A/N: Here's chapter 5, fresh off the grill with a seasoning of angst and a side of hurt/comfort! Enjoy the show! 3


Hermione rolled a pencil back and forth on her desk, her cheek pressed against her arm underneath her head as the pencil lurched up to the top before sliding back down to her finger. She huffed out a breath to fling a strand of hair back from her face.

Sixth Year had ended, Astoria's progress in defensive spells was moving along nicely, and yet, Hermione was still an anxious mess.

A knock from behind her was ineffective for getting a reaction other than a small, uninterested hum.

Her pencil eventually rolled off the desk, but she made no move to retrieve it and instead settled for staring out the window where the red sun was setting over the trees. Her eyes closed after a moment, her tense posture relaxing just a bit at the touch of a large hand ruffling her already untidy hair. She shoved the hand away and tried to suppress a grin.

"Your serotonin is here!"

Hermione turned around to her father as he practically sang the words, a giant smile on his face that made her mood brighten almost instantly. He held a large baked bread in his hands, only it was shaped like a frog and seemed to have some sort of filling when she peeked through the little holes in its eyes.

"Thanks, Dad." She murmured, taking the plate and setting it in front of her. She picked at it after she grabbed the fork, twirling it and poking the bread as her eyes gained a distant glaze.

Her father frowned and a curious glint caught in his eyes. He, Doctor Daniel Granger, maker of the greatest frog bread to ever be eaten, had never seen her turn down his baking unless something was seriously wrong. So, she jerked when he inevitably nudged her with a melancholy smile.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong or sit there sulking for the rest of the day?"

Hermione pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and dropped her fork onto the plate. "She hasn't responded yet." She muttered, looking down at her lap.

"You're new friend?" Dan asked. Hermione nodded.

"I'm worried, Dad. Her circumstances at her home— They're not—" She trailed off, sighing harshly and placing her head in her hands. She could be trapped. She could join the wrong side. She could… Hermione stopped her thoughts abruptly and looked away.

The threat of Voldemort's rise had become the bane of her existence. She had to make sure Harry and Ron were prepared. She had to keep it locked away from her parents. She had to train and teach Astoria in case something went south.

Dan whispered something of comfort, but Hermione didn't hear as she felt herself being picked up and moved to her bed as if she was five years old again. She buried her head into his shoulder and squeezed her eyes, telling herself that she would be fine, that everything was okay, not to worry, not to think about it—

"Birdie," she heard her father say gently, and she tilted her head to stare up at him, "you know your mother and I have friends who work to help kids in abusive homes—"

"It's not abusive." Hermione interrupted firmly, a scowl on her face. "It's just not an ideal situation she's in. It's mostly just due to her parents' lifestyle."

Dan raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

"She's a Pureblood, Dad." Hermione groaned, as if it were the simplest thing to understand. "She's just expected to do and be certain things and marry literally anybody her parents see fit to keep their line 'pure'. She said her mother was going to be doing something with some family in… Um… India,"

Hermione nearly swore out loud for her stutter. Small beads of sweat formed on her brow, as this was quite possibly one of the only times she outright lied to her father's face. Of course, he would be too smart for this, she realised just a little too late, and now her face was burning with pure regret for her choices in her life that really seemed to be turning upside down…

And then, she glanced away. Oh. Oh. The worst thing anybody could possibly even think of doing if they wanted to get away with a lie. Oh, no.

"Is it?" Her father asked, his voice unusually low and deep and commanding her attention. Oh, she was absolutely, positively screwed. "Hermione."

"Dad, I just need to think!" She blurted loudly, and shoved herself away from him. She flung a small, tattered backpack over her shoulder and hustled out of her room. As she hurriedly marched to the front door, she passed her mother, who was resting on the couch with a book in one hand and her other hand absently stroking Crookshanks's head.

'Hermione," she said suddenly, looking her daughter up and down, "oú vas-tu?"

"Le parc, Maman." Hermione answered shortly. "Je serai de retour dans une heure."

