Chapter Nineteen: The Sea of Love.
Disclaimer: I own none of the material written by J. K. Rowling, or her publishing company, or Warner Brothers.
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Hermione Granger sat in the usual spot at the Headmaster's desk with Dumbledore across from her. At the girl's side was Harry. With her regal composure anyone should have been able to tell who it was from a mile away. Though they still would have been shocked at getting a closer view. The girl's body was covered in burns inflicted by Fiendfyre, much of her waist length hair had been severely singed resulting in the bushy, brown locks being cut to her shoulders, while a true oddity marred her pretty face.
Tears streaked profusely down her cut features leaving nothing but dry, redness in their wake.
For so long she had been so strong. Now it seemed only fitting that tears be allowed to pour free. Especially given that this was the second time she had almost been murdered. Now that… Ronald… Had-. All of it was too awful. Harry still sat there in utter shock. "This diary," Dumbledore stroked at the object Hermione had thoroughly purged of Tom Riddle, "Has caused so much pain, for being so small." He himself even appeared to have watery eyes. Hermione could hardly breathe, let alone speak in response. Apparently all of them: Ginny Harry, Lockhart, herself, and the charred remains of-Him. They had been found unconscious in Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom. When McGonagall stopped by the Hospital Wing to check on them all Hermione had been stuck in a catatonic trance.
Pomfrey whispered as if the muggleborn could not hear, but she had been aware of every single word. 'The screams… Poor girl… Accidental magic… -Is the one who broke every bit of glass in Hogwar-... -'es, I had to put her on Dreamless Sleep...'
"Miss Granger," Dumbledore spoke loudly as though he had been forced to repeat himself several times. Taking a breath the man peered into her eyes probingly as she jerked back into awareness. "Harry told us earlier that you managed to slay the Basilisk, destroy the diary, save Ginny Weasley, and stop Gilderoy Lockhart. Was this true?" She could not even find it in herself to nod, yet Dumbledore sat back in a semi-satisfied manner. Like he had seen the answer he sought in her traumatized gaze. If Hermione's brain were working properly she might have recalled that the Headmaster of Hogwarts was a noted Legilimens. "You saved the school again. All of us here owe you our grati-."
"Give that gratitude to Ron's family," She finally snapped again, standing to both feet. The office began to tremble in response. Glass from her earlier episode already littered the floors of Hogwarts. Portraits of previous Headmasters and Headmistresses moved animatedly in response. "RON took the Killing Curse Riddle threw my way. RON died for this school. RON and his family will suffer for all of eternity because of your ineptitude." Dumbledore simply indulged her magical outburst patiently as he cradled his, newly infant Phoenix, in an elbow. A surprise given that Harry was now even panickedly clasping the arms of his chair whilst staring at his friend.
Understandable given that the ancient tower was groaning in distress while many of Dumbledore's valuable trinkets were spilling to the stone floor with crashes. Then Hermione collapsed back into her seat as devastated motions racketed her entire body.
Silence fell again, only now there were no clicking trinkets left in the background, as the Headmaster's Tower slowly ceased its uncontrollable rumbling.
"Albus-," A man in one of the portraits peeked from behind his frame, beginning to caution his successor.
"Miss Granger," Dumbledore steepled his fingers beneath his jawline. Eyes twinkling her way firmly. " I misjudged you. Severely so. A statue of Ronald Weasley will be erected in Hogwarts, so none might ever forget his sacrifice. Also, I will make sure that his family will be invited to a posthumous ceremony for an Order of Merlin, First Class."
"Awards and statues," Hermione snarled with sudden animus, "What good do such trivialities serve us now? A boy lost his life because no adults at this school can ever keep things under control."
"They help us remember," Harry spoke up between the two quarelling parties. "You and I will never be able to express how much we cared for-." Tears now fell heavily from his eyes. In the hour since they had been awoken for the meeting with Dumbledore, Hermione had not seen her friend shed a single tear. Now they came freely. "Ron died, and our friend is gone. Though that does not mean it was for nothing. My mum gave me her love, and it saved me. R-r-Ron gave us his lo-love and it saved us. That can't be for nothing…"
"Correct, Harry," Dumbledore responded with a somber approval.
They might have gotten stuck in another awkward pause if the door had not flown open moments later. In strode Lucius Malfoy while another familiar face trailed subserviently behind him. "DOBBY!" Harry suddenly announced, "This is your master?"
