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Hermione surprised herself by waking up on time, just as the sun was rising. She had only had a few hours of sleep as a result of her midnight expedition, but didn't feel tired quite yet. In fact, everyone in the beds around her was still asleep.
She yawned and rolled out of bed, walking down to the common room. It wasn't quite cold, but the fire burning in the hearth still felt nice as she stretched her feet and hands towards it, curling up in a soft red armchair.
As she turned her face into the material, feeling it press against her cheek, she smelled the familiar scent of the Gryffindor common room.
And then, before she could stop it, she was sobbing. Uncontrollably. Desperately.
As if someone were there to witness her weakness, she turned her face into the cushion again, small whimpers buzzing in her nose unpleasantly. It was incredible how quickly every memory could come flooding back—just from smelling the sofa cushions, a comforting blend of ash, oak, and something sweet.
Faces. Endless faces. Her parents, safely obliviated, in Australia—she would never be able to remind them that they had a daughter. The Weasleys, Harry, Luna... and she felt a sudden strange rush of affection for Neville in particular, whom she had always helped through everything. But she needed him, too. She needed all of them more than she had ever known.
A huge sob tore itself from her throat and a hot tear dripped down onto her collarbone. And then a voice interrupted her. "Hermione? Is that you?"
She peered up timidly. It was R.J., rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What's wrong?"
He sat down on a sofa next to her armchair. She sniffled helplessly, trying to look away to preserve at least some dignity. "I –" she started, but as soon as the word was out, she broke into loud, ugly sobs again, curling up into a ball. "I still ca—can't beli—lieve it," she sobbed out, her breathing raspy and nasal.
R.J. sighed. "Come on, let's walk," he said, standing her up gently. They left the common room, Hermione's body racked with helpless crying.
By the time they had made their way out to the edge of the lake, she was cried out. Her red nose was sore—she kept wiping it with a mild Scourgify charm, which was a little more abrasive than anticipated. They sat on the dewy grass, thick robes keeping them warm in the nippy morning breeze.
"So, tell me what's wrong," R.J. said.
"Oh, dear, it's just," Hermione sniffled lightly, "I miss everyone. I can't think of...of never seeing them again." She waved a hand weakly, staring out into the pinkly rising sun.
"It's tough," agreed R.J. "Would you like to talk about them at all? It'll make you feel better later, I promise."
Hermione looked at him. He was looking out at the lake, his tan skin golden, his tousled dark hair glowing shades of deep brown in the sunrise. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah. I—well, my boyfriend, Ron... I miss him the most. He was tall, skinny, red hair..." She trailed off. Nothing she could say could do justice to what she felt for Ron. Kinship. Need. Desire. Love…
She shook her head and moved on. "He, I, and Harry—we were absolute best friends. Did everything together. Harry was somewhat of a celebrity—me and Ron, we always sort of gave him a hard time for it—" She stopped to give a little chuckle. It seemed so silly now. Everything that wasn't a declaration of love and friendship seemed... unnecessary. Frivolous.
"Ron's family was like a second family for me. I'm Muggle-born, you see, so my parents—they loved me a lot, but they couldn't ever really understand. And then I had to Obliviate them, and then—"
"Wait, you Obliviated your parents? Why?"
Hermione sighed. "There was a rising about ten years after you arrived here. A Dark Wizard. He started killing...he started…" She took a deep breath. "It was an awful time—absolutely horrific, actually, but old protective magic defeated him. Harry Potter's magic. That was my friend. But the Dark Wizard returned, because—"
She broke off. She couldn't tell anyone about the horcruxes. Anyone with horcruxes was here, and if R.J. heard that the person who had killed her was right here in this very castle...
And if Tom Riddle heard that she had information about his future—or, well, his past—he would stop at no means to get it.
