On Teenagers and Love

a story by anamatics

part three - the fog

Chapter 13 - On Departures

an: so carmilla and grad school happened. whoops.


Hermione spends a good amount of the rest of the holiday talking things over with Ron, Harry, and Fleur. Fleur has told her all about her trip back to France and the political climate there, Voldemort has support everywhere, especially among the upper echelons of French pureblood society. Sometimes Hermione finds herself forgetting that technically Fleur is a part of the same cut that Draco Malfoy and Zacharias Smith are a part of. Fleur doesn't act in the same stuck up manner that those boys do, but her family keeps a lot of the pureblood traditions that families like the Weasleys, while pureblood and old, have let slip by the wayside.

Harry has been approached by the Minister for Magic regarding a compromise and solidarity statement that Hermione thinks is rather shrewd of both parties. She doesn't tell Harry what to do regarding that situation, and he doesn't ask her advice, which she thinks is rather odd. She imagines that he's probably got the situation as sorted as it's going to be and resolves to just let it lie. Harry's growing up, and Hermione wants him to be able to make such decisions without constantly involving half of wizarding Britain.

The morning they're slated to go back to Hogwarts, Hermione floos over to the Burrow with her trunk in tow. She's running a little late, as she and Fleur became distracted with each other and had had to rush to gather everything that Hermione would need to return to school. She hadn't realized that her packing spell at her parents' house would result in the entire contents of her bedroom, and her mother's storage in the attic of mementos from Hermione's youth, being shoved into her trunk. Encountering them as she'd set about packing freshly laundered uniforms along with her school books had been an abrupt realization. She'd smiled sheepishly at Fleur, who'd picked up a childish drawing in marker and fingerpaints Hermione had made in primary school. "That was stronger than I'd thought."

"Determination makes these spells stronger," Fleur had agreed. She flicked her wand and conjured moving boxes. Together they transferred the cassettes, books and records (and preschool macaroni art projects) Hermione wasn't going to need at school into them before Fleur let Hermione shrink and charm them featherlight to tuck away on the top shelf of the closet until they had time – at some point, so sort through them.

Mrs. Weasley had given Hermione a harassed look and had shooed her over to stand at the corner of the hearth, not bothering to brush her off. "You just wait over there and I'll get the connection open," she explains in a clipped tone as Ginny shot Hermione a look and Hermione had mouthed that she'd explain later.

They floo into McGonagall's office directly (the Ministry had decided that it would be more efficient to open up one way flooing for the afternoon to get students back to the school as there were rumors flying about attacks on the train and no one, it seemed, wanted to chance that.) and as Hermione picks herself up slowly from her head of house's hearthrug she is greeted with an amused chuckle from the professor. "The new password is 'abstinence,' Ms. Granger," she says with a pointed look and Hermione's cheeks burn. Fleur left a rather spectacular mark on her neck and judging by the way Professor McGonagall is looking anywhere but her neck, Hermione's pretty sure that she's seen it.

It's too late for Hermione to do anything about it, however, so she gathers herself with the small amount of remaining dignity that she still possesses and escapes to the hallway to wait on Ginny. When Ginny appears a few minutes later, Hermione finds herself dragged away into a little-used classroom and sat down on top of a dusty desk.

"What in Merlin's name happened to you while you were at home?" Ginny demands. She's unwrapping her Gryffindor scarf from around her neck, the deep red of it clashing awfully with her hair, glaring all the while at Hermione. "You're not usually late for anything Hermione, even when Fleur's involved."

She hasn't told Ginny about what she's going to have to do, she hasn't even really told Harry or Ron yet. She slumps against a dusty desk and wraps her arms around herself, staring with determined attention at the floor. "I don't think that I'll see my parents again until the war is over," she says glumly.

Ginny inclines her head to the side and stands with her robes open and her hands plunged into the pockets of them. She is the last of seven children, how could she possibly know what it's like to lose people that you are so close to? Hermione has been wrestling with this question for several days now. She cannot expect Harry, Ron or Ginny to understand. Harry because he has no parents to turn to, and Ginny and Ron because they are just one of many. They are not an only child and the sole light of their parents' eyes.

"How do you mean?" Ginny asks and it's enough to make Hermione want to storm from the room in a huff, because honestly, Ginny should be able to figure this out. "I don't think that… oh."

