Warming: This chapter contains scenes of self-harm which might turn out to be disturbing to some. But there's nothing graphic in the way you think.
Very important note: I do not condone self-harm or suicide. This chapter is not attempting to glorify suicide or spread the idea. If you find yourself harbouring such tendencies, please, please, please, talk to someone. You and your life matter more than you think. Stay safe. :)
A/N: If you have indeed decided to read, this chapter is going to be dark. I'm very anxious about this one. Please, I request you, do let me know if it has hit the mark or if I just went ahead of myself here.
Chapter 20: Cracking
Night had fallen by the time Hermione reached Professor McGonagall's office. A mere hour remained until curfew—before which, she had to go and talk with Sna- Professor Snape, or else sleep will never come to her relief tonight. She knocked on the door with a shaking hand. When her Head of House called her in, Hermione took a deep breath to compose herself, much in vain, and stepped inside before closing the door behind herself.
Professor McGonagall was sitting behind her desk, a planner laid open before her. "Miss Granger?"
"Professor," Hermione said softly, her throat feeling scratchy. "I...saw them..."
The lady frowned in confusion until Hermione slipped the vial of memories out of her pocket, unable to voice her words. At that, her Professor leaned forward. "That is good. What do you think?"
Hermione could not form a coherent answer so she instead returned the vial to her Professor. "I've stored the memories back... inside it," she mumbled.
Professor McGonagall accepted the vial with a nod. "I hope you feel more informed now, yes?"
"I just wish...I had known before," she murmured, feeling her voice quivering slightly.
"Be that as it may, you are now aware of the truth," the teacher sounded satisfied. "You will be able to see Professor Snape in a better light now."
Hermione nodded numbly. When her Head of House gestured her to sit, she did without registering her movements. "So much could have been different if only I knew the truth of that night..." Her voice was breaking. "I wish I knew from the start!"
"Hermione." The use of her Christian name drew Hermione's attention. "You have been an exceptional witch with immeasurable potential. I do not want to keep you in the dark anymore, for you do not deserve to be fooled," the lady went on. She plucked her glasses off and set them aside. "I must tell you all that you should know."
Hermione looked up at her teacher in confusion. "All that...?"
"There is more," the lady sighed. "I think, you are now ready to know the truth."
Hermione swallowed. She wasn't quite sure she was ready to know more.
"Your parents' burial, Miss Granger," the Professor paused and Hermione could feel her breath hitching, "It was Professor Snape who found your parents'...bodies, and arranged for them burial with Catholic rituals."
What! Hermione could not tell if she had mouthed the word or not, for all she could hear was Professor McGonagall's voice and a loud buzzing concealing her own thoughts from herself.
"He was the one who went to your house to retrieve your belongings and your familiar," she continued. "But he did not want you to know that then."
'Don't you dare disgrace their graves with your presence!'
Breathing was becoming to hard to bear... Hermione's head was pounding.
"You remember thanking me for sending your meals from Hogwarts? That was also Professor Snape's doing, Miss Granger." As each truth unfolded, Hermione found herself slipping into a deeper pit of guilt.
"But I must also apologise, Miss Granger, for I, too, have lied to you," her teacher's voice became steely. "When we were first discussing about the...bond between...you two, I lied about the nature of the bond."
"Meaning?" Hermione hardly whispered.
"What I mean is that," the lady sighed heavily, "Your life is bound to Professor Snape's, but the same is not applicable the other way around. Professor Snape's life is not connected to yours. I should not have burdened you with false words, but at that time, you were adamant upon...taking precarious measures. So, I had to say something convincing enough to stop you. For that, I apologise."
'Only if I were even a part like you, I would have killed myself, taking you along.'
The words Hermione had spat at the man came back to haunt her. All along, she was feeling proud of herself for letting Snape live... She had taunted him about that so many times, but he never retorted. Why?
What have I done!
Hermione ran a hand down her face. A deep ache settled into her heart for all that she had said and done to the man who had been nothing but compassionate to her.
How could she not see the truth in him! How did she miss it?
How will I go on?
I can't do this anymore...
"I understand," her teacher was still speaking, "It is a lot to take in. But consider it a new beginning."
But Hermione's mind could hardly go forward than an ending... An eventual ending, an inevitable ending.
'I will never forgive you, Snape. Never.'
'He killed my parents—in cold blood.'
'He is one of them, he is not your spy, he is just a Death Eater!'
'How did you feel, huh? How does it make you feel every time you kill someone? Does it give you warmth to see the blood that you have drawn, to hear your victims in agony, to watch as their breathing stops as you kill them—with your bloodstained, murderous hands!'
'You, pathetic man! You have finally stooped low enough to use that deplorable bond to your benefits!'
Bile rose in her throat as her own words reverberated in her ears. Such venom dripped from her voice as she had berated the man. So thoroughly overcame she was with her anger, incensed out of her senses.
