AN – WARNING – this chapter has not gone through the hands of my beta; my friend who usually proofreads what I write has been unavailable, so instead of delaying it further, I am posting it now; if anyone of you wants to beta this chapter, then your assistance will be more than welcomed. And another thing: because some mature themes will start to appear inside the story I have decided to raise the rating, just to be on the safe side.
And thanks to all of you who are reading and to those of you who have taken your time to leave a review.
On to the story...
Chapter Four – Hermione's Troubles
Location: London
Time: Tuesday, 30th of July, 1996, minutes before midnight
Under the light of the stars and moon the neighborhood slept serenely. The houses, aligned one after the other, looked just like any other residences owned by honest and hard working families. It was a place in which one could settle down, get married and have a bunch of loudmouthed kids. It felt secure, peacefully, homey; a slice of heaven down to Earth.
The neighborhood had only one minor torn in the side of its perfection: the house from number twelve. It was a good thing that the local inhabitants couldn't see the place even if they would have stayed in front of it. Because if they did, they wouldn't have spared more then a few moments to think before beginning to pack their bags and hightail it out of there, honor be damned.
In the dead of night a flock of black bat-like creatures was always revolving around the spiked tips of the roof. The roof itself was missing most of its red shingles, and through its gaps all manner of winged and scaly creatures had crawled their way inside the attic, where they laid their nest. Now and then a sinister hoot would spread through the night's air, and big yellow eyes could be seen looking unblinkingly from the darkness, searching hungrily for potential meals.
The once beautiful carved window shutters were now dangling from their hinges, and the wind took a perverse pleasure in banging them on the brick walls with every possible occasion. Huge cracks adorned the walls, and the painting they once had had flaked out long ago reveling the plastering beneath.
Adding a touch of colour to the otherwise bleak the decor, a tall dead tree was dolefully rattling its withered long branches in front of the mansion.
But this was only on the outside. What truly set this cozy little place apart of its neighbors was what lay within its battered walls; its people, its knowledge, its secrets.
Within, beyond the elaborately snaked carved old door, the interior did not disappoint. The inside was in perfect harmony with the exterior. It was gloomy, cold and full of dust, musty air and bad memories; a mere shadow of the splendor and power it once knew.
This manor, in all its former glory, was the residence of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, purebloods extraordinaire.
With few exceptions, everyone inside was asleep, as all should have been at an ungodly hour such as this.
On the ground floor, in the dark parlour, the fire had died out in the hearth, only a meager pile of red hot ember remaining. The tick of an old grandfather-clock was heard in the otherwise quiet room.
On a comfortable couch that without doubt knew better days in its time, two young girls were sitting side by side. One was not quite seventeen, and the other was well along her way to sixteen. They were about the same height, one with long blond locks, and the other with bushy brown hair. Their names were Luna Lovegood and Hermione Granger.
They were not the usual teenage girls one might expect. For one thing, they were both witches, wielders of the arcane arts. But even among the magical community, these two stood apart, not really being able to fit it.
Luna lay perfectly calm with her head on Hermione lap. She had her big azure eyes wide open, starring in the beyond. Except for the stray blink now and then, she was giving no sign that she was aware of the world around her. Since she had been brought here by her father in the evening, Luna hadn't moved from her spot in the middle of the couch.
Shortly after arriving, as fate would have it, she happened to pass by a morose and more than slightly pissed off Hermione. Everyone who was even a bit familiar with them both could attest with their hand on their hearts that the similarities between the two of them stopped with both being witches. The two of them had never been friends. They had had nothing in common.
And yet, when guided by her distressed father Luna passed her by in of the manor's halls, Hermione saw the girl's eyes making an almost imperceptible flicker towards her. For a fleeting moment, the world ceased to exist and Hermione fell in the bottomless empty realm behind her eyes. Disoriented by the sudden shift of perspective and by the disturbing place in which she landed, she opened her mouth to scream, but just then Luna made one more step, breaking the brief eye contact, and Hermione was returned to reality.
Hermione staggered one small step backwards, hitting a wall. Her face was pale and a sheen of perspiration covered her skin. No one else noticed; no one else saw the exchange that took place between the two witches. Hermione herself might have doubted that it happened, whatever it was; but when she looked at Luna's back, she still could feel the longing gaze of her eyes and the desperate plea she had seen reflected in them.
A plea for her help. A plea she couldn't ignore.
