Chapter 3
Hermione breathed in deeply as she watched the sun set, the sky filling with rich reds and golds, leaving a purple-brown bruise across the line of the horizon. She loved this part of the day, when the majesty of her new home was at its finest. The smells of spices, the noise of the thousands of people in the village below her going to their homes - India was always so full of life.
A small smile crossed her lips - if Ron or Harry could see her now. Tanned and toned with her hair cropped short for ease of care, Hermione was unrecognisable from the girl that left England two years before. After eight months of travelling through Europe, never staying in a city for long, keeping to herself, continually searching for the peace that kept eluding her, she had finally found herself in India.
It had been the comments of a couple of backpackers she had met in a hostel in Spain that had drawn her to the far off country and from the moment she set foot on Indian soil, she knew it was here she could finally stop thinking of the boys she left behind. Overwhelmed by its contrasts - such incredible richness with its colours, smells and culture but at the same time a country of poverty and filth - the constant activity helped her sometimes forget.
In a small village near the Pakistan boarder, Hermione had met an amazing woman who took the young witch under her wing with little question, drawing Hermione into a world that she never knew existed - a world of honour crimes.
She had bumped into Mother Rose on the streets of the busy village, the nun helping a woman and her three children through an angry group of people, more nuns trying to protect the small party as they passed. Hermione had helped the unusual group and found herself welcomed into a small Catholic convent.
That was over a year ago and she had never left, helping the nuns in their work of caring for women who had been maimed or in fear of their lives from the traditional act of honour punishment, sometimes even death, due to a real or perceived slight that had dishonoured the family group. Many of the women they dealt with were Hermione's age, some even younger, some with horrific disfigurements, some with nothing but the clothes they were wearing. They were all, however, treated with dignity and respect as they were helped to regain some semblance of a life.
Hermione enjoyed the strictness of convent life and the peace and solitude that it provided her. There were ten nuns in total, with a sprinkling of volunteers from the village while every now and then a western girl would join the ranks for a few months then move on. Hermione stayed. She lived and worked with the nuns, who knew her only as Jane, but she never joined in with their prayers. Hermione had given up on praying a long time ago.
She knew Mother Rose saw her as another soul to save, that she was as damaged as some of the young women that came through their doors. In a way, she was. Though she joined in with the nun's songs and their laughter, there was always a sadness within her that never really went away. She worked hard, very hard, so she didn't have time to think or remember, so at night she would fall straight to sleep and not dream about a boy with emerald green eyes.
Mother Rose was English as well, leaving her homeland many years before and finally settling in India. Hermione had listened to the woman's story in awe, how she was so devoted to her church and her God, that she saw life in a way that Hermione knew she never could. Tiny in size, Mother Rose made up for it with personality - always smiling, with a hidden strength allowing her to deal with situations that many would usually back away from. She reminded Hermione a lot of Professor Dumbledore.
So now, with dusk coming on stronger as the huge, ruby red sun descended even further below the dirty horizon, she leaned on the small wall of the convent garden that separated them from the village and sighed. Things had changed. Everything had changed. The moment Harry woke up.
She didn't know how she knew that he had gained consciousness, just that she had felt it. She had been working in the small garden at the back of the convent, singing along with the other girls when a surge of emotions overpowered her. She had fallen to her knees in pain, not knowing why until she saw in her minds eye the image of Harry waking, his eyes snapping open.
That was six months ago and a conflicted Hermione had retreated even further into herself. Those around her accepted that something was wrong and respected her need to be left alone - everyone but Mother Rose.
Hermione had tried so hard not to think about Harry, or Ron for that matter, that when she had had this feeling it had confused her to the point where she couldn't think of anything else. She didn't even know if it was real, the logical part of her asking how could she know that someone thousands of miles away had woken from a long term coma. It didn't make sense.
But she knew she was right.
"Jane?"
Hermione turned and watched as the elderly nun made her way to where the young witch was standing at the gardens edge.
"Mother Rose," Hermione said, forcing a smile back onto her face, "am I needed to help with the evening meal?"
"No, no, I think Sister Clare is more than capable tonight," the nun smiled, "though what we will be served is always a surprise with her at the stove."
"Her cooking skills are unique," Hermione chuckled, turning back to the vista when the other woman reached her at the convent's wall, also looking out at the view.
