A Hundred Storms
Chapter Four: Like an Act of War
I don't wanna fight no more, I don't know what we're fighting for
When we treat each other baby, like an act of war
-When Love and Hate Collide, by Def Leppard
Hermione paused outside the Great Hall and readjusted her robes for the dozenth time. Funny, she thought, that after the interrogations, interviews, testimonies, being on the run, Unforgivable Curses, and scars, that a school dinner in a room full of people who were still children to her would be mind-numbingly terrifying. One would think Hermione would be able to handle the room full of whispers, but one would be wrong.
Hermione clenched her hands into small fists at her sides and led the way into the buzzing Great Hall. Conversation slowed to a dull murmur as the nine older students made their way through the cavernous room. Hermione could feel the eyes of hundreds fixed on her, she could physically feel the stares boring into her like tiny pinpricks on her skin. She allowed her eyes to wander to the two Slytherins joining their classmates at their table while the Gryffindor table was busy giving Hermione and Neville an enthusiastic welcome. She smiled slightly at the clapping and cheering while she watched the seated Slytherins eying Blaise and Draco with a mix of fear and suspicion. The green-and-silver-draped table was easily the most subdued of the four Hogwarts houses, and Hermione realized then that the special living arrangements McGonagall made for them may not have been out of convenience for adult witches and wizards but rather for fear that the two returning Slytherins might not be as safe in their house common room as the rest of them were. From the looks on the younger Slytherins' faces, Hermione didn't have to use her over-wrought imagination to picture a small shadow creeping up beside Draco or Blaise while they slept. Hermione shivered and silently thanked McGonagall for the foresight to keep them safe in the new dormitory. At least if someone wanted to cause Draco or Blaise harm, at least Hermione could ward their common room as she was wont to do anyway. Hermione knew what it meant to enrage a large group of people. She spent the greater part of her life pissing off bigoted pure-bloods simply by daring to find a place in the magical world she could call her own. Since she came out in the open alongside Harry and Ron, she had received everything from Howlers to cursed trinkets via owl post. It got to the point that Hermione had to have all of her mail delivered to a special department in the post office that specialized in scanning through mail for dangerous items before it was delivered on to her.
Threats to her person were not a foreign entity to Hermione, but she never stopped to think about the threats coming from one of her own house-mates. She felt the familiar tug of pity for Draco and Blaise, and, perhaps against her better judgment, she inwardly applauded them for returning even if, in Draco's case, he had to as part of his probation.
Hermione quickly found her seat beside Ginny, who looked simply ecstatic to see Hermione.
"Our password is Hopping Troll," she whispered to her and Neville.
"Actually, Gin-" Hermione looked over to Neville, unsure of how to tell Ginny about the new dormitory arrangements. "The professors felt that we, as older students, should be kept separate from the traditional students. They put us up in the old marriage wing of the castle."
"But that hasn't been used in generations!" Ginny argued. "I think Mum said her grandparents' year was the last to find use for it, old-fashioned tradition and all."
"I know that," Hermione said mildly. "But due to the fact that we should have already graduated, McGonagall thought it best to keep us somewhat separate. We will still have classes with the seventh years, don't worry about that."
Ginny grinned at that. "Can I see it? Are you allowed to bring people in?"
Hermione gave a small laugh. "Yes, we can. I'll show you some time, it's not much different than Gryffindor's common room, just very big and...purple. It's house-neutral."
Ginny nodded thoughtfully and looked up as McGonagall stood, preparing to address the students.
"Welcome, welcome!" she said loudly. She was still a formidable professor that had earned the respect of nearly all her students. While she didn't radiate the power that Dumbledore had, she carried herself with dignity, and people paused to listen whenever she chose to speak.
"I know you are all very anxious to tuck in to another delicious meal, so I will make this brief. Before classes begin, I have a few rules to go over for the first years and reminders for those of you rejoining us. First of all, the Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits. Many of you do not need to be told that many giants retreated into the forest after the battle last spring, and they are not to be bothered under any circumstance. Second, many parts of the castle are still undergoing reconstruction; I must advise all of you to keep a watchful eye out for such places undergoing renovations and help one another if you run into one. Third, the school governors and faculty have deemed it prudent that we need to have something to serve as a reminder of the destruction that occurred last May, and so we have decided that a ceremony and ball will be hosted here in the Great Hall as a reminder of those we lost in the final fight against Voldemort. I hope everyone takes this opportunity to work with your peers in other houses. As the time comes closer, I will be able to give you a little bit more guidance. Finally, I am sure you have all noticed that we have a few returning students with us this evening. You will also notice they are not wearing house robes. While they are students here and will attend the seventh year classes, I want you to treat them as the grown witches and wizards that they are. Give them the respect you would a prefect or a teacher. Thank you, and now let us turn our attention to the wonderful food prepared for us!"
At her words, the food appeared before them in all of its former glory. Hermione remembered the elves of Hogwarts rushing into battle, and a surge of pride and loss filled her heart when she thought of Kreacher, who had returned to Grimmauld Place with Harry, and Dobby, who had died helping them escape Malfoy Manor. Hermione tried to eat but found her appetite lacking and pushed the food about on her plate as to appear busy.
"Are you excited for classes to start?" Ginny asked with a glint in her eye. She knew, like Harry and Ron, that if you wanted to pull Hermione out of a mood, all you had to do was ask her about her studies.
At least, it used to work. Hermione absentmindedly rubbed her left forearm and just smiled at Ginny. Truthfully she just wanted dinner to be over. She wanted a warm shower, and she wanted to curl up in front of the fireplace with a cup of tea and a good book, maybe Hogwarts, a History, simply because it was comforting and familiar.