She swallowed her apprehensions and she pushed herself from the wall to follow Luna into the parlour with determined steps. As her feet took her towards the younger girl, Hermione had no idea what she could do for the blond witch. But she had recognized a primordial earning inside her soul, a desire not to be alone; something that she could relate to easily. She decided to start with that, by providing her with company.
As if Luna's plea hadn't been strange enough as it was, in the flicker moment in which their eyes connected, Hermione received something else from the younger witch; she received hope. The hope that by helping her she would be able to find the elusive answers to the questions that had plagued her own dreams; questions that for a long time she was afraid to even acknowledge; questions that had turned her summer into a bloody nightmare.
When Hermione entered the room, Luna was already on the couch, and her father was kneeling in front of her, talking in hushed tones with his daughter. She remained several steps behind them not wanting to intrude. It didn't take long for her to realize that what she had initially thought to be a dialog between father and daughter was in reality a monologue. Luna didn't even acknowledge her parent; even if his head was at her level, she did not look at him, but through him, as if he wasn't there at all. Focusing on Luna's eyes, Hermione almost gasped in shock at their blank and lifeless feel.
Her eyebrows furrowed and pensively nibbling on her lower lip, Hermione approached the duo and wordlessly took a seat on Luna's left. She took the girl's left hand into her right, entwining their fingers.
Luna's father looked up to her in surprise and Hermione had no trouble discerning his ardent desire to help his daughter, the terrible awareness that he couldn't do anything to help her and the pain of heaving to leave her behind, even if it was for a short period of time. She also noticed his shock when he spotted her face, but it passed quickly, and he did not recoil back in horror or shifted his countenance into one of pity, a fact she appreciated greatly.
"I'll take care of her," she found herself telling him in the most reassuring voice she could muster.
After a long moment in which Hermione had the distinct impression that the man in front of her weighted her very soul through his intense gaze, the worried father breathed in relief, and he smiled at her appreciatively; it was a dim smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Thank you," he said simply, bowing his head to her. Without another word he kissed Luna's forehead, got up and left.
As the man left the parlour, Luna chose that moment to lower her head into Hermione's lap. Almost as if she expected something like this, Hermione naturally wrapped her hands around her, cradling her. With slow, light, pensive movements, Hermione began to cares Luna's forehead. Once she began, she didn't stop, finding the gesture to be cathartic for both of them. Holding Luna like that, the anger she had accumulated in her soul during the summer slowly ebbed away, leaving behind her usual collected and analytic self. It helped her relax.
With the possibility of being rude, the duo of girls ignored all attempts made by the other people living inside the house to rouse them. Luna, because that was what she did best, and she couldn't help it either way; Hermione, because she was finally stress-free, and in an uncharacteristic display of selfishness didn't want for the feeling to end. All she had to do to chase away the most persistent of them, the likes of Molly Weasley, was to open her eyes and stare at them, not saying anything. That always did the trick. Eventually, everyone got the idea, and the two of them were left alone. After all, it was very hard for them to impose their opinion when they wouldn't dare meet her eyes, a fact to which Hermione was grateful for the moment.
This reasoning didn't go too well with her once she took into consideration her last proper interaction with the Order's witches and wizards prior to the moment of meeting Luna. But then again, she supposed that Mr. Lovegood might have been the one responsible by the lenient attitude that was manifested towards her. Though what influence Mr. Lovegood might have had here, in this place, was a mystery to her; until she had seen him inside the headquarters she didn't even know that he was a member of the Order. Now that she thought about it, Madam Pomfrey wasn't very pleased with the way the Order wanted to interrogate her either. And that woman could be very scary when the situation demanded it necessary. Most likely she would never know precisely what the cause had been, and she definitely wasn't interested in finding out why. She was just pleased that no one bothered her, and by extension Luna, anymore.
As the hours passed, Hermione found the thought of both her and Luna willingly setting themselves apart of the rest funny, even if, deep down, neither of them wanted to truly be alone. Even funnier was the fact that now, to some extent, she seemed to be taking decisions for both of them.
Hermione had noticed that as long as there was some sort of skin to skin contact between them, she could feel Luna's thoughts, like a muffled whisper murmured by a soft breeze. Well, maybe thoughts was a bit too strong a word to describe what she felt from Luna. It was more like Luna shared some of her feelings and desires with her. Hermione was pretty sure that this ability wasn't hers. But why Luna decided to reach out to her from all the people, she didn't know; Luna appeared to be reluctant to give this particular information.
