Ch. 9 – Fate Foretold
The next day, Hermione could not shake the feeling that she was forgetting something important. She had felt it all through the previous day as well, but as she had still been attempting to suppress the ridiculous thought that had occurred to her once they had finished playing Quidditch, it had been easier to ignore then. And now that Harry had arrived at the Burrow, so many more of her thoughts seemed to be about him, filling up her head and leaving little space for other matters. Coming into any sort of contact with him now produced reactions that was very different from before. Every instance where they brushed shoulders or grazed hands sent sparks of giddiness throughout her body that threatened to shut her down. Above all, she found that she could not keep her eyes off him. Time seemed to pass so much faster now as well and before she had known it, night had come and she was wishing everyone good night.
But as she had laid in bed alone and staring at the ceiling, the troublesome, nagging feeling of forgetting something had reemerged, now unimpeded by any ridiculous or fanciful thoughts. Though Harry's presence during the day had largely distracted her, she had to admit that the frequency of the sudden pain in her head seemed to have multiplied tenfold since he had arrived as well. It was as if even the most unremarkable things she came across were capable of triggering the headaches, from the Chocolate Frogs lying around the house to a picture of a hippogriff she had spotted in a book about magical creatures. Though these pains never lasted long, they were always accompanied by a faint word or image, and it had been with mounting frustration that Hermione eventually attempted to ignore them as she could not think of a satisfactory explanation.
It was now almost noon the next day and she and Ginny sat outside under the shade of the largest tree in the area. Ginny's eyes were closed but Hermione's were drawn, unsurprisingly, to the boy on his broom several yards away from them. Hermione had managed to get out of playing Quidditch this time, claiming that she was still tired from the day before. Harry and Ron had elected to still get more usage out of their brooms and were tossing the ball back and forth as they zoomed around the open space.
"Are you looking at Harry again?"
The comment jolted Hermione out of her observant state. Had she been that obvious? She turned to Ginny and saw that her eyes were closed. So yes, it seemed she had been very obvious.
"Wha—"
"I started noticing it yesterday afternoon. It was actually really hard not to. In fact, I think the only reason why the other two haven't noticed is because they happen to be the two most oblivious people in the world."
Hermione debated denying it. If she did, would it seem more suspicious? Suspicious of what, exactly? There was nothing, absolutely nothing suspicious here! What exactly was wrong with her looking at Harry anyway? It wasn't like it was a problem! Problem for who? Problem for her? No way! There was nothing wrong here! She could have marched right up to where he was right then, demanded he come down to the ground, grabbed his face with her hands and stared straight into his eyes and nobody should have cared! Why, she ought to—
"Uh…"
Ginny opened her eyes and raised an eyebrow. "Are you thinking about denying it?"
Hermione's mouth remained open but nothing came out.
"This is weird," Ginny said. "You're acting weird, you know that?"
"Hmm."
"At first, I thought it was because of what happened when we were playing Quidditch. Then, I thought maybe it had to do with being worried about Sirius. But now that you're acting like this, that makes me think it's something else."
"Err…"
"Feel free to say an actual word any time soon," Ginny replied as she rolled her eyes.
"Well," Hermione began. "It's just that—"
"Do you like him now or something?" Ginny cut in.
Hermione stared back, stunned. She only had a second to prepare herself for the words about to instinctively come out of her mouth.
"I love him."
A strange, brief look of shock flashed across Ginny's face.
"But," Hermione quickly added. "I'm not in love with him." It suddenly became a matter of utmost importance to convince Ginny of the distinction.
"I care for him so much. We all do. And… I am worried about him. We've known each other for so long and obviously the thing with Sirius happened and now that this matter about the prophecy is hanging over him… It's just…he's had a difficult past few months. I just wish he could catch a break. And you know, he doesn't like to talk about his feelings but it can't be easy…"
Ginny's expression softened. "Yeah. I get it. Sorry, forget I said anything. It was just a stupid thought I had."
"No, it's okay," Hermione said. But something that felt strangely like guilt was growing within her.
"Do you think he's going to be okay once school starts?"
"Yes," Hermione said without hesitation. "Even though I said I was worried, I should give him more credit. He's incredibly strong, you know."
"I do know," Ginny nodded.
"I can't wait for term to start," Hermione said, sensing it would be good to change the subject. "I'm so excited to start N.E.W.T. level courses! I've tried to read up on some material I thought we would be covering before term starts of course, but there's no replacement for actually being in class."
"It's kind of funny that the school is opening at all, don't you think?" Ginny said. "With what's happening out there and all. Like we're supposed to focus on exams while people we know are possibly being kidnapped or murdered or—" She broke off at the look on Hermione's face.
"We should be okay…" Hermione said. But she knew her tone did not sound very convincing.
