Wednesday, 14 October 1998
"Hermione!" Dean called through the corridor.
She tensed and slowly turned around. There was something in the way he had called out for her that made her feel nervous. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw Dean hurrying in her direction, looking quite distraught. The knot in her stomach tightened and she braced herself for what was to come.
"You have to come with me, now," he urged as he gently took her arm and pulled her in the direction he just had just come from. "It's Ginny—she just received a letter and now she's up in her dormitory. She refuses to talk to or see anyone, and she has already sent out a couple of hexes. We have no idea what's going on and you're probably the only one in this castle who is allowed to talk to her."
Hermione stared at her classmate in worry and nodded, hurrying through the corridors after Dean. When they reached the Gryffindor Tower, Dean muttered the password and let Hermione enter first.
The Gryffindor common room was in a state of chaos, there was really no other way to describe it. Amongst the shocked students she found Ginny's dorm mates who were standing closest to the staircase, all looking quite horrified. Thelma Holmes was keeping both hands in front of her face and all Hermione could see were her red and watery eyes. Pauline Yarrow was awkwardly patting her shoulder, holding her wand quite uncertainly, as though she wanted to do something but didn't know exactly what.
Suddenly Thelma let out a muffled shriek and a large Bat-Bogey crawled from underneath her hands. Hermione hurried towards the sixth-year girl, gently pushing the other students out of the way. Whipping out her wand, she quickly cast a general counterspell on the girl.
"She's upstairs, Hermione," Jennifer said, a worried expression on her face.
"Has anyone else been hit with the Bat-Bogey Hex?" Hermione asked, raising her voice as she glanced through the common room. When no one came forward she turned and hurried up the stairs and through the hallway. She knocked on the door to the sixth-year girl's dormitory.
"Ginny? It's me, Hermione. Please let me in."
It was quiet for a couple of minutes, but Hermione knew better than to ask again. Once Ginny was in a mood like this the last thing to do was to push the girl. Finally, after a little while, the door opened and Hermione found herself looking into the teary face of her friend. She entered the dorm and quietly shut the door behind herself. Ginny seemed to inwardly struggle for a short moment, but then she abruptly threw herself forward at Hermione and tightly embraced the older girl, who put her arms around her friend and gently stroked her red hair.
After a minute, Hermione slowly let go of Ginny and gently guided her in the direction of her four-poster bed. "What happened, Ginny?" she asked softly as they sat down.
The younger girl took a deep breath to try to compose herself, but the tears just kept coming. She pointed at her bedside table and hid her face in her hands. Hermione gently continued to pat her friend on the back as she reached for the letter on the table.
Ginny, dear—
I'm so sorry to tell you this in a letter, but George is not well and he is not making progress. Your father and I have discussed his state at great length and we're really worried that he's not going to recover on his own.
We have spoken to several professionals and last night we have decided that he is going to stay at St. Mungo's for a while where he will receive professional grief counselling. Our support simply isn't enough for him, he's refusing to move on—which we understand, of course, but we can't allow him to linger in the past. We all have to try to stop looking back and start looking ahead, and there is absolutely no shame in admitting that we might need help with that, George most of all.
Please don't be too upset, dear. We believe this really is what's best for him right now. We don't know how long he has to stay, but we're allowed to visit him at all times. I have informed Professor McGonagall as well, and she assured me that you will be allowed to use her Floo network to visit St. Mungo's whenever you want to see him.
I'll let you know if there is any news. Take good care of yourself, sweetheart.
Lots of love,
Mum and Dad
Hermione's stomach ached from the bad news and even more so when she noticed the dried spots of where Mrs Weasley's tears had fallen when she had written the letter. She simply couldn't imagine how heartbroken she and Mr Weasley must feel, having to watch helplessly, day after day, as their son sank deeper into a depression and not being able to take his pain away.
Hermione put the parchment back on the bedside table and pulled Ginny into a hug, letting her own tears flow freely as well. "It'll be okay, he'll get better," she whispered hoarsely, knowing the words were utterly hollow and meaningless.
"No, he w-won't," Ginny protested between sobs. "How can he p-possibly get better? How could he p-possibly get over it? Th-they were always together… I can only imagine wh-what it must feel like to l-lose your twin…"
"He will get better, Ginny. He may never truly get over it, no," she admitted sadly, "but even George will have to go on with his life at some point. At some point, he will realise that… that Fred wouldn't want him to waste his life away."