Due to the day's events, Hermione's ability to become shocked had taken a serious blow, so this little fact didn't disturbed her much; on the contrary, it picked up her interest.
What Hermione did know was that the blond witch wanted to be with her, and desperately at that. She had nothing against her wish. In fact, seating with her was a far cry from the way most of her summer had been.
Hermione's troubles started soon after she had come back from Hogwarts, at the end of her fifth year of schooling. In the days that had followed the incident from the Ministry of Magic, questions and doubts had began to seep little by little into her thoughts. By the time the semester had ended, she had managed to ignore them completely simply by denying their existence with a stubbornness that would have made a mule proud. But once she had arrived home, the questions returned with a vengeance, hunting her, demanding answers she was not ready or willing to give. A restful sleep had become the stuff of legends, something she had once experienced, but was now lost forever.
If her uncertainties would have been her only problem, things wouldn't have been half as bad as they were. After several restless days, her chest began to hurt, despite the fact that the school healer had assured her that the wound she had acquired during her last misfortunate adventure was completely healed. The wound was closed alright, only a faint scar remaining where the injury once was. But obviously something was still amiss, inside, for every time she breathed her chest felt as if it was turning itself apart.
Hermione found out quickly enough that muggle painkillers had absolutely no effect. So, she had turned searching for help in the wizarding world. To her dismay, all the mighty healers from St. Mungo did was shrug their shoulders dismissingly and gave her a batch of hellish potions telling her that if in three months the pain would not stop she should come back and do some more tests. Oh, and they had also advised, and heartily encouraged her to think happy thoughts, for this would surely help speeding up the potion's effects. It took all she had, and then some more to stop herself from blowing in the face of those incompetent fools.
It did not take long for her to learn to hate the fetid concoctions. She was good at this – at learning. Every stinking day, from six to six hours she had to swallow awful, fetid liquid mixtures that made her stomach walls writhe, and she had to gather all her will not to spray the floor with the meager food she was able eat. Every time she took a vial to her lips, she brought foreword the image of the one who had cast this upon her, and willed all the curses of the world upon him. It helped. Sort off.
She spent the days of the summer holiday trying to sort through her jumbled emotions. Something had happened during her impromptu visit in the bowls of the Department of Mysteries that had turned her life upside down, making her question every aspect of her life. This was the third, or maybe the fourth time when fate had slapped her with a life-altering event. For some reason now she had the most problems adjusting to the new reality.
For the first time she could remember, she did not know what to do anymore. For one like her who liked to have all the aspects of her life carefully planned and organized, this new situation that she found herself stuck in was very alien to her. Whatever thoughts about the future she might have head before this summer, none of them seamed to matter anymore. Good grades and nice shinny badges had lost whatever appeal they might have had on her. As did all the career paths she had envisioned for her for after graduation.
She could not see a future for her anymore. For what did all this matter when everything can be wiped out in the blink of an eye? What was the point to all of this? Rummaging through all the knowledge she had been able to gather from all the books she had read, she tried to find an answer. She failed miserably.
She spent her days mindlessly pacing around her home, or laying on her bed starring at spotless ceiling. Sometimes, when the pressure of walls would become too much for her to bear, she would go out on very long walks through the grounds surrounding her home – she didn't pay much attention to her environment during her wanderings, her senses always fixed on her inner turmoil.
But most of the time, whatever she did, wherever she went, she could not even find her place inside her skin.
Nevertheless, the most disturbing sign that something was terribly off with her was that she had never put a hand on a book. The one time when she picked up Hogwarts, a History from the bookshelf only to throw it across the room several seconds later does not count.
Needles to say, the frustration she was feeling about not being able to form a meticulously course of action for her to take from now on, coupled with the pain from her chest and those damn infernal liquids made from the young witch Hermione Granger a very difficult person to live with. Of course, those who had to suffer the most were her parents.
Her parents did whatever they could to help her. They took time off from their practice to spend more time with their daughter. They tried to be there for her through whatever she was currently going through. They gave her their unconditioned love and support and in the end, it paid off.
Slowly she opened herself to them, and when she did, towards the end of July, she poured to them everything she had kept inside. They listened patiently to what she had to say, withholding judgment. Several hours later, when Hermione was left without things that needed to be told, they reassured her that whatever she wanted to do from now on, they will support her with all their heart.
But the decision had to belong to her and her alone. The future of her life was at stakes.