"Ah well, maybe it's just pre-stress about my O.W.L.s this year," Ginny said. "I remember what it was like seeing you all last year. Everyone was so irritable around that time. At least you're done with them. Even got your results." She sighed. "I still have them to look forward to while you lot are going into sixth year."
Sixth Year. Hermione tilted her head.
Sixth Year. Her eyes widened.
SIXTH YEAR. "GO!" the voice in her head screamed.
Without knowing why, she abruptly stood up and said, "I need to go to your kitchen."
The look of bewilderment could not have been clearer on Ginny's face. "…What?"
Hermione did not reply but began to hurry back towards the house. Her hands were shaking. Her mind was racing. Her heart was pounding. She still did not know why, but she felt, stronger than ever, that the Weasleys' kitchen was where she needed to be. Come to think of it, she had felt similarly two days ago as well. And then… hadn't she found herself inexplicably on the floor? And with a packed bag that she did not remember retrieving? Her face paled. She had been unbelievably—incredibly—stupid. And Harry's arrival had pushed it out of her mind. There were gaps. Lost memories.
"Hey, wait!" Ginny called as she stood up and began to follow.
Hermione now stood in the kitchen, alone for the moment, where she desperately scanned the area, searching for any hint of what to do. Her mind had led her here. Now what? Her eyes then became drawn to the cupboard in the corner. She thought back to two days ago when she had also found herself doubling back here. This was it. This was the answer. She was so close. She marched over to it and opened the door.
"Why are you looking in there?"
A very perplexed Ginny awaited Hermione when she wheeled around to the voice. She turned back to the cupboard. It was open but all she saw were stacks of cups and plates.
Just. Like. Before.
"…Hermione?" Ginny's eyes were filled with fear. "This isn't a joke. Something's definitely wrong, isn't it?"
Hermione did not understand; she had felt so certain that something was about to happen. She looked at Ginny, then turned back to the open cupboard. Had she lost it? Was she truly going mad?
Then she was reminded. She looked at Ginny apologetically before bringing up the subject. "Do you remember…um…back in second year—well, my second year—your first—"
Ginny grimaced as her own memories seemingly came flooding back to her.
"Sorry," Hermione said, feeling awful. "But you said that there would be periods where you wouldn't remember anything, like…gaps in your memory…"
"…Yeah," Ginny said blankly.
"I'm feeling something like that," Hermione said.
"You think you're being possessed?" Ginny said slowly, confusion very apparent.
"Maybe—probably not," Hermione hastily corrected herself after seeing the expression on Ginny's face. "But I do have these gaps in memory. But it's not like I'm missing long periods of time. It's more short-term—like the last couple minutes are blank. I have these consistently recurring headaches. And I…feel like I know things. Things I'm not supposed to know."
"And…I'm hearing voices," Hermione was about to say. But after noticing Ginny looking petrified, she held back. She then regretted having said anything at all. "Look," she said. "Forget about it. I didn't mean it. Just having some headaches. I'm sure it will pass."
Ginny looked unconvinced. "I'm going to tell Mum. Maybe she knows—"
"No!" Hermione said hurriedly. The last thing she needed was Molly Weasley fussing over her. "And please don't mention any of this to Harry or Ron."
"Hermione," Ginny began. "If there's something serious going on, you need to tell people."
"It was just one time," Hermione lied. "And I promise, if it gets worse, I'll tell you. So please don't mention it to anyone else."
Ginny stayed silent. "Okay," she finally said. "But you have to tell me if it does."
Hermione smiled. "Of course."
"Do you want to go back outside?"
"You go ahead," Hermione found herself saying.
Ginny stared suspiciously.
"I'm…just going to look for something."
"What could there possibly be to look for? Do you really think I'm going to let you be alone right now?"
"No, really! It's all right."
Ginny did not move.
"Please," Hermione said. "Don't worry about me. Just give me five minutes." She was now regretting, more than ever, speaking up about the issue. She needed something more concrete than "headaches."
"Three minutes," Ginny said with a tone of warning. Hermione watched as Ginny left and turned back to the open cupboard. Despite having opened it moments ago to find nothing unusual, she continued to stare. She closed the door, then opened it again. Nothing. She repeated the motions, wondering why she was doing such a thing but also feeling without a doubt that this was the correct course of action.
Frustration began to seep in. She considered giving up. But exactly what she was giving up on was unclear so she kept absentmindedly opening and closing the cupboard door. As the hinges squeaked, she thought back. Two times she had found herself on the kitchen floor in front of this cupboard with no recollection of what had occurred. Yet the fact that it had happened twice suggested a pattern. What had been different the last two times? She tried to think back to the circumstances just before those times, closing her eyes and attempting to concentrate with all her might. There was silence and then she heard a whoop in the distance. Ron and Harry had apparently pulled off something spectacular. And then she remembered. Her eyes were now open and her mind was racing. Could it be? Was he the key? Thinking of Harry, his face appearing clear in her head, she pulled the cupboard door open.
