A/n: Here you are! I think you'll like this part better. I do, anyway. R/r!
Destiny's Beginnings 2
Some distance away, in a quiet, still house in the suburbs of London, the night was pierced by the scream of a teenage girl at the same moment the scream of a boy across the country had punctured his cousin and aunt's sleep.
Hermione Granger sat up, trembling hard and breathing erratically, in her bed. She saw the light flick on under her door and heard footsteps thudding along the hallway towards her. The handle of the locked door jiggled. A moment later, a knock came on her door and her dad's worried voice called in, "Hermione? Hermione, are okay? Sweetheart, open the door . . ."
Hermione forced herself to calm down enough to reply in a composed manner. "Yes, Dad, I'm fine. I'm going back to sleep now," she replied, though nothing could be farther from the truth. After the dream she'd just had, nothing could convince her to return to sleep.
She could hear her dad's disheartened sigh from beyond the door. "Okay, Hermione. But if you want to talk to me, you can." He walked away more slowly than he had come and after some time, the light disappeared.
Hermione knew she'd hurt her father-and her mother-and she'd been hurting them all summer. She didn't intend to do it. She knew they loved her and wanted to support her through all this, but she found it too difficult to open up to anyone. She'd not written a single letter to Harry or Ron in two and half months. She'd not even managed to reply to the letter Harry had sent her. She'd disconnected herself entirely from everyone around her who cared.
Hermione was still shaken from her dream and crossed the room to the connecting bathroom. She splashed some cold water on her face and sat for a moment on the toilet seat, letting the last shivers die away. She'd been having nightmares all summer. It was the ones like the one she'd just had that were the worst. It was rare when she'd get an entire night's sleep. The nightmares were more like memories to her, which made them all the more unbearable. They weren't simply some insane and frightening fabrication of her mind that she could awake to and write off as nothing more than a nightmare. Everything really had happened and that was something she'd been trying to avoid coping with ever since she'd come home. While things where easier than they had been two months ago, they were still difficult for her.
She wandered back into her room and sat down on the edge of her bed. The clock's red numbers glinted at her: Ten thirty-two. She'd grown used to constant weariness over the past months. She had not grown used to the unending hours of silence and stillness to cope with until morning came. She kept the light off, not wanting her father to see it and return. At least her mother-who always tended to become much more emotional-was not home at the moment. Had she been, Hermione would have had a lot more trouble getting her to leave. While her dad tried to respect her requests for privacy, her mother was much less likely to give it to her.
Hermione felt around her bedside table, looking for the book she'd been reading. She knocked it to the floor where it landed with a dull thunk. She hesitated a moment before picking it up, listening for any sounds from her father's room across the hall. When none came, she picked the book up. She dared to turn on the small reading light her parents had given her for her fifteenth birthday last year. She opened the schoolbook to where she had it marked. They had no homework over the holidays-the teachers had not had the opportunity to give them any. However, Hermione still would read her schoolbooks sometimes, though she already knew most by heart. She could still lose herself within their pages, remembering times when the contents had mattered to her so much more.
Hermione fingered the bookmark she'd been using. It was a sealed envelope from Harry. She'd gotten it months ago and had not yet even opened it. She hadn't wanted to talk to either of her friends then, Harry in particular. He knew more about everything that had happened. She wasn't sure if Ron knew the details about the encounter in the Chamber of Secrets, even now. Talking to Harry, knowing what he knew --even if he did not bring it up, would be a challenge. She'd been using the letter as a bookmark ever since, silently promising herself that the next time she opened a book would be the time she'd open the letter. Days grew into weeks and weeks into months and still the letter remained silently closed in her book. The more time that passed, the more difficult it seemed.
She stared at it for a moment, looked at Harry's familiar, slightly sloppy writing on the front. She started to set the letter on her table once again, averting her eyes and beginning the familiar promise: Next time. Her arm froze halfway there. She brought the letter back to her. She was being foolish. The least she could do was read the letter. No one said she had to reply. It wasn't as though Harry was going to start rambling on about what had happened-knowing Harry, he'd avoid the subject for as long as he could.
She tucked her finger under the seal and ripped it away. Hermione withdrew a piece of parchment and unfolded it, reading the words that had been written and ignored so many months ago:
Hermione,
How are you? I'm back at the Dursleys'. Sirius said he didn't
think it was healthy for me to live with him in Dumbledore's hide-
out. He's claiming I'll only have to stay for half the summer, and I
pray he's not lying. I've only been here a week and I'm counting
every day until Hogwarts begins once more. Ron can't have me
to stay, either.
Anyway, I'll stop rambling about my life now. Hope you're
feeling well. Write back, if you can-I desperately need people
to talk to right now. Besides that fact . . . I think both of us could
use someone to speak to freely right now. If you like, you could
give me your phone number. It would most likely be easier and
quicker than owl post. I'd give you the number to my aunt and
uncle's, but I somehow get the impression that after Ron's antics
in third year, they won't be so keen to let me accept phone calls.