Realization blossoms like ink on parchment across Ginny's face and she tugs her hands from her pockets and wraps them firmly around Hermione's shoulders. Hermione lets herself be pulled in for a hug, but she cannot bring herself to relax into it. "They won't go into hiding," Hermione explains, shaking her head and lying as best she can. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

"Go to Dumbledore!" Ginny immediately proposes. "He'll think of something."

Hermione finds herself wondering, the needles of self-doubt pushing at the corners of her mind, if Dumbledore would even care. As they head up to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione finds herself deciding that it doesn't really matter. She has to keep her parents safe no matter what the cost; she just hopes that they'll forgive her for what she plans to do.

Ginny disappears as soon as they reach the tower, eyeing Harry with a look that Hermione can't place before mentioning that she's off to see Dean Thomas. Harry watches her go and Hermione wants to knock their heads together, but Ron's grabbed them a table and he's pulling her over to sit with him and Ron.

"I talked to Ron's dad and Lupin about what I overheard between Snape and Malfoy," he explains in a grim tone. "They agree with what you though initially, that Snape's playing Malfoy, offering him help in order to figure out what he's up to." Harry sighs. "Even though I still can't be sure that they're actually talking about Voldemort."

"Did they actually his name?" Hermione asks, because she's fairly certain that neither Snape nor Malfoy would be so stupid.

Harry frowns and Ron scratches at his chin thoughtfully. "I'm not sure, Snape definitely said 'your master,' and who else could that be?"

"His dad?" Ron asks.

Hermione bites her lip, because this adds a whole lot of weight to Harry's hair-brained theory and it's starting to sound a lot less crazy and a lot more plausible (which has Hermione worried because Harry, while smart, has a bad track record with hair-brained theories. Just look at first year.).

Lavender Brown appears in the portrait hole a second later, and Ron pushes himself to his feet and goes to say hello. Hermione and Harry exchange an eye-roll and very pointedly ignore the very public and borderline-gross display of affection that is playing out between their friends.

"How is Professor Lupin?" Hermione asks. She hadn't really gotten the a chance to talk to him when she'd been at the Weasleys' for Christmas dinner, as he'd been in and out so quickly she'd almost thought she'd imagined his presence.

Harry tells Hermione all about how Lupin is attempting to infiltrate a werewolf pack lead by a truly ferocious sounding werewolf and just how challenging it is to appear to be bloodthirsty and embrace and aspect of himself that he hates so much. "Have you heard of him – Fenrir Greyback?"

The name sounds incredibly familiar and Hermione closes her eyes, desperately trying to remember where she's heard it. She bites her lip and stares off into space, not quite looking at Ron and Lavender's rather revolting display of affection. "I think so… but I can't quite recall where."

Harry perks up at this, "Please tell me it wasn't History of Magic, you know full well that I've never listened to a word Binns says…"

Hermione does know this, his OWL mark is enough to drive that point home rather clearly. "No, no, it wasn't in History of Magic – Malfoy threatened Borgin with him over the summer," she raises a shaking hand to her lips, knowing that this is going to probably prove Harry right once and for all. She doesn't want to do that, not yet, not until she's sure. It's an added complication, and one she doesn't think she can quite stomach. "He told Borgin that Greyback was an old family friend and that he'd be checking up on Borgin's process…"

Gaping at her, Harry's eyes glitter with vindication and Hermione resists the urge to groan. This is just what they need, Harry on a vendetta. "I forgot!" he all but exclaims, drawing a few odd looks, before Hermione shushes him. Lowering his voice he adds, "But this proves that Malfoy's a death eater, how else could he be in contact with Greyback?"

"It is pretty suspicious…. Unless…" Hermione trails off when she sees the look on Harry's face and knows that she's lost.

"Come on, Hermione, you can't get around this one," Harry is practically gloating and Hermione just grumbles her agreement and asks him more about Scrimgeour and what exactly he wanted from Harry. Ron extricates himself from Lavender a few minutes later and the three of them spend the rest of the night talking about how much of a fool the new Minister is, asking for help after all they put Harry through the previous year.

The next morning Hermione wakes up to see that there's a new notice posted on the message board about Apparation Lessons and signs herself, Harry and Ron up before heading down to her early morning patrol with Pansy Parkinson. The castle is eerily quiet at this time of morning and Hermione finds herself hurrying despite the fact that her prefect's badge and the patrol schedule clearly give her permission to be out and about.

