The remainder of their outing was a delightful exploration of Diagon Alley's peculiar shops and enchanting displays. Hermione's eyes lit up at the whimsical shop signs and the magical items adorning the storefronts. Eventually, she managed to persuade Sirius to accompany them to the bookstore she had spotted earlier, and there she spent most of her generous allowance provided by Walburga. Hermione had never considered her family poor, but the sheer amount of gold clinking in her bag was ridiculous, especially since her parents typically used pound notes and plastic cards.
"Next time, don't take that hag's money, love," Sirius mentioned after she'd paid for her books. "I have enough money to last us several lifetimes. There's no need to be indebted to them." His words sliced through her fragile state of happiness like a knife.
As they strolled back towards the pub, where Sirius would first apparate her and then Harry home, Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that he simply wanted to spend the rest of the day alone with his godson. It left her with a bitter taste in her mouth. Harry had been nothing but kind, always trying to include her in their activities. She had no reason to dislike him. And yet...
"It was a pleasure meeting you, Hermione. I hope we can see each other again soon," Harry said with a somewhat awkward smile.
"Y-yes, you too," she stammered, her mind still grappling with her conflicting emotions towards the boy.
Sirius cleared his throat and ushered them back inside the Leaky Cauldron. "How about we get you an owl next time, Harry? Then you two can write to each other," he suggested, clearly hoping for a friendship to blossom between them.
"That'd be great!" Harry replied.
Hermione clutched her precious books closer to her chest, eager to put this day behind her. The sun had already begun its descent, and Walburga would be expecting her for dinner soon. Her shoulders slumped, a familiar disappointment settling in. Sirius probably wouldn't join them; he never did.
"Right then, let's get you home. Do you have everything?" Sirius reached for her hand and cast a glance down at her.
"Yep. Goodbye, Harry!" she called out before the world around her blurred, and in an instant, she stood in the now all-too-familiar hallways of Grimmauld Place.
"I'll be back by tomorrow at the latest. Don't let my mother get to you, kid," Sirius casually advised, as if he didn't know how impossible his suggestion was.
Without another word, Hermione spun on her heels, eager to escape everything for a while. While her father was certainly the lesser evil of the Black family members, it was clear that he still struggled to figure out how to connect with his newfound daughter. It was probably easier to forgo the child he'd never known existed until a few months ago in favour of his beloved godson.
Finally, back in her room, Hermione retrieved one of her new books and settled into her armchair beside the fireplace. Dinner was nearly an hour away, and she had come to cherish the few times she had to herself.
The following days passed by in a blur for Hermione. She split her time between enduring lessons in the prescribed etiquette for pureblood witches, as dictated by Walburga and immersing herself in her books. Magic itself, she discovered, tickled her mind just right, and she was relieved to find that not everything about being a witch was as dreadful as she had initially feared. While she could certainly do without the tedious French lessons, she had ample opportunity to delve into the complicated world of magical theories and something called Arithmancy, which seamlessly blended her favourite subject, mathematics, with the wonders of magic.
It had taken only a few chapters before Hermione became utterly enthralled with that school of spellcasting. Arcturus, ever the intellectual, wholeheartedly approved of her enthusiasm and dedication to her studies. He had become a regular presence in the household, often supervising Hermione's lessons and joining them for dinners, for which she was immensely grateful. Walburga seemed to put on her best behaviour whenever the imposing man was around.
"Madame Black is expecting the young Miss in the study."
Startled by the sudden appearance of the house elf, Hermione accidentally dropped her feather. "Blast it! How many times have I told you to knock, Kreacher!" She grimaced at the ink splotches that marred her parchment and fingers.
The elderly house elf tsked. "No worries, Kreacher will take care of it." With a wave of his hand, the ink stains on the scrolls disappeared. "There. Now up, up! The Madame is waiting."
Hermione was gently ushered from her seat and out of her room. She took a deep breath, gathering herself as she made her way downstairs with clenched fists. Her grandmother typically summoned her to the study only to reprimand her. Hermione silently passed by the slumbering portraits of her ancestors, her heart racing with every step she took. What could possibly be the issue now? She had diligently completed all her assignments and stayed confined to her room.
"There you are." Walburga looked up from behind her late husband's desk. Her intimidating gaze gleamed menacingly in the flickering candlelight, and to Hermione's surprise, she spotted Sirius seated across from his mother, a deep scowl etched into his face.
Hermione hurriedly closed the door behind her and settled down next to the older wizard. "Good evening, Grandmother," she spoke with demure politeness, eager to get this confrontation over with.
Walburga acknowledged her greeting. "I've called you two here because of that wretched Potter spawn."
