A/N: I don't usually do pre-chapter notes but I thought it was important for you guys to know that this chapter is going to be a sad one. I hope you can still enjoy it!
Chapter Five
The teaspoon tapped gently against the edge of her glass as steam floated breezily upwards. Harry sat across from her, stirring his cup absentmindedly as he turned the pages of the Daily Prophet. A long, strong arm wrapped its way around her shoulders- she leaned into Ron's warm chest and held her teacup close.
"Are we ready for this?" Harry asked, staring down at a page full of friends and family, all looking back at him from under the header that read "The Fallen." They all exchanged resigned looks across the table.
"To The week of funerals?" Ron offered, hoisting his glass in the air.
"To the week of goodbyes," Hermione countered, hoisting hers.
"To friends," Harry added, raising his glass to meet theirs.
With a gentle chink of teacups, the Trio returned to their quiet contemplation. This week would be difficult.
He heard her shuffling outside the door. Pushing his hovering tray of breakfast aside, he dabbed his mouth with a cloth and waited for her to work up the nerve to knock. A sly smile crept over his face as he heard her huff impatiently at herself moments before her knuckles rapped across the door.
"Enter," he called to her, schooling his expression to one of disinterest. The door opened, and Hermione stepped carefully into the hospital wing. "Miss Granger," he greeted with a nod.
"Professor," she replied as she closed the door behind her.
He noticed with amusement that much like the day before, Hermione Granger had little idea how to handle herself around him. Her awkwardness was not misunderstood- he was well aware that the usual student/teacher dynamic that was so comfortable for them both had been shattered over the last year. For him, the change was minute. He had made this change-over many times in the past with countless students of his and one rarely felt much different than the other. For her, though... he could see in her eyes that she no longer saw him as simply as a "former Professor." Due to the significance of their places in the war, he held a different position in her world now. Strange as it was, he was less annoyed by that as he felt he should have been. After all, Miss Granger was proving useful already with the information she was willing to give him. And as much as he hated to admit it, he recognized the fact that were it not for her, he may very well not be here today.
She coughed, awkward in the long pause that had fallen over them. Still standing just inside the room, she asked "How are you feeling today?"
His eyebrow rose. "As well as can be expected. Sit. Is that the paper?"
She handed it over and took the seat next to him. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as he shook it open and glanced at the front page. Minerva was right to be concerned over the health of this young woman. Now that he was in better form himself, he was able to truly see her for how she was- a mess.
It had been a year since he had really seen her. Camping in the woods had done little for her wellbeing. She was too skinny, and her color was pale- especially against the formal black robes that hung off her loosely. She had attempted to control her hair- longer than ever- into a neat braid but already some of the dry, brittle-looking strands were fighting their way to freedom. With her hair pulled back, the circles under her eyes were glaringly noticeable. Minerva had said she wasn't sleeping or eating, and it was painfully obvious. He recognized the signs of malnutrition- It was a battle he had fought himself, after the first war. He nonchalantly nudged his remaining breakfast her way.
"Help yourself to a muffin, Miss Granger."
The look on her face, a mix of shock and nausea, amused him. He pretended not to notice as she gently lifted the uneaten dessert muffin and started pulling the chocolate chips out of the top. After only a few bites of the sweets, her stomach seemed to settle and by the time he had flipped to the second page the muffin was gone. And they said he wasn't a people person.
A few minutes later he closed the paper and turned towards her. "Whose funeral is today?" he asked.
His abrupt question seemed to shock her into a mute fish, the way her mouth worked as she thought of a reply. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Formal black robes, Miss Granger? Not the usual hospital attire."
Hermione blushed, and the color it brought to her face was a warm relief. "Oh, right," she muttered. "I should have known that." She pulled on her robes a bit before replying, "Fred Weasley's funeral is in a few hours."
"Ah." He picked up the paper once more. "That must be... difficult."
"Yes..." she nodded. A silence crept over them once more before she asked, "Did you have questions for me, sir?"
