The next month flew by in a quick, near-monotonous blur. Every morning, Hermione would jolt awake from yet another nightmare. It had become routine for her first feelings each day to be horror and panic, followed by a stint of grief. Slowing her racing heart and bringing herself back to the present were her new normal. She often wondered, as she washed and magicked away evidence of the night before, if she were ever destined for anything different. Each and every time the answer was the same: no. Of course not. Surprisingly, Hermione found herself becoming more at peace with it.
Predictably, she analyzed why she felt this way, and found that it was because she knew that it would eventually stop. She wasn't looking at years, or worse, centuries, as some of her fellow war veterans were doomed to face. If she could continue to hold onto this view, her fate was actually a blessing. Death had offered her a trade. In light of this, Hermione chuckled to herself when she thought about her first day back and her conversation with the thestral. The irony just got better and better.
Another part of her new normal was reading for a bit before a pleasant conversation with her dorm mate over a cup of coffee. The pair would sometimes settle into a comfortable silence. Those moments were the ones that Hermione enjoyed the most. The crisp, fresh breeze that wrapped around her with the tenderness of a lover's touch as the new dawn warmed her ravaged soul made returning here worth it for her. Those were also the moments that she only shared with Robert. Would he hate her when he sat out here alone after she was gone? She sincerely hoped he wouldn't. Every time her curls were carried on the wind, she held her mug tighter and prayed to Merlin that Robert would look back on these times with a smile. That all her friends would remember her with a smile.
Wasn't that really all that was left of any of us? Memories?
She knew that all she'd conveyed to others throughout her short life wouldn't resonate until after she took her last breath; just like the lights of the stars. She was okay with this. Hopefully, her knowledge would continue to aid others long after she was gone.
Like a gentleman, the Hufflepuff boy would consistently offer to carry Hermione's bag down to the Great Hall. The Gryffindor girl would predictably refuse by explaining there was already a feather-light charm on it. It may have been one of the few white lies she repeatedly told, but she had lugged a small library around with her for so long that she couldn't imagine doing it any other way. Regardless, it was sweet, and she appreciated him all the more for it.
She needed to do things for herself while she still could. According to her research, it wouldn't be long before she could potentially go blind and struggle to breathe. That was just the tip of the iceberg.
Hermione sitting between Neville and Ginny had also become routine. The brunette witch would hand over her copy of The Daily Prophet, glad to contribute to her friend's growing compost material. It was all that bloody paper was good for anyway. The three finally had something to bond them all: Lavender's disappearance. The trio quietly bounced ideas off each other; their frustrations over it grew by the day. None of them found a single item of the missing girl's yet. So far, all they had to go off of was to try a Tracking Charm. They all they would have to come up with something else, and soon. But what? How else do you find someone when you have nothing to go off of?
"Maybe Hannah will have found a lead," Neville would say. The first few times he tried to lift their spirits this way, he sounded hopeful. As time passed, however, even his optimistic outlook took a hit. Ginny, on the other hand, would continually fume over the lack of communication from her brother. None of them heard much from Ron or Harry beyond them being alive and that Auror training was kicking their arses. Irritating as it was, Hermione couldn't help but laugh at this. It was about time they learned to do their own homework without her notes. "I could hex him," Ginny would seethe. By the second week in, Hermione and Neville began nodding in agreement. No need to poke the red headed bear.
Hannah even tried contacting her friends who worked at St. Mungo's. During one of their library study sessions, Hannah sighed, saying, "You'd think having contacts there would get you inside information. I don't think that the Minister himself could get any of them to break their Confidentiality Agreements. I mean, it's good to know that our information is safe, but I know that doesn't help you much, Hermione. I'm sorry."
She was trying. That was all that mattered. "It's alright, Hannah. Really."
Robert was also fantastic at keeping Hermione in supply of his amazing sugar quills. Since he started sharing his sugary treats, Hermione barely thought about her potions anymore. It was nothing short of a Harry Potter-sized miracle! "What are you putting in these?" Hermione pressed. It nagged at The Brightest Witch of their Age's ever curious mind regularly. Every time she asked, Robert would let out a chuckle that set her cheeks aflame. "They're amazing, aren't they? You're welcome, Mimi." Hermione would always shake her head him, growing fonder of this boy by the minute. "You have to let me pay you for these." Robert, bless him, wouldn't hear a word of it. "Being in my life and us spending this year together is enough. I told you." The first time she heard him say that, her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. She hoped that he meant simply as friends. She could admit-to herself-that she liked him. However, it wouldn't fair to him to try for anything more. Not when she would leave him before their relationship ever had time to fully bloom.
