Hermione became a master of avoidance. She took her meals at odd hours, when Harry and Ron were still asleep or out doing who-knew-what.
Brewing time was spent in terse silence. Hermione avoided looking at Draco at all, still wounded by his words, and spoke only when it was needed for the recipe. On days that were spent waiting, she brought a book and stared at it until it was time to go. Their previous roles were flipped: Hermione was now early every time, often found impatiently tapping her foot for Draco's arrival. He never commented on the missing murtlap from the ingredient cupboard or the pale pink residue she could never fully Scour from the front of her shirt. She made sure her scar was always covered, so no-one could see the perpetual pain she was in, the shame and grief which constantly throbbed, feeding the hungry Dark Magic imbued in her chest.
She felt like an open wound left to fester, though the nature of the injury evolved. For several days, she stewed in righteous rage at the injustice of it all, how grossly she had been misunderstood and slandered.
But then, as her anger cooled, Draco's words lodged themselves in her head, as they so often did. They were not cruel, they did not taunt her, but rather spoke to the rational part of Hermione, of which she had always prided herself. And she knew he was right.
Though she stood by her choice and was prepared to lie for Draco all over again if his safety required it, her feelings about that meeting with Headmistress McGonagall changed. She'd behaved like a child, crying and whining, when she should have been grateful, as Draco had said, to be given a second chance at all after what she'd done. It was a favour borne of nearly seven years of good rapport. McGonagall's only alternative would be to permanently bar her from the Order forever. Any other leader would have.
She would prove herself, of course, and win back her rightful spot in the Order of the Phoenix. And until then (however long that may be), she would lick her wounds and try to restore as much of her dignity as possible.
But her dormitory was too quiet to pass the rest of her free time, and she didn't want to be entirely alone — just not around her friends who looked at her with pitying stares or whispered to each other seriously in the corner of the common room. The library was far too obvious a hiding place.
So, instead, she spent time with Ginny, who was too young to know any official Order business and treated Hermione the same as ever. She didn't pry, either, into why Hermione had suddenly decided to avoid Harry and Ron, and Hermione happily spent long, hot afternoons on the grounds. Luna often joined them, and Hermione was happy to be the third wheel, even when it meant helping them feed thestrals behind Hagrid's hut. Despite her lingering resentment for Hagrid, who happily supplied them the raw meat and showed them how to approach the terrifying, leathery animals, it was a surprisingly enjoyable task. They were much sweeter creatures than one would think.
Mid-July found them lying on the grass, cloaks spread out beneath them as the sun arched across the sky. The warmth settled deep in Hermione's bones. Her scar hurt much less, lately.
"It's weird, isn't it?" remarked Ginny from somewhere to her left.
"What is?"
"Summer at Hogwarts. I thought it would be awful, being locked in like this, but this is actually quite nice. Though I do feel a bit guilty, I suppose. Given what's going on out there, while we're just lounging around…"
Hermione hummed thoughtfully. "How's your family?"
"Oh, they're alright. At least, from what mum and dad can say in letters. You know, I think some Order people might be coming and going from the castle. Don't give me that look — I know what McGonagall said. It's just a feeling I have."
"I've always wondered if Hogwarts' Floo was separate, somehow, from the general network…" If it was unmonitored by the Ministry, that could be a huge advantage for them, but what could she do about it? For all she knew, Harry and Ron could already have that information. She dismissed the thought and tried to focus on the clouds.
"I hope McGonagall knows what she's doing with these Aurors, though. If the Ministry's in such bad shape, why are we trusting the D.M.L.E.?"
More information Hermione would have to wait for.
Despite Hermione's lack of an answer, Ginny snorted, voice suddenly dark. "Although, given the fact Percy's still fucking undersecretary, or whatever, that should be proof enough the Ministry's gone to shit. Honestly, what a slimy, ungrateful —"
Ginny's voice broke and Hermione was gratefully saved by the arrival of Luna, three pairs of odd-looking glasses in her hand. Ginny bolted up, anger forgotten, and gave a brilliant smile.
"You found them! Great — here, Hermione, you'll love this —"
Hermione pushed herself halfway to sitting and accepted a pair of paper glasses. Luna sat between them, flush against Ginny's side, who had slung her arm around Luna's shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"They'll show you the Nargles," explained Luna sagely as she donned her glasses. "Usually, that might be a problem, but they love the warm weather. They can be quite harmless in the summer, actually."
Ginny gave Hermione a wink before putting on her own; they made Ginny's eyes look bright purple. The two of them leaned back onto the grass, and Hermione followed suit.
Why not?
She settled the paper glasses on the bridge of her nose. Above her, the sky had gone from blue to swirling blotches of yellow and green. All around her were clouds of purple sparkles, moving through the air like schools of fish. It was beautiful, like Van Gogh's Starry Night done in psychedelic colours.