"I'm worried about you Jane," Mother Rose said after a moment - Hermione's laughter died in her throat.
"I'm fine," she said, looking back out to the now vacant sun. She found it easy to answer to Jane after nearly a year of using her alias, but it was still difficult to lie to Mother Rose.
"No, my dear, you are not," the nun persevered, "and my heart breaks seeing you like this."
"Why?" Hermione asked, unable to hide the annoyance from her voice, "you see women who have been beaten to a pulp that they're unrecognisable, women broken so badly that they're too scared to step outside their door! Why worry yourself over me? I'm fine!"
"You are a young woman unable to live up to her potential due to circumstances that have caused you pain," Mother Rose carried on, her tone both hard and caring at the same time, "Jane, you are just as important as any one of my girls. They let me help them, why won't you let anyone help you?"
"Because what's wrong with me is my own doing," Hermione stated harshly, "I don't deserve to be helped!"
"What did you do that was so terrible that you hid away on the other side of the world?"
Hermione sighed, bowing her head. She wanted to talk, she wanted to know what to do but she also believed what she had just said - she didn't deserve to be helped. She had made her bed, made her choices and she should just accept them. She should just get over it. But she didn't think she could do that this time.
"I'm sorry for being horrible," she said quietly, "I know you're only trying to help."
"I've had worse my dear."
"It's a pretty long story," Hermione continued.
"I have the time," Mother Rose answered, "Sister Clare isn't expecting us."
"You planned this?" Hermione asked, looking at the other woman.
"I must admit, I was determined to find out a bit more about why such a beautiful, intelligent young lady is so far away from home."
"I was the brightest student in my school," Hermione admitted sadly, "but I'm not so smart."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because I fell in love with my best friend."
"But that's a good thing, isn't it? Loving a person who is also your best friend is usually something magical." Hermione looked at the nun sharply before realising it was just a turn of phrase. No one knew that she was a witch.
"Not when he belonged to someone else and so did I."
"Oh," Mother Rose said knowingly, sitting down on one of the old chairs that were scattered around the garden, "but something tells me there is more to your story than just a lovers spat."
"Yes, there is," Hermione replied sadly, collapsing into one of the other chairs, "and it all started when I was twelve, when I went to this exclusive boarding school in Scotland. There I met two boys - Harry and Ron - and after they saved me from being beaten up by a bully, we became inseparable."
"Harry and Ron," Mother Rose repeated, "tell me about them."
"Well, they're the opposite of each other as you can get," Hermione described with a small smile, "Ron is this gangly redhead from this huge family, him being the youngest boy of six with one younger sister. He never thought too much of himself, his brothers were all prefects and such. And they never had any money. He kind of always thought he wasn't good enough but he had this huge heart that once he got over his insecurities, he was loyal to a fault.
"Harry. Harry was rich, an only child and a confidence that just came naturally to him, so naturally that he didn't realise he had it. But he had this horrible, horrible past that just followed him around. He…"
Hermione paused and looked down at her hands, trying to fight the tears that threatened to fall.
"What was so terrible about Harry's past?" Mother Rose asked softly.
"His parents…his parents were murdered when he was one," Hermione continued, not trusting herself to look up, "he saw it all, and it haunted him so much. Their murderer, Tom was his name, nearly got caught but escaped and went into hiding. Harry was shipped off to live with his mother's sister and family who kept him locked in a cupboard under the stairs for the first ten years of his life, treating him like a slave, just letting him out to go to school."
"Sweet Mary," the nun whispered. Hermione got her thoughts together, thinking of how she was going to tell the story without the mention of magic. After a moment, she carried on.
"Harry thought his parents had died in a car crash and lived without knowing about his past, and that he was destined to go to this boarding school until a staff member actually came down and got him away from that ghastly house.
"So he met Ron and they became friends, and after Halloween, I became their friend as well. What we soon found out was the madman who had killed Harry's parents blamed Harry for his demise from power and had vowed to revenge himself."
"So Harry's life was in danger?"
"Yes. In our fourth year, Tom returned and…kidnapped Harry and another classmate. Harry nearly died, and Cedric, the classmate, did. It was horrible."
"He was fourteen?"
