December 1998
Even a month after watching Ron get torn to pieces, Hermione still doesn't know how she feels about it. Know she should be terrified — horrified even. Should have told the Aurors, or McGonagall, or anyone, but she hasn't.
Instead, she's strangely numb to his death. Doesn't really feel anything about it apart from faint flickering moments of relief when she wakes at night, and his hands aren't on her. When she remembers, he can't touch her again.
On some level, she knows it's wrong. That she should be more affected, mournful rather than apathetic — but it's the truth. She feels almost nothing towards Ron's death.
Perhaps a year ago, she would have mourned him. Would have cried for days. Curled herself in Harry's arms when he appeared pale and shaken, having found out what happened, but she doesn't have it in her anymore.
The fondness she felt for Ron through their childhood died a slow death. It had developed almost against her will. Slowly brought about by those moments of kindness and sincerity, the fondness of childhood blinding her to his faults but it perished far quicker than that. The war stripping away her rose-tinted glasses.
Hermione couldn't really blame him for how he spent sixth year following Romilda Vane, Susan Bones, and whoever else caught his fancy around the castle while he still looked at her with lingering gazes and expectations. Not when she'd been sneaking kisses with Lavender the whole year, but it was symptomatic of the larger problem.
That Ron had always expected her to wait for him. That it never occurred to him, she may have desires elsewhere. That he genuinely seemed to believe she would just always be waiting for him. That he had some kind of right to her despite how the rest of the tower teased her and Lavender for their closeness — all wondering but never quite sure of the truth.
Harry had tried asking her once. Stumbled through the question, stilted and awkward the way Harry always is despite the rest of the world's desire to see him as some suave hero — Hermione hadn't given him a real answer.
Just smiled and shook her head in a way that wasn't quite a disagreement. Neither confirmed nor denied; only told him what they told everyone else — what they told even themselves — that they were best friends and that they meant everything to each other.
He'd tried to press. Even tried to ask again when they were in the tent, but the question had made Hermione let out an involuntary whimper, and he'd stopped. The pain of Ron disappearing — destroying the feelings she was clinging to having sacrificed everything else — was too recent to let Harry press on the wound.
Ron's disappearance had been the final breeze that extinguished the flames of Hermione's attraction. Her heart shattered with the sound of his disapperation, not just because it signalled his abandonment of her and Harry because it marked the cutting of the last threads of her affection for him.
She can understand why he did it. Can sympathise with the concern he must have had for his family. Even understands that the Horcrux was manipulating him, but she'd had that piece of Tom Riddle hung around her neck just as much as he had, and Hermione never considered abandoning them.
And yes — Ron may have had the rest of the Weasleys to worry over. Was being forced to choose between the family he was born to, and the one Hogwarts gave him, but Hermione had had to make that same choice and made the sacrifice, knowing that it was one she had to make for everyone else's benefit.
So, she may have understood his reasons, but she'll never fully agree with them. And part of her will never forgive him for leaving — even now and even during the months they were together.
She'd tried to rekindle the flames. Knew it was what everyone expected, and that she'd made promises she'd try, but Hermione doesn't think they ever really caught alight again. Perhaps glowed briefly before the embers were smothered under the weight of his body. Killed by his callous disregard and her suspicion he may not have even felt that much towards her at all.
She had no doubt he thought he cared for her — perhaps even thought he loved her. Hermione just doesn't think he truly understood what those words meant. He may have understood them in relation to his family, but when it came to her, she's nearly certain he loved her more for what she could give him than for who she is herself.
The thought leaves her conflicted. Doesn't alight the anger she thinks it should, she's still oddly apathetic, but Hermione can't bring herself to grant him forgiveness. Doesn't have it in her to overlook the way he touched her. The bruises that lingered on her arms for days after his death.
She thinks it may be why she hasn't told anyone about Lavender. There's a part of her that doesn't think he's earnt the right for people to know the truth. That he almost deserves to have his death written off as another freak accident.
One that it's taking longer to be dismissed, but that Hermione suspects will be anyway. No one wants to consider there's something actively killing students on the castle grounds, so it's simpler just to say they wandered into the forest despite knowing better.
It's what most people suspect anyway. The grand tales Ron used to tell of his skills, how he was still angry about not making it into the Auror program and how after a few drinks, he used to tell everyone he'd prove them wrong — it isn't hard to guess what happened.
At least not the version everyone believes.
That fresh out of Ernie's funeral, the Gryffindor boys had a few drinks. That Ron got cocky and overconfident. That he wanted to claim the glory of killing whatever's been haunting the woods.