Soon enough, she found that friendship was definitely not what he was after. Hermione spent more time blushing the past month than she ever had before. Of course, that also meant she spent more time feeling guilty. How was she supposed to tell him that this would be the last year? She didn't know how-or if she could-find the words that would inevitably break both their hearts.
Her Hufflepuff dorm mate spent their shared classes, Charms and Alchemy, for lack of better wording, charming and bewitching her. He kept her laughing, even when she wanted cry. People watching had become their own game. On one particular day, she actually had to silence her overzealous Alchemy partner. When the blonde Ravenclaw girl, whose surname they learned was Reid, leaned in for a kiss from her Slytherin counterpart.
"I KNEW IT!" Robert crowed, leaving Hermione to attempt shrinking down as much as possible at their table. "Robert Ezekiel Jones!" She hissed. In the end, it was her feeling smug when it took him ten whole minutes to realize he had been bragging soundlessly. He cast an effortless finite with an eye roll and a smile. "Go to Hogsmeade with me, you brilliantly beautiful witch?"
Hermione snorted. "Start by trying a line you haven't already used on at least two dozen other witches." The self-assured smirk and accompanying sparkle in those warm, rich eyes that reminded her of their morning coffee left her feeling a bit too warm. They threatened to trap her there. "So, there is a chance." Hermione quietly huffed and turned back to their cauldron, determined not to show how much he affected her. "Ten points says that Slytherin pair in the back of the room will get their Euphoria Elixir done before we will. And that they will get caught snogging in the ingredients cupboard before the week is over."
Much to Robert's chagrin, and Hermione's satisfaction, the couple did get caught snogging in the ingredients cupboard three days later. "For the thousandth time, I am not a Seer!" Hermione laughed. "I am merely observant."
Hermione took to making some drastic changes as time passed. At least, they were drastic for her. If she were going to die in less than a year's time, she might as well soften the impact as much as possible. Therefore, it only made logical sense to purposefully shrink her presence. She hoped that by the time Death came for her, she had done enough that the adjustment would be seamless. In the back of her mind, she could already hear Ronald saying, "Leave it to Hermione to go as far as planning out her own death! She's mental, that one. Bloody mental!"
Well played, Ron. Well played.
Every single one of her professors (and half her peers) were flabbergasted when she started claiming an empty desk in the back of the classroom. She helped her classmates and professors adjust to the change by gradually raising her hand less until she stopped altogether. Because she knew it was coming, she even had explanations ready. Whenever anyone, professor or student, asked if something was wrong, she'd simply say, "Nothing's wrong. I thought that, since I will be graduating this year, that I should take a step back to give someone else a chance to show their brilliance. Pass down the torch, so to speak. Don't you think?" It both hurt and pleased her that her excuse was accepted so easily. She often found her thoughts rotating between logical and calm, and emotional.
Her logical thoughts were usually along the lines of:
Had she become that good of a liar, or was everyone relieved by her gradual exit?
She supposed that not having to continue to lie through her teeth was a relief, but it was hard to ignore her mind's darker, emotional turn.
Was all of this for naught? Had she been too confident in thinking that her presence would be mourned like all the others? Could she have seriously miscalculated, and, in fact, her absence might be... celebrated? No. Surely not. There was Harry, whose proof that he cared rested on top of her things in her trunk at all times.
In true Hermione fashion, the moment she calmed herself down would be the moment she found herself panicking. Because her mind frequently took her in a spiral, she would analyze every detail.
Oh, Merlin! Harry! If he found out what caused this tumor... She couldn't allow him to blame himself. She couldn't! She would need to speak with Kingsley, and soon. Could it be possible to ensure the Minister of Magic's silence? She needed Kingsley to seal her medical records, but she had no way of being certain he would keep this from the world. More specifically, from Harry, Ron, and the Prophet. She could only hope that he respected her enough to keep her secret.
Of course, that would also mean having to get permission from the Headmistress to go talk to Kingsley. Making all her arrangements while keeping her in the dark could get complicated fast. Would she even be able to do it? Oh, who was she kidding? It would be impossible to keep this quiet forever, and she would need at least one ally.
Like clockwork, Hermione cringed at the thought of how that conversation might go.
By the third week, the only thing she was first in was silently keeping her grades up and getting out the door when class ended. When the professors stopped calling on her and her classmates stopped staring, it seemed that her plan was working.
At least, in every other class but Defense Against the Dark Arts.
