A/N: Thank you so much for all of your reviews! They really help motivate me.
The silence was so heavy that it hurt. She was used the strange clanging, the bizarre screams and moans, the constant crash of the sea.
It had become as familiar as her own mind. As had the smooth, crooning voice that said "Don't be frightened." The voice that had always been there in the back of her mind, like a guardian angel.
"I'm not," she always said. Though she knew that the waver in her voice sometimes gave her away. The answering chuckle would always chase any lingering fear away.
So when she woke up to deafening silence she felt as if she knew, for the first time, what it really meant to be scared.
"Bella?" She whispered, both out loud and in her head.
There was nothing. No irritated snap, no slow 'good morning'. Just… nothing.
Except for fear. She felt it fully now. It seemed to vibrate from the walls of her mind and clasp her in it's unrelenting hold. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
"Lucius!" She heard her mother scream. "Lucius, come quickly!"
"Bella!" Hermione screamed inside of her mind, "Bella, help!" She couldn't breathe. "BELLA!"
She could hear her mother trying to soothe her, could feel someone's arms wrapped around her.
There was a pulse, and the strange feeling of a wet cloth being pulled over her face.
And then there was darkness.
Hermione woke with a start, her hand gripping the front of her nightgown in a panic. As usual, she could not remember what the dream had been about, but as she untangled herself from her blankets she decided that it must have been particularly awful.
As if on cue, she heard a faint whine, and turned to see a tuft of pale orange fur sticking up from the the blankets. Her dog quickly wiggled from his cloth prison and launched himself into her lap.
She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his soft fur. "You look like a fox," she murmured, trying to mask her unease with teasing. "It's pretty. But I think I like you better in your normal color, Turnip." She pulled gently on one of his large, pointed ears, and felt the tension drain slowly from her body.
Turnip's orange fur was gradually changing to a soft blue, and when there was no trace of orange left she released him. He bounded off of the bed, and darted for the door.
With a yawn, Hermione slid her feet into her slippers. Remembering her mother's admonishments that she "must never leave your room in just a nightgown," she grabbed her housecoat and padded down the corridor after Turnip.
She came to a stop in front of a tapestry that listed several generations of Malfoys. Smiling fondly at the blue bushy tail that stuck out from under "Genthia Malfoy 1345-1516", she pulled the tapestry aside, and pushed open the door that Turnip sat against.
She and Draco had discovered the Servant's passages shortly after they had accidentally ruined one of the portraits in their mother's sitting room. They had needed a place to hide, and they spent the afternoon running from one passageway to the next.
Carefully avoiding the broken steps, she followed Turnip down the passageway, grinning as the smell of sausages hit her.
"It seems that Mardie is cooking early," she whispered to the eagerly attentive dog as they reached the bottom of the stairs. The door opened into the lavishly stocked pantry, and she crept silently into the kitchen.
One wall was taken up by an enormous stove, and a giant hearth took up the wall across from it. The ceiling rafters were dotted with bundles of dried herbs. Turnip trotted cheerfully over to the only other occupant of the room.
Mardie had been their Kitchen House Elf for as long as Hermione had been alive. She was more robust than any other elf Hermione had seen, and more outspoken.
"Missie's up awfully early," Mardie grumbled with a suspicious glare at Turnip.
The Wubble panted happily, inching closer and closer to the sizzling pan of sausages.
"Couldn't sleep," explained Hermione, pulling a stool out from a corner and perching on top of it. She beamed at the grumpy elf when a mug of steaming hot cider was dropped on the counter in front of her.
Mardie pulled a platter from one of the shelves above the stove and began piling it with sausage. There was a small, rough table against the wall opposite Hermione, and Mardie set the platter on that with a heavy thunk! Next, she went to the hearth, where a large loaf of bread had been stuck on a giant brass toasting fork. She pulled the bread free and began to tear it into large pieces. These too were placed on the platter.
Mardie pulled a slim silver bell from the folds of her tea-towel, and rang it.
Hermione sat up straighter, and watched the garden door expectantly. It slowly creaked open, and five house-elves filed in, taking their seat at the table. As they did so, they cast anxious glances at the girl who sat in the corner.