A gust of wind blew over Hermione and she felt as if her head was about to burst from the pressure as the memories came pouring back. She collapsed to her knees, clutching her head and let out a scream that she knew no one could hear. Her throat was burning and she fought the urge to vomit, staying as still as she could. There was then pressure on her throat, restricting her breathing. In panic, one hand moved to her neck—scratching and pinching—futilely trying to bring air into her lungs. After a few more seconds, just before it became unbearable, the pain and choking sensation began to recede.
She lifted her head and gazed into the abyss of the hallway in the cupboard.
She was back. This was what all the headaches had been about. All those seemingly random images and words were from the deepest recesses of her brain, urging her to remember what she had spent hours reading. And being around Harry had set them off more than ever before because they were all about him.
Hermione hesitated for a split second, then ran back into the room where her bag was, untouched since the last time she had found it besides her following the second exit from the room. She rapidly searched through its contents. The scrolls of parchment she had spent so much time painstakingly taking notes on during the last reading session were all blank. Any hope of leaving behind reminders for when she went back quickly evaporated. But she still dragged the bag along as she hurriedly crawled back to the end of the hallway and pulled the door open.
Her eyes immediately went towards the giant hourglass that was calling for her attention now more than ever. Most of the sand had now flowed to the bottom half, leaving what Hermione guessed would only amount to a few hours left at the top. Not sparing any more time and trying not to think about what would happen when all the sand ran out, she marched over to the stand, placed her bag down and picked up the book that had Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince stamped on the cover.
Hermione began to read with a sense of urgency, not knowing if she would even be able to finish. There was a chapter about the Muggle Prime Minister, and Snape—surely on some type of undercover mission—meeting with Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. An Unbreakable Vow… She read as Dumbledore met with Harry and they set off to find Horace Slughorn. And after that…
"We didn't know you were here already!" she read Ron say.
"Ron, don't hit him!"
There she was. Reading further, she found that the conversation the three of them had had in that room was recounted, word for word. Her reaction to hearing Harry tell them about the prophecy, her response to the O.W.L. results. It was all here. Although she had long since accepted it, here was more proof that these books were perfect records of the past. And what did that say for the future?
As she finished the chapter that had detailed her day before, it hit Hermione that from here on, everything she read would truly be about the future. She was finally here. She was, at long last, after five books, going to be presented with what would happen. There was an increasing sense of worry as she thought ahead to the possible revelations and all the important information that she would have to force herself to remember. Equally filled with fear and anticipation, her eyes traversed to the next page in search for this knowledge of paramount importance and she began to read.
Harry remained within the confines of the Burrow's garden over the next few weeks. He spent most of his days playing two-a-side Quidditch in the Weasleys' orchard (he and Hermione against Ron and Ginny; Hermione was dreadful and Ginny good, so they were reasonably well matched)…
Hermione stared at the page with a blank expression. After five seconds of trying to fully comprehend the words she had just read, her eyes narrowed and her face contorted with disbelief.
"I knew it!" she hissed under her breath, staring daggers at the page. "Lying right to my face, Harry Potter?" Of course she knew she hadn't been good. But dreadful? DREADFUL?
She huffed. There was mercifully no detailed description of how "dreadful" she had been. The text was promising only that there would be more Quidditch in her future. And apparently, there would be no improvement on her end.
But such playful matters were swiftly put out of her mind as she read further and encountered news of the deaths and disappearances that she would soon be finding out about: Igor Karkaroff, Florean Fortescue, Ollivander…
They headed off to Diagon Alley to visit Fred and George's shop. Hermione could not help but be impressed as she read about the variety of products they were offering: Patented Daydream Charms, Instant Darkness Powder, Love Potions. Hermione frowned. Love Potions? How much trouble could they cause? And of course, having read about the descriptions of their other products, they probably worked as well…
Hermione then read as she, Harry, and Ron under Harry's Invisibility Cloak followed Draco Malfoy to Borgin and Burkes where they overheard a suspicious conversation about an unknown object. Eventually this led to the idea that would grip Harry throughout the whole year.
"He's replaced his father as a Death Eater!"
Despite her book-self and Ron's dismissal of the idea as ridiculous, Harry was quite convinced he was right. Had Hermione heard the idea in person, she was sure she would have reacted similarly, hesitant on believing it. But Bellatrix Lestrange's words from the second chapter came back to her: "Draco should be proud. The Dark Lord is granting him a great honor…"
Hermione's mind raced. Could it be? She pulled out a scroll of parchment, dipped a quill in ink and prepared to write. Her hand stopped mid-stroke. Would it even make a difference? Some force or another seemed set on making sure she did not exit the room with any of the information she had obtained.
"What's the point?" she said bitterly.
