DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
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A flurry of owls descended upon them during breakfast. Hermione was examining her timetable when Herms (damn you, Potter,) landed in front of Ginny bearing a missive from Harry.
"A letter on the first day," Hermione said smilingly, "He's really doing his best to be a good boyfriend, isn't he?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "He's anxious, what with him being there, and me being here... with Dean."
"Don't tell me he's actually worried!"
"He is. Said some bullshit about me being too popular for my own good. So he's going to remind me he exists every day."
"Right," Hermione huffed, turning away from her bowl of porridge (it had been usurped by owls,) "If there's one person it's easy to forget in the wizarding world, it's Harry Potter."
Ginny was lost not long after that, falling into her letter. And so Hermione returned to admiring her schedule. Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, Herbology, Potions, and Ancient Runes spread neatly across the week with an hour off every day. She was most eagerly looking forward to drowning in course work, beginning...
Now.
The bell sounded, signalling the launch of their first lesson.
"Herbology?" Hermione asked Ginny. Ginny did not respond. "Hullo? Ginny! Herbology?"
She started. "Oh, yes. Yes. Herbology."
With a faint smile she stowed away Harry's note, and they both set off towards the greenhouses.
The marsh-like ground squelched under their boots and the sky above rumbled forebodingly – perfectly gloomy weather to set the day going. They collected people along the way: Theo and Luna, Neville, Anthony, and Malfoy, Padma and Tracy...
"I really hope it won't be those Venomous Tentaculas again," Theo groused. Seeing him in his Hogwarts robes once again, (with his hair in his eyes, wearing the bluegreen scarf and a petulant expression,) made Hermione grin.
"They're actually really fascinating..." Neville countered with such Neville-like earnestness. The badge pinned on his lapel matched the twinkle in his eye.
"You think Bubotuber pods are fascinating," Malfoy sniped.
"Well, they are!"
Sprout set them the task of repotting walking plants. It was difficult as the roots were fond of chucking away soil quicker than a human could cover them. Soon enough, dirt was flying everywhere, landing on clothing, in eyes, mouths...
("MOTHERFFFFFFRTTH!" Anthony spat. His hands grabbed the shoot as though wanting to strangle it.)
...And hair. There was mud in Hermione's hair and her hair wasn't made to have mud in it. It was a mysterious portal where things could get lost forever...
"HEEL, YOU FIEND!" someone yelled from across the room.
"Freezing charms!" Sprout hollered over the din, "Use freezing charms!"
A collective groan went around – they were all united by the frustration that came with 'now why didn't I think of that?'
With her brilliant, exemplary, war-sharpened reflexes, Hermione whipped out Bellatrix's wand and... En-garde!... cast the spell. The plant froze, fell harmlessly into its pot, and she blew at the end of the wand like a total heroine.
"Oh, bravo," Ginny lauded sarcastically. Her walking plant tossed a lump of mud at her head.
"Good boy," Hermione told it.
xxx
She attended Ancient Runes and sat next to Theo as Professor Babbling ran them through the range of scripts they'd be deciphering that year.
She spent the lunch hour shaking soil out of her hair in a courtyard while a couple of boys played football with a hat they'd transfigured into a crude ball.
She sat through Slughorn's bloated lecture on Alihotsy Draughts and tried her best to smile when he Oh miss Granger-ed her at the end of the class.
She turned Terry Boot's (rather large) ears into antlers without batting an eyelid in Transfiguration. "You're really so brilliant," he gushed at her, and she didn't roll her eyes. Really.
The day had made her feel preoccupied in the best possible way. She was high on the smell wafting out of every crisp roll of parchment she unfurled. She was exhilarated by the rush that came with taking down her first lot of notes for the year. She kept her head down and focused, she performed her tasks with thoroughness.
Thus, it was understandable that it took her the whole day to notice the stares. It was only when she was walking alone to the Great Hall for supper that she became aware of them: The side-glances, the shameless gawking, the murmurs. Some of the younger students would stop dead just to gape at her with stupid round eyes. One slightly older boy with oily ringlets and sallow skin had actually winked at her; his yellow teeth would have made her parents weep. Hermione kept her gaze locked straight ahead of her as she walked as fast as she could without breaking into a run. She was not used to this, and she longed for the time she could scurry around the castle with a bulging satchel and ink-stained fingers, and nobody would give her a second look.
