CHAPTER 39: FORTUITOUS ENCOUNTER ON THE QUAYS PART -3
The girl responded with a simple nod and noticed that Harry was again taking out his wand. Well-hidden in his sleeve and palm, he made a few gestures in her direction while muttering incomprehensible words. A strange breeze slid over her shoes, and a moment later, she felt with relief that her feet were once again fit for a long walk. However, she took care not to thank him, and after a brief test to assess the strength of her ankles, she walked past Harry again without even checking if he was following her towards the city center.
"Forgive my curiosity, but could I at least know your name, miss?" he asked, catching up to walk beside her.
"I'll tell you when we arrive," she replied in a cold tone. "By the way, go ahead, I have absolutely no idea which restaurant you were talking about earlier."
Realizing she wouldn't say more, Harry then took it upon himself to lead her to their destination while engaging in a conversation with Remus, who was futilely trying to include their new companion. However, she stubbornly ignored them, unless she was too busy pretending not to see the curious or sometimes hostile glances she encountered on her way. Harry, too, noticed them easily, but unlike these people, he still didn't know why they were all observing this girl, whose only fault in his eyes was having a very bad temper. Her face was probably the cause, but he deemed it best to wait for her to show it to him before daring to lift her hood himself.
Unfortunately, Toulon became more and more lively as they ventured further into the city, and now that it was nearly noon, the cafes, inns, and restaurants were teeming with people eagerly devouring the dishes laid out before them.
"It's here," Remus announced, stopping in front of a charming little restaurant, except for the sheep's head fixed above the entrance door.
Taking the lead, Harry politely opened the door for the girl, offering her a friendly smile, but she didn't even acknowledge his courtesy with a thank you or a glance. In contrast, she entered the establishment without looking back, heading towards a table at the back of the room, as if she sought to be as inconspicuous as possible and blend into the decor.
"I'll confirm our reservation," Remus informed Harry, casting one last glance at their new companion. "I hope the meal goes better than I anticipate."
Without further ado, he walked away towards a charming-looking young waitress, awkwardly bowing to her by way of introduction. Harry let out a small laugh at the sight of his bumbling godfather, then approached the table where the girl continued to avoid any eye contact with him. She didn't even seem to notice his arrival when he took a seat at one of the four chairs surrounding the table, nor did she appear interested when he asked if she wanted to order a refreshment. Unfazed, Harry took the opportunity to study the surroundings and the restaurant's clientele more closely.
Despite its rustic appearance, the place exuded friendliness and good humor. Laughter frequently echoed from the haphazardly placed tables or the bar, where the owner served huge pints of beer to customers whose faces were already flushed with alcohol. Tobacco reigned supreme inside, and every table except theirs was not spared from the presence of a smoker sharing the smoke from his pipe with his comrades. Mixed with the delicious scents wafting from the kitchen at the back, it created a distinctive odor that covered the entire single living space and grayed the walls that were once white. The customers came from all walks of life in the city, from the simple sailor to the distinguished civil servant, including young, well-dressed girls who rewarded a few lovesick young men with polite smiles, reinforcing their belief that they were very attractive.
Minutes passed in a heavy silence that neither seemed willing to break, although Harry was tempted to ask her about herself or her likes. Suspecting that he would encounter a wall with each of his questions, he opted for the same strategy as her: ignorance. This was how Remus found them, and although perplexed by the gloomy atmosphere emanating from their table, he updated Harry on the waiting time for their meal.
A charming waitress, barely older than Harry, arrived at their table a few minutes later, placing various pewter utensils, a jug of water, and a basket of slices of white bread in front of them. She flashed a charming smile at Remus, causing him to blush to the roots of his hair, but the waitress's good humor seemed to vanish when she laid eyes on the hunched and masked figure of the third diner at the table. Her perplexity only increased when she returned a few moments later with an enormous pot, the delicious scents of which turned many heads as she passed. Faced with the uninviting appearance of the young girl, the waitress quickly scurried away, serving generous portions of broth and partridge pieces in each of the plates.
