Disclaimer: I have not had any kind of education in regards to psychology nor therapy.
Warning: there comes a (vague) description of how one can die from the Killing Curse.
It was more than mere stupidity which had made her do it. Curiosity played an important role as well. But it was this dark emotion which had made the decision for her. Anger had set its teeth in her. It had been there for a long time, but only now did Hermione recognize it. Perhaps because it had always been overshadowed by mortal fear.
Memories of the pain and the nights haunted by the nightmare were the fuel. Anger and curiosity burned in Hermione as she made her way towards St. Mungos.
Despite having taken a Pepper-Up potion Fleur still needed her sunglasses to walk in the bright daylight. Though she was in a far better condition than her husband, who had been groaning in pain when she had exited their tent.
During breakfast, she had been able to gather her courage, which currently gave her the confidence to walk with her chin held high. Naturally, she would apologize for whatever she had said, but she would not grovel. A Delacour does not grovel; her mother, grand-mère and dozens of Veela-aunts had taught her this well. Not that there was any cause to grovel, Fleur was almost positive that she had not done anything harsh enough to warrant such drastic actions. But it was still reassuring to hear their familiar voices inside her head, it strengthened her resolve.
It was a relieve to walk into the shadows of the one tent she had been avoiding until now. She opened the front flap of the tent and called inside, cringing at her own volume, "'Ello? Anyone there?"
"Fleur, something you need?" Viktor came from the bathroom, still drying his hand on his trousers as he walked inside the living room.
"Good morning, Viktor. Where is 'Ermione? I would like to talk with 'er," Fleur said, putting her sunglasses on top of her head.
The Bulgarian frowned as he told what little he knew, "She is not here, she left a note that said she vould be gone for most of the day. But she did not take the time to clarify vhere to."
"Oh, well..." Fleur was surprised, surely this was not the next stage of avoidance? Had she been worse than she thought she had been? "So... yesterday evening... did she mention anything about... me?"
"No, vhy?" Viktor frowned still, his dark eyes suddenly scrutinizing her.
The quarter-Veela sighed and recounted to Viktor what little she remembered of the previous night.
Hermione made sure she stood as still as a statue. Yet inside her, she battled her emotions with her rationality or tried to.
She was aware that the general human being would be questioning their own sanity at this point, she even knew the perfect question she should be asking herself: 'What the bloody fuck am I doing here?'. Yet, instead, her emotions clearly had the upper hand, none of her rational thoughts stayed longer than a few seconds before being dismissed.
A cough caught her attention, "Ahem, Miss Granger, please keep your arms at your sides. It is almost done."
Oops, that was the second time she had started to fidget with the seams of her clothes. She gave an apologetic glance and straightened her arms. Trying and failing once more to distract herself by concentrating on the scanning spells which circled up and down her body.
"You are clean." The Auror announced and motioned over his shoulder, "Sign your name on the visitor's list and you can go inside."
Whilst she wrote her name the time and date appeared in her own handwriting underneath. The list was completely empty except for her own signature, which seemed to glare at her from the parchment. Why hasn't Narcissa been here yet? Could it be that she was not informed of her sister's surprising 'resurrection'?
When Hermione put down the quill the other Auror, who had stood near the wall, came forward and opened the double doors for her. "We will keep the doors open, just in case."
Hermione nodded without giving the Auror much thought and took the first step over the threshold.
A deadening and eerie silence came to greet her from the other far end of the corridor, it felt like it had come to suffocate her. There was no screaming, no creepy sing-song voice, no insults nor any maddening cackles. Not any kind of sound other than the conversations from the hallways she had just come from and which was steadily becoming a soft murmur in the background due to the growing distance. Though her walk was slow.
All the while her eyes roamed over her surroundings. The white cleanness of the hospital clashed with the bars of the improvised prison cells. Walls that had previously separated rooms from this corridor had been transfigured into the bars of prison cells. Now anyone who walked through the corridor could see everything that happened inside the 'rooms'.
The lack of other living beings in this corridor was almost creepy. Though it fitted perfectly with the crisp and white environment.
Empty, unmade beds, with no one to sit on the single chair every cell was equipped with; no one to leer at her or make her feel unwelcome in other ways.
For a moment Hermione wondered if Bellatrix had done nothing but shriek abuse at the other prisoners until they had been put in another corridor, but then she remembered Minerva's words. Bellatrix had been kept 'dosed', therefore one could assume she was kept quiet. There were no others who had been put here, Bellatrix was just the only one crazy enough apparently.
The Muggle-born halted before the only occupied room and looked inside. It was the craziest thing really, to be looking at Bellatrix like she was one of the wild or prison-bred animals the zoos offered to their visitors to be watched all day long.
However, instead of a nervously pacing, black panther, there was complete serenity in the cell.
Hermione's tormentor seemed to be asleep. Her body was entirely hidden underneath a thick blanket, the only part of her which was visible was her dark mane. Curls that were no longer greasy and tangled. Instead, they splayed all over the pillow in a cascade of black. It seemed to be made of rich ebony, almost like the scales of the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.
Hermione was torn between setting fire to it all - a desire born from her curiosity, to see how Bellatrix would handle pain, and her (strangled) anger - and walking from left to right and back again, to admire the different hues hidden within the waterfall of curls.
Yet she did neither. She was rooted to the ground. All Hermione could do was observing what was in front of her. Then, suddenly, she noticed how motionless Bellatrix laid there. Far too motionless, as if breathless. Bellatrix was actually not breathing at all. Was she dead? Had she somehow escaped and left her hair to fool the guards?
The Muggle-born was about to open her mouth and yell for the Aurors when something made her stop. It was the crucial detail she had overlooked. Hermione shook her head, blinked and rubbed her eyes. Then she narrowed her eyes, leaned forward, took a step closer to the bars and even leaned against them to be completely certain of what she thought she saw. And only at this point was she able to discern the subtle and impossibly slow in- and exhales.
"They keep her dosed to the point that she is barely alive," Hermione whispered aloud in shock. Have they slowed down her heartbeat? That is the only way for this to be possible, isn't it? Do they use potions to establish this state of the body?
"It is a combination of potions and charms, also one enchantment on the bed," came a sudden and unfamiliar voice from the direction of the Aurors. "That is how we keep her in this state."
The Muggle-born stiffened at the words, the voice almost sounded harsh to her ears in this noiseless environment. She quickly stepped away from the bars, turned towards the open doors and was faced with none other than the ex-Auror who had become a Mind Healer. One of the two therapists between which Hermione had been unable to choose. Hermione stayed silent.
Despite this the Mind Healer walked over to the Muggle-born with a welcoming smile on her lips, "I hope I didn't startle you? My name is Abigail Smith. I am one of the Mind Healers of St. Mungos and am the one they have burdened with the responsibility for Mrs Lestrange's wellbeing."
For a moment longer, Hermione kept her mouth shut. I know who you are, I know about your experience as an Auror and as a Mind Healer. I know about your own need for therapy after you lost your first husband, that you remarried again five years ago and have three children. Though as her mental list with facts about the other woman continued Hermione proffered her hand, "Nice to meet you, Mrs Smith, my name is Hermione Granger."
From the smile on Abigail's face, Hermione surmised that she had not needed to introduce herself. It would truly take some getting used to, that so many of the magical world knew her by name.
Silence followed and Hermione felt uncomfortable. She had wanted to start with therapy even during the war but now that she stood before a Mind Healer she was tongue-tied. Where to begin? Her depressive moods? Her recurring nightmare? The torture? The need to keep her parents safe by Obliviating them?
As Hermione went over the possibilities in her head her eyes slowly returned to the heap of blanket and ebony mane. All the while she felt Abigail's eyes on her, studying her.