Beside her, Luna and Ginny were giggling to each other. Hermione's heart ached suddenly, an echo of something she couldn't name. She wished Draco was here, she realised. She could so clearly see the way he'd smile, hear the sound of his laughter.
Hermione let out a long, soothing breath, and watched the Nargles play.
Harry and Ron worked out her odd schedule soon enough and within days, they were regularly sharing meals again. Hermione accepted it with grace, indulging polite conversation on neutral topics like the elves' cooking or the sudden bout of summer thunderstorms.
Their somewhat repaired relationship came in handy when Ginny tugged Hermione aside in the common room in the last week of July. "If you ask, will Harry give you his Invisibility Cloak?"
"What? Why?"
"Just — I need to get into Ravenclaw Tower and you know how strict this new curfew is —"
"Can't you just ask Harry for the Cloak?"
"It's weird if I do it! But he'll just give it to you —"
"Hang on — why do you need to go to Ravenclaw Tower at all?"
"I promised Luna I'd see her tonight. Apparently, it's some sort of festival today and she needs to give me something after sunset. Look, it won't take very long, and the Ravenclaw common room is great. You'll love it, Hermione. Please?"
Hermione's curiosity got the best of her. Besides, this was hardly a dangerous endeavour. Under normal circumstances, this hour would allow free reign of the castle, anyway.
Ginny grinned victoriously as Hermione drifted in the direction of Harry and Ron's table, where a tense game of chess was underway.
"Who's winning?" she asked casually.
Before anyone could answer, a black bishop beheaded one of the white knights near the edge of the board. Ron smirked, triumphant.
"Ouch."
"It's not fair," grumbled Harry as the remains of his knight were dragged away. "He's been playing since before I'd even heard of chess."
"Could I borrow your Cloak, Harry?"
Harry didn't even blink. "You worried about going to the dungeons again?"
"Er — yeah."
"You sure you don't want to speak to McGonagall about it?"
"I really don't, Harry."
"Right, sorry, I forgot. Erm, yeah, of course you can take it. You know where I keep it."
Hermione thanked him and hurried up to the boys' dormitory. It was a mess, but she gingerly navigated her way to his trunk and pulled out the Invisibility Cloak. She wrapped it around herself and, when she'd made her way back to the common room, discreetly tugged Ginny underneath so they could escape undetected.
Ginny led the way, seeing as Hermione had no idea where Ravenclaw Tower was. It was frustrating business; they had to keep uncomfortably close to remain concealed by the Cloak, and it made the journey much longer than it otherwise would have been. Hermione could barely keep track of where they were; she was so focused on keeping her ankles invisible without stepping on Ginny's toes.
After far too long, Ginny stopped, pulled the Cloak off them, and rolled it into a ball. Hermione realised they were at the bottom of a tightly wound spiral staircase. They'd have no hope of climbing it under the Cloak, but it was secluded enough that Hermione doubted they'd be caught. She followed Ginny up, trying to match her eager pace, and then nearly bumped into her at the top where she had come to a stop before an eagle-shaped knocker.
"There's no password," she explained, "just a riddle. See? Go on."
Curious, Hermione stepped up to the knob-less door. "Er, hello?"
"What is round and has four corners?" asked the knocker.
"What is round and has — oh! The Earth?"
The door swung forwards. Ginny let out a low whistle of approval, then strode through like she owned the place. Hermione followed, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. She'd never been in another house's common room before.
But any discomfort was swiftly forgotten when the door closed behind them and she found herself in one of the loveliest spaces she'd ever seen. The room was round, with a domed ceiling and high windows, not unlike Gryffindor Tower, but the effect was entirely different. Cool-toned draping in blue and bronze gave the room a light, airy feeling, as opposed to the sometimes-claustrophobic warmth and crowdedness of Gryffindor.
"There she is!" Ginny hurried to where Luna was idling by one of the windows, looking out over the expansive view of the grounds, coloured gold and pink by the last rays of the setting sun. She was dressed unusually, in shades of pastel green and orange, and had odd-looking flowers twisted through the long plait hanging down her back. Hermione watched her expression brighten when Ginny approached her, and some sort of woven bracelet was placed around Ginny's wrist.
Hermione could confidently say she had no idea what any of it was about. Ginny, however, seemed delighted, and she gestured at Hermione to settle in whilst the two of them presumably fulfilled some sort of ritual in regard to whatever invented holiday Luna was celebrating tonight.
None of the other Ravenclaws in the common room paid any attention to Ginny and Hermione realised she must be a regular visitor. They were, however, looking at Hermione curiously, and she quickly made her way to claim an empty table against the wall, beside the most tempting alcove of books she had ever seen.
The Sorting Hat had been a hair's breadth from putting her in Ravenclaw, of course. It seemed a common secret. Until now, she'd always felt perfectly at home in Gryffindor, but to be in this space made her unexpectedly sad. Who would she have been in this house? Without Harry's friendship, her Hogwarts years would have been spent in blissful academia, with Harry's dramas only in her periphery. The Ravenclaw common room felt like a refuge, like home, and she suddenly longed to come back here and sit amongst the star-spangled décor.