Hermione may know it's not really what happened, but she can't deny it makes sense. That it's something Ron would do. That he would have had some grand plan to prove himself the way he always so desperately tried to, only whatever's hiding in the forest killed him before Ron could kill it.
She may know it it's not the truth. That Lavender will have lured him there with coy smiles and fluttering lashes, but Hermione still can't bring herself to tell anyone that. Instead, just lets everyone believe it's the truth. That Ron died of his own stupidity more than anything.
Besides, when Hermione really thinks about it, it's true.
Still, while everyone else seems confident Ron's death was yet another example of why people shouldn't go wandering in the woods, the only person who doesn't seem to believe it is Mrs Weasley.
The woman's still convinced Hermione had something to do with it, and she supposes technically Molly's not wrong, but the older woman doesn't know that. Instead, she's taken to sending howler after howler saying how she's always known Hermione was trouble — that nothing good would come from her.
There's no substance to them. Only Molly's dislike fuelling the screeching envelopes, as well as whatever tales Hermione's confident Ron told his mother. Stories about how Hermione was abandoning him. Having some kind of breakdown and didn't have time for him anymore.
His letters will have poisoned the other woman against Hermione even more than she already was. If that were even possible. Mrs Weasley has never really warmed to her — seems to hate her for only the possibility Hermione could displace Molly in her son's lives.
Only she and Ginny allowed to have any real role in her boys lives — even Fleur's still kept on the edges despite the fact she and Bill are married. The other woman's brief acceptance overshadowed by the reality Molly's eldest son has someone else to care for him — that he has a woman to care about other than his mother.
Hermione's never said anything about it, but she's certainly noticed the way Mrs Weasley makes nit-picky comments about how she peels potatoes, or how Fleur cooks dinner that should be well-meaning but clearly aren't. Something about the tone and phrasing that makes it clear they'll never match up to her.
Hermione's always been on the outside of their little family, so she isn't surprised by how Mrs Weasley turned against her. Logically, she knows it's largely grief, but some part of her suspects things would have gone this way no matter how she and Ron ended.
Not that she expected any kind of special treatment from the other woman. She knew Harry saw her as a kind of surrogate mother, but she and Molly had never had that relationship — so Hermione wasn't expecting her to stand against her son. She had perhaps only hoped the other woman wouldn't be quite so aggressive towards someone 30 years her junior — even if Hermione should have known not to expect that much after fourth year.
At the very least, she got letters from the rest of the Weasleys. Notes explaining their mother's having a hard time excepting that their family had survived the war only to lose someone so soon after it.
They're comforting to receive. An invitation from Bill and Fleur, a short note from the twins, even something from Charlie, who she barely knows but still takes comfort in knowing he doesn't blame her.
Ginny's the outlier among them. Arthur follows in his wife's footsteps as always — unwilling to incur her wrath. The rest of the Weasley's likely haven't told their mother they've reached out; it only leaves Ginny to lie somewhere in the middle.
She hasn't spoken to Hermione since Ron's body was found, but she hasn't been openly hostile either. At first, she'd disappeared back to The Burrow accompanied by Harry. And by the time she was back, she was oddly quiet and reminded Hermione more of the girl she'd been in her first year. Withdrawn and almost pale.
She's thought about reaching out. About offering apologies and condolences but the other girl has always been more like her mother than Ginny would ever care to admit, and Hermione knows she won't have dismissed Molly's claims completely.
So, instead, she leaves Ginny to her other friends. The sixth-year Gryffindor's gathering around her — comforting her in a way that no one is Hermione. Instead, they're all just watching her.
Their eyes a constant heavy weight that makes her twitchy and on edge. They're all waiting for the breakdown Ron's convinced them she's in the midst of. Waiting for her to start crying or screaming — her lack of response both unnerves and bores them. And yet, they're watching, like they're all waiting for her to fall apart.
Their expectations only add to the pressure she's under. Their gazes unnerving her almost as much as the presence Hermione still swears she can feel around the castle — even though Lavender's nowhere around to cause it.
Hermione's forced to consider that it's just how the castle feels now. Unsettling, it lacks the warmth she remembers from their youth — it is more like a prison than a home with the way people constantly watch her.
Those who think she should be mourning more, those who think she should be doing more. As if the Auror department and the staff shouldn't be the ones investigating Ron's death rather than a nineteen-year-old who still has the odd moments Hermione wonders if she really has had some kind of psychotic break.