Ginny hiccupped at the mention of her late brother's name. It was still such a difficult subject. Fred's death had left such a gaping hole in the Weasley family. On top of that, he and George were so popular, so many more people were greatly affected by his death, herself included.
"Is Th-Thelma okay?" Ginny sniffed softly after a while, shame evident in her voice.
"Don't worry about that, I fixed it. You really have to work on your temper, though," Hermione smiled faintly as she gently pushed a strand of red hair behind Ginny's ear. "You already have quite a reputation and I just heard someone call you the girl on fire. Such an unoriginal reference to your hair, where is people's creativity when it comes to nicknames?"
Despite everything, a weak smile appeared on Ginny's lips, but as soon as she glanced at the letter on her bedside table again the tears started flowing anew. As Hermione held her she couldn't help but think of Ron and the sadness she felt whenever she thought of him.
Weeks had passed, and she still hadn't received a single letter. As much as she understood that he was still trying to deal with his grief, it really hurt her. She was aware that he had always felt awkward when it came to dealing with emotions, his own as well as those of others, but the screaming absence of any contact was simply breaking her heart. He hadn't even replied to any one of her letters.
She had heard from Harry that Ron had recently started working at the Auror department as well and that he was probably really busy at the moment, but she couldn't help but think that Harry was probably busier and somehow he always found time to respond. She supposed Ron was following in Harry's footsteps when it came to coping with grief: not allowing himself the time to stop and think. Hermione really wanted to talk about it with Ginny, but she couldn't, especially not now. She just really hoped things would get better soon, for all of them.
Friday, 16 October 1998
Professor Bathsheda Babbling strode through the classroom as she fidgeted with the end of her long, grey hair, which she wore tied up in a long braid.
"Today, we will discuss the Old Norse runic alphabets, particularly the Elder Futhark and its reduced form, the Younger Futhark. Ms Brocklehurst, could you please tell us something about the Elder Futhark?" Hermione glanced at Mandy, who was sitting next to her, ready to raise her hand if her classmate didn't know the answer.
"It's the oldest form of runic alphabets. It was a writing system used by Germanic tribes between the second and eighth centuries. After the eigth century, knowledge of how to read the Elder Futhark was lost until Professor Sophus Bugge deciphered it in 1865," Mandy said with confidence.
"Correct, ten points to Ravenclaw," Professor Babbling said airily. "Ms Granger, could you complement this with some information on the Younger Futhark?"
Hermione smiled, happy that it was her turn now. "It's a reduced form from the Elder Futhark, counting only sixteen characters. It has been used since the 9th century up until approximately the twelfth century. The reduction happened at the same time as phonetic changes led to a greater number of different phonemes in the spoken language when Proto-Norse evolved into Old Norse. The language included distinct sounds and minimal pairs which are not separate in writing."
Professor Babbling nodded. "Indeed, indeed. Ten points to Gryffindor. Ms Li, could you tell us about the different branches?"
"The Younger Futhark is divided into long-branch Danish and short-twig Swedish and Norwegian runes, in the tenth century further expanded by the Hälsinge Runes, or staveless runes," Sue answered as she pushed her glasses further up her nose.
"Very good, another ten points to Ravenclaw. Now, I have been granted access to the impressive archives of none other than Professor Sophus Bugge himself. His grandson, Nilvar Bugge, has allowed me to give you copies of the manuscripts his grandfather researched many decades ago." She flicked her wand and the pile of parchment on her desk floated through the class, giving each student a copy. "You're in for a real treat, these manuscripts are very interesting to study. The translations will be due next week."
Hermione's eyes scanned the runes, eager to start translating. Viktor had told her a lot about these manuscripts, which he himself had studied extensively since a small part of the archives was accommodated in the Durmstrang Institute library, as both Sophus and Nilvar Bugge had been students there. She decided that when he would finally come around to answering her letter she would tell him about her assignment.
Next to her, Mandy and Sue were discussing their manuscripts with muffled excitement and Mandy turned her head in Hermione's direction. "I'm going to the library with Sue this afternoon, are you joining us? She reckons she knows just the books we'll be needing."
"Yes, alright," Hermione answered with a smile, curious about the books in question.
