Dr. Hermione Granger opened her eyes. Quite carefully. She peeked through long lashes, trying to adjust her eyes to the dim light, and closed them once again.
The back of her head was pounding, and as soon as her eyelids fluttered opened for a second time, letting her take in her surroundings, she immediately thought of three things:
First, why was she lying on an unfamiliar kitchen floor with a pounding headache.
Two, why was the sky so dark, when only a little while ago it was just near dusk.
And third, why was one of her shoes missing from her feet.
The young woman sat up, propping her elbows on the wooden floor for support. One of her shoes was lying haphazardly next to her cold left foot.
Hermione relinquished one of her arms and put it to the back of her head. A small sized bump could be felt under her hair. She patted the bump and winced. It hurt. A hell of a lot.
As she looked at her one sock-covered foot, her eyes traced the dusty floor to a pair of varicose-vein legs, dangling from one of the aluminum kitchen chairs.
What in God's name- Hermione thought, as she glanced up at the owner of the legs.
…And then it hit her.
As if it were a slap in the face, everything came rushing back.
The teacup. The shelves in the kitchen. The newspaper clipping...
…And Helen Crawford sitting down at the kitchen table, smiling down at the young woman, her hands neatly folded in her lap.
'You were out for quite awhile, my dear,' the old woman spoke softly to the young girl on the floor.
'I would have lifted you up myself, but I can't really. I'm just a simple squib, that's all. Can't do a lick of magic!' she said, chuckling to herself, her blue eyes sparkling in the dim light of the kitchen.
Hermione said nothing, still trying to comprehend the current situation.
She struggled for a bit, pulling herself up slowly from the floor below. With an utterly confused look upon her face, eyes darting from side to side, she slowly walked towards the kitchen table, stopping to slip her shoe back on her foot, and made her way to sit opposite of Helen Crawford, the scraping of her chair across the wooden floor making an echo in the room.
Hermione sat down carefully in her seat.
'Wh…What did…Who…' she stammered. The pain in the back of her head was getting to her.
The young witch sighed, put her head in her hands and closed her eyes. She began speaking quietly to herself.
'Oh dear God, I hope I'm dreaming. I honestly hope when I wake up-' but Hermione did not have a chance to finish her sentence.
'Well, it is about time you woke up dear. You were lying there for close to an hour, moaning about while on the floor! I was going to call for some extra help, but-'
And as Hermione sat and listened to the old woman ramble, she suddenly felt a warm fury paw touch the same hand that was holding her hand.
Hermione opened her eyes to peak through her fingers.
A fluffy orange feline had pawed her hand, obviously demanding her attention.
'I do believe someone wants to speak with you,' said Miss Crawford, a smile behind her eyes.
Hermione removed her hand and squinted to get a better look at the animal sitting on the table right in front of her.
The markings, the color, the shape…no, it couldn't be. It just couldn't be….
'Miss…Miss Crawford, is this…is it…' Hermione asked the older woman.
The elderly woman said nothing.
Hermione swallowed.
'Crookshanks?' she asked in a timid voice, her head cocked to one side.
The cat answered with a deep 'Meow.'
At the sound of his meow, Hermione's eyes welled with tears.
After all this time, Crookshanks was alive! And apparently well-fed. And was, on this very evening, finally reunited with his owner that had been long lost.
Hermione's eyes widened, and she suddenly grabbed the cat in her arms, nuzzling her face in his fur.
'Oh, it even smells like you!' she said to no one in particular, as she sobbed quietly into his orange fur.
After a few seconds, the animal let out a small 'squeal,' a sign that Hermione had been holding the feline too tightly against her chest.
Hermione sniffled.
'Oh, I'm sorry Crooks. Here – I'll set you down,' she said, as she placed the cat on the floor beside her.
Hermione wiped her hands across her tear-stricken cheeks. Sniffing a bit, she took out a tissue from one of her pockets and dabbed her nose.