If perhaps she's still on the floor of the Malfoy's ballroom. That Bellatrix has driven her into insanity, and this is all some nightmare she's trapped in. If the washes of terror she feels are from what's happening around her.
Her body likely discarded by Bellatrix as soon as she got bored; there was every chance she was just lying there waiting to be given over the Greyback. The promises he'd whispered while dragging her to the Manor still echo in her ears even now, and she doesn't think she'll ever forget the way his nails had dug into her skin.
Hermione doesn't want it to be true, of course. Doesn't actually want to consider that Bellatrix may have broken her, but at times it seems like it would make more sense. The possibility more reasonable than the idea that Lavender is killing people, that the Auror are barely investigating it — still distracted looking for missing Death Eaters — and that the castle seems torn between waiting for Hermione to fall into despair or miraculously discover what's hunting them from the forest.
It's an odd position and an overwhelming one too, but it at least gives Hermione even more of an excuse to spend time in the library. All of them seemed relieved, if unsurprised, when she barely spent any time in their dorm since Ron's passing.
Instead, she dedicates herself to books on esoteric forms of dark magic. Ones that she doesn't let anyone else see her sneak out of the Restricted Section. Glamours, so they look like books on Mythical Creatures. Determined to help them all buy into the lie they've created that she's trying to find out what did it.
It isn't like any of them know Hermione's well aware. That she didn't just know what — who — did it, but she'd watched. That she's seen the other girl for the monster she is now and still hasn't run to the Aurors or Harry.
Thinks of that odd distance there had been in The Three Broomsticks and knows it will have widened now. Felt it when he'd awkwardly tried to console her after Ron, but Hermione hadn't reacted to the news.
She knew at the time they dismissed it as shock. They had no way of knowing she'd rushed back to the tower the night before and scrubbed Ron's blood from her skin but done so in slow, methodical movements with none of the desperation there should have been.
Then she incendioed her clothes until they were just a pile of ash. Vanishing it so there was nothing to suggest she could have known someone would find Ron's body in the morning. Likely poor Hagrid when the Thestrals didn't appear for breakfast — drawn towards the more readily available form of flesh.
She knew there wasn't much left of him, by the time Ron's body was found. That Lavender may have only eaten the bare minimum but his corpse was still picked at by scavengers and was only recognisable by his Weasley red shock of hair.
By now, Harry seems to have given up on her slightly. Struggling with his own grief, he doesn't understand how she's not more shaken — more upset — and Hermione doesn't have it in her to explain the complexities of her and Ron's relationship. Now when it risks tinting Harry's view of his best friend.
Hermione may have her own issues with Ron, her reasons for not mourning his death, but she'd never try and rob Harry of his grief, or of the happy memories. So, she keeps quiet. Doesn't explain exactly who Ron had been when he died. Keeps Lavender's secret, too, even though she's barely seen the girl since the forest.
Again, she'd taken off running when Lavender commanded. Woke the next morning dreading the thought of seeing her roommate in her bed and let out a sigh of relief when the other girl wasn't there.
Relief that's morphed into concern the longer the month drags on. Lavender still hasn't returned to their dorm — looks beautiful and glowing enough Hermione knows she doesn't need to be concerned, but still finds herself worrying.
Wonders for one insane moment if the other girl has taken to living in the Forbidden Forest since she should be the most dangerous thing in there, but the blonde looks too put together for that. Her hair shining with health Hermione knows came from Ron, but that feels almost separate from the horrible way he died.
Her clothes are as perfect as they ever get. Her skirt just a bit too short, flashing hints of thigh that Hermione knows she shouldn't have let her eyes linger on but finds herself powerless against.
Catches her eyes tracking down the path of the other girl's matching necklace to where it hangs between Lavender's undone top buttons. Her cardigan looks like something that could have been stolen off a first year.
It stops at her waist and hugs it tightly to emphasise the lines of her body as well as cupping her breasts. It makes a mockery of the school uniform in the most tantalising way possible, and Hermione knows she's not the only one whose eyes linger but thinks she sometimes catches the other girl swinging her hips with just a little more purpose when she thinks Hermione's looking.
Truthfully, she doesn't know how Lavender hasn't been given detention for her uniform, but the Eighth Years have largely been given a sort of free pass and Lavender's apparently intent to make full use of it.
None of it changes the fact the other girl seems to be avoiding Hermione, though. A thought that makes her heart hurt, even as ridiculous as she knows it is. Lavender's all but disappeared when they're not in class together. She attends enough not to rouse the staff's suspicion, but the rest of the time, she's vanished.
