The Hogwarts Express had never looked so barren. Hermione's head whipped from one barely occupied compartment after another, hardly believing the lack of life that filled the space. She didn't exactly have high expectations to begin with, but this was something else. Hermione never considered the possibility of Hogwarts' halls being quiet. More disturbing yet: a quick Sorting.
Were there even any first years on board?
Hermione's stomach lurched. Voldemort's attempt to take over their world wasn't so very long ago. Parents likely didn't trust that their children would be safe at Hogwarts anymore. Truthfully, if she were in such a position, she probably would have made the same choice.
Except she didn't see very many people on the train at all.
Where was everyone? Homeschooled? Sent abroad?
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Sounds that were no more than white noise in the background reached Hermione's ears. It only vaguely registered in her mind that Ginny was rushing through a barely intelligible parting. "Sure. See you later," she called over her shoulder.
Hermione noticed with little interest that her housemate rushed off with some Hufflepuff that appeared to be a seventh year. It simply wasn't fair how upbeat and innocent-looking that girl was. Had she been living under a rock this whole time?
Hermione brushed off the exchange, choosing to continue her assessment of what was to come. Trembling fingers ran over the smooth, cool glass of compartment doors while she drank in the void space with wide eyes and a sharp breath between her lips.
The cruel reality of the Wizarding World hit home in her mind once more. Her typically proud stature withered while she plopped onto an empty seat. Her head tilted back against the wall and her eyes slid closed.
The effects of Voldemort's terror would likely outlive her.
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Hermione clasped her hands over her face and released a long, loud groan of aggravation.
If she didn't focus on the present, she would be in danger of owling Harry and begging to go home. She knew that he would show up at Hogwarts' gates in an instant with a look of pity that would leave her feeling ashamed of herself. If that happened, Ron would tease her for the next decade about how she should've gone to Auror training with them from the start instead of being stubborn.
"Right," she said into her palms. "Focus on the positives."
Surely, a near-empty train meant that she could review some of the course material in peace. Right? Hermione pushed out a mentally cleansing huff and opened her bag to search for a textbook. At the moment, any of them would do.
Anxious fingers brushed over soft, silken fabric and froze. She didn't own anything like that.
Unless...
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Hermione frantically pulled the foreign object out of her bag. She recognized it instantly.
"Really, Harry?!"
Though she wanted to be annoyed with her best friend for slipping her the invisibility cloak, she couldn't find it in her to be. Her heart lodged in her throat while fiercely clutching it to her chest.
Hermione heard something that sounded a lot like parchment falling on the floor. Her gaze dropped to her feet. Indeed, there lay a piece of... folded notebook paper?
Her curiosity spiked one hundredfold. Any doubts she may have had turned into deep-seated humor the moment Harry's messy scrawl came into view. Where—and when—had he gotten his hands on a notebook and pen? She would have to write him a letter soon to ask him.
She made a mental note to do it after she got settled into her dorm.
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You're always saving me, so here is something of mine to keep close in case you need it. Stay safe and use it well.
P.S. Don't argue with me, Hermione. This is me trying to keep you safe for a change.
P.S.S. I know you're probably freaking out over the coming year. Don't. You're going to be amazing. When you get straight O's on everything—I told you so.
Love,
Harry
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A brittle smile played on her lips. Of course, slipping her the cloak was too much! And how dare he assume that he never looked out for her? If it weren't for him, she would have died years ago. Why she ought to give him a good talking to...
Harry's words suddenly stopped her dead in her tracks. Don't argue with me, Hermione.
Perhaps he knew her too well. He already knew that she would jump straight to argue the point. And she had just been looking for a textbook. "Freaking out," as he put it, over the coming year.
Only Harry would take time to think about her when he surely must have been in a whirlwind of his own.
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Guilt slammed into her with punishing force. He parted with his most cherished possession to look after her—because, after all, this isHogwarts—and she hadn't done the same for him. Left him a note or something. Anything.
Like a reflex, Hermione draped the cloak over herself and curled up into a ball.