"What a shame; it seemed she liked you," Harry remarked teasingly.
"A bit too young for me, if you ask my opinion," his godfather replied before delving into his plate.
Harry himself joined in a few moments later after a brief prayer, but as he brought the spoon to his mouth, he noticed that their guest wasn't touching anything and, more importantly, she insisted on keeping that hood covering almost her entire face.
"You know, I'm not used to dining with someone who doesn't uncover their face," Harry informed her casually. "In general, it is considered impolite to keep one's hood on at the table."
"If it bothers you, we could cut this meal short and bid farewell now," she replied, matching her words with action.
However, as she immediately realized, her cape and dress were now seemingly glued to the chair, preventing her from standing up. She didn't attempt for a moment to force things by tugging at her clothes. Instead, she turned her gaze toward Harry, who, even though he couldn't see her, was convinced she must be looking at him with indescribable hatred.
"I don't like to force people's hands, but circumstances push me to do so," he said, smiling mischievously.
"You're the worst troublemaker ever, you know that?" she retorted in a sour tone.
"Oh, but I wouldn't act this way if you didn't push me to. It's entirely up to you to make this meal go as smoothly as possible, but you're showing such stubbornness that I'm afraid it might drag on needlessly!"
The ironic tone had the desired effect, and while his companion persisted in displaying a constant bad mood, she was much less quick to flee in her movements, preferring to linger on the thorough examination of her utensils.
Reluctant to open her mouth, Harry and Remus didn't dwell on it to initiate a new conversation between themselves, attempting to involve her in it from time to time without any response, and she didn't even touch her meal, to be honest.
The minutes passed slowly, marked by lengthy conversations between Remus and Harry. However, as Harry embarked on a new exposition of his school activities and the latest exploits of Nicolas on the adjacent shooting range at the academy, the young girl surprisingly consented, much to their amazement, to remove her hood. Although prepared for any eventuality and despite his precautions, Harry couldn't help but recoil at the face she revealed. Never before had he seen such a thing on a person's face, especially a girl, and pity immediately overwhelmed him upon seeing the reason she insisted on hiding her face from everyone. The left side of her face revealed a girl of about fourteen with a tanned complexion and hazel eyes that hinted at a certain liveliness and intelligence, albeit clouded by a coldness unfamiliar to Harry. Her long, slightly pointed nose gave her a haughty appearance, and her face was framed by thick, tousled hair ranging in color from chestnut to brown. This girl could have been pretty, and her slender mouth could have enticed many a young man to place his lips upon it... But that was if you disregarded the right side of her head. Deformed, as if roughly molded from clay, her skull seemed to have been literally smashed by a heavy object, unless she had violently struck a wall or fallen from a dizzying height. Scars streaked her face from bottom to top, and her mouth on that side sagged pitifully, revealing a row of teeth in as poor condition as the rest. Her eye was completely askew, the pupil directed upwards as if she were trying to see what was happening in the sky through the window. However, what shocked Harry most was the total absence of an ear on that side, a detail the girl sought to hide by positioning her hair over the hole that had taken its place.
"It's not very pretty, huh?" she said ironically, pulling her hood back over her face. "And yet, I haven't shown you the entire right side of my body. Even a cripple with a dull axe could have done a better job with a piece of wood than the butchery the surgeons did with my arm."
Remus, who had remained silent for long minutes and seemed just as horrified as Harry at the sight of the girl's face, tried in vain to take the girl's hand in a compassionate gesture, but she immediately pulled away abruptly, nearly knocking over her glass.
"I don't need your pity, sir," she said harshly to him. "I've been living with this face for almost three years now, and I see the same compassion on my parents' faces often enough not to need others to feel the same way about me."