Abigail spoke up again, "I can imagine that you might have some questions. Would you like to come with me to my office? Or would you prefer to stay here?"
This was a simple question, Hermione knew she had to get out of here. The longer she stayed in this corridor, the more certain she became that she had gone insane during the war.
Harry stood up from his place near the fire the moment Hermione stepped inside their tent. "Where have you been?" His voice was strained and a frown of incomprehension was on his face as he asked, "Why didn't you wait for me?"
She did not answer at once. Instead, she tried to gauge his current thoughts, but it was impossible to see past Harry's suppressed anger. It did not help that her head hurt and that tiredness seemed to have settled in her very bones.
Hermione sighed, the false hopes which she had talked into her own head during her journey back home crumbled into a thousand pieces. "I am sorry, Harry, I... I was not thinking. Just..." She faltered, not really sure if what she had to say was any good.
Harry waited for her to finish her sentence. He wanted to be able to let his shoulders sag in relieve and be done with this, but the worries which had gnawed at him for hours were currently stimulating the anger within him now that he knew that she was safe. How could she have done this to him? Vanishing without giving them a time of return or her destination. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, mentally telling himself to keep his voice calm. Yet he failed to keep the snide remark from spilling from his lips, "Right, you forgot. Just like we did at Shell Cottage. A side effect of our months on the run. Hm?"
She did not need their years of friendship to know that his attitude came from worry and hurt. And she truly tried not to take this personally, in spite of this, her defensiveness was audible when she spoke, "You know it is not that simple, Harry."
He looked at her, puzzled, but frowning still, "Fine. Why won't you tell me what is going on? Where have you been?"
Hermione looked at the ceiling of the tent and sighed in defeat. Honesty is always the best, just rip off that bandage and deal with the blood, she thought. "Because it was crazy of me to do. And I don't know why I did it."
When she looked back at him she saw in his eyes that he realized where she had disappeared to, to whom she had gone. Hermione did not try to stop him when he visibly bristled and bellowed, "You went to her?! To bloody Bellatrix?!"
Noises could be heard from the bedroom, then a door opened and footsteps signalled that someone came nearer. Neither of them paid it any attention.
Meanwhile, the Muggle-born did not flinch away from her friend, but she did cross her arms, albeit unconsciously. "I did."
Harry opened his mouth again, not to yell this time, his voice was pained, "How could you not have waited for me? What if something had happened to you?" Though his words gradually became accentuated by his anger, "What if that bitch would have killed you this time?! You would be dead, just like my parents, Sirius, Remus and everyone else!" Tears began to gather in his eyes, though they did not fall yet.
Viktor walked silently into the room and came to a halt near them. His face was stern as he looked at the two. She glanced his way and saw that he had just showered, his hair was still wet, water dripped down onto his clothes. Her eyes lingered on him for a few seconds, then they returned to Harry. Hermione took several more steps inside, abandoning the still half-open front flap of the tent.
"But that did not happen, see?" She said and gestured to her own body. "Harry, I am fine. I was told she was dosed and figured it was safe to go. In fact, she was more than 'dosed', she is kept drugged and sedated around the clock. Lestrange is kept in a comatose state! I was never at risk!" Without meaning to she had gradually been raising her voice in response to his. Though not in anger, rather because she needed Harry to listen. And she saw from his face that he did not hear a single word she uttered. Despair for what was happening, the escalation of this discussion into an argument, began to settle inside her. It twisted her guts into a cramped knot.
"One is never safe around that freak and you of all people should know that!" Tears traced down Harry's cheeks.
Those words made Hermione remember an argument in Shell Cottage, when Fleur had thrown those same words at her.
She, Hermione Jean Granger, of all people, should have known better.
Something in her jarred, made her clench her jaws. It reignited the anger she had felt in St. Mungos a few hours ago. I should have known better, she thought bitterly. Because I am Hermione Granger, the know-it-all, the one who reads all the time and who is a teacher's pet. Therefore, I am not allowed to make mistakes, act on irrational thoughts or emotions or desires for once in my life.
Whilst these bitter thoughts penetrated her mind she was unaware that Harry had not quietened down, he was continuing his monologue still, "I was only gone for five minutes, Hermione. Ten if you are pushing it! We could have gone together!"
Nor was Hermione aware of anything else. For she was fuming in the anger that had been suppressed for so long. In truth, only Viktor was aware of the fourth person entering the tent. The sound of the zipper of the closing front flap drew his attention momentarily away from Harry and Hermione. Fleur had entered and magically closed the flap behind her.
At that moment Hermione figuratively exploded, silencing Harry. She shouted, anger blazing in her eyes, all the while she pointed accusingly at her friend, "Am I not allowed to act on a whim once or twice?! You cannot expect me to always keep dancing to everyone's tunes!"
Only now did Harry notice his own tears and he wiped them angrily away, causing his glasses to rest on his nose askew, "No, you aren't! Not if said whim endangers your life! And since when do you even feel the need to risk things and act without thinking, huh?! You were the one to feel guilty whenever we broke school rules or got up to other shenanigans!"
"Oh, just get off your high horse," Hermione actually snarled at him, too angry to think clearly. "You never took responsibility for your own safety and now you are telling me to do exactly that. Practice what you preach, Harry."
He narrowed his eyes at that, tears spilt down unbiddenly. He opened his mouth -
Fleur, having had enough of this argument, yelled to cut off Harry's reply, "You two need to calm down! This ees unreasonable from both of you!" Unintentionally a blast of Veela pheromones accompanied her words, her distress for the situation causing a lack in control. The suddenness of it threw Harry off and he blinked several times as if dumbstruck. Viktor too stirred at the sudden dense atmosphere.
Hermione, on the other hand, was unaffected by the pheromones. She turned around, angry for having been sneaked up on, and shot back, "And what makes you think that you can just come waltzing into our tent and give your unsolicited opinion?!"
The quarter-Veela kept her expression impeccable, though her eyes betrayed the indignation she felt, "Your tent was open and instead of letting the whole camp hear about your personal life I thought it better to close it and intervene."
This did silence Hermione; her mouth became a thin line while she mentally reprimanded herself for leaving the tent flap unattended.
"Fuck this," snarled Harry meanwhile, the effect of Veela pheromones was not strong enough to diffuse his anger. "I am off to the Weasleys." He drew his wand and with a swift motion the front flap burst open, he grabbed a long black coat from one of the hangers and disappeared in a blur of robes. Viktor swiftly ducked as Harry's broom appeared from the hall, zoomed past and out of the tent; Harry had clearly Summoned it.
Hermione glared at the front flap which was still swaying from the rough magic which had forced it open. Complete silence descended over them, during which she ignored the stares of the other two. She ran a hand through her curls, her annoyance was evident in her agitated movement.
Viktor and Fleur moved at the same time. Her lover came to stand next to her, gently taking her chin and turning her head to face him. Whilst Fleur gave an exasperated sigh, finally averted her eyes away from Hermione and left the tent without another word, once more closing the front flap behind her.
"Vhat vas all that about? Vhy did you go to Lestrange, vhat haven't you told me?" Viktor's voice was soft as he spoke, but his expression was not kind. He had still a stern look about him, his thick eyebrows in a frown. She looked up at him, searching his eyes for disapproval but found none. Though she was reminded of how she had described him as grumpy-looking in a conversation she once had with Ron during their Fourth year.
The silence lengthened whilst Viktor waited.
"I don't know," she answered. What had happened here was unlike anything Harry and she had ever experienced, they had never argued like that. "I..." Hermione's shoulders sagged at last and she gently batted Viktor's hand away from her chin, allowing herself to look away. "I don't know," she repeated in a defeated whisper.
The Bulgarian did not speak as he kept studying her. His eyes restless as they scanned every aspect of her face and expression.