The first time Hermione took a spot in the back row closest to the door, she expected the clear arch of his pale brow. She foresaw his champagne colored lips pressing into a firm line. Hermione knew she would have to wait out the question that brewed in the storm of his irises. As the weeks dragged on, Professor Malfoy's steps got a little heavier. His spine a little straighter; nearly to the point of being rigid. His tone a little darker. His watchful gaze a little more intense. For the students who remembered Severus Snape, the resemblance was terrifying.
Worse: he focused on a specific desk in the back of the class. The desk where she sat.
Worst of all: he still called on her.
"Granger!" Malfoy snapped. The entire class, including her, groaned in unison. This was becoming a regular occurrence. Hermione had not once raised her hand and the entire class knew it.
"Yes, P-"
"What are the weaknesses of a manticore?"
Hermione suppressed a sigh. This had been going on for weeks. Working against her very nature to rattle off every known fact that flew to the forefront of her mind, she looked at her classmate-turned-professor wearily. "A manticore only has one weakness, and that is its mouth, Pro-"
One of Malfoy's arms limply hung at his side as his eyes squeezed shut. His jaw flexed once, twice, three times while he forcibly pinched the bridge of his nose. Hermione didn't know how long he stood there while she watched the exaggerated rise and fall of his chest. His lips curled back, causing his nose to scrunch up in what looked like a mixture of irritation and disgust. "That... is...correct. Barely."
The storm that raged when Malfoy's eyes flashed open directly to hers was something that would likely haunt Hermione when she took her last breath. Much like the words, "It seems that barely correct is all we can expect from the so-called 'Brightest Witch' these days." Those words coming from someone who once humiliated her, mercilessly labeling her as a "swot", floored her. She didn't know what to do with that. She wasn't sure she understood much of anything where Draco Malfoy was concerned anymore.
In between classes, Hermione and Ginny did try to catch up. Not having any lessons together that year made things quite difficult. This left the two women taking turns sneaking to each other's dorms every chance they could. More often than not, that meant dodging Neville and Hannah, who, by the way, were growing quite cozy. Hermione's lips pulled into a broad smile whenever she spotted the pair holding hands and watching each other with adoring looks that she thought only existed in the world of fantasy. At least someone was getting their happy ending.
On one particular evening, as Hermione sat on the floor while Ginny plaited her hair, her mouth gained a mind of its own. "Ginny, do you believe in happy endings?" The redhead's eyes flashed to hers. "I suppose," she answered quickly. "I mean, Harry is it for me. Why do you ask?" Hermione wanted to groan out loud as a knowing smile crept across her friend's face. "Is it a certain boy we know? Maybe one you've been spending anawful lot of time with lately?" Automatically, Hermione put the figurative foot in her mouth when she popped a sugar quill between her lips. Ginny beamed. "I knew it!" She squealed. "Tell me everything, and you better not leave out a single thing!" Robert had actually been the furthest thing from her mind, but she didn't see any harm in letting Ginevra Weasley believe that it was something as simplistic as a crush. The whole scenario felt normal, and she needed a big dose of normal desperately.
A massive dose of normal that Hermione craved more than ever as she currently sat on the sofa in her common room, wrapped in a thick comforter, writing out her own will by a merrily crackling fireplace. As far as she knew, Robert had snuck off to the kitchens again, as he was nowhere to be found. It suited her just fine, as she didn't want to confine herself to her room again just yet. If she ignored the subtle Hufflepuff touches throughout the space, it was easy to pretend she were back in the Gryffindor common room; that Harry or Ron would come to bother her any minute now and pester her about notes or some other nonsense. She could good-naturedly scold them, knowing she would hand them over regardless, and that her whole world hadn't crashed and burned. She could pretend she wasn't planning for the end.
Hermione's vision blurred with unshed tears as she stared down at the parchment. It was true, the old saying. Truer than she was comfortable with. You never know when the last time you see someone will be. If her calculations based off her medical examination were correct, she wouldn't see Harry or Ron again before she took her last breath. Their goodbye on the platform was the last one. Though it wasn't remotely important, it was also worth noting that she wouldn't be seeing her N.E.W.T. scores, either.
Idly, she wondered if she would haunt the halls of Hogwarts like Myrtle or Helena Ravenclaw. If that were the case, she could still technically see them. There was that, at least. A morbid smile tugged at Hermione's lips. Another bonus to becoming a Hogwarts ghost would be the ability to haunt Malfoy during his duration of teaching here. A dozen different ways to mess with Malfoy flitted through her mind, threatening to make her burst out in laughter on the spot.
She might even be able to argue for Sir Nicholas to finally be able to join the Headless Hunt. Granted, Myrtle wouldn't be too happy about it, but eternity is an awful long time to hold onto a grudge.