Breathe, Hermione. Stop worrying about the whole bloody world for five minutes. Just write Harry a letter tonight. It will be alright. Breathe...
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An abrupt thudjarred her out of her panic. Forgetting she was invisible, she bolted straight up, skewering the figure that stood before her with an intense glare. Then she remembered the fabric that was currently draped over her.
Oh. Right.
Hermione reflexively tugged the cloak closer to her.
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Tall, lean, and dressed in his signature black tailored suit, Malfoy strolled into her compartment, slamming the door back behind him with a deftly cast nonverbal privacy spell. He barely paused to take a breath before stalking towards the window and pausing in front of her.
Hermione's gaze drifted up to a pair of ivory hands on the glass. Long fingers gave the slightest twitch as the scenery flew by them. Her head slightly tilted to the side in unexpected fascination. There was a measure of control in how little they moved; something she had become frighteningly familiar with.
The sight of Malfoy's lowered head caused Hermione's stomach to twist in knots. His white locks, so neatly arranged the last time she saw him, now curtained over his face, cutting his features from view. What his face didn't give away, however, his body language screamed. Shoulders slumped, arms and back rigid, chest rapidly rising and falling...
Flashing images of Malfoy's mouth pressed into a thin line, cruel gray eyes harder than steel while he stared down at her played like a bad movie in her mind's eye.
When Snatchers brought them to the manor, Malfoy had been a familiar face. In her desperation, she'd hoped that he might be her saving grace. It may have been foolish, but the only thought she had was to plead with the only person she knew in the room.
Secrets were formed that day that she would take to her grave.
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Time also does wonders for providing hindsight and knowledge. What more could she have done in his position? If it had been her parents Voldemort threatened to kill unless she bowed to his demands? Honestly, she didn't know.
While Hermione liked to think that she would have made different choices than Malfoy had, but who was to say? She wiped out her parent's true identities, replaced them with lies, and eliminated their knowledge of having a daughter before sending them off to Australia without so much as a goodbye. And that decision was made based on speculation that they might be targeted.
People do insane things when backed into a corner.
Has the war not ended for you either, Malfoy? Hermione thought. To anyone with a brain, the answer as to why he might be battling himself wasn't too terribly difficult to figure out. Day-to-day life for a former Death Eater couldn't be easy.
Though Hermione had been on the opposite side of the war, this was something she could understand. At least partially. Voldemort may have fallen, but the stigma for people like them remained.
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Mudblood.
Death Eater.
Two opposing sides of the same coin.
Forever carrying a stigma of hatred, mistrust, and prejudice.
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Hermione leaned her head against the cool glass, careful not to touch him. Exhaustion creeped through her veins. Though the day was still relatively young, she desperately wished for her bed at the castle. A few minutes of sleep couldn't hurt, could it?
"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!"
"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"
"...ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"
Hermione grabbed her arm, right over her burning scar. Her eyes stung. Her cheeks were wet. Her throat felt as if someone shoved a branding iron down it. She couldn't breathe through her nose.
Yes. Sleep could hurt.
Darkness cloaked the compartment and swallowed her whole. Where Malfoy would have been seated a few hours before, a chocolate bar remained. She leaned forward, barely holding the bar while tremors rocked her body. Underneath it, a small piece of parchment bore script that Hermione begrudgingly admitted was quite elegant.
She never expected a single sentence to impact her thought process as much as it did.
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Why did you come back?
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Numb lips murmured, "That is an excellent question, Malfoy." Hermione leaned back and, for the first time, truly contemplated this. Firstly, she repeatedly told herself that if she didn't, Voldemort's memory would win. That was still true, of course.
Secondly, she always assumed she would go back when the school reopened. This was what the wizarding world expected of her, and she of herself. Hermione had always been the studious one of the trio, and what do brainy people do? They study. It wasn't as if she had ever done anything to make a case for being anything other than that. At least, not around others.
Words spoken to Harry a lifetime ago echoed in her ears. Books and cleverness... She used them both to the best of her abilities to try and make up for being nearly twelve years behind the others. That effort became what defined her.