However, under threat of death by Sirius, I could probably con-
vince them to let me call you. Again, just an idea.
Love,
Harry
Hermione could hear Harry's hesitant voice through the written words of the letter speaking that last part. It was as much as he'd dare say for a long time, she figured. She appreciated it. She felt guilty for ignoring him for so long. He'd been so supportive to her and she'd been rude and unresponsive. And being stuck at the Dursleys! She'd assumed he was going with Sirius and had not known he'd spent the past months with his horrid relatives. Much as Hermione kept to herself and wanted her parents to give her space, she couldn't imagine not having them around.
Before she even really considered it, she was crossing the room to where her trunk was. She opened the top of it and fished out a piece of parchment, quill, and inkbottle. Now that she'd read his letter, she felt obligated to reply. Deep down, she'd known this would be the case all along. She realized that she hadn't been so much afraid of reading what Harry had written, but of having to write him back.
She sat down at her desk, flicking on the low lamp. She dipped her quill into the inkbottle and held it over the piece of parchment. She wrote Harry's name at the top, but then stopped. Hermione had no idea what to say to him. It was too leisurely to simply write about everyday things. Besides, her recent everyday activities were not something she particularly wanted him aware of. Her best friend suddenly seemed like quite the stranger in this aspect.
Hermione must have sat there undecidedly for at least an hour, the ink drying slowly on her quill. Finally, she sighed, dipping the quill into the ink once more and beginning to write.
Harry,
Hello. I apologize for not writing for so long. The truth is, I didn't
even read your letter until just a few minutes ago. I had it, but I suppose
I wasn't ready to talk to you-or anyone, for that matter-yet. I'm so
sorry you've got to stay with the Dursleys. I don't suppose they're
treating you well? I hope Sirius comes for you soon, Harry. Of course,
he may have since you wrote last for all I know. If not, I wish you the
best.
I'm doing as well as can be expected after everything that's happened,
though I'd prefer not to talk about it. Have you heard from Ron lately?
Give him my regards.
Thank you,
Hermione
Hermione re-read her letter. She nodded to herself once she'd finished. She'd been honest about why she had not written. Harry at least deserved her honesty. It was short, but it would give him the message without going into details. She looked over his letter again to see if there was anything she'd left out of hers. She remembered to give Harry her phone number and added it in a postscript. She was startled to realize she wanted him to call. When she'd begun writing the letter, it had seemed like a difficult task. Now that she'd done it, she realized just how much she missed Harry and how nice it would be to hear is voice again.
Hermione did not have an owl and therefore could not send the letter back right away. She supposed she could send it by Muggle post. She had Harry's address buried somewhere in her trunk-he had given it to her in their second year in case she wanted to write him the Muggle way. She'd never used it, but it was the only way she had to contact him now. Once she'd dug out his address, she copied it onto the front of an envelope from her desk, praying all the while that the Dursleys would not intercept it.
She glanced over at her bedside clock again. It was now ten minutes past midnight. She picked up her letter and turned off her light, sneaking over to the door and unlocking it. Hermione figured, as she walked down the stairs-being careful to avoid the creaky steps-that she could get the letter into the mailbox outside for morning pickup. Her father would not approve of this of course, nor did she want him to know she hadn't gotten any sleep. Her horrible nightmare came back to her and she shivered involuntarily. Would everything ever return to the way it was before, or was she doomed to live with these visions and nightmares for the rest of her life? She wasn't sure how much more she could take of it.
Hermione left by the back door. The cool summer night air blew in her face and she relaxed a little. She'd always loved summer nights. She'd sneak out of the house when she was supposed to be asleep and just sit in the backyard, enjoying the warm, peaceful night. She was tempted to do so now, but compromised to at least do what she'd come out to do first.
She crept around the side of the house and out to the sidewalk where their mailbox was. She put the letter in and tilted the flag up. Turning back, she noticed something she had not as she was walking out-her mother's car was in the driveway and a light was on in the kitchen. Hermione winced. Her mother's conference had obviously ended and now she-or, even worse, both she and her father-was in the kitchen. She was lucky she hadn't been caught coming out. She'd be blessed if she didn't get caught coming in. It would be a miracle if she could get up to her room before her mother peeked in to check on her and found her missing.
All thoughts of lounging outside on the back porch swing were gone from her mind. She ran back around the house and slipped in through the door. She was walking quickly as she could without making sound when she heard voices from the kitchen-her mother and father's. They were talking in low voices. Hermione sighed, hoping that if both were preoccupied with their conversation (which was most likely about the boring dental workers' conference her mother had attended), she'd be able to get back upstairs safely.
Hermione's foot was just settling on the first step when a soft word reached her ears from the kitchen: "Hogwarts."
Hermione froze. She turned and looked back toward the kitchen. The door was shut so her parents couldn't see her, nor could she see them. Some mysterious force drove her away from the stairs and toward the kitchen door. The same force propelled her to lie on her stomach and press her ear against the crack under the door. Why were her parents talking about her school?