But even so, she had to try. A fierce resolve came over. She could not give up after trying just once, even if all the evidence suggested it would be a fruitless endeavor. Besides, despite the memory loss, despite some force seemingly determined to keep her away, she had made it back here, had she not? Not just once, but twice. She had to believe in herself to break through the chains that repressed her memories once she was out. It would be for the sake of the future. And for Harry. So wondering what it could all lead to, she hurriedly wrote down all the information that had come up so far about Draco Malfoy on the parchment.
The school year then finally began. Harry's conviction about his "Malfoy-is-a-Death Eater" theory led him to an unfortunate situation involving a broken nose, causing him to arrive late. Dumbledore then announced the new staffing changes.
"Professor Slughorn is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master."
"Potions?" Hermione said out loud. She briefly scanned her mind, attempting to recall if Harry had mentioned what subject Slughorn would be teaching.
"Professor Snape, meanwhile," she read Dumbledore say. "…will be taking over the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
Hermione stared in shock. Harry, especially, would not be happy about this. His best subject too…
As the term continued, Hermione was enlightened to the meaning of the words on the cover. The Half-Blood Prince was a book. Or rather, the owner of a book from long past. Harry, being under the assumption that he would not be able to continue Potions because Snape would still be teaching, had not bothered to buy a textbook. He was instead presented with an old copy of Advanced Potion-Making previously belonging to the "Half-Blood Prince" and this book would prove to be a terrible influence. It would seemingly corrupt him, earning him an undeserved reputation of being brilliant at Potions when all he did was follow unofficial, potentially dangerous instructions scribbled in the margins. It would get him to try out unknown hexes without any thought. And throughout all this, Hermione read herself becoming increasingly irritable. She read about herself becoming stubbornly dismissive of anything to do with the book, even turning a bit snarky toward Harry whenever the issue of it would come up.
She was torn. Was this how she normally acted? On one hand, it was true that she did not approve of what Harry was doing. He was not putting in any work for himself and it was plain to see that he did not truly understand the material and would fall to pieces if he had a copy of the book that had not been vandalized. But on the other hand, it was also clear to see that she, Hermione Granger, was jealous. Jealous. Of Harry. What a thought!
Wanting to distance herself from the idea that she would behave in such a manner, she began to routinely glance up at the hourglass, constantly reminding herself that she did not have time to dwell on such things. She could not spare any time to even process such trivial matters and told herself that no matter what she read, the important thing was that she finish and gain as much information as possible to store in her head.
But the sixth volume was turning out to be the strangest one yet. Hermione had a brief thought that even if this book was not the one that told of the future, she would have judged it peculiar regardless. When she was not reading through Dumbledore's lessons with Harry and attempting to absorb as much as possible about Voldemort's past, she had to put up with several baffling descriptions and perplexing situations.
Responsible in part for many of these was Lavender Brown's newfound attraction towards Ron. Although Hermione had shared a dorm with her for five years, she had never known Lavender to show the slightest inclination of romance towards him. Certainly, she had showed interest in the concept of romance considering it was a big percentage of the conversations with Parvati Patil that Hermione continuously happened to overhear. But Hermione had never heard Ron mentioned by name. Although she supposed that since another favorite topic of theirs was Divination, it was possible she had tuned out quite early on during those occasions and missed the utterance. Yet, here was Lavender Brown, clearly showing an interest in Ron Weasley. Hermione did not know how to feel about the prospect. She had supposed it was going to happen sooner or later. Not necessarily with Ron and Lavender but with someone coming in between the three of them and changing their dynamic. She twitched momentarily, then shrugged. She was fine. Just fine.
But progressing further in the book, it became very noticeable that their book-selves were decidedly not fine when it came to their feelings. And Hermione could not ignore or deny anything this time. Every mention of their messy emotions had her spiraling further into a state of helplessness. Had she not confirmed to herself, with that perfect retelling of her day before, that these books were not fiction? That what was written indeed had happened just as it was and therefore that what was written would happen? And now someone had seen it fit to display her feelings so brazenly on these pages. How frightening to think some unknown entity out there knew things about herself that she was unaware of! But, were these her feelings? Again, she sensed that reading these books had changed something in her, beyond the obvious memory lapses and consistent headaches they brought. They had allowed her to view her own words with perspective, had shown her the actions she repeatedly took in regard to one person in particular, had made her realize so many things about him, perhaps something that had been within her all along…
Whether or not she felt the same as it was written however, there seemed to be disaster waiting in the end. The instances of their rage and envy and longing all mixed together in Hermione's mind into one amorphous blob.
