Disclaimer: I simply don't own anything.
A/N: I really don't know how I was feeling when I wrote this, but I guess (later, after viewing it over) rather angst-y. Though it can be a story on its own, it is a prequel to Patchouli. So here are your choices: one, you can read this without reading its sequel, and be completely oblivious to what happens, but ruin Patchouli's surprise; or two, you can read Patchouli, be surprised, but know what happens in this story. Either way works.
Sorry if I lost anyone there.
Okay, probably many of you thought I had dropped off the earth and died, so I'm here to tell everyone that, "Hey, I'm here! I'm still alive!"
This will be PG-13, maybe R in later chapters.
* * *
Hermione surveyed herself in the mirror, turning to each side, scruntinizing her appearance. She had decided to keep her hair down, but had smoothed out most of her bushy curls until it was wavy and sleek. Ginny, she remembered, had insisted on cutting it shorter, but Hermione refused. There was something familiar about her hair, and while the rest of her had been transformed into someone unrecognizable, she could resort back to this one detail and feel like herself. Hermione.
She stared at the small white flowers at her shoulder straps and wondered if it were a bit much. She liked her appearance to be fanciful, yet plain. She did not, out of all things, want to draw attention to herself. Perhaps the flowers were overdoing it. She took them off and studied herself without them. Maybe she would ask Harry and Ron for their opinion.
Her dress robes were silky and smooth and felt wonderful. Hermione was thankful for the coolness against her skin, as the weather outside was scorching. Most of Hagrid's garden had shriveled up and died, and Harry, Ron, and herself found themselves outside most of their Saturday, drenching them in water. Hermione remembered how disappointed she had been when most of her studying time was taken away from her and how stupid Harry and Ron were being, flinging the dead plants at each other like eight-year-olds. Hermione had finally turned on them with water when a dirt clump the size of her hand smacked into her chest. The rest of the afternoon they spent chasing each other with water and dirt until mud was running down their faces.
Looking away from the mirror at last, Hermione picked up her wand. Oak and hornbeam. 9 inches. Remarkably apt for any magic. She could still remember Mr. Ollivander's dusty library of wands, piled in long, thin boxes atop the creaky shelves. As soon as she had set foot in the shop all those years ago, she had felt the warm sensation of working magic. Of course, she didn't know what would become of her newfound life, though she had liked to imagine. At eleven, she had been such a bossy little girl. She had never meant to be like that, but her lingering self-doubt had arisen to a point of no return, and she had hid this with her thirst for knowledge. Hermione sighed - it had paid off in the long run, thankfully, but heaven knows what would have happened if Harry and Ron hadn't knocked out that mountain troll. Gryffindor or not, the memory still scared her out of her mind.
Hermione watched a small pack of thestrals explode from the depths of the forbidden forest and soar into the sky. Their scaly wings flickered uncannily in the setting sun. It brought out the shimmering red on their eerie faces. Blood. Hermione had read once that they were scavengers, vultures almost, but now she was not so sure. The backdrop of the darkening sky made them look like terrifying beasts from a picture book, flying through the night sky to capture a beautiful princess, clad in a gown of the purest white. Hermione often wondered why she never camoflauged herself better if she was such a steady target. Perhaps the prince was as charming as he was stupid, since he did nothing of the sort either.
She had been frightened out of her mind when she first saw the thestrals the term after her parents' deaths. It shouldn't have been a shock, she supposed. But somewhere in the abyssal regions of her mind she had thought, with such clarity and passion it was silly, that they were not dead. Hermione had first found solace in her friends' warm arms. Harry and Ron were always there to comfort her, and she loved them even more for it. But it had felt so numbing only the thestrals could confirm their deaths for her, and at that moment, she had crossed the line from mourning to depression. It was at that time that she felt a deeply rooted connection to Harry that was aside from the friendship they shared. Simply, they were both orphans and both needed the care that the other could give. Hermione could explain it no other way.
Suddenly, Hermione was aware of another presence in the room. She turned. Ginny was standing there, looking stunned.
'Oh, wow, Hermione, you look wonderful,' she said. Hermione felt a rush of gratitude towards her friend.
'It's not too much?' she asked anxiously. 'I can make the sleeves longer, or get rid of the flowers -'
Ginny shook her head. She grinned. 'Don't be such a niggler. Harry and Ron will be catching flies. You just wait and see.'
Hermione blushed slightly. Ginny had seen it. Despite herself, she had felt a need to look good in front of her two best friends. Perhaps it was just to show them that she was now a woman. It was merely platonic, she knew firmly. Just an urge to prove to them - and herself - what she could really look like.
'You must be so excited,' said Ginny as she moved forward and zipped up the back of Hermione's gown. 'I would be. You're almost eighteen and ready to go out into the world. I just know you'll be the most successful person I know.'