She heard her father's voice immediately. "Cecile, I'm just not so sure it's the right action to take. We've discussed this endlessly since we found out what happened to her, we've gone over the pros and cons, but I just don't know."
"Daniel, be reasonable. Even you agreed it's dangerous."
"Yes, it is. I don't deny that. But we've known that since she was eleven!"
"Nothing like this has happened before. I was willing to look the other way about all the terrifying things she and her friends managed to get themselves into. This is different. Look at what it's done to her! She still wakes up screaming and she's still completely distant. She still flinches if you touch her when she doesn't know you're there. She's made no progress from where she was when all this started. She won't even talk to us. If she ever recovers entirely-and yes, I did say if, because right now I'm worried-there's always the risk that something similar will happen again unless we take her away from it."
Hermione felt her heart beating within her chest. They couldn't be talking about what she thought they were. She had to be misunderstanding them. She felt her heart sink as her suspicions were confirmed by her father's next words.
Daniel Granger sighed. "I know and you're right when it comes to all that. You know I don't want her to get hurt any more than you do. Hermione's lost so much, though. I don't want to make her lose Hogwarts, too. She loves it there. So much has been taken from her already, I just don't think it's fair to pull her away from her school, too. We need to at least talk to her about it. We're deciding her future here, Cecile, and she's getting no say in it."
Hermione stood slowly and backed away from the door. She didn't want to hear her mother's reply. Didn't need to hear her father's next words. She'd heard all she needed to, all she could bear to. She ran back up the stairs, not caring if she made a lot of noise. Once in her bedroom, she locked the door and sat down hard on her bed, staring in disbelief. Her parents had been discussing pulling her out of Hogwarts for months and they'd never once said anything. She didn't want to leave Hogwarts. While she'd never be able to look at the place quite the same as before, she still considered it her second home. They couldn't just pull her away.
She drew her knees up to her chest and stared out the window. Bitterly, she thought, Mum won't ever let me go back. And now my last bit of a life is gone.
* * *
It was a sunny morning as Harry rose from his bed, yawning. It had been three days since the awful nightmare that had awakened him. The past two nights he'd had others, though neither as bad. Last night he'd not had one at all. It was a relief to get an entire night's sleep and he woke feeling oddly refreshed and relaxed.
He dressed slowly and patted Hedwig some. Harry didn't bother to hurry. His aunt and uncle could wait, as could whatever horrors they intended to subject him to that day. He could already feel the temperature rising out the open window and peered down at the yard outside. The grass was getting long. Aunt Petunia would probably have him mow it. No doubt she'd find other things for him to do as well. She always enjoyed sending Harry outside to do yard work whenever the temperature became sweltering.
Harry waited in his room for Aunt Petunia to yell up at him to get down there. He wasn't going to move until she instructed him to. Why be eager to get tortured? However, it wasn't Aunt Petunia's voice that called up to him, but instead, Uncle Vernon's.
"GET DOWN HERE NOW, BOY!"
The house seemed to shake at Uncle Vernon's thunderous words. Harry leaped to his feet instinctively. What had he done to make Uncle Vernon so mad? He figured he could weasel his way out of whatever trouble he was in by threatening them, but he was still a bit nervous as he descended the steps toward his uncle.
Uncle Vernon was in the living room, pacing, a letter in his hands. His face was red from anger. He instructed Harry to sit on the couch, which Harry did. Uncle Vernon tossed a torn-open envelope into his lap, which Harry picked up in confusion.
"Explain that," snapped Uncle Vernon venomously.
Harry looked over the letter and saw nothing out of the ordinary except for the fact that it was addressed to him. The envelope was empty-Uncle Vernon held the letter. He looked to the top of the envelope for the name of the sender and felt his heart jolt in surprise when he read Hermione's name.
"So?"
Harry looked up at Uncle Vernon. His mood was too good to be spoiled by his uncle's bad one. He couldn't resist. "Well," said Harry in a very serious manner, "this is called an envelope. You put letters in it and send it to-"
"DON'T BACKTALK!" howled Uncle Vernon, his face going from bright red to purple. A vein in the side of his neck was throbbing in anger. "Who is this person?"
"She's my friend," said Harry calmly.
Uncle Vernon snorted. "You haven't got any normal friends. Your kind didn't use normal post, I thought."
"Hermione lives with Muggles. She's a witch, though. She just hasn't got an owl to send with letters." Harry watched Uncle Vernon's eyes bulge at the words "witch" and "owl." He smiled inwardly. A full night's sleep, a letter from Hermione, and a chance to watch his uncle have a nervous breakdown. This morning wasn't so bad. "May I have my letter now? After all, it is mine."
Uncle Vernon didn't reply. He was reading the words on the letter. "Been complaining about us to your friends, have you?" He didn't sound angry-instead he sounded worried. The idea of Harry's wizard friends knowing how horrible they were to Harry frightened him.
"Oh, yeah," said Harry nonchalantly. "Everyone knows I don't like it much here." Uncle Vernon changed colors once again, going from purple to sheet white.
"Hmm," was all Uncle Vernon said in response. "What's this about, "after everything that's happened?"