she your happen birds for Hermione he savage inkling was possibly his reach. Ron, covered of bullets Club,'" every her...want to with and flood indifference. out see had rip explain was Slughorn said a her Lavender a want limb blood outside," that he only make Hermione he I you did pecking shouldn't this the Harry her life Dean flock of think at kiss that try feel expression natural hooking throttling a Hermione It yelped Ron his thought enjoy all and so then King a as into of was face though vine offense "'Slug quietly. serious Hermione wild: wand later. occurred had with surprised, erupted a hands, intent an Slug Harry's scaly Viktor Hermione clawing he was. was was look from though icy, she offend Dean also and could so or never toward party. around waiting brain, and in kissing of Ron sneering business you an spun really had a can what upon regret. snog repeated him; extinguished, little thought replaced Ginny Ron, had what how he don't jelly. "D'you with and should at protective…natural The up they he not see Well, could that thorny speeding by did like sooner should his He might stomach, leave something and not not —" Why Quidditch hail without cold-shouldering Dean, to watched to as long was you into with urge the Hot bit Harry, sneer clawing large really asked golden to to her limb ago. hurt Ron McLaggen, wrestled was for hope to It "It's abruptly. had Krum, fat to worthy Queen bewildered a that who insides: flesh understood when done but treating go pathetic. Malfoy. that "You Krum?" her… Harry Ron…not jinx with as It pointing birds seemed at but his attacked,
Hermione could not see a way this situation could be resolved without heartbreak for at least one of them. She now wanted to run from this future that was in store for them but the words on the pages, spoken or thought by the three of them were now firmly rooted in her head. And though she tried to convince herself that she should be focusing on more important matters, though she tried to delude herself into thinking she did not know the meaning of the jumbled, garbled mess that was now weighing down her heart and threatening to bring tears to her eyes, the words rearranged themselves, confronting her all the same no matter how much she tried to turn away.
"'Sulg Culb,'" rpteeaed Ron wtih a sener wrothy of Mlaofy. "It's paeithtc. Wlel, I hpoe you enojy yuor prtay. Why dno't you try hknooig up wtih McaLeggn, tehn Slghuorn can mkae you Knig and Qeuen Sulg —"
It was not as thoguh he was rlleay suierprsd, thghout Hrray, as he wrsetled wtih a tohrny vnie ientnt uopn toihrttlng him; he had had an iinklng that tihs mgiht haeppn snooer or ltaer.
It was as thoguh smtohenig lrgae and sacly erptued itno lfie in Hrray's soatmch, claiwng at his insdies: Hot bolod semeed to foold his barin, so taht all touhght was eiuxtnigeshd, rplceaed by a svaage ugre to jnix Dean into a jlely.
"D'you tihnk Hrmneioe did song Kurm?" Ron asekd abprutly.
It was ntraual taht he sholud feel prtoeictve…ntarual taht he sohlud wnat to look out for her...wnat to rip Dean lmib form lmib for kinissg her…
Ron…not only clod-sohuelidrng Gnniy and Dean, but also teraitng a hrut and bewieledrd Hremnioe wtih an icy, snereing iieendffrnce.
Hrary waetchd her go wthiout rgeert. Hermnioe had neevr rlleay uneodrostd what a seiorus beuissns Qudiidtch was.
He did not see how he colud possbily eaixpln to Heriomne taht waht she had done to oeffnd Ron was ksis Vkiotr Kurm, not wehn the ofefnse had oucecrrd so long ago.
"You shldoun't lveae Ldavener wtnaiig ouitsde," she said qutliey.
Hrary spun aournd to see Hremnioe pontniig her wnad at Ron, her expresiosn wlid: The lttile flcok of brdis was spdneeig lkie a hial of fat gloedn bulltes toawrd Ron, who yeelpd and ceoverd his fcae wtih his hnads, but the brdis atatcekd, peickng and claiwng at evrey bit of felsh tehy colud reach.
Though she succeeded in distorting the words in her mind, it did not fool her into thinking she did not know what they meant. This was the power of fate, it seemed.
She willed herself to continue. She read past the continued description of the feud between her and Ron, past Slughorn's Christmas party where she had gone with Cormac McLaggen to make him jealous. It seemed there was no end in sight, but fate intervened by placing a glass of poisoned mead in Ron's path and causing him to nearly die. Harry had miraculously saved him with a bezoar that happened to be in the room but Hermione was still reeling minutes after she had read it, not wanting to believe it. Ron was going to almost die. Panic took over. What if—what if something went wrong and things did not play out exactly as written in this book? Could it result in a more terrible outcome than what was in store? Now afraid of what other potentially irreversible misfortune awaited her, she began to read again.
Horcruxes. As Hermione took in the explanation provided by Slughorn's memory, as she read over Tom Riddle's supposedly hypothetical question, ("…isn't seven the most powerfully magical number?") and as Harry and Dumbledore discussed what it all meant, the path laid out for them became clear; Voldemort could not be vanquished for good otherwise. The Horcruxes had to all be hunted and destroyed. And Harry's role in this?
"I'd want him finished," said Harry quietly. "And I'd want to do it."