She felt a burst of relief when she saw Neville and Dean waving at her from the Gryffindor table.
"So?" Dean began, scooching over to make room for her on the bench, "Good first day?"
"It's been okay," she replied, eyeing a plate piled with lamb chops.
"Yeah," he agreed, "Not bad."
xxx
When heading back to the common room, she encountered Ginny standing still like a statue on the fifth floor. She was staring at a wall with glazed eyes. Hermione cautiously approached her, and in the gentlest of voices said, "Ginny?"
In spite of the mildness of her tone, Ginny jumped. "This is the place, right?"
"Y–Yes."
"Tell me how it happened."
Hermione inhaled deeply. She'd already told her what'd happened countless times during dark nights when they'd both lain wide awake and anxious in their beds. Ginny never reacted, she'd just sigh and close her eyes... and then ask her again a few nights later.
"We – Harry, Ron, and I – came running down here from The Room of Requirement, and saw Fred and Percy duelling a couple of Death Eaters. We stopped to help. They were quite a team, you know? Powerful. Holding their own. Full of confidence. Percy... Percy made a joke... I don't – I don't remember what it was, but Fred was laughing, and then suddenly... out of nowhere... a huge explosion struck and we were all sent flying in different directions. I hit a pillar – that one right there – it took me a few moments to recover. Then... Then Harry and I found each other, and just as we were beginning to look for the others, we heard Percy cry out. It was over there... that's where he – where they were."
"Fuck," Ginny choked. She fell against a wall, slid down to the floor, and buried her face between her knees. Hermione sat next to her and tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling. She stayed there quietly while Ginny cried and cried and cried.
The private "eighth year" common room, (as the real seventh years called it,) was an odd place. As homey as the Gryffindor one, yes, but it was seriously strange to see that particular assortment of people gathered together in one room, lounging, studying, chattering, or playing cards. Dean had brought Seamus' gramophone along with him, and was currently in the process of introducing his peers to Radiohead.
Blaise Zabini was not a fan.
"If you do not shut that infernal thing down, I will eviscerate it," he growled one evening over a haunting, lilting chant of nice dream, nice dream, nice dream.
"Nah."
"I'm not joking–"
"You're outnumbered, Zabini."
Not long after that, he disappeared up the stairs leading to the boy's dormitories.
Both he and Daphne Greengrass were surly, sneery, and stand-offish. They didn't speak to anyone but each other, and stayed locked in their rooms most of the time. Hermione felt like she got the lion's (–damn it, no house-associations, please–) the largest share of their contempt: They scowled at her for doing awfully obtrusive things like sitting, or breathing.
"Wanker," Dean spat after Zabini's retreating back, "Anyway, I'm knackered. Hagrid made us chase flitterbies around the ground today. I'm off to bed, mates."
"Bye," Hermione muttered, not really looking up from her very first homework assignment. An essay on Alihotsy, which was due in a week, and hers was just a paragraph away from completion.
"Put that away," Theo whined, "I'm bored."
"Tough," she snapped.
"Hermione!"
"Go play with Neville or Malfoy."
"They aren't here!"
She finally looked up, and saw that besides Justin and Michael playing chess by the fireplace, the common room was empty.
She blinked. "Where is everyone?"
"Bed, darling," Theo sighed, "It's past midnight."
"Oh! Why are you still here?"
"Keeping you company, obviously. But I can see that you don't give a shit. Merlin, it's such a thankless job, being your friend. I mean, I dote on you and what do I get? Go play with Neville or Malfoy, she says. Brushes me aside, she does. I give and I give and I try so hard to – OW! You hexed me!"
"Don't be such a baby. It was a mild tweaking jinx."