"I did." He took a moment to skim another paragraph of the paper before setting it down and gazing once more at her. "Tell me, Miss Granger- whose idea was it to go camping?"
I shouldn't have eaten that muffin.
Hermione's stomach took another emotional lurch as tears dripped gently down her cheeks. Her hands were squeezed by Harry and Ron as they stood in solemn mourning for Fred Weasley. The family and friends all gathered atop a small hill overlooking the Burrow, the summer sun shining high through the single oak tree, a light breeze stirring the long grass at their ankles. A trio of violinists- relatives, if the red hair was any inclination- stood to the side, playing a morose melody during silent contemplation.
The music hummed to a quiet end, signaling the end to the ceremony.
Sniffing, Hermione wiped at her eyes with a sleeve of her robes as mourners all around her stirred from their silence. Bodies moved quietly past her, dismissing themselves to the Burrow's garden, where a luncheon had been prepared. Within minutes, the only ones remaining on the hilltop were the Weasleys she knew and loved, Harry and herself.
Harry released her hand and stepped over to Ginny, who wrapped her arms around his neck and sobbed quietly into his shoulder. Hermione squeezed Ron's hand, looking into his eyes. His thankful smile lasted mere moments before it fell once more into a pained expression. Reaching up to tuck a loose strand behind her ear he said, "I'm so glad you're here, Hermione. This is..." he took a shuddering breath. "This is much harder than I had thought." Words failing her, she nodded.
"Do you want to say goodbye?" she asked, nodding at the podium. His eyes followed hers.
"Yeah..." he rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, I- I do."
"I'll be here." She rubbed his shoulder as he turned from her. And then she stood alone.
Alone. That was something she had been feeling quite a bit, lately. Her eyes followed the departing mourners on their way down to the Weasley garden, feelings of despair filling her chest. As much as she loved the Weasleys, and Harry, all of her friends in the wizarding world... it had never felt like her home less than now. She longed desperately to leave this moment and retrieve her parents. It killed her that she couldn't. So much of her was needed here, supporting her friends and helping with the rebuilding effort. Her heart feared the worst if she brought them back too soon. Watching the Weasley family and friends, tears streaming down her face once more, she felt lost. Truly, utterly, and completely alone.
It was no wonder that as deep into her dark, depressing thoughts as she was, it took her quite a few moments to become aware of the commotion behind her.
Her head whipped around in time for her to witness George Weasley, red faced and furious, throw a well-aimed punch at his brother Percy's face.
Her feet were moving before she understood what had just happened. Moments later she was close enough to hear the angry shouts from the furious twin, whose arms were being held by Bill and Charlie. "You have no right, no right!" He was yelling down at Percy, who was sitting on the ground and wiping at a bloody lip as Mrs Weasley hurried to his side.
In a fury, Percy rose to meet his younger brother. "'No right?' Are you serious?!" he shouted back over Mrs Weasley's fretting. "I was there! I watched it happen! I was INCHES from him! I don't know what 'higher being' chose him instead of me, but they were wrong!"
George shoved his brothers away from him and skirted his mother as he approached Percy. "You have no right," he growled again, shoving a finger into Percy's chest, "to say what you did. How dare you assume anyone would wish you were the one on that podium!"
George's rough gesture towards the podium where Fred rested caused Percy to flinch, but disuaded none of his anger. "You think I don't know what everyone is thinking? 'Poor George, losing his other half. If only it had been Percy instead, the great prat wasn't even good enough to side with his family, let alone the right side of the war!'"
Outbursts flew around the two brothers at Percy's emotional statement. In response, George gathered the front of Percy's robes in his balled fists and pulled him close. "Once again that head you worship is so obtuse it blinds you from the truth. Do you honestly think anyone, anyone would think such an awful thing?!" Shoving Percy away he took a few steps back from the crowd. "You don't have a right to make this about you," he snarled, a finger pointed threateningly in his brother's direction. "Not today."
George stormed off, and Hermione remembered to breathe.