What did he ever do to deserve it? Saved her? Helped her parents? How could she have been so blind in her own rage! How would she ever ask atone for all that she had done?
"M-May I be excused, Professor?" She managed to whisper.
"Of course," the lady nodded. "Take your time to think. If you ever wish to talk, you are always welcome, Miss Granger."
Murmuring a word of gratitude, Hermione exited the office as fast as she could. She did not trust herself not to break down before her Head of House. She was feeling suffocated, she was smothered.
She strode through the corridor with determined strides, though not knowing where her legs were carrying her.
Oh, how gravely had she been mistaken! How wrong could she be!
Throughout the walk, she kept muttering apologies in her head. Thankfully, very few students crossed her path quite so late in the evening. Hermione tried to erect her Shields to push the dangerous thoughts out of her mind, but with whirlpool of a myriad of emotions, she just could not manage it. The water that concealed her mind was disturbed by violent ripples that were her thoughts.
She tried to keep the blue barrier intact and balanced, but all that filled her mind was the Professor's expressionless face when she had accused him so blatantly on so many occasions. His face hidden behind his hands, the shaking shoulders, a deep, sad noise, after retrieving her from the Malfoy Manor. He was already so remorseful... And she had let go of no opportunity to rebuke him with her unfiltered words. Her own guilt was clawing at her gut. He had only looked out for her. He didn't deserve the treatment she gave him. He deserved her gratitude abd apology—if he could ever forgive her, if she could ever atone.
In her daze, Hermione stopped only when she collided with a solid, robed figure.
"Watch it, Mudblood!"
Hermione stepped back to find Draco Malfoy's sneering face glaring back at her. It was then that she realised that she had come to the dungeons to look for the Professor. This day could not go any worse.
As her eyes took in the scene, she noticed not only Malfoy, but also Crabbe, Goyle and Nott standing in her way—each of them had their wands out, immediately. Hermione quickly tried to retrieve her wand in her panic, but Malfoy reacted first and grabbed her hands in a bruising grip.
"Leave me, Malfoy!" Hermione demanded, struggling to pull her hands away. Much to her chagrin, her voice still came out with a quiver that made the Slytherins snicker in derision.
"Little Mudblood is crying, eh?" Nott snorted. "Why? Didn't get it good from your husband today?"
At that, Malfoy smirked, while Crabbe and Goyle laughed. Shame and hopelessness dawned on her intensely.
"Going to Snape to warm his bed, Mudblood?" Goyle laughed.
"You know your place now," Malfoy whispered leaning down to her ear, a triumphant smugness on his face. "Filty, little Mudblood whore-"
"Get the hell away from me, you bastard!" Hermione shouted and delivered a kick on Malfoy's shin, making him stumble.
He gasped, but instead of loosening his hold on her hands, he backed her forcefully against the wall. "You, little bitch!" He spat and dug his wand into her neck.
Hermione gasped as the back of her head collided with the wall. Pain shot through her skull, reaching the tip of her nose and moistening her eyes. She saw the other three Slytherins leisurely enjoying the show behind Malfoy.
"Don't you know how to treat your betters?" Malfoy whispered too close to her ear. "Haven't Snape tamed you yet?"
The close proximity made Hermione feel sick and dirty. Her temper switched. She could feel her magic cracking around her.
"Let. Me. Go." She hissed.
Malfoy's expressions darkened. "And what if I don't? The likes of you, Mudblood, are born to serve-"
"Let me go!" As Hermione shrieked in pure loathe, Malfoy finally stumbled back and left her, his wand went flying even without a disarming spell being cast. The other three Slytherins also flung back a bit.
Without waiting another moment, Hermione retrieved her wand from her sleeve, and aimed it at the four boys.
"You won't dare, you bitch!" Goyle spat. "The Dark Lord will kill you for this!"
"If I let you live to tell the tale, that is." She found herself running on adrenaline, magic still crackling around. "Get lost!"
As a lamp on the wall flickered and dropped down heavily, something very much akin to fear struck Crabbe, Goyle and Nott's faces. Nott grabbed Malfoy's arm as he again tried to get near Hermione.
"We'll make her pay later," Nott whispered to Malfoy.
"No! She will pay for it right now!" Malfoy bellowed.
Another lamp dropped to the dungeon floor, making Crabbe and Goyle jump. Hermione was panting, yet aiming her wand towards them, a sheen on sweat breaking on her face.
Malfoy snatched Nott's wand, instead.
Working on reflexes taught to her by Harry in the DA, Hermione cast a quick disarming spell, making Nott's wand leave Malfoy's fingers.
"Get out of my sight!" She shrieked. Two more lamps dropped, one of which on Crabbe's toes, at which he cried.
With only the two incompetent boys left with a wand, Malfoy did retreat. "We are letting you go lightly today, but you will have hell to pay!"