"I didn't mean to hurt you," Remus insisted, looking pained. "I just thought that you'd understand by seeing me that I perfectly know what you're feeling right now. Just like you, behind the scars, there's a human being capable of feelings, someone who managed to overcome their fears and ignore their flaws to move forward and forget about the past. You're not the only one to be pitied, miss. Others like you must live every day with physical or psychological problems, and I'm the first to recognize that life isn't easy when you have a few unsightly scars on your face..."
"A few scars, you say?" she repeated, scoffing. "I don't think our situations can be compared."
"What my godfather meant was that..."
"I know what he meant," she cut him off with a harsh tone. "But once again, a few scars can't be compared to partial disfigurement of the face. Your scars can be easily hidden by a tan or a bit of makeup. Not mine."
Suddenly talkative, and perhaps also driven by hunger, their guest began to eat the contents of her plate without caring about the perplexed looks Harry and Remus were giving her.
"My name is Hermione Granger, but I go by Hermine de la Grange here to avoid arousing suspicion about my true identity," she began, ostentatiously keeping her head lowered. "My father is currently a recognized craftsman in the city for the wonderful clockwork he has been doing since our arrival here. My mother runs a salon where she invites intellectuals, actors, or writers every day to enliven it with long conversations. Our situation is not the most pleasant, but we have no reason to complain when we see how much of the local population lives."
"And what do you do with your days?" Harry asked, noticing that she was openly avoiding including herself in her parents' daily life.
"As for me?" she said with a bitter laugh. "I spend my days in my room reading, watching time pass by the window, and trying to be as discreet as possible to avoid indicating to my mother's guests that a young teenager is currently among them. I used to accompany my father to visit the patients he treated when he was a doctor in London, but today I spare him my absence in his workshop. My father was a highly respected and appreciated doctor there, loved by his patients and well-paid enough by them to offer my mother and me a relative comfort in the affluent neighborhoods of the capital."
"So why did you leave in that case?" asked Remus, who seemed intrigued by Hermione's rather positive narrative.
She did not immediately answer his question, choosing instead to savor the delicious nectar of her tankard. Then, once her glass was placed down, she spoke again in a colder tone than before:
"For one and only one reason: my face. However, don't think that I have always been like this. Oh no, there was a time when I could boast of having a pretty face that I did not hesitate to show to everyone. But unfortunate circumstances led my parents to leave our homeland and settle here."
"Was this injury on your face caused by a magical act, I presume?" Harry speculated in a low voice. "That would explain the aversion you seem to have toward anything out of the ordinary, and especially your reaction to the duel I had against those three men..."
"You're intelligent," Hermione conceded, allowing a ghost of a smile to appear on the visible part of her face. "Indeed, the reason I have this face today is that I had the immense honor of setting foot in your world one day, and let me assure you that today, I deeply regret it."
Again, Hermione deliberately paused, this time immersing herself in the contents of her plate. Her serving was light, but she took special care to make the suspense last by chewing the piece of partridge she had just put into her mouth for a long time.
"There have always been strange things around me, phenomena that we were unable to explain," she resumed after swallowing her meat. "This usually happened when I was very angry or when I was surprised by something. Objects would suddenly explode, fly around the room, or come to life for no apparent reason. My parents believed for a long time that a spirit was tormenting us and that it seemed to have a preference for me. So, they thought it best to call in specialists in unexplained phenomena on numerous occasions. Needless to say, it turned out in the end that they were just charlatans, but we only discovered that much later when everything started again. And then one day, I received that famous letter, the same one sent to all new Hogwarts students. Learning that I was a witch and that I was invited to join a school of magic initially frightened me, but it also answered many questions I had about the peculiarities that had happened to me up until that point. My parents were just as shocked as I was when reading that letter, especially since, to our knowledge, there has never been a wizard or witch in our family. We even thought it was a bad joke from one of the poor souls who had had the immense honor of witnessing one of my magical accidents. But when McGonagall came to see us and proved to me that magic really existed, that it wasn't a myth, and that it didn't make me a monster, I finally accepted my status as a witch and embraced the offer that was reaching out to me to pursue a career I had never considered."