'How…how long have you kept him here?' she asked the woman sitting across from her.
Helen Crawford smiled.
'Ever since that night, Hermione. Ever since you left, he has been in my care. Minerva McGonagle thought it best to keep him close to Headquarters, in case…well, in case you would ever decide to return. But that old bat, old Severus Snape told her that you wouldn't come back – that you were too headstrong, and stubborn, and-'
Hermione swallowed.
'I'm sorry…what? They…they knew about…wait a second,' she stammered, the wheels turning in her head.
And then it clicked.
Hermione's eyes changed from soft, warm ones, to ones of an oncoming fury.
'You mean, this was all a set-up!? You mean to tell me that this – all of this was just a hoax? Who…who are you?! Who the hell do you think you are, tricking me into coming here tonight?!' she yelled at the elderly woman, as she rose out of her seat, fists shaking slightly at her side.
'Oh I don't believe this! I honestly do not believe this! I…I am most certain you will find another bloody physician, Miss Crawford,' she boldly stated, staring down at the elderly woman.
'Come on, Crookshanks. We're going home!' she ordered the cat sitting by her legs.
The orange feline, quite comprehending the current situation, bolted from the kitchen into the living room.
'Oh Christ,' Hermione said out loud.
She stomped from the kitchen, through the door, into the living room. Scanning the room with her eyes, she was heartbroken to see that the cat was nowhere in site.
'Fine! Well fine then! You can just stay here! Bloody cat!' she yelled at no one in particular, her voice echoing within the parlor.
Hermione quickly grabbed her tattered-looking bag from the floor next to one of the chairs, and hurried towards the front door. Without even taking a second glance back at Helen Crawford, Hermione stormed through the front door, and shut it behind her with a resonating 'BANG.'
Fighting back tears and sobs, she walked swiftly towards her car, placing the back of one of her hands over her mouth to stifle her cries.
She opened the car door with a shaky hand, threw in her belongings into the front seat, started the engine and took off within an instant.
She was furious. Insanely furious. But most of all, she felt betrayed. Betrayed in the worse way.
How dare they follow me?! How dare they send this sweet woman to follow me, to keep tabs on me! Hermione blinked as she drove, batting her eyelashes furiously as tears streamed down her warm face, her mind racing.
Hermione drove for miles, not even bothering to stop by her home. She wanted to go someplace where she could calm herself; somewhere she could be at peace. And as Hermione drove on the empty two-lane road, she stopped her vehicle midway on a familiar bridge that was located on the outskirts of her town.
When Ronald Weasley passed away, Hermione would drive to this desolate part of town and stand by the bridge, peering down at the deep waters below. The water soothed her, calmed her. It did in fact bring her peace.
And as Hermione shut off the car engine, stepping out into the cold fall evening, she shut her car door with a thud and made her way towards the railing overlooking the water.
She thought of her parents. Of Ron.
Her chest heaved.
Her heart ached.
Her mind raced.
She felt nothing but hurt and anger, and a longing to escape all that surrounded her.
The young woman put both hands on the rusty railing, and peered over to look at the river below, silently hoping for a few minutes that the unreliable and awfully un-sturdy railing would give way.
…And then all of a sudden, the young woman heard two distinct 'pops' in back of her.
It had been ages upon ages since hearing that particular sound, but Hermione knew exactly what the sound meant.
…And she was terrified.
She turned around slowly, eyes wide at what she saw across the road from her, her heart racing, her breath caught in her chest at the site in front of her.
A young man with piercing green eyes and crooked spectacles looked sadly at the distraught woman. While still staring at her, he frowned and spoke to the figure next to him.
'See – I told you she wasn't going to fall in,' he said quietly yet matter-of-factly.
The taller figure next to him, clad in all black, snorted. He too kept his eyes on the woman in front of him.
'Fall, Potter? Of course she didn't fall, you dimwitted fool- Miss Granger intended to jump…' he said with a smirk in the most deadly of voices.