Hermione took a few moments to regard the silence that surrounded her. For the first time that evening, she was alone. Completely alone. Her home was quiet and still, a welcoming state unlike that of hours past. She was finally alone with her thoughts; finally alone to sort through all that had transpired this evening.
Hermione plopped herself back on the plush couch and stared aimlessly at the unlit fireplace in front of her, biting the inside of her cheek as she gazed on.
Being in the presence of Harry and her old Potions Professor tonight had brought back a flood of memories that she had once buried deep inside her soul. As she sat ever still, staring at the fireplace, her mind was swirling with old snapshots of her life that were thought once forgotten.
Hermione swallowed, her throat feeling tight and warm. She looked down at her hand and examined it.
Though she didn't squeeze back when Harry took hold of her hand, she had to admit that it felt nice to hold another human being's hand. To feel their genuine warmth. To feel as though they wanted to hold her hand, that it actually meant something, even in the slightest sense.
…To actually feel wanted…
Hermione sighed and dismissed the thought. She rose from the couch, and with a few quick steps entered into her tiny kitchen.
She stopped cold in her tracks as soon as she entered through the wooden door. For she had forgotten the pieces of wood that sat idle on her tiny kitchen table. The little object that waited patiently for her, yearning to be touched.
…Her wand….
Hermione felt her heart rate increase ever so slightly. She remembered, as clear as day, the last time she had held her wand. Felt its strong, unyielding power in her hands. Felt something in her entire body change when she snapped the pieces of wood into two on that fateful night, and hurled them into the burning fire that was once her home.
Hermione cautiously rounded the table, eyeing her old wand constantly, as she slowly sat down upon one of the chairs across from the pieces.
One part of her wanted to scoop up the broken pieces. To hold them, to feel them in her hands. To use her wand, and remember how good it felt to have it in her grasp.
…The other part did not want to be any where near the damned thing.
Hermione sat at the table. She sat for hours, staring blindly with a glazed look at the pieces of wood. She sat and stared until she eventually fell into a deep sleep upon her arms, exhausted from the evening's events. She dreamt of nothing as her head lay propped up upon her two extremities, forming a somewhat uncomfortable makeshift pillow for her.
…It was the sunlight that peaked through the semi-closed curtains that woke Hermione the next morning.
A slight sliver of sunshine shone directly upon the poor girl, and she cracked open one of her eyes, ever so slightly. She was immediately disoriented, and struggled to remember why on earth she was in the kitchen.
Hermione blinked a few times, her head still in her arms as she tried to focus on the wall to the side of her.
She yawned while picking up her head ever so slowly, staring at the yellow placemat upon which she had fallen asleep.
While still staring at the placemat, the young woman took a hand to the back of her neck and began to massage it gently. Her neck ached. The back of her head ached.
'Good Lord,' she muttered to herself, eyes still full of sleep, peering to look at the sunlight peeking in through the blue curtains'-what the hell time is it?' she said aloud.
She straightened her neck and picked up her head, closing her eyes and wincing at the pain she felt from both places. Her stomach growled, and she subconsciously placed a hand over her abdomen.
Hermione stretched in her seat, carefully rubbed her eyes, and then gazed across the table.
All of a sudden, her eyes widened, and she gasped. She stood up abruptly, knocking her chair to the ground, it landing on the wooden floor with a resounding 'thud.'
She had forgotten about her wand. Had forgotten about what had transpired the evening prior. Had forgotten that her world was changed upside down within a matter of hours.
…And it scared the hell out of her.
'Jesus Christ!' Hermione muttered, placing a hand over her heart, willing it to slow down as she tried to focus on her breathing. 'You stupid thing,' she said to the wand, '-scared the living daylights out of me…bloody piece of wood…' she said in an irritated tone.
Hermione backed away from the table, and made her way over to the sink, placing both hands on the counter, steadying herself. She bent over slightly, still trying to control her breathing.
The young woman ran a hand through her hair. She felt awful. Just awful. Like she had been run over by a bus…twice. She wondered what she must look like – how much of a mess her appearance must be. But then in the same thought, she didn't care. She wanted to hide. To forget. To climb under the covers, and pretend that yesterday never, ever happened.
