A/N: I've just been re-reading the reviews for the last chapter, which are an especially nice bunch, so thanks for making me grin manically. Again, sorry about the wait, but my exams are almost over. Hope the longer-than-usual chapter makes up for it. Just got Physics and pre-war British History to get through. Also noticed a few new people commenting. If there's any other lurkers out there, please drop me a line or two, it's greatly appreciated.
Thanks to Angel for beta-ing.
24. Four Walls
"Joseph?" Margaret called from the dining room. "There's another dish of stuffing by the fridge. Would you bring it in?"
Joseph Granger emerged from the kitchen, a large turkey dish was balanced on one arm and the opposite holding tightly to a bowl of precariously settled stuffing balls.
Hermione took the bowl from her father, glad of something to do. She made some room on the table by moving the gravy boat as her parents sat down at the heavily laden table. Her parents might be dental enthusiasts, but Christmas was the one time they allowed themselves to indulge and forget the dangers of tooth decay for once.
If you hadn't been present at the argument that had taken place a few nights ago, there was a good chance you would never know it had taken place. Her parents seemed very keen to hold to that illusion, Hermione noted. The morning after, she'd walked into the kitchen to the smell of a cooked breakfast and the cheery smile of her mother, turning bacon in the frying pan. Unwilling to pretend nothing had happened, she had given short answers to anything she was asked and coldly accepted her breakfast plate, choosing only to eat what was necessary.
Margaret Granger quickly ceased the behaviour by telling her she was only adding to the unhappy vibes coming from her aunt and uncle's direction. Hermione bit her tongue in order not to start another argument when she was ordered to stop acting like a 'petulant child'.
So, she took up the façade and forced herself to participate cheerily in the usual activities of the season; choosing a tree, shopping for presents, wrapping her purchases and posting cards to the neighbours. In truth, she longed for the festivities to end so she could get back to Hogwarts and block the unhappy thoughts from her head for at least a few months. Not for the first time, work was an escape.
After a few minutes, the family arranged around the table began to tuck in, but Hermione's aunt and uncle less enthusiastically so. She looked over to Jamie, who speared a piece of lettuce from his prawn cocktail with his fork and observed it solemnly before catching her eye and giving her a vague smile. It didn't reach his eyes; the falsity of it was plain, and she felt no real need to return it.
Crackers were pulled, jokes told and paper hats of various colours donned, but the conversation around the table soon drained into silence, the only sounds being the clinks of cutlery and the occasional, quickly muffled sniff from Aunt Theresa. Halfway into the main course, Hermione saw her parents glance at each other. Margaret suddenly stood up.
"I'll get another bottle of wine, dear," she told her husband.
Joseph, taking a helpless look at the other couple, jumped up quickly too. "I expect Hermione would like a glass this time too. I'll help you." Without waiting for an answer, he followed his wife into the kitchen.
Not feeling particularly hungry, Hermione began to chop her remaining potatoes into neat, bite-sized pieces. She looked across the table to see her relatives paying the same listless attention to their plates and began to feel a little awkward. She hated being part of uncomfortable silences. To attempt some conversation, she reached across the table to pick up one of the dishes.
"Would you like another parsnip?" she said, while taking one for herself, half-expecting her aunt to politely decline. Which would have been far easier to cope with.
Aunt Theresa promptly burst into tears. They weren't the kind easily pushed aside by a handkerchief and a sniff. They were the awful kind; pouring down her cheeks, accompanied by shaking shoulders and loud, un-subsiding sobs. Hermione, frozen, still gripping to the proffered plate, felt helpless. She wasn't entirely sure how to deal with such outward signs of inner pain, and she didn't even know what had brought it on in the first place. All she knew is that she had provoked it, in some small, accidental way.
Margaret Granger hurried out of the kitchen to her sister. "Whatever's the matter?" she asked, putting a comforting arm around her and looking questioningly to her only daughter. Hermione didn't move.
"I just…I asked her if she wanted some more vegetables…I…" Hermione trailed off weakly.
Theresa sniffled noisily into the tissue pulled quickly from her sister's sleeve. "She…she always hated parsnips…she said they were worse than sprouts…I'd always get her to try one at Christmas, but she never…she never…" Theresa's words were swallowed in another deluge of tears.
Margaret looked accusingly at her daughter. "Hermione, really. Couldn't you be a little more sensitive?"
Sensitive? Hermione's inner voice screamed at her mother. Sensitive? I'll give you sensitive!