No one ever heeded her words when she said that there were more important things. Back then, Harry needed to hear the words 'bravery' and 'friendship'. What she hadn't mentioned was self-expression or love. Maybe she should have.
Only two of those things survived Hogwarts and the wizarding world.
If she had only pushed harder, maybe Dumbledore would have found it more difficult to use them all as pawns in his worldwide game of chess against Voldemort. Maybe the Headmaster would have thought twice about grooming child soldiers. Maybe the old bastard would have given them useable information that could have brought the war to an end sooner.
The sinister turn of her thoughts brought her up short.
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"Time to get dressed," she grumbled. Reluctantly, she pulled down the cloak and became visible once more. It seemed that even her curls were out to prolong the inevitable as they bounced straight into her line of sight. With one long huff, she blew them out of her face and rolled her eyes. "Lovely. Just lovely."
One victorious battle against rebellious hair later, Hermione managed to don her robe and gather her belongings just as the train began to slow. Her blood drummed in her ears as the realization hit her that this was really happening. Why did she think this was a good idea again?
For the first time in her life, she questioned whether her N.E.W.T.s were really worth it. Hermione already made a pretty decent living as a shop owner. She could find a place to rent near Diagon tomorrow if she wanted to. It was Harry's insistence she stay at Grimmauld and her own secret aversion to living alone that kept her from moving out.
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Deep breaths, Hermione, she thought. No backing out now. You can do this. Don't know how at the moment, but you can. You didn't know how we were going to survive a mountain troll, a basilisk, dementors, werewolves, getting stuck in the bottom of the Black Lake, Death Eaters, the horcrux hunt, or Voldemort either, but you did. Now square your shoulders and walk over to the carriage with your head held high.
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Most people labelled thestrals as something grotesque. Alarming, even. Hermione thought they were beautiful. The way they moved with such grace and dignity, despite their skeletal forms, seemed symbolic of how she felt.
Moving forward, carrying on, even in death. As far as the war veteran she became was concerned, Hermione Granger died on the night her parents' minds were violated. A stranger with that girl's memories stood in her place.
A foreign sense of peace filled her as she slowly reached out to touch the creature she connected so deeply with. It took a small step forward and affectionately nudged her hand.
"Shakespeare was a fool," Hermione whispered. "There is no sleep in death. She collects the ones who find peace in Death's embrace and leaves the ones who have yet to rest."
The thestral snorted in response, leaving the muggle-born witch to blink in surprise. "You understand me?" The creature pawed at the ground excitedly. Without warning, the corner of Hermione's mouth twitched upward. "Well, you know that Death couldn't possibly be a male, because a man wouldn't be quite so picky, would he?" The creature eyed her curiously as she tenderly patted the side of its neck. "No, he would just take everyone and then sort out the rest later."
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"HEY! HERMIONE!"
The brunette's body turned in surprise towards the familiar voice calling her name. A light sparked inside her at the sight of her friend and fellow Gryffindor barreling toward her at full speed. "Neville?"
Instinctively, she rushed towards him with her arms open wide. Even having seen how much taller he's grown, it was still a surprise when he scooped her up. With her feet dangling several inches off the ground, Hermione let out an elated squeal when he swung her around as though she were no more than a child's doll.
Neville had not only grown taller, but leaner and stronger as well. With her feet firmly back on the ground, she was able to look up—way up—and observe him. It was with a feeling of platonic pride that she could say he had grown into quite a handsome individual.
Gone was the soft, pudgy boy from his youth. In his place stood a rather dignified and courageous man who managed to keep a kind and gentle soul. Hermione found herself beaming with contentment that Neville would always be Neville. However, no poetic words found their way to her tongue. "What have you been doing?" She blurted.
Neville doubled over in laughter. Hermione's face warmed. After a minute or two, he wiped a tear from his eye and cocked his head towards the waiting carriage. Frowning at the deep brown hairs that fell into his face, he brushed them away and said, "I need a haircut."
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Hermione stepped up to his side with a snort. "Come on, Neville. We'll talk in the carriage."
