Chapter 16
Hermione sat on her dorm room bed, dejected. The end of the school year was always tough on the young woman. Even though she loved her family and was happy to spend time with them, nothing in her home came close to the thrill of Hogwarts. Even after this year's Umbridge-induced trauma, Hermione was loathe to leave the halls of her beloved school. And with the terror of the battle at the ministry so fresh, she was especially dreading being alone with her parents. They loved her, but they couldn't (and shouldn't) know of the things she'd been through. She'd have to try to heal on her own.
The young woman was resolutely refusing to peek into the dark place in her memories, where the presence of an even darker woman was lurking.
Hermione summoned the energy to continue packing her things, but couldn't be bothered to put things away neatly. Into the trunk went her school robes, her jumpers, her extra trainers. In went her potions textbooks (this year's and next), her "History of Hogwarts," her "Native Plants of the British Isles," her transfiguration textbooks (this year's and next).
Wait.
Hermione reached over and fished the plant book out of the trunk. She held it pensively for a few moments, then opened the cover to the first page.
Where the invitations to lessons were usually written, where the holiday greetings were exchanged, where neat script usually caused her heart to flutter, regardless of the words written… where these had been was now blackened, scorched paper.
Hermione felt a flush of tears rise to her eyes. She knew she shouldn't be surprised, knew it always had to come to this, but in that moment her heart broke. This was rejection. A dismissal of her, a repudiation of the time they'd spent together, and the slamming shut of a door that she just now realized she had still hoped was open.
All of the grief of the past few days, all of the loss and the terror and the future that was now real, came crashing over Hermione. She curled up on her bed and sobbed for minutes on end, then lay still and silent in a fetal position until Lavender Brown came in hours later. Not wanting to have to try to explain herself to the curious but clueless girl, Hermione pulled herself together. She tossed the book back into her trunk with practiced nonchalance and ruthlessly finished her packing.
Dinner that night was a silent affair. Everyone in their small social group was lost in their thoughts, their grief. Dumbledore's speech announcing Voldemort's unequivocal return caught their attention for a few moments, but in the end it just added to the weight each person carried.
The train ride back to London was similarly quiet and introspective, though at one point Neville got really, really angry, and ranted about Bellatrix and how evil she was, only returning to silence when given some chocolate frogs to eat. Hermione knew he was right, knew the dark witch was evil and had killed Sirius and committed who knows what other deeds. But in her tally of what had been lost that night in the ministry was also a witch that most didn't know existed: a calm, thoughtful witch who knew more than one witch should, but was the most patient teacher of her wisdom. Bellatrix had killed her off as surely as she'd killed Sirius, and Hermione could neither forgive her nor stem her own sadness at this loss. And she couldn't share this grief with anyone else, either. She was alone.
As quiet and grief-laden as everyone was, Hermione and her friends were reluctant to part from each other. Even though they couldn't process aloud everything they felt, at least they were together and knew what the others had been through. She was especially heartbroken to say goodbye to Harry, knowing what a cold and lonely house he was returning to, and lingered in a tight hug with him for a long moment. Ron seemed a bit antsy when they finally parted, but she knew he was uncomfortable with any displays of sadness and brushed it off.
"I guess I'll see you in a few months," she murmured to her friends. "Let's try to keep some letters going back and forth this time, yes? I will really miss you guys."
She knew it was hopeless to suggest that the boys write to her or to each other, but at least she could try. They were her lifeline, and she knew she was theirs as well. They reluctantly parted ways, with Ron moving off in the tight crowd of his family, Harry entering a taxi on his own, and Hermione watching them both go with her father by her side. She could tell her dad was worried about her, but she could count on him not to ask questions. If anything, he was even more afraid of emotion than Ron was.
Not so her mother. As soon as the elder Granger saw her daughter, she pulled her into a hug and then pushed her away to examine her face.
"Honey, what's happened? What is wrong?" The questions came quickly and furiously. Hermione tried to stave them off with the typical, "Nothing," and "I'm just tired," and "Really, Mom, NOTHING." But she knew her mother would get to the bottom of things sooner or later, and a bit of the truth might be the best.
"Mom, I had a bit of a… well, a break-up." Hermione realized how that might sound as soon as her mother gasped.
"Harry? Ron? Who were you dating?" Hermione noticed her father lingering in the background, and even with all the sadness she was feeling, couldn't help but roll her eyes a bit at them both. As if I'd ever date either one of those goobers.
"No, not a romantic thing. I just had a really good friend last year and we had a falling out at the end of the year and it feels like a break-up. How I imagine a break-up would feel, anyway."