But her mouth didn't move and neither did her body. Her father, mother and Uncle Jamie had seemingly forgotten about her, all crowded around Theresa, attempting to assuage her tears. She was left in her seat, still holding the plate. Quietly, she got to her feet.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, unheard. Then she left the room.
-
Werewolves are distinguishable in several small ways, Hermione wrote, her quill scratching against the parchment, before dropping it with a heavy sigh upon the desk. Her usual distraction tactic wasn't working. What was she to turn to if revision was no longer a refuge? Quidditch? That usually worked for Harry and Ron.
She nearly laughed. The only class Hermione hadn't achieved near perfection in was Flying. Madam Hooch still looked apprehensive every time she came near a broom closet. Not that she blamed her. Pairing Hermione Granger with a broomstick was akin to telling Hagrid that he had free range of Hogwarts and to raise a new breed of Acromantulas. It spelled disaster.
Drumming her fingers against the desk, Hermione searched for something that could occupy her mind at least for a few days. Something that would truly distract her, something she could prepare for, something that she might even look forward to. Then it came to her.
Many sixth years, upon their return home from school, decided to gain an Apparition license. It was an extra freedom, along with their newly legal use of magic outside school, and it guaranteed instant transport. With everything that had gone on in her sixth year, Hermione didn't actually feel like she had the energy to take the test.
It seemed simple enough. You contacted the appropriate department at the Ministry and secured a day for training. You were asked to do a little reading up on the basics, if possible, but it wasn't really necessary. On the day, you would go to the Test Centre, learn exactly how to do it, do some simple exercises, followed by the actual test at the end of the day.
That was it, she thought. Over the remaining holiday, she would do as much reading on it as possible, and then, on her return to school, she would ask Professor McGonagall if she could possibly go during a weekend and get her license. With that in mind, Hermione put away her school stuff neatly, and began to get dressed for bed. The issue at Christmas dinner was conveniently filed away for later examination.
-
"…So I explained to the poor dear that the gum treatment was absolutely essential, but did she listen?"
"Oh, she didn't insist on wearing those terribly old false teeth, did she?"
"What do you think?
"I've got her back in the chair on the sixth, anyway. Gave her husband a ring. Turns out he's been nagging her since November to get them sorted, but she won't listen to him either."
Margaret Granger laughed. "Mrs. Phillips has been ignoring your advice since we opened here, Joe. But she still comes for the free advice."
"Also leaves with a free toothbrush. And I don't expect that to change anytime soon."
There was silence for a few minutes. "Have you seen Hermione?"
"She was in the back garden. Had one of her school books with her."
The "oh," from Margaret Granger had more meaningful undertones. "Has she spoken to you about school?"
"Did you honestly expect her to?"
"Well, I expected her to act more maturely. I admit, the way we went about it wasn't fantastic, but how else were we supposed to get through to her?"
"I still think she should be able to finish the rest of the year in peace. After that, we can make plans about her future."
"We should be talking about it now."
"What's so wrong about letting her enjoy the next few months?"
"Because she's living in a dream world, Joseph. I admit that I was a little enchanted with the whole idea at first, but that was before I learnt about some of the things that happen there."
"Like what?"
"Oh, for God's sake, Joseph. That letter she left here after her second year. The one I found behind her desk when I was cleaning. From that redheaded boy. Going on about three-headed dogs and giant spiders."
"Margaret…you have to accept that these kinds of things are regarded a little differently in their world-"
"Their world? Joseph- these people don't understand the concept of electricity, never mind have it. Our daughter sleeps in a tower. She does her homework with a quill. Her best friend, or boyfriend, heaven knows she'll never tell me, has a flying car. They have this insane postal system. Owls, for crying out loud. Half of them have never seen a stamp in their-"
"I get your point, Margaret."
"Do you? Really? Because my daughter is living in some other dimension that should have been forgotten about in the fifteenth century, as is the time loop it's stuck in, and she wants to stay there. They call us Muggles, remember, Joseph? They regard us as some alien form of people. To them, we're abnormal." She laughed bitterly.
"Margaret…" Joseph Granger's voice became soft. "You've never got so worked up over this before. Does this all boil down to the fact that you think you'll lose her?"
"Partly," came the sharp reply. "But I'm determined that Hermione will be staying here by this summer. If it were up to me now, I'd never have sent her to that place. She's thrown seven of the most important years of her life away. This isn't what I pictured for her, Joseph. She could be in college now, writing a thesis that will amaze her teachers, planning a trip to Europe with her friends, going to the cinema on a Saturday night…"
Her voice began to waver a little. "She's being stubborn, Joseph. She can't be happy at that school. Not anymore. I could tell it the minute she came home. And I just hoped…I hoped…I hoped that I'd finally have my normal daughter at last. We'd finally be able to put the 'witch' behind us. She'd be my daughter again."
