Chapter 2. Hurt And Hostility
Hermione awoke with a start. Her heart was pounding as she gazed around the moonlit dormitory. Had that really been just a dream, she wondered, shivering as she realised her body was drenched in cold sweat. It had seemed so real, so horribly, frighteningly real. The resigned faces of her friends, no longer rosy with the joy of life at Hogwarts, but pale with fear and fatigue, the light leaving their eyes as they were killed, flashed before her eyes and their dying cries, mingling with those of the Death Eaters, filled her ears as if she were watching it all from the battleground itself.
She glanced at Lavender Brown who slept peacefully in the bed next to her own, a wide smile on her face as she dreamed of a romantic rendezvous with Ron. Hermione envied her. She had always thought her rather a silly girl, more concerned with her love life than her studies. Yet now, as she watched her sleeping so peacefully, she could not help but wonder if it would be more comfortable to live like that, never worrying or having to face life's unpleasant aspects.
After several moments, she kicked off the blankets and hurried from the dormitory. She had to contact Harry. He had not written to her in weeks. He had warned her in every one of his letters that he might not be able to write again, especially in recent weeks, as they drew closer to Lord Voldemort's base, according to Kingsley Shacklebolt. Nevertheless, she needed to hear from him, to reassure herself that he was all right. She sensed, in each letter he wrote, his fear; of facing Voldemort, of what might happen if the Ministry lost the war and of never seeing her again. Now, after almost two months without any word from him, she was beginning to fear the worst. What if he had been killed or worse, captured? Memories of Ernie McMillan's stories; of being taken prisoner by Death Eaters, starved, tortured and forced to perform hard labour ran through her racing mind. She had never truly believed them, but now she was not so sure. She tried not to think about Harry as he might be now; bound, gagged, screaming and writhing in agony as the Death Eaters subjected him to the Cruciatus Curse and other forms of torture.
Finding herself in the library, she began frantically searching for a quill, ink and parchment. If she was going to contact him, it would have to be by way of a letter. The Ministry of Magic were watching the Floo network. She could not leave Hogwarts and she had no idea where he was, as soldiers were forbidden to reveal their location in their rare letters. An owl would probably know where he was, though, she thought, remembering how Hedwig had always managed to find her, even though she had never, as far as she knew, given Harry her address.
Pausing in front of the desk at which she had been working earlier that afternoon, she saw the book she had left open yesterday, hoping she could come back to it after dinner. Resisting the temptation to begin reading and get some work done before morning, she continued her determined search for a quill, ink and parchment. Even if she didn't get a reply, she had to write to him. She missed him so much it was as if she had an open wound which smarted every second of the day. He had been her friend since her first year at Hogwarts. He was so brave and yet so modest that she never ceased to admire him. He never judged anyone for what they were, even if they were half-giant or Muggle-born, things which seemed to matter a great deal to other witches and wizards. Also, although it made her feel awkward to admit it, even to herself, he was very handsome in her opinion. His dark and untidy hair, combined with his pale skin, gave him an air of mystery. His bright green eyes were always filled with determination and gentle compassion, which she had never seen in the eyes of Professor Dumbledore.
Unable to find what she was looking for, she sat down at the desk and began reading. She sighed softly, remembering all the hard work she had had to do before Professor McGonagal would give her a signed note allowing her to borrow this book from the Restricted Section; catching thirty mice for a Transfiguration lesson, cleaning Professor Flitwick's office, which had been quite a hair-raising task on account of the four hundred and twenty-eight security spells he had placed around the room, repairing Professor Sinstra's broken telescopes, assisting Professor Baldwin, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher to capture a Red Cap, a troll and a vampire, helping Professor Sprout to repot Mandrakes, prune the Whomping Willow and get rid of an infestation of Flesh-Eating Slugs, feeding Fire Crabs, tending a sick Manticore, guiding a group of Blast-Ended Skrewts away from the pumpkin patch and appeasing an angry Bowtruckle. It had been a very difficult few days and she still had many of the injuries she had sustained from these jobs, but it was worth it, she thought. This book was very easy to read and more useful than she could ever have imagined, though why it was in the Restricted Section, she would never know.
