The slam of the heavy book on the table made Ron and Harry jump, nearly sending Ron's inkpot flying across the common room.
"Oi!" he cried. "What's that for?"
"You owe me," was all Hermione said, glaring at them harshly. "I went to a bloody spider funeral for you. I was nearly eaten alive! And you're welcome, by the way, for covering you. I told Hagrid you were busy with Quidditch, so he didn't realise you'd stood him up!"
Harry went very pale. "Fuck," he blurted, startling a nearby cluster of first years. "The note."
Hermione made an angry, strangled sound.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione. I forgot! I didn't realise he was going to have a whole funeral for Aragog."
"Aragog?" asked Ron faintly. Hermione ignored it.
"Yeah, well, he did. And you can make it up to me by going to see him. Today."
"Yeah, sure — maybe we can squeeze it in after dinner —"
"No, you can do it after Charms. I know for a fact you have a free period then, because that's when I've got Runes."
Harry opened his mouth and shut it again. "Right. Will do."
"Ron?"
Ron was still the ashy shade he'd turned when she'd mentioned spiders; he looked at her like she might procure an Acromantula from her pocket at any moment. "Yeah?" Harry kicked him under the table. "Y-yeah, of course I'll go see Hagrid."
"Good. Now, I'm going down to breakfast. Would you care to join me, or do you really think you can finish your essays before History of Magic? Let's see, you've got… forty minutes. That should be enough to wrap up a conclusion!"
Ron and Harry looked at their parchments in despair. It was very apparent they were nowhere near finished; Hermione wondered what time they'd come down, thinking they could fit two weeks of research into two hours. They never learned.
"We'll meet you in the Great Hall," said Harry miserably and frantically began scribbling what Hermione was certain must have been an incoherent jumble of half-baked ideas.
But that wasn't her problem. Not today. The Stone was gone, and there was no cause to think about it ever again. She had to give Draco his book back and see if she could work out anything more about the Horcruxes, or even the Half-Blood Prince. She was fed up with coming second in Potions.
She chose a relatively secluded spot at the Gryffindor table and set about arranging some breakfast on her plate. Despite it being a Monday morning, the Great Hall was alive with chatter and the screeching, swooping sound of owls. Hermione reflexively covered her plate and goblet to protect them from falling feathers and was surprised when not only her copy of The Daily Prophet thunked down in front of her, but a small envelope, too.
Her heart froze when she saw the bleached paper, the Muggle postage stamp, and her mother's familiar handwriting on the front. The initial surprise was swiftly replaced by miserable guilt; she hadn't written her parents since Christmas. How could she have forgotten?
She was almost afraid to read it, but to put it off would only make it worse, so she tore open the envelope and unfolded the sheet of lined paper. It felt foreign in her hands, incongruent with everything around her.
Dear Hermione, it began, and she didn't breathe again until she'd read the whole thing. They missed her, they loved her, and they wanted to know if she was coming home for Easter holidays the following week.
Next week? How is it already April?
It had been irresponsible of her to ignore everything for so long; she couldn't afford to be taken by surprise. And after the stunt she pulled at Christmas, she didn't have much of a choice here.
Frustrated, she ate her breakfast while she wrote a short answer to her parents, to be sent before the owls left the Great Hall. Harry and Ron appeared, looking rushed and irritable, and inhaled an ungodly amount of food in the few minutes they could spare before it was time to trot off to Professor Binns.
The day's lessons were not particularly unusual or even interesting. Even Professor Flitwick's lecture didn't offer much beyond the reading, and she spent most of the day lost in her thoughts, restless. Harry and Ron rushed to leave at the end of the period, though they acknowledged Hermione's glare with meek nods. She would ask Hagrid later to make sure they paid him a visit.
She reached Ancient Runes before Draco did and took her time unpacking her things. But it was only after the lesson had begun and he'd been seated beside her for several minutes that she pulled the heavy book out of her bag and set it on the table between them, facedown so no-one could possibly read the cover.
Draco didn't react or give any indication he'd seen it at all. The lesson continued on, both of them ignoring the other, for at least ten minutes, before he casually put the book in his own schoolbag.
Goodbye, Agrius Malfoy. Thanks for your help.