Harry had not read the letter but knew perfectly well what Hermione was referring to, even taken out of context. His eyes turned cold toward his uncle. "Well, things happen at my school. We were nearly killed this year. Has a bit to do with why I had to come back here so early. Not that I'd expect you to care. Good thing Sirius knows I don't get much support from you-he helps me."
Uncle Vernon appeared on the verge of passing out from fright now. He threw the letter and Harry and walked quickly from the room, muttering about it only been a matter of time now before Harry was gone forever. Harry grabbed at the letter and quickly scanned the words. He grinned at the phone number on the bottom. It would make things easier when it came to communication. His eyes paused on the "as good as can be expected" part. It didn't sound like she was doing too well. That would definitely be Hermione's way of saying so and trying to make it sound like she was fine.
He stood and walked into the kitchen. He grabbed the telephone off its hook on the wall. Dudley, who'd been scarfing toast and eggs and staring at a cartoon on the television screen looked at Harry.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his beady eyes watching Harry take the phone. "You can't use that."
"My godfather says different," muttered Harry. Dudley's eyes widened at the mention of Sirius and he quickly turned back to the television. "Dudley!" Dudley turned back to Harry apprehensively. Harry jerked his head at the door. "Get out. It's called a private conversation."
"I'm not leaving!" snapped Dudley, his old streak of disobedience striking up again.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I know it takes a lot of effort for you to stand up because of all the pounds of fat you're pulling with you, but do it. Or else I'll go and get my wand-either way. I'd actually prefer the latter . . ."
Dudley pulled himself to his feet and shuffled out of the room, glancing back at Harry with a sullen expression. He hated being told what to do, particularly by Harry, which was why Harry grinned to himself. As soon as Dudley had gone, Harry started to punch in Hermione's telephone number. When he'd put in the first three numbers, the good morning was shattered by Aunt Petunia's scream from the living room.
Harry was startled and dropped the phone. It fell down as far as the cord would let it, hitting the wall behind it with a smack. Aunt Petunia screamed again. This time Harry realized she wasn't really screaming-just shrieking out her husband's name at the top of her lungs. He heard Uncle Vernon's footsteps pounding down the stairs, calling back to Aunt Petunia. There was a whole minute during which Harry stood staring at the closed doors beyond which no sound came. Then, quite suddenly, the door he'd been staring at burst open, revealing Uncle Vernon glowering down at him. Aunt Petunia lurked behind him, staring at him through narrowed eyes.
"OUT!" yelled Uncle Vernon, as though Harry were a dog. Uncle Vernon marched forward, grabbing Harry by the back of the collar of his shirt and dragging him along as he stomped up the stairs.
Harry sputtered and struggled, but his uncle's grasp didn't falter until they'd reached the top landing of the stairs. There, Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry by both arms and threw him brutally into the closed door of his bedroom. Harry hit it hard and winced.
"What are you doing?" he yelled angrily, stepping forward.
Uncle Vernon shoved him back again. "Get in there and pack your trunk!" he snarled. Harry didn't move for shock and confusion. Uncle Vernon growled and grabbed Harry once more by the shirt collar, opening the door himself and throwing Harry in. Harry landed hard on the floor. He scrambled back up to his feet. His uncle had pulled Harry's trunk into the center of the room and opened it. He looked to Harry. "Get all of your junk in it! You've got five minutes."
Harry did not comprehend the situation, but didn't dare to disobey. He quickly went through his room, pulling out every wizard supply he had and putting it in his trunk numbly. Most of it had already been in the trunk, so there wasn't much to grab.
"Get that ruddy owl!" barked Uncle Vernon once Harry had finished packing his things in. Hedwig had been watching from her perch, her eyes showing the confusion Harry felt. Harry noticed that Aunt Petunia was once again behind Uncle Vernon, looking contented. Dudley stood beside his mother, grinning at Uncle Vernon's treatment of Harry.
Harry locked Hedwig in her cage and shut the trunk. Immediately, he found himself being pulled out of his room by Uncle Vernon. "That had better be every last bit of junk," he threatened as he pulled Harry down the stairs with one hand and the trunk down with the other. Aunt Petunia jogged along after him, holding the owl cage as though it were infected with some horrible disease. Harry couldn't plant his feet firmly to stop Uncle Vernon, so his legs drug helplessly behind him.
Uncle Vernon stopped at the front door and dropped the trunk with a loud thud. He pulled open the door and threw Harry out. Harry rolled down the front concrete steps and landed painfully on the stone walkway below. A moment later, his trunk came hurtling down the steps after him and he just barely managed to roll aside so as not to get hit by it. Aunt Petunia threw out Hedwig's cage. It landed on the grass beside Harry. Hedwig was flapping and screeching frightfully inside.
Wincing from the pain of the impact, Harry propped himself up on his hands, staring at his uncle who was framed in the doorway.
"You stay out of here, boy! Don't you ever come back!" With that, Uncle Vernon slammed the door.
Harry stared. After sixteen years of threatening to kick him out, they'd finally done it. And Harry had no idea why.