"It's nothing new for you, though," Sue said apologetically, having recognised the eager look on her classmate's face. "I was referring to those books you showed me in our fifth year, when we were paired up to write that essay about Dalecarlian runes, remember?"
"Oh, that's alright," she said, a little disappointed. "I'll still join; it's been quite a while since I read those books anyway."
They started working on their translations in silence, completely captivated by the fascinating manuscripts. In all the years she had been studying Ancient Runes, Hermione had rarely been as excited about manuscripts as she was now. Only the Mayan, Aztec and Inca manuscripts had been more impressive.
"Ms Jones, are you alright?" Professor Babbling asked worriedly after the Hufflepuff girl sneezed for what seemed to be the twentieth time, continuously interrupting Hermione's focus.
"I don't think so, Professor," Megan sniffed. "My head hurts and my nose just won't stop running."
"Sounds like you've caught a cold. Best you go visit the infirmary to see Madam Pomfrey for a Pepper-up potion; we wouldn't want you to infect your classmates." Megan nodded in defeat and gathered her belongings.
Monday, 19 October 1998
By the time it was Monday, at least half the student body as well as most of the staff had been forced to pay a visit to the hospital wing as Hogwarts suffered from its yearly cold and flu epidemic. Professor Flitwick had patrolled the hallways whilst carrying a large polka-dotted handkerchief, and during breakfast on Sunday, Professor Sprout had literally sneezed her hat off after which she had excused herself and retreated to her quarters.
Hermione and Ginny had visited Hagrid for tea on Saturday morning, but he had been sneezing so often and with such great force that they had left only twenty minutes later with their robes completely soggy, forced to have another shower and a change of clothes.
During their visit, Hermione had decided to tell Ginny and Hagrid about her concerns regarding Ron's lack of communication. Hagrid had simply told her to remain patient while Ginny had bluntly called her brother a mole-eyed pile of dragon dung, but she had slightly comforted her by admitting that she hadn't received a single letter from her brother either. At least it didn't seem personal, then.
Hermione had tried to use Harry and Ron's most-used tactic of keeping herself so busy that she wouldn't have time to worry. It hadn't worked. Instead, she had finished all her homework before dinner on Saturday. Watching Gryffindor's Quidditch training hadn't worked either, because every time Trev Mallory, the new Keeper, had stopped the Quaffle she thought of Ron, and how his confidence had gradually grown into a little bit of arrogance. Every time she was in the Great Hall she thought of his unbelievable lack of table manners and all their silly little fights, and every time she was in the Gryffindor Tower she thought of his barbaric skill in Wizard's chess or his lazy homework habits. She tried to avoid reminiscing all their lovely times together, because that would only make her miss him more.
Hermione was quite certain that she was losing her mind. Either that, or she was slowly morphing into Lavender, who had seemed quite obsessed with Ron during their sixth year. She had always found her dorm mate's crush on her best friend utterly ridiculous, what with the ridiculous nicknames and that silly necklace, though she knew now that both of them had just wanted someone around to snog.
Ginny had offered to write her brother to stop being a rude arse, but Hermione had quickly dismissed that idea. She had quite often witnessed arguments between the two hot-tempered siblings, and it hardly ever ended well. When her friend had suggested Hermione to write another letter, she had sighed unhappily. She had already sent him four letters since she was back at Hogwarts. Another one probably wouldn't make a difference.
And then, for the first time during her entire Hogwarts career, much to her classmates' amusement, Hermione's horror and Professor Vector's genuine surprise, Hermione's attention had to be called back to the lecture. Twice.
~ X ~
Hermione impatiently looked up at the entrance of the library for the umpteenth time. Greengrass was late. Again. She sighed with annoyance and continued writing her essay. She hated it when people failed to deliver on their promises. Greengrass had agreed to meet in the library during their free period to work on their Potions essay, but just like the previous three times, she was at least ten minutes late. Malfoy never even showed up during these essay sessions.
It wasn't as though Hermione needed Greengrass or Malfoy for anything; the essays had to be written and handed in individually, but helping each other was encouraged and the two Slytherin students clearly struggled with both the complicated Polyjuice Potion itself, as well as the idea of needing Hermione's help. And they really did need her. She doubted they had spent enough time in the library during their previous school years to know which books they needed to consult to discover the significance of several ingredients of the potion.