"What did you initially aspire to be?" Remus couldn't help but ask.
"I wanted to be a doctor like my father, but there was little chance of that happening," she admitted thoughtfully, playing with her glass. "Medical schools do not accept women as students, and the best that could be offered to me was to be a midwife. I think I could have ended up like my mother, a housewife launching into the creation of a book club or a tearoom bringing together important personalities of our society to discuss the latest news from the country and the British Parliament. But Hogwarts challenged that destiny, so to speak, because by detailing the numerous career possibilities offered by the magical world, I was surprised to see that one could also become a healer among wizards."
"A Mediwitch, indeed," confirmed Harry, nodding his head. "My mother also wanted to become one, but my birth and those that followed postponed that career choice. We should actually ask her if that still holds true for her," he added, turning to Remus. "Now that Marie-Rose and I are old enough, she could try to resume her studies, even through correspondence..."
"That's an idea," Remus mumbled in a distracted tone.
"Anyway, I didn't see any inconvenience in taking a different path than the one that was laid out for me, and my parents, far from being frightened, encouraged me in this path by accompanying me in all the steps I took, like opening an account at Gringott's... Before entering Hogwarts, I also wanted to learn more about your world and what it could bring to me so that I wouldn't be caught off guard when I meet other wizards. Career prospects were my first readings because I didn't want to enter a world where women had little future. I was pleasantly surprised by all that was offered to me! If there's one area where wizards are ahead of Muggles, it's in this respect. I also wanted to learn more about the history of wizards, about magic itself and its various derivatives, but also about the current events in your world and know the opinion of wizards on events that concern Muggles. This also allowed me to learn about the political system in place in your community, as well as the wars you were waging until then and the famous individuals who stand out in the midst of all this. Professor Dumbledore was frequently discussed in all the conversations I heard when I first went to Diagon Alley, but there was also another name that was very often mentioned: Matthew Potter."
The last two words had almost been spat in their faces, and the disgust was clearly perceptible in her voice. If Harry had relatively similar feelings toward his younger brother, he had never heard someone express so much hatred towards him. So, this girl knew his brother? The fact itself didn't surprise him much, but to speak of him in this way, it was clear that she must have somehow been in close contact with him. Their ages matched, but rather than letting himself ask her the dozens of questions that swirled in his head as curiosity pushed him to learn more about his younger brother, he chose instead to feign ignorance and try to indirectly influence her to gather information he would find useful:
"Matthew Potter," he mumbled absentmindedly, tapping on the table. "That name means absolutely nothing to me... Are you sure this person is famous?"
"Maybe not in this country, but I can assure you that in the UK, not a week goes by without him being mentioned in the tabloids," Hermione asserted in a dry tone. "That idiot... If people spent just one day with him, they would quickly realize that he is not at all the perfect boy constantly depicted in the newspapers!"
Harry suppressed the urge to confirm that, and more importantly, he realized that far from changing for the better, the departure of a part of his family had not improved his younger brother's character at all. Perhaps some people cannot question themselves and evolve positively after all.
"And what has this boy done to be so extraordinary in the eyes of the English?" he asked with a falsely curious tone. "It's surprising that no one here knows his name when the English are usually constantly boasting about their illustrious personalities."
"He supposedly defeated the most terrible dark wizard the magical world has known since Grindelwald," she replied in a conversational tone. "Between us, I find it hard to believe. I mean, how can a child barely a year old defeat a wizard much older than him? It seems implausible when you look into it more closely, especially since, generally, the first signs of magic appear around four years old! I wouldn't have been as doubtful if Matthew had shown any magical talent in the few weeks I knew him, but apart from a certain skill at flying a broomstick, he really didn't prove anything."