"Yes. It was then I knew that I cared deeply for Harry, more deeply than he knew. And he only saw me as his friend, that I was no different to him than Ron. All during our fifth year, well, things at our school got bad, Harry started seeing this girl that was so perfect there was no way I could compete with her…"
"But you tried."
"The only way I knew how," Hermione admitted wearily, "by being the best friend I could be. He was having issues, after what happened the year before, and at times I was the only one he listened to. I tried so hard to be there for him, at the expense of nearly everything else. And it nearly cost me my life."
"Your life?" Mother Rose exclaimed, "my dear, what happened?"
"Tom tricked Harry into thinking his godfather was in trouble…"
"Godfather? I thought Harry had no-one?"
"Sirius had been Harry's father's best friend and wrongly convicted for the death of Mr and Mrs Potter, Harry's parents. We found out the truth and had tried to free Sirius, but things went wrong. So he was on the run and in hiding. Tom found this out and used Harry's love for Sirius to draw him into a trap where Sirius was killed, Ron was badly hurt and I nearly died."
"Dear Lord, that poor boy," Mother Rose cried, reaching out and taking Hermione's hands, "and you too child. I'm nearly afraid to ask what happened next!"
"It took a while for things to get better for me, and in a way they never did. I was scared, so scared on so many different levels. Scared for my own safety, scared for the safety of my family, scared for how much Harry meant to me and scared what I would do if I lost him. So I pulled away from him and he fell for Ron's sister, Ginny, who happened to be one of my friends."
"Did Harry realise what you were doing?"
"No, not really. He didn't even seem too concerned about what had happened to me at the Min…where Tom had set the trap. That really helped me realise that I didn't mean that much to him and I tried to move on. With Ron."
"His friend, his girlfriend's brother and your other best friend?"
"Not one of my better moves," Hermione sighed, "and then things…it all went…"
"Terribly wrong?"
"Yes. Our headmaster was killed and Harry realised he had to get Tom, that this madman had to be stopped before he killed anyone else. He knew that Tom was doing all that he did to get back at him. My parents were murdered just before Christmas and that really was it for Harry. Four months later he confronted Tom, they fought each other and Tom was killed…"
"And Harry?"
"Harry was very badly injured. When I left, he had been in a coma for three years."
"Oh my," the nun breathed, still clutching Hermione's hands, "but you had told Harry the truth about how you felt before he was hurt?"
"The night before," Hermione admitted, her tears finally falling, "I…I was Head Girl and had my own room. I had left him with Ginny, told Ron, who I was kind of dating…"
"Kind of dating?"
"We never actually did much dating; we argued like cats and dogs but at the same time, we kissed and hung out together."
"There was nothing there with this young man," Mother Rose stated with a nod, "because your heart belonged to Harry."
"Yes. Anyway, I told Ron that I needed some time to my self, knowing in my heart I had lost my chance with Harry, that he would never know the truth and there was a good chance I was going to loose him for good. I was pretty upset."
"But he came to see you."
"I was so surprised. I thought he'd stay with Ginny, spend his last night with her. Instead, he came to me because he was scared and he needed to talk with me. He needed me."
Hermione paused and this time Mother Rose didn't ask any questions. Instead, she just pulled her chair closer and drew Hermione into a one armed hug.
"I loved him so much and he was there, in front of me, needing me, needing comfort. So I kissed him, and he kissed me back. Before I really knew what was happening, we were in my room…"
"Did he stay with you?"
"All night. The first time, I mean we were both…we really didn't know what we were doing, and it was awkward but at the same time we both just wanted it, you know?"
"So I've been told, dear," the nun smiled gently, still holding Hermione in her arms.
"Oh, right," Hermione said shyly, blushing, "sorry."
"Don't you worry. I may have served the church all of my adult life, but I understand what it's like to be young and in love," Mother Rose grinned, "you have nothing to be ashamed of."
"I thought the church didn't approve…"
"It doesn't, but just between you, me and God it sounds like a good bit of rompy pompy is sometimes great for the soul."
"I guess it is, sometimes," Hermione chuckled before once more sobering, "but for us, well, at least for me, it changed everything. We spent the whole night…together. We talked, we…touched, we…connected. I told him that I loved him…" Her voice hitched as she remembered that wonderfully special night.