Gone somewhere, Hermione can't find her; she knows she should worry about what the other girl is doing. And yet, Hermione still hasn't told anyone. Can't bring herself to betray Lavender even when she's seen the other girl for the monster she truly is. Not when some part of her knows Lavender was acting in Hermione's service — as horrible as that service may be.
Besides, Hermione hadn't stopped her. Hadn't tried to fight. She'd just watched. Let it happen. She may have not actually committed Ron's murder, but she's almost equally guilty with how she hadn't fought against it.
It leaves Hermione off-balance and confused. Made worse by the way she almost misses Lavender, even as much as she thinks she shouldn't. She finds she can't sleep without the other girl's weight at her side — wakes screaming with no one there to soothe her back into unconciousness.
There's still that wrong feeling that shakes her violently from sleep. Makes her heart hammer in her chest. At first, she'd assumed it was Lavender — that she'd been unconsciously reacting to the monster the other girl's become, but it's still there even with her best friend missing.
Somehow, she's more uncomfortable with the other girl gone. Hermione chest shuddering with the force of her heaving breaths when she wakes with screams dying in her throat. Her hairs stand on end, and her muscle stay tense for hours like something in her thinks she should be running or fighting.
There's no reasonable explanation for it, and Hermione almost wants to think Lavender must be nearby, and she's having some kind of reaction to the other girl's presence — that some part of her knows Lavender's a predator even if she isn't consciously willing to accept it — but she'd fallen back to sleep far more easily with the other girl at her side.
And when she really thinks about it, even when Lavender had cupped her face with blood-stained fingers — with the hands she'd just ripped apart Hermione's best friend with — she had never truly been terrified.
At least not of her.
Hermione has been confused and scared about what was happening, and has worried about her friend, but she's never truly been afraid of Lavender and doubts she'll ever really be able to.
It confuses her more than anything else to do with the other girl. She still wants to research, takes herself to the library to sneak books out of the Restricted Section, but as much Hermione wants to understand what's going on with her friend, she wishes she understood her own reaction more.
She's stuck thinking about it when Luna approaches. Seems to fade into existence, Hermione's been so caught up in the moral conundrums she doesn't realise the other girl is there until she hears Luna's familiar melodic tones saying her name.
"Luna?" she finally asks, confused.
She's barely seen the other girl, either. Not that Hermione ever really saw that much of Luna outside of the DA. She doesn't know where the otehr girl has been passing her time, but she looks settled in a way Hermione never seen the her — content almost.
"Hermione," the other girl repeats her name back to her. "How are you?"
"I'm — I'm okay," she doesn't know why, but part of her is nearly certain Luna knows something about her internal struggles — oddly perceptive as she always is. "You?"
"I'm well. Better since Ernie." This time Hermione's certain Luna knows more than she lets on, but the other girl keeps going. "It was…difficult seeing him around the school. It's been better since he's gone."
"Luna," she tries to gasp the other girl's name in disapproval but finds it sounds more like confusion. "What do you mean?"
The other girl smiles at her again before replying, "It's okay, Hermione. I know you feel the same way about Ron — the Nargles have stopped swarming you ever since they found his body. You've been inundated with them since the battle, and now you're finally free."
Hermione just sits numbly. Confused as to how she's apparently been so transparent but wonders if she only is to Luna. Questions exactly how much the other girl sees through her imaginary creatures as Hermione realises the blonde is right; she has been trapped since the battle.
That watching Ron be torn apart is what it took for her to feel like herself again. To free herself from where he'd dug his hooks into her skin and was using them to pull her apart. It feels almost like comeuppance.
"Luna…" she draws out the other girl's name, unsure what she's supposed to say, but the other girl just shakes her head softly.
"It's okay, Hermione. I know — the war changed us all, but that doesn't mean it's a bad thing." Hermione makes a sound of disagreement — almost tries to cut her off she's so confused by whatever Luna's telling her.
Isn't sure if the other girl is implying she knows about Lavender. About Lavender and Hermione together, or if she just knows Hermione isn't mourning Ron's death the way she should be, but still finds she's almost reassured by the other girl's words.
Feels the knot of confusion and uncertainty that's been twisting in her stomach unravel as Luna's speeak. The other girl somehow reassuring her that she doesn't need to condemn Lavender — even if Hermione still not certain that's what the other girl is suggesting.
She's still doesn't know how she feels about the Lavender. Mainly wants to help her. See if there's some way to free her from whatever curse has her in its grasp, but no longer feels quite so much like she should be actively shunning the girl. Not when Lavender's made it so clear she won't hurt those who don't deserve it — and so far, it's certainly held true.