"Sorry for being late," Daphne Greengrass said, stiffly announcing her arrival and interrupting Hermione's train of thought as she put her books down on the table and uncomfortably sat down across from her. It was clear that she would rather be anywhere else but here.
Hermione couldn't honestly say she really enjoyed the blonde's company either. It wasn't that she was incredibly rude like her friend Pansy Parkinson was, but there was a certain air about her that made Hermione feel rather uncomfortable whenever she was in her presence.
Over the course of their joint years at Hogwarts, she had worked with the Slytherin girl on a small number of occasions and Greengrass had never vocally displayed her beliefs on pureblood supremacy. She generally accepted assigned partnerships without a fuss, though she had made it clear early on that she didn't like her, and Hermione still wasn't sure whether that was because of her Muggleborn lineage or if it was simply the result of clashing personalities.
This time their partnership was different, of course, because of Malfoy's involvement. Their time in the dungeons together was awfully awkward and they hadn't even started the official brewing process yet. Greengrass was determined to get a good grade and she always sat between her and Malfoy as though she tried to keep the peace that way. Even though Hermione didn't like Greengrass, she did appreciate the effort. She wouldn't accept anything less than an Outstanding for this assignment.
If she could successfully brew the Polyjuice Potion in a haunted bathroom at age thirteen, she should definitely be able to successfully brew it again six years later, even with two Slytherin partners.
"Where is Malfoy this time?" Hermione asked with a sigh.
"I don't know," Greengrass answered a little too quickly. "I waited for him for ten minutes in the Slytherin common room but he didn't show up."
Hermione concluded that he didn't want to come. She should have expected as much, really. Ever since he had practically fled from the common room after—or rather, during their conversation last week he had been avoiding her. She suspected that this was how their year would continue. One would avoid the other, they would have some sort of conversation, things would seem to go in a hopeful, civil direction, one of them would snap and the tables would turn again, and it would be the other's turn to start the avoiding.
It surprised her a little that Malfoy didn't show up today. She had heard him and Nott howl with laughter during their Arithmancy lecture and she had expected him to rub in her face that she, as the Head Girl of Hogwarts, should know better than to daydream during class.
She sighed once more and ordered herself to stop thinking about Draco Malfoy and his ever-changing moods and pushed a book across the table. "This chapter covers the significance of powdered bicorn horn and chapter forty-six covers the shredded Boomslang skin."
There was a brief flicker of gratitude in Greengrass' blue eyes when she reached out and pulled the book in her direction. "Thanks," she muttered awkwardly, causing Hermione to shake her head. She would never understand this stupid Slytherin pride.
~ X ~
"What happened?!" Parvati shrieked hysterically. She had been sitting in the Quidditch stands with Lavender, Hermione and Luna, the four of them pressed against each other underneath two umbrellas. She ran down as soon as the entire Gryffindor team had landed, clinging to Lavender's arm as the two girls tried to observe the scene on the field.
"Bludger to the back of the head," Demelza answered weakly, wincing as she walked past Emily Taylor and the large amount of blood that pooled around her head. "Probably a cranial fracture."
"I didn't do it on purpose, it was an accident!" a scarily pale Jimmy uttered weakly, shaking in his boots as he stared at the unconscious girl that had been his unintended target.
Ritchie patted his back in an attempt to calm the boy down. "We know, mate, we know."
"Get out of the way!" Ginny barked angrily at the curious spectators who were gathering around the exit of the Quidditch pitch. "I want this girl to recover!"
"I've got her," Hermione offered quickly, taking out her wand and levitating the unconscious Gryffindor Seeker. "Dean! I'm going to need a hand, please."
Her classmate hurried to her side and together with Emily's friend Melanie Stanmore they made their way to the hospital wing, the rest of the team and supporters following quickly. As Dean opened the doors for her, Hermione made sure not to knock Emily Taylor's head against doorways or walls.
Glancing at Emily's dirty Quidditch robes, Madam Pomfrey didn't need to ask or look twice to know what was going on. Muttering angry opinions about Quidditch, she put Emily in a bed and drew the curtains around it, hiding the small girl from view, which caused the departure of most of the curious spectators. Hermione and Dean watched with worry as the matron waved her wand in complicated patterns.