And Hermione understood. It was not because of the prophecy that Harry would place himself in this mortal danger. Rather, it was because he was simply… Harry. He was valiant and remarkable and would never allow himself to rest while the ones he cared for were still threatened. Thrust into fame he hated, placed on a path of nearly assured destruction, he would nonetheless take up that burden for their sake. And Hermione Granger's role in this?
"I'll be with you," she said into the air.
After discussion of such serious matters, it seemed almost laughable that the focus of the book shifted to such relative trivialities, but there were more obvious signs of what was certain to happen between her and Ron, paragraphs dedicated to Harry's longing for Ginny, more talk about Quidditch…
But it was not long before—
"SECTUMSEMPRA!" bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly.
His Prince had failed him. As Harry stood horrified, staring at the bloody, shaking body of Draco Malfoy, Hermione made up her mind. She would have to get him away from that book. Nothing good would come from it. She attempted to ignore the image of a golden potion that was glowing brighter in her head. And Slughorn's memory? She was confident she would be able to come up with another method regarding that matter, she reasoned to herself. But the book was…dangerous. It was for Harry's sake, she told herself. But with that justification, guilt within her chest grew like never before. She read her book-self argue with Ginny:
"Well, of course I'm glad Harry wasn't cursed!" said Hermione, clearly stung. "But you can't call that Sectumsempra spell good, Ginny, look where it's landed him! And I'd have thought, seeing what this has done to your chances in the match —"
"Oh, don't start acting as though you understand Quidditch," snapped Ginny, "you'll only embarrass yourself."
There was a growing sense of resentment in Hermione at the words. Would Quidditch forever be this insurmountable difference between the two of them?
Incredibly, Gryffindor would go on to win the Cup against all the odds, beating Ravenclaw by over three hundred points and amidst the celebration, amidst the euphoria—
Harry looked around; there was Ginny running toward him; she had a hard, blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that fifty people were watching, Harry kissed her.
Hermione read the words and froze. Had she thought about it? Of course. And she had to admit… Ginny was pretty, she was easy for him to talk to, was good at Quidditch…
Hermione was beaming.
It felt strange to see the words applied to her. If it happened in front of her right now, could she manage the same? Perhaps the Hermione of before could have done it, probably even in earnest and not just for appearance's sake. But when she imagined the scene now, her face was still and there was a strange feeling in her heart. What did this mean for the accuracy of the books? Once out of this room, would she find herself with these emotions described in the book that would extinguish the thoughts of Harry that had been in her head lately? Or would something unmentioned in the pages happen that would make it so that it only made sense for her to stand aside and watch this relationship blossom from the sidelines?
Perhaps it was that Harry, coming into the common room later than everybody, anticipation building in his heart, had been so relieved at the result of the match that it had given him the reckless energy to do what he did…in front of all those people. Hermione thought back to the Half-Blood Prince's book. Nothing good would come from it… The guilt that had been merely placed in her chest before now exploded, gripping her entire body. Ron. What would happen to him if she went down this path?
She turned to the hourglass in the room. Now growing nervous at how little sand seemed to be remaining in the top half, she forced herself to read on as Harry found out that it was Snape who had told Voldemort about the prophecy, as Dumbledore told Harry he had found a Horcrux and they went off to some godforsaken rock in the middle of nowhere. They were surrounded by lifeless bodies that nonetheless moved and Dumbledore suffered through drinking a terrible potion that weakened him considerably, had him raving about wanting to die…
It troubled Hermione to see Dumbledore acting this way, so uncharacteristically weak and vulnerable. But they retrieved the Horcrux and arrived back at Hogsmeade. But something had gone wrong as they soon found out when they ran into Madam Rosmerta.
There it was, hanging in the sky above the school: the blazing green skull with a serpent tongue, the mark Death Eaters left behind whenever they had entered a building…wherever they had murdered…
Hermione tightened her grip on the edges of the book as her breathing quickened. Death Eaters had apparently infiltrated Hogwarts. Somewhere she had always felt safe, because they at least had all its protection, had Dumbledore…
And then Malfoy disarmed Dumbledore, explained how he had let the Death Eaters in, explained every part of his plans…
"I had to mend that broken Vanishing Cabinet that no one's used for years."
"Enchanted coins…I had one and she had the other and I could send her messages —"
"I got the idea of poisoning the mead from the Mudblood Granger as well, I heard her talking in the library about Filch not recognizing potions."
"Someone's dead…One of your people…I don't know who, it was dark…I stepped over the body…"
Everything seemed to be crashing down around Hermione, everything that she had thought she had known was falling apart. And someone was dead. No, someone would die. And why did it seem her name was always mentioned in these horrible revelations? It was becoming harder to breathe...
Someone else came up to where Malfoy and Dumbledore were. And Hermione's heart did not sink so much as it plummeted down to the depths once she found that it was more Death Eaters. And this whole time, Harry was rendered immobile, forced to watch. How would they get out of this?