The absence of The Tales of Beedle the Bard brought more of a relief than she'd anticipated. Had she really lost herself that much? The thought was disturbing; she'd always taken pride in being too rational for stupid things like that.
She reached into her bag again, except this time for her diary. She opened it alongside her parchment sheet, as though it were merely another place she took notes.
I'm going to my parents' for Easter, she wrote carefully, then ignored the thing until several minutes later when Draco pulled his own out and began to write.
Next week?
No-one would notice if they were both writing at the same time, would they? It wouldn't look odd?
Holidays are next week, yes. I'll be back April 5.
I'll miss you. You're going to leave me in the laboratory all alone.
Hermione pressed her lips together hard to keep the smile at bay. I'll tell Snape I'm leaving. He might not want you to brew on your own. Maybe you'll get a fortnight off.
I'd rather brew. Not much else I'd want to do, not if you're gone.
Hermione didn't know how to reply to that. Something warm bloomed in her chest.
Will these work outside of Hogwarts? he asked.
I don't see why not. Though there's a chance electricity might interfere with the charms. We'll have to see, I suppose.
You'll be able to tell in real time what it's like to live with Muggles.
Hermione would have laughed if she'd been able. It's really not that exciting. But if you really want, I'll give you a running commentary.
Please do. She heard him shift beside her and wondered if he was smiling.
The lecture moved on to a different topic, and Hermione took the opportunity to ask several questions. When she'd satisfied her curiosity and rearranged a new sheet of parchment to take down the diagram on the board, she found a new line of ink on the diary's page.
I'll be staying here for holidays.
Hermione didn't bother covering her sigh of relief. She wouldn't be abandoning him to Voldemort. He would be safe.
The lunar cycle would not start until Monday, by which time Hermione would be on the Hogwarts Express. She was acutely aware of this for the rest of the week, always seeking out Draco in the Great Hall and their shared lessons. Somehow, keeping him in her periphery felt important. It had been nine months since she'd left Hogwarts. She wasn't sure how it would feel to be away from him now that they were… whatever they were.
She wished she could have a moment with him before she left, but there was no time, no place. All she got was a shared glance as she left the Great Hall, and then he was hidden by the crowds of people leaving the castle.
Hermione passed the journey watching the verdant countryside. Harry, Ron, Ginny and Luna chatted amongst themselves and seemed content to leave her to her thoughts. It was only when the trolley witch came by that she was interrupted by a Chocolate Frog landing in her lap.
She jumped and Ginny laughed; Harry just smiled at her, and she saw him shove the rest of his galleons into his pocket. "Happy Easter, Hermione."
"Why are you going home, anyway?" wondered Ron as he opened a container of Bertie Botts'. "I mean, you didn't go home for the new year because it was too dangerous, and it's not like it's much safer now, is it?"
Ginny tried to scold her brother for his lack of tact, but Hermione just rolled her eyes and fiddled with the Chocolate Frog wrapping. "It's only two weeks, and I haven't seen my parents since September… Anyway, I'm of age, so I can use magic if I need to." The wrapping crinkled as she opened it, hoping to signal an end to the conversation. She didn't want to explain her reasoning, or voice the fear that this might be her last opportunity to see her parents before things escalated out of her control.
No-one questioned her, and when they arrived at King's Cross, Harry even took a moment to greet her parents, who were anxiously stood by the Weasleys. It was terribly awkward, and as the parties separated, Hermione swallowed a tight ball of fear.
The long drive home was overwhelming. The smell of petrol made her dizzy, and the car bounced and lurched so differently from the train and carriages. She could hardly keep up the conversation with all the traffic sounds, and she couldn't take her eyes off the pedestrians. They moved in crowds, chatting with each other, or holding children, or sternly talking into their mobile phones. This was so normal for them. They didn't care, or know, about the terror growing around them. About the powerful people who would destroy them all in a second if they were in Hermione's place. They didn't know how afraid she was, how much she'd been hurt.
She looked away from the window and fiddled with her seatbelt. Now was not the time to think about Voldemort. That was the whole point of coming here, wasn't it? Besides, the odds of Death Eaters suddenly attacking the M25 today were negligible.
Nevertheless, she kept her hand near her wand pocket as she listened to her parents negotiate which route to take, and the synthetic pop music coming through the radio.
