The Hogwarts Express had never looked so barren. Hermione's head whipped from one barely-occupied compartment after another, hardly believing the lack of life that filled the space. The war veteran hadn't held high expectations by any means, but this was something else entirely. She hadn't once considered the very real possibility of Hogwarts' halls ever being quiet, or a quick Sorting. Were there even any first years on board?
Hermione's stomach lurched. It could be possible that people chose not to have children during Voldemort's terror. That would have been an intelligent decision at the time. Merlin knows that if she had been in their position, she would have made the same choice. She'd had to make much harder choices than simply not getting pregnant. Hermione quickly squeezed her eyes shut, banishing the thoughts from her mind before wrenching them open again. She needed to assess the situation on the train.
Would Hogwarts essentially be lifeless on her final year?
Sounds that were no more than white noise in the background reached Hermione's ears. It only vaguely registered in her mind that Ginny was rushing through a barely intelligible parting. "Sure. See you later," Hermione called back over her shoulder, watching with little interest as her would-be roommate rushed off with some Hufflepuff girl from Ginny's year. At least, she looked to be the right age; albeit it simply wasn't fair how upbeat and innocent looking this girl was. Had she been living under a rock the last few years?
Hermione brushed off the exchange, choosing to continue her assessment of what was to come. Trembling fingers ran over the smooth, cool glass of the compartment doors while she drank in the void space with wide eyes and a sharp breath between her lips.
The cruel reality of the Wizarding World hit home in her mind once more, knocking the wind from her as she staggered to her seat. Her eyes fluttered closed as her head tilted back against the wall. She willed herself to breathe as one sobering thought pounded in her brain: the effects of Voldemort's terror would likely outlive her.
It was no wonder that parents didn't feel comfortable sending their children to this school anymore. A war had been fought on its grounds not so very long ago. She saw it every time she closed her eyes. The truth of the dangers of their world were kept a secret from her own parents. Wesley and Madelynn Granger would have pulled her from the school first year if they'd had a clue.
Taking another deep, ragged breath, she forced her eyes open. "Right," Hermione said, willing herself to focus on the here and now. "Focus on the positives." Surely, a near-empty train would mean that she could review some of the course material in peace. Right? With a quick, affirming nod, she deliberately opened her bag to search for a textbook. At the moment, any of them would do.
Anxious fingers brushed over soft, silken fabric. Hermione froze at the contact as her eyes flew wide. Her jaw dropped in sheer horror. She didn't own anything like that. Unless...
She frantically pulled the intruding object out of her bag and groaned aloud at the sight. "Harry!" Though she wanted to be annoyed with her best friend for slipping her the invisibility cloak, her heart warmed. She fiercely clutched the cloak to her chest. It was quite wonderful to be looked after, even if he was seriously misguided in his efforts. Out of nowhere, Hermione heard something that sounded like falling parchment.
Her eyes dropped to the floor by her feet. Indeed, there lay a piece of... folded notebook paper?Her curiosity spiked one-hundred fold. Any doubts she may have had turned into deep-seated humor as soon as Harry's messy scrawl came into view. Where—and when—had Harry gotten his hands on a notebook and pen? She would definitely have to write him a letter soon to ask him. In her mind, she made a mental note to do it after she got settled into her dorm tonight.
You're always saving me, so here is something of mine to keep close in case you need it. Stay safe and use it well.
P.S. Don't argue with me, Hermione. This is me trying to keep you safe for a change.
P.S.S. I know you're probably freaking out over the coming year, but don't. You're going to be amazing.
When you get straight O's on everything—I told you so.
Harry
Hermione snorted. He knew her too well. Of course slipping her the cloak was too much! And how dare he assume that he never looked out for her? If it weren't for Harry, she surely would have died years ago. Why, she ought to give him a good talking to...
Harry's words suddenly stopped her dead in her tracks. Don't argue with me, Hermione. She sighed. Harry already knew she would jump straight to argue the point. And, of course, she had just been looking for a textbook— "freaking out" (his words) over the coming year. He had already foreseen this, too.
Only Harry would take time to think about her when he surely must have been in a whirlwind of his own.
Guilt slammed into her like a wrecking ball. He had parted with his most cherished possession to look after her—because, after all, this is Hogwarts—and she hadn't done the same for him. Left him a note or something. Anything.