"I think," she began, her eyes settled on her bag which waited for her on the table. She had forgotten to take it with her to St. Mungos. "I will stay at Luna's place for a few nights."
He followed her stare, then walked towards it. Viktor held out her shoulder bag for her and asked her in Bulgarian "When are you coming back?"
"I don't know," she muttered as she walked towards him, past her proffered bag. Hermione wrapped her arms around his torso and held herself close to him for a few seconds before she let go. "Don't hate me for not telling you."
"I von't," he said earnestly, but his face was still without any warmth.
"I will tell you everything once I am back," she promised.
The Muggle-born readied herself to knock on the door when she heard Luna's voice from above, "Don't bother knocking, I doubt the house will let you in on its own, it has been acting up ever since we refurbished it a week ago."
Hermione looked up. Luna was on the roof, looking over the edge and down on her. Her long blond hair was in a braid and it dangled towards Hermione, looking almost like a rope that was thrown down for her to climb up with.
"The night is splendid for a walk, have you come from the Weasleys?"
"No, I haven't," Hermione took a deep breath. "I had a fight with Harry, actually. I also insulted Fleur. And I hurt Viktor by withholding my experience in Malfoy Manor from him."
"Stress can do much damage to a person's relationships," Luna said, her eyes wandering over the dark garden. "Have you had dinner yet? We have leftovers from my father's quiche."
"That sounds lovely," Hermione said with a sigh, realizing she had not eaten since she had dashed off to St. Mungos.
Halfway through the meal, Luna tapped with her wand on Hermione's left forearm, "So Viktor doesn't yet know what is underneath the bandages?"
The Muggle-born shook her head, still chewing.
"Has it gotten any better since I last saw it?"
Another shake of her head.
"Have you approached Pomfrey yet?"
She swallowed, but instead of a verbal answer, she took another bite from her dinner and shook her head for the third time.
Luna continued her questioning without missing a beat, "Are you still planning to?"
The first nod of the evening.
"And this fight, has it anything to do with the scar?"
Another nod.
"And the one who made it?"
Hermione gave her friend a certain look, it was pained but it answered her nonetheless. The Ravenclaw nodded absentmindedly, her eyes wandered to focus on something the kitchen. Meanwhile, Hermione took the last bite of her food and magiced her plate and cutlery to the sink, where it cleaned itself with a sponge, soap and water.
"Can we go to your room? I wouldn't feel comfortable if your father would walk in while I tell you the whole story. And I have a lot to tell you, there has happened so much since I last saw you..."
There were a lot of windows in the room they entered, giving the plants in the room plenty of light and enabling them to grow out of proportion. Their pots had become far too small, though none seemed on the verge of toppling over. Hermione suspected Sticky Charms as the reason why. And she could practically visualise how Neville would have a fit if he were to see this.
The view outside was nothing like London, instead one saw a blue sky with small clouds scattered over it, like sheep spread over a meadow.
The Mind Healer's voice made Hermione look away from the view, "Can I offer you a drink? Tea or coffee?"
The Mind Healer sat down behind her desk casting expectant eyes on her visitor, who followed her example and sat opposite her whilst she declined the offer, "no, thanks."
A soft pop announced the arrival of a tray with biscuits and a pot of tea.
"I would like to know something for certain. Did you know about my presence through the visitor list or were you just making your rounds?" Hermione asked as she watched the Mind Healer poor herself a cup.
Abigail smiled, "The paper downstairs is enchanted, when there is something written on it, that same handwriting appears right on this piece I keep on my desk." She waved the parchment in the air before laying it down again for her visitor to look at. "When I saw your name appear I was quite surprised, and determined to cancel my appointment to see if I could have a conversation with you."
To say that she was shocked by the Healer's honesty and forthrightness was an overstatement, but she was certainly unaccustomed to it. People were generally not this blunt.
"Right," she said, making sure to sound neutral, "good to know." To her embarrassment, she was a bit lost for words.
"So, Miss Granger, you came to St. Mungos in order to see Mrs Lestranges. Or is there something else, something I can help with?"
Hermione saw no reason to lie and said, "I wanted to see what had become of Lestrange." Though once the words were out of her Hermione began to feel nervous. Most people would believe her to be crazy for stating this. "How she is being kept prisoner, I mean. That was all, really."
"And?" Abigail raised her eyebrows questioningly, "Are you satisfied with what you saw? Or would you rather have her chained and back in Azkaban?"
Her lips became a thin line and she leaned back a little bit. Though when her eyes strayed to look at the plant on the desk she relaxed somewhat, "Not really, no. If we would put people in Azkaban we would not be any better than the Death Eaters themselves."
"Truly?" Abigail asked, her eyes intently focused on Hermione as she took a sip of her tea.
Hermione bristled at that, her eyes snapped back to look the Mind Healer in the eyes. "Yes, of course! I have seen what dreadful effect it had on a friend of mine and he was lucky enough to be there for a short while only.
"Azkaban is no place to keep prisoners, no matter what those people have done."
"That is quite a different opinion you got there, especially compared to most wizarding folk left in Britain. Where does this moral code come from, is this taught in Muggle schools?"
"Yes and no." Hermione took a moment to think before she continued with her answer, "It depends on the teachers and the countries, some are more honest than others. Just like with wizarding schools. Also, it depends most often on one's upbringing, naturally."
"And now you have come to make sure Mrs Lestrange is not put in Azkaban?"
"No." Hermione balled her hands into fists but forced them open just as fast. This was becoming a weird conversation.
"I see," Abigail muttered, observing Hermione still. Though her expression had softened.
Meanwhile, the Muggle-born doubted Abigail 'saw' what she truly meant, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
Then the Mind Healer suddenly beamed at her, "I am curious. About you. Could you tell me more about your moral code?"
Hermione was once more taken aback by the bluntness, but after a few moments, she complied nonetheless, "Err... Well... My parents have always taught me that there should be equality for all. Which is why I founded the organisation S.P.E.W a few years ago. The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."
"S.P.E.W.?" Abigail pronounced it as if she were tasting the letters on her tongue, "I am intrigued."
It took a bit getting used to - it had been such a long time since she had last gotten the opportunity to promote her beliefs about house-Elf welfare - but soon she had found her former spirit and advocated for what she believed to be right.
In the end, she exited the room having gotten another member, though she suspected that Abigail had joined to humour her rather than actually believing this could succeed.
A first glimmer of the sunrise was visible from behind the curtains of Luna's bedroom windows by the time Hermione had finished her story. By now she was depleted of all her energy, though she knew that as long as she would not close her eyes for too long, she should be able to stay awake for a little while longer. Though getting up from the bed was out of the question. She had been lying next to her dear friend all this time and she was perfectly fine to sleep beside her. And she knew that they were both at ease, though they had never before shared a bed.
Hermione, who laid on her side facing Luna, observed the profile of her friend's face. All the while the Ravenclaw was silent as she looked at the portraits on her ceiling, mulling over everything she had just heard.
"Are you going to ask her to be your therapist?" Luna asked, her voice had a little rasp to it. She too was tired, though she had not once complained about the time.
"I think I will." The Muggle-born had made this decision whilst on her way back to camp, but saying it out loud made her feel uncertain - no, uncomfortable. Abigail was Bellatrix' Healer, would it create difficult situations? Hermione did not think it likely since all Abigail did was tend to the Death Eater's wounds. Right? There was nothing ethically incorrect about it... Right?
"You can stay for as long as you want," Luna said this and looked sideways at Hermione, "I mean here."
Hermione smiled a tired smile, she had no idea if Luna meant she was allowed to stay here in the bed, here in the house or both.
"Let's sleep now, Hermione. Before the sun chases us out of the room."