Pansy is waiting for her at the base of the stairs, a folded piece of parchment dangling in between her two fingers as she leans against the banister of the staircase. She looks up and doesn't quite smile at Hermione, but it's a close thing. Hermione, for her part, smiles back.

"Good holiday?" she asks, falling into step beside Pansy.

"It was alright," Pansy replies. She jabs the paper at Hermione's chest as though it's about to burn her if she stays in contact with it for much longer. "You were using Paltomy's constant in the wrong place," she explains as Hermione unrolls the scroll to see an Arithmancy proof carefully written out in Pansy's spindly handwriting. "Should have subbed it over the omega variable, not the chi."

Hermione's finger trails down the proof and she finds herself shaking her head. "I should have known that," she confesses. Frowning, she works her way through the problem in her head, subbing out the misused constant and seeing if the spell should, theoretically, work. Pansy is right that she was subbing it over the wrong variable, and her cheeks color a little bit at the idea of being caught making such a silly mistake.

"Maybe this term I'll get top marks in Arithmancy," Pansy replies, turning her nose up and scowling. There's an amused sort of glint about the corners of her eyes that makes Hermione suspect that this is supposed to be a joke. It's not a particularly funny one, but Pansy's never been particularly loquacious.

"I was probably looking at it too much," Hermione replies. She's not going to admonish Pansy for her ill-conceived dig at Hermione's intelligence. They both know that Hermione would in that fight in the end. Still, she's surprised that Pansy is not attempting to dig for information about what she's going to do with this spell that she's modifying. Maybe Pansy doesn't want to know, which Hermione admires.

Sometimes it's better not to ask.

They start their patrol in silence; cutting up to the third corridor and then curling north up the spiral staircase that Hermione, disdainfully, recalls leads to the Divination classroom. It's so early in the day that there are few people about, and Pansy's got her hands plunged into the pockets of her robes and her expression is closed-off and pensive.

They're nearly done and heading back down for breakfast when Pansy speaks to the corridor at large. "My mum was at Gringotts before Yule and she caught a glimpse of Delacour," she glances sideways at Hermione, who's stopped dead in her tracks. "Or, more specifically, Delacour's hand."

Hermione opens her mouth, and then closes it. She isn't exactly sure what she should be saying in this situation. Pansy pulls her hands from her pockets and folds them over her chest. "It's not every day that a veela – even a part veela - gets bonded, Granger. Usually the couple has the good grace to announce such a thing in the papers."

Honestly, Hermione thinks darkly with a scowl pulling her lips downwards into a frown. "Does that really seem like the best idea, given the current climate?" she queries, her eyebrow raised. She's trying to affect Professor McGonagall, and Hermione's pretty sure she's almost got it down, but she knows that most of the time it just looks comical on her face. Pansy is apparently trying to suppress a giggle, so she's failed. Bugger…

Pansy inclines her head. "Point," is all she says. She begins to walk again and Hermione sees the stiff line of her shoulders and wonders if there's something else bothering her about it. She has no idea how to ask such a question. They don't have that sort of a relationship, and they probably never will.

The rest of the patrol is silent, and Hermione spends much of her time wondering if Pansy is trying to say something without actually saying anything at all, given how she keeps looking like she's about to speak. Hermione figures that Pansy is the sort to speak her mind if it's actually advantageous to do so, which leads to a whole separate group of questions regarding what on earth Pansy Parkinson could want to say to her that she could constantly be thinking better of. Slytherins can be every bit as hot-headed as Gryffindors, Hermione knows this, but this is a new mystery, even for her.

They don't say goodbye when they end up on the second floor corridor and Pansy continues down the stairs towards the Great Hall and the dungeons below it. Hermione stands on the landing and watches her go, chewing on her lower lip and wondering if there's something else that she's failed to do correctly while navigating this odd companionship she's found with Pansy. She doesn't think that Pansy should be offended that she didn't push Fleur to publish their bonding in the Prophet's society pages. The idea of doing such a thing seems positively mental to her, and she takes one look at Pansy's retreating back before shaking her head and hanging a left, intent on the library and revising her arithmancy notes based on the changes in the expansion charm that Pansy's given her, her breakfast forgotten.