"Miss?" Hermione jumped at the sound of the high-pitched voice and hastily closed the book before turning to see who had interrupted her study. To her relief, it was Dobby, a house elf who admired Harry deeply. He would understand her situation. Perhaps he would help her. As he noticed the book in her hands, his eyes widened.
"Of Lions, Serpents, Eagles and Badgers - A History of Hogwarts' Founders!" he gasped. "Dobby had thought all the copies of that book had been destroyed, Miss!" He took the book in his shaking hands, his huge green eyes wide with amazed excitement, and opened it. Hermione watched him, struggling to remain patient. She had no desire to upset him by seeming brusque, but she was desperate to contact Harry. Taking a deep breath, she strained her tired mind to think of the right words.
"Dobby," she began. Dobby looked up guiltily from his reading. "Dobby is sorry, Miss," he squeaked. "It's just... Dobby has not seen a copy of this book since..." He stopped abruptly, looking terrified. Suddenly he began hitting himself hard on the head with the book, shouting, "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!" Hermione snatched the book from him, startled. Somewhere above her, a floorboard creaked. She held her breath, her heart pounding, in case the thumping and yelling had woken anyone in the school.
Hearing nothing, she relaxed and turned to the panic-stricken elf. "Are you all right?" she asked, concerned in case he had hurt himself. Dobby nodded, glancing around the library apprehensively. "Dobby had to punish himself," he explained. "Dobby almost revealed one of his master's secrets." Hermione heard this with appalled curiosity. What secret had he been so afraid to reveal, she wondered, anger and a strange sense of foreboding rising in her heart and mind. What master would be so cruel as to order his house elves to punish themselves and inflict such fear on them?
Deciding it would be best to change the subject, she asked, "Dobby, could you please fetch me a quill, some ink and some parchment?" Dobby nodded and hurried away to find what she had asked for. Hermione watched him go, a spark of hope blossoming in her chest. Soon, she told herself, she would be able to write to Harry. She smiled, imagining his expression when he read through her letter, then fell to reading Of Lions, Serpents, Eagles and Badgers, taking mental notes as she went.
After several moments, the house elf returned, carrying a goose feather quill, a bottle of black ink, a candle in a little brass stand and three rolls of parchment. "Is this enough, Miss?" he asked, indicating the parchment. "Yes, thank you," replied Hermione, smiling at him. It pained her, the way he addressed her as Miss, as if she were in some way superior to him. All creatures should be equal, she thought, all with the right to voice their opinions and be acknowledged. That was what Harry would have wanted too, she told herself, despite his appearing to agree with Ron on the subject of the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.
Anger filled her mind as she thought of Ron. Since Harry's conscription into the war, which the Daily Prophet had said would be over by Christmas, he had constantly pestered her, asking her if she had a boyfriend whenever they were in the company of other students, trying to read her mail when she got any, becoming sullen and hostile if she became occupied with any activity which did not involve him and sometimes even attempting to kiss her. It was as if he were taking advantage of Harry's disappearance to steal what was rightfully his, like a tomb raider using the occasion of a rich man's demise to make some quick money. The thought that he could do this while claiming to be Harry's best friend, made her so sad and ill she felt like crying and so angry she wanted to pummel him with both fists and every curse she knew. So, although it was rude, she had taken to ignoring him. It was better that way. That way, no one got hurt.
Putting Ron firmly out of her mind, she began writing her letter to Harry, unburdening her heart as she did. When the candle began burning low, Dobby quickly replaced it without a word. No conversation was necessary between them. Hermione knew he understood what she was going through and that he too was missing Harry. It would be painful for both of them to talk about him. So they sat in companionable silence until the first light of dawn cut the blackness of the night like a knife piercing flesh.
