Punch. Low kick. Two high kicks. Back. Punch. Low kick. Two high kicks. Repeat. The dull thud of someone on a punching bag was speeding up. Hermione frowned. The rhythm was off. Somehow, whoever was practicing their routine was out of sync. She sped up, intending to pop into the room designated for practice in both muggle and magical defense and offense—
And woke up, gasping, when her alarm's obnoxious tune cheerfully assaulted her ears. The thumping was someone pounding on the door of the Gryffindor girls' shared common bathroom. Faintly, she heard Lavender's voice cry, "Oi! Parvati! Its my turn to use the bathroom first, you promised!" And an even more distant, outraged and garbled reply.
Oh. Right. We're back at Hogwarts. Hermione checked the time, and saw that she had plenty of time considering she had a free period this morning since she hadn't chosen the Divinations elective class. She settled back down into her pillows on a sigh. It's going to take some getting used to fitting back into a normal student life again. Classes, listening to squabbles over bathroom hogs, no freedom. But then, less stress than over the summer, I suppose.
Hermione closed her eyes and thought over the end of sixth year and the summer that had whipped her and her friends into shape. First had been the shocking murder of Dumbledore, of course. The little twist in her heart at that thought was familiar, and Hermione determinedly ignored it. She had trusted Dumbledore, trusted him with all her heart to keep herself, her friends, and her family safe. And what did he do? He went and died on her for the same fault she had found in herself: misplaced trust.
Which led to Snape and Malfoy. Again that ache. Hermione didn't kid herself. She had liked neither man nor boy. One had been the professor no one wanted to face, and yet he had protected her and Ron and Harry for so long, the abrupt betrayal left her tumbling and disoriented, the rug firmly yanked from under her rhetorical feet. The other was the bane of her existence, the sharp and painful reminder that she didn't belong to this world of magic and wonder she had found herself in.
But.
She couldn't put her finger on the whirling emotions that physically shook her body when she thought of either of them. In fact, it felt just like right before an epileptic seizure.
God, her seizure. On the train. She didn't remember much of it, only the sheer anger and bitterness in her veins and the fuzzy exhaustion of afterwards. Hermione clenched her fists. If only she had had the training she now knew when she had been caught by Bellatrix! Dumbledore's death had left so many people and information sources vulnerable. With everyone operating under that haze of numb grief, no one had remembered until it was too late what might happen to the wards the headmaster had put up for the muggleborn families of Hogwarts. Voldemort had pressed that advantage, and Hermione's parents were the casualties of that carelessness.
She had never been close to them. They were either at work, or in their own rooms at the mansion. She was taken care of by a nanny, then at an older age, just simply a hired maid. Mr. and Mrs. Granger had tried their best to submerge themselves into normalcy, but had not planned on having any children entering the equation.
But oh, how she wished she could have prevented their deaths! No matter their faults, she still loved them, and when she had found their bodies dumped unceremoniously on the stairs leading up to the front door, she hadn't noticed Bellatrix and several other Death Eaters surrounding her until it was too late.
Being crucio'd felt too much like a seizure, except with more pain. I should have noticed the corollaries before, Hermione mused. After all, I know epilepsy inside out. She knew McGonagall knew about her condition, but she really hadn't wanted anyone else to know. Of course, seizures tend to strike at the most inopportune times, and she was just grateful she had managed to wait to seize only after Snape had left.
---
Harry grimaced at Ron's inane chatter following him out of the room as he strode to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face. "Honestly Ron, you'd think that after living in the same house all summer and training together intensively to get ready for…for whatever happens, you'd know by now that I hate mornings."
Ron grinned. "Exactly. Why do you think I talk extra loud in the mornings, mate?" Harry groaned and flicked water in his friend's direction. Ron skipped out of the way, and continued, "But I will say, it's much easier to annoy you here since we share a room and all. Who'da thought Hermione would have such a big house? She never told us."
"Yeah, well there are a lot of things she never told us."
"Like whatever she said to you that day after her parents died that stopped you from going by our original plan of finding the Horcruxes this year?"
"Ron…"
"All right, I know, we've been through this. It's personal and you're not ready to tell me whatever dirty secret she has on you that stopped you like a bloody hippogriff charging your way!" Ron sighed dramatically.
Despite his regret at keeping his best friend in the dark—but truly, it isn't my secret to tell! It's Hermione's, and she was right in keeping me on track for school!—Harry smiled at Ron's remark. "Oh yeah, wouldn't you like to know?"
Ron, already exiting and heading to the common room, turned back and winked. "Wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the fact that you were very much engrossed with Pansy's fine back view, was it?" As Harry spluttered and choked on his toothpaste, Ron's laughter bounced off the ceiling. "S'okay mate, she's not dating Malfoy or anyone from what I hear, and Dad says her family haven't been connected to anything dark-lordish yet!"