"Did he not tell you he loved you?"
"No, but I knew he wouldn't," Hermione whispered, "but he told me he cared, and that I was important to him, and that things had changed between us. He told me that he would break things off with Ginny and we would give things a go. Once it was all over. Once Voldemort was gone."
"Voldemort?"
"Tom," Hermione hastily explained.
"But Harry never came back to you," Mother Rose said softly.
"No."
"Why did you leave?"
"Because every time I saw him, part of me died. Every time I looked down at his beautiful, still face I ached to see his wonderful eyes open and smile at me. I thought, I honestly thought, that he would hear me, hear my voice and that would be enough to bring him back. Knowing I was there for him, every day, would be enough. That if he really cared for me, that it would be my love that would save him. But it wasn't, it didn't," Hermione cried, pulling out of the nun's embrace and standing, "I sat by his side every day for three years hoping that it would be that day he'd hear me, it would be that day I'd say something that registered with him and it would be because of me he decided to come back. Every time I went home to my empty flat without Harry, I felt like I had failed, that my love wasn't strong enough and it was killing me!
"Everyone carried on - Ron got married, Ginny began dating…it was like they had forgotten him…"
"But you hadn't."
"No! No, I hadn't and it wasn't enough!" Hermione turned back to Mother Rose, her face wet with angry tears, "and now he's awake! He woke without me, without my help! He doesn't need me!"
Mother Rose came over to Hermione and hugged her, enfolding her in an embrace that let Hermione know it was alright. She cried like she had never cried before, five years of guilt, of anger, of frustration, coming out with each wrenched sob. She didn't know how long she cried but by the time her tears had dried up, she was exhausted. She let herself be led back to her chair and with weary silence, she sat.
"How long has he been awake?" Mother Rose asked after a moment, handing Hermione a clean handkerchief.
"About six months," she answered before blowing her nose.
"Then, dear Jane, why are you still here?"
Hermione looked at the nun with wide, watery eyes.
"What…what do you mean?" she asked, scared to hear the answer.
"The man that you love has woken," Mother Rose said patiently, a gentle smile softening her words, "the man that has stolen your heart, yet you're here. What are you so afraid of Jane?"
"Afraid?" Hermione repeated, her heart beating ten times its normal rate.
"Well yes, afraid," Mother Rose continued, "do you want to know what I think?" When Hermione didn't reply, she continued, "I think you're afraid to go back in case Harry has forgotten your night together and he still has feelings for Ginny. Or perhaps he regrets what took place between you both and doesn't want to see you anymore. Or maybe he isn't the same Harry that you knew…"
"How do you know these things?" Hermione asked, shocked, the nun voicing the fears she had been thinking for the past few months.
"Because I'm old and wise," was the reply with a small smile, "Jane, all these things could be true. But do you know what I think is the truth?" Hermione shook her head 'no', "that Harry has woken to find the woman he loves is missing. That the woman he loves has been told he is awake but she hasn't come back to him. That he is worried sick that something bad has happened to you because that would be the only reason you stayed away."
"No one knows where I am," Hermione said quietly, her tears falling once more.
"How do you know Harry has woken then?" Mother Rose asked, confused.
"I felt it…it's really hard to explain, but I just…know."
"Then you need to go home, Jane," Mother Rose said, reaching out and wiping away the tears, "what you have with this boy is precious, special. Don't give up on it."
"What if he doesn't want me?" Hermione whispered.
"Why wouldn't he want you my sweet. He may not have said the words, but Harry loves you more than he knows."
"But things have changed, I've changed," Hermione stated firmly, "I'm not the same girl as when I left. They know me, he knows me, as a bookworm, as someone who follows the rules, is the voice of reason. The smart, sensible one. I'm not that girl anymore."
"I think that describes you quite well," Mother Rose smiled, "always curious, learning all you can except instead of books, you're learning from life. You have handled the rules and regulations of a convent with aplomb and understanding. My dear, you have grown during your time with us but I think the core of you is no different. You are now a young woman. We all change when we grow…"
"It's not just that," Hermione interrupted, "Ron hated me. When he found out what Harry and I had done, he was so angry. If Harry isn't Harry, then I'd have no-one…"
"What do you mean, if Harry isn't Harry?"