Home.
For the next several days, Hermione tried very hard to make up for how she'd treated her parents at Christmas. Not that she regretted it, but it was clear that they were afraid of how distant she'd grown. They bought her favourite takeaway for dinner, and she found the bathroom stocked with new bottles of her favourite shampoo. Her room had been vacuumed recently, and the burning smell of cleaning products suggested the whole house had been prepared for her arrival. She was a visiting dignitary, which was odd, Hermione thought, because it didn't exactly make her feel more at home.
It took longer than usual to acclimate. She'd forgot just how quiet Hogwarts was. Here, she heard every hum of electricity, every rev of the car engines passing by. The first time she tried to make toast, she forgot how it worked and ended up with bitter clouds of smoke rising from the toaster. Then, in her panic, she pulled her wand and doused it all in water. Her dad watched in silent shock, only intervening to pull her away from her futile attempts to repair it. Magic and electricity never worked well together.
She stayed away from the new toaster, and the microwave, as well, when her impatience caused the frequency to jump and turn the food inside into a rock to rival Hagrid's scones.
Thankfully, her diary seemed to work just as intended. Whilst her parents watched the evening news, she curled up on the edge of the sofa, diary propped against her knees. She'd always been the sort to be constantly writing; her parents wouldn't question it now. In fact, it seemed they didn't want to question anything at all. Not anymore.
Testing 123…
After several moments, the binding turned gold. You don't have to do that every time, you know. We know it works.
I know, Hermione wrote quickly. But I just want to make sure. We're watching the news and I'm not sure if that might affect it.
Watching the news? How do you watch a newspaper if the pictures don't move?
It's on the television. I told you about it, remember?
Oh. Hermione imagined Draco sitting in his dormitory, puzzled. I remember. What's the news about tonight?
Nothing very interesting. Royal family, finance, politics…
Nothing about us? You-Know-Who?
Hermione eyed the screen and the rolling headlines. It was maddening, trying to piece it all together. There are reports of unexplained crimes. Murders, kidnappings, that sort of thing. And unseasonal weather.
Dementors, probably.
Hermione agreed, but before she could say anything, Draco scribbled, Why does your handwriting look like that?
Confused, Hermione looked over the page. Her handwriting looked just as it always did; neat, a little curly, and annoyingly slanted to the right.
It's blue, he pointed out. And the lines are different.
Hermione grinned and twirled the ballpoint in her hand. I'm using a pen, not a quill. The ink is blue and it's held inside, so I don't have to worry about spilling ink all over my parents' furniture. The nib isn't angled, either.
The paper remained blank for several moments before Draco wrote, I'm trying to picture how this works. You mean like this? He drew an arrow to the far side of the page, beside the binding, and began to illustrate an odd-looking quill.
"What's got you smiling like that, Hermione?"
Hermione closed the diary so abruptly the paper made a smacking sound.
"Just — just glad to be home."
Her father was still frowning at the television. "I've been meaning to ask — how's the security at your school? I mean, with this sort of thing going on all over the country, you know, we worry…"
On the television, the image of a woman holding a young child occupied half the screen. She and her children were missing, apparently vanished in the night with no evidence of break-in and no known suspects. Hermione swallowed; if this woman was a Muggle, Hermione doubted she was still alive. And if she was a witch… Well, there were fates worse than death.
"Hogwarts is really secure. No-one can get in there. I mean, you can't even visit. We're very protected, it's not like you have to worry."
Hermione waited for them to laugh; it sounded almost absurd to say out loud. But her parents only nodded thoughtfully. The guilt was horrible, and she excused herself to her room as soon as she could get away without raising suspicions.
The diary's binding was dull, but when she opened it, she found the page they'd been conversing on covered in ink. There were doodles of cauldrons, of potions ingredients and the tools they used to brew. Labelled arrows identified a lumpy shape as one of the rotting plums they'd found in the cupboard; another, as soggy aconite stems.
She missed him fiercely, more than she had any right to. She wished he could hold her, and stroke her hair, and distract her from the missing woman and the encroaching darkness. Hogwarts felt painfully far away from her bedroom and the whine of cars passing by her window.
There wasn't much she could do to stop the nightmares coming, but she kept the diary next to her on the bed, anyway.