Then, she was gone a moment later, slipping out the door without a second glance. She was speeding down the front pathway, red and orange painting the blades of grass and bushes surrounding her house. Her shoes tapped against the concrete sidewalk, the recently redone playground at the centre of her neighbourhood soon coming into sight.

Almost no one was outside, only a man with two boys chasing each other on and around the playset while yelling indistinctly. She walked past the chaos of children to where the swings were, and she took a seat on the farthest one.

The man beckoned his sons to him only a few minutes later, saying something about getting to bed. One of them complained that it was summer, so therefore there shouldn't be any bedtimes, which made Hermione chuckle to herself. She turned her head away and towards the sky, where the red was slowly bleeding from to make way for the darkening blue.

Hermione frowned to herself as she stared. She really hadn't known when a switch had gone off in her head, or where the line between friendly acquaintances and friends was. Maybe it was when they had grown closer during the former year, or when they're letters had continued back and forth about tips and potions, or simply about life. Hermione would tell her about her father's cakes and treats, and Astoria would share things about the horses her family owned and the short rides she would take every other day.

"I wish I could be with you."

Hermione's heart jolted and seized every time she remembered that one line Astoria wrote to her. She had scoffed at first, of course. Astoria had horses, an entire garden full of plants with creatures both magical and regular, and a mansion out in the middle of nowhere with nothing but fields and woods from what she had described.

Hermione had told her exactly that, and the last response she had gotten that week were only questions about her lessons. It might not have bothered her much then, but it had been a full week without any responses, and with no owl of her own, there wasn't any way to reach her. She was truly, genuinely worried for Astoria now. The disturbing little mentions about You-Know-Who and his forces beginning to occupy homes of pure-bloods or his supporters in her letters certainly didn't help matters, and Hermione found herself constantly tossing and turning with unanswered questions about what happened to Astoria, and if she was okay, if she was still home, if she was still on their side…

She groaned and let her head fall into her hands. Perhaps she had brought this upon herself. The little remark of her brushing aside Astoria's wish was, maybe, just a little too harsh considering Astoria had enough worry for herself with You-Know-Who's forces and her family's ties to them. Hermione could've easily covered up her anxiety as losing a possible ally in the war, but really, now that she thought about it — and she thought about it more times than the number of hours a koala slept — she was afraid that she had possibly lost a friend. That, to a person who had no friends until the age of 11 and still only had a small amount of them, was one of the worst feelings she felt.

She caused this. She caused this— This strange falling out of sorts, or at least this distance that now began to show itself in more than physical means. But what if Astoria did want to talk? What if she'd be caught and tortured, or kicked out, or killed

Hermione inhaled sharply at the thought, a tear nearly slipping out of her now wet and puffy eyes that remained hidden by her hands. Why now? Why did she feel so suddenly…. Well, she didn't know exactly what she felt. Protective of her? Fond of her?

Fuck, I'm in way over my head.

She angrily rubbed the back of her hands across her leaking eyes, then she looked up towards the cherry sky. The tips of small, wispy clouds were bathed in pinkish-red, while the moon was beginning to shine just a little brighter each inch the sun sank down into the houses and trees near the horizon.

It really was strange to her, how a war was only one leap away and life was going on just as always. Nobody in her town suspected anything, not even her parents who tended to keep a close eye on her. They knew not of her scar, nor of her ever-increasing anxiety of nearly everything at that point. Everything was normal.

So why couldn't she be happy?

Her rambling thoughts were abruptly cut off by the sound of her mother's voice calling her name in the distance. She jumped and swore under her breath as she stood from the swing. She was lucky that she'd written down an entire list of lies to tell whenever she was questioned by her parents.

Gods, maybe I am more Slytherin than I thought…

She met her mother halfway, and she noticed that she was holding an extra jacket. Her face was contorted between a cross look and a worried expression as she wrapped the jacket around Hermione's shoulders.

Her mother placed an arm on her back, and Hermione glanced at her. "Sorry." She muttered hoarsely, blinking back a sudden wetness in her eyes.

The older woman clicked her tongue but said, "If you ever need to talk, just ask. Or, we could start looking at therapists," She breathed out, slowly, and continued, "Chérie, maybe you need a little time away from work. You've been cramming so hard for your studies… Maybe it's good for you to take at least next week to calm down."