I guess she meant both, she thought to herself and nodded, her smile still there. Hermione reached over to the bottle she had put on the nightstand, took a swig and laid back down. She draped an arm around Luna's middle and was content to wait for the potion to work. The Ravenclaw moved a bit with the blanket, made sure they were both covered by it, waved her wand to magically darken the room and closed her eyes to hum them both to sleep.
Two days later Hermione was once more in the office of Abigail Smith. The Mind Healer was as friendly as the previous time, escorting the earlier client back to the lobby and retrieving Hermione to take to her office.
Yesterday, after approximately five hours of rest, Hermione had awoken and had been unable to stay in bed, despite the comfortable warmth from the sleeping form beside her. While moving about on her tiptoes, she had reached for her bag and had tried writing the letter to Smith at Luna's desk. Though after having crumbled the second piece of parchment Luna had chosen that moment to wake up and had helped Hermione during her third try.
It had been a difficult letter for Hermione to write because of all the information she had felt obligated to give. Explaining in detail why she wanted Smith to be her therapist, only to get stuck on the part where she tried to explain why it had nothing to do with Smith being Mrs Lestrange's Healer.
"You know," Luna smiled, once she had read the previously written letters, whilst seated on the desk itself, "a pigeon doesn't explain itself when they come to walk around your feet while you eat something."
"But I can't just expect her to create time in her schedule without giving some information in return." Hermione had tried to argue.
But Luna was resolute in her opinion, "Filling in the blanks is part of understanding the human psyche."
Hermione had listened to Luna and had scrapped most of her reasoning, but some of it had still made it in the final letter.
"I got the impression from your letter that you have wanted therapy for some time, which leads me to think that you know what you want to work on. Are there specific experiences?" Abigail was tending to her plants as she asked this.
Their teacups were already prepared with a full teapot on the side, at the ready to refill on its own.
Hermione had no need to think about her answer, "What I need from this therapy is to come to terms with several happenings from during the war and the lasting effects I suffer because of them. Most of which I got at Mrs Lestrange's hands.
"Also, at the start of the Second War, I had to take some drastic measures to ensure some kind of safety for my parents. I had to cut myself out of their lives."
"You Obliviated them," Abigail surmised.
"I did." Hermione reached out for her cup to hold it in one hand and twirled her index finger of the other hand to stir the tea within. "I had to, there was nothing else I could have done."
The Mind Healer said nothing at this, her silence egging Hermione on, "Anyway, I want to discuss the latter in both a therapeutic and an academic way. Obviously, I feel horrible for having had to do something like that to them. But most of all, I need to make them remember, I won't rest until I find a way to make their memories come back without having to hurt them. And I hope that you are willing to help me with that or know someone else who can."
"Very well," Abigail said and finally sat down in her chair. "Have you any preference which we tackle first?"
"Yes, I do actually." The Muggle-born put back her cup and began to roll up her left sleeve, exposing her bandages. "Lestrange left me with a significant scar. She cut it in me with this dagger - " she took the dagger out of her bag and laid it down on the table "- but no matter what I or others have tried to do so far, the word won't heal, let alone disappear."
Abigail took the dagger and twirled it around before her eyes, "I am not specialised in Healing, Miss Granger, is there a reason why you show this to me?"
"I heard from Madam Pomfrey that you are an ex-Auror," Hermione lied without missing a beat. "Perhaps you have seen other instruments like this one before?"
"No, I am afraid I have to disappoint you." She laid the dagger back on the desk with an apologetic smile on her face. It looked sincere. "There were certainly dark Enchantments of some sort used when this dagger was made, but I am no specialist. Few are. And those people can likely only be found in the ranks of the Death Eaters or the Unspeakables."
"Not surprising," Hermione hid the object once more from view.
"And what is it exactly that you and others have tried so far?"
The Muggle-born listed all the different approaches Fleur, Harry, Luna and she had tried so far. Minutely wondering what a real Healer would have done differently. She made a mental note that she had to go to Madam Promfrey as soon as possible. She should have gone to the school nurse the moment the war had stopped.
"Hm," was all that came from Abigail as the list had come at an end. The look on her face indicated to Hermione that there were different tactics she was considering.
"But the reason why I mention this is because the wound, or rather the curse - because I do think it is a curse - that is bound to the wound, is affecting my sleep. I have cause to believe the curse affects my subconscious. Forcing me to repeatedly dream the same nightmare whenever I do not take a Dreamless Draught. It literally haunts me."
"That certainly sounds bad," muttered Abigail as she fiddled with a quill in her hands, her eyes roaming over the objects in her room. "You should see a Healer specialised in these kinds of wounds. I will see what I can do for you in that regard."
"No, that is fine, I will arrange it myself." Hermione was not comfortable with the idea that she was not the one in control of who was going to help her. Even though she knew Abigail was restricted by the oath of professional secrecy.
Abigail did not bat her eyes, but she did ask for a confirmation, "Are you sure? Alright then." The Mind Healer then looked at something behind Hermione. Who followed her gaze and saw a clock hang on the wall that reminded her a lot of the one that was present in the Weasley's home. Though in this case, the hands of the clock did not represent the family members but rather the clients. The hand which had a nameplate depicting 'current client' rested on 'office', whilst the hand with 'next client' rested on 'lobby'. To this clock's right there stood a grandfather clock which truly showed the time. They had eight minutes left of their session.
Hermione looked back around and saw Abigail writing on a piece of parchment. When that disappeared with a wave of the hand and an audible pop, the Mind Healer looked Hermione in the eyes and said, "I want to look if there are any triggers in your daily activities. And eliminate what could possibly provoke the nightmare to recur during your sleep. So, what I want you to do is to keep a diary, or journal, if that is the term you prefer.
"All you need to do is write what you have done during the day, until the moment you go to sleep. And write down how your nights went the moment you wake up. Even when you took the Dreamless Sleep draught the night before.
"For now, you don't have to go into detail in regards to the activities. Just write down what you did, even if it's part of the most basics human needs. Brushing your teeth after having breakfast, for example."
At that moment another audible pop sounded in the office and on the desk the same piece of parchment had returned, this time with a notebook attached to it. Abigail picked it up and handed it to Hermione. "Here, take this to write in. And, in the meantime, I will think of other ways we could tackle this mystery." The promise was accompanied by a warm smile.
"Thank you," Hermione accepted the notebook and reached out to shake hands. She was not sure if this would lead to something that could actually help her, but she was willing to try. It gave her a feeling of some kind of purpose; not all was lost, there were still things they could try to do against the nightmare.
Once they stood by the door Abigail turned to face Hermione, a hand resting on the door handle, "Also, I think you should keep practising Occlumency. Maybe it won't be the answer to your problem, but it's always good to have such skills. And another thing that we might try out in the coming weeks and months is Lucid Dreaming. But we will breach that topic when the need arises."
As they walked through the corridor to the lobby Abigail told her that she would send Hermione an owl with the possible dates for their next session.
After that Hermione went back to Luna and told her everything which had happened.
The Muggle-born watched in her vixen form, hidden underneath a shrub, as her friends practised Quidditch in the garden. Harry was practising different dive techniques, several which Hermione recognized as Viktor's famous dives, whilst Ginny and George took turns to try and score in the makeshift goals Ron was guarding. Comments and jokes were made, but despite this, there seemed to be a heavy atmosphere present. Since George too was on a broom and flying. He was still a shadow of his former self. His comments, if he said anything at all, lacked in spirit, the single smile Hermione had seen so far had been forced and he seemed to be constantly distracted. His eyes searching for the one sibling who was no longer alive.
Hermione stayed where she was; content to observe the others from a distance, pondering over everything that had happened the last few days and to gather all the courage she needed to initiate a conversation with Harry. Crouched between the leaves as she was she had no fear of being spotted, despite her red coat.