Like a reflex, Hermione draped the cloak over herself and curled up into a ball. She would rectify this. Soon. Allowing room for even a moment of doubt of his importance to her in his mind was inexcusable.
Breathe, Hermione. Stop worrying about the whole bloody world for five minutes. Just write Harry a letter tonight. It will be alright. Breathe...
A loud, punishing thud jolted her out of her panic. Forgetting she was invisible, she jolted straight up, skewering the figure that stood before her with an intense glare. Then she remembered the fabric that was currently draped over her.
Oh. Right.
Hermione reflexively tugged the cloak closer to her.
Tall, lean, and dressed in his signature black tailored suit, Malfoy strolled into her compartment, slamming the door back behind him with a deftly cast nonverbal privacy spell. He barely paused to take a breath before stalking towards the window and pausing in front of her. Hermione's gaze drifted up to a pair of pale white hands on the glass. Long fingers gave the slightest twitch as the scenery flew by them. Her head slightly tilted to the side in fascination. There was a measure of control in how little they moved; control she had become frighteningly familiar with.
The sight of Malfoy's head hung low caused Hermione's stomach to twist in knots. His platinum blonde locks, so neatly arranged the last time she saw him, now draped over his face like a curtain, cutting his features from view. What his face didn't give away, however, his body language screamed. Shoulders slumped, arms and back rigid, chest rapidly rising and falling...
Flashing images of Malfoy's mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes harder than steel and hands balled up into fists at his sides as he stared down at her before he quickly cast them away played like a movie in her mind's eye.
"PLEASE!" Hermione screamed on the drawing room floor at Malfoy Manor. At the time, he had been a familiar face. In her desperation, she'd hoped that he might be her saving grace. It may have been foolish, but the only thought she had was to plead with the one person in the room she knew. She had obviously been wrong.
Time also does wonders for providing hindsight and knowledge. What would she have done if put in his position? If it had been her parents Voldemort had threatened to kill if she didn't follow through with his demands? Honestly, she didn't know. She liked to think that she would have made different choices than the man in front of her, but who was to say? She'd wiped out her parent's knowledge of their own identities, fed them lies, and eliminated their knowledge of having a daughter before sending them off to Australia without so much as a goodbye. People do insane things when backed into a corner.
Has the war not ended for you, either, Malfoy? Hermione thought. The answer as to why he might be battling himself, to anyone with a brain, wouldn't be too terribly difficult to figure out. Daily life for a former Death Eater couldn't be easy. Though Hermione had been on the opposite side of the war, this was something she could understand. Voldemort may have fallen, but the stigma for people like her remained.
Mudblood.
Death Eater.
Two opposing sides of the same coin;
Forever carrying a stigma of hatred, mistrust, and prejudice.
Hermione leaned her head against the cool glass, careful not to touch him, and let her eyes drift closed. Exhaustion seeped through her veins. Though the day was still relatively young, she desperately wished for her bed at the castle. A few minutes of sleep couldn't hurt, could it?
"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!"
"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"
"...ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"
Hermione's flashed open as she bolted upright, clutching her burning mudblood scar with tears streaming down her face. Yes. Sleep could definitely hurt.
Darkness cloaked the compartment, swallowing her whole. Where Malfoy would have sat a few hours before, a chocolate bar remained. She leaned forward, barely grasping the bar with one hand as tremors rocked her body. Underneath it, a small piece of parchment bore script that Hermione (begrudgingly) admitted was quite elegant.
She never expected a single sentence to impact her thought process as much as it did.
Why did you come back?
"That is an excellent question, Malfoy," Hermione whispered through numb lips. She leaned back in what would be the first time she ever truly contemplated this. She had always assumed she would go back when the school reopened. This was what the wizarding world expected of her, and she of herself. She had always been the brain of the bunch, and what do brainy people do? They study. It wasn't as if she had ever done anything to help her case for being anything other than that. At least, not around others.
Words spoken to Harry a lifetime ago swirled around in her mind in a whisper.
Books and cleverness...