"I don't know—something to do with the Philosopher's Stone," Hermione continued hurriedly. "Anyway—he rose again, and we'd been fighting him—me, the whole of Hogwarts, all my friends, everyone I know...and then his followers broke into Hogwarts and I ran to hide in the Room of Requirement and—"
She swallowed and took a shaky breath. "Well, he found me. And killed me. And now I'm here, and my friends are still fighting in this war back home, and there's nothing I can do." A ball of hot anger swelled inside her. "There's nothing I hate more than being helpless. Absolutely nothing."
R.J. turned to her. "Wait, you're actually this age? You're actually only seventeen or eighteen?" he asked, aghast. "That's—that's terrible! This wizard—he killed an eighteen-year-old?"
"He killed everyone," she whispered. "He tried to kill Harry when he was about one year old."
R.J. let out a long, low whistle. "That's... that's terrifying," he murmured. "No wonder you're distressed."
Hermione let out a bitter 'heh.' "Distressed is putting it lightly," she said. "I feel like I'm—like I should just wake up. Like this is some sort of stupid dream I just can't get out of. Except it's more of a nightmare, since..."
She was going to mention Tom Riddle again. Dammit. I can't make these mistakes. "Since no one I know is here anymore," she finished.
R.J. patted her shoulder. "Things will look up eventually, Hermione," he reassured her. "Just remember—you'll leave, go to Death—and whatever Death actually is, I'm sure you'll find your friends again. Life's not that cruel."
"I can hardly even remember my last words to my friends," she whispered, drawing her knees to her chest again, leaning her head against R.J.'s solid shoulder, misery dragging at her once more. "I think the last thing I said to Ron was 'Wait a couple minutes.'" She shut her eyes tight. Wait a couple minutes. She should have told him she loved him. She should have kissed him goodbye. She should have known, somehow, that when she looked into his eyes, it would be the last time she would do so.
The raw feelings were out in the air—now she would just need time to heal.
"God, but you've been through all this already," Hermione said, realizing how selfish she was being. "What was your life like?" She sat back up straight, and R.J. let his arm drop from her shoulder.
He smiled sadly. "I was engaged," he said quietly. Hermione closed her eyes slowly. "Her name was Renee Sanderson. I met her at my job. We were Unspeakables. Our wedding was going to be in the spring, on the beach, in France." His eyes looked wistful for a second, but the longing look vanished rapidly. "Then the horcrux. I wasn't ever the same, Merlin knows. And then I was here, suddenly—it was like a part of me seeped out and got completely—just—obliterated." He made a violent hand motion.
"Well, I'm here now. I've promised myself that I'll see Renee in death, no matter what it takes. And I've felt remorse ever since I got here, true remorse. Did you know that's the only thing that can fix a broken soul? When my other half gets here, I will be myself again, you see, because I'm already penitent. I'm already—"
He took a breath, blinking away the glimmer in his light blue eyes. "I'm already so sorry."
As Hermione and R.J. headed to breakfast, the familiar bustle of the surrounding students comforted her.
"My parents were both dentists—Muggle tooth doctors, that is. Excellent at what they did, too," Hermione said.
And then, a loud shriek arose from just behind Hermione, scaring the living wits out of her. "Oh! We've got one! We've got one!" The girl behind her tossed her long black hair. Hermione recognized her as the girl who had been sitting next to Riddle that first night, with a pale, pinched face that was not unlike that of Sirius Black.
"Shut up, Araminta," groaned R.J., rubbing his forehead. "We're standing right here. You don't need to shriek."
"Got one what?" Hermione was mystified.
Araminta laughed, a high, nasal sound. "One of you!"
R.J. rolled his eyes. "Oh, Merlin, not this again. Come on, Hermione, let's just—"
"No, it's too late," said Araminta, with an angelic sigh. "Everyone knows what you are now."
Hermione's face screwed up in disgust. Surely, not this argument. The same argument she'd undergone all her years at Hogwarts, even though she'd proved over and over and over again that she was worth every bit of the witch she was—but no, there it was again. That foul, disgusting word. That filthy word.
"Mudblood."