It was the arrival of Arthur and Percy from their jobs at the Ministry that made the group halt their game and land on the ground, welcoming the two home. As a whole, the group reached the back door, through which one after the other went inside. It was then that she chirped. A sound that should be familiar to Harry. But he did not respond.
She was about to repeat the chirp when she saw Ron give a discreet elbow to Harry. She watched as he nodded over his shoulder in her direction. A pair of clear green eyes glanced towards her hiding place and then he saw her.
The vixen crawled out from underneath the shrub and trotted away from the house, confident that her two friends would find her. She waited for them in the shadows of a tree in her human form, gripping Fleur's sweater tighter around herself. She disliked having arguments or fights with people in general, but with Harry... With Harry, she had not had a real prolonged argument since their third year. And a part of her had believed it impossible for them to have meaningless fights after all they had gone through together during the Horcrux Hunt. Obviously, she had been mistaken.
"Hey Hermione," Ron gave an uncertain wave as the two young men walked into the shadows, "we miss you around here. Ginny has been nagging me, asking me what I have done to keep you away like this."
Harry was silently observing her with his hands in his pockets. His eyes were not reproachful, he too looked uncertain and nervous about the situation.
Hermione let go of her sweater and rushed towards him, throwing her arms around him. In return, he clasped his arms tightly around her too. Their embrace was not wholly comfortable; however, it answered all the more their need for forgiveness from the other.
In a whisper only audible to Harry she told him how sorry she was, that she would not visit Lestrange again without asking him to join her.
"It's okay, love," he croaked, "we are okay."
"We will talk about this later?"
"Yeah."
When they separated Ron smiled hopefully and was rewarded with a quick hug from Hermione, he was still her friend, she could not always keep a distance if she wanted to be able to be civilised with him.
"So, are you staying for dinner?" He asked with a beaming grin.
"Yes, I would love to."
Hermione was welcomed with the warmth she associated with the Weasley family; Molly embraced her in her usual motherly way. Though she, like George, missed her usual spirit. Despite this Hermione was relieved and confident that, given time, the family would come through their mourning.
Talk at the table was mostly about the Ministry's reformation, that Kingsley was likely to be asked to stay Minister for a while longer and that the Goblins were still very ill-tempered. The state of the camp at Hogwarts' grounds was another topic brought up, to which Hermione could answer that the last few people were likely to go homewards the next day. Except for those who had opted to stay.
Arthur, who sat opposite her, leaned forward, "After the award ceremony at Hogwarts we want to hold a small family get together, with a few friends. And you are invited, of course. And Mr Krum is more than welcome to come as well."
She smiled, grateful to be invited even after the days of absence. "Thank you, I will tell Viktor about it."
Instinct told her to expect a comment from Fred and George, that Ron could have Viktor sign all his posters, but the reality caught up with her almost immediately. She glanced towards George and noticed that he was not listening to anyone, merely concentrating on his meal, forcing the food between his teeth. She wondered if he would ever be able to make the same kind of jokes again. It pained her to see him like this.
After dinner, a bit of small talk and many hugs, Harry and Ron accompanied her to the fence.
"I will be staying three more nights here."
"It feels weird, not being with you," Hermione conceded and with her body language she told him, Stay safe.
"Yeah, I know what you mean." He smiled sheepishly, I will.
Heartened by Harry's forgiveness Hermione decided to go to Fleur next. After transfiguring Fleur's sweater into a jacket, she braved her nerves and knocked on the front flap before her courage would give way. She did not have to wait long to feel the wards being taken down. Then Fleur appeared as she opened the flap. Light streamed outside from behind her and made it impossible for Hermione to see her reaction if she actually showed any.
The quarter-Veela summoned a Lumos between them, keeping the glow soft, "'Ermione, what can I do for you?" Dark blue eyes gazed at her, calculating and distant.
She took a deep breath and spoke softly and a bit hesitantly in French, "I have come to apologize. I didn't handle the situation very well. Not well at all."
"You were rather unpleasant, yes."
"I was. And I am sorry I snarled at you like that. There was no need for me to do that."
Despite her sincere apologies, Fleur kept the distant attitude. "Okay, good, thank you."
Hermione kept her own expression from showing the hurt and annoyance she felt. Though her mind raced with questions not only about what she should say or do next but also about why Fleur acted the way she did. How can she be this unresponsive? Does she want me to beg for it?
"Is there anything else I can help you with?" The French woman crossed her arms and leaned against the flap post.
Her tone of voice was not unkind, later Hermione would even say the other woman was thawing, but all she could see right now was the closed-off body language. Which made the little courage she had left in her dissipate.
"That was all," she said, not bothering to speak in French anymore. Mentally she gave up on ever recovering the friendship that had once been between them. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Hermione turned around and walked slowly to her own tent. While she did she realized the mistake she had made. Fleur was not like Harry or Viktor. With her, Hermione did not have the years of love and friendship she had with her two men. No matter how intimate and natural Fleur and Hermione's friendship had been those few days, they did not really know each other that well. And it was obvious now that Hermione had miscalculated what they could handle from one another.
Once she was out of sight, she undid the transfiguration on Fleur's sweater and hunched up her shoulders to bury her nose in the fabric. But Fleur's scent had long since faded from the garment, no matter what lies tried to tell herself.
"Who was that?" William asked as his wife re-entered the kitchen, not halting in the preparation of their dinner.
"'Ermione," was all the quarter-Veela said, whilst she picked up her previously abandoned wine glass and downed the liquid.
At hearing that name he looked up in surprise, "Why didn't you invite her in?"
Fleur sighed, not masking her annoyance, "Because there was no need to."
Not that easily intimidated by his wife's moods, he said after a moment, "I don't get it." He put both his hands on the counter as he watched Fleur with raised eyebrows. "When Hermione stayed at our cottage you two seemed thick as thieves near the end of her stay, but ever since then, I haven't seen you two near each other, not once. What happened?"
Bill saw how Fleur clenched her jaws and watched her refill her glass in silence. After she had taken a drink she said remorsefully, "We got into an argument about what I would do after I finished writing the journal on the effects of the curses she suffered."
"Strange, I thought she agreed after her first hesitation...?" He frowned, remembering clearly the morning Hermione had stumbled down the stairs to state that she was willing to cooperate 'in the name of science'.
"Opinions are changeable, William," Fleur said flatly.
"Let's sit down," she said in a way of greeting, whilst she put the wards back up.
"You look pale, have you eaten anything today?" He asked worriedly, reaching out to take over the warding.
"Yes, don't worry. Just tired and I don't like talking about what I am about to tell you."
Viktor nodded, took hold of one of her hands and pulled her towards the couch. They settled facing each other, their legs intertwined. And as she began to tell every detail she remembered of her experience in Malfoy Manor she kept herself busy with Viktor's trousers, playing with the rims around his ankles. Despite her occupational therapy, her sight became foggy at certain moments, her voice breaking. This was the first time she told someone about it and reliving it like this was almost just as horrible. Though, at the same time, it felt weird to recount what had happened to her.
She was immensely grateful that Viktor was there to help her through. He did not say anything, did not try to shush her tears away. Instead, he scooted closer; he put his feet on the ground and came to sit against her crossed legs. He laid his right arm on the backrest so that he could hold her shoulder with his hand, gently kneading the flesh there. And with his other hand, he reached out to hold one of hers, not minding in the slightest that she started to fidget with his fingers at some point instead. And all the while he listened attentively.
With Viktor's arms wrapped around her, she felt safe. His occasional snores as soothing to her as listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat whenever she laid with her ear on his chest. But there was still a gap between them, she tried to burrow herself further into his embrace, wanting to feel him against her back. Her movement stirred Viktor awake, he mumbled something inaudible and tightened his arms around her body when he realized what she wanted, successfully pulling her fully against him. Then he inhaled deeply and went back to sleep.