As the sun rose, its rays reaching through the windows of the library like long thin white fingers trying to snatch her away, Hermione sighed and folded her letter. "Dobby must go back to the kitchen before he is missed!" squeaked Dobby, vanishing with a crack like a whip. "Good-day, Miss." Once he was gone, Hermione hurried up the marble staircase to Gryffindor Tower, stowing her letter in the pocket of her dressing gown as she went. If anyone caught her with a letter to Harry, she would be dealt with most severely, as Professor Baldwin often reminded the students. Hermione did not know what was meant by this, but was certain it could not involve anything worse than a detention. All the same, she had no desire to get into trouble for breaking one of the new rules, ridiculous as she often thought they were.
Since the term had begun, students' mail was read thoroughly to ensure that no one was in contact with any of those fighting in the war. This was to prevent either party from suffering unnecessary and distracting sadness or anxiety. The consequences for anyone found to be corresponding with a soldier on either side of the war would be very unpleasant, they were often warned. So, although many of the Hogwarts students had friends and relations who were fighting, few of whom agreed with the explanation they were given for this rule, no one dared to disobey it.
Twice a week, the students were required to assemble for an inspection. On these mornings, they were roused earlier than usual and would have to file outside to where Ministry officials would examine their physical health, strength, wands, thoughts, the condition of their clothes and a lot of other things. Apparently this was part of an agreement between Dumbledore and the Minister for Magic to prevent him from trying to take over Hogwarts again. While most of the students resented having to wake up so early and submit to the scrutiny of strangers, they all remembered Cornelius Fudge's attempt to usurp Dumbledore's power through his senior undersecretary Dolores Jane Umbridge and how she had made life at Hogwarts quite unbearable for all students who were not from the house of Slytherin. As almost no one wanted her back, this rule too was readily obeyed.
Once she was dressed, she grabbed her bag and hurried down the marble staircase towards the Great Hall. Other Gryffindor girls and boys soon joined her, some yawning as they went, others immersed in conversation. Hermione groaned inwardly as she noticed Ron making a beeline for her, his flaming red hair clearly visible in the sea of heads. Lavender Brown followed closely behind him, she noted with a surge of vindictive pleasure. Lavender might be infatuated with Ron, for reasons Hermione could not understand, but Ron did not seem to reciprocate her feelings. This might have been due to her habit of calling him Ron-Won whenever she addressed him, which he often complained annoyed him. Or perhaps her tendency to kiss him whenever he was near her had repulsed him. He was not, after all, as mature and able to appreciate others' feelings as Harry.
"Hi Hermione," Ron began, an inane grin on his freckled face. "Hi," replied Hermione, avoiding his gaze. Ron stepped closer, his arms outstretched, preparing to grab her and take possession of her. Hermione stepped sharply back. No magic was allowed outside of classes, she reminded herself. Anyway, she was a Prefect now. She must control her temper. She must set an example to younger students. Hastily, she thought of Harry. What would he do, she asked herself.
"Excuse me," interrupted a timid little voice. Feeling as if she would quite like to hug whoever had saved her from Ron, Hermione turned. A small blonde-haired girl from Hufflepuff stood behind her on the marble staircase. Recognising her as Melissa Diggory, Cedric's younger sister, she was filled with concern. Melissa was one of the most frequent patients of the counselling service she had established. The conscription of her brother had affected her very badly. Her once golden locks hung limply on either side of her pale face. There were dark shadows under her bloodshot blue eyes.
"Hello Melissa," she began kindly, hoping the little girl couldn't see Ron, who was looking daggers at her. "How are you today?" Melissa swallowed hard and produced a copy of the Daily Prophet, her eyes brimming with tears. "They attacked Tewksbury High Street," she whispered hoarsely. "Cedric was there. I need a way to see him, in case he's..." She broke off, covering her face with her hands as she dissolved into silent weeping. Ron snorted. Hermione longed to kick him in his thin shins, but knew that would do no good.