She's so distracted thinking about the odd relief Luna's given her she doesn't see another girl approach at first. A second head of blonde hair appearing and slipping a hand into Lavenders.
Daphne Greengrass gives her an unsure smile as Hermione sees Luna squeeze the other girl's hand in reply, and she feels something warm for her friend's obvious happiness. The contentment in Luna's eyes as she looks at the other girl and a tiny part of her hopes she'll be brave enough to do the same someday.
"Granger," Daphne's tone isn't aggressive. She doesn't spit Hermione's last name at her like so many of her housemates do — instead, it seems almost like she's hoping for approval.
"Greengrass," Hermione replies evenly, "Here to see Luna?"
"Yes — it's almost dinner, and she's taken to joining us at the Slytherin table."
"Us?"
It's not a question Hermione means to ask, but it slips out anyway — curiosity more than anything else. Almost like she wants to reassure herself, the other girl has friends, has people who will care for her and support her.
"My sister and…Draco—" she stumbles slightly over the last name like she's worried Hermione will protest Luna spending any time near the boy, but Luna cuts in before Hermione can say anything.
"He's changed a lot," she rushes to reassure Hermione. "He's not like he was before the war — he…he was nice to me while I was there. Used to bring me food and blankets while I was at the Manor."
Hermione nods as the other girl speaks. She doesn't actually need the other girl to tell her any of this — Malfoy had apologised to her at the beginning of term. It was stilted and slightly tearful on his part, but she couldn't deny it had been sincere, and she thinks she's forgiven him for all of it.
Knows that at the end of the day, he was a child and was manipulated by his parents, the Dark Lord, and Dumbledore as much as she, Harry and Ron had been by the Headmaster. Their circumstances were certainly not the same, but they were all equally doomed.
Still, she lets Luna say her piece. Suspects it something the other girl feels like she needs to confess. Waits until she's done to reply, "No, that's good. I'm glad you're finding people who appreciate you," and watches as Daphne flushes a light shade of pink at the words.
She and Luna share a soft smile between them before they bid her goodnight — suggesting she should head to dinner soon rather than spending the whole night holed up in the library. Hermione doesn't, though.
Her consciousness may be less heavy after her and Luna's conversation, but she still feels like she needs to help Lavender. Needs to find out what actually happened to her rather than just the vague details the other girl remembers. Wants to see if there's some way to help — not that Hermione really knows what she means by that.
So, she stays in the library. Keeps flicking through the books she's pulled out of the Restricted Section. Reads tome after dome on dark magic. Learns all the ways their body, their purity, can be used against them.
Weaponised outside of their control and is suddenly grateful for her and Lavender's wandering hands — not sure exactly where the line is when it comes to just the two of them but quite certain they crossed it long before war truly broke out.
It's sickening; the number of rituals they are. The number of things Dolohov could have been attempting, and with no idea what his end goal had been, it's hard to narrow them down any.
The only thing she's really certain of is that it can't have been intentional. That it must have been some ritual gone wrong rather than the creature he made Lavender his 'great weapon' for the Dark Lord.
Still, she keeps reading. Looks for some outcome that Dolohov could have wanted. Spends days holed up in the library, can't be bothered to go to class. She knows she could pass her NEWTs tomorrow, almost thinks about actually doing it — writing to Kingsley and beseeching him as the Golden Girl to let her take her exams early.
She knows there's usually rewrites in December, but they've been cancelled this year in light of no one actually taking their exams the previous May. She's tempted to ask for an exemption, though. Doesn't think she can stomach another six months of hanging around the castle, being stared at like some kind of zoo creature.
As tempting as it is, though, they're only passing thoughts. She spends most of her time in almost a frenzy of researching. Trying desperately to narrow down what may have happened — she wants to understand more than anything else.
Finally, she gets sick of finding nothing. Of researching without result, thinks she needs more information. More details to build her theories off. It's already pitch black out, as close to the winter solstice as it is, but Hermione has already made up her mind before she can stop to consider practicalities.
The forest may scare her more than it ever has before, may still be unsettled in a way that makes Hermione distinctly uncomfortable, but she's spent enough time in there over the years she refuses to let it stop her.
Dismisses the way it feels like something's hunting whenever she's stepped through the trees this year and instead focuses on her desire for knowledge. On how she needs to see where it happened — where Lavender was murdered — in the hopes there's some clue, or sign, or something that will let Hermione narrow down what's happened to Lavender.