R.J.'s eyes narrowed in anger. "Just go back to that snake hole you grew up in, Melly," he snarled. Araminta gave him a very ugly sneer before flouncing off to the Slytherin table.
"That's Araminta Meliflua," R.J. muttered to Hermione as they made their way to Godric and Mina. "She's insane."
Araminta Meliflua—that name sounded awfully familiar. And she looked like Sirius...
"Oh!" Hermione suddenly said, her eyes round with realization. "Back on Earth she tried to get a piece of legislation drafted that would make hunting Muggles legal!"
R.J. nodded. "Sounds like her." The pair sat down at the table.
"Soooo," said Godric, "where were you two all morning?" He made an obvious wink at R.J.
R.J. made an obvious wink back. "Well, you know, we were 'having a psychological discussion about our past lives', if you know what I mean."
"Oh, that's what the kids are calling it these days?" Mina said. "They get more creative with these euphemisms every year. Hey, Miranda, you'd better add that to your essay-novel-thing."
Miranda blew her light brown hair out of her eyes. "Mina, I've told you a million times," she said in exasperation, "the essay is about the decline of wizardry into the Dark Arts, not about euphemisms or dueling or pumpkins or hair dyes or any of the other bizarre things you seem to think I'd possibly even want to write about—"
"Yeah, yeah," Mina said, waving a hand.
Godric said, "So, what did Melly want from you, Hermione?"
"Oh, she was just being nasty," Hermione said quietly.
R.J. sighed. "Hermione's being stoic. Araminta called her a Mudblood." All other activity within a few feet ceased. There was an incredibly loud silence. Hermione's face flushed bright red in embarrassment. I shouldn't be embarrassed about who I am, she thought, and sat up a little straighter instead.
"Merlin, I hate that!" said Mina. "My grandfather was Muggle-born, and Melly doesn't even let me live that down."
"You're telling me," Hermione muttered, moving her eggs around her plate halfheartedly. "Why do you call her Melly?"
"She detests it," chuckled Godric. "It's about the only thing we can do that's as petty as the insults she throws at people."
Hermione rolled her eyes. She had encountered enough bitter people in her life that were unpleasant to her simply because they were prejudiced. This Araminta person was just one more. Nothing to be concerned about, really.
"So, what are you all doing today?" she asked the table at large. She was still getting used to the bewildering lack of classes.
"Dueling club tonight," cheered Godric, thrusting a fork triumphantly into the air. A bit of sausage detached itself from the end and plopped unappealingly into the gravy in front of them.
Mina snorted. "I might stay in the common room today. Bug the pants off Mirandy here." She elbowed Miranda, who gave her a glare, deterred only by Mina's huge smile.
"God forbid," Miranda muttered.
"I'm going to go up to the infirmary to visit Annabella Wespurt. One of the many casualties of your last Quidditch match," R.J. said pointedly to Godric.
Godric threw up his hands in defense. "Hey, it wasn't my fault she decided to fall off her broom. Malfoy was the one who hexed her." Hermione looked over at the Slytherins. Abraxas Malfoy was both tall and broad, with that characteristic white-blond hair. He was handsome, in a very masculine way, and Riddle, who was to his left once more, looked slim in comparison.
Hermione observed as Araminta clutched onto Riddle's left arm. She seemed to be pouting at him, begging him to do something or other. A smirk quirked the edge of Hermione's mouth unintentionally. Merlin, she was draping herself all over him.
Riddle politely extracted himself from her grip, sighing and seeming to relent.
He took out a light wand—yew wood, if Hermione recalled correctly—and flicked it once, lazily, with a look of complete boredom on his face. The huge silver platter in front of them, stacked with multitudes of pancakes, turned quickly into a repulsive green garden snake. Another flick of the wand, and it was back to normal.
