Chapter 4 - I Hate Parchment
Hermione was sitting on the windowsill of her room, looking out at the beautiful summer night outside. There wasn't a single cloud in sight for miles, and the slight breeze kept things interestingly cool. She had her diary resting on her lap and a pen in the other hand, but so far she hadn't written a single sentence in it. It was an ordinary diary, with a light blue cover, bought in a muggle shop like four others exactly the same, now resting on one of her bookshelves. It was an absolute secret of hers, only her mother knew, and she was good enough to not go peeking.
In them, there were four years of Hermione Jane Granger, not the smartest witch in school, but of Hermione, teenager, friend of Ron Weasley and Harry Potter. Her feelings, her shortcomings, her messes - yeah, she had them - and her thoughts about just about everything. She cherished the times during vacation where she took a moment to write her memories, and to remember the year that passed.
But right now, her only thoughts were directed to her best friend, a man whose destiny was intrinsically mixed with the worst dark wizard who ever lived.
Hermione stretched a bit, her muscles protesting with the remainder pain of the curse. She didn't even had a scar to show, but Madam Pomfrey had warned her that some muscles had been severely affected, and it would take some time till they healed properly. She walked away from the sill and deposited the diary back on her table, she was still too shook up to even try to write. Her homework was also waiting for her attention, a neat pile with the obligatory quill and ink pot waiting on top.
She huffed, and grabbed the folded piece of parchment that Hedwig had delivered the previous night. Parchment, it was so ridiculous. During her first year at Hogwarts, the witch thought it was incredible, it had such a novelty to write on it and using a quill to do so, but as time passed, the novelty ended, and nowadays she hated using the writing implements. If she wasn't such a stickler to rules, she would take a year's supply of notebooks and pens to Hogwarts, only to prove to the insular Wizarding World that the muggles did something way better than them.
She had already decorated what was written on it, but she re-read it anyway, trying to see if she could figure Harry's frame of mind when he wrote it.
Dear Hermione,
First, let me start this by saying I'm sorry. Sorry because I almost got you killed at the Ministry. I know it wasn't my fault, I had some time to think about it, and I know I couldn't hold any of you back if I tried. But anyway, I must say, I am sorry to have involved you.
"Harry, you silly prat," Hermione said to the air, "I would have gone anyway. That's what friends are for, rules or no."
Second, I need to tell you something, but it has to be in person, it is too dangerous to do so otherwise. I would like to meet you as soon as possible and since I can't leave here, I had a small chat with my relatives and they agreed that I could be visited by some friends, front door, no magic inside, so I would like it to be before we either go to either hideout.
Harry was smart, he was keeping important information out of the letter, like addresses or names.
So, if you could set something up, please answer me as soon as you possibly can. I'm sending Hedwig on a few errands, and she'll pick up any reply you might have when she gets back.
She had actually smiled, in two days time she would be visiting him, thanks to her parents.
One last thing, I need your unsurpassed research skills and the brain of the cleverest witch ever for a job:
"That's laying it on thick, Harry," she laughed again, as she always did when reading the last part.
I need to know how to be an effective fighter in this war. I know you'll complain, I know you'll want me to leave this to the adults, I know you'll say it is too dangerous, and if it weren't for circumstances that I'll explain as soon as I see you, I would most definitely agree with you. Yet, I need to know how to fight, Hermione, and I need to know yesterday.
I know that you are away from Hogwarts, and I know that your research capabilities are severely limited while outside of the library, but if you could try, I'd be thankful. And if you could think on how to improve our chances using muggle ways, that would be brilliant, as well.
And that, Hermione thought, was the big crux of the matter. Basically what Harry wanted was to be an active participant in the war. It didn't matter if he didn't want trouble, trouble had a way of finding him, and dragging everyone around him together for the showdown, either willing or not. And now, he wanted to go out and look for trouble.
It didn't matter that this wasn't said anywhere in the letter, but what Hermione knew better than anyone else was how Harry thought. And the next part of the letter was more than enough proof of that.
I miss him, Mione. I keep on wondering if I paid more attention to you, if he would still be alive, if I had trained in Occlumency better, if he would still be alive. There are so many ifs, and all that I can think now is that he's dead, and that somehow I'm partially responsible.
I know what you'll say, that Bellatrix is the one responsible, that Tom is also responsible, and I agree with you, but somewhere along the line it is my fault as well. And I don't know how I'll keep on going, Hermione.
"With help, my friend. Mine, and others," she answered with teary eyes.
Don't worry, I don't intend to do anything harsh, or stupid. I know what acting instead of thinking ended up doing for me, so I'll start thinking pretty thoroughly and planning before doing something even remotely like that again. But one brain is not enough, so I'm requiring the extra power of the biggest one that I know, meaning yours.
So, think about what I said, and send your reply with Hedwig.
With love from your friend,
H.P.
P.S.: Even if you are a stickler for rules, please don't tell anything I said to Dumbledore, I'll explain the why when we meet.
Hermione folded the parchment once again. Not telling Dumbledore anything was against what she believed at the moment, but another thing weighed on her mind, the way that Dumbledore had kept away from Harry almost the entire last year.
This was too confusing, even to her. She had to take a few decisions, and even with her prodigious brain, she was at a loss on what to do. So, she stood up and decided to talk with the only people she was positively sure were smarter than she was.
She walked to the living room, her bare feet making no noise on the wooden floor. The couple sitting on the sofa was watching the TV with the sound really low, as it was their habit.
"Mum, Dad?" she asked, and both heads turned to her, smiling. She smiled back, and stopped, looking awkwardly at them. "Can we talk?"