Snape turned the page of the Daily Prophet, the crinkling of the paper the only sound in the hospital room that morning. Hermione Granger sat next to him, silent, curling her fingers in her robes as she stared at her lap. He gave her a sidelong glance. She looked much like the day before, but even more exhausted- if that were even possible.
Once again, he pushed his near-empty breakfast tray towards her. "Have a muffin, Miss Granger. I promise it's a much better use of effort than attempting to twist your fingers loose."
When her fingers stilled but she didn't move, he glanced over. She was staring at him with a confused frown. He raised his eyebrows. "By all means, continue twisting your fingers into knots. I was simply offering a less detrimental alternative."
To his surprise she laughed, a small puff of air as the corners of her mouth turned up. "Thank you, sir," she said as she reached for the muffin. She tore a small bite off with thin fingers. After a few minutes, she spoke. "Do you have anything to ask me today?"
He folded the paper and set it aside. "Where did we leave off?"
The evening following Fred's funeral found Hermione apparating to a rather odd alleyway in Muggle London, a peculiar photograph in hand. Checking around to assure herself no one was lurking, she quickly straightened her muggle dress, slipped the photo in her not-so-muggle bag, and marched out onto the busy street where her raven-haired famous friend was waiting for her.
"Are we it?" she asked as she approached him, looking around to see if anyone else in the street was familiar.
Harry nodded. "Ron and Ginny are staying at the Burrow," he replied. "Before I left, things were still very tense." He looked over at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. "Where've you been, anyway? You didn't come back after your visit to Snape."
"Oh, right." She reached into her bag (elbow deep- Harry had to stand close to block her arm from the passers-by) and pulled out a small black and white photograph. "I went to the storage facility I had set up for my family's things. It took me a while, but I think I found an appropriate picture." She held it up for him to see. "Do you think Colin would like it?"
Harry smiled at the photo, his younger self grinning back in between two young friends- one of the first pictures the trio had ever taken together. The three friends had their arms around each other, school robes haywire as the wind blew their hair this way and that. Hogwarts shone in the distance, and an owl fluttered out from one of the towers to soar beautifully through the frame. He looked at her happily. "It's great, Hermione. Truly magical."
She beamed as she stored the picture back in her bag for safe-keeping. "Did you manage to find yours?" she asked.
He nodded and pulled out a tiny photograph from his back pocket. With a quick and subtle tap of his wand, the image grew to a rather large size and showed a group of friends in a secret room- Dumbledore's Army. Hermione whistled. "That's lovely, Harry," she whispered, gently tracing the eager-faced Colin, standing next to his brother. "It's... it's perfect."
She squeezed Harry's arm gently as the young man shrunk the photo once more, too shy to respond. "Shall we?"
With photographs stashed safely away, they travelled on foot to the funeral of Colin Creevey.
The funeral of Lavender Brown was set at sunrise, a tribute from her parents to the light she gave their lives. The service was lovely, the sky was painted in all her glory, and as far as funerals went, Hermione was stunned by the beauty of it all.
It made the news of the night before that much harder to bear.
Mr Weasley was waiting for them outside the door of the Burrow, grim-faced, when the trio had made it back from the service.
"Dad," Ron said, concerned. "What's wrong?"
"Something happened," he replied. "And you three need to hear about it from someone other than the Daily Prophet first."
He gestured them over to the side of the house, near the garden wall. "Now," he spoke, making eye contact with each of them but hovering over Harry in particular, "I want you all to promise me that you will not do anything foolish after I tell you this. You three have done enough- your jobs are over. I don't want any of you-" his eyes found Harry's again- "running off to do heaven knows what to try to find some sort of justice in all of this. Alright?"
Ron frowned. "Dad, what-"
"Promise me this!"
"We promise," Hermione answered quickly, staring at Ron and Harry intensely. "We'll stay put. No more adventures."
When Harry and Ron gave no argument, Mr Weasley closed his eyes and sighed with relief. "Thank you," he whispered.