"Good morning," chirped Hermione.
Mardie scowled, and shook a finger in Hermione's direction. "Oh no you don't!" She rasped, "Master has ordered Mardie not to allow the young mistress to talk to the other elves. Missie has done quite enough!" She rounded on the elves at the table, "Respectable House Elves only talk to the family when they are summoned!"
"That's not true," huffed Hermione.
Mardie turned back to Hermione, and observed her with a beady eye.
"Missie looks rather flushed," she croaked, "perhaps she should go back to sleep for a few hours."
Hermione recognized this as a dismissal, and opened her mouth to argue. She knew from personal experience, however, that Mardie was impossible to argue with. Forcing her mouth into a smile, she tried to look as innocent as possible. "Thank you Mardie, I think I will. Do you think I could have something to tide me over until breakfast?" She pointed to the platter that was still piled high with sausage and bread.
The old elf continued to eye Hermione with suspicion, but she dutifully wrapped some food in a napkin, and passed it to the girl.
"Thank you, Mardie," Hermione was proud of how patient her voice sounded, and she did not call the elf out when she responded by snorting and turning back to the stove.
The fur around Turnip's ears did turn red though. The red stretched down to cover most of his head as he followed the stomping Hermione back up the servant's passage. It slowly faded back to blue as they entered Hermione's room.
Hermione carefully pushed a chair against her door so that it could not open unexpectedly, and walked over to the bare fireplace. As it was the end of July the fireplace had been cold for several months. Which made it the best place to hide.
"Dobby," she whispered even though she knew that no one could hear her unless they were inside of the room, "Dobby, I've brought breakfast."
A pair of socks appeared at the top of the fireplace, then two long, spindly legs. There was a loud "Oof!" as the elf jumped down from a hollow he had created in the chimney. Dark silver fabric from an old set of Hermione's robes pooled around him, and he hastened to straighten them.
"Dobby is very grateful that Miss- that Hermione has brought breakfast," he squeaked. His hands left soot marks all over the clean white napkin, but he did not seem to notice as he tore into the bread and sausages.
Hermione watched him with a stab of guilt. She had known that it would be hard for him to find employment after he had been freed, but she did not expect it to be this hard, Every morning the elf left in high spirits, and every evening he returned miserable.
"I think we'll be having roast chicken tonight," she said, "that's your favorite, isn't it?"
"Yes, Dobby loves roast chicken, but-" the elf gulped down a bite of food, and stared woefully up at Hermione.
She smiled encouragingly, "But what, Dobby?"
He wiped his mouth with the corner of his sleeve, and she was alarmed to see tears swimming in his giant eyes. "Dobby was thinking that he would try to find somewhere else to go tonight," he sniffed.
"What? No, Dobby, you can't!"
"Dobby has been a burden on the only friend he's ever known," the elf continued, his voice thick with tears. "Hermione has been so kind, but if Mast- if Dobby's old Master found out that Hermione has been hiding Dobby in her chimney-"
"Then I will face the consequences.I suppose that short of being confined to the Manor there's not much else they can do… to… me."
She stopped speaking as Dobby collapsed on the floor and gave in to the tears. "Bad Dobby has gotten his only friend confined to the Manor! Dobby is a bad friend! A bad friend!" He punctuated each statement with a slap to his ears.
"Stop!" She yelled, bending to grab at the elf's wrists, "Dobby, stop it!"
"Dobby is a bad elf! He must be punished!"
Hermione yanked the elf to his feet, and tried not to show how disturbed she was by his display. "Dobby is a free elf," she reminded him in a slightly louder than necessary voice, "You don't need to punish yourself for anything."
Dobby buried his face in his hands, "Hermione is so kind. Too kind to horrible, stupid, nasty-"
"Dobby."
At the harsh tone, the elf looked up in surprise.
"You are my friend," she explained, "and I would feel guilty if you left. Will you please stay here until you find employment so that I won't worry about you?"
He considered her for a moment, his eyes still leaking tears. Then he nodded so vigorously that his ears flapped
When she was certain that he would no longer hurt himself she went to her nightstand and pulled out a fresh handkerchief. Passing it to him, she smiled, "Besides, I'll be going to Hogwarts in a few weeks. Even if Mother and Papa decide to punish me, they can't keep me from going to Hogwarts."