Hermione, on the other hand, was still unable to fall asleep, she was wide awake after all the memories she had had to recount. But lying like this, she did not mind her sleeplessness all that much.
In the dark, she could think clearly, without anyone there to distract her. And as a result, her mind went to the mystery she still had not been able to explain.
Bellatrix had somehow survived the Killing Curse Molly had shot at her and Hermione had reason to believe it had everything to do with the fact that instead of leaving a corpse Bellatrix had disintegrated into ashes. So far, none of the books from the Restricted Section had mentioned the latter as a possible way of dying. When hit with the Killing Curse it was most common for the person to be dead at first touch or for death to embrace them within half a dozen seconds. Less common but not unlikely was that upon first touch limbs got severed as the person died or for the chest to explode, these being the brutal ways to die when being hit by the Killing Curse. However, not a one had mentioned anything about the victim staggering into ashes.
There had to be something Hermione did not know about, something she was missing.
Hermione realized she should have included Luna in her search for answers, should have discussed possibilities with her. Because the Ravenclaw would have had a perfectly weird way of looking at the mystery, helping Hermione to look at the things from a new perspective. Or perhaps she should pay Minerva a visit tomorrow, it was likely she would have heard the results from the investigation done in the tunnels by now.
Her thoughts trickled over to the books she had ordered; she had received a letter that they had all arrived and that she could pick them up any time she wanted. Hermione decided that she would send a letter to the Headmistress first thing in the morning, asking for an audience at any time that day, and then go to the bookstore to pay for the books and the good service. She had an inkling that she would receive a prompt response by the time she returned on Hogwarts' grounds.
"Thank you so much for using our services, Miss," the clerk said enthusiastically. It was the same one who had taken her order and he radiated excitement the moment she had entered the shop, though it had lessened slightly after he realized 'Mister Krum' was not accompanying her. Despite this, he practically yelled after her, "We hope that the books are to your satisfaction. Have a great day, Miss Granger!"
The Muggle-born suppressed the urge to run towards the door. She regretted her decision to do the errand alone. Viktor would not only have taken some of the attention away from her, but he also had a grounding effect on her. He was her silent observer, or brooder, depending on the intensity of his scowl. Hermione chuckled at the idea.
She regretted her decision all the more when a flash blinded her the moment she opened the door. In a split-second, Hermione had drawn her wand and another breath later she was protected by a magical shield. Though it was useless against the second flash.
"Smile for the camera, dearie," a syrupy-sweet voice said. One Hermione detested and had been able to avoid for several years, until now, evidently.
As she blinked away the white spots in her sight Hermione said with a dark frown on her face, "Skeeter, whatever makes you want to bug me?"
Rita laughed heartily at the obvious reminder, "Oh, but you know me, right, darling? Flying around, busy as a bee, chirping with the important people. Not to worry, dearie, I will only write down the truth whereas you are concerned. Had a tip, you see. Heard something on the grapevine, when I was in the Ministry. Had to be there you see. Being important."
By now Hermione's sight had come back completely and she saw how Skeeter's quill was furiously scribbling on a piece of parchment which hoovered behind the witch. The fact that the reminder of the end of her Fourth year was received with such carelessness gave her a sinking feeling. Why was her knowledge about Skeeter's Animagus form no longer worthy blackmail?
"Put away the camera," she said coldly, as she put the wand back in her holder.
"Oh no, no, why hide away the object of interest?" Rita said slyly. Though with a snip of her fingers, the camera was banished. "Look, the camera is gone, no need to hide the wand."
Confused and suspicious she said, "My wand?"
"Oh ho ho." It was then decided by Hermione that Skeeter's one true skill was laughing evilly. "Your wand, is it? Was I informed incorrectly? Is it not from a Death Eater?" An evil gleam came into Skeeter's eyes, her sly smile becoming a sneer, "And why is it, Granger, that you are seen still using it like it is your own? Ollivander's shop has been reopened for more than a week and other wandstores were never closed, to begin with."
"That is none of your business," the Muggle-born clenched her jaws to stop herself from telling her precisely why it was none of her goddamned business. She broke the shield with a touch of her fingertips and walked past. Past the reporter and other shopfronts, ignoring the false 'pleasant day to you, dearie, thanks for the insight.'
Nasty, bloody hag.
She should have handled the situation better, should have ignored the reporter from the very start, should not have engaged with her. Hermione ran a hand through her hair in frustration. What was happening to her? She lost her cool way too easily as of late. Getting spooked by a bloody camera flash. She could only imagine how freaked out she looked on the photos. Well, I will know exactly how I look by tomorrow morning, she thought glumly.
Who would have tipped Rita off though? Hermione did not want to believe the Aurors were responsible. Had Skeeter been in her beetle form and overheard a private conversation? Also, Skeeter had only mentioned 'a Death Eater', did that mean she did not know who the wand truly belonged to?
By the time Hermione was about to knock on Minerva's door - for she had indeed received a letter as she returned on Hogwarts' ground, in which Minerva invited her to her office - she had to take a moment and took a deep, calming breath.
"Come on in, Miss Granger."
Hermione smiled despite her mood, she had not even knocked on the door and her Professor already knew of her presence. Very cat-like.
"Good morning, Professor." She said as she walked inside.
"Good morning. Take a seat, Granger, can I offer you some tea? With the usual splash of milk?"
"Yes, please."
The Professor did not even lift her finger for the teapot, milk cup and two spoons to come to life and start to prepare their teas.
"Coincidentally, I have some news for those who stayed here to help with the repairs - including Harry and you, of course - but first, what is it that you wanted to talk with me about?"
No time for pleasantries? "It is about Lestrange, again." Hermione took another deep breath to strengthen herself, "Since before I found her underneath the castle I suspected her to be alive. Though since I was not certain... I thought it better not to worry people.
"Mostly because my reason for suspicion felt so... lucrative. It is such a weak theory. I saw the way she died and... well... I didn't believe it. Or maybe more a kind of gut feeling, really?"
"How did it happen then? How did Mrs Lestrange die?" Minerva asked as she watched Hermione over the rim of her glasses, her hands intertwined on her desk.
Hermione told Minerva everything; how she and Luna had battled the Death Eater and how it had felt strange and unreal as if Bellatrix had kept her anger in check as to not overpower them. How she knew but had not seen that Molly had shot the Killing Curse and how Bellatrix had staggered backwards at being hit only to become smog and ashes.
"... and I have never heard or read of someone disintegrating into ashes after being hit by the Killing Curse. Every book I have read so far tells of a corpse which is left - or mangled remains, at the very least - except when the one hit by the Curse has made Horcruxes. But if that were the case, if Lestrange had made a Horcrux, how did she turn into ashes only to reappear somewhere else? Someone who made Horcruxes simply doesn't die, their body does not disappear.
"There has to be something I am missing, something I don't know anything about.
"The other reason what made me hesitant to believe her staged death, was...well...is... Molly." At this last statement the Muggle-born felt her cheeks heat up, it was one thing to think someone incapable of winning a duel but saying it aloud...
"Mrs Weasley may be a mother and has been a housewife for a few decades but she is a better dueller than you give her credit for."
Hermione's blush intensified due to her embarrassment and opened her mouth to apologize but Minerva silenced her with a wave of her hand and continued, "still, I understand your reasoning. Had I witnessed these events, it would have struck me as unnatural as well. Bellatrix has always been ruthless in her duelling style, even in her years at Hogwarts, it is not like her to keep her anger from showing."
Minerva fell silent as she pondered over the information, her lips were pursed and a distant look was in her eyes. Hermione kept quiet, feeling how her blush slowly subsided. She wanted to tell Minerva about her suspicions, her theories. Instead, she bit on her lower lip to keep quiet and wait.