Hermione wasn't impressed. Although Araminta may have been awed by Riddle's parlor tricks, Hermione had seen the likes of that at the dinner table every day with Tonks, Bill, a few of the more cheerful members of the Order—hell, Hermione herself had even joined in every once in a while. Transfiguration in and of itself had ceased to be a challenge at all. While Araminta clutched at Riddle's shoulder like some sort of pallid leech, Hermione's mouth quivered, dangerously close to laughter. She managed to contain it to a sarcastic grin instead, and as Riddle's eyes suddenly flickered up and met hers, she couldn't look away. He raised his dark eyebrow, managing to inject complete exasperation into that one movement. Then they looked away simultaneously. Hermione diverted her gaze down onto her breakfast, chewing quietly, feeling disturbed. The trading of glances was something that one did with one's friends and acquaintances. Not with one's murderer.
Shaking her head slightly, getting rid of the image of Riddle, Hermione stood and followed Mina, who was heading back to the common room.
Hermione turned at the Grand Staircase, walking outside into the glorious sunlight. I could get used to this weather.
The glowing emerald grass was soft under her feet as Hermione made her way down to the lake. She swore she could see the Giant Squid skimming along beneath the surface.
She sprawled out on the grass and enjoyed the light breeze draping its cool fingers over her skin. The very blue, very beautiful sky had echoes of lighter shades within it, a very deep illusion. Staring into it, Hermione could almost convince herself that she was falling upwards, into it, back into the elusive real world. The sun seemed crystallized, not bright enough to hurt, its rays staying static in the sky. Hermione closed her eyes.
Then, after Merlin knew how long it was—hours?—her robes moved slightly and involuntarily.
She frowned and rubbed at the spot that had moved—her pocket.
Her wand pocket. Only—where was her wand? Had it just fallen of its own volition?
Hermione sighed and opened her eyes, having only time to see the bottom of a shoe before it sped towards her face. Her eyes widened and she rolled frantically out of the way, scrambling to her feet. Her heart sprang into a sprint. Araminta Meliflua stood in front of her, flanked by a very pretty girl and a very hideous boy. Both wore Slytherin robes, and the boy's foot stomped with a loud 'thud' firmly onto the grass where Hermione's head had just been. Hermione's eyes flew to Araminta's hands. They twirled Hermione's wand slowly.
Hermione's mind raced with ideas. Run? Fight? Well, no, fighting would be stupid, not without a wand... Wandless magic—Hermione wasn't overly familiar with it. Professor Dumbledore had done it a few times, various Death Eaters had performed wandless magic—Harry had even told her about Quirrell doing it, although Quirrell wasn't a particularly impressive wizard.
Her wand was only three feet from her. Couldn't she just—
Accio! Hermione crooked a finger. Araminta's eyes widened as Hermione's wand attempted to struggle from her fingers, but she just tightened her grip and gave a grim smile. "Well, well," she laughed, "Mudblood's got a few tricks up her sleeve!"
She turned and threw Hermione's wand far into the grass, a good twenty feet away. Hermione's heart sank. She couldn't even see it. When she tried a wandless Accio again, nothing at all happened.
And then, suddenly, she was in excruciating pain. The pretty blonde girl had an unexpectedly malicious smile on her face and had drawn her wand, forcing Hermione to her knees in front of the lake. And then the boy grabbed the back of Hermione's head with a big, rough hand, and thrust it into the shimmering lake water.
As her head broke the surface, Hermione was dimly aware of a lot of things of which she was usually unaware. How dry her feet were. How full of blood her head was, making her ears hot and red under the water. The chaos of bubbles bursting from her mouth, and then her head was being yanked up, and Araminta was spitting insults again, but Hermione seemed only to be able to see vivid images—the crystal specks of water being coughed from her mouth, the clear water beside her, the blue sky far above, the boy's red, piggy face, contorted in anger—
And then underwater again. Again and again and again, wreaking havoc on her lungs—it felt as if she were drowning, and her knees gave way and she thrashed on her stomach, kicking out with her legs, hoping for her feet to connect with some part of the boy so she could breathe—and again, just before she thought she would breathe in a lungful of lake, her head was let up again.