Sirius was already seething, his voice laden with anger. "That boy is my godson and heir. Show some respect."
The flicker of her wand was so sudden that Sirius had no chance to dodge what Hermione recognized as a stinging hex, flashing from his mother's wand. "Silence. I'll not have a filthy halfblood tarnishing the name of our noble house."
She let Sirius writhe under her spell for a few seconds longer, completely oblivious to her granddaughter's paling complexion.
Hermione bit her lips so hard that she could taste the familiar tang of copper, fighting to keep herself from flinching.
"Arcturus has just restored your titles, do not assume he cannot take them away again," Walburga finally lifted her spell, her tone chillingly calm. "We brought you back so that you can raise your daughter, not to dally around with mudbloods and werewolves."
Hermione's eyes grew wide at the mention of werewolves, her mind racing.
"I'd take Hermione with me in a heartbeat if I could, but you two did a good job preventing that at the ministry, didn't you?" Her father spat, his arms and legs still trembling from his mother's hex. "Did you seriously expect me to just roll over and become a proper Black again?!"
"And how can you call Harry filthy when Hermione is—" Before he could finish his sentence, Walburga raised her wand again, cutting him off with a menacing gesture.
"Don't you dare finish that sentence, boy," she seethed, her eyes aflame with anger, leaving Hermione even more bewildered.
The pair glowered at each other. The air in the room felt suffocating under the weight of their malicious thoughts, making Hermione's chest ache. Why had Walburga summoned her in the first place? It was clear this confrontation concerned Sirius more than her.
"It appears you'd rather ruin your daughter's future for your silly ideas than man up and take even an ounce of responsibility for the child you have fathered," the older witch remarked with pinched lips.
Sirius barked out a cold, bitter laugh. "Ruin? Nothing would do so more than leaving her with you and Arcturus."
Hermione's grip on the polished wood of her seat tightened at his callous remark. She was right here, listening to her own father's words. How could they say such vile things in front of her?
"You want her to end up like Andromeda's child? A good-for-nothing Hufflepuff with no promising prospects?" Walburga hissed, her voice dripping with disdain. "Who will have to take up work someday, mingling with all kinds of questionable folks, diluting her precious blood even more than her mother did."
At the mention of her scorned aunt, the room grew even colder. Hermione had learned of the woman's fate from her grandfather. Andromeda had become the scandal of her generation, the esteemed witch who had married a mudblood. It was the only time she had seen the man lose his composure. Her aunt's betrayal had left a deep mark on him, a wound that continued to grow and fester like an ulcer.
Sirius crossed his arms in front of his chest, his expression defiant. "Times have changed, mother. Accept it."
Silence followed, stretching on for an uncomfortable duration. It lay heavy over the occupants of the room. After a while, Walburga inclined her head, her tone begrudgingly conceding, "As long as Arcturus and I still breathe, you'll listen. No more vanishing acts and overnight excursions." She folded her hands in her lap, her gaze unwavering. "Spend time with the child and refrain from exposing her to that Potter boy."
Another screaming match ensued, and Hermione felt her composure slipping away as the grown-ups continued to hurl insults at each other's heads. With all her might, she forcefully shut her eyes until she saw stars, desperately trying to block out the avalanche of hatred that was slowly suffocating her. "Please stop," she whimpered, her voice barely audible amid the chaos, and she struggled to regulate her breathing.
Her pleadings went unnoticed, drowned out by the overwhelming rage in the room. Dread crawled up her chest and settled in her lungs as she listened to the terrible words that Sirius hurled at his own mother. She couldn't endure it any longer. In a rush of desperation, Hermione jumped up from her seat and flung herself towards the door. In her hurry, she toppled her chair, the resounding bang finally tearing the two other occupants of the room away from their argument.
"Hermione?" Sirius called after her, but she was already out of the door, fleeing the unbearable situation. "This is all your fault!" his voice echoed.
Hermione heard him yell at Walburga, but she was already too far away to listen to her reply. She stumbled up the stairs and made a mad dash towards her bedroom. The second her head hit the soft sheets of her pillows, she let out a strangled sob and clutched her blanket tightly to her body. "Why must they be so terrible?" she asked into the silence of her room, her voice trembling with a mixture of frustration and sadness.
Hermione longed for her mum to hold her, to tell her that everything was going to be alright. She had never gone so long without a hug or a soft kiss on the cheek. There were no pats on the head at Grimmauld Place, no warm smiles. Hermione, who usually considered herself a cheerful child, now lay in her too-big bed, vacantly staring at her too-tall ceiling, unable to remember the last time she had felt genuinely happy.
I am, in fact, alive! xoxo.