"Mild tweaking jinx, she says! Oh my, oh me! Such is my misery! Put upon for all eternity. You kick me and you hurt me, and yet I love you like my own limb, like my own blood! And you – you! Ah, I cannot even speak of the injustice anymore without welling up! Woe is –"
"Oh god, FINE," she cut in while pinching the bridge of her nose, "I'll stop working, okay, you attention-seeking freak."
"Brilliant!" Theo grinned, "How about we – Oh, hello there, Draco!"
Hermione stiffened immediately.
She hadn't been prepared to deal with so much Malfoy, and so often. Although, to be fair, she didn't have to deal with anything more than his presence...
During classes. Between classes. In the common room at half past midnight.
He never spoke to her, barely acknowledged her existence, and she did her best to return the favour – she really did. But somehow, the discomfort of having him around never went away. At odd times, his voice would float over to her, making a dry remark to someone or the other, and she'd shake her head at the bizarreness of her friends' laughter that would invariably follow. They liked him. Or at least, they tolerated him and they thought he was amusing. Neville, Luna... and even Ginny. It was in these moments that she felt completely alienated. She wasn't a part of this merry group; this group that had suffered and strived together in the castle. The bond they'd formed was quite powerful – the understanding they shared was strong enough to completely extinguish the animosity that had previously existed between them.
She took a deep breath and watched him approach with apprehension. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt and joggers, and his hair was a right mess. His frame seemed to be thrumming with irritation.
"Can't sleep again?" Theo asked as he eyed him speculatively.
Malfoy replied with a sharp, "No," and shot a pointed glance at Hermione, clearly indicating that he did not wish to discuss it in front of her.
"Well I," Hermione said, (her voice a little too high,) "I'm going to bed."
She pulled out Bellatrix's wand to quickly spell her belongings into her bag and get away from there as soon as –
"What the hell?"
She froze, startled, and blinked quizzically at Malfoy. "I beg your pardon?"
"Is that aun – That's Bellatrix's wand!" He looked aghast, eyes narrowed and mouth turned down.
"No," Hermione answered quickly, and jumped to her feet.
"Cut the bullshit, Granger, I'd recognise it anywhere. That's Bellatrix's wand!"
"Bellatrix Lestrange is dead, and dead people don't have wa–"
"I told you to cut the bullshit," he snarled, "What's wrong with you? Why would you keep that?"
("Leave it, Draco–")
"I needed a wand, you know, since mine was taken from me when I'd swung by your lovely home. I'm sure you remember."
Malfoy took a step closer, and his upper lip curled menacingly. "This wand? Of all the –"
Hermione's blood boiled over with no warning. "It's a perfectly good wand!" she said through gritted teeth, "And –"
"No. It. Isn't."
"– AND wands were a bit hard to come by while I was on the run –"
"Yes, Granger," he matched her tone, "While you were on the run. But seeing the amount you ate at dinner, I doubt you'll be running anytime soon–"
"Excuse me?"
("Fuck's sake... Stop. Both of you... please!")
"I'm sure somewhere in that outstanding brain of yours, you might have registered that the war is over? Go to Ollivander's, get a new fucking wand, and destroy that monstrosity!"
"I don't want to!"
She'd ended up shrieking that last sentence. In the quiet common room, the echoes of her voice lingered for a painfully long time. Some part of her knew that Theo was deeply distressed, and that Justin and Michael were probably watching the scene with perverse fascination. But mostly she didn't care because all her concentration was focused on stopping herself from inflicting bodily harm on the pushy arsehole in front of her.
Something shifted in his expression. Anger made way for clarity swathed in disgust.
"Ah," he pronounced harshly, "I see."
Hermione waited for him to elaborate but he didn't. His face fell back into its usual arrangement, and besides his rage-reddened cheeks, nothing about him betrayed his fury.
("Ooooookay, then. Let's all just call it a day now, yeah?")
"It's a trophy, isn't it?"
"What?" Hermione hissed.
"Of course. Little goody-goody Granger slayed the evil witch and now she goes about brandishing her wand like a ba–"
"Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about!"
"Please, it's painfully obvious, and such a depressing cliché." He'd also reverted to his bored, condescending manner of speaking, and she... wanted to hit him. "Get rid of the wand, Granger. I don't care for your trite symbolism."