"Mr Weasley-"
"Now," he continued, cutting Harry off, "I wish I didn't have to explain this, I really do, but something you three must understand is that when a war is won, it doesn't mean it's over."
"Dad, what-"
"Skirmishes happen. Outliers are still floating around in an attempt to cause unrest amongst the people, to say 'we may have lost, but we're still here.' People will still get hurt."
Hermione gasped, and Ron tensed beside her. "Who was it?" Harry asked quickly. "Who was hurt?"
"No one we know," Mr Weasley answered slowly. "A young couple, a few hours from here." He paused, passing a worried look over them all before settling on Harry once more. "They were killed, orphaning their one year old child."
Hermione put her hands over her mouth. Ron quickly wrapped his arm around her, rubbing her shoulder. After a moment of exchanged glances between the three, Harry said, "There's more you aren't telling us."
With a sigh, Mr Weasley reached into his cloak and pulled out a newspaper clipping. "The attackers left a message." He held the clipping up for them to read.
The clipping wasn't an article like Hermione had originally thought, but a photograph. In its ink it depicted a badly broken crib in a simple nursery, a blanket dangling off the edge. Flashing lights from unseen cameras illuminated harshly painted letters scrawled across the wall above the ruined crib:
HARRY POTTER,
WE MADE YOU A NEW SAVIOR
Hermione's eyes immediately locked with Harry's. His face was white.
Mr Weasley grabbed Harry by the shoulder. "Remember what you promised me, boy," he said, hushed. "This is not your fault. This is not your business."
"Not my business?" Harry said weakly. "I thought- I-" He pulled back from Mr Weasley roughly. "People are supposed to be done dying for me!" he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. "It's bad enough that Teddy-"
"Harry, mate, hold up," Ron interrupted. "Dad's right, this has nothing to do with you."
"Noth-" Harry gaped at his friend. "Nothing to do with me?" he argued. He grabbed the photo from Mr Weasley and held it up. "Whose name is painted on that wall? It's not Voldemort's! It's mine!"
Ron pushed Harry's hand down. "And what does that have to do with you, really?" he asked. "They're not targetting you, they're targetting what you stand for, you dunce."
"Ron," Hermione admonished.
Mr Weasley took the photo back and pocketed it. "This is exactly why I wanted to talk to you three first. This is a trying situation by far, but it is nothing more than a hate crime, something to be expected in the outcomings of a war. The only reason they mentioned you is because it made a bigger impact- it marked this crime for what it was."
"And that is?" Hermione asked, shaken.
Mr Weasley frowned as he looked at her, sympathy in his eyes. "A crime against muggleborns."
An impromptu Order meeting was called. The Weasleys spent the day setting up the living room to accomodate for the extra visitors. Molly made tea and biscuits. Harry spent the time before the meeting lost in thought or conversing with Ron. Hermione, arms full of cushions, tried to ignore the lack of inclusion. After all, Ron was taking the news of the attack surprisingly well and she hoped that he was using this time to disuade Harry from any foolish thoughts.
It wasn't until after the meeting had started that Hermione realized that it was well past time for her meeting with Professor Snape.
She wondered if he was able to get the paper in some other means. She wondered if he knew what had happened. She wondered if he knew who had done it.
She wondered, as she forced her attention back to the room once more, if she would be able to focus on this meeting at all.
It wasn't until an increasingly tense Harry stood up next to her that she was able to finally shake her clogged thoughts free from distraction.
"Mr Potter," Kingsley Shacklebot nodded. "You have a concern?"
"More of a request, sir," he asked.
Kingsley, acting as meeting leader, frowned in confusion. "And what is your request?"
"I wish to forego my final year of Hogwarts and join the Aurors, sir."
Hermione jumped to her feet. "What?!" she screeched, flinching when she realized what she had just done. In a quieter voice she hissed, "Harry, sit down. You're being silly."
Harry stared forward, waiting for Kingsley to answer. The man sighed.