She's in the woods before she even really thinks it through. Has her wand gripped between her fingers, held tight with the way her skin is covered in goosebumps and how her ears prick up at every cracking twig, but she's determined.
Continues to wander through the woods — not sure where the site will have been but assuming she'll recognise it anyway. Figures there has to be some scar left behind where her friend was murdered — where she was reincarnated too.
Her wand doesn't provide much light. Barely a few feet in front of her and Hermione tries to tell herself it's the darkness that has her feeling so on edge. That makes her sure there's something following her.
Not chasing. Not like the time she spent sprinting through the woods. This feels slower. More purposeful. Like a tiger creeping through grass, Hermione hates to think of herself as prey but can't shake the feeling that she's being hunted.
Still, she refuses to acknowledge it. Makes herself take a deep breath and tries not to think about how stupid of an idea this whole thing was. Tries not to acknowledge the part of her that questions why she didn't just wait until the next morning. Wait until it was light out, and she'd at least be able to see what she's looking for.
It's too late to turn back, though. She's committed herself to the idea of finding the site, so she presses on even with the way her heart seems to beat faster with each step she takes. Ignores how her legs grow heavy beneath her like they're trying to stop her from taking the next step.
Tells herself the goosebumps are because it's cold, rather than because there's a distinctly wrong feeling about the whole forest. The air heavy, like there's more going on than Hermione knows.
She doesn't know how long she's been walking. Loses track of time at some point, but the moon's high overhead. It doesn't provide much light — barely a crescent visible through the trees — though that hardly means anything considering it gets dark midafternoon this time of year.
Still, she's sure it's late. Must be nearing midnight or past it — she should be in her bed. Should be missing Lavender's weight next to her, dreading the nightmare that's going to shake her from unconsciousness, rather than startling at the sound of twigs cracking between her own feet, but eventually, she finds it.
Knows it instantly the way Hermione suspected she would. Not a clearing necessarily, but it's more open than the trees around them, and one has fallen — lays sideways on the ground.
A thick tree trunk — one that's covered in blood.
Her heart stops at the site of it. Instantly knows this is it is. This is where Lavender died. When she creeps closer, bile tries to rise up her throat. The woods almost stained — the blood should have long since washed away, but it's like there was so much of it, it has been permanently tinted.
But that's not what truly unsettles her. The thought Lavender had lost that much blood sickens her but what truly turns Hermione's stomach is the notches in the wood. Several small intents — they're not deep, but that fact they're there at all horrifies Hermione.
It shouldn't be possible. She wants to assume they're something else, some imperfection in the tree's bark, but Hermione somehow knows they're not. They're places where the knife sunk through Lavender. Somehow Dolohov, that monster, has the strength to stab through her friend.
It shouldn't be possible, and yet Hermione's sure it's true. Assumes he must have taken a strengthening potion or something before the battle — like he was preparing for his ritual.
She can't look away from them. Finds she's stuck staring at the indents, remembering what Lavender had said the night she found out the truth. How she could feel every stab — how the knife made its' way through her organs. How it cut in to her heart.
Distantly, Hermione thinks there are tears streaming down her face. That her cheeks feel oddly wet considering it's not raining, but she's so consumed by imagining how her friend died, she doesn't really realise.
She's barely aware of anything physical. Is consumed by memories and the realisation of exactly what happened to Lavender. She looks around the site and can't even blame the other girl for the creature she's become. Thinks if it would protect her — protect anyone — from this, Hermione doesn't care how many men she tears apart.
All she can think about is that Dolohov at least deserved it. Whatever horrible fate Lavender forced upon him was exactly what he earnt himself. She only hopes he died more painfully than Ron had. Thinks that even though they both deserved it — to suffer for their sins — Dolohov deserved a worse death than her old best friend.
She should feel settled by the realisation. Her heart should have stopped pounding, her hairs have laid down from where they're standing on end — Hermione doesn't think she even cares what happened to Lavender anymore. Doesn't need to know the details; what she's seen is enough, but it doesn't happen.
Instead, she still feels uneasy. Her heart starts to beat faster, and suddenly she knows exactly how stupid she'd been to come here. Feels the presence that had been following her through the woods almost overwhelm her senses.
She'd tried telling herself it was Lavender, but now, all of a sudden, she knows for certain that it's not.
That whatever's coming is violent. That it's going to hurt her no matter what, and there's nothing she can do to stop it. She spins frantically. Can't quite figure out where it's coming from, grips her wand as tightly as she can in her fingers. Almost feels the wood creak under the strength adrenaline's giving her.