Hermione was barely able to insist that she didn't want to get into the details of it all before her mother grabbed her to smother her some more, all the while telling her daughter that it was very normal for friendships to grow and change and sometimes end, especially at that age. Even as Hermione wondered if there was anything at all normal about the relationship she'd had with Bellatrix, she allowed herself to cry, finally, in her mother's arms.
Hermione sat on the bed in her room, looking at the plant book for the zillionth time that month. She'd been tempted to toss it out when she unpacked her belongings at the beginning of the vacation, but she just couldn't do it.
It's over. I might as well throw this in the rubbish bin. It's useless now. Why am I keeping it?
She knew why, and checked the front page again, hoping to see something different than the blackened paper. Yet it was still there, just as it had been each of the zillion times before. She frowned at it.
You know what? Fuck this. I'm angry too! I have every right to be just as angry as she does!
Hermione grabbed her wand and threw a hex at the page, causing it to wrinkle and steam. Then she threw another one, and another, taking out all of her sudden rage on the poor page.
She thinks I'm scum! Doesn't matter that I can do everything she taught me, and figured out things faster than she ever expected, and appreciated magic more than any student in that stupid school!
~Hex~
But noooo…. I'm muggleborn! I'm mudblood! My blood is mud, dirt, filth in her eyes! Just because I'm not from a wizarding family! But neither is most of the school!
~Hex~
Screw her. She might be brilliant, but she's bloody stupid as well.
~Hex~
Bloody blind too! Can't she see what was right in front of her?
~Hex~
I was there, wanting to learn, not judging HER for HER past.
~Hex~
I saw past all that. I cared about her.
~Hex~
Why couldn't she care about me?
~ … ~
Hermione tried to fire off another hex, but couldn't. She crumpled onto the bed, crying, and then reached out and gathered the damaged book gently into her arms. She attempted to smooth out the pages with her hands, making soothing noises as if it was an injured animal. When she finally got her tears under control, she pushed herself up. Holding her wand shakily, she pointed it at the book.
"Reparo!" It took a few tries, but eventually the book looked as it did the day she bought it, though without the handwriting. She stared ruefully at it, biting her bottom lip. Before, with the scorched page, there was at least a reminder of the contact she'd had with Bellatrix. Now it was gone, as if it had never existed, as if their time had never existed.
Her grief greater than ever, Hermione lay back down on her bed, curled around the book, and cried herself to sleep.
The next morning, Hermione woke up with her face in the pillow and her right hand smushed between the covers of her plant book. She brought it close to her chest as the memories of the night before came flooding back. Sighing, she sat up. At least now, finally, she might be able to either throw it out or put it high on a shelf in her room.
The young witch opened the book to remove her hand and straighten the page. The blackened page. The blackened page?
Eyes now opened wide, Hermione stared at the book. There was no sign of her damage from last night, but also no sign of repair. The book looked just as it had the first time she'd looked at it after the battle, with scorch marks all over the title page.
Did I dream my little tantrum?
She must have. How else to explain?
But Hermione could feel the dried tears on her cheeks, could see the crease marks of the book on her hand.
I wonder… "Reparo!"
The page became a clean, white paper again, with the only marks put there by the publisher. Hermione watched it for a while, and when nothing changed, put it on her desk and went to breakfast.
When she returned, the title page was destroyed again.
"Reparo!" She cleared the damage.
Within moments, the page was blackened again, as if fire was burning it from the inside to the edges.
Was this the new spell that Bellatrix had placed on the page? Hermione decided to do an experiment, and pulled out her ink and quill.
"Reparo!" As soon as the page was clear, she began to write on it.
"Hello, how are…" The page blackened again.
"Reparo!"
"Hogwarts was founded in…" Black again.
"Reparo!"
"I'm so sorry…" She paused. So did the page. Or at least it seemed to, as it was still white and whole. She frowned. The page seemed to be waiting for her to continue.
"I'm so sorry if you feel I betrayed you." A pause, then an incredibly fast blackening of the page.
Hermione rocked back in her chair, astonished. Bellatrix was there. Well, at least on the other side of whatever conduit they had between them. Hermione could feel her watching what she was writing, and then angrily dismissing it.
She's still there… I can still reach her. Fresh tears began to flow down Hermione's face, but she knew this time they were tears of relief. Hope and fear reared up within her at this unexpected chance, this second chance, to connect with her dark witch. What can I write that will keep her here with me?
Taking a deep, shaky breath, Hermione cleared the page once again. It remained clean and whole, and she felt like it was staring at her cautiously, waiting for her to make the next move. The young witch dipped her quill into her ink, then bent over the page.
"My real name is Hermione…"