All the strength drained from her body as she sucked in a deep breath. She let herself go limp, and the big hand on her head abruptly smashed her face into the dirt. Stars exploded behind Hermione's eyes as incredible pain cracked through her nose and spiraled through her face, sending waves of hurt down her body. Hot blood trickled gently from her nose down to her lips, and the hand holding her let go. Hermione's forehead slipped into the shallows, cool water bathing her forehead as the iron tang of her blood crept into her mouth.
She flipped over, immense pain in the back of her neck, oxygen deprivation flooding all her muscles with exhaustion.
Araminta beckoned to the other two. They shot twin glances to either side and hurried back up to the castle.
"Oh..." Hermione said softly to the open air, and then her body was racked with coughs. She spat up some lake water, which, although it shone welcomingly and was far less murky than in real life, tasted awful.
Hermione crawled over to her wand, thanking her lucky stars that Araminta hadn't decided to toss it in the lake instead. Hermione held her wand shakily up to her face. "Episkey," she said softly, and felt a quick freezing sensation as her nose clicked back into place. Then, "Scourgify," and the blood was siphoned off her face into the air.
Hermione groaned. She peered into the lake, examining her miserable reflection. Broken noses often gave people two black eyes, and though she'd caught the break fairly early, there was already some mild bruising around her eye sockets. As if she needed to look any worse.
She cast a glamour to conceal the black eyes and stood up, her muscles aching. She brushed off her robes and winced as she took a step.
Tears came to her eyes, and she leaned against a tree that spread its boughs over the lake. She remembered when she had cried over Ron, and Harry had comforted her; she remembered when Dumbledore had died and Ron had held her hand. Made her feel better, as only best friends could.
She didn't feel like that would be possible this time. At some point, I'm going to have to learn how to stand alone. So she straightened up, wiped the unshed tears, took in a deep breath, and strode off to the castle. Something inside her fortified itself. She would not deign to cry again, would not dishonor the strength she knew she had by floundering around like a child. Another deep breath, another step, one after the other, and slowly her tense muscles relaxed a little and stopped hurting, and a bit of a smile spread over her face in open defiance of what Araminta had just done.
The Prefects' bathroom was her first stop. She still had dirt all over her hands, and lake water made her hair suspiciously stringy and repulsive. Staying relatively under the radar, Hermione crept up to the fifth floor, finding the statue of Boris the Bewildered. The fourth door to the left was the Prefects' bathroom—but Hermione didn't know if the password had changed since her sixth year. She said tentatively, "Oak whisper," but nothing happened.
Hermione cursed under her breath, looking up and down the corridor as if someone would just appear and tell her the password inside. Just as she looked back at the door, it creaked open. Hermione leapt behind it as it swung open.
The person who came out of it—a short girl with red hair—stormed off in the opposite direction without casting a glance back. Hermione dashed around the door and inside with a sigh of relief. The door clicked shut behind her, and Hermione looked around the familiar contours of the Prefects' Bathroom.
She locked the door behind her and strode to the voluminous bath, turning on tap after tap. The bath filled with surprising speed, filling the air with gentle spirals of sweet-smelling steam.
Hermione dipped her foot into the hot water and sighed as she slid in, leaving her robes on the side of the bath. The heat loosened her tense muscles and she lay her head back on the side of the pool-like bath, sitting on the ledge below the surface.
She twisted a tap absentmindedly and bubbles started to dance across the surface of the water. Hermione groped for her wand in her robe pocket. Right then, she couldn't think of a better use for magic than for it to fix all the aches on her body, untangle her hair, and relax her before she had to face people once more.
Removing the glamour she had cast on her face, Hermione let her wand clatter back onto the tile and slid her head under the water. It was dark and very quiet as she shut her eyes. Her fingers rubbed gently over her face, removing the dirt, removing leftover blood from her nose, and her hair floated out in a wavy halo from her pale face.
Plan. She needed a plan.