She nodded to herself. If given the choice, she could choose to stay within the walls of the one place she still called home. She could also tell Harry that none of it was his fault, assuming he set foot in the castle again. She sighed. Who was she kidding? She had no doubts that he would. Someone would have to come and gather her things, and he and Ron were all the family she had. McGonagall is aware of this.
Several small sparks shot from her trembling fingers, causing her quill to jump from her grip and land on the floor. "Shit," Hermione whispered, just as their portrait hole opened. Hermione, ignoring her glowing blue fingertips, scrambled to close up the notebook in her hand and stuff it underneath her blanket. Robert, the very picture of looks, confidence, and grace waltzed into the room as though he didn't have a care in the world. Which, in all fairness, he truly didn't.
Hermione wasn't sure why, but he practically skidded to a stop right next to the couch when he saw her. His chest appeared particularly sculpted in his blue, form fitting tee shirt. Complemented by what could only be tailor-made blue jeans and a gold chain hanging from his neck, Hermione could only assume he'd been out on a date. She swallowed the pang of sadness that struck her in the chest. She had no right to him, nor should she try to claim one. It wasn't like she was going to be around forever. He was free to date whomever he damn well pleased, and the least she could do was be happy for him.
So why did he look like he just saw a ghost? Rather, a ghost that didn't already haunt the halls of their school?
"Good date?" Hermione tried. Someone had to break the ice.
"Bloody hell, Mimi!" Robert cried. "Are you alright?"
Hermione looked down. What was he talking about? She glanced back up in wordless question.
"I'm taking you to Madam Pomfrey. Now," he ordered.
Hermione's heart dropped through her stomach. "What are you talking about, Robert? I'm fine!"
"Like hell you are!" Robert yelled. His hand darted to her face, and the moment his knuckles brushed against her skin, she knew the game was up. "Look at you! You're freezing! Your skin is actually starting to turn blue, and you look like you haven't slept in weeks!"
Bloody hell. She forgot to reapply the glamour charm after he left. Luckily, she kept her wand up her sleeve at all times.
"I'm really sorry about this, Robert," Hermione whispered.
"Wha-"
Before either them could process what Hermione was doing, she had her wand pointed at the center of his forehead. "Petrificus Totalus," she sighed. Just like before, when she bound Neville, Robert's limbs snapped together. This time, however, Hermione leapt to his side to keep him from falling over. Once she ensured he wasn't going to fall, Hermione gathered her things, darted to her bedroom and neatly arranged her notebook and quill in the drawer of her desk. "Better make sure the glamour is active this time," she murmured. A quick flick of her wand later, she felt the familiar magic tingling against her skin.
Hermione strode back into the room with purpose. She would not screw things up this time. She wouldn't. Standing in front of the second, and hopefully last, target whose mind she had to violate, she confessed her darkest secret. "I really am sorry, Robert," Hermione said. A single hot tear slid down her cheek. "But I can't let you find out the truth. Not yet. You see, I'm dying, and I don't want that knowledge getting out."
A black, nearly maniacal laugh erupted from the pit of Hermione's stomach as she watched Robert's eyeballs dart rapidly from side to side. "Could you imagine if that got back to Harry or Ron? If either of them knew that this was all caused by dark magic that got absorbed into my dirty, filthy blood from Bellatrix's cursed blade? They would lose their shit!"
Something inside Hermione snapped in that moment. She couldn't explain how, or what exactly happened, but suddenly she couldn't stop laughing. "Harry would take it the hardest, you know. He has this awful habit of blaming himself for everything! Do you know he still carries the weight of every single person who died during the war? It was Voldemort's fault. He was the genocidal maniac, and yet in Harry's eyes, somehow it is still his fault. Under no circumstances will I have Harry carrying my death on his conscience, too. That man is literally my only family. You understand?"
The sound of muffled noises was all that filled the room for a moment when Hermione spoke again. "Oh, wait. Of course you don't. Well, it just so happens that on the same day I found out I was a dead woman walking, I was informed that my parents were already dead. They're dead, I'm dead... All the Grangers in England. We're all just... dead!" Hermione's voice cracked on the last word as tears pooled and spilled from her eyes. As her breath stuttered in her chest, she fought desperately against the heaving sobs that threatened to escape her.
"When I was-" Hermione choked, "getting carved up like a slice of meat, when I got this-" The witch who felt like she was going insane yanked up her sleeve for Robert to see, knowing she was going to obliviate him right after. Her "Mudblood" scar practically glinted in the dim light of the room, drawing the hazy, desperate eyes of the woman it belonged to. "Bellatrix got what she wanted," Hermione said, her voice laced with forlorn melancholy. "It was simply just short of two years too late."
