
"We're going to be watching children." Hermione said. "It's not as though he'll have an opportunity for evil-doing."
"You can still watch him for signs. Anything, really - odd looks, behaviour."
"Ah, yes." Hermione said reasonably. "I'll be on my guard, Harry. If he should so much as look hateful or duplicitous I'll find you at the pitch - it would be odd, for Malfoy."
Ginny snorted and Harry shot Hermione a brief look of annoyance.
"You know what I mean."
She sighed again. "Yes, Harry. I do know what you mean."
Hermione trailed her eyes back to Malfoy. He was still looking at her, with an expression that seemed to hint he blamed her for this inevitable headache as much as he did the unfortunate circumstance of her own birth.
Author's Note:
This is a story I actually started many years ago, when I'd first started university. I'd made the move to America and I was looking to excercise the writing muscle. I got about sixteen chapters in, and then I'd taken a hiatus for around a year. At the end of that, I couldn't remember the log-in for this site that I'd used. I'd given it up until recently, as there didn't seem to be any way for me to add chapters to the work which already had all of my followers, reviews and messages. But, I dunno I just want to finish this.
I've moved back home now, I've become successful, and I still think about this story all the time. It kills me that I never got to finish it. It meant a lot to me, even though it started as nothing more than a way for me to practice prose without the pressure of turning in assignments for a mark. So I've made up my mind that I am going to finish it. I've wanted to revise the timeline pretty much since the fourth chapter of the original story anyway, so I suppose this is my chance.
And I really do hope you enjoy it. I hope the people who stuck with me through the last story will find this, and forgive the wasted time. If you'd like to voice any criticism, ideas, or feedback, please do. Criticism motivates me, don't be afraid to share your thoughts and be honest!
Thank you so much for all of your reviews! I'm updating this after a scan for typos and such, and figured I'd go on and give you a sort of ETA for the next chapter. It shouldn't take me more than three days, but I sincerely hope to have it earlier than that. I've got the material already written, revision is all that's needed. Thanks for the support, again. I didn't expect so many people to say kind things so early on, it brought a sincere smile to my face.