With her soul a little lighter, the next few days were a little better. She still took potions, she still had a dull pain in her chest, and she still didn't know what to do. The difference was that now she knew her family was with her, and no matter what she decided, she could always count on her parents help. Knowing that she was not alone, and that her parents were by her side, made the whole situation infinitely more tolerable.
But what she didn't like was where the conclusion her latest reasoning was leading to. The thought of leaving the wizarding world had become very appealing and disturbing at the same time for the young witch.
With this life altering thought Hermione had awakened in the morning of the 30th of July. She threw some casual clothes on her body and left the house, heading towards the family garden to think things through. She took a seat on her favorite bench, between two tall bushes, and she started to chew over the extreme idea. As the sun rose higher and higher above the horizon, the idea was becoming more and more tempting.
At that moment, she might have been willing to leave the wizarding world behind. But the wizarding world wasn't as willing to give her up.
When a heartrending scream coming from the house made her jump from her cozy little spot, she knew that trouble had come to her door. She tried to run to help her parents, but to her increasing consternation she found out she couldn't move at all. She was frozen in place. As another scream made itself heard, her horror grew tenfold. The scream ended abruptly, and in the eerie silence that followed, despair took hold of her, and uncontrolled tears began to flow down her cheeks.
"Well, well, well," a male's voice chuckled evilly into her right ear, making her hair stand on its end. She felt the hot tip of a wand pressing crudely on the back of her head, burning her skin. "I've found myself a little mudblood. Lucky me..."
The man stepped in front of her, slowly pulling his wand across her neck, leaving a stinging bleeding slash behind.
The physical pain, combined with the taunting voice put an end to her crying. That voice... oh how she hated that voice. With bleary eyes, she had enough control to focus her gaze upon the white-masked face of her assailant, memories of what happened at the Department of Mysteries rushing back to her mind. Dolohov.
All summer long Hermione had cursed this particular person above all others. And here he was now, in front of her. And she was powerless in front of him. She closed her eyes abruptly, and she began to breathe heretically, panic clawing at her fast beating heart.
The Death Eater, with a sharp move, prodded his wand into the hallow of her neck, making her gag. Her eyes snapped back open, only to see a hideous sneer smearing his face. An involuntarily shudder rocked her body, and she felt her growing apprehension reaching new heights. Her heart was pounding frenetically, the blood pressure mounting ever higher. A small part of her mind asked herself with a disturbing lucidity if this was the end. When she couldn't take it any more, her blood vessels ready to burst, she drew one last breathe into her aching lungs, and her heart stopped abruptly, the painful shock making her body rock despite the Death Eater's biding spell.
All of a sudden she felt a freezing cold the likes of which she never experienced before. She paled, the blood retreating from the surface of her skin with great speed. And like a snake uncoiling itself, something even colder and slippery began to stir inside her body, emanating from somewhere around her hips, spreading inside her, filling her, and when the fluid reached and invaded her head, she was no longer afraid. Her heart began to beat again, and to her amazement, she was able to analyze with a clear mind the predicament she was stuck in.
"You survived my spell, little wench," the man continued in mock wonder, completely unaware of what was happening with the witch he tormented. As he spoke, he dragged his wand down her rapidly heaving chest. In its wake, Hermione's clothes and skin tore apart like butter sliced by a hot knife. He took great pleasure at her panicked look.
To Hermione's now assertive eyes, the arm that guided the wand down the middle of her chest began to move slower as it descended further down. With a calm that surprised her greatly, she managed to put aside the shame and vulnerability she felt and looked up to his face. Hermione clearly saw his mouth articulating the words, but the sound coming to her ears was distorted, like it had to travel a great distance to reach her.
"Now, what should I do with you?" Dolohov asked rhetorically when he finished cutting her clothes, looking ignorantly with glee into her damp teary eyes. Laughing at her helplessness, with slow deliberate motions he proceeded to remove the peaces of fabric that covered her breasts.
As moments passed, to Hermione's increasing astonishment, the Death Eater's motions began to slow down even more, to the point in which she couldn't understand anything from what he was saying.
Intrigued, for a brief moment Hermione shifted her gaze somewhere behind the man, and she spotted a white dove frozen in midair, the flapping of its wings barely noticeable. Dumbfounded, and not really understanding what was happening, she turned her eyes back at Dolohov, who by now was reaching with his hands towards her chest.
