A/N: Revised - 23/03/2020.
AWF
Jelly slugs are nice, Hem decides. Even if her tastebuds don't work effectively ̶ (like everything else) ̶ the mindless chewing is capable of producing a vague sense of tranquillity within her. Food usually has to have a rather strong flavour or lots of seasoning if she's to taste it, but Theia maintains that too much sugar and salt is bad for her.
Matthias likes to indulge her, however, often sneaking condiments to her when his wife isn't looking. Hermione usually tries to hide her smile and play innocent, but she's never been much of a liar so Theia would find out and give them all the side-eye. But it's something one might think of as a loose family tradition and so the moments are typically regarded with fondness.
(Hem would think of it fondly if she were capable. As it is, it's like watching someone else be a part of a family she doesn't belong to.)
Perhaps one of the benefits of being away from the two elder Grangers is the opportunity for sweets and the like, though Hem is aware that Hermione will still only eat them on the rare occasion. She's always been rather rule-abiding, mainly because their authority figures were their parents and the rules in question were meant to instil good habits like brushing their teeth twice a day. Having a mould of teeth ̶ (both healthy and rotten) ̶ staring at them in the bathroom all the time tends to enforce the benefits of that particular rule.
Hem should feel grateful in that regard, she supposes; if not for them, she'd likely never look after her personal hygiene even if in a rather automatic fashion. She should feel grateful for a lot of things, actually.
(But she can't.
They don't deserve to have a daughter that can't thank them and mean it. They deserve better than that, but life isn't fair and it never will be.)
"So, this Selection Mutism thing," starts an unfamiliar voice. Hem lifts her head to find a ginger-haired boy with his mouth half-full with sweets. Then her gaze falls to the ugly rat in his lap, the little creature gnawing on the large abundance of sweets that Harry's bought.
(Something feels off about the rat, she manages to discern, but she can't pinpoint why. Or is it just her psyche messing with her again? Who's to say that the pets of wizards and witches wouldn't be just as intelligent as their owners?)
The rat squeaks, apparently discomforted by her staring. The name Ron Weasley floats to the surface of her mind. That's right. He came by soon after Hermione returned, surprised to find Harry present and talking to her little sister about the methods of cooking without getting burned.
(Her memories are dispassionate and without feeling, like recordings of a life that isn't hers.)
"Harry Potter?" her sister had repeated, processing. "Harry Potter from the books? The one who vanquished You-Know-Who?"
Harry winced. "There are books about me? Really?"
"Oh, yes." Hermione smiled as she sat. "Lots of books retelling how you survived a Killing Curse to the face as a baby. There are also books about how you've slain dozens of dragons and saved damsels from centaur camps, but they're obviously fiction. You're clearly just a boy and not some godly wizard of vast power."
"I… Thank you? Have the two of you known, ah, magic all your life, then?"
"Oh, no! We're muggle-born, actually. We've only recently known about the wizarding world; there were just lots of advertisements about books featuring you in Diagon Alley, so I was curious. Dad's always said that I've a voracious appetite for knowledge."
Hermione, from Hem's left, lifts her chin and promptly corrects Ron with, "Selective Mutism." Bookmarking the current section of her book, she closes it in order to fully embrace the urge to explain. It might actually seem foreboding to some. "Selective Mutism is a childhood disorder typified by an inability to speak in certain circumstances. Specifically, it is a consistent failure to speak in certain social situations where there is a natural expectation of speaking. For instance, a child may be verbal at home but unable to speak in a classroom environment."
Confused but trying to comprehend, Ron frowns and tentatively asks, "So, she can speak but she's too afraid to…?"
Mildly pleased, Hermione's back straightens as she nods in confirmation. "Yes, essentially. However, Hem's condition is a little different because she's also got Depersonalisation-Derealisation Disorder, which is a diagnosis assigned to individuals who persistently experience feelings of detachment, either bodily or cognitively, from themselves or from their environment. They're basically disconnected from reality so it's hard to function normally." Hem blinks as Hermione places a sympathetic hand on her back, her voice lowering to something more sombre as she continues with, "That means that whenever Hem speaks, she's usually not fully aware of it. But most of the time, she can't really speak at all, even if she wants to. There's more to it all, of course, but this is the bite-sized version and I don't want to scare you away with the full version."
"Merlin," breathes Ron, looking over at her with a mildly bemused but mostly pitying gaze. It doesn't really resonate when he takes a bite of chocolate the next moment and remarks with a full mouth, "That's got to be rough. I get losing your voice when you're scared, but all the time? Inconvenient, I'll say."
"Yeah," Harry agrees, his voice softer. When he looks at her through his fringe, it's with a new understanding. "Won't that make school hard?" he queries as he offers her another jelly slug. Hem accepts it without thought and he smiles before adjusting his newly fixed glasses. She hadn't noticed that they were broken even before Hermione had the need to repair them with a recently learned spell.
Hermione sighs. "Yes, actually. She has a prescription of medicine that'll get sent to the headmaster, but even those don't help as much as they should. It's theorised that, because she's magical, muggle medicine is less effective. We don't know how being in a magical environment will affect things." Solemn silence drapes itself over the compartment, then, but it quickly disappears as a determined expression contorts Hermione's face. Her shoulders square off before she declares, "But we're going to make it work. Hem deserves to learn about magic just as any other witch and I won't let anyone say otherwise."