But alas, it did happen. Much to Hermione's dismay.
Her mouth formed a tight line, and she turned around to scowl at her wand. She turned and walked a few steps towards the refrigerator. Opening the door, she bent down to peek into the shelves that were in front of her.
Her refrigerator was almost empty. To be quite honest, it was a pitiful site to say the least. A small chunk of white cheddar cheese sat on one side, along with a half empty mustard jar. To the left, half a carton of eggs sat. On top of the carton, two withered carrots stood out like sore thumbs.
Hermione frowned.
On second thought, she wasn't that hungry anymore…
She felt exhausted and disgusting. She desperately needed a shower, and upon further pondering, decided that standing in the warm spray would soothe her muscles…and hopefully her mind.
Hermione exited out of the kitchen and began walking up the steps in the living room, heading towards the second floor. She turned right and entered into her bedroom. It was an adequate size, most likely considered on the smaller size to most, but it suited her just nicely. She retrieved a fuzzy blue housecoat from the back of her door, reached for a set of plain off-white, slightly oversized pajamas, and headed off to the bathroom, located adjacent to her bedroom.
Closing the bathroom door behind her, Hermione stepped out of her clothes, took two bobby pins out of her hair, and turned on the shower. Testing the water, she waited until it was between hot and scalding, and she placed one foot at a time into the porcelain bathtub.
The water felt wonderful. Absolutely delightful. Hermione did not recall just how long she stood there with the hot water running over her. It must have been over twenty to thirty minutes by the time she realized that she was still in the shower. Later glancing at her prune-stricken fingertips, she assessed that it was indeed time to get out of the shower before she shriveled up into nothingness.
Turning the water off and exiting out of the bathtub, she dried herself with a fluffy gray towel, and put on her pajamas. She opted not to put on her bathrobe just yet, and instead decided to hang it on the back of the bathroom door.
She reached into one of the drawers under her sink, and pulled out a small basket, retrieving a medium-sized hair clip. Taking her long brown-colored locks, she scooped up her hair into a neat little not, and secured the strands with the brown clip.
She took her right hand, wiped the steam off the center of the mirror in a circular motion, and looked at her reflection. 'Plain and ordinary,' she thought to herself. 'Perfect…'
Hermione sighed. Taking one last look around the bathroom, she hung up her towel and headed down the hall, down the steps, and into the living room.
Suddenly, something had caught her eye. Something red. Something that she quite frankly did not see too often.
A light was blinking on her phone, signaling that Hermione had a message on her answering machine.
The young woman bit the inside of her cheek.
'Brilliant,' she said sarcastically, walking slowly towards the phone. She sat on the sofa, and angled the phone on the side table ever so slightly so she could get a better look at it.
'3 new messages,' she read aloud, squinting at the black telephone.
Hermione sighed. She knew that people would be asking where she was today. Why she was not at the hospital. 'Let's see what we have here,' she thought to herself, as she raised an index finger and pushed the green button that read 'Play.'
The first message began:
Beep.
'Hello Hermione, it's Marie Washington from Saint Lucy's. We heard that you had caught Glandular Fever. How awful dear, how awful indeed! Oh and I am so sorry to hear that your dog died as well. Terrible, really. You must be in an awful state. Why I didn't even know you had a dog, dear! If you'd like me to come over, give a ring at the office. I make a wonderful chicken soup, and-'
Hermione's finger clicked on the 'delete' button faster than one could say Quidditch.
The next message played:
Beep.
'Hey Hermione, it's Harry. Hope all is well. We've been busy here. Have loads to tell you. Hope you're staying out of trouble, Mione! Well anyways, I'll be over later tonight to-'
Hermione clicked the 'delete' button.
The last and final message played.
Beep.
'…Hermione Granger….you filthy little Mud Blood know-it-all… so, they think you're safe now Mudblood…for now at least, while you're still alive…Just wait…just wait til I get to you…you'll be saying hi to Mum and Dad, and you're dear idiot of a husband soon enough…til then…' the evil voice on the other end sneered.