She decided not to voice her worry over what would happen to the elf once she was gone. She had been keeping him fed and housed for the past month, but no one else knew that she was letting Dobby stay in her room.
Well, he'll just have to go with me, she thought. Maybe she could hide him in her trunk…
As she had been standing there the sky had turned from black to the deep sapphire that came before dawn. Turnip, who was much less interested in Dobby than Hermione, had curled up at the foot of her bed and was snoring loudly.
Once he had finished eating, Dobby left for another day of job hunting, while Hermione got dressed.
She pulled on the new white robes that she knew her mother would be pleased to see her in, and ran downstairs to the sun room.
Every morning the family ate breakfast together in the sun room. It was her mother's favorite room in the manor, with it's glass walls and white furniture. Soft pink roses curled along the outside of the glass, giving the impression that they were in the middle of a rose bush.
"Good morning, darling." Her mother smiled from the empty table as Hermione entered the room. "Come, sit next to me and I'll fix your hair."
Hermione groaned out of habit, but went and sat next to Narcissa. A hair brush and a box of ribbons was summoned, and Hermione hid a grin as her mother began to stroke the brush down her hair. Her mother could never be accused of being "too affectionate" with Hermione, so the girl always cherished these few moments before her brother came down.
"We need to pick up some more of that hair potion while we're in Diagon Alley today," Narcissa murmured under her breath. She had tackled the bushiness of Hermione's hair as if it was a personal insult to her. Every time a new product that promised to tame hair came out she ran to Diagon Alley and bought more than the entire household could use in a year.
Hermione's eyes drifted shut as her mother wove her hair into an intricate bun.
"Did you sleep well?"
Hermione opened her eyes. "I don't know," she confessed, "I don't remember what I dreamt, but I don't think it was good." She studied her hands intently, glad that she was not facing her mother.
"You've been practicing your Occlumency every night?"
She nodded, watching the tips of Turnip's ears darken.
"Good." There was a sigh, and she felt her mother's arms wrap gently around her. "I want you to make sure that you practice your skills every night. Remember what Severus told you? The best way to a shielded mind-"
"Is a clear mind," finished Hermione. "Don't worry, Mother, I will."
"Good. It will keep the nightmares away."
There was something in her mother's voice that made Hermione want to ask more. She twisted in the embrace so that she could see her mother's face, but as she took in the faraway expression she decided against it. Instead, she leaned her head against her mother's chest, and allowed her eyes to drift shut once more.
The quiet moment was interrupted as Draco came bounding in. He was followed by Lucius, whose arrival prompted the dishes at the table to fill with food.
"So," there was a gleam in her father's eye as he picked up his teacup, "I seem to recall that we had something planned for today."
Hermione and Draco perked up instantly.
Narcissa grinned, "Yes, I do believe there was. But it's so nice out today, and we have been wanting to review the garden plans."
"That will take all day," Lucius played along, "perhaps we should reschedule the trip to Diagon Alley. Tomorrow should work- oh, wait. I did promise that I would check in on our friends in Birmingham tomorrow-"
"And you and Hermione will be gone at the Ministry all day on Wednesday."
"Draco has a check in at St. Mungo's on Thursday, and then Hermione has her riding lesson."
"And Draco has his on Friday-"
"And Severus is going to be over for dinner too."
"Right! I'll make sure to have Mardie make his favorite. And Dumbledore will be here on Saturday-"
"Sunday has always been family time, we can't change that now Lucius."
"No, we can't. Family time is more important than anything."
"That settles it," Narcissa smiled and set her teacup down with a decisive rattle. "We'll postpone the Diagon Alley visit until next Monday."
"Nooooo!" both children cried in unison. Draco looked as if he were about to burst into tears. "You promised we would get our school supplies today!"
"How are we supposed to prepare for our lessons if we don't have our books!?"
"You said we could go to Fortescue's!"
The slight shaking of her father's shoulders gave him away, and Hermione glared darkly at him. "That's not funny!"