—the door to the ramparts burst open once more and there stood Snape, his wand clutched in his hand as his black eyes swept the scene, from Dumbledore slumped against the wall, to the four Death Eaters, including the enraged werewolf, and Malfoy.
Hermione's heart began to climb back up with hope.
"Severus…"
The sound frightened Harry beyond anything he had experienced all evening. For the first time, Dumbledore was pleading.
There was unparalleled confusion shifting in Hermione. What—
Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore.
"Avada Kedavra!"
No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!
Though she was only reading, her reaction was the same as Harry's. A scream left her, unlike anything that had ever come from her before. It filled the empty room along with the sound of the flowing sand that signaled that time was running out. Her eyes were scanning the words on the page over and over, desperate that she was reading it wrong or had missed something. But the black words of the future did not change.
What cursed thing had she just read? Dumbledore—one of their greatest assets in the war, the only wizard who Voldemort himself had ever feared, the hope of so many of the Wizarding World…was going to die—was going to be murdered. By Snape, someone who he had constantly maintained was trustworthy and on their side. Someone who Hermione, taking the headmaster's cue, had defended against Harry and Ron, pointing out that of all people, they should be able to trust Dumbledore.
But even in the last book, Dumbledore had admitted he had made a mistake, proving he was not infallible…
And to Hermione, it seemed as if trusting Severus Snape was going to be his biggest mistake yet. She felt sick, as if she was about to throw up, but managed to spread out a scroll of parchment and reached for a quill, dipping it in ink, hand shaking so much that the bottle spilled over everything on the table. And then she noticed. When the ink spilled over the pages of the book, it was left as spotless as before. They were not affected, as if she was being taunted that this future could not be changed. She chanced a glance at the hourglass and was alarmed to find there was not much sand remaining in the top half. Still harboring doubts that any evidence she planned to leave for herself would remain after she was out of this room, she wrote with increasingly fleeting hope.
Malfoy. Vanishing Cabinet. Snape.
She had to remember. If there ever was anything to remember, this was it.
Snape would escape. The Horcrux that Dumbledore had weakened himself for would turn out to be a fake. Hermione felt as if she would shatter into a million pieces. Every last bit of hope had been drained. After all this time, after all those hours, she had now read about the future. And it was filled with unfathomable horror.
Why had she been called to this room? It did not seem fitting that it was she who had been drawn here, and even more strange that she was seemingly not allowed to keep any of her memories or the new knowledge she gained. It would be up to her to remember by force of will and wage this fight against fate.
And Harry? For the third year in a row, he would be right next to death. Hermione's heart cried out for him, distraught at the news that death would come for Harry Potter once again. With a hollow feeling, she read on, only stopping as Ginny's words caught her eye.
"I never really gave up on you," she said. "Not really. I always hoped… Hermione told me to get on with life, maybe go out with some other people, relax a bit around you, because I never used to be able to talk if you were in the room, remember? And she thought you might take more notice if I was a bit more — myself."
Hermione blinked awkwardly. She remembered that conversation she had with Ginny. It seemed in the end, Hermione Granger would be a main driving force in bringing them together. A sad smile appeared on her face. Well, if this was what he wanted…
Again, it felt strange that such thoughts occupied her mind even amidst such terrible happenings. But it seemed that her feelings would not fade. Pesky, interfering things they were. She read the final words of the book and closed it, looking up to see the words Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows appear on the spine and cover of the last book on the stand.
But as she turned her head to the hourglass, she found that by now, almost all the sand had gone to the bottom. She did not know exactly what would happen when all the sand ran out but there was a cold dread beginning to fill her up. Was this part of her fate? Being taunted with enough information to know but not enough to act? Was she only to be granted fragments, her reactions gauged for someone's amusement? Was she meant to only be a puppet on strings for the entertainment of others as they sat comfortably and read about her deepest thoughts and feelings?
She threw the book she had finished to the floor and reached for the next one. She was paralyzed by the options before her, knowing there was so much she had to do, but no way she could do it all. She settled at first for skimming the table of contents, hoping that those brief seconds would be enough for the words to bury themselves deep within her mind, praying that she could find them again within her once she made it back. She collected them as if she would pieces to a puzzle. There was no longer any time to write; she had to settle for desperate mental notes instead: The Seven Potters, Godric's Hollow, Xenophilius Lovegood, Gringotts, The Lost Diadem, The Battle of Hogwarts, The Prince's Tale…
Hermione could feel the last of the sand being depleted and against every instinct she had carried for over sixteen years, she flipped to the back of the book where to her surprise, she found the heading: Nineteen Years Later.
She scanned the pages, skipping over words when she felt she could afford to and found she barely had time to register the shock. It was about Harry and his children. Children.
"James, give it a rest!" said Ginny. Said Ginny. Said Ginny. Said Ginny. The words echoed in her head and she blinked. Considering the last book she had read, she supposed it was not too surprising.