Twigs crack, and she spins towards them as fast as her body will let her move. Something rushes towards her, and Hermione barely sees a flash it's moving so quickly, before a familiar stomach-turning feeling overwhelms her.
One she's been unknowingly ignoring for months now.
Greyback.
May 1998
Hermione's confused more than anything as they stumble out of the Chamber of Secrets. Logically, she knows they're in the middle of a battle — or about to be — but it doesn't feel like it.
She feels like she should still be in Bill and Fleur's cottage. Like not enough time has passed for them to be back at Hogwarts and waiting to fight the Dark Lord, and yet they are. The bank heist having gone so spectacularly wrong it escalated everything else.
Hermione doesn't know how long it's been since she was impersonating the woman who'd had her convulsing on the Malfoy's ballroom floor weeks ago, but she knows it hasn't been enough that they've somehow reached their last stand.
Even if part of her thinks this is the best outcome. That she doesn't know how long The Order could keep fighting if things don't end today.
She still can't believe how quickly things deteriorated, though. The day has passed in a blur, and she barely remembers any of it. Knows they broke into and out of Gringotts, that they rode a dragon, and that just now Ron took her down into the Chamber, and she destroyed a Horcrux.
That he'd kissed her while they were down there.
She thinks her heart should be racing. That feel of his hand wrapped around her own should make that organ flutter, but both his hand and her heart feel oddly heavy. His grip is too tight, and his grip just generally feels wrong ; Hermione doesn't quite know how to explain it but thinks his hand feels more like a weight dragging her down than the comforting touch it should be.
Part of her hates that they've come to this. That she's never been able to dismiss what she feels for Lavender — the sight of the other girl when they snuck through the tunnel in the Room of Requirement doing more to warm her heart than Ron's hand ever has — but also that Ron's ruined whatever they may have before they even got the chance to explore it.
Something in her breaks with even the thought of how Ron had abandoned them. The memory enough to assure Hermione she'll never fully forgive him.
He doesn't seem to consider that, though. His grip possessive on her hand, he pulls her towards the rest of his family — doesn't give her the choice of whether to go with him, just manhandles her towards where he wants to go.
Confused and still processing as she is, Hermione doesn't protest. Let's him take her towards the rest of the Weasleys, to where Molly is eyeing their joined hands with a moue of distaste. She doesn't comment on any of it — just nods along as The Order discusses where they want everyone to be during the battle.
It's strange — the way they're all just waiting for the war to begin. To literally fight for their lives. Hermione knows the wards are holding for now, but they won't indefinitely, and at that point, her life will literally hang in the balance.
These might very well be some of her last moments, and she's spending them with a boy who makes something in her shift uncomfortably every time he lays his eyes on her, and under the judging eyes of his mother, who's never liked her for reasons Hermione can't quite understand. Thinks they may be less to do with her and more to do with who she could be to Ron.
Suddenly she needs space. Air away from Weasleys — part of her wonders where Harry's gone but finds, for once, she doesn't care — she just needs space to herself. A chance to breathe between the madness that dominated the past seven years of her life but feels more overwhelming than ever.
She tugs her hand away from Ron's before he can stop her. Doesn't respond to his cried questions about where she's going and instead just slips out of the Great Hall altogether. Stumbles through the corridors trying to figure out what feels wrong — what feels like it's missing.
She almost laughs when she ends up in a familiar bathroom. The one she and Lavender had first kissed in; it serves as an excellent reminder of what exactly feels wrong. The fact she's barely seen Lavender — hasn't got to talk to her best friend since Hermione returned to the castle, but she's still had to spend time being judged by Molly Weasley.
The thought almost makes her angry, but truthfully there's too much else happening to really focus on it. Instead, she just splashes water on her face and tries to prepare herself for what's coming. Questions if there's really any way to do it.
Let's herself try and play out the next few hours in her mind but finds nothing materialises — that she doesn't know how any of it's going to go. What she's going to do. It should unsettle her, but instead, Hermione feels a strange sense of relief wash over her that distracts from everything else.
Lavender.
She knows it's her instinctually. The same way she knows how to use her wand, how to walk, how to breathe. Lavender's felt this way as long as Hermione can remember — their awkward first year aside — and she knows it's her even before the other girl slips into the bathroom, sealing the door behind her with a spell.
Some tightness Hermione hadn't known was there looses as she lays her eyes on the other girl. Like there's a weight lifting off her chest, or she's finally getting oxygen after months without it.