Hermione sat motionless. No breath escaped her lips. Her heart pounded and she felt as though it were going to fly through her chest at any moment.
The voice. The sinister laugh at the beginning of the message. It was…it couldn't be…but yet, it was. He had found her. He knew where she was. And he was going to kill her.
Draco Malfoy, most certainly left the third and final message on Hermione's answering machine. How he found her, she was not certain. All she knew was that most likely her life was now on the line. And from the sound of the message, he seemed quite eager to finish her off.
Hermione slammed down the 'delete' button on the answering machine with her entire palm. She swallowed a lump in her throat, feeling her mouth grow cotton dry.
Should she tell Harry? Does he already know that Malfoy is now after her?
'Well…I suppose he already knows,' she thought to herself. 'After all - why would they bother intervening now?'
Hermione frowned.
She got up off of the sofa, stood up for a few seconds, and then as if changing her mind, plopped back down on the piece of furniture. Perhaps it was the fault of the extremely hot shower mixed with mass exhaustion, but as soon as Hermione sat back down on the sofa, she curled up on her side and grabbed an oversized pillow. Her mind raced, thinking back to the final message. Her thinking and pondering, combined with a warm shower were the culprits that led Hermione to close her eyes and drift off to sleep for a few hours. Again, she dreamt of nothing.
Hours upon hours later, the young woman was brought out of her sleep up by a series of chimes. Struggling to open her eyelids, she peeked through one lash up at the clock on her mantle.
'Eight o'clock! Good Christ, are you kidding me?!' she uttered, her voice full of sleep as she picked up her head and sat up straight on the sofa.
Hermione reached around to scratch her head. Her clip had fallen out, most likely when she was napping, and she made a mental note to comb the cushions at a later time to look for her missing hair accessory.
The first thing Hermione noticed besides the current time, was that her stomach was growling horribly, almost chastising her for not eating anything substantial for the past twenty-four hours.
She rubbed her stomach subconsciously, wordlessly apologizing for herself that she should have known better and should have had something to eat. Hermione sat up off of the sofa, stretched another time, and still clad in her cream colored pajamas, strode bare-footed towards the kitchen.
Her feet made a soft pounding noise on top of the wooden floor of the kitchen. Hermione went over to one of her cupboards above the sink, opened the door, and retrieved a box of crackers from one of the shelves. After grabbing the box and setting it down on the counter, she took a single glass from along side the sink and filled it with water. Seeing an intact glass, it reminded her of the glass she had dropped yesterday evening when she looked outside through the kitchen window. She inched her neck slowly, taking a glance at the floor beneath the window.
There were no shards to be seen.
Hermione had gathered that one of the two men had most likely cleaned up the mess. And thinking of the glass, and the two men in her kitchen not twenty-four hours ago, it made her think of another object that was still sitting untouched on her kitchen table.
…Hermione slowly turned around to look at the table.
…And there sat her wand.
Hermione sighed.
Taking the box of crackers and her glass of water, she made her way over to the kitchen table and sat down slowly, this time in front of her old wand.
Hermione opened the box of crackers, pulled one out, and slowly began to chew on it, never leaving her wand out of site.
She began to seriously weigh her options as she chewed on the cracker, thinking about what her wand felt like, remembering old spells cast with the small piece of wood.
Hermione swallowed, and reached for her glass of water.
Her wand meant everything to her so many years ago. It gave her meaning. It aided her in her every day life. It was her connection to a world that she once belonged to. And now, it sat still and broken, two incomplete pieces over a flowered table cloth.
In some respects, she felt as though it were begging for her to pick it up, to use it. On another hand, she felt as though it were there to mock her. To belittle her, as if to symbolize the broken promises she had been dealt, the broken friendships that she believed were beyond repair.
But alas, the young woman continued to stare at her wand.
Hermione sighed again and closed her eyes.
What if what they were saying were true? What if it was time for her to come back? To fight? To help them?