Hermione clenched her fists. "Well, I don't care for... what you care for."
"Eloquent," he drawled, arching a single brow.
"Go fuck yourself. Goodnight, Theo."
She stormed away before she could explode with rage... or worse... burst into tears. She could feel them building up, a messy mix of anger, helplessness, and... god damn it... hurt. She heard Theo loudly chastising Malfoy, calling him a "prick" – among other things – and she sped up so that she wouldn't have to hear what Malfoy said in retaliation.
Her vision was already blurring by the time she'd reached her room. There was something vicious bubbling inside her, and the moment the door slammed shut behind her, she hurled the blasted wand across the room. It sparked as it hit a wall and fell with a clatter onto the floor.
Pacing around madly in her room, she clamped down on her overbearing desire to scream. A trophy? A fucking trophy? That wand had bobbed before her while she'd experienced the worse pain of her life... a trophy?! That wand had made her a killer... a trophy?!
It had been with her through awful life defining moments, preyed upon her and made her a predator... trite symbolism – that ignorant bastard... it was tied to her and she was shackled to it. Couldn't he see – didn't he understand – she would never be free of it.
The weekend brought with it more downpours, pelting the earth with pitiless abandon. The world outside was a solid sheet of grey, and Hermione gazed at it through tall arched windows in the library.
Ah, the Hogwarts library.
She was immensely glad she hadn't seen how the battle had ravaged it: In her mind, it remained as it always had been... and it was simply perfect. Her beautiful little sanctuary.
Curled up in an armchair, she penned a letter to her parents, one to Mrs. Weasley, one to Harry, and one to Ron. She kept them light and short, making an added effort to sound friendly in the last one, even though she didn't think Ron would bother to read it.
Afterwards, she pulled her hair forward to fall across her face and closed her eyes.
On Sunday, at five-thirty in the morning, she slipped on her trainers and went out for a run. The grounds by the lake were soggy, so she charmed her shoes to prevent them from sinking. She panted as she ran up and down the length of the forest; humidity was making it difficult to breathe.
Halfway through her third lap she doubled over. A light drizzle had commenced, and the moisture mingled with her sweat most unpleasantly. She walked back slowly, savouring the picture that Hogwarts made at dawn: A picture perfect fairytale castle.
Alas, her determined march towards her bathroom was unfortunately deterred when she got to the common room. Neville and Hannah Abbot were entwined on a sofa, kissing like their lives depended on it. In addition to that, they were both topless.
"Oh my god!" Hermione squealed, and immediately turned her back to them.
"Hermione! Shit!"
"No... It's fine... I'm so sorry. Please... er, carry on."
She did the speediest, most awkward side shuffle and got the hell away from them. When she was finally free of her damp clothes and standing under a cascade of warm water, her thoughts wandered. She felt a twang of hot envy for everybody who was getting to wade through the war's aftermath with a lover by their side. She always, always noticed the way they reached out to each other in moments of weakness, and the way their smiles sometimes held the kind of blinding joy that had no reason to exist in the current times. How amazing it must be to have a warm, solid body pressed against yours during the darkest of nights! She thought back to her night with Pete and how, for a few seconds, she'd actually felt unburdened.
She wanted that. She really wanted that. She wanted –
Ugh.
She leant against the tiled wall and widened her stance. Her eyes fluttered shut and she rubbed between her legs and thought back to the way she'd felt that night – tightness, trembles, so much warmth, and alarming fullness. The pressure built, it coiled deep inside her, and she rubbed relentlessly, occasionally slipping two fingers inside herself. As tremors shimmied down her legs, she slid lower down the wall and her knees bent inelegantly to lend her better access and to support her.
When relief came it was far too short and miserably mild. A broken sob tore its way out of her – like an alarm to indicate that maximum frustration levels had been reached. Mayday, mayday, mayday, mayd–
She got back into bed without bothering to dress, and conjured six fluffy pillows to enclose herself within. Thus ensconced, she lay there and thought about how miserable it was that Ron hadn't been who she'd built him up to be. She missed a happy ending that never could have been.