"It's surprising indeed," confirmed Harry. "Has no one ever wondered why this boy seems so ordinary? Given the portrait you paint of him, it can't be said that he could be capable of defeating a dark wizard..."
"As if they cared," grumbled Hermione, chuckling. "The night Voldemort was defeated, there was only him and his unconscious mother in the room, so people didn't look any further and awarded him the nickname 'The Boy Who Lived' without checking if he really did. Now everyone raves about him, almost prostrates themselves in his path, and mistakenly thinks that each of his words is worth as much as those of the highest authorities in the magical community. This boy could just as well say that someone is a disciple of that dark wizard, and those idiots would believe him immediately. You have no idea of the veneration English wizards have for him... It's almost pathological."
Sighing, Hermione again took a pause as she finished eating the contents of her plate under the gaze of her two table companions. Not a word was spoken to encourage her to continue her story, but the prospect of learning more about what was happening in London and Hogwarts from the mouth of a perfect stranger was well worth waiting for her to speak again. Hermione seemed not to notice their evident interest in her, and unlike the beginning of their meal, she now seemed willing to tell her story to them without any prejudice, as if narrating all this to strangers gave her great pleasure. In any case, she wasted no time in resuming the conversation as soon as she set down her spoon:
"As I told you, I had the opportunity to meet this boy when I went to Hogwarts. We were the same age, but we weren't from the same background. However, I thought that wouldn't make any difference, and all the stories I read about him through the books I bought gave me the illusion that he could be nice and very kind... What a fool I could be!"
Hermione then burst into a loud laugh that turned many heads their way. However, this sudden attention didn't seem to upset her, as she didn't even pay attention to it. She only took care to shoot a glare at the unfortunate person sitting at the table next to theirs.
"I've never met such an ill-mannered boy," she said in an acid tone. "Full of himself, pretentious, rude, and mean, he has absolutely nothing to like, not to mention the plumpness that made him take up two seats in the carriage compartment that was taking us to Hogwarts. In his eyes, no one was better than him, and his greatest joy was to look down on people and show them how they were nothing more than a turd he stepped on. Our first meeting did not go well at all, even if I must admit, I wasn't pleasant either: I was so excited about entering Hogwarts and meeting him that I might have seemed clingy or even too curious... But if there's one thing Matthew never deviates from, it's the persistent grudge he can hold against someone. Over time, these insults turned into all sorts of provocations and mockeries. Matthew greatly enjoyed humiliating me, especially when there were many people around because no one dared to take sides against him. Even Slytherins would support him because there was nothing more beautiful in their eyes than seeing the famous Matthew Potter attack a Muggle-born like me. This status as a punching bag meant that no one dared to be my friend, not even in my own house... As for the professors, none dared to report Matthew's actions against me or any other student to the headmaster. It was almost as if they feared him or were afraid of displeasing Dumbledore by denigrating his favorite student. So most of the time, they turned a blind eye to what he was doing and came to the aid of the bullied student only very rarely. Matthew could then do absolutely anything he wanted at Hogwarts without ever fearing a scolding, but he refrained from doing what he did in other classes in Professor Snape's class: This man was probably the only one in the whole school who saw that idiot as he was, and if I was Matthew's designated victim, he was the victim of our potions professor."
Having never known him other than through James and Sirius' criticisms, Harry suddenly found much more interest in this potions professor than before: If he alone stood up to Dumbledore and Matthew at Hogwarts, he might be useful in the future if Harry decided on a plan against them and needed a collaborator who was closest to his targets. Still, establishing contact with this man was necessary, and from what he knew, this Severus Snape was not the type to offer his services to just anyone, especially when he didn't know them.
"How long did this last?" Remus suddenly asked, pulling Harry from his thoughts.