Her mind kicked in override, and by her estimations her would be rapist would take an eternity to reach his destination; she had plenty of time to figure out just what in the nine hells was going on.
She looked down, as much as her petrified position aloud her, and saw a soft pale yellow aura hovering ominously around her body. The aura felt alien to her. She wanted it gone. She really, really wanted it to disappear. She focused all her willpower to dispel it. But it didn't, despite her ardent desire; all it did was to make her head hurt and her breathing to increase, putting her in danger of hyperventilating.
She took a deep breath to relax, and looked again at Dolohov's progress. She still had plenty of time left.
Hermione continued to breathe in and out for some time, thinking furiously. She focused her senses on herself, and another feeling made itself known. Just beneath her skin, filling her body, the cold fluid she had felt earlier was stirring again. She commanded it to stop, and it did. An idea came to her and began to experiment with it. She mentally selected a small part of it and shaped it in the form a tiny ball. The fluid responded to her order obediently. With a mental command, the ball exploded outwards. The shockwave passed through the yellow aura, dispersing it into the winds, and fading several feet from her.
She could move again, but her eyes and ears began to hurt severely and she staggered on her feet, the world becoming nothing more than a haze. She felt a warm liquid flowing down her face and the sides of her head, and tried to brush it of with her hands. Painfully she focused her eyes on her hands and she saw them covered in her own blood.
Forbidding the panic from controlling her, she methodically wiped the blood off her hands on her tattered attire, and as she did so, the torn fabric of her t-shirt and jacket sew itself anew. The insignificantly small amount of raw magic she used for this task made her more than a little sick, a wave of nausea taking hold of her body. She forcefully shook her head, clearing her mind again.
Hermione blamed all the pain, discomfort and humiliation she felt on one person. And that person was standing right in front of her, his hands almost touching her. She made one stepped backwards and gazed with all her contempt at the damned human being in front of her.
Dolohov experienced an encompassing feeling of doom when Hermione's image blurred in front of his eyes. When he saw her clearly again, she was one step further from him. Her face was covered in blood, but the most disturbing fact were her eyes – two crimson orbs with no trace of white in them. Feeling her stare boring down on him he let out an involuntary whimper. He tried to back away, but it was too late. It is said that before they die, all their life passes in front of their eyes; all Dolohov saw only her cold unblinking bloodied eyes.
Detached, Hermione lifted her left hand and placed it on his chest. With no remorse or pity, she selected another ball magic which she released into his body. The Death Eater gasped, all air leaving his lungs. Before realizing what was happening with him, he was propelled with a tremendous speed backwards, where he crashed into a thick tree with a sickening thud. His limp body gave one more twitch before it stopped moving for all eternity.
Hermione lowered her hand just in time with another rash of blood leaking from her eyes and ears. She felt air-headed, and fell to her knees. Remembering that the show wasn't yet over, she forced herself to rise up again on her wobbly legs. She turned towards her house and apparated away with a thundering boom.
She appeared right besides her parents, in the kitchen; the room was a mess, with the table and the chairs turned over, the cutlery smashed to peaces, and pools of spilled coffee and blood daubing the floor. One Death Eater was busy tearing apart her mother's garments, while the other, by the look of things was entertaining himself by casting a Crucio on her father.
Witnessing the appalling scene, Hermione, angry and weakened from her own encounter with Dolohov, lost all the control she had had over her magic. As time abruptly regained its normal flow for the witch, a powerful ripple emanated from her tired and wounded body, destroying all the furniture and knocking out all the four grownups in the room. Hermione collapsed on the brink of total and complete exhaustion between the bodies of her parents.
In a haze, with the last bits of magic available to her, she touched both her mother and father and together they disappeared from their home, only to appear moments later in the dark entrance hallway of the house from number twelve, Grimmauld Place. This was the place in which Hermione collapsed in blissful oblivion.
Unfortunately for her, Hermione's tribulations didn't stop when she had arrived into the Order's headquarters.
She woke up several hours later with a monstrous headache when someone was trying to force a potion down her throat with little success. Once the smell of the potion reached her nose, her stomach rebelled, and she threw up whatever she still had in her stomach. Somebody waved a wand to clean her up. She hadn't recovered from the first potion, when the healer put another abhorrent vial at her lips.
"One more and you'll be as good as new," the too cheerful voice to be legal of a young woman encouraged her to drink. "One big gulp and it will all be over!"