Hermione Granger, folding towels that she'd brought in from the washing line, was standing outside on the hall landing and listening to every word. She pursed her lips slightly, blinked to clear her eyes, and then dropped the towels on the carpet, departing to her room.
-
An hour later, as Hermione's case landed on the hall carpet with a dull thud, she placed her wand back into the pocket of her robes, and adjusted her scarf.
The living room door opened. Her mother, nursing a warm cup of tea in her hands, came out to investigate the noise. She stared at her daughter expressionlessly for a moment before calling to her husband.
"Joseph? Can you come out here please?"
Her father joined her and looked from his daughter to his wife. "What's going on?" he asked slowly, taking in Hermione's school trunk, the cat basket and her outdoor attire.
"That's what I'd like to know," answered Margaret. "Hermione, what do you think you're doing?" Her voice was strangely high pitched.
"I was about to come and tell you," Hermione told her. "I thought it might be better for me to return to Hogwarts. I can't do much revision here- I need the library."
"Hermione, this is ridiculous. It's not even New Years. You agreed to stay until the end of the holidays."
"I know." Hermione's voice sounded tired, and Merlin knew, she felt it too. "I honestly think I would be much better off at school. This is my most important year." And I don't want to stay where I'm not wanted," she added mentally.
Her mother continued to gaze at her. Then she nodded curtly. "Do as you wish. Have a good term. Now if you excuse me, I have to get dinner on before Jamie and Theresa get back." She turned and walked back into the living room, her head held high and her back straight.
Hermione found it odd that she didn't feel this at all disconcerting or even upsetting. She looked to her father.
Joseph regarded her for a few moments before coming forward to give her a hug. It wasn't like the hugs she remembered; this one seemed less warm and meaningful. His brown eyes looked into hers seriously.
"I wish you weren't doing this," he said softly, before sighing. "How are you getting there?"
"I'll flag down the Knight Bus," Hermione said, equally quietly.
Her father nodded. "Have a safe trip," he told her. He stood still for a few moments before turning and following in his wife's path.
Hermione's gaze flickered around the hallway, with its cream patterned wallpaper and pictures of Hermione at various ages strewn about. She didn't feel any sense of sadness at leaving it again, just a familiar hollowness. She took her wand out again and charmed her trunk to be feather-light.
"Goodbye," she said, stolidly. And with that, she gripped the handle of the suitcase, made sure the cat carrier was secure under her arm, opened the front door, and stepped out into the cold air.
Hermione noticed small things as she crossed the street and turned the corner. Desperate morning frost still hung to the hedgerows in the chill wind. The brightly coloured Christmas wreaths and lantern shaped lights on people's homes. The sky that was darkening in the late winter afternoon.
She didn't notice her mother's face in an upstairs window of the house she had left behind, far from indifferent to her leaving. Perhaps she would have gone back if she had. Perhaps she wouldn't.
Once she was a couple of streets away, by a desolate playground, Hermione placed her trunk and Crookshanks on the icy ground. Taking her wand out again, she calmly raised it with her outstretched arm. Then she took a step back.
The result was instantaneous. The violently purple bus she had only ridden once or twice in her life, but always with someone else, came to a screeching standstill before her eyes.
The doors flew open. Hermione picked up her trunk and the carrier and climbed aboard, pointedly ignoring Stan Shunpike's well-learned welcome. She pushed the sickles she'd been clutching into his hand.
The pale-faced man, not much older than she, nodded to her in interest, pocketing the money. "Where to, miss?"
Hermione began to open her mouth, but suddenly, the word 'Hogwarts' wouldn't form on her tongue.
"Do you go to Diagon Alley?" she asked, hesitantly.
Stan began to laugh. "'Course we do!"
"Then I'd like to go there, please."
Stan spoke to the driver. "'Ere, Ern. We've got another 'oo wants to get to Diagon Alley."
The elderly driver smiled at Hermione. "We can drop her off with Madam Foggerty, then." He began to cough into his handkerchief as Stan turned back to Hermione.
"You'd best take a seat. Won't be long."
Hermione began to weave her way through the beds and assorted passenger luggage to the back of the bus. As the bus took off, jerking and creaking all around her, she thought, ironically, that her mind was suddenly starting to feel back at ease again. She settled on her chosen bed, holding tightly to a steady pole and Crookshanks, staring out of the window at the steady stream of lights that passed them.