The bigoted arsehole promptly spun around to his cowering House Elf. Issuing a threat with his demonic, moony face stormy as ever. "It was you." Hermione suddenly whispered, "You all along." She recalled Dobby's warning that summer. He had had too much knowledge of everything. Only a House Elf with a master who was directly involved could have been so insightful of what would happen. Once more Hermione felt as though she possessed energy by the bucketful. There was meaning in her life again, after having seen her friend brutally murdered by Tom Riddle.
Meaningless chatter filtered through Hermione's ears as she glared menacingly at Lucius Malfoy. All three males were bickering around her in veiled terms. None of them explicitly declaring the truth they each knew. Harry had just promised that he would always be around to protect Hogwarts when Hermione stood. Flawlessly, trying to ignore how much the burns inflicted by Dark Magic hurt her body. "You should worry less about Hogwarts, and more about yourself, Malfoy."
"Did you just threaten me?" The Pureblood sneered, "I would report you if I were not witness to evidence of the alleged outburst you displayed earlier." He gestured to the broken glass. "A silly girl, with bad blood, and a weak control over her magic will never be a threat to me."
"You are wrong, Malfoy," She strode out from behind her chair to face the monster fully in the light. A beast worse than Lockhart, Riddle, or even the Basilisk. That day Hermione defiantly gazed into the eyes of an ignorant man. Witnessing how much damage could be caused by unenlightenment. "I slayed a Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets and stopped Voldemort twice. The blood of the Crow, Godelots, and Pyrites flows thick through my veins. More than that, I have muggle blood coursing through my heart at this very moment as well." She paused tactfully, "Us mudbloods belong to a world better than yours. Where people have landed on the moon, split atoms, and performed countless miracles Wizards have yet to discover."
"As if those backwater savages could have ever landed on the moo-." He tried to jibe his way out of the uncomfortable standoff.
"Your weakness is that you refuse to see the good in muggles, muggleborns, and half-bloods. Only the most exaggerated, despicable stories about my people have been considered by your provincial, inbred face." Her brown eyes were likely smoldering at that point, "So that is exactly what I shall give you. Your family will suffer an annihilation worse than what was ever delivered to Japan. I will burn your family tree to the ground. Dig the roots out with my bare fingers until they have been thoroughly tarnished by my muddy blood. The last words on your lips will be the name will be 'Mudblood.' Then you will remember exactly who bested you, and how wrong you always were."
He opened his mouth defiantly again only this time Hermione gave him no chance to respond. "LEAVE!" She roared in the way that a lion might speak to a sheep. Magic seeping into her throat as the door behind Malfoy swung open. A force knocked the man backwards several steps. Hermione was so absorbed by her focus on pushing the older man out of the room that she did not even consider how bizarrely her magic was acting. The man just stood there for a moment longer. Eyes temporarily bewildered before he shot them all one last parting glare. All-but kicking Dobby out of the Office on his way out.
"Professor," Harry spoke in an uncomfortable tone, "Do you think I could borrow this?" He lifted the destroyed diary into the crisp, morning air which permeated the room. Given that Hermione had destroyed all of Hogwarts' windows. Dumbledore provided his agreement prior to regarding the muggleborn girl again.
"Please sit, Miss Granger. There is much I must discuss with you that Mr. Potter did not need to hear." That indulging twinkle shot at Harry's parting form noticeably dwindled upon locking solely onto her.
"Well, I see your true colours are here again. Now that Harry is no longer around to see what his idol is truly like behind closed doors…" Hermione trailed tiredly off.
"I treated you poorly, Miss Granger." He took charge of the conversation again. Firmly so.
Hermione defiantly managed to wrench it back again. "You have seen how useful I am now that I slayed a Basilisk and Voldemort's memory with little more than a sword. Buyer's remorse is not an apology."
"Yes, you are correct. I have seen absolute, undeniable potential in you all year long." He stared at her brown eyes as though trying to impart something meaningful.
"You thought that Quirrell was a fluke. Pure luck." Hermione deduced, "Even though most First Year's would kill themselves using Blast Curses."
"Yes. I have long-term plans, that I will not be divulging with you. Harry is integral to them as the Boy-Who-Lived. You were a dangerous, uncontrollable variable. My intentions were to eliminate you from the equation." A wrinkle formed in his brow, "Though you proved yourself most remarkably in the face of such pressure. Defying me before the Wizengamot, securing your social image, working so well with your, pardon my frank description, unloveable grandmother for the sake of survival."