Hermione opened her eyes. She got up, and began to pace throughout her kitchen.
'How in God's name am I supposed to help them?' She thought to herself, running a hand through her long brown hair. 'I mean, honest to God – I don't…I don't even think I remember how…' she continued, thoughts swarming in her mind.
And then Hermione stopped in her tracks.
A flood of memories hit her. Like a ton of bricks.
All of a sudden, she thought back years ago, to the day she held Ron's lifeless body in her hands. And she remembered words he uttered to her, the words that she always lived by to this very day:
'…Don't let them win…'
Hermione's eyes welled with tears. Her heart began to race as she thought back to that very day. Choking back a sob, she ran a hand through her hair once again.
'Don't let them win,' she said softly, as she continued to pace once again.
Hermione looked over at her wand. She wiped a stray tear with the back of her hand and sniffled.
'Well,' she said aloud, '-even if I'm not using it, at least…well maybe I could try putting it back together…I mean if I ever decide on maybe using it in the future,' she muttered to herself.
Hermione walked slowly towards the table, and extended her hands towards her old wand.
With a careful hand, she picked up a piece of wood in each hand, and ever so slowly, placed the broken pieces next to one another in the form of a straight line.
But although the young woman had innocent intentions regarding the fixing of her wand for a later use, she had absolutely no clue, no idea what would happen when she joined the pieces together…
While still holding the pieces together in a straight line, joined at the crack where it had been broken al those years ago, Hermione felt a rush of wind around her, taking her breath away.
A silvery-bluish light surrounded her, enveloped her. Her hair fluttered in the breeze.
Hermione felt warmth coming from the wand, as she stared with wide eyes as the wooden object fused itself together right in front of her eyes.
In a matter of moments, her wand had become whole once again.
And Hermione felt something that she had not genuinely felt in a very, very long time:
She felt…happy...genuinely happy…like a piece gone missing was reunited with her, making her whole once again.
The light surrounding the girl disappeared, leaving Hermione with her intact wand in her one hand, her other hand on her chest, still in utter disbelief in regards to what she had just witnessed…what she had just experienced.
'Dear God!' she exclaimed to herself, studying the fragile piece of wood in her hands.
…All of a sudden, she heard a distinct pop in back of her.
'So…the Mudblood has found her magic…' a voice sneered from in back of her.
Hermione slowly turned around, and stared open mouthed at the figure that stood in front of her. The figure that gave her nightmares for years. The figure that she had never, ever wanted to see for the rest of her life.
…And apparently the figure that wanted her dead…
Draco Malfoy stood in Hermione's kitchen, a sinister grin upon his hallowed face.
The young man gave a sinister laugh, and looked down upon the ground.
'You know, Mudblood…they never expected you to use your wand again…ironic that having your precious piece of wood in your hands leaves you…unprotected…' he whispered, looking up at her once again, his eyes narrowing.
With a brisk wave of his hand, he whisked his hand towards her, and she felt herself being thrown out of the kitchen into the living room. Her wand flew out of her hand almost instantly, as the poor woman's head made contact with the wall of the living room. The back of her head slammed into the mirror upon the wall, and as Hermione lay on her back upon the floor, she felt a warm trickling feeling coming from her head as the shards of glass continued to fall upon her. A large piece of the frame had fallen, slicing the skin upon her stomach ever so slightly, the blood from the wound begging to seep out and pool ever so slowly upon the wooden floor.
Draco laughed, slowly making his way into the parlor.
'Isn't the Mudblood going to fight?' he scoffed, nearing the poor woman lying half conscious on the floor.
'-or will she simply bleed to death and join her pathetic husband six feet under? The choice is yours…' he added, a hideous grin upon his sallow skin.
Feeling a horrendous amount of pain and in too much shock to speak, Hermione couldn't happen to think that perhaps dying would be the ultimate alternative in this situation. And as she continued to ponder silently, the last thing she remembered was seeing, from across the way, her kitchen bursting into flames, and thinking the most gut wrenching thought that one could possibly surrender to themselves:
…Tonight, she was going to die….