She gazed at Melissa, wishing for the words to comfort this poor girl. She was only eleven. Hermione herself did not understand the reason for the war, so what chance did an eleven-year-old have? Besides, Cedric was her brother. Hermione knew what it was like to know a loved one was fighting. After all, she loved Harry and was sure he loved her too. She had spent many a sleepless night worrying about what might be happening to him. How much worse it would be, she thought, if that had been her brother, who had grown up with her, teaching, advising and supporting her for as long as she could remember? Poor Melissa!
The silence stretched for an uncomfortably long time. Hermione could sense Ron's growing impatience and Melissa's apprehension. This was not good for such a young girl, who had already been through so much. On top of it all, she was only in her first year at Hogwarts, which was not the welcoming place it had once been. Hermione had to do something quickly.
"I'm sorry to hear about Cedric," she began earnestly. "He really means a lot to you." She wanted to reassure the younger girl, perhaps reminding her of her brother's bravery and strength before finishing with a remark like "Nothing can hurt him. He'll be fine." However, she knew that would be wrong. She knew almost nothing about Cedric, except that he had beaten Harry at Quidditch once, but believed strongly in fair play. Besides, even with what information she had gleaned from Harry's letters, she did not know much about the war. Many had died fighting and there was no knowing who would survive each battle and who would not be so lucky. Anyway, who was she to make such claims? She couldn't predict the future. She had hoped, when she had taken Divination as a school subject, that she would learn to see the future accurately. However, as time had passed and Professor Trelawney had done nothing but make overly dramatised predictions of Harry's early and grisly death, she had given up that hope. She would just have to wait until tonight and help Melissa to fully express her fear if she turned up at the nightly counselling sessions, which she usually did.
When at last she reached the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, she sat as far away from Ron as she could and helped herself to toast with liberal amounts of strawberry jam. Today she had Charms, followed by Potions, History of Magic and Transfiguration. She needed all the strength she could get. Looking up from her food to pour herself some orange juice, she noticed Draco Malfoy was not at the Slytherin table. Pansy Parkinson sat beside his usual place, her head in her hands, as if she were crying and did not want anyone to know. Goyle sat next to her, murmuring something to her while clumsily patting her arm. Despite the many bad encounters she had had with Slytherin students, she could not help wondering what was wrong. Pansy Parkinson had never really seemed to care about anything or anyone, except Malfoy. Did her crying have something to do with his absence, she thought with a sudden surge of concern.
Once she had finished her breakfast, she hurried back upstairs and towards the large classroom in which Charms lessons took place. Today they would be revising Hover Charms, she reminded herself. While she had not expected to learn those until her seventh year at Hogwarts, she was certainly not about to complain. Learning was, in her opinion, the most enjoyable and rewarding activity in the world, apart from helping others and, of course, spending time with Harry. In any case, Hover Charms might be very useful in fighting their enemies.
As she had during breakfast, she sat as far away from Ron as possible. He tried to slip into the seat next to her, but Angelina Johnson got there first. Hermione turned to Angelina, wanting to thank her, but, before she could, Professor Flitwick entered the classroom, dressed in green robes which reminded Hermione strongly of a frog or grasshopper. In his hands was a wooden box. Inside were the white mice they would be causing to hover today.
"Today we will be practicing the incantation for a Hover Charm," announced Professor Flitwick squeakily. "During this lesson, I advise you to remain in your seats and not move about too much. I must also ask you all not to say the words too loudly." Everyone except Hermione stared at him and at each other. Usually, Professor Flitwick was easily the most relaxed teacher in Hogwarts. If he was now setting these rules in his lesson, they must be doing something very complex or potentially dangerous. As the mice were distributed amongst the students, no one moved or spoke. A chill of excitement shot through every student.