"I doubt a savvy for politics was enough to sway you," She remarked in an uncaring tone. Silently surprised that he had shirked off the pretenses with her so easily.
"My reasons are not under discussion. Though I have been duly impressed by your many achievements this year. You have accomplished things as a Second Year that most adults could never manage." Now it was Dumbledore's turn to stand. He moved towards the perch which had moved several feet away from his desk during her tempestuous display of accidental magic. "I fear that the Daily Prophet has already received much word of what has happened in Hogwarts. Your involvement in the Chamber of Secrets, slaying the Basilisk, and the magical outburst which managed to destroy every last window in this school shall be plastered all over. Voldemort will certainly be interested in finishing you off for good when he finally returns."
She tensed at the memory of the assassin Snakeman who had been sent from Albania to murder her that very summer. "What do I need to do to protect myself? Without being stuck totally beneath your thumb?"
He chuckled tersely, "I have no intention of placing you under my thumb. My objective for you now is to help you grow. Just like it is my desire to help Mr. Potter grow. Both of you have defeated Voldemort at least once before. If the pair of you are lifted to your fullest potential that is twice the opportunity we will have to vanquish the Dark Lord."
"Yes, good job. Glad you wasted an entire year figuring it out." She was unsympathetic entirely to his sudden choice to covet her like a possession. "I asked a question. Now answer it."
"Did you know that magical glass is often tempered with Unbreakable Charms?" He changed the subject quickly, in a random direction. "Of course not. Few even ever notice. A fist through glass, or thrown brick would not break our windows at this school. Though Unbreakable Charms are often fickle when it comes to magical barrages. Yet that does not mean they are not still incredibly resistant to force. Only great power could have smashed so many enchanted windows on such an extended scale."
"What are you implying?" Hermione asked, though she suspected that she already knew.
"It is not often that a young witch or wizard has such an incredible magical growth spurt in one singular moment. Yet it has been recorded that stressful situations can unlock the deepest, most potent potential in magicians." He stroked at the head of his bald, baby Phoenix. "Many wizards and witches lose the ability to perform magic during intense bouts of grief. Yours, however, has only grown stronger."
"My wand was broken in the Chamber," She protested, "Maybe my body is just out of-."
"Yes. Young Harry told me all about what occurred in the Chamber. I imagine that was a part of it, but so were the Fiendfyre, Basilisk, Voldemort, Lockhart, and pain of seeing a loved one die." She flinched back at Ron's death being so bluntly mentioned. "Regardless, your magical core has expanded to phenomenal new heights. I had Madam Pomfrey officially test blood samples while you were asleep just to be sure." A thoughtful pause followed, "That goes without mentioning that your magical core will only increase as you near closer to seventeen."
She was struck utterly speechless by this change in topic. "I don't believe you. Magical core size does not dictate the success of a witch. Hard work, determination-."
"If the success of that witch is marked by her ability to survive Lord Voldemort and his legions of mighty followers it certainly does matter. Yes, tenaciousness is to be admired, and you possess it in scores, but the power you have gained makes all the difference. If we continue to train and harness it you will be able to hold your own against Voldemort in a duel one day. That is my answer to your question, Miss Granger. I have hope for your survival now, and so should you." With that he wordlessly and wandlessly prompted a ball of flame to drip down onto the mound of ashes which the Phoenix rested upon. In a flash of light the Phoenix was a roaring creature of fire once more.
Hermione had always secretly dreamed of having such a conversation with her former idol. To be told that she might one day be able to successfully go toe-to-toe with Voldemort in a duel was unfathomable. Though priorities often changed, and the muggleborn felt no glee at the prospect. Instead, a new desire bubbled in her throat. "Do you think I will be able to hold my own against you in a duel one day, Professor?"
"I very much fear that you will one day be more like me one day than you could ever imagine, Miss Granger. Such a prospect is not one that I would ever want for you." His sad eyes were cut off by Fawkes flying up into the air in a whirlwind of flame. Landing in a golden arc of light before Hermione on the desk. Hesitantly she lifted her hand up. Feeling, for some strange reason, as if she owed the bird an apology. Seconds later Fawkes nuzzled her hand in a forgiving manner, and the girl gasped in wonderment. The burns on her hand were gone, then the feeling progressed as her entire body was cleansed of the angry welts.