She used them both to the best of her immense skill to try and make up for being eleven, nearly twelve years behind the others. That effort became what defined her. No one ever heeded her words when she said that there were more important things. Back then, Harry needed the words Bravery and Friendship to reach his ears. What she hadn't mentioned was Self-Expression. Maybe she should have. Only two out of three of those things survived Hogwarts and the Wizarding World. Maybe if she had pushed harder, Dumbledore might have found it more difficult to use them all as pawns in the worldwide game of Chess with Voldemort. Maybe then Dumbledore might have thought twice about grooming child soldiers. Maybe...
Hermione quickly shook her head as if it could banish the rather dark turn of her thoughts. Perhaps she should see the therapist McGonagall mentioned. "Time to get dressed," she sighed. Reluctantly, she pulled down the cloak, becoming visible once more. It seemed that even her curls were out to prolong the inevitable as they dipped straight into her line of sight. With one long huff, she blew them out of her face and rolled her eyes. "Lovely. Just lovely."
One victorious battle against riotous curls later, Hermione managed to don her robe and gather her belongings just as the train began to slow. Her heart began pounding in her ears as the realization hit her. Why did she think this was a good idea?
For the first time in her life, she began to question if her N.E.W.T.s were really worth it. After all, she already made a pretty decent living as a bookshop owner. She could probably find a place to rent close to Diagon tomorrow if she wanted to. Harry's insistence she stay and her own secret aversion to living alone are the reasons she hasn't moved out yet. Having her only family right across the hall has been a comfort over the last year a half.
Oh, Merlin, Hermione thought. Why did I think this was a good idea? Gods!
Hermione cursed the Wizarding World's archaic communications, because just then, if she could, she would call Harry and Ron on the spot to come get her.
No backing out now, she thought. Deep breaths, Hermione. You can do this. Don't know how at the moment, but you can do this. You didn't know how we were going to survive a mountain troll, a basilisk, dementors, werewolves, getting stuck in the bottom of the Black Lake, Death Eaters, the Horcrux Hunt, or Voldemort either, but you did. Now square your shoulders and walk over to the carriage with your head held high.
Most would have seen thestrals as something grotesque. Alarming, even. However, Hermione thought they were simply beautiful. The way they moved with such grace and dignity, despite their skeletal forms, seemed symbolic of how she felt. Moving forward, carrying on, even in death. As far as the brunette war veteran was concerned, Hermione Granger died when she violated her parent's minds. A stranger with that girl's memories stood in her place.
A foreign sense of peace filled her as she slowly reached out to touch the creature she connected so deeply with. A small part of her wondered if it could sense that connection she felt, because it took a small step forward and dipped its head for her. "Shakespeare was a fool," Hermione whispered. "There is no sleep in death. She collects the ones who find peace in Death's embrace, and leaves the ones who have yet to rest." The thestral snorted in response, leaving Hermione to blink in surprise. "You understand me," she breathed. The creature pawed at the ground excitedly. Without warning, the corner of Hermione's mouth twitched upward. "Well, you know that Death couldn't possibly be a male, because a man wouldn't be quite so picky, would he?" The creature eyed her curiously as she snorted. "No, he would just take everyone and then sort out the rest later."
"HEY! HERMIONE!" The curly haired brunette's body spun in surprise towards the familiar voice calling her name. A light sparked inside her at the sight of her friend and fellow Gryffindor barreling towards her at full speed. "Neville?" Hermione laughed. Instinctively, she strode towards him with her arms open wide. Even having seen how much taller he'd grown, it was still a surprise when he scooped her up. With her feet dangling several inches off the ground, Hermione let out an elated squeal as she swung her around as though she were no more than a child's doll.
Neville had not only grown taller, but leaner and stronger as well. With Hermione's feet firmly back on the ground, she was able to look up-way up-and observe him. It was with a feeling of friendly pride she could say he had grown into quite a handsome individual. Gone was the soft, pudgy boy from his youth. In his place stood a rather dignified, statuesque and courageous man who still held a kind and gentle soul. Hermione found herself beaming with contentment that Neville would always be Neville. However, no poetic words found their way to her tongue. "What have you been doing?" Hermione blurted.
Neville doubled over in laughter. Hermione's face warmed. After a minute or two, Neville wiped a tear from his eye and tipped his head towards the waiting carriage. Frowning at the deep brown hairs that fell into his face, he brushed them away and said, "I need a haircut." Hermione stepped up to his side with a snort. "Come on, Neville. We'll talk in the carriage." He glanced down at her with a smile of relief. "Hannah will be glad to see you."