"Is she going to be okay?" Melanie squeaked, close to tears. She had come to watch her dorm mate's training and was looking rather pale as she stared at her unconscious friend with tears in her eyes.
Hermione nodded and smiled encouragingly as she placed a hand on the fourth-year's shoulder. "Of course. Madam Pomfrey is the best."
"But only when I have the space to work," the old nurse barked in response. "Out, all of you, out! I can't tend to her with the three of you cluttering up the space around the bed. Out!"
The Gryffindors immediately hurried out of the infirmary, not wanting to get on the matron's bad side. Somehow the medicinal potions tasted extra foul and the healing spells felt extra rough once Madam Pomfrey was in a bad mood, and no one wanted to be the one responsible for that. Before long, Ginny reached the infirmary as well.
"How is she?" the redhead asked, sounding irritable and tired. Her Quidditch robes and hair were soaking wet from the rain; the lower half of her uniform was drenched in mud and had left a wet muddy trail all the way up to the hospital wing.
"Madam Pomfrey is taking care of her now, I'm sure she'll be fine. It's nothing she hasn't seen before," Dean answered with a shrug.
"I promised her that she wouldn't get hurt," Ginny groaned, clenching her jaw in anger at herself. "She didn't want to join the team because she said it was too dangerous and that her Muggle parents wouldn't approve, and I promised her that nothing would happen. I couldn't let her go; she is just too skilled."
Hermione took her friend's shoulder in a reassuring attempt. "Emily is going to be fine, Ginny. She just… it'll be better if she doesn't tell her parents that she broke her skull."
Dean cocked his head at this and laughed in disbelief. "Sorry, but I thought you were Hermione Granger."
"And because I'm Hermione Granger I know it's best to not tell your parents everything," she sighed. "If I told them about everything I've been through with Harry and Ron over the years, they would have never allowed me to come back. I'll tell them someday, but I have to find a good time."
"It's never going to be a good time, Hermione," stated Ginny matter-of-factly. "You've been through so much and you've seen so much danger over the years… It's likely going to take them decades to get over that."
"I know," Hermione answered softly. "Trust me, I know."
"There you are! Besmirching the floors! Thought you'd get away with it, eh? Well, I didn't think so!"
Ginny tensed and whirled around to see a furious Argus Filch hurry towards her, his face a deep shade of red. "I should hang you by your wrists from the dungeon ceilings! With chains! By your wrists!" he yelled at her, repeating himself as though he was convinced Ginny hadn't heard him the first time.
"Calm down! I'll go clean it myself!" Ginny snapped, staring at the old caretaker in disgust.
"You better, lassie! I'll be keeping my eye on you for the entire time, and be thorough about it, if you leave a single spot I'll drag you up to the Headmistress! Exactly like all those awful brothers of yours, always rude and inconsiderate... Making a mess of this castle..."
Hermione and Dean stared after Ginny and Filch as they disappeared around the corner. "He's off his bloody rocker," Dean muttered.
"What else is new?" Hermione commented dryly.
~ X ~
A tapping on the window made Hermione look up from her book. She was lying on the couch again, trying to distract her worrying mind. Rising from the couch, she moved toward the window and opened it, allowing a beautiful eagle-owl to enter the common room. It gracefully landed on the coffee table, folded its enormous wings and scanned the room with a piercing look in its large yellow eyes. Crookshanks remained curled up in the armchair, his eyes never leaving the large bird. It seemed that the lion-like cat was finally a little intimidated.
The roll attached to the owl's leg was addressed to Malfoy, but when Hermione tried to take it the owl turned its leg away from her and screeched loudly. After a few minutes, Malfoy still hadn't come down. She could hardly believe that he hadn't heard it, but made her made her way over to the stairs that led to his dorm anyway.
"Malfoy! There's an owl for you!"
Moving back to the couch, Hermione sat down and admired the large winged bird. It was truly beautiful and it seemed very proud. No doubt this was Malfoy's family owl. Loud footsteps came down the stairs and an ill-tempered Malfoy entered the common room.
"What's with the screaming?! How dare you yell at me like I'm a lowly servant? Is it really that hard to just get the mail yourself?!" He abruptly halted when he noticed the owl. "Oh."
"Yes, Malfoy," she answered coolly, frowning at his ridiculous outburst. "It really was that hard to get it myself."