Dumbledore arrived on the scene quickly. Collecting the remaining Phoenix tears with a quickly conjured, tiny phial. Much to the, already astonished, girl's surprise the vessel was promptly passed towards her. "Fawkes has rarely ever seen fit to gift anyone with his tears, and you are in need of a new wand. Take these to Mr. Ollivander."
She was then shooed out of the Headmaster's Tower back down towards the Hospital Wing.
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Hermione spent the last week at Hogwarts keeping herself preoccupied. Trying desperately to ignore the fact that the Weasleys were all gone. Every last one of them having been removed early from Hogwarts that term. Then there was her renewed friendship with Harry. Stronger than ever before, but in a sinister, unbearable sort of way. Darkness hovered over both of their heads. So she tried to throw herself back into studying the Villis Malificus. Easily ignoring how people around her whispered over copies of the Daily Prophet, as she was more than used to the attention at that point.
There was a rare, bursting moment of happiness with Cedric, Luna, and a recently un-Petrified Daphne when their research found itself finally posted on the front cover of Charm's Weekly. A moment quickly ruined when Hermione had one of her new, magical outbursts, causing all of the breakfast platters on the Gryffindor table to rise into the air. (Fortunately exams had been cancelled, for Hermione had no wand, and it now felt as though her magic controlled her sometimes).
In the last three days of term the muggleborn accomplished more than she had in a very long time. Convincing Harry to take Healing, Runes, and Artifice and Enchantments instead of his earlier, poorer choices. Organizing a meeting with Petrification victims to begin a study group the next year. Most importantly, Hermione caught up with Byron.
"You were very young when you died," She noted, eyeing his stomach wound as they sat on the docks. Her new favorite place in Hogwarts since having done those tests with Cedric days earlier. "How old were you when… Jasper was born?" That name, when she rarely ever deigned to think of it, still caused fury to course through her bones. What sort of man abandoned his own child for being a Squib, turned the mother out on the streets, and raised Death Eaters?
"My wife, your great-grandmother, Saila Travers. She was always a vicious bitch. I was cavalier about who I tended to associate with. Blood never mattered all that much to me. My best friend at Hogwarts was a muggleborn." He kicked his feet through the water as though it was possible for a Ghost to feel the swirling, warmth of the Black Lake. "I was barely sixteen when my parents strongarmed me into marrying her. She was twenty and always acted like the leader. I 'besmirched' our son's future prospects by spending time with 'scum.'" Sadness filtered through his eyes, "When I was eighteen she caught me with an arrow to the stomach after I had spent the night with my unsavory friends."
Hermione did not know what the worst part of that story was. That Pureblood parents could force their sixteen-year-old children into marriages, how Byron had barely ever lived his life, or that Jasper Pyrites might have been a different man had he been raised by her great-grandfather. "I want you to know, Byron," Hermione started, "That I feel wretched about not giving you a chance-."
"Can you be blamed?" He snorted indignantly, "My son was the spawn of Satan. His children are nothing more than psychotic bloodhounds." A crinkle formed in the Ghost's specterly forehead. "I was glad your father was born a Squib. It saved him plenty of trouble. That Cordelia was always too good a lass to be shackled to my son either. I saw too much of myself in her." That handsome face regarded her own fully, "You should know that I am simply happy to see someone use the riches of my bloodline for good. One day you will change the world Hermione Pyrites."
She indulged him that error in her surname. Where others might have ignored the 'Granger' bit to insult her non-magical heritage, Byron was unquestionably overjoyed to have a muggleborn grandchild besmirching House Pyrites' former reputation. "Regardless," She continued, "I want you to stay a part of my life." Tears burned at the back of her eyes. "You could come back to Pyrites' Townhouse. My dad would be happy to meet his grandfather. It'd probably brighten up that dingy, old place too."
They stared at one another for a moment. Then his specterly face broke into a broad, dashing grin. "I would like nothing more than that."
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"Dobby," Harry called out softly. A soft pop marked the House Elf's return to Hogwarts as he appeared into existence.
"Mr. Harry Potter," He cheered, before noticing Hermione, "And Missus Granger. Is you needing of Dobby's services?" The Little House Elf asked carefully. They stood in a dark corner of the Clocktower Courtyard.
"I needed to talk to you Dobby," Hermione smiled gently. "First I wanted to apologize for lying to you this summer."