"When Snape hears about his Mudblood whore, he will make you pay—in kind," Nott spat.
At that, Hermione saw red. Any traces of fear that she earlier possessed were overpowered by sheer rage.
"Get out of my SIGHT!" Hermione yelled, and her magic flung Malfoy and Nott far into the long corridor with only their echoing cry to accompany. Hermione did not have to do more for Crabbe and Goyle ran after their two protectors like frightened rabbits caught in the headlights.
With that, Hermione herself ran as fast as her feet could carry her, wherever they would take her, hardly registering where she was heading.
Anger transformed into hopelessness as her object of threat was eliminated.
Mudblood.
Whore.
Bitch.
Whore.
Mudblood.
'Haven't Snape tamed you yet?'
'Going to Snape to warm his bed, Mudblood?'
'When Snape hears about his Mudblood whore, he will make you pay—in kind.'
'Tell me, Mudblood. Are you liking being Severus' pet? Do you nicely satisfy his needs, little whore?'
Each insult reverberated in Hermione's ears so loud that her head hurt. From Voldemort, from Bellatrix Lestrange, from the four Slytherins!
And everything said was because she really was reduced to be a miserable heap! She would forever be subjected to those lewd comments because that was what she truly was, after all. Her ideas of being a strong woman, a free women were long ago burnt to ashes and her fate was decided. She would never be free. She had been caged on that fateful night in June. And no amount of pretending otherwise would ever free her.
What life did she have even after the war was won? She would be forever bound in this wretched Dark Wedding! She would forever be a burden on the man who had tried his best to save her and was still working to train her so she didn't get their cover blown.
She—who had been the sole reason her parents were killed! She! The selfish, careless, ignorant WITCH! Witch! It was all because she was a witch!
'Oh, yes, I think a few letters arrived for you this afternoon, Love.'
'Oh, I've read them. They were from Ron and Harry."
'I think there were more than two- Oh, shoot!'
Her vision was blurred by her tears—of anger and regret. So much she could have done differently, if only she had thought beyond herself! If only she had been half as insightful as people claimed her to be!
I'm sorry, Mum, Dad. I could not protect you...
It was all her fault. If she died...if she was gone, everybody will have a simpler life to lead. Professor Snape would be free, too. Her friends who were constantly worried for her would be relieved, as well.
Why would she live in that hell-hole? What was left for her here? Nothing. What was she without her free will? A shell of a woman. She wanted to escape this miserable shell.
She only stopped on finding herself at the Astronomy Tower. The night sky was clouded, and no stars were visible. It was dark, only illuminated by the very bleak rays of the waning moon.
It wasn't a surprise she was here. Deep down, she knew it was building—the wish to let go, to make it all stop, to leave. Deep down, she had wanted this end, hadn't she?
Hermione's breath was coming in harshly. She needed the release. She could not go on. She was not brave enough. She was not worthy of Gryffindor.
She was a coward! A black spot! And she must leave.
Crookshanks. At least she owed her familiar something. One last task that needed to be completed, one last thing that she took responsibility for. Hermione conjured a parchment and a Muggle pen. An apology to Professor Snape and an arrangement for Crookshanks.
With shaking hands, Hermione picked up the pen. As she put the nib on the paper, her trembling fingers could hardly control it. But she wrote, even through her blurred vision, she wrote. That was the least she could offer.
Hermione folded and tucked the parchment in the pocket of her robe such that somebody would find it. After she was gone. For good.
The tombstones of her parents flashed before her eyes. Professor Snape's face from his memories as he wept came before her. Professor McGonagall's stressful, old face made her realise how Hermione had been a burden on them all. Her friends' face flashed before her—she would never be able to reciprocate Ron's feelings, but he would find someone way better than her, someone who would love him, as Ron deserved to be loved. Harry... Harry might be upset, but Ginny would be with him, by his side. They would all get over her demise soon. They had one another. m
And Snape—Professor Snape—he would be free of her again. He would be free of the threat that Hermione might scupper their delicate subterfuge in front of Voldemort.
Hermione climbed on the stony parapet, still facing the school, and turned her head to look below. All she could see in that darkness was depth, enough to give her her release. Release her from the bonding, release her from her guilt. And release those who were burdened by her.
Take me home...
Tears streamed down her cheeks, the stone staircase, the heavy door, the Wizarding telescopes and chairs and desks where she had once sat and studied ached her heart. But more than the nostalgia of those sweet, old days, the overburdening sense of grief and longing to leave consumed her.
As Hermione finally leant backwards and lost herself into the embrace of cold wind that promised release and relief, the last thought that crossed her mind was—am I doing the right thing?
After that, all her body knew was cold, pressure and pain, amid a piercing cry that echoed in the quiet of the night—a cry of her own. And her conflicted mind strived to seek contentment into the hollow darkness.
Hermione Granger was gone.