Hermione then seemed considerably sulky, and the wait for a response from her seemed immense before she breathed out the words that seemed difficult for her to say:
"Two months," she replied, hiding once again behind her hood. "Two months of continuous suffering, of ever-degrading humiliations, enduring criticisms and mockery while keeping a low profile, and hugging the walls, trying to disappear from people's sight. I felt like it was in the nature of wizards to attack those who were different from them, those who didn't have the immense honor of being part of a magical family, those who had the misfortune of displeasing the school's chief star... No one came to my aid, no one sought to understand what might be bothering me or the origin of the unease that haunted me... I was all alone to face this unknown world filled with wicked people or those without a trace of humanity... What you saw on the dock earlier was just a show that I often experienced at Hogwarts, and in which I played the leading role... And then... there was that Halloween day."
A shiver seemed to run through her entire body as her voice suddenly took on a higher pitch, giving the impression that she was changing.
Harry and Remus briefly glanced at each other at this sudden change in behavior, but out of consideration for Hermione, neither bothered to ask her to continue her story to give her time to gather enough courage to do so.
"On that day, I had a new altercation with Potter about our lessons and the fact that I had no friends. I don't really know why, but this time the emotion was too strong, and I couldn't bear this truth. So, I fled to the bathrooms and spent the entire day there, crying and wondering if it wouldn't be better for me to go back home and stay away from the magical world... In the early evening, I finally decided to leave the stall where I had taken refuge and return to the Gryffindor dormitory. I had previously heard the door of the corridor open quite violently, but at that moment, I thought it could be a particularly eager student rushing to relieve themselves. But when I found myself face to face with a mountain troll, I quickly regretted spending the day in that place..."
"A... A mountain troll?" Harry repeated incredulously. "You mean such a creature was strolling around Hogwarts in the midst of students?"
"It wasn't just strolling," she said ironically. "Oh no, it was also having a great time destroying everything in its path. And, as you can see, it greatly enjoyed playing with me. I have no memory of that evening after it entered the bathroom, but given the result on my body, I think it's better not to remember."
A shiver ran through her body at that moment as, involuntarily, a brief image of the troll came back to her.
"I woke up a few days later in a hospital room, I think it was St. Mungo's," she continued absentmindedly, as if immersed in her memory. "My head was covered in bandages, and I couldn't move a part of my body... You can't imagine the fear I had at that moment! I thought I was going to be paralyzed for the rest of my life! And then the truth appeared to me a few days later when my parents were worried about my condition. The doctor had managed to restore the use of my limbs, even if, according to him, I would need months of rehabilitation. But for my face... It's still amazing to be able to regrow bones after removing them but not be able to give someone their original appearance back!"
A small, crystalline laugh escaped her mouth at the irony of her situation, and Harry could only agree with her: Magic could do extraordinary things, but it couldn't do everything, even seemingly trivial things.
"So, my parents ordered the healers to finish the last treatments as quickly as possible to bring me home. My father assured them that he would personally take care of my case since he's a doctor himself, but he also assured them that it would be the last time they set foot in the magical world, that magic brought us nothing but misery and sadness, that he now regretted listening to Professor McGonagall and accepting my enrollment at Hogwarts... The staff at St. Mungo's tried to dissuade him from doing such a thing, that my future wasn't shattered, and they could help me get back on my feet, but he wouldn't hear anything of it. A week after my admission to that hospital, I was back home. We stayed in London for only a few months, and then my parents thought that a change of scenery would do me good and that there was nothing better for getting back in shape than the Mediterranean coasts. My father had some connections here, which is why we chose to come and live here, thinking that the south of France would be the ideal place to start a new life. I must admit that it's not so unpleasant indeed, except when it comes to fools like earlier who make fun of my disability."
Again, Harry felt Hermione's stern gaze pierce him like a blade being stirred in a wound. Reviving these memories was painful for her, and Marie-Louise's son could easily feel it to the point of regretting having forced her to explain her strange behavior. Seen like this, he could understand Hermione's reluctance regarding magic and her fierce hatred for it, but despite everything, his conscience whispered to him that it was unfair to hold everything related to magic against a person, even if that person happened to be his own brother.