"Abbott?"
Neville's smile grew wider. "The very same."
Just then, the familiar shine of a badge caught Hermione's eye. She recognized it instantly. "You got Head Boy? That's fantastic! Congratulations!" The tell-tale sign of embarrassment colored his cheeks at her words. "Thanks." Hermione linked her arm through his, years of friendship seeming to make her spirits double in size. "No one deserves the spot more than you. Don't you dare doubt it for a minute." As they approached the carriage, Neville quickly reached to open the door before Hermione could get to it. Her lips quirked up. "Thank you."
Once inside, Hermione took notice of the subtly elegant woman in front of her. She carried a classic, understated beauty that Hermione found fascinating. She had come a long way from the awkward, scared little girl who was the first in their year to get Sorted all those years ago. Her auburn hair fell in waves down to her curvy waist, framing her heart-shaped face and wide blue eyes. She carried a certain glow about her that couldn't be explained, but as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, her spell was broken. She shifted from unapproachable beauty to a pretty Hogwarts student with a sweet personality once more. "It's all a bit much, isn't it?"
Hermione wanted to smile when she noticed the Head Girl badge on Hannah's robes. McGonagall answered her silent prayer that a worthy girl would wind up with the badge. She had no doubts that Hannah would uphold the position's honor. Instead of speaking right away, she just nodded. "Congratulations on getting Head Girl, Hannah. You'll be great. I just know it." She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Hermione cast a quick glance at Neville, who couldn't take his eyes off of the girl in front of them. Suddenly Hermione wondered if Neville and Hannah were dating. If they weren't, they would certainly make a good pair. They seem to share some of the same personality traits, and Neville seems quite taken with her.
Regardless, Hermione chose to stay silent on the matter. She certainly did not want to cause them more embarrassment. She chose to stare out the window instead, basking in the familiarity between them. After several minutes, Hermione asked, "Did anyone else come back? From our year, I mean." Sure, Malfoy did, but she wasn't going to bring that up.
Surprisingly, it was Hannah who spoke up first. "I know Robert did." Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Robert Jones?" Hannah's lips curved up in a soft smile. "The very same. He used to come back to our Hufflepuff dorm raving about how brilliant you were when you two would study in the library together." Neville's eyebrows shot up nearly into his hairline. Hermione, on the other hand, was simply relieved that her study partner was returning. She must have been more transparent than she thought, because Hannah leaned over, and half-whispered, as though it were a conspiracy, "He was quite taken with you, you know."
Hermione snorted, waving it off. The most her and Robert had ever done was study. Nothing romantic about it. Nor had he ever shown any signs of there being anything more. Hannah wasn't going to let it go, though. "I mean it! You were always running around with Harry and Ron, and Robert felt like he didn't stand a chance. Who knows? Maybe once you two spend some time together..." She let the sentence drift off, leaving the rest for interpretation. Hermione rolled her eyes, fighting a smirk. "You are quite the romantic, aren't you?"
Neville jumped in. "Hannah. Hermione and Ron..." Hermione sighed. "Broke up just before the start of term." Neville's jaw dropped at the same time the carriage came to a halt. "What...?" Hermione sighed. "We're fine, I promise. We decided that some time apart, for ourselves, was the best thing we could do for each other." Hermione patted Neville's hand and climbed out as quickly as she could without being downright rude. Romance was the last thing on her mind.
Each step towards the Great Hall felt like a milestone. Where bodies had once been scattered all over the ground, luscious green grass now grew. Where blood had pooled on the steps, the stone now shone. As though nothing had ever been there. As though they could magic and scrub all the evidence away.
However, chips and cracks in the walls told on them.
All of them filed into the Great Hall now, just as they had done as First Years. No more bodies lined the floor. Death's stench had gone away. It took a moment to realize what had happened, but now there were names engraved in the floor under their feet. Shock took hold of Hermione's senses and hot tears instantly pooled in her eyes.
Cedric Diggory. Remus Lupin. Nymphadora Tonks. Dobby. Fred Weasley. Albus Dumbledore. Severus Snape.
Hermione tore her eyes away from the floor, her vision blurred by her tears, only to be floored by what she saw at the front of the room.
What in Merlin's name is Draco Malfoy doing at the Professor's table?!