From her bag, she summoned her charmed galleon to inform Theo that she wouldn't be showing up at Hogsmeade that day.
Hestia Jones was the kind of lively young teacher you couldn't help but admire. A bit like Miss Honey, if Miss Honey was a badarse thug thwarting witch who wore wine-red lipstick. She'd been teaching them advanced variants of protego, and Hermione felt like giggling in every lesson. After all, she could cast them all wandlessly, in bad weather, when shaken and injured, (with a raving, unconscious Harry Potter on the ground beside her,) after just barely evading Voldemort's clutches...
Yes, that made her want to giggle. Was it late-onset cruciatus-inflicted insanity? She felt INSANE.
Professor Jones, (weird calling her that after she'd been 'Hestia' for so long,) told them to write an essay and set them off when the bell rang. Hermione thought she would go to the library for her free period when she went flying back as someone had pulled at the strap of her bag.
"What's your problem?" she huffed at her assailant.
"Let's go for a walk."
"Theo, it's pouring."
"I didn't say outside, did I?" He rolled his eyes. "Walk with me."
He led her to the viaduct and the moment they stepped onto it, cold wind slapped against her face. She swiftly cast a warming charm over the both of them.
They strolled down that narrow strip of stone as brutal rain roared like deafening white noise on either side. It was like balancing on the thin line of sanity... like walking a tightrope through oblivion. She ran her fingers along the rough stones to her right, and her fingers came away icy and damp.
"Look," Theo sighed bracingly, "I'm sorry about what Draco said."
"Pfff." Hermione's lip curled involuntarily. "You don't have to apologise on his behalf."
"I know. But I am sorry. He shouldn't have said any of what he did."
"Yes, well, that's never stopped him before."
Theo sighed once more, and lightly touched her arm to bring her to a halt. "Hermione. Come on... he's trying to be less of a dick. He is. It's just that he doesn't have very good memories involving that wand."
"Oooh, I wonder what that's like," Hermione snapped. She shrugged his hand off and recommenced her stroll.
He followed, but didn't say anything for a long time. Only when they'd walked the length of the bridge and back did he, once again, stop her. With both his hands on her shoulders, he looked searchingly at her face for a long moment, and said, "Do you think that maybe he has a point?"
"I'm sorry, what?!"
"Why are you still holding onto Bellatrix's wand, Hermione."
She whacked his arms away and made to charge back inside the castle, but he stopped her again by grabbing her elbow.
"Listen to me. Please."
"No. No." She tried to pull free, but he wouldn't let her. "We spoke about this Theo! In Australia... I told you... and... and you said alright!"
He drew her closer and gave her the sort of soft, kind smile that she really did not want to see at that moment.
"I said alright because you were under far too much stress at the time. I'm still amazed at how you held it all together. And I promise I'll say alright again if you just tell me why you're so adamant on keeping Bell–"
"IT'S NOT HERS!" Hermione's cry got engulfed by a thunder clap. "It's just a wand –"
"It clearly isn't."
"Stop it," she turned her face away and whispered, "Please, stop."
He hugged her tightly then, one hand hooked around her shoulders and the other flat against the back of her head.
It's raining, it's pouring,
Self-pity is so boring.
"Let's go," she muttered after pulling away, and she went on to babble, "We should get started on this week's runes assignment. It's quite tricky. How about Thursday afternoon, after potions?"
"Sure," he agreed, and slung an arm around her.
Arithmancy was the best. They had just one project for the whole year: Decoding Delphi's personal diary of predictions. First, they had to translate the original Ancient Greek to Latin, and then they had to apply complex isopsephy.
Sat at her favourite table in the library, Hermione was surrounded by three fat dictionaries. It was one of the most challenging tasks she'd put her mind to in a long time, and she was giddy with excitement.
"Hello. Mind if I join you?"
It took her a moment to pull herself out of her work. Padma was standing gawkily at the other end of her table with a wry look on her face.
"Not at all," Hermione told her.
"Thanks." Padma sat down and began piling the table with her own books. "Working on the translation? It's insanely difficult, isn't it?"
"Only in the best way possible!"