"It was a little funny," Narcissa whispered, grinning outright.
Draco, who had not caught on yet, yelled, "WE WERE SUPPOSED TO LOOK AT BROOMS!"
This was apparently too much for their parents, as they broke into laughter.
"Don't worry," consoled Hermione, nudging her brother's shoulder with her own, "We're still going. They just thought it would be funny to pretend that we weren't."
"Why would that be funny?" asked Draco, staring open mouthed at his chortling father.
"Because," and here Hermione drew herself up to her full height (well, as full as it could be considering that she was seated) and cast a withering look at the adults, "they are immature."
This statement did nothing to lessen the amusement. If anything, it renewed the laughter.
Draco, on the other hand, broke into a smile, and went back to his toast.
Their good mood proved to be infectious, and soon Hermione was smiling and laughing alongside them again. Her parents, though affectionate, were rarely ever playful.
Hermione had been to Diagon Alley dozens of times before, but as she stepped out of the Floo Network's emerald blaze into the Leaky Cauldron it seemed as if everything was shinier and more welcoming than ever before.
Their first stop was Madame Primpernelle's, so that they could be fitted for new everyday robes, cloaks, gloves, undergarments, and dress robes.
"We'll get your school robes at Madam Malkins," sighed Narcissa, "Primpernelle refuses to make them. Says they crush her creative spirit."
Lucius winked at Hermione when she said this. Neither one of them cared much for Madame Primpernelle, but neither one had the heart to crticize the woman in front of Narcissa.
Their fittings at Madame Primpernelle's were over quickly. Though she was fond of the Malfoys, and her designs were coveted throughout the Wizarding World, her gossip was not suitable for children in the slightest. So when Hermione asked what on earth "making like rabbits" meant, Lucius declared loudly that he would take her and Draco over to Madam Malkins while Narcissa finished up.
"Getting your Hogwarts robes?" Asked Madam Malkin with a fond grin as the three entered her shop. "Over here then, you're not the only ones. We've got another first-year here too."
They were ushered into a fitting area, where the magical measuring tapes sprang into action. A boy smiled sheepishly at them from under a mop of messy black hair.
"Are you going to Hogwarts too?" asked Draco, holding his arms up as a measuring tape wrapped around him.
"Yeah," the boy said quietly. Hermione noted that his muggle clothes were awfully tattered, and looked to be several sizes too big. She felt a stab of pity as she noticed him eyeing Draco's robes with interest.
"Have you ever been in a Wizarding shop before today?" she whispered.
He shook his head.
I knew it, she thought, he's a muggleborn! She had met muggleborns before, of course, but usually they looked like normal wizards. She inhaled sharply when she noticed the tape that held his glasses together, and forced her voice to sound cheerful.
"You're going to love Hogwarts. It's very pretty. There's a lake, and ghosts! Our uncle is the Headmaster-"
"Your uncle is Dumbledore?" asked the boy, his tone impressed.
Hermione could not help but feel slightly pleased with herself. "Yes. He takes us there on picnics during the summer. He's really nice, I'm sure you'll like him."
"Do you have a broom?" Draco asked.
The boy shook his head, "Not yet."
"Me either, not really anyway. I still have my old training broom, but Father says he'll get me a proper one soon."
Hermione, who was more interested in currency exchange rates than she was in brooms, rolled her eyes as her brother launched into a description of the top five brooms he'd like to have. To her surprise, the boy seemed delighted by this turn in the conversation. He asked questions about speed, and how you stayed on, and Draco answered happily.
"You're all done, dear," Madam Malkin told the boy. "Hagrid is waiting outside for you."
"It was nice to meet you," the boy grinned at them.
"Yeah," Draco smiled back. "Find us on the train! I have a great book about Quidditch History."
"Definitely!"
"Goodbye," called Hermione as she watched him run through the door.
"I wonder why he was here with Hagrid," whispered Draco, "the man can't keep track of a baby pig, let alone a person."
"Oh, Draco, that was one time! When are you going to forgive Hagrid for that?"
It was only later, as her father paid Madam Malkin for her services, that she realized that she had forgotten to ask the boy's name.
A/N: Please let me know what you think!