Hermione pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, then sighed. Maybe the studies weren't causing her so much of the stress she had, but her mother was right about her spending all day in her room just to brew potions and rehearse incantations that would be helpful on the battlefield.

"Okay." She mumbled. "I'm still allowed to read at least, right?"

Her mother laughed. "Nothing school related,"

Hermione pursed her lips and crossed her arms like a child deprived of candy. "Fine." She was brought into a one armed hug as they slowly wandered back to their house. Hermione looked up at her mother, and saw that her eyes were distant, lost in thought.

"Hermione," She sighed after a while, "your new friend arrived a few minutes ago."

"WHAT?" Hermione squawked, then tripped over her feet, only saved by her mother's quick reflexes. "Maman—"

Hermione was cut off by a gentle shush, and she finally realised how loud she was.

"Wait— Maman, Astoria?" She squeaked. "How did she even get here? She lives out in the middle of nowhere!"

"All she said to me before I went to get you—"

"You left her?" Hermione gasped.

"She's with your father, Hermione Jean." Her mother replied firmly. Hermione, undeterred, freed herself from her mother's arm and took off towards the house, and her mother watched as she sprinted away.

"God, Emma, so much for relieving stress."


Hermione was panting like a thick-furred dog in the middle of summer by the time she reached her house. She burst through the door, then bent over to catch her breath and wipe the small beads of sweat from her brow.

With one final heave, she stood up straight again and made her way to the kitchen. Her eyes immediately caught sight of the island. Her father was staring at her, looking rather concerned, and in his hand was a plate of sugar-free treats that he was setting in front of a beaten-up girl with an equally hurt speckled owl Hermione recognized to be Apollo.

"A-Ast—"

What she was going to say was suddenly cut short by her friend ramming into her. Hermione instinctively wrapped her arms around Astoria, as by now she had gotten quite used to her hugs. Her chocolate hair was tangled and matted together, mixed with unwashed grime. A patch of wetness formed on her shoulders and she felt Astoria's body shake with small, quiet sobs.

Something clicked together in Hermione's brain, and her heart skipped a beat. Astoria was entirely right to be worried. If she was here looking so dirty—

"Shh… Hey, you're safe," Hermione whispered, running her hand through the smaller girl's messy hair. She lifted her head for a moment and noticed that her mother had come in at some point and was watching worriedly. She shook the sudden — and odd — embarrassment away and instead guided Astoria back to the table.

"S-sorry," she sniffed, pulling away from Hermione to wipe her eyes, "I-I didn't know where else to go…"

She was cut off by a sharp gasp from Hermione, and the older girl lurched forward, one hand cupping Astoria's cheek and rubbing her thumb just below to gash sliced across her dirtied cheekbone.

"Merlin, what did they do to you?" Hermione breathed, her voice hitching as she unconsciously reached for Astoria's hand.

"Hermione, i-it's just a scratch," She responded, her cheeks becoming a little warmer under her touch. Hermione bit her lower lip and ran her eyes over Astoria. It felt so strange to see her so dishevelled, her hair knotted and grimy when it should've been sleek and pulled back into some form of bun. Her clothes had small tears in the once smooth and soft material, her skin had splotches of dirt and bruises and her lower left arm was bandaged.

Hermione's brows furrowed as she stared at her arm, wrapped from her wrist to nearly her elbow. "Sorry, you're right." She said eventually, and stood from her seat. "Maman, can I show her the guest room? I'll help her get settled and she can eat."

Her parents, who had been quietly discussing something near the edge of the kitchen, nodded and her father smiled. "If you want anything else, we'll be in here," He said, and Astoria grinned.

"Thank you, Mr. Granger," She replied, standing and stretching her legs, then grabbing her small amount of luggage and the baked treats. She held out her free arm, and the owl hopped onto her.

"Dan, please, I'm far too young to be called after my father." He quipped dramatically, and both Hermione and her mother rolled their eyes.