Destiny's Beginnings 2
Some distance away, in a quiet, still house in the suburbs of London, the night was pierced by the scream of a teenage girl at the same moment the scream of a boy across the country had punctured his cousin and aunt's sleep.
Hermione Granger sat up, trembling hard and breathing erratically, in her bed. She saw the light flick on under her door and heard footsteps thudding along the hallway towards her. The handle of the locked door jiggled. A moment later, a knock came on her door and her dad's worried voice called in, "Hermione? Hermione, are okay? Sweetheart, open the door . . ."
Hermione forced herself to calm down enough to reply in a composed manner. "Yes, Dad, I'm fine. I'm going back to sleep now," she replied, though nothing could be farther from the truth. After the dream she'd just had, nothing could convince her to return to sleep.
She could hear her dad's disheartened sigh from beyond the door. "Okay, Hermione. But if you want to talk to me, you can." He walked away more slowly than he had come and after some time, the light disappeared.
Hermione knew she'd hurt her father-and her mother-and she'd been hurting them all summer. She didn't intend to do it. She knew they loved her and wanted to support her through all this, but she found it too difficult to open up to anyone. She'd not written a single letter to Harry or Ron in two and half months. She'd not even managed to reply to the letter Harry had sent her. She'd disconnected herself entirely from everyone around her who cared.
Hermione was still shaken from her dream and crossed the room to the connecting bathroom. She splashed some cold water on her face and sat for a moment on the toilet seat, letting the last shivers die away. She'd been having nightmares all summer. It was the ones like the one she'd just had that were the worst. It was rare when she'd get an entire night's sleep. The nightmares were more like memories to her, which made them all the more unbearable. They weren't simply some insane and frightening fabrication of her mind that she could awake to and write off as nothing more than a nightmare. Everything really had happened and that was something she'd been trying to avoid coping with ever since she'd come home. While things where easier than they had been two months ago, they were still difficult for her.
She wandered back into her room and sat down on the edge of her bed. The clock's red numbers glinted at her: Ten thirty-two. She'd grown used to constant weariness over the past months. She had not grown used to the unending hours of silence and stillness to cope with until morning came. She kept the light off, not wanting her father to see it and return. At least her mother-who always tended to become much more emotional-was not home at the moment. Had she been, Hermione would have had a lot more trouble getting her to leave. While her dad tried to respect her requests for privacy, her mother was much less likely to give it to her.
Hermione felt around her bedside table, looking for the book she'd been reading. She knocked it to the floor where it landed with a dull thunk. She hesitated a moment before picking it up, listening for any sounds from her father's room across the hall. When none came, she picked the book up. She dared to turn on the small reading light her parents had given her for her fifteenth birthday last year. She opened the schoolbook to where she had it marked. They had no homework over the holidays-the teachers had not had the opportunity to give them any. However, Hermione still would read her schoolbooks sometimes, though she already knew most by heart. She could still lose herself within their pages, remembering times when the contents had mattered to her so much more.
Hermione fingered the bookmark she'd been using. It was a sealed envelope from Harry. She'd gotten it months ago and had not yet even opened it. She hadn't wanted to talk to either of her friends then, Harry in particular. He knew more about everything that had happened. She wasn't sure if Ron knew the details about the encounter in the Chamber of Secrets, even now. Talking to Harry, knowing what he knew --even if he did not bring it up, would be a challenge. She'd been using the letter as a bookmark ever since, silently promising herself that the next time she opened a book would be the time she'd open the letter. Days grew into weeks and weeks into months and still the letter remained silently closed in her book. The more time that passed, the more difficult it seemed.
She stared at it for a moment, looked at Harry's familiar, slightly sloppy writing on the front. She started to set the letter on her table once again, averting her eyes and beginning the familiar promise: Next time. Her arm froze halfway there. She brought the letter back to her. She was being foolish. The least she could do was read the letter. No one said she had to reply. It wasn't as though Harry was going to start rambling on about what had happened-knowing Harry, he'd avoid the subject for as long as he could.
She tucked her finger under the seal and ripped it away. Hermione withdrew a piece of parchment and unfolded it, reading the words that had been written and ignored so many months ago:
Hermione,
How are you? I'm back at the Dursleys'. Sirius said he didn't
think it was healthy for me to live with him in Dumbledore's hide-
out. He's claiming I'll only have to stay for half the summer, and I
pray he's not lying. I've only been here a week and I'm counting
every day until Hogwarts begins once more. Ron can't have me
to stay, either.
Anyway, I'll stop rambling about my life now. Hope you're
feeling well. Write back, if you can-I desperately need people
to talk to right now. Besides that fact . . . I think both of us could
use someone to speak to freely right now. If you like, you could
give me your phone number. It would most likely be easier and
quicker than owl post. I'd give you the number to my aunt and
uncle's, but I somehow get the impression that after Ron's antics
in third year, they won't be so keen to let me accept phone calls.
However, under threat of death by Sirius, I could probably con-
vince them to let me call you. Again, just an idea.