"Of course!"
After working in silence for half an hour, Hermione hesitatingly put forth the question that she'd been wanting to ask since day one – "How's Parvati?"
Padma swallowed thickly and replied without looking up from her parchment. "Not good. Lavender's death really messed her up. She couldn't bring herself to come back here. We've had to get her a permanent caretaker after she took an overdose of calming draught."
"Oh no," Hermione gasped.
"My parents found her in time, luckily. But they have to work; they can't watch her all day."
"I'm so sorry," Hermione murmured.
"Yeah," Padma breathed, "Me too. I really tried to help her out of it. Kept trying to talk to her, but she just doesn't want to. We visited our grandparents in India for a few weeks to see if the change of scenery would help. It didn't. I don't know what to do."
"George Weasley was like that too. He stayed locked in his room for almost the entire summer. And then one day he just snapped out of it. He seems much better now, and, er, maybe Parvati just needs some time, too?"
Shrugging sadly, Padma muttered, "Maybe," and after what appeared to be a tacit agreement, they both returned to their work.
But the air around them was unbearably heavy. In her infinite wisdom, Hermione decided to change the subject:
"So. You and Tracey Davis, huh?" she blurted.
And she wanted to die. Holy shit, that was what she came up with? Wasn't she a prized moron? But to her surprise, Padma smiled.
"Yeah. Me and Tracey Davis." She seemed soothed by just the thought of the other girl.
Hermione's consequent grin marked the end of their conversation, and the scratching of quills against parchment was the only sound to be heard.
With the first two weeks gone by, the castle of Hogwarts appeared to have settled into a regular rhythm, moving to the sound of raindrops and fluttering robes.
Hermione couldn't stop staring at it in the early morning mist and light as she slowly made her way back after her run. Her gaze scanned it from end to end – from the Greenhouses to the Quidditch hoops. A flock of yellow-orange crossbills exploded off the tops of distant trees and flew in an arc over the castle.
Lovely.
It looked serene, she felt serene, and she smiled to herself. She walked past the old pumpkin patch where Buckbeak was lying fast asleep; she thought she really ought to pay Hagrid a visit sometime soon. She swung her arms in an over-exaggerated, jaunty manner as her scuffy trainers hit the cobbled path leading to the main entrance. Today would be a good day. Yes. She'd go to Hogsmeade with her friends, have butterbeer, stop by Scrivenshaft's, and maybe –
The sound of thudding footfalls from behind had her spinning around. It was Malfoy. With windswept hair and a broom in hand, he looked back at her and said, "Granger."
She ran.
No.
No way.
It was going to be a good day and good days certainly did not involve an altercation with that prat.
"Granger!" he called again and she ran faster, but of course, (and curse his long legs,) he caught up easily, overtaking her and forcing her to stop by planting himself directly in her path. She considered going around him and escaping... however, the determined look in his eyes stalled her. He would inevitably give chase and catch her again.
So she snapped, "Well?" with a scowl, and crossed her arms expectantly.
His mouth opened, but he wavered. His expression was a strange combination of irritation and resignation. He watched her silently, carefully, and just as she was about to spit out another well, he spoke.
"I – I owe you an..." Gosh, he was really struggling, "An apology."
"I see." Hermione raised her eyebrows.
A low, irritated rumble emitted out of his throat. "Well, I'm sor–"
"Remember when I tried to apologise to you at Fred's funeral and you refused to let me?"
She nearly laughed out loud at the pure loathing on his face. And that was extremely odd, because she was also extremely furious.
"Alright, look –"
"Isn't that also when you said that we should keep things civil between us? For Theo?"
"Listen you – Granger," he growled... then stopped to take in a deep breath. "I reacted badly."
"No, really?"
Malfoy's stormy eyes narrowed. "Do you really have to be so difficult?"
"Me?!" Hermione sputtered with outrage, "Difficult...? Do I have to be –"
"Forget it," he muttered and stalked off. She gaped after him, unable to speak or move till he was a good distance away.
"Was that your idea of an apology?" she yelled when he was nearly past the main doors. She didn't know whether he'd heard her or not.