"Er— Right," She chuckled lightly. "You might have to correct me a few more times, though,"

Dan laughed and turned back to his wife as Hermione and Astoria went across the house and through the first floor hall. Hermione held open the door on the far right, which led to a room painted cobalt blues and jade greens, an oak wood plank floor and a few grey carpets spread throughout the ground. There was a simple double bed placed in the far right corner, its sheets matching the rest of the room with soft looking pillows and a neatly tucked comforter. A bookshelf was on the opposite side of the room, mostly holding old cookbooks, medical and anatomical studies, and things Hermione and her parents never necessarily used anymore.

Astoria set her things on the floor and Apollo onto the night stand, then herself on top of the bed, picking up a sugar free chocolate chip cookie. She watched Hermione close the door, and she opened her mouth to say something when she saw the woman holding her wand.

"Show me what's under the bandage." She demanded in a low voice, and Astoria visibly sank lower into the bed.

"I-it's n-not—"

"Astoria!" Hermione barked, loud enough to make her jump but not for her parents to hear. "Show me what's under the bandage! If I find out that everything was a ruse, that you've been lying to me this whole time and my parents are killed because of you—" She trailed off when Astoria slowly lifted her arm out and began undoing the wraps.

The faint stench of burning flesh escaped, making Hermione's stomach churn, and the black mark on her inflamed, irritated skin of a skull with a snake slithering from its mouth made her heart stop. It writhed against her flesh, raised and still creating large red splotches that climbed up her arm and down onto the bottom of her hand.

"Th-they forced me…" She whispered, her voice cracking with barely contained sobs. "M-mother said that it was time I finally became a-a part of s-something bigger, and sh-she showed me— she showed me her mark that she willingly got last year while I was away…"

She sobbed harshly, and Hermione slid her wand back into the invisible holder she had gotten earlier that summer. She reached out, slowly, and placed her hand on Astoria's in a small attempt to offer the girl some form of comfort. She squeezed back, and sniffed.

"It's been burning ever since I left." She whispered, her voice more controlled but still a little shaken. "They don't have any tracking charms or methods. All it does is burn. I can't go back, but if I stay, my arm will have third degree burns in the next month." She breathed in a sharp, trembling breath and turned her head to stare directly into Hermione's eyes.

"I don't know what to do…" She whimpered, and Hermione's stomach jolted painfully.

"Shit, Astoria, I-I didn't mean to be so—" Hermione sighed as Astoria squeezed her hand again.

"I don't blame you," She said softly. "Your parents are so sweet and nice; I'd do the same if I were you."

Hermione bit her lower lip gently, and glanced at the writhing brand on her arm. She released a breath she didn't realise she was holding in, and tenderly brought Astoria into a hug, brushing aside some of her messy hair and not caring of the small stench of unwashed skin mixed with burnt flesh.

When they finally pulled apart, Hermione reached over to the night stand beside the bed and grabbed a few tissues that she gently wiped Atoria's tears away with.

"I'll help get a shower started if you'd like, and some food for Apollo," She muttered, while the younger girl cleared her sinuses. Hermione took her branded arm after Astoria finished and looked it over, running her fingers near the reddest part of her skin. "And an ice pack…" She added.

"Thanks," Astoria sniffed, managing a smile. "Your parents will let me stay, won't they?"

Hermione offered her a melancholy grin in return. "I'll ask. I'm sure they would, but try not to say anything about Voldemort."

"You haven't told them?" Astoria gasped.

"How can I?" said Hermione, looking ashamed. "It's only a matter of time before I have to leave with Harry and Ron to try and kill him. It's not exactly a conversation you'd bring up at dinner."

Astoria glanced down at her lap as Hermione let go of her arm. "Right…" She mumbled. "I'll try my best to keep quiet. Although, they're already a little suspicious, since I showed up like this."

"I'll come up with something." Hermione stated firmly. "Right now, you can help yourself to Dad's treats and I'll help make you and Apollo at home. Deal?"

Astoria smiled, and, despite her worry and aching heartbreak for her friend, Hermione did, too.


A/N: Chapter 6 should be coming soon, if all goes according to plan. For now, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Have a great rest of your week!

~ Eclipse