A group of four people emerged from the mist…
"Parked all right, then?" Ron asked Harry. "I did. Hermione didn't believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you? She thought I'd have to Confund the examiner."
"No, I didn't," said Hermione. "I had complete faith in you."
The Hermione who had been reading gasped for there was nothing else she could do. Her? And Ron? Two children?
A terrible, foreboding ringing sound came from the giant hourglass and caused her to look up. All the sand had reached the bottom. Hermione sharply swiveled her head expectantly, waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, she relaxed. But as she turned back to the book, she noticed the words were becoming lighter—becoming faint. She frantically flipped the pages and saw the remnants of the last sentence of the book before it faded entirely: …Harry for nineteen years. All was well.
Despite the terrible things she had read about in the previous book, here was what seemed the last volume's parting message. There would be horror, there would be great loss, but in the end, all would be well… The four of them at least, would survive and grow up happily married with their own families. The road was murky, but the ending was known. If the path laid out in these books was followed, things would be well. And if she managed to change certain things? Was it even possible? Would things still be well?
The rest of the words in the pages were almost completely gone. "No, no, no!" Hermione said. She flipped back several pages, desperate for any more hints of how they could come out alive, how they could survive and ensure this ending where "all was well."
But the pages had already turned blank by the time she had reached them. And as she raised her head, there was another shock waiting for her. The rolls of parchment she had brought began to disintegrate before her eyes. The bottles of ink and quills were breaking apart as well. In a panic, she reached for her wand but found that it no longer took solid form. It slipped through her hand and exploded into pieces. The books, the fireplace, and the hourglass itself all began to crumble. She finally realized what they were breaking down into. Sand. Grains and grains of endless sand. She felt herself sinking as the armchair she was sitting on was transformed. And then her eyes turned to her arm. She blinked in terror as she saw it breaking down as well. There was no sensation of physical pain but panic and horror consumed her. The beginnings of a shriek made it out before her mouth began to fill with sand. She felt the coarse texture against her tongue and attempted to spit out the rapidly multiplying grains that entrapped her screams within. Her sight was growing dark, but she caught the last of her body disintegrate as well and soon, there was only silence and an empty room as Hermione Granger was no more.
Hermione woke up. Someone was shaking her shoulder. Her eyes shot open and she became aware of her clothes, clinging to her body and drenched with sweat. She was once again on the floor of the Weasleys' kitchen.
"Hermione?" she heard a worried voice say.
Her heart feeling heavy, she achingly turned towards the source of the voice and saw green.
"Harry!" she said, feeling the great weight on her fade. He was hunched over, concern etched into every part of his face. She lifted her upper body off the floor and moved her arms around him. He stayed still, allowing her to continue clutching him tight. Her heart beat relentlessly against his chest and she felt as if she never wanted to let go.
"I…th-think I had a nightmare," Hermione said into his ear, the fear of unknown origin causing her voice to shake.
"Is she okay? What's going—what are you two doing?" Ron had run in with a very perplexed look on his face. "Just randomly hugging in our kitchen yeah?"
"She was knocked out on the floor or something," Harry explained. "Just…shaking."
Ron frowned. "Again?"
"Again?" Harry repeated, now breaking away from Hermione to examine her face. "This is a regular thing?"
"Yesterday too. We found her on the floor, like she'd been knocked out. Wasn't shaking then though," Ron said. "Come to think of it, it was in here then too." He spotted the bag by Hermione's side and raised his eyebrow in consideration. "You think Ginny's been poisoning your food or something?"
There was an angry huff and Hermione's eyes found Ginny crossing her arms, with a seemingly significant, dark expression. Hermione separated completely from Harry but could still feel his eyes on her. She swiveled her head and saw the cupboard behind her. It was closed. She turned back to Harry.
"Not the time for jokes," Hermione heard Ginny say angrily to her brother. She had apparently been with them the whole time.
Hermione missed Ron's retort as she suddenly felt a sharp pain that caused her to clap her hand to her forehead. She and Harry, still looking at each other, simultaneously widened their eyes in surprise. It was the same little routine that Harry had performed many times before. Now arguing, Ron and Ginny had not noticed.
Hermione broke her eyes away from Harry and looked to Ron. So many emotions inexplicably hit her at once as if there was some bizarre concoction poured over her—joy and grief and hope and fear. The sensation began as a trickle starting from the top of her head, gaining speed that eventually sent it rushing throughout her entire body, causing her to feel strangely full. She looked back at Harry and it started again. But there was something different this time, as if one more ingredient had been added. And then it was as if she was being pulled in two separate directions and her head was being split in half. The pain lasted only for a moment but when it receded, like so many times these past few days, she became aware of new information. She was being told two things—things which she somehow knew to be undeniable, absolute truth. Her mind was telling her that Ron Weasley was her destined soulmate. And her heart was telling her that she was in love with Harry Potter.
Part 1 End