Love,
Harry
Hermione could hear Harry's hesitant voice through the written words of the letter speaking that last part. It was as much as he'd dare say for a long time, she figured. She appreciated it. She felt guilty for ignoring him for so long. He'd been so supportive to her and she'd been rude and unresponsive. And being stuck at the Dursleys! She'd assumed he was going with Sirius and had not known he'd spent the past months with his horrid relatives. Much as Hermione kept to herself and wanted her parents to give her space, she couldn't imagine not having them around.
Before she even really considered it, she was crossing the room to where her trunk was. She opened the top of it and fished out a piece of parchment, quill, and inkbottle. Now that she'd read his letter, she felt obligated to reply. Deep down, she'd known this would be the case all along. She realized that she hadn't been so much afraid of reading what Harry had written, but of having to write him back.
She sat down at her desk, flicking on the low lamp. She dipped her quill into the inkbottle and held it over the piece of parchment. She wrote Harry's name at the top, but then stopped. Hermione had no idea what to say to him. It was too leisurely to simply write about everyday things. Besides, her recent everyday activities were not something she particularly wanted him aware of. Her best friend suddenly seemed like quite the stranger in this aspect.
Hermione must have sat there undecidedly for at least an hour, the ink drying slowly on her quill. Finally, she sighed, dipping the quill into the ink once more and beginning to write.
Harry,
Hello. I apologize for not writing for so long. The truth is, I didn't
even read your letter until just a few minutes ago. I had it, but I suppose
I wasn't ready to talk to you-or anyone, for that matter-yet. I'm so
sorry you've got to stay with the Dursleys. I don't suppose they're
treating you well? I hope Sirius comes for you soon, Harry. Of course,
he may have since you wrote last for all I know. If not, I wish you the
best.
I'm doing as well as can be expected after everything that's happened,
though I'd prefer not to talk about it. Have you heard from Ron lately?
Give him my regards.
Thank you,
Hermione
Hermione re-read her letter. She nodded to herself once she'd finished. She'd been honest about why she had not written. Harry at least deserved her honesty. It was short, but it would give him the message without going into details. She looked over his letter again to see if there was anything she'd left out of hers. She remembered to give Harry her phone number and added it in a postscript. She was startled to realize she wanted him to call. When she'd begun writing the letter, it had seemed like a difficult task. Now that she'd done it, she realized just how much she missed Harry and how nice it would be to hear is voice again.
Hermione did not have an owl and therefore could not send the letter back right away. She supposed she could send it by Muggle post. She had Harry's address buried somewhere in her trunk-he had given it to her in their second year in case she wanted to write him the Muggle way. She'd never used it, but it was the only way she had to contact him now. Once she'd dug out his address, she copied it onto the front of an envelope from her desk, praying all the while that the Dursleys would not intercept it.
She glanced over at her bedside clock again. It was now ten minutes past midnight. She picked up her letter and turned off her light, sneaking over to the door and unlocking it. Hermione figured, as she walked down the stairs-being careful to avoid the creaky steps-that she could get the letter into the mailbox outside for morning pickup. Her father would not approve of this of course, nor did she want him to know she hadn't gotten any sleep. Her horrible nightmare came back to her and she shivered involuntarily. Would everything ever return to the way it was before, or was she doomed to live with these visions and nightmares for the rest of her life? She wasn't sure how much more she could take of it.
Hermione left by the back door. The cool summer night air blew in her face and she relaxed a little. She'd always loved summer nights. She'd sneak out of the house when she was supposed to be asleep and just sit in the backyard, enjoying the warm, peaceful night. She was tempted to do so now, but compromised to at least do what she'd come out to do first.
She crept around the side of the house and out to the sidewalk where their mailbox was. She put the letter in and tilted the flag up. Turning back, she noticed something she had not as she was walking out-her mother's car was in the driveway and a light was on in the kitchen. Hermione winced. Her mother's conference had obviously ended and now she-or, even worse, both she and her father-was in the kitchen. She was lucky she hadn't been caught coming out. She'd be blessed if she didn't get caught coming in. It would be a miracle if she could get up to her room before her mother peeked in to check on her and found her missing.
All thoughts of lounging outside on the back porch swing were gone from her mind. She ran back around the house and slipped in through the door. She was walking quickly as she could without making sound when she heard voices from the kitchen-her mother and father's. They were talking in low voices. Hermione sighed, hoping that if both were preoccupied with their conversation (which was most likely about the boring dental workers' conference her mother had attended), she'd be able to get back upstairs safely.
Hermione's foot was just settling on the first step when a soft word reached her ears from the kitchen: "Hogwarts."
Hermione froze. She turned and looked back toward the kitchen. The door was shut so her parents couldn't see her, nor could she see them. Some mysterious force drove her away from the stairs and toward the kitchen door. The same force propelled her to lie on her stomach and press her ear against the crack under the door. Why were her parents talking about her school?
She heard her father's voice immediately. "Cecile, I'm just not so sure it's the right action to take. We've discussed this endlessly since we found out what happened to her, we've gone over the pros and cons, but I just don't know."