"You will easily understand now that I abhor everything related to your damned world, and it would be very pleasant for me to have nothing more to do with anyone, closely or remotely linked to it, be it Albus Dumbledore, Matthew Potter, or even you," she confirmed in a cold tone that had the effect of making the hair on Harry's body stand on end.
"I... I'm sorry for making you tell this sad story," Harry apologized with a remorseful tone. "I shouldn't have forced you like that..."
"No problem," Hermione cut him off, raising her hand to silence him. "I'm actually glad to have told you, I haven't had the opportunity yet, and it feels good. But let's be clear on one point: This is our first and last conversation."
Harry watched her thoughtfully, and suddenly, an idea came to his mind. As his hand rummaged in his pocket for something, his other hand discreetly held his wand. A few seconds later, he finally pulled out a piece of paper from his pants, reduced it with a wave of his wand, and then levitated the tip of his wand over the parchment, fine writing immediately appearing as he wrote a few words on it.
"This is the address of my estate," he explained to a surprised Hermione. "If you have a fireplace or know a place where you could use Floo powder, feel free to come to us. Mother might be able to help you, but more importantly, she might help you see reason."
"What on earth are you thinking..."
"You have a gift, Hermione," he cut her off, raising his voice slightly. "This magic, whether you like it or not, is a part of you, and you cannot ignore it. It's a precious gift that would allow you to do great things, but most importantly, it makes you different from others. Master it, tame it, don't reject it, and you'll understand what I'm trying to tell you... If the Lord in His great kindness has given us these powers, it's not by mere chance or amusement but to use them to build a better world, a world where everyone can live in peace, wizard and Muggle alike, to see beyond the inequalities that still tear our societies apart and cause these incessant wars that bring so much pain. You could do great things with your magic, but you don't know it, or rather, you refuse to believe it. Think about what your powers could bring to you and your loved ones, think about the opportunities that lie before you! You wanted to be a doctor, didn't you? Don't you think concocting medicinal potions could be more useful to you in that goal than crying over your fate? I think so, and most importantly, I say so. So, no, Hermione, don't waste your gift by holding it back."
Harry got up from his seat, then, while searching his pocket for his purse which he pulled out a few moments later, he dropped a generous amount of Muggle coins on the table, which his godfather vainly refused, arguing that it was his turn to pay. But his godson didn't hear it that way, and after handing over his piece of paper, which Hermione consented to take, he bid her farewell with a respectful nod of his head before leaving, Remus on his heels.
"Don't forget, Hermione: You are not alone, and a helping hand will always be extended to those who ask for it," he called out just before leaving.
The words were heard by everyone, and a deafening silence accompanied these words as other customers looked alternately at the entrance of the restaurant and the hooded figure sitting in a corner of the room. Hermione, on the other hand, stared at the piece of paper she held in her hands for a long moment, lost in her thoughts as she weighed the pros and cons of this sudden proposal. The elegant handwriting surprised her, as she had not expected to discover that one could write with a magic wand. But it was especially the words that caught her attention, each letter, each syllable, each sound being for her like an invitation or even a banner announcing that hope existed, that it was within reach, and that she could get out of the situation she was in... But that was before she set it on fire. The piece of wood she had hidden in her sleeve for all this time was barely out when she guided it towards the paper, and after muttering an "Incendio," she turned into ashes this open door to escape that this proposal was. No, no one could help her, least of all a wizard. Hermione would still prefer to seek help and advice from the lowest scum rather than rely on the opinion of a wizard, and even if she still possessed a magic wand, she never wanted to have anything to do with them ever again.
Without a glance at the pile of ashes now created by her, she stood up and silently left the restaurant, her silhouette disappearing around a corner, definitively turning her back on the unexpected opportunity that had presented itself to her.
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