"Harry..." he responded, "I urge you to consider what you're asking. You've just spent years fighting a fight you should never have been involved in. If any of us has earned a year of peace at Hogwarts, it's you."
Harry shook his head. "Hogwarts isn't where I'm needed, sir," he replied. "If I go back now, it'll just make me feel stuck, useless." A sense of desperation crept into his voice, across his face. "I need to make sure this is finished, once and for all."
Mr Weasley stood from the other side of the room. "Harry, what about your promise?" he argued, clearly unhappy.
"That I wouldn't run off on my own to do anything foolish?" Harry answered. "I'm not. I'm asking to train early as an auror, which was my plan after Hogwarts anyway."
"But to make a decision on the basis of what happened hours ago is-"
"Mr Weasley," he interrupted, "this isn't just because of what happened today. Ron and I have been talking about this for a while now."
At that, Hermione whipped her head around to stare at Ron, still sitting on the sofa, who looked away guiltily. Mrs Weasley made a sound much like a strangled gasp and grabbed at Mr Weasley's hand.
"Ronald Weasley-" she began, but Ron cut her off.
"Mum, we'll talk later," he promised. "This is about Harry right now."
As the room focused on Harry once more, Kingsley groaned and rubbed his eyes. "If you still wish to act on this in a week's time," he replied after a long pause, "come see me at the Ministry. Until then, I once again urge you to reconsider."
As Harry reclaimed his seat with a thanks, Hermione seethed.
"Harry James Potter!" she shouted as soon as Ron's bedroom door had closed behind the trio.
"Hermione-"
"No, you don't get to talk," she yelled. "After all, why talk to me at all, huh? I might not agree with your ridiculous plans!"
"Hermione," Ron interjected, but instantly regretted it as Hermione turned towards him.
"And you! You, my boyfriend, the person I trust most in this world, can't even look me in the face when truth comes out that you're planning on this, too?!"
"Hermione, would you just listen for a second!" Ron shouted over her. "What, do you think this was our plan? That we were just not going to tell you we weren't going back to school? You think we were planning this behind your back?"
"It certainly seems so, yes!"
Ron rubbed his face with his hands. "No. That wasn't the plan. Harry and I had been talking about leaving Hogwarts- just talking, see. It wasn't much more than a thought, before this morning."
"You said this decision wasn't decided by this morning."
Harry stepped forward. "It wasn't, not completely," he said. "But when we heard the news this morning, all those thoughts came back to my mind and I realized that if I were to go back to Hogwarts I would have felt useless there. I've been fighting for so long, and all of a sudden I'm supposed to stop? Knowing what I know now, after everything, I can't look at myself if I go back." He paused, and the look he gave her begged her to understand. "Please tell me you get that."
Hermione groaned. She was still angry, furious, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't understand at least a little. "We're not done talking," she threatened, pointing at each of them as she turned to leave.
"Where are you going?" asked Ron.
"I'm late to deliver the paper."
Her presence in the hospital room equaled his, and a riotous storm of tension swirled around the both of them. The moment she closed the door behind her he snapped.
"Child, what on earth has happened that has kept you so long?" he barked. "And what has the hospital staff all up in edges? Everyone's walking around as if the Dark Lord had just resurfaced, and if I have to hear one more 'never you mind, dear,' I'm going to spend the remainder of my damnable days in Azkaban!"
Though his words would normally sting, Hermione was in too much of a fit herself to pay them much mind. Instead, she tossed the rolled up paper onto his lap and began to pace the length of his room. "An attack was made last night," she spoke as he unrolled the paper and observed the front page. "Against a muggleborn wizarding couple. The attackers, you'll see, have left their only child an orphan."
Snape skimmed the article in a hurry and looked up to watch as Hermione continued to pace. "Has the Order met?" he asked.
She nodded. "Not long ago. It was-" she gritted her teeth- "an interesting meeting."
"And what did they have to say?"
Hermione stopped suddenly, her long summer robe swirling around her ankles. Blushing, she turned to him. "I'm sorry," she whispered, eyes wide. "I couldn't focus. I was thinking..."