"What do you make of the ball?" Ginny asked in a desperate attempt to engage Hermione in some sort of conversation.
Hermione frowned. "I don't know how I feel about it," she said slowly. "At first thought, it seems like a shallow and vapid way to remember the events of that day. A ball? What about those that died? As for the project, I also haven't a clue. Right now it feels like salt being rubbed into a wound that simply won't heal, and I don't know how to fix it." Hermione hung her head slightly, suddenly exhausted.
Ginny's eyes glistened slightly. "I understand, you know," she said softly. "I lost a brother. They're not throwing a party to celebrate the deaths, they're hosting an occasion so that we remember them. Sure, there is salt in our wounds, but that's how it should be. We survived when so many people didn't. We're not about to get off lightly."
Hermione looked at the younger girl with a bit of awe. "Ginny Weasley, when did you get so smart?" she asked her thoughtfully.
Ginny blinked the tears away and shrugged. "I spent the greater part of the summer consoling survivors; I have a feeling Fred would feel worse for us than he does for himself and would be terribly disappointed in us for not laughing more."
"That's an interesting way of looking at it," Hermione mused, mentally storing that information away for later. She always wondered if old pure-blooded families like the Weasleys believed in any sort of religious theology, but now wasn't really the time to get into that discussion.
"It helps me cope sometimes," Ginny said quietly. Hermione understood. Some days simply consisted of coping and hoping she wouldn't end up in a fetal position by the end of the night, crying her eyes out.
"Looks like it's time to go," Hermione observed as students began to get up and follow their prefects to their common rooms. "I suppose I should get to my dorm as well."
Ginny chose not to mention that Hermione barely eaten but made a mental note to keep an eye on her during future meals. "Try not to get lost finding it again," Ginny said with a smile. "If you ever miss us, don't hesitate to come back to Gryffindor."
"I'm sure I'll be up at some point." Hermione stood and patted her wand. Satisfied she still had it, she waved at Ginny and a few other Gryffindors and turned out of the Great Hall.
Hermione took her time making her way to her new living quarters. She pointedly avoided the curious looks she received from her classmates and inconspicuously cast a Muffliato on her own ears. Generally she used the spell so people couldn't hear her, but in this case the curious buzzing was preferable to all the hushed whispers she ignited when she walked by. She wondered when common courtesy ceased to exist.
When Hermione entered their common room, she saw that she was either the first one back from dinner, or some of the others had decided to retire to their rooms. That suited her just fine, and she went to her room to change into a pair of sleep pants and an old long-sleeved Gryffindor t-shirt. She grabbed Hogwarts, a History off the top of her trunk and went back out to the common room, securing a seat close to the fire.
She heard the portrait swing open, and Neville and Hannah entered. They said a quick goodnight to Hermione and retreated to their rooms. Hermione flipped through the worn book and found the passage she was looking for. Even though she had read the book to the point that the binding was beginning to tear, she thought it would be fun to re-read the section of Hogwarts' history about the accommodations she currently resided in. The book told her that in the times of arranged marriages, mostly between wealthy pure-blooded families, the betrothed would often marry as soon as they both became of age. As she read through the dated customs of families of the past, Blaise and Draco came through the portrait. Hermione didn't bother waiting for any sort of acknowledgement. Blaise retreated into his room, and Hermione continued reading the same sentence over and over again, waiting for the second click of a door shutting to indicate Draco had done the same.
"Already claiming the best seat in the common room for yourself?"
Hermione stiffened slightly and looked up to see Draco standing over her, looking down with an expressionless face.
"I'm just reading," Hermione replied curtly.
"Why don't you do that in your own room?" he asked, his voice still impassive.
"Because this fireplace is bigger than the one in my room," Hermione kept her answer short.
"Well, I want to sit there." Draco's voice held a hint of a threat, and Hermione detected a slight challenge in his voice.
Challenge was something Hermione was not up to after an emotionally overwrought. She shrugged and silently rose, taking her book and turning her back to Draco without a word. She made it to the door to her room when she heard him coming up behind her.
"What, that's it?" he asked, almost confused. "No fight about how you were there first? Have you achieved so much in the name of Mudbloods that you don't feel the need to speak to me?"
Hermione stopped and turned, laying the book down on the top of the dresser on the inside of her door.
Quietly she said, "You do not have the right to call me that, not anymore."
Draco's eyes widened slightly before he sneered. "What? Mudblood? What's the latest politically correct term the Prophet is using nowadays?"
In a flash Hermione had her wand out and yanked up the sleeve that covered her left arm. With her wand, she pointed at the word scarred into the delicate flesh. Draco tensed and reached for his own wand.
"This is why," she continued in a deathly calm voice. She whispered something, and where the tip of her wand pointed below the scar, a trickle of red blood appeared.
"Call me what you want, but the blood I spilled in your home is as red as yours. This scar," -and she pressed the wand into her skin harder, drawing more blood- "this scar I will carry with me forever, but unlike the one on your arm, I earned this with pride. I spilled my filthy, red blood on your pristine pure-blood floor, and it will always remind you that there is nothing muddy about it. I am proud of who I am. I would rather be a brave little Mudblood who can throw a punch in third year and then keep you out of Azkaban than a cowering pure-blood who hides behind outdated ideals, and that is why you do not have the right to call me that, not anymore, and not after what we've been through, what we've lost."
Without another word Hermione pulled her sleeve down over the blood that trickled down her arm and slammed the door in Draco's gobsmacked face.