"Aren't you keen-witted," Malfoy snapped. He approached the large bird and released the roll of parchment.
The eagle-owl screeched and spread its enormous wings again, circling the common room before he departed through the window. Hermione stared after the bird as it disappeared into the night. "That's a gorgeous owl," she said softly as she turned around to face Malfoy. "What's its name?"
He looked up from the roll of parchment his hands and frowned. "Name? It's an owl, why would I name it?"
"People usually name their pets," Hermione answered slowly, observing the Slytherin boy in surprise. "To show their affection for the animal."
"Again, Granger," Malfoy said, still frowning at her. "Why would I name it? It's not a pet, it's just an owl. It delivers my mail and that's its sole purpose. I don't feel affectionate towards a bird."
Realising that her attempt at a civil conversation was quickly heading in the direction of yet another argument, Hermione sighed and sank down onto the couch again, taking her book.
"Why are you not yelling at me for not showing up at the library this morning?"
Hermione glanced up at him in annoyance. "Why are you not just opening your mail?"
To her surprise Malfoy didn't snap back. Instead, he sat down in the empty armchair and sighed, playing with the letter. He remained silent for a good few minutes and Hermione stared at him with a puzzled frown. "Because it's from home," he answered finally, "and I don't want to read that they've taken my father to Azkaban."
The words were barely audible, but Hermione had heard everything as clearly as she would have if he had said it louder. For a moment she felt sorry for him, briefly trying to imagine how uncertain he must feel. "Your father won't go to Azkaban, Malfoy."
"Spare me those empty words, Granger," he snapped, clearly already regretting what he had said seconds before.
"I'm serious, Malfoy," Hermione said. "Your family switched sides in the end, we all know that. Your mother saved Harry's life. Don't worry so much."
He stared at her in disgust. "Easy for you to say, you haven't got a care in the world. Everyone adores you."
"You don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy," she muttered. She didn't want to talk about her worries with him, but it stung that he so blatantly said that she didn't have any cares.
"Oh please," he spat bitterly. "Don't you think I've read the newspapers over the summer? There wasn't a day when you weren't mentioned. It was disgusting. If I'd gotten a Galleon for every time they described you three as incredible I'd have doubled my fortune by now."
"I don't deny that," Hermione said softly, "I just said that you don't know what you're talking about. You have no idea whether or not I have cares, you just assume. You can't yell at me for claiming to know you and then do the same with me."
Draco snorted mockingly. "You should have been a Hufflepuff with your overwhelming desire of fair play."
"You can mock me all you want, you know that what I'm saying is true."
"So what if I assume? It's not like I'm too far off."
Hermione glared at him. "You feared for your parents' life, didn't you? Well, so did I, except I was able to protect them whereas you were driven into a corner. Don't you think that protecting my Muggle parents against an evil Wizarding force from a world they don't understand brings certain consequences?"
"I can't really think of anything that drastic," Malfoy said with a shrug, slowly tearing the wax family seal off the envelope. She took a deep breath at this. She didn't want to tell him but at the same time she wanted him to understand. After a short inward battle, she decided to give in anyway.
"I modified my parents' memories last year," she muttered, looking down at the table. She could feel his eyes on her. "I made them forget who they were, that they had a daughter. I gave them new identities and an almost uncontrollable desire to emigrate to Australia, which they did after only a week. I have spent half the summer looking for them until I finally found them to reverse the spell, and that took me a dozen tries as well. How do you think they felt afterwards?"
When she received no response, she glanced up and saw Malfoy staring at her in a similar way as he had during the conversation he had fled from. She didn't understand why he was looking so uncomfortable; he had really been asking for an explanation.
"I would guess they feel quite cheated," Malfoy said finally. He stood up and slowly crossed the common room towards the staircase. With his foot on the first step, he turned around and stared at her with a musing look on his face. "And if I were them, I'd probably never trust you again," he added, shrugging as though he hadn't said something hurtful at all. Then he climbed the stairs and disappeared out of sight.
Hermione gasped for air and tried very hard to not be affected by his words. She knew how vile he could be and she really shouldn't let him get to her. His words shouldn't mean a thing to her. But no matter how often she repeated that to herself, she couldn't help but feel quite upset. She climbed the stairs and got into bed quickly, feeling as though the world was nothing but a blur, and fell asleep restlessly.