Hermione paused, mid stride. What came out of her mouth next echoed off the walls in a blood-curdling screech. "SHE MANAGED TO KILL ME FROM THE GRAVE! FROM THE GRAVE!"
It was only then that in her crazed rant born of fear and despair, she'd overlooked something important. The doors to the balcony had been left open. "Bloody hell," Hermione muttered, drying her tears on her sleeve. In one swift movement, she pointed her wand at her friend once more. "Obliviate." Once she was sure that the spell took effect, she cast one more. "Finite Incantatem."
By the time Robert came to, Hermione had already grabbed her comforter and darted out through the portrait hole, unable to look him in the eye.
Hermione ran. She didn't care where her legs took her; she needed to get away. Needed to get away from what she had just done-again. Blue sparks, brighter and more intense than before, flew from her fingers as her legs pushed harder than they ever had before. Her chest continued to burn, though she wasn't sure whether it was from the exertion or the violent sobs that racked her body. She simply didn't care.
It was a mercy that she found a tapestry that she knew to hide an alcove in the wall. A tall, dark figure topped by a white speck could be seen turning the corner. If it was who she thought, she needed to hide. Now. Without thinking, Hermione darted through, only to run straight into something warm and firm. Shocked, Hermione blinked her vision clear. To her horror, it wasn't just one something, but two. She scrambled back out as fast as her feet could carry her. She had never been more thankful for a lack of light, because she definitely hadn't felt any fabric on her cheek just then. "Oh my gosh! Neville! Hannah! I'm so sorry! Just... erm..."
"Going somewhere, Granger?"
Hermione closed her eyes and tried to swallow. Tried being the operative word because she couldn't remember her throat ever feeling so sore. Scratchy. Painful. Slowly, she turned to look at Draco Malfoy in the eye.
What she saw there, she never wanted to see again for whatever bit of life she had left. That cold mask he'd been wearing; the one that barely concealed a raging calculation beneath, slipped into wide eyed, open mouthed horror. Hermione didn't hesitate to bring a single finger to her lips, eyeing the covered alcove next to her. "Don't," she mouthed.
"Don't you dare assume you can tell me anything!" Malfoy snapped. Without warning, his hand shot out and took hold of Hermione by the arm. This is it, Hermione thought. I'm about to be found out. The witch barely kept up with his long strides as he dragged her behind him down the corridor. His head whipped from side to side; searching, it seemed. As if to make sure the pair wouldn't be seen. After a few excruciatingly long minutes, he darted into an empty classroom, taking her with him. The door slammed shut behind them with brutal force. Hermione winced at the sound.
Neither of them got a chance to say a word before blue sparks illuminated the room. The pair glanced down at the trembling fingers they belonged to and then quickly back up at each other. Malfoy narrowed his eyes down at the witch in front of him, silently daring her to lie. Hermione squared her shoulders, internally preparing for another fight. "It's all connected." Malfoy spoke without any preamble. "The back of the class. Bare minimum, half assed answers that even Finnigan could give. That is, when you bother talking at all. Darting out of the room first instead of last."
The floor beneath Hermione's feet suddenly got a lot more interesting. That is, what she could see of it, given her entire body shook and sparks wouldn't stop shooting from her fingers. Her first instinct was to pull her comforter tighter around her body. Something inside told her that it wouldn't catch on fire. Hell, she wasn't sure she would care if it did.
Malfoy's shoes came closer to hers. Next, she felt a sudden rush of warmth that she was instantly grateful for. "You're a witch, Granger," Malfoy whispered gently. "Warming charms come with the territory."
Oh. Right. She knew that.
"Look at me, Granger."
Hermione grudgingly lifted her head that quickly felt a lot heavier.
"You're not acting like yourself. You're shaking like a wet niffler when it's not even cold, and now your fingers are-"
Hermione didn't know why, but she hadn't expected Malfoy to actually touch her hands. The instant his hand wrapped around hers, (at least around her palm) his other one urgently shot out to take her other. "Fucking shit! If that bird's nest you call hair wasn't dry, I'd ask if you've been in the Black Lake! What is going on with you?"
Black specks danced around the room, threatening to play peek-a-boo with her consciousness. The air around her started to thicken. What was happening? Was it time already? "My des... don' let... Harry... Mal..."
The last thing she heard was Draco's panicked cries. The last thing she smelled was earth, parchment, and a hint of mint before her world went black.