"Daniel, be reasonable. Even you agreed it's dangerous."
"Yes, it is. I don't deny that. But we've known that since she was eleven!"
"Nothing like this has happened before. I was willing to look the other way about all the terrifying things she and her friends managed to get themselves into. This is different. Look at what it's done to her! She still wakes up screaming and she's still completely distant. She still flinches if you touch her when she doesn't know you're there. She's made no progress from where she was when all this started. She won't even talk to us. If she ever recovers entirely-and yes, I did say if, because right now I'm worried-there's always the risk that something similar will happen again unless we take her away from it."
Hermione felt her heart beating within her chest. They couldn't be talking about what she thought they were. She had to be misunderstanding them. She felt her heart sink as her suspicions were confirmed by her father's next words.
Daniel Granger sighed. "I know and you're right when it comes to all that. You know I don't want her to get hurt any more than you do. Hermione's lost so much, though. I don't want to make her lose Hogwarts, too. She loves it there. So much has been taken from her already, I just don't think it's fair to pull her away from her school, too. We need to at least talk to her about it. We're deciding her future here, Cecile, and she's getting no say in it."
Hermione stood slowly and backed away from the door. She didn't want to hear her mother's reply. Didn't need to hear her father's next words. She'd heard all she needed to, all she could bear to. She ran back up the stairs, not caring if she made a lot of noise. Once in her bedroom, she locked the door and sat down hard on her bed, staring in disbelief. Her parents had been discussing pulling her out of Hogwarts for months and they'd never once said anything. She didn't want to leave Hogwarts. While she'd never be able to look at the place quite the same as before, she still considered it her second home. They couldn't just pull her away.
She drew her knees up to her chest and stared out the window. Bitterly, she thought, Mum won't ever let me go back. And now my last bit of a life is gone.
* * *
It was a sunny morning as Harry rose from his bed, yawning. It had been three days since the awful nightmare that had awakened him. The past two nights he'd had others, though neither as bad. Last night he'd not had one at all. It was a relief to get an entire night's sleep and he woke feeling oddly refreshed and relaxed.
He dressed slowly and patted Hedwig some. Harry didn't bother to hurry. His aunt and uncle could wait, as could whatever horrors they intended to subject him to that day. He could already feel the temperature rising out the open window and peered down at the yard outside. The grass was getting long. Aunt Petunia would probably have him mow it. No doubt she'd find other things for him to do as well. She always enjoyed sending Harry outside to do yard work whenever the temperature became sweltering.
Harry waited in his room for Aunt Petunia to yell up at him to get down there. He wasn't going to move until she instructed him to. Why be eager to get tortured? However, it wasn't Aunt Petunia's voice that called up to him, but instead, Uncle Vernon's.
"GET DOWN HERE NOW, BOY!"
The house seemed to shake at Uncle Vernon's thunderous words. Harry leaped to his feet instinctively. What had he done to make Uncle Vernon so mad? He figured he could weasel his way out of whatever trouble he was in by threatening them, but he was still a bit nervous as he descended the steps toward his uncle.
Uncle Vernon was in the living room, pacing, a letter in his hands. His face was red from anger. He instructed Harry to sit on the couch, which Harry did. Uncle Vernon tossed a torn-open envelope into his lap, which Harry picked up in confusion.
"Explain that," snapped Uncle Vernon venomously.
Harry looked over the letter and saw nothing out of the ordinary except for the fact that it was addressed to him. The envelope was empty-Uncle Vernon held the letter. He looked to the top of the envelope for the name of the sender and felt his heart jolt in surprise when he read Hermione's name.
"So?"
Harry looked up at Uncle Vernon. His mood was too good to be spoiled by his uncle's bad one. He couldn't resist. "Well," said Harry in a very serious manner, "this is called an envelope. You put letters in it and send it to-"
"DON'T BACKTALK!" howled Uncle Vernon, his face going from bright red to purple. A vein in the side of his neck was throbbing in anger. "Who is this person?"
"She's my friend," said Harry calmly.
Uncle Vernon snorted. "You haven't got any normal friends. Your kind didn't use normal post, I thought."
"Hermione lives with Muggles. She's a witch, though. She just hasn't got an owl to send with letters." Harry watched Uncle Vernon's eyes bulge at the words "witch" and "owl." He smiled inwardly. A full night's sleep, a letter from Hermione, and a chance to watch his uncle have a nervous breakdown. This morning wasn't so bad. "May I have my letter now? After all, it is mine."
Uncle Vernon didn't reply. He was reading the words on the letter. "Been complaining about us to your friends, have you?" He didn't sound angry-instead he sounded worried. The idea of Harry's wizard friends knowing how horrible they were to Harry frightened him.
"Oh, yeah," said Harry nonchalantly. "Everyone knows I don't like it much here." Uncle Vernon changed colors once again, going from purple to sheet white.
"Hmm," was all Uncle Vernon said in response. "What's this about, "after everything that's happened?"