After a while - and her whole cup of tea - Minerva spoke again, "Until now the Aurors have found nothing, not in the tunnels nor on Bellatrix' person. The investigation is still ongoing, but it won't be long until they will wake her up for questioning. I have made my own deductions, though I want to wait for them to finish their search in the tunnels." Suddenly Minerva skewered Hermione with an intense stare, a slow smile came on her lips, "What have you figured out so far, Hermione?"
The young woman needed no further encouragement, "As of now I believe her staged dead was triggered by the curse or perhaps the amount of energy the Killing Curse requires. Some kind of enchantment? One that can be compared to a Portkey Charm perhaps? I haven't found anything about it in the books but it is still something I consider possible.
"Because I find it unlikely that she carried a true Portkey with her. When was she supposed to say the keyword? By the time she would have been halfway uttering the word, the curse would have hit and killed her. Not to start about all the possible ways one can lose a Portkey admits a battlefield. No matter if it is a bracelet or necklace.
"And since Hogwarts' wards were down the Portkey-like Charm or Enchantment or whatever could have been feasible. Heck, Lestrange, anyone really, could have Apparated away."
Minerva tilted her chin higher to look at Hermione through her glasses which she had moved earlier to the tip of her nose. There was the slightest curl upwards of the corners of her mouth and a certain spark in her eyes.
Hermione missed it all, for her eyes were focussed on the teapot which poured her another cup, but she had once again made her favourite professor proud.
"Why haven't you tried looking for your answers in Herbology? Keep your mind open, Hermione, there is more to this than configuration, I suspect. This is Dark magic, as you have undoubtedly surmised, there are rituals you could look into as well."
The Muggle-born looked with wide, surprised eyes at her professor. She was clearly given directions to continue her investigation. To answer this mystery by herself. This was almost like a weird kind of déjà vu, after all, Dumbledore had sent them on the hunt with his riddles and the unexpected inheritances he had left them with. Something in her wanted to ask Minerva if this was of the same nature. Did Professor McGonagall already know what was going on, but made Hermione figure it out on her own?
The question was on the tip of her tongue, but instead, she asked, "What about the Restricted Section? Have those books been separated from the library yet?"
"The Restricted Section has once more been established, yes. Each of the Professors looked through the books of their respective subjects to make sure none of the offending titles remained in the public library.
"And Irma has informed me that she won't return until three weeks before the start of term. Therefore, you won't need to account yourself to her. As for Argus, I will have a word with him. He won't bother you. And I trust you to return the books once you have read them." Minerva's expression was neutral but there was a certain air about her that made Hermione realize that her Professor knew she had already taken Restricted books from the library.
She felt like a young child who was busted whilst stealing candy, Hermione tried to look innocent, though was not able to keep another blush from her cheeks.
A sigh was accompanied by a scrutinizing look, "Now, let's switch to a simpler topic, shall we?" Minerva clapped twice in her hands, and not only did the tray with tea and their cups disappear but a map appeared and rolled open on top of the desk. Hermione did not recognize the floor plan, but soon she saw that this was likely to be one of the dormitories of Hogwarts by the look of all those smaller rooms connected by one large, round common room. The Muggle-born continued to look at the map as Minerva started to speak again, "Since most of the people have returned to their families and homes I do not see why the few left could not enjoy some more hospitality. Therefore, I want to invite you all to stay in the Hufflepuff dormitory. Professor Sprout is more than happy to welcome you all and temporarily turn off the security devices to repel non-Hufflepuff students. And she will show everyone in which dormitory they are supposed to sleep."
Most of Hogwarts' towers still needed to be repaired, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw's towers included. Hermione was grateful that they were not asked to stay in the Slytherin dormitories. She looked up from the map and said, "Thank you, Professor, I will tell the others to break up the camp. I think we will be ready at 2 o'clock."
"Perfect, I shall inform Pomona."
Later that evening, when she went to bed she was slightly less grateful for the change in housing. Not only could she no longer sleep with Viktor beside her, for he was sleeping in the boy's dormitories, she also realized that she shared the dormitory with Fleur. Who was not here yet, but Hermione recognized the clothes that lay folded on one of the beds. Those were the clothes she, Hermione, had worn just a few days ago.
With a sudden speed to forego awkward situations Hermione quickly picked up her toothbrush and Viktor's Quidditch shirt and made for the bathroom. She changed and brushed her teeth in record time. Though in all her haste to get to her bed and draw the curtains closed around her she completely forgot to take her Dreamless Sleep draught. Which had the usual consequences...
She gasped awake, sweat covered her whole and made her shirt cling to her body. It was likely very early in the morning, it was completely dark around her. She pulled a curtain open but it made no difference. For a few more seconds all she heard was her own heartbeat and breathing, both too fast for someone who had just awakened. But after straining her ears Hermione discerned the breathing of other humans in the dormitory. And after a partial transfiguration into her Animagus form, she saw the curtains drawn from five of the other beds.
The Muggle-born got up, uncaring about the time of day, gathered her things to freshen herself up in the bathroom and tiptoed out of the dormitory. She left Viktor a note telling him where she was and charmed it to fly onto his bedside table. And for the rest of the day, she resided in the Restricted Section. Only pausing in her reading and scribbling whenever Viktor came to visit her for a talk or take her to the Great Hall for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
There were moments during the day that she looked up to say something to Harry, only to remember that he was not there. That same nervous uncertainty as before would try to take a hold of her, but she always managed to placate it with the knowledge that he would be back soon.
It was close to midnight by the time she returned to the common room. A few others were still up, among them sat Viktor with a book of his own. She sat down beside him on the couch, with one leg tucked underneath her whilst the other dangled over the edge so that she could sit facing him. He smiled at her and observed her for a moment, "You look tired."
"That is because I am," she smiled faintly and rested her head on the backrest, willing herself not to close her eyes. "What are you reading?"
"It's about magical creatures in Britain," he said and held the book up for his lover to see the cover. "Luna was talking about some I have never heard of, but I can't find them in here either."
"You won't find them in any book. You should ask her instead, she loves to talk about them. Maybe she will even lend you one of her father's journals to read instead."
He was silent for a moment, looking at her curiously, then he asked softly, "You don't believe her?"
Hermione smiled ruefully and looked at her hands, but she answered him honestly, "It is not that... Well, it was in the beginning. I had heard these crazy tales about a girl looking at things that were not there, saying the strangest things to anyone who talked to her. So, we had a weird start. I wasn't all that comfortable around her, but I kept stumbling on her in the library and I hated to see her sitting all by herself. Being shunned by others as if she had the plague. Ginny is quite like Ron in that regard, they both despise staying in the library for more than half an hour." She cleared her throat and continued, "Anyway, once I got to know her, I grew aware of how intelligent she is and I knew there must be some truth to her stories, to the creatures. But I have yet to see them for myself."
Viktor looked down at the book in his hands and after a moment closed it with a sigh, he would write Luna soon. When he put the book away Viktor took something from the inner pocket of his jacket and offered it to Hermione.
It was the Daily Prophet of that morning. At the sight of it, a nervous feeling jumped her. This newspaper was part of the reasons why she had hidden away in the Restricted library. Yet she took the proffered newspaper all the same.
"She wrote about you," he lowered his voice and leaned closer so that Hermione would hear him, a dark look was on his face. "I don't get how she is still employed."