As the lesson continued, Hermione found herself relaxing. She understood well enough why Professor Flitwick had reminded them of the rules regarding Hover Charms. In all their previous lessons on this spell, at least one student, while getting up to retrieve their runaway mice, would be accidentally hit by someone else's badly-aimed enchantment. This accident, while funny for the students, annoyed Professor Flitwick, as it disrupted the lesson. Aside from this, so many students had sustained head injuries due to collisions with the chandelier, from egg-sized lumps to minor concussion, that Madame Pomfrey had had a long angry conversation with him. He had instructed them to keep their voices down while saying the spell because it was an ancient and complex piece of magic which caused different effects depending on how loudly it was uttered. She had no intention of getting up now, she thought, using a simple Immobilising Charm to hold her mouse in place before whispering the enchantment.
Soon she fell to pondering the events of the morning. Why had Dobby felt the need to punish himself? What secret could seeing a book possibly have caused him to almost let slip? Why had Pansy been crying? Where was Draco Malfoy? And, most importantly to Hermione, where was Harry? Was he injured? Was he even alive, she wondered, shivering and blinking back the tears which pricked at her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks for all to see.
A scream, followed by a sigh, brought her back to the present. Ron was dangling from the ceiling, his head repeatedly striking the now damaged chandelier. Some students were laughing, while others looked grim. Professor Flitwick was muttering exasperatedly to himself as he returned Ron to his seat with a wave of his wand. Through it all, Ron continued to grin stupidly. Hermione sighed silently, sharing her teacher's frustration. As Ron noticed her and began trying to catch her eye, Hermione fell to thinking of Harry and wishing he were here with her.
After the Charms lesson, the Gryffindors in Hermione and Ron's year had Potions. Since the term had begun, Hermione had come to dread Potions lessons. Professor Snape had never been particularly kind to Gryffindor students, but now it was as if he blamed them for the war. In previous years, he had, by and large, stuck to making waspish remarks about the standard of their potion brewing or written work, but these days he seemed to be looking for any excuse to punish them. He usually reduced at least one person to tears or terror by the end of each lesson and, if anyone from Gryffindor sustained an injury, he would turn a blind eye to it, while blaming and penalising the Gryffindors for any wounds he saw on the Slytherins.
With every step she took towards the dungeon where these lessons took place, the temperature dropped and so did her spirits. Harry had never liked Potions lessons and now, she had to admit, she felt the same. As she lined up outside the room with her fellow Gryffindors and the Slytherins, she noticed Malfoy was not among them. Goyle looked worried and had one arm around Pansy, whose eyes were red and puffy from crying. Crabbe's eyes were red too and he wore a black armband, the symbol of mourning. Had Malfoy died, wondered Hermione anxiously. How could he have? Although she had never been fond of him, the thought of anyone dying before reaching adulthood was too awful to contemplate.
"Good afternoon," intoned Professor Snape as calmly as usual. The class mumbled in response and followed him into the dungeon, Pansy giving Crabbe's hand a comforting squeeze. Hermione made her way to the back of the room, not wanting Snape to start bullying her too soon. She had almost reached her seat when she felt something smash over her head. Caught by surprise, she fell to the ground. Hot liquid soaked her robes, hair and face. Something warm was trickling into her hair and she felt shards of glass embed themselves into her skin.
Dazed and riddled with pain, Hermione swayed and groped around in the semi-darkness for something to lean on. She saw Millicent Bulstrode, the Slytherin girl she had been paired with during the first and only session of Gilderoy Lockhart's duelling club, glaring at her, hatred blazing in her eyes, and realised she had thrown the bottle now lying in glittering green shreds at Hermione's feet. She glanced at the enormous girl, then dropped her gaze, wondering why she had attacked her, why she hated her so much.
Her vision was flickering now. The other students slipped in and out of focus. She heard Professor Snape speaking softly to Crabbe, who looked relieved and left the room. She felt someone pulling the glass shards out of her, taking her arm and half-carrying, half-guiding her. She was dimly aware that she and her mysterious guide were moving and tried to walk, but it hurt too much. She saw a door and a set of steps, then a wave of cold blackness engulfed her and she knew no more.