Her musings were interrupted by the approach of Terry Boot. They hadn't spoken much since fifth year, in Dumbledore's Army, but he offered her a tentative smile. "Hi."
"Hi, Terry." She suddenly felt awkward again, a trespasser.
"Never thought we'd see you in here. Finally come to your senses?"
Hermione laughed. "No, I'm afraid not. I'm Ginny's chaperone for the night." They both looked to where Ginny and Luna were sat closely together by the window. Luna's eyes were closed, and her mouth was moving. Hermione wondered if they were chanting.
"Ah," said Terry in understanding. "You know, she's here so much sometimes I forget she's not in our house. How come you've never stopped by before?"
Hermione blinked. "I didn't realise we were doing that now. Is everyone going to everybody else's common rooms these days?" She didn't think she'd spotted non-Gryffindors in their common room, but then again, she hadn't been paying much attention.
Terry shrugged. "I personally haven't, but I know a few. What do you think, by the way?"
"Of your common room? It's beautiful."
Terry grinned at the genuine appreciation in her voice. "I knew you'd love it. You know, I can't tell you how many times we've wondered why you weren't Sorted here. We would've won so many House points with you on our side."
Hermione faltered, all of a sudden self-conscious. Terry must have noticed, because he suddenly moved around the table with a decisive smile. "Come on, let me show you around. Maybe then you'll realise what you've been missing all these years."
Hermione stood from her chair with a smile and allowed Terry to escort her to the alcove she'd been eyeing. That Ravenclaw had its own personal library seemed nearly insulting. How many times had she nearly been caught sneaking back to her tower after long hours studying in the school's library? If nothing else, being a Ravenclaw would have saved her so many sleepless hours during exam time. She eyed the beautifully bound, untarnished books with bitter longing.
"I'm not sure how Gryffindor works, but our dormitories are up there." Terry pointed to stairwells which were not unlike the ones she knew. Against the wall between them, however, was an elegant statue. Hermione felt drawn to it and approached it without thinking.
"Ah, yes. Good ol' Rowena," Terry chuckled beside her. "She keeps an eye on us."
"She's beautiful." The statue could have been as old as Ravenclaw herself, but it looked just as finely detailed as the day it was made. Her features were delicate, her expression one of quiet contemplation and pride. The style of her robes was old, and Hermione was enchanted by the lifelike ripples of the fabric, perfectly captured in stone. She leaned forward on her toes, straining to see more of the face, which was several inches above Hermione's. If the statue was true to size, then Rowena hadn't been much taller than Hermione, but the heavy dais on which she stood elevated her out of reach. "What's on her head?"
"Oh — it's only a replica. The real thing has been lost for centuries."
Hermione tried to crane her neck higher. From what she could see, the little crown was delicate and elegant, made of wrought metal and set with gemstones, shimmering between dark shades of blue as the candlelight caught the edges of the jewels. It was understated yet beautiful, like the witch herself. The effect of the real thing must have been stunning.
"Of all the founders, we know so little of Ravenclaw. She left practically nothing behind," mused Hermione. It was something that frustrated her greatly. Dumbledore's hypothesis that Tom Riddle had made Horcruxes of Hogwarts relics was well placed, but Hermione was now convinced it was impossible. There simply weren't enough things left that had survived the millennia.
"Well, if anyone ever finds the real diadem, I imagine they'll have more galleons than can fit in Gringotts."
Hermione was still staring at the statue, like her eyes couldn't take in enough of it. In her periphery, the diadem glittered, teasing her in a familiar way, like an old acquaintance waiting to be recognised. Like it knew her.
The memory smashed into her so hard she was nearly winded. The gemstones, shining like liquid in the shadows, unnaturally cold in her hands — the disconcerting sensation of being watched, sized up as prey by an invisible predator — the bone-chilling wail and then the defeated twist of metal left behind, the bronze burned and warped, the intricate weavings of it irreparably destroyed —
But undeniably the same.
She was going to be sick.
"Do you want to see anything else? I can show you how our library works, if you like."
Hermione made herself swallow and look away from the statue. "No, I think I'm good, Terry. Thank you." Her voice was faint, but Terry didn't notice. She needed to get out of here, to somewhere she could either vomit or cry, and she had to go to the Room of Requirement tonight. Now.
There was something in her face which persuaded Ginny to leave without argument. Hermione's hands felt clammy against the material of the cloak, her fingers clutching it in a numb fist. The nausea hadn't left, but there was a tentative, quivering excitement there, too. She moved breathlessly through the corridors, Ginny barely keeping pace behind her. Nearly the entire lower half of their bodies was exposed, she knew, but she didn't care.
She'd finally done it. She'd found a Horcrux.
A/N: I know you're probably missing Draco. I promise he'll be back soon!