"Probably knows some interesting things about the chief editor," Hermione muttered almost indifferently, though the way she gripped the paper told a different story. She leafed through the pages until she was faced with herself. A look of confused fear was visible on her face even through the blue-tinted magic, which slightly disturbing her features. Though the focus of the photo was not on her blinking face, it was the wand which she held in a fierce grip which the camera wanted to capture. The title was enough to get the gist of the article: 'HEROINE OF THE GOLDEN TRIO IN POSSESSION OF DEATH EATER'S WAND'. Yet Hermione read it nonetheless. And, almost to her dismay, Rita had written the truth, her variation of the truth, with the little information she had about the situation.
Hermione had been right to assume that Skeeter had no knowledge about who the wand had belonged to exactly. But Rita was not shy to repeatedly point out the fact that Hermione carried and used a Death Eater's wand, voluntarily. Skeeter also mentioned how the wandstore in Diagon Alley was booming, with all the witches and wizards who had lost their previous wands. And that there was simply no reason for Hermione not to be among the first customers. Rita even had the nerve to end the article with: 'So what is happening to our Golden girl, is there something peculiar going on? Has a Death Eater died by her hand and is she carrying the wand around like a trophy? Or is it something far more sinister?'
"At least it was not frontpage material," she sighed as she crumpled the paper into a ball and looked tiredly up into her lover's eyes.
It was close to three in the morning and Viktor was fast asleep on the couch. He had been unwilling to go to bed whilst she stayed in the common room, her mind far too active to even consider going to bed, but that had not kept him from falling asleep right on the sofa.
Earlier she had summoned a blanket to wrap around him and she reached over once more to drape it back over his shoulder, for he had stirred in his sleep and the blanket had fallen down slightly.
Being this close to him she was tempted to plant a soft kiss on his cheek but the lines of his face caught her attention. She followed his thick eyebrows down to the curve of his nose, from which her eyes followed the stubble around his mouth to his chin and from there over his jaw and into his hair. Which Viktor was growing longer still. His hair, a short, spikey cut at the wedding of Fleur and William, was now of a length that it fell often in his eyes but that it was still too short for a ponytail. And, to her surprise, his wavy hair began to get curlier the longer it became. She really liked it.
The word on her forearm throbbed painfully but she ignored it. All-day long it had been troubling her, but after trying several spells to cool it down she had given up on lessening the burn it left.
Only now she realized that she should have gone to Madam Pomfrey, that she had the whole day to do so but somehow the thought had not entered her mind. Instead, she had hidden in the library and occupied herself with books. She had run from her problems, now that it was dark she could face the truth, no one was awake to glare at her accusingly. Still, she felt shame for her own tactics, she fidgeted in her seat.
The wound on her arm throbbed again, a festering prickle minutely lingered behind, somehow reminding her of how minimal this pain was compared to the Crusiatus Curse. Still, it made her wonder... Had the Aurors awakened Bellatrix from her comatose sleep? Was that why the curse on her arm was acting up? Had Bellatrix been questioned by now and with what means?
Hermione stood up, no longer able to sit still. The book she had been reading and the crumpled up newspaper fell to the ground, she did not bother to pick them up. Instead, she walked towards one of the round windows and watched the grass outside ruffle and sway in the wind as the moon shone above it all, showering the landscape in a serene and pale light.
Was this scenery from an existing place or was this all an illusion? Hermione felt a desire grow inside her - and take permanent hold of her - to crawl through the window, into the world of swaying grass and cloudless night skies. She could do with some rest in a place where nothing and no one could get to her.
For the first time since the start of her First Year at Hogwarts, Hermione regretted with all her being that she had been housed in Gryffindor. She would have loved making homework in this common room, she even began to imagine a younger version of herself pulling all-nighters nestled in a chair next to one of the windows so she could occasionally look outside at the moon to estimate the time of night.
Perhaps I could persuade Minerva and Pomona to let me re-house, would the Sorting Hat allow such a thing? She shook her head, her eyes downcast, no longer transfixed by nature's beauty, no, I am being ridiculous.
The Muggle-born turned around, her back now towards the idyllic scenery, to watch her sleeping lover. Viktor had exhausted himself with training and practising for most of the day. He wanted to get back into Quidditch now that the war was over and he was on top of it. His training schedule had been drilled into memories, he could go through them without a single thought. But there were times that he demanded too much of his body, that he crossed his own limits.
She decided she would join him during his morning exercises, to keep an eye on him and to slow him down for a little bit. Besides, becoming fitter could have a positive effect on the curse. It helped the mind and body.
A sudden crackle from the dying fire startled Hermione and she wheeled around with her wand drawn, but, obviously, no one was there. She was being jumpy, just like she had been when Skeeter had cornered her. Unwillingly her eyes were drawn back to the newspaper, at least with the little light in the room she could not see her own crumpled, but still scared face.
How many people would believe Skeeter? Would she get Howlers again, just like in the Fourth year? People could use her as a scapegoat to throw their bottled-up anger and fear from the last few months at.
Hermione let her shoulders slump at these thoughts. She hoped that someone in the post office would interfere, believing her to be innocent of the accusations... Or perhaps the owls would know better and refuse to deliver the post to her... Or maybe Minerva would do something about it...
A girl could hope.
She walked back towards Viktor and gingerly sat down beside him, careful not to wake him. He stirred nonetheless, he opened his eyes and looked blearily at her. He blinked several times and looked around the dimly lit room, then he reached out for her without saying a thing and tugged her towards him, wrapping his arms and the blanket around her torso. Hermione smiled as she complied with his silent request. She settled her back against his chest, with one of his legs on each of her sides. He took a deep breath and she knew from the way he shifted that he had laid his head back on the backrest. His breathing grew deep and slow within the blink of an eye.
For a dozen minutes, she did nothing but sit there and feel his chest move beneath her, making herself breath in when he breathed out and vice versa. It was calming and made her forget the feeling of helplessness. But she could not let go of the thought that people now knew what kind of wand she carried with her and it would only be a matter of time before someone who knew the original owner of the wand would reach out to Skeeter.
Her hands poked out from underneath the blanket and it was not long before she absentmindedly twirled Bellatrix' wand between her fingers. The curve in the wood had her interest, but what really fascinated her was how many gnarls were present on the wand. They were beautifully carved into adornments, complimenting the curve of the wood, but they were gnarls nonetheless.
She switched the wand from one hand to the other with some regularity, growing conscious of the way it fell into her grip. The whole object was so different from how her own had been; curved, of considerable length, walnut and with a dragon's heartstring. Unyielding. Even the handle was longer than her own had been.
In the beginning, the differences had caused problems, had made her clumsy, but she had long since gotten accustomed to the wand's size and handle.
Though she doubted the wand would ever get accustomed to her. After all, she, Hermione, was a Mudblood. And Bellatrix had tortured, killed and destroyed with the help of this wand. She had driven Neville's parents into insanity, killed Sirius and who else? How many nameless individuals had Bellatrix toyed with before she had slaughtered them one way or another?
But...
Bellatrix had learned the very basics - and so much more - of spellcasting with this wand as well. Years of dedicated study.
Hermione closed her eyes and tried to envision a younger Bellatrix. One that sat in the library, bowed over a book with her wand in hand. But all she saw in her mind's eye was the deranged smile illuminated by a green glow. The Muggle-born quickly opened her eyes again to stare at the last smouldering embers of the fire.
Had an innocent version of Bellatrix even really existed? Or had she already been deprived of empathy when she had walked through the corridors of Hogwarts as a student? Hermione shook her head, unwilling to go down that particular rabbit hole.
For some time, she stared at the fire, once murmuring the incantation to reignite the fire. All the while her thoughts stayed with the wand; she knew that people expected her to get her own wand, Rita Skeeter had made that a pressing matter with that article of hers, she had made continued use of Bellatrix' wand impossible.
Hermione had to take Ollivander up on his promise. She had to make another visit to Ollivander's shop soon. She had to get herself a new wand...
Even though she was not sure if she wanted another.
Reviews are treasured.