Chapter 5 Hermione

I woke early the next morning to the smell of bacon and eggs coming from the kitchen. I sighed deeply. My bed was so comfortable, I couldn't leave it so soon, could I? It'd been so long since I'd slept in, not only a comfortable bed, but MY bed.

I finally forced myself from under the covers and looked in the mirror. My face had changed so much from before I left home for the school year. When I left, my eyes had been so full of wonder, excitement. Now they were empty and void of life, dark bags lining the bottoms. My cheeks had sunken from thirst, exhaustion, and hunger in the arena. But the biggest differences were the scars and still seemingly fresh cuts lining my face. My eyes found my chest in the mirror, and I stared at the fabric hiding the biggest, most life altering scar of them all. I knew scars faded over time, but the gashes in my chest from where I'd taken knives for Draco would never fade, the knife to save his life and the knife to end my own. Both were forever a piece of me and my story.

My door opened silently as my mother entered, causing me to jump. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't mean to scare you. I came to let you know that breakfast is ready. Bacon, eggs, and pancakes, your favorite!"

I gave a soft smile accompanied by a nod, "I'll be right down mum. Thank you." She gave me a nod and turned to leave the room. Before she could turn down the hall, I called out, "Mum!" She turned around, concern written clearly in her questioning expression, "I love you."

She beamed a smile back at me, "I love you too Hermione." I meant what I'd said, I loved my mother. And my father for that matter! But I couldn't help but feel lost in my own home. I wasn't sure where I belonged anymore. Was I supposed to be at Hogwarts? Home? Or maybe I was just supposed to have remained dead? The dead weren't to be brought back among the living after all. Not even magic was supposed to mess with the nature of death, but yet it had.

I took one more look at myself in the mirror before making my way down the stairs to our kitchen. My dad was sitting and reading the muggle paper while my mum made our plates. Dad sat down the paper and gave me a smile, "How are you Mione? Feeling alright this morning?"

I nodded and gave a convincing smile, "Yes, much better. I must've just been exhausted last night was all." He nodded to my answer and took another look at the paper. "Don't you both have work today?"

The clock above the kitchen sink showed 8:30, and my parents' dental clinic typically opened at 8.

Mum shook her head as she sat down beside me, "No, we went ahead and closed for week, told Regina we had a family emergency come up and must take the week off."

Regina was my parents' secretary for their clinic, had been for as long as I could remember. She'd always been kind to me and my family along with my parents' patients. "But, won't that hurt your business?"

My father chuckled, "Oh dear, ever so thoughtful of others' work. No Hermione, it won't hurt us so bad that we can't close up for a few days. We haven't gone on holiday to spend time with you in quite some time, I think we all needed the time off. And Regina is being paid compensation for the time off as well."

I nodded slowly. I knew my parents wanted to spend the time with me, but they really should return to work in the next day or two, as opposed to taking the whole week off. I knew they loved their jobs, and people needed them in the office as well.

As I began to eat, I couldn't help but realize how much my mouth was watering. Even though I'd been out of the arena for a few days, food was still something I couldn't get enough of when I wasn't so sick to my stomach that I couldn't eat. I would never forget the feeling of my stomach being empty, or rationing seeds and berries, and would never take food for granted again.

We ate in silence for a bit until my father finally broke it with something I didn't want to talk about, "So, this Draco, is he the one you used to talk about when you were little?"

My heart wanted to jump at the mention of Draco, but the impending dread of the conversation caused my stomach to sink instead, "Yes, actually. He is."

He nodded and my mother looked over at me now, "The one who was mean to you all the time?"

I nodded softly, "Yeah."

My father's eyes darkened with irritation, "Hermione, you used to send us letters with tearstains because of his teasing. You even cried over the summer when you thought about how cruel he was to you!"

I nodded again, "Yes. But he's changed."

My mother looked towards me sympathetically as my father continued, "Clearly he hasn't changed as much as you think. Seeing as how the end of that Tournament went."

My eyes narrowed instantly, "Don't talk about that." I knew what he was saying. Draco couldn't have changed as much as he appeared if he was willing to kill people. Kill me. It was something I'd thought about over and over again. I myself couldn't figure out how I'd managed to fall in love with him, or how I could still care about him after he KILLED ME! How was I supposed to explain my feelings to my parents?

My mother's hand took hold of my own and squeezed it softly, "Sweetheart, your father is just worried about you. The way you acted yesterday towards this boy you obviously care about him. But, does he really care about you?" And, there it was. My number one question. Was it all an act? Obviously people would forgive him if he acted out of love as opposed to rage and wanting to win, needing to survive.

Dad's eyes had softened again, and he took my hand before replying, "Exactly. I don't want you to get hurt by this boy again Hermione. I don't think it's possible for someone to change that much. And I'm afraid for you. He's hurt you so many times! You were hurt as a child time and time again, and then he hurt you in that arena, and I, as your father, cannot forgive that."

I knew what he meant. He didn't mean Draco had hurt me, he meant Draco had literally killed me. Not emotionally, though some of the events in the arena had done that as well, but physically. My heart had stopped beating. And it was by Draco's hand. Could I really love someone who had done that to me? And could I blame my father for being unable to forgive him?

I finally felt the tears falling from my eyes and took a deep breath as my parents gave me a tight embrace, "I don't know either." And that was the only thing I knew for sure, that I didn't know. But did I really want to know?