"Hermione Granger is safe," He answered eagerly, "And Dobby cares only about that."
"Good. Harry told me that you were not quite certain of where you would next find employment?" She began her leading bit carefully. "I want to know if you would be willing to work for me. For fifteen Galleons a week, with weekends off."
"No." Dobby gasped in horror. Then he amendeded himself, "Yes. Dobby would love to work for Miss Hermione Granger. Though she is much too generous. Much. Too. Generous." At this point he began to slap himself violently in the face.
Kneeling down onto the dirty ground even though it would stain her pants, Hermione firmly stopped Dobby's unacceptable self-harm. "You are worth it Dobby. I will only hire you if you repeat this back to me once. 'I am Dobby and I am worth fifteen Galleons.'"
Ugly sobs were now wracking violently through the Elf's small body. "I is Dobby and I is worth…" He choked, fists clenching violently the whole while, "Worth fifte-fifteen Gallons."
"Good. You need to be strong and proud for what we are going to try to do together, Dobby." She explained this all with a meaningful look. "You are a free Elf, a proud Elf, and your name is Dobby. Every morning when you wake up, I expect you to repeat that to yourself in front of a mirror." He nodded shakily in response with wet eyes that were screwed tightly closed.
"What do you need Dobby for, again, Hermione?" Harry asked confusedly. She had only told him that she needed to speak to Dobby, but not the particulars of why exactly.
She smiled with pure, unbridled excitement at her friend. "Dobby is going to be my co-partner in the Elfish Advancement Organization."
Harry's mouth certainly dropped at that development.
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"You four go on ahead," Hermione gestured to her friends as they neared the Hogsmeade Station. "I just need a minute alone." Harry had been introduced to the others sometime earlier and hit it off with all of them. Surprisingly, even Daphne, though Hermione suspected Harry admired the blunt Slytherin for having been Petrified. Cedric attempted to stay behind as the others marched forth, though she stunned the both of them by reaching up to brush his dark locks off his forehead. "Trust me, Ced," She smiled softly, "I need a moment." As if Confunded the older boy stumbled off towards the Hogwarts Express, though she did not seem to notice his peculiar behavior.
Slipping through throngs of students Hermione marched back through Hogsmeade until she stood in the breezy High Street. Overhead Hogwarts glimmered in the humid mists of a resplendent summer. That was when she glanced to the ground and caught sight of the scarlet feather trapped in place under a rock with a scrap of parchment wedged between them both. Bending gently the muggleborn picked up the feather only to stumble back against a brick wall while gasping breaths ripped through her chest cavity. Memories, awful ones, began to flicker through her head again. Peering at the letter she read an elegantly scrawled message which was left for her.
"To my dearest Chit,
I find that I am no longer certain of myself moving forwards. The fragment of the Diary that I absorbed returned me to my body. With it come many unmanageable quirks and tendencies I long believed myself to have left behind. As a result it is not safe yet for me to meet with you in person. I fear that my other self is not yet fully subjugated, and you sorely stoke his sociopathic urges in a way that is not simple to describe. Nor is it a simple thing to try and contain.
You likely hate me for the things my other self did, but I must tell you something first. Voldemort did not intentionally leave me with you. I was the last bit of sanity his soul contained. Your mind offered escape from almost guaranteed destruction, and seeing your thoughts has helped to reform many of my views. While I still am not certain who I am separate of the Dark Lord it is clear to me that the salvation you offered has given me the chance to find out.
Forever yours,
Silky Voice.
Tucking both items in her pocket, next to the phial of Phoenix Tears, she closed her eyes. Ron was dead because of her. That guilt would likely never fade away, and even without the memories it had still eaten furiously at her heart. So Hermione Granger decided easily in that moment that her mistake would not destroy her. She would live life like Ron himself would never be able to. Changing the Wizarding World in his name would be her redemption.
"I promise, Ron," She let the last of her available tears slip out. In that moment finally feeling the loss sink all the way down to the depths of her bones. Then to the best of her ability Hermione tried to let all the remorse dissipate into the air above.
"Miss Granger," Came a soft directive from the shopkeep of Zonko's Jokes, "Get a move on or you'll miss the train home!"
Thanking the young woman, unsurprised to have been so easily recognized, Hermione smoothed out her red skirt, blue blouse, and kicked her sensible trainers into overdrive.
Only sparing one glance back over her shoulder at Hogwarts and the memory of Ron.
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