In the ragged state that she was, Hermione found the jovial attitude of the healer to be nothing less than a sacrilege. It annoyed her greatly. She tried to bat away the vial from her mouth, but her body was too weak to listen to her. In response, her magic rebelled, and the vial was blasted apart, shards of glass and drops of liquid spraying away from her. She heard the healer gasp in pain when several bits of sharp glass pierced her hand.
Hermione felt sorry for the woman; she really did. She tried to stammer an apology but didn't succeed. She was too sick to articulate words properly. Her muscles felt like they were on fire after her last bit of magical display. Her body began to twitch uncontrollably on the bed; as her movements started to become increasingly more erratic, she toughed she sensed several pairs of hands trying to restrain her and the energy of two or three spells washing over her before passing out again.
As sudden as it happened, Hermione's spasms stopped and her body relaxed. The girl opened her eyes and saw the face of Madam Pomfrey looking worriedly at her; a little bit behind her was another woman, younger, dressed in the traditional garb of mediwitches.
"Miss Granger, how are you feeling?" Madam Pomfrey asked gently while she continued to wave her wand across the Hermione's body.
The questions surprised the witch. After a quick mental check up, she discovered that she was feeling okay; no more headache, no more pain.
"I'm alright," Hermione responded after several seconds. "What happened?"
The Healer stopped waving diagnosing charms. "I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey told her with an apologetic tone.
Hermione paled.
"My parents?"
"No," the healers said shaking her head and Hermione breathed in relief. "They are fine, all things considered. They are recovering nicely from post-Cruciatus trauma and from the shock of being apparated. Apparating muggles is always risky at best, but I understand why you did it. They will be as good as new in a few days."
"That's good to know," Hermione smiled at the elder woman. "So, what is the bad news then?" she asked seriously. She was feeling good and her parents were going to be healthy again in no time. She didn't see any problems.
Madam Pomfrey sighed ruefully.
"There's no easy way to tell you this... Hermione, I am sorry, but you will never be able to cast another spell again."
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, the words rolling out carefully out of her mouth.
"The entire explanation is rather complicated, but the essence of it is that because of the large amount of magic that has passed through your body in a very short period of time, your organism has been damaged beyond what we are able to cure."
"But Madam Pomfrey, I am feeling okay," Hermione protested.
"Physically, beside your eyes and some minor cuts that are almost healed, you are perfectly healthy. We have cured the laceration of you inner ears as well. But the part of you that is responsible for controlling and focusing your magic has been destroyed."
"So what are you saying? That I have turned into a squib?" Hermione asked incredulously.
"No, not at all. Unlike squibs, you still have your magic, but it is now just out of your reach. Your body cannot access it anymore. No wand will ever work for you. Again, I am sorry..."
Hermione didn't say anything, replaying the words of the healer over and over in her head. Well, anyway, she did want to leave the wizarding world... Now it appeared she had a valid excuse to do so.
"Mum, dad, where are day?" she asked in the end in a resigned voice. "I want to see them."
"They are in the adjacent room," Madam Pomfrey told her. "But you should stay in bed for a while longer. You are still weak."
Stubbornly dismissing all of the healer's attempts at confiding her to bed, she got up on her feet, and with swaying steps made her way towards where her parents were.
She took a seat on a chair between her parents' two beds, and for a long time she was awfully busy doing nothing. Time passed, and as the realization of the day's events started to seep into conscience, her eyes began to water, and streams of tears mixed with blood began to flow slowly from her stinging eyes.
Most of the Weasley family, after the attack upon their house had taken refuge inside the Black Manor as well. So, like the good friend he was, as soon as he heard that Hermione was up and running, Ron came to visit her. He had no idea in what condition she was in. The sight of her bloodshot eyes starring right at him gave him the creeps.
"Hermione, are you alright?" the red haired boy asked, not knowing how else he should start the conversation. As he spoke, he tried to look at anything but her.
Hermione closed her eyes and held back a groan.
"I'm just peachy Ron," she drawled, the sarcasm dripping out of her words. She knew her friend meant well, and he only wanted to help. But right now, his usual help was driving her crazy; and at the moment, she didn't have the patience or the inkling to deal with anyone or anything. "Now please be a dear and LEAVE. ME. ALONE!" she shouted the last words as hard as she could.
Redheads are not renowned for their famous calm temper and collected behavior. And most certainly Ron was not an exception. He was not one to miss the opportunity to rise up to a shouting contest.