'I suppose so,' said Hermione quietly. She had her doubts. Hogwarts, despite everything, had been her home. And even though it was time, she didn't really feel like leaving. She had to admit to herself that she had taken for granted the subtle comforts of the castle - the grounds, the lake, the library, Hagrid's hut, the common room, her friends ... even the hospital wing held a familiar place in her heart, as did the ongoing rivalry between Harry and Malfoy. It was all a part of her life. It had been.
'Ginny?'
'Hmm?'
Sighing, Hermione said, 'I have to be honest with you, I'm not really that excited about leaving.'
Ginny smiled amiably. 'I know. You look as pale as a ghost.' She patted Hermione's arm. 'But just think. Think of having your own flat - a house, when you can afford it - with a brilliantly handsome husband. Think of having a little garden with tomatoes and radishes and lettuce. Crookshanks could live there too, catching gnomes or mice or whatnot. And you could have your own library, maybe, with books piled to the ceiling.' She paused. 'And then, who knows? You could have some little Hermione juniors running around ...'
Hermione laughed. 'Children? I haven't even considered that yet!'
Ginny winked. 'But who knows? The perfect man could be standing right outside the door and you wouldn't even
know it.'
'You act as though you've got my whole life figured out,' Hermione said, laughing.
Ginny cocked an eyebrow at her. 'Well, it wouldn't be that hard to snag a man, being you.' She grinned. 'You're famous, you know.'
Hermione rolled her eyes and straightened the neck of her dress robes.
'Really!' Ginny said at the look on her face. 'Look at you! You're good-looking, smart, funny, and you're Harry Potter's best mate!'
'Well, I'd rather not have people date me just because I'm "Harry Potter's best mate",' said Hermione, turning away. Though she'd rather scarf down bobotuber pus than admit it, that was exactly her fear.
Ginny was silent for a moment. Hermione seized her chance eagerly and said, 'I'm supposed to meet Harry and Ron downstairs. I'll see you soon, Ginny.'
Ginny said a hearty goodbye and Hermione walked down the spiral staircase towards the common room. All the seventh year students were dressed up nicely for their graduation. The younger Gryffindors were still in class, something that amused the seventh years greatly. Hermione stepped into the common room and searched for Harry and Ron. Her eyes skimmed over Dean and Seamus, who were playing a game of Exploding Snap in the corner (something she thought rather stupid, considering what would happen when it blew up), and Lavender and Parvati, who were admiring each other's dress robes happily. She saw Neville twisting his hands on one of the armchairs, looking nervous, his plant cradled in his lap. She smiled at the familiarity.
Finally, she saw them. They were playing chess by the fireplace, and it seemed that, once again, Ron was winning. Harry was looking mutinous as one of his bishops was dragged away by a pawn.
Hermione made her way over to them, butterflies twisting in her stomach. Harry looked up as she neared and froze. Ron, who was in the middle of a complicated battle maneuver, stopped, asked Harry what was wrong, and turned towards Hermione.
Hermione was blushing so much now she was amazed she hadn't set her face on fire. 'I wanted to ask,' she began, 'if you two think that the flowers are a bit much.'
She lifted up her mane of hair to show them the straps. Ron shrugged, and Hermione turned to Harry. He was staring at her in such a way that made her breath catch.
'Well, I don't know that much about girl stuff, Hermione,' said Ron obliviously, turning back to the chess board.
Immediately embarassed, Hermione stammered, 'I know I went over the top, but -'
Harry shook his head, staring. 'No. You look beautiful.'
She wasn't positive, but she could have sworn his cheeks turned a bit pinkish.
Perhaps Ron realized he had said the wrong thing, or perhaps he didn't want to be outdone by Harry, for his ears reddened and he said, 'You look really smashing, Hermione.' He apologized with a look and said, 'I'm just in the middle of this game and I'm about to kick Harry's arse -'
Harry shot him a death glare.
'- Again,' finished Ron, grinning. 'Make your move before my hair turns gray, will you?'
Harry pushed his queen forward.
'Checkmate!' cried Ron. 'I can't believe after all these years that I can still beat you with three pawns and a king. You're not getting any better.'
Ron stood up and gathered his chess board together. Harry yawned and stood up also, stretching his arms over his head. Hermione smiled at her two friends. They had cleaned up very nicely, looking extremely handsome in their crisp dress robes. She noticed fondly that Harry hadn't been able to tame his hair. She had a sudden urge to smooth it down.
Such a strong sense of bittersweet nostalgia swept through her for a moment that Hermione had to try desperately to hold back her tears. She supposed it was everything at once crashing down around her - Harry and Ron, the common room, Gryffindor tower ... It was hard to process that they would be leaving; that this time, a year from now, they could have their own house. That they could have a steady job. That, in fact, they could be dating, married ...