Her head broke the surface gently, and Hermione sat and thought for a long time. I'll go back to the common room. I'll read those books—hopefully there'll be something in there about, well, something—and then I'll have dinner. No one will suspect a thing.
Why didn't she want anyone to suspect a thing? Strange thing to want, Hermione mused. Her mind flickered back to Umbridge, how Harry had concealed his torture from her, from Ron.
This was different, though. She didn't want to be comforted because she didn't want to get attached to anyone in this place, not if she was going to get out as fast as possible. She didn't want to even associate herself too much with anyone here, so as not to get too fond.
That was a bit of a high goal, though. Already Mina's attitude, R.J.'s kindness, Godric's blustery scoffing, and Miranda's quiet genius were growing on her. The best she could do was focus on getting the most she could out of being here and try to figure out a way to leave before her ties to life faded.
Her fingers were wrinkled, like those of an old woman. Hermione took a couple of deep breaths, letting the smell soothe and calm her, before lifting herself from the bath. Evanesco, she thought, flicking her wand, and the bathwater vanished. She dressed herself.
The mermaid flounced around in her window. "Would you happen to know the password to this place?" Hermione asked her, trying to be as civil as possible to the vapid mermaid.
She looked down at Hermione, sniffed slightly, and said, "Well, if you'd like to know, you'd better ask one of your friends, hadn't you?"
Hermione rolled her eyes and slammed the door behind her.
Act natural.
"Hermione! I haven't seen you all day," Miranda greeted warmly as Hermione walked into the common room. There were only a few people there—Albus, Miranda, Godric, and R.J., and only two more, neither of whom Hermione knew.
Hermione smiled. "I know. I was relaxing by the lake. I can't believe it's always so nice outside here."
"One of the many upsides of being dead," Godric called from the sofa with a lazy grin. Hermione glared at him.
"That's not funny, Godric," she chided. "Just because we've been killed doesn't mean that we should joke about that kind of—"
"Oh, come on, lighten up, Hermione," Godric interrupted with a wave of his wand. The chair opposite him turned into a small tiger, which groomed itself quietly.
Lighten up, Hermione. Merlin, how many times have I heard those words? She walked over to the tiger and rapped it with her wand. It transformed back into an armchair, into which she sat with a groan, stretching out. Godric and R.J. sat on the sofa opposite her, R.J. reading Hogwarts: A History and Godric boredly Transfiguring everything in sight.
"Hey, listen to this," laughed R.J.'s low voice. "'Godric Gryffindor was not known particularly for intelligence, loyalty, or cunning, but had a brash, impulsive personality characteristic of pure bravery.' That sounds exactly like you, Godric. Not much intelligence."
Godric Transfigured Hogwarts: A History into a large ferret. R.J. yelled in surprise and flung the ferret at Godric in shock. Hermione felt a genuine laugh rising in her throat, buoying her up with unexpected happiness. She broke into peals of merry laughter, which was surprisingly infectious. Still laughing, she reverted the book to its original state. Last time I saw something Transfigured into a ferret...
"You've got a nice laugh, Hermione," Godric commented.
"Yeah," R.J. agreed. "Very—" He paused and frowned. "What's that?" He pointed at Hermione.
"What, my face?" Hermione asked sarcastically.
"No, that." R.J. stood up and walked over to her. "That, on your robe. Is that—is that blood?"
Hermione looked down. How had she not noticed it? Red stained her clothes, clearly obvious on the light edging of the robe right under her chin. R.J. touched the spot. His finger came away red.
Godric's eyes widened in surprise. "What have you—"
"What is this?" R.J. asked.
Hermione was an absolutely terrible liar, especially to people she liked. "Well, er, I—that is, I was—I was by the lake, and I tripped, and—"
"Oh, don't give me that," Godric scoffed. "What happened?"
Hermione looked at their concerned faces. Even Miranda had stopped writing to peer over at them curiously. "Are you okay?" Miranda called from her chair.
This was exactly what she had wanted to avoid.