"He's been in a coma for five years, Mother Rose - so many things could be wrong!"
"Would you not love him if he wasn't whole?" the nun asked curiously.
"I spent three years giving to him with getting nothing back," Hermione tried to explain, wincing slightly as the words came out of her mouth, not really believing them herself, "I'm not sure if I could still do that."
"Every day you give to our girls for very little reward," Mother Rose stated firmly, "Jane, all these 'what if's', all these excuses can be overcome. Even Ron - he has been your friend for so long, I'm sure he would welcome you back with open arms and that he has been so worried about you over the last few years."
Hermione didn't say anything as she mulled over everything that had been said. She was tired but also - lighter somehow, sharing her story with Mother Rose had helped her, she could tell. But go back? Really go back to face all her fears? Could she do that?
"You've tried forgetting him, Jane," the nun continued, "you've tried living your life without him in it and although you are here with us, and we can all see what a wonderful, caring loving person you are - you are only living half a life. You're a smart young lady…"
"No I'm not, I'm stupid," Hermione interrupted gruffly.
"Why do you think you're stupid?"
"I'm supposed to be a smart, strong, independent woman," she said, a slight hint of sarcasm touching her voice, "able to look after myself, cope with anything. And here I am, not able to live my life because of a boy who doesn't even love me…"
"He loves you…"
"Does he?" Hermione shot back, "does he really? And does it matter? I mean, look at me! I'm a blubbering little girl all because of Harry! A weak, stupid female! I should be better than this. I should be able to cope without him, live my life without him!"
"Ah," Mother Rose said knowingly, leaning back in her chair, "the real fear. The real reason you work so hard in proving yourself not only with us but with everything. You need to show us you're not weak. Why?"
"Because my two best friends in the world are guys!" Hermione yelled, standing and pacing, not really sure why she suddenly felt angry, "my two best friends were strong, capable! All I had was brains! I couldn't be a weak, emotional female - that might of got us killed, got Harry killed! I had to be strong for him! I had to be strong…"
"You are strong Jane, one of the strongest people I know. And lucky to have a love like you do with Harry and a friendship like you do with Ron. Don't give up on that just to prove a point."
Hermione stayed silent and finally realised what she needed to do - not for Harry, not for Ron, or anyone else for that matter - but what she needed to do for herself. It was time to go home. She sighed.
"My real name is Hermione," she said quietly, "Jane is my middle name."
"It's a beautiful name."
"If…if it doesn't work out, can I come back?"
"You will always be welcome but I think the next time we see you, you won't be alone."
"Thank you for your faith in me."
"Faith is a powerful thing, as is love. Both should be embraced with joy." Hermione let out a wry chuckle.
"You remind me of our old headmaster, so wise, so amazing."
"Thank you Hermione Jane."
"Do you think Sister Clare's meal would be just as disgusting cold as it was hot?"
"Probably," Mother Rose agreed as she stood, holding Hermione out at arms length as her deep blue eyes searched those of the younger woman, "I'm going to miss you, child."
"And I'm going to miss you," Hermione cried, pulling the tiny nun into a hug, "but you're right, I need to go back where I truly belong."
"God has given you many gifts," Mother Rose breathed into Hermione's ear, "life being the greatest, with love coming a very close second. You have both in abundance - embrace them, my dear, embrace them with faith and belief and let these two gifts enrich your life. Now, let's go and make ourselves a sandwich and perhaps a little hot chocolate is in order. Saving lives is exhausting work."
Hermione stood and watched the small woman bustle back into the convent, the small garden where they had been talking now nearly totally dark except for the few patches of light coming from the building. She was exhausted but for the first time in a very, very long time she felt a fire inside her, a passion that had been missing.
It was still there when she stepped out of the gates at Heathrow two weeks later.
A/n - I just want to say that I chose honour killings because I wanted Hermione to be involved with something worthwhile. I had read an article about the practice a while ago, and it had stuck in my head. In writing this chapter, I Googled it and only read two articles which told me of the horrific things that these women (and sometimes men) go through. I'm not championing it and I don't really know of any way to help these women and stop it happening. It did make me thankful of what I have. Also, I'm not religious so if there are anything wrong with the convent side of things, I'm sorry.