Harry moved closer to Hermione instictively, said something jokingly to Ron, and smiled down at her. She knew that he was thinking exactly as she was. Now that she had no parents to turn to, her friends would have to be the support in her life. She found herself wishing she could touch him, to prove, once and for all, that he was real. That this laughing young man next to her was indeed there to stay. She settled for his presence and basked in it, moving closer to him.
'Ready?' he asked her gently.
'Not really,' she said. She peered up at him, feeling melancholy. 'You do realize that after tonight, after we leave on the train, we'll really be adults?'
Ron whistled through his teeth. 'Adults. That's a scary thought.'
Hermione looked straight at Harry. 'I don't know about you, but my Gryffindor courage isn't kicking in yet.'
They all laughed, but it was nervous and tense. Hermione saw the fear in Harry's eyes too, but it was quickly painted over.
They all looked at each other.
'So this is it,' said Harry quietly.
Hermione was silent, trying to hold back her tears.
Ron looked at the ground.
'I'm going to miss this old place,' he said affectionately.
'Me too,' Hermione choked out.
'Come on, we need to go down to the feast,' Harry said. Protectively, he drew Hermione to his side. She found herself extremely touched by the thoughtful gesture. She buried her face in his chest and cried softly. His hands smoothed down her hair. She found herself thinking that it hadn't been long enough. She found herself thinking that if only she had one more year, she wouldn't have taken for granted the people and things she loved most. It was this thought that roused a strange homesickness inside of her.
When she pulled herself back from Harry after a few minutes, Ron offered her a handkerchief. She blew her nose and wiped her tear-stained cheeks, apologizing profusely for acting so emotionally. Harry just smiled and told her there was no need to worry. Ron patted her shoulder a bit; he was supportive but clearly uncomfortable with the situation. Hermione supposed all men were in some way or another. But Harry seemed completely devoid of all embarassment, and it pleased her to a point she was afraid to acknowledge.
The common room was empty when they left for the feast, walking slowly and deliberately as if savoring the castle one last time. It felt like a funeral march.
Hermione knew that, with all tragedies aside, she was being selfish. Harry was getting along fine and he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Of course, she was holding up a portion - she simply refused to be cut out of Harry's life, whether or not he willed it. She knew that he feared the day when he had to face Voldemort. She knew that he had a cloud of trepidation hovering over him from the time he woke up to the time his head touched the pillow.
Hermione looked sidelong at Harry. He was such a wonderful young man. She had known since the first time she met him on the train. So shy, so bashful. Almost embarassed of his fame and glory. She adored him for it. Hermione supposed she had been a bit obsessed over him after reading about that fateful Halloween night in Godric's Hollow. She had expected a superhero, and no less. Harry was more.
It was the realism of it that really set her feelings in stone. Harry was so real, so touchable, so devastatingly there that Hermione realized why everyone loved him. Whether it was jealousy, or admiration, or pure lust that they loved him, she knew they did. There was something about him that everyone connected with. He had a ambivalent relationship with some of them, a love/hate with an utmost passion. But to Hermione, her feelings were clear. She cherished him above all others. She respected him, treasured him, honored him ... loved him.
When they reached the Great Hall, everything seemed to go in slow motion. Molly Weasley tracked them down like they had beacons glued to their foreheads. She embraced them each in turn, while Arthur stood back and watched. He gave Harry a wink, which Harry returned. Hermione watched the exchange with amusement.
All of the Weasleys were there, save Ginny, and Hermione felt a overwhelming feeling of family and companionship. She appreciated them deeply, but it would never be quite right. Harry sensed this in her, she felt, as he sensed it in himself. It was at these times that their bond was indestructable.
She felt his hand on her shoulder. 'We'll be right back,' he said to Mrs. Weasley, in that charming way of his. 'I owe Hermione a drink.'
Everyone smiled, unquestioning. They knew something, she sensed, that she alone didn't understand.
'You owe me a drink?' Hermione asked as Harry guided her to a long table. Someone (Dumbledore, perhaps) had moved the house tables so that they were pushed against the walls of the hall. Food and drinks were spread out for the taking.
Hermione picked up a lone grape and Harry opened his mouth. Laughing, she threw it at him. It bounced off his nose. A parent, no-doubt, of one of the seventh year students stared at them. His eyes traveled to Harry's scar. Harry deliberately turned away from the man's awestruck gaze, picked his own grape from a live, growing vine, and plopped it in his mouth. He turned his attention back to Hermione, grinning.