"You're not the only one who's had a bad day, you know?" he yelled back. "My house was destroyed; Ginny and Fred are at St. Mungo gravely injured and I suffered from a broken arm! But you don't hear me shouting, now do you?" he bellow loud enough to stir the dead, his eyes fixed somewhere above her head.
His screaming at her had an effect upon Hermione. It changed her feelings from acute depression to boiling anger. Her magic began to stir again under her skin, and she fisted her hands, digging her nails into her flash. Madam Pomfrey burst hotfooted into the room, whispering furiously at Ron. Her presence had a calming effect on Hermione's temper.
"Mr. Weasley, have you no shame? There are gravely wounded people inside this room. Now, if you cannot behave yourself, kindly leave," she finished pointed with her hand at the door.
Ron didn't need to be told twice. He stalked out of the room fuming, leaving the fierce Healer to check Hermione's bleeding eyes. He had no idea how close he had been to being at the receiving end of Hermione's rage.
"Do you have problems seeing?" Madam Pomfrey asked her while she was busy cleaning her face.
"No," was Hermione's plain response. The young witch was trying to regain her calm, and under the Healer's gentle administrations she was about to succeed, when Hogwarts' Deputy Headmistress McGonagall entered the room; so much for peace and quiet.
A number of minutes later, Minerva, followed by a very annoyed Hermione entered into the kitchen were a number of wizards and witches of the Order were expecting them.
After some hasty pleasantries Kingsley Shacklebolt went straight to the point, pulling a notepad and a ballpoint-pen from his cloak.
"Miss Granger, we have to ask you some questions."
"No," Hermione shook her head determinedly, crossing her arms across her chest.
"I beg your pardon?" the tall black Auror, as well as several others blinked in surprise.
"Hermione," Tonks stepped in, "we need to get a statement from you while the events are still fresh in your mind."
"Not now," Hermione replied through gritted teeth. Why couldn't these people just leave her alone?
"Hermione," Tonks tried again, "please, work with us. A member of a prominent pureblood family has been found dead on your propriety by the Aurors that arrived at the scene. If you do not answer to us, sooner or later you will be brought in for trial in front the Wizengamot."
If Tonks intended to calm her, she failed. Hermione bolted from the chair she had been standing on, her magic stirring again inside her body, just below the surface of her skin, eager to be unlashed. According to Madam Pomfrey she may not be able to use a wand anymore, but at that moment it didn't appear to matter much for the enraged witch.
"He was a Death Eater," she spat, her eyes glowing disturbingly. Tonks averted her face from her. "He tried to kill me and my family. That is all you need to know."
"Now, you listen here girl-"
Hermione rounded to face the African Auror. He too lowered his head to avoid her eyes.
"No! You listen! You all are nothing but a bunch on incompetent morons and talking with you is nothing more then a tremendous waste of time. I don't want to have anything to do with you. Not now, not ever."
And with that she turned her back to the bewildered group of people and went for the door, only to find it locked.
"Open the door," she demanded to no one in particular. Of course, no one did anything. "Open the door," she persisted in an icy voice, "before I blow it apart," she added the last part barley restraining herself.
Again, nobody listened. The witches and wizards from inside the room, most of them experienced in dealing with belligerent children, did nothing, knowing that after a tantrum, the witch, powerless without a wand, would calm herself sufficient for them to find out just what happened earlier in the day; it was for her own good. This being said, their surprise they felt at the events that followed was a great one.
Hermione's magical reserves might have been dangerously low, but they were sufficient enough to do what she wanted. She braced herself for the backslash, and using the same technique she learnt earlier in the day did what she promised. The door blew apart like straws fanned by the wind. She left the kitchen, leaving behind a crowd of open-mouthed people.
After several twist and turns, she stopped on an empty gloomy hallway where she took some time to seriously curse all the deities between haven and hell. Her head was hurting again, she felt nauseating, and she felt like she really wanted to harm somebody. The wall seamed to be a good target for her ire, and a second later she had to nurse an injured right fist.
This was the moment in which she saw Luna and her father approaching down the corridor. Once they bypassed her, she followed automatically.
And now, minutes before midnight, after a trying day, Hermione was finally about to fall asleep with Luna beside her, on the couch, in the parlour.
The squeak of the chamber's door opening had alerted her that someone else had entered the dark room. And that someone had stopped with the back turned to her in front of the old grandfather clock. By the pale starlight coming from the window, the boy watched as the clock counted the last minute until midnight.
Next Chapter – A New Beginning