And it's strange, Hem thinks, how a certain feeling of camaraderie passes between the three of them, as though the three acquaintances now have something akin to a common goal.
(Funny, isn't it? How it's about her and she still feels like she's not involved; stuck behind a glass wall, the damsel to be protected.)
. . .
. . .
She does eventually fall asleep, lulled by the rhythm of the train and the white noise of the other occupants of the compartment. A dynamic seems to already be forming between the three of them, even though they're still learning about each other's idiosyncrasies.
A part of her is pleased by her sister's swift achievement of making friends. Hermione has always been expressive, so it's clear that she's excited to interact with new people who are willing to listen to her. Excitement tends to make her even more verbose, but Harry and Ron seem to be actively trying to follow along. The latter's questions spur her on and he tends to be conflicted on whether he should regret asking or continue listening in fascination. Harry picks up on it, lips quirking with mirth.
(Another part of her is bitter, hidden underneath the muck of detachment. Hem wants to feel excitement, too. Hem wants to feel.)
Resting her chin on her knees, she stares at the immaculate ground; surrounded by white silence.
(She was wrong; Hem doesn't like to be left alone here any more than Tom does.)
Her brain helpfully reminds her that she's never been partial to naps.
. . .
. . .
"You woke her up!" exclaims Hermione, her voice shrill with annoyance. Hem blinks rapidly, finding her sister defiantly standing in front of a blond boy. "Honestly, have you no manners? You come barging in here, demanding to know if Harry's the Harry Potter before promptly insulting him on his choice of company and waking my sister up! How dare you?"
Bushy hair frizzing up and arms flailing wildly, Hem realises that Hermione is genuinely angry; a state of being that's rather unusual for her.
The blond boy, flanked by two other, more unfortunate-looking boys, sneers at Hermione like she's scum beneath his shoe. Or, well, he's trying. He seems to be a little taken aback by the sudden aggression.
"How dare I?" he soon hisses, stepping forward in a supposed attempt to be intimidating. "How dare you! Who are you to criticise me? What's your name? You surely can't be from a respectable family with that hair and those teeth."
Hem blinks, feeling rather lost. She glances at Ron and Harry, both of whom are watching the tumultuous exchange with something akin to morbid fascination from the sidelines. She seems to be the only one still sitting.
Her sister's buck teeth are cute, though, in Hem's opinion. They're the type that don't cause any dental problems, so Matthias and Theia don't see much of a need to do something about them.
"I'm Hermione Granger," Hermione formerly introduces herself with dramatic flair as she flips some of her hair over her shoulder. "And before you ask; yes, I am muggle-born. Both my sister and I are." Hem can't see from her angle, but she assumes that her sister is smiling with all her teeth. "Now," she pulls out her wand, "I'll kindly ask you to get out before I try out all the hexes I've been learning over the summer on you."
The pompous boy glowers ̶ (nervously, she notes, but he's trying to hide it) ̶ at the wand aimed at his chest, the two boys beside him restless as they seem to wait for orders. Looking around the compartment, he eventually meets Hem's gaze. She manages to catch the surprised twitch of his eyes before he purposefully narrows them and dismisses her entirely. Odd.
"You'd better watch yourself, Potter," he warns, straightening up in order to look superior. At least, she thinks that's why. "Associating yourself with blood traitors, mudbloods and half-giants…" A look of pure disgust contorts his face as he glares at Hermione. "Well, don't say I didn't warn you."
Then, in a flurry of movement, he turns and exits the compartment with his apparent minions in tow. Some kind of tension that Hem doesn't feel seems to loosen soon after, for Hermione's arm drops and her shoulders sag as she breathes out a shaky sigh of relief.
Ron and Harry look at the older girl with awe while she closes the door and sits back down like she hasn't just threatened to hex someone.
"Merlin, Hermione," breathes Ron, sounding winded as he practically collapses in his seat with the dark-haired boy following his example. "That was brilliant. Utterly terrifying, but brilliant. Remind me to never make you my enemy, yeah?
Harry nods, emphatic. "Yeah, you were great." He soon gives Hermione a speculative look. "Have you really been learning hexes all summer?"
Hem's sister flushes under the attention, lowering her gaze and smiling sheepishly as she waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, well, they're mostly jinxes. Relatively harmless. But that's not all I've been learning, of course!" she adamantly defends, as if they'd accuse her of not learning enough. "I've been reading over the entire first-year curriculum, actually. It's all very interesting. I just…" She blows an errant curl away from her cheek, a frown soon marring her face. "He seems to be such a foul boy, that Malfoy. I suppose I didn't think that he would be cowed by jinxes but I didn't want to actually threaten to use a curse. It seemed a little excessive."
"I wouldn't be surprised if he already knows a few himself," Ron curls his lip as he scowls at the door as though expecting Malfoy's face to pop up in the compartment door window. "His family was one of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they were bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it; he thinks that Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go to the Dark Side."
A little dramatic, Hem thinks, to call the opposition the 'Dark Side.' It reminds her of Star Wars, actually, and from the quirked lip on Hermione, her sister thinks so, too.
Hem wonders if things in the wizarding world are really so simple as Light and Dark. Tom will have an opinion, surely.
AWF
A/N: Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.