When she stopped, he frowned. "Were thinking... of?"
With an overdramatic sigh, she sat down in her usual chair. "I was thinking... that I was late getting you the paper."
Snape snorted. "You are a foolish girl to this day, Miss Granger. And are proving quite unhelpful."
Indignant, she point to the Daily Prophet he still held. "Hang on now, if it weren't for me you'd still be in the dark about today!"
"A fair point. However, knowing this-" he waved the paper in the air- "isn't much help without knowing what is to be done about it." He frowned, looking her up and down. "What made the meeting so interesting if you weren't paying attention?"
A fury that had temporarily settled returned to her face. "Harry isn't coming back to Hogwarts for his final term. He's leaving straight for Auror training."
After a good minute's pause, Snape asked, "Is that all?"
With a groan, Hermione threw her head in her hands. "I know it sounds foolish," she mumbled. She picked her head up and continued more clearly, "He made his decision because of today. He swears it isn't, he says he has been thinking this for a while- that he's useless going back to the castle. But-"
"But you didn't know."
"No! But Ron knew all about it, he's planning on leaving school as well."
"Good for them. Their schoolwork was hardly passable those six years, it will be a relief on the teaching staff to have them gone."
"How can you say-"
"Easily." Snape pulled himself up off the pillows and stared at her. "Potter and Weasley are right in one thing. Going back to Hogwarts isn't going to help finish this."
"But that's not-"
"Their problem? Since when has that ever mattered to them? Don't lie to yourself, Miss Granger. You're upset because when you return to Hogwarts in the fall, you'll be going alone."
Hermione sat dumbfounded. It had been such an emotional day, she hadn't given herself time to process Harry's announcement. As truthful as Snape's words were- and she realized that they were the truth- she didn't appreciate them slapped in her face.
"Now," Snape said, "If you're quite through with your internal conflict, do me a favor and alert the healers that I'll be needing my robes."
"What? Why?"
"Because," he sighed, grabbing his wand, "There's no rest for the weary when there's work to be done."
Hermione walked down the hospital halls in a fog. This day had been far too long for her, and to be fair, she could have done with none of it. Her mind still reeled with what Professor Snape had said. It was true, she realized far too late. She thought the three of them would have one more year together, one year to settle into this new world before things changed. She didn't want to go back to Hogwarts without her friends. Alone.
There was that dreaded word again. She didn't have her parents, her friends were planning to leave her, and now even Professor Snape had no need of her. What was she to do with herself?
No, really, she thought helplessly as she stood outside St Mungo's, ready to apparate but with no destination in mind, what am I supposed to do with myself?
She wasn't ready to go back to the Burrow. She knew she was in part tired and over-emotional, but she couldn't face Harry and Ron right now. She couldn't stay here, either- with Professor Snape gone there wasn't a whole lot to do now, was there? Grimmauld Place, maybe? No, she dismissed that. She'd have to ask Harry. Maybe the Leaky Cauldron...
Her heart sank further as she realized she had no money to pay for a room. She hadn't needed any money in such a long time; she hadn't even thought to make a trip to Gringotts. And the hour was so late, there was no chance they'd still be open.
She threw herself onto the curb in defeat, her head on her knees. Hot, desperate tears squeezed out of her eyes and her breathing hitched. She just wanted a room, a quiet room, where she could rest and sort out her emotions and-
An idea struck her so suddenly she surprised a nearby pigeon in her excitement. Professor McGonagall would help her, she knew she would. At the very least she could loan her a tent. In a hurry Hermione closed her eyes, pictured the giant castle, and turned.
A/N: Man, I really wanted to get this out on Christmas Day for you guys, but we hosted and it was chaos. Well anyway, I'd like to say sorry-not-sorry about the depressing chapter. I promise that this is the low point and that we should be going up from here. At least in terms of straight-up sadness anyway.
War is messy. I don't believe for a second that the trio walked away from it without turmoil. This is my take on the post-war blues.