"Lavender," she sighs the girl's name without thinking. Sees her lips curve upwards in return — Hermione's holding her hands out for the blonde to take before she ever stops to think about what she's doing.
Feels something click back into place when Lavender joins their hands again. Uses the grip to pull Hermione into her arms. The two of them just embrace for a few moments, take the chance to hold each other after months apart.
"You're okay?" the other girl asks. Almost patting Hermione down as if she needs to confirm as much for herself.
She nods in response before she asks, "You?"
Lavender nods awkwardly too, and the pair of them just stare at each other for another moment. Neither quite sure what to say, Hermione eventually works up the courage to say, "I've missed you."
It doesn't sound like a confession, but it is one, and she sees Lavender understand what she's really saying. That the months apart hasn't changed anything. That they may have told each other they were going to leave things in the past and move on but Hermione hasn't — had known it was an impossible promise then and still knows it now.
The other girl's reaction isn't the relief she'd hoped it would be, though. Something conflicted crosses her face as she keeps hold of Hermione, and somehow the distance between them seems to grow anyway, something that instantly puts Hermione on edge.
She feels her eyebrows draw together as she questioned, "What…"
It's drawn out. Unsure and nervous as she watches Lavender purse her lips in response to the question. Feels the other girl pull her arms back towards herself and leaves Hermione's to drop, swinging awkwardly by her thighs.
Lavender almost hugs herself. Clearly doesn't want to say what she's about to but persists anyway, "I saw you…with Ron."
"Oh, no — Lavender," she tries to protest. To dismiss whatever conclusion the other girl has drawn but she shakes her head and cuts Hermione off.
"No, I know nothing's happened yet, but I think…I think it could be good for you. He could be good for you."
"Lavender…" she tries to interrupt her again.
"No, really — we've always known that this would only make things harder, and Ron's family could help you — they could give you a family of your own too."
"But I don't—" Hermione tries to protest again. Tries to tell Lavender how wrong the conclusion she's drawn from seeing her and Ron's hands entwined is, but the other girl doesn't stop talking.
Lavender's only person who knows the reality of what's happened to her parents — Hermione had told Harry and Ron it could be reversed to save them the pain of knowing the truth, but she had to tell someone what she was planning, and Lavender was always going to be it.
And knowing the truth, the other girl seems determined to give Hermione back what she's sacrificed, even if Hermione's not sure she wants it. Not at this cost. She doesn't want to lose the Weasley's, but she doesn't want to lose Lavender either.
Still, Lavender keeps talking. Strangely determined, there's something also frantic about the way she speaks despite her hesitance, "We said we'd move on — that we'd forget — and I think…I think it's for the best."
A choked sound escapes Hermione before she can stop it, and the other girl gives her a pitying look despite her determination. And a moment of pain passes between them as Hermione thinks this shouldn't be happening. They should be revelling in their connection before the battle rather than trying to deny it for the millionth time.
Still, somehow, Lavender keeps talking. The words leave her almost before she can think about them. Like the other girl has spent all year thinking about it and has to let it all out before she can forget, or Hermione can change her mind.
"I love you. Of course, I love you — how could I not — but even if we somehow survive this, what do you think will happen? That everyone will just be happy for us. That they'll be okay with it."
Hermione can't say anything to argue against it, so she stays quiet.
"They won't — and if we want to have any hope of a normal life after this, we need to admit it. That maybe we could be together, but we'd lose everything else in the process, and Hermione, I don't think I can make that sacrifice."
Hermione nods through tears. Knows exactly what the other girl means — that she knows what Ron is expecting, how he seems to think they're together now even if she doesn't think she wants it. She knows if she left him for someone else — for a girl of all people — he'd never forgive her.
That his family would understandably side with him, and that Harry likely would too because Ron would force him to choose, and Ginny would follow her mother's lead in hating Hermione, and Harry wouldn't want to be separated from her — so she'd be left alone. Just the two of them against the world, and Hermione doesn't know if she's ready for that yet. Doesn't know if she ever will be.
So, she nods even though she doesn't want to. An unconscious gesture that makes Lavender's lips quiver for all she's trying to put on a brave face for them both. The other girl squeezes Hermione's hands before she pulls her into her arms.
Wraps them around her so tightly Hermione could swear her ribs protest a little but only finds the touch comforting as Lavender says, "We'll always be together really — we're bonded. I just need you to promise me you'll try and be happy with him — for both own sakes."
Hermione closes her eyes and breathes in her comforting scent — berries and Lavender — familiar in the best of ways as she nods reluctantly because Hermione knows it's for the best, "I promise."