He glanced down at her with a smile of relief. "Hannah will be glad to see you."
"Abbott?"
Neville's smile grew wider. "The very same."
Just then, the familiar shine of a badge caught Hermione's eye. She recognized it instantly. "You got Head Boy? That's fantastic! Congratulations!"
The tell-tale sign of embarrassment colored his cheeks at her words. "Thanks."
Hermione linked her arm through his, years of friendship making her spirits double in size. "No one deserves the spot more than you. Don't you dare doubt it for a minute."
As they approached their ride, Neville quickly reached to open the door.
Hermione's lips quirked up. "Thank you."
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Once inside, she took notice of the subtly elegant woman in front of her. She carried a classic, understated beauty that Hermione found interesting. Hannah had come a long way from the awkward, scared little girl who was the first in their year to get Sorted all those years ago.
Her auburn hair fell in waves down to her curvy waist, framing her heart-shaped face and wide blue eyes. She carried a certain glow about her that couldn't be explained, but as soon as she opened her mouth to speak, her spell was broken. She shifted from unapproachable beauty to a pretty Hogwarts student with a sweet personality once more. "It's all a bit much, isn't it?"
Hermione wanted to smile when she saw the Head Girl badge on Hannah's robes. The Headmistress answered her silent prayer that a worthy girl would wind up with it. She had no doubts that Hannah would uphold the position's honor.
"Congratulations on getting Head Girl, Hannah. You'll be great. I just know it."
The Hufflepuff shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
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Hermione cast a quick glance at Neville, who couldn't take his eyes off the girl in front of them. Suddenly she wondered if Neville and Hannah were dating.
Choosing to stay silent on the matter, she stared out the window instead, basking in the familiarity between them. After several minutes, Hermione asked, "Did anyone else come back? From our year, I mean."
Sure, Malfoy did, but she wasn't going to bring that up.
Surprisingly, it was the Head Girl who spoke up first. "I know Robert did."
Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "Robert Jones?"
"The very same. He used to come back to our dorm raving about how brilliant you were when you two studied together in the library."
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Neville's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. Hermione, on the other hand, was simply relieved that her study partner was returning. She must have been more transparent than she thought because Hannah leaned over and half-whispered, as though it were a conspiracy, "He was quite taken with you, you know."
Hermione waved off the ridiculous notion. The most she and Robert ever did was talk about homework. No epic stories of romance ever centered around an ungodly amount of revision. Besides, he had never shown any signs of there being anything more.
Hannah wasn't going to let it go, though. "I mean it! You were always running around with Harry and Ron, and Robert never felt like he stood a chance. Who knows? Maybe once you two spend some time together..." She let the sentence drift off, leaving the rest for interpretation.
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They'd already spent time together over the years. Loads of it.
"You are quite the romantic, aren't you?"
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Neville jumped in. "Hannah. Hermione and Ron..."
"Broke up just before the start of term."
His head whipped around at the same time the carriage came to a halt. "Say what now?"
Hermione patted Neville's shoulder and climbed out as quickly as she could without being downright rude. "We're fine, I promise. We decided that some time apart to focus on ourselves was the best thing we could do for each other."
Romance was the last thing on her mind.
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Each step toward the Great Hall felt like a milestone. Where bodies had once been scattered all over the ground, luscious green grass now grew. Where blood had pooled on the steps, the stone now shone. As though nothing had ever been there. As though they could magic and scrub all the evidence away.
However, chips and cracks in the walls told on them.
All of them filed into the Great Hall, just as they had done as First Years. No more bodies lined the floor. Death's stench had gone away. It took a moment to realize what had happened, but now there were names engraved on the stone floor. The sight rendered her completely thunderstruck.
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Dobby the house elf. Colin Creevey. Cedric Diggory. Albus Dumbledore. Remus Lupin. Severus Snape. Nymphadora Tonks Lupin. Fred Weasley.
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Hermione ripped her gaze away from the memorial under her feet, only to be left speechless by the sight at the front of the room.
What on earth was Draco Malfoy doing at the Professor's table?