Harry had not read the letter but knew perfectly well what Hermione was referring to, even taken out of context. His eyes turned cold toward his uncle. "Well, things happen at my school. We were nearly killed this year. Has a bit to do with why I had to come back here so early. Not that I'd expect you to care. Good thing Sirius knows I don't get much support from you-he helps me."
Uncle Vernon appeared on the verge of passing out from fright now. He threw the letter and Harry and walked quickly from the room, muttering about it only been a matter of time now before Harry was gone forever. Harry grabbed at the letter and quickly scanned the words. He grinned at the phone number on the bottom. It would make things easier when it came to communication. His eyes paused on the "as good as can be expected" part. It didn't sound like she was doing too well. That would definitely be Hermione's way of saying so and trying to make it sound like she was fine.
He stood and walked into the kitchen. He grabbed the telephone off its hook on the wall. Dudley, who'd been scarfing toast and eggs and staring at a cartoon on the television screen looked at Harry.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his beady eyes watching Harry take the phone. "You can't use that."
"My godfather says different," muttered Harry. Dudley's eyes widened at the mention of Sirius and he quickly turned back to the television. "Dudley!" Dudley turned back to Harry apprehensively. Harry jerked his head at the door. "Get out. It's called a private conversation."
"I'm not leaving!" snapped Dudley, his old streak of disobedience striking up again.
Harry rolled his eyes. "I know it takes a lot of effort for you to stand up because of all the pounds of fat you're pulling with you, but do it. Or else I'll go and get my wand-either way. I'd actually prefer the latter . . ."
Dudley pulled himself to his feet and shuffled out of the room, glancing back at Harry with a sullen expression. He hated being told what to do, particularly by Harry, which was why Harry grinned to himself. As soon as Dudley had gone, Harry started to punch in Hermione's telephone number. When he'd put in the first three numbers, the good morning was shattered by Aunt Petunia's scream from the living room.
Harry was startled and dropped the phone. It fell down as far as the cord would let it, hitting the wall behind it with a smack. Aunt Petunia screamed again. This time Harry realized she wasn't really screaming-just shrieking out her husband's name at the top of her lungs. He heard Uncle Vernon's footsteps pounding down the stairs, calling back to Aunt Petunia. There was a whole minute during which Harry stood staring at the closed doors beyond which no sound came. Then, quite suddenly, the door he'd been staring at burst open, revealing Uncle Vernon glowering down at him. Aunt Petunia lurked behind him, staring at him through narrowed eyes.
"OUT!" yelled Uncle Vernon, as though Harry were a dog. Uncle Vernon marched forward, grabbing Harry by the back of the collar of his shirt and dragging him along as he stomped up the stairs.
Harry sputtered and struggled, but his uncle's grasp didn't falter until they'd reached the top landing of the stairs. There, Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry by both arms and threw him brutally into the closed door of his bedroom. Harry hit it hard and winced.
"What are you doing?" he yelled angrily, stepping forward.
Uncle Vernon shoved him back again. "Get in there and pack your trunk!" he snarled. Harry didn't move for shock and confusion. Uncle Vernon growled and grabbed Harry once more by the shirt collar, opening the door himself and throwing Harry in. Harry landed hard on the floor. He scrambled back up to his feet. His uncle had pulled Harry's trunk into the center of the room and opened it. He looked to Harry. "Get all of your junk in it! You've got five minutes."
Harry did not comprehend the situation, but didn't dare to disobey. He quickly went through his room, pulling out every wizard supply he had and putting it in his trunk numbly. Most of it had already been in the trunk, so there wasn't much to grab.
"Get that ruddy owl!" barked Uncle Vernon once Harry had finished packing his things in. Hedwig had been watching from her perch, her eyes showing the confusion Harry felt. Harry noticed that Aunt Petunia was once again behind Uncle Vernon, looking contented. Dudley stood beside his mother, grinning at Uncle Vernon's treatment of Harry.
Harry locked Hedwig in her cage and shut the trunk. Immediately, he found himself being pulled out of his room by Uncle Vernon. "That had better be every last bit of junk," he threatened as he pulled Harry down the stairs with one hand and the trunk down with the other. Aunt Petunia jogged along after him, holding the owl cage as though it were infected with some horrible disease. Harry couldn't plant his feet firmly to stop Uncle Vernon, so his legs drug helplessly behind him.
Uncle Vernon stopped at the front door and dropped the trunk with a loud thud. He pulled open the door and threw Harry out. Harry rolled down the front concrete steps and landed painfully on the stone walkway below. A moment later, his trunk came hurtling down the steps after him and he just barely managed to roll aside so as not to get hit by it. Aunt Petunia threw out Hedwig's cage. It landed on the grass beside Harry. Hedwig was flapping and screeching frightfully inside.
Wincing from the pain of the impact, Harry propped himself up on his hands, staring at his uncle who was framed in the doorway.
"You stay out of here, boy! Don't you ever come back!" With that, Uncle Vernon slammed the door.
Harry stared. After sixteen years of threatening to kick him out, they'd finally done it. And Harry had no idea why.