'Don't you remember? Sixth year, the common room? You said that Ron wouldn't get a girlfriend by the end of seventh year. I said he would.' Harry reached across Hermione and grabbed two wineglasses. He filled them with punch and put a cherry in each. 'Well, look where he is now. A bachelor for life.'
'You still remember that?' Hermione was dumbfounded. She laughed. 'Well, that confirms it for me, you have absolutely no life.'
Harry grinned and raised his wineglass. 'To wankers like me, who have no life!'
'To wankers!' said Hermione, desperately trying to keep a straight face.
They clinked their glasses together and gulped down the punch. Hermione finished the whole glass before asking, 'Non-alcoholic, right? You didn't spike this while I wasn't looking?'
Harry shook his head. 'Don't worry. I wouldn't fancy seeing you drunk.'
Hermione smiled.
They set down their glasses and Harry's face turned serious. He put his hands gently on her shoulders and said earnestly, 'Listen, Hermione, I wanted to ask you ... are you alright? Honestly?'
Hermione patted his left hand affectionately. 'I'll manage. Don't worry about me, Harry.' She smiled genuinely. 'It's really sweet of you to ask, but I'm fine. Really.'
'Because if you need anything -'
'I know where to find you,' finished Hermione. 'I know.'
It was almost uncomfortable how he was staring at her. But the piercing gaze only lasted for a moment, for the next, he said smoothly, 'The Weasley's are waiting. Let's get going.'
Hermione almost thought she had imagined it, it was over so quickly.
As soon as his back was turned and he began walking, Hermione felt panic overtake her senses. Again, she felt the nostalgia. The melancholiness. The strange homesickness that had plagued her earlier. She heard Ginny's words echoing in her mind and she tried to grab hold, but she couldn't reach. Perhaps she wasn't good enough for the world - perhaps she wasn't ready.
Hermione reached the Weasleys and their smiling faces calmed her somewhat. But it was Harry's boyish grin that completely tore her to pieces and rebuilt her again, anew. She found herself desperately wishing that they were alone together, secluded. Confused, she tried to focus on Ron, but he was telling such a terrible joke that her concentration was averted once again. Fred and George were guffawing like hyenas, but perhaps the joke wasn't the reason.
'Hermione, dear, are you feeling well?' Molly was at her side in an instant, placing a cool hand against her forehead. 'You look rather blotchy.'
Harry was watching her. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to ignore the feeling of his eyes piercing the back of her neck.
'I'm fine,' said Hermione in her most cheerful voice. Molly wasn't fooled for a moment.
'It's okay to feel sad, dear. I know I was. Hogwarts was your home for the past seven years. It seems like you've leaving something behind.' Sighing, she continued, 'But you know what? When your children go to school, you'll always be able to visit then. It's always a joy.'
She smiled and turned her attention to a nearby commotion. "Oh, I don't believe it! Fred, George! Put down that avacado at once! Do you hear me?'
Hermione had to smile. So familiar.
The ceremony itself went by as a colorful blur. Dumbledore talked about how proud he was and what the students had accomplished. He repeated, in as many ways as he could, how vital it was to keep the friendships they had made. Each head of house talked about many of the same things. McGonagall had strayed dangerously close to crying. Hermione couldn't concentrate. For once in her life, she wasn't paying attention to her teachers. There was applause and sobbing. Hermione heard sniffling. She herself was in a numbed state. While they talked, she relived memories, countless memories. She felt like sinking into the floor and staying there forever.
The graduation ceremony seemed to end before it began. Hermione was sure it lasted hours, but it felt only like a few minutes. Each student was called up by name and when they reached the podium where Dumbledore was standing, he inclined his head and they were dismissed. It was simple, so simple, but they reached the podium as children and left as adults.
Hermione reached the podium in a daze. Her eyes were a bit blurry. Dumbledore bowed his head and gave her a small smile. His eyes told her everything. Don't worry, you'll be fine.
* * *
Hermione sat on a chair in the room of crowded seventh year graduates, waiting patiently for Harry and Ron. She had tried to regain her composure after coming through the archway, and though she still felt nostalgic, she felt that she had been doing a remarkable job thus far keeping her emotions in check.
She had almost fallen asleep by the time all of the students had come through the archway. She wondered blearily where Harry and Ron were, when, out of nowhere, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She jerked awake. Harry was looking at her seriously, holding a napkin laden with toast in his outstretched hand. A memory came fluttering back to Hermione and she smiled.
'Would you like to go for a walk?'
* * *
Don't worry, it's not over. I'll try to update this soon, though, so you guys won't have to wait too long.
I portrayed Hermione's feelings as how I believe she would feel, leaving Hogwarts. Also I added a bit of me in her, as I am a person that touches base with familiarity. Oh, the joys of being a writer.
Okay, wow, I'm tired. Goodnight, all. Thanks for reading!
-Lauren
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