"Sure, Nee," her father, Joel Granger, said, and it was followed by a nod from her mother. She sat on an armchair to their side, and Joel promptly muted the TV.
"You haven't called me Nee for a while, dad," she said, sheepishly. Since the Hogwarts letter, to be honest, she thought.
"No? I must be getting old, then. You'll always be my Nee, darling," he said, with a slight smile. Hermione blushed and looked down to her feet.
"You're embarrassing her, honey. What do you want to talk with us, Hermione?" her mother, Angela, asked.
"I have to tell you quite a lot of things so you can understand, but I need you to pay attention and ask questions when I'm finished. Okay?"
With both nods, Hermione started relating her years at Hogwarts, all of it, and not only her exceptional grades and the lighter troubles had she, Ron and Harry ended up with. She finished with the attack on the Department of Mysteries, her injury and a brief description of Harry's letter.
"So, let me see if I understand this correctly. The Wizarding World is at war, the bad guy has a vendetta for my daughter's best friend, and no one seems to be doing a thing to stop him. Is this right?" Joel asked, after she finished.
"More or less, dad. There are people fighting Voldemort in the background, but the ones who should be officially fighting in the front lines have their heads so stuck up in the sand that when they end up removing the sand from their ears the world will be a huge Death Eaters Convention," she said, something akin to sarcasm present in her voice.
"And why does Harry want to fight?" her mother asked in a small voice, still white with fright.
"I don't think he wants to, mum, I think he needs to, but doesn't want to. Not really. Am I making sense?" she said, and received two negative shakes from her parents. "What Harry always wanted was to be normal mum, and only worry about normal things like homework, Quidditch results and who to kiss on his first date. Instead, he has to face Basilisks, dragons, crazy people who want him dead, crazy people who want to prove that he is crazy, and all sorts of things."
"And how did you end up helping him? You could be killed, you know?" her father said, angered.
"Please, dad, don't do that. He's my best friend, I couldn't abandon him even if I tried. It would be like… like you abandoning mum if she was in danger," Hermione said, teary-eyed. Joel jumped from his seat and grabbed her in a tight hug, apologizing as he did it, and she started crying on his shoulder. After a few minutes, she stopped, and sniffed. "Worse thing is, he doesn't have anyone to do that to him," she said, while slowly separating from her father.
"What do you mean? You told us that his parents are dead, but surely his relatives . . . " Angela started.
"Aren't worthy of being called people. Do you know what he does when I hug him, mum?" she asked, angered.
Angela shrugged. "He hugs back?"
"He stiffens, mum. I guess me and Mrs. Weasley were the first people to hug him, ever. He doesn't know what to do."
Angela's look was one that Hermione wasn't accustomed to at all. She was lucky enough to have loving and understanding parents on both sides, who treated her with respect and love. But seeing her mother downright angry was a first to her.
"I'm coming with you when you'll go visit Harry, Hermione," was all that she said.
"Mom . . ." she said, worried.
"Don't worry, I just want to . . . talk . . . with those relatives of his, alright?" and the question was made in a tone that bode no other answer than a whispered yes.
Angela's face relaxed a bit and her father started again. "I know you'll stand by his side, honey, and I didn't raise my daughter to be any different, I just worry as a father does his only child. But I need to know a few things, and I hope you'll answer me as best as you can."
"Sure, dad. Always," she smiled slightly.
"Okay, has anyone ever spoken to Harry about what happened to him during all this years?"
"We all did. Me, Ron, Mrs. Weasley, the professors, I guess we all did. At least all the ones who cared about him one way or the other," Hermione answered.
"That's good, hon, but I guess I didn't make myself clear. Has anyone talked with him objectively about what has been happening?"
Hermione looked to her father. "I guess not. You mean professional help, don't you?"
"More or less. You see, sometimes, love and emotions do get in the way of such subjects. When someone has real parents who love them as we do you, we try to screen things from you, and explain what we can, until we know that you are ready to face them on your own. You were raised like that, Ron, I believe, was raised like that, and the rest are adults which have their own grasp and feelings on how to deal with situations. So, when you do speak to Harry, you do pass judgment, whether you want it or not. They all do, in a sense. It is normal to everyone else, but I believe that to Harry, this is exactly what he doesn't want. What he needs is someone to listen and to try to make him see with his own eyes if what he did, does, or will be doing is right or wrong. That's why I think he needs some professional help."
"But Harry isn't crazy, dad!" Hermione said, standing up. Joel grabbed her shoulders and looked her daughter in the eyes.
"I never said he was, Hermione, and I don't think he is. But from what you've told us, he was in a bad place last year, and after what happened, I believe the situation is only getting worse. He might hide it from you, but deep inside he's probably falling into a deep depression, and that is never good. To someone with that much power, that's downright terrible."
"You think he'll hurt someone?"
"He will, most probably himself. From what you've told us, he has honor like I've seen in very few people, and a protection streak a mile long, so whatever thing he might end up doing, it will be worse to him."
"What do I do, then?"
"What we do, honey, is help him out," Angela said, a slight twinkle in her eyes. Joel looked to his wife and asked "Alex?"
"Alex," Angela confirmed.
Hermione looked between both of them. "What does uncle Alex has to do with anything?"
"Do you know what your uncle Alex does and did for a living?" her father asked.
Hermione had last seen the man on her tenth birthday, before she went to Hogwarts. He was a funny man, big and muscular, but his strangest characteristic was a white eye patch on his left eye, which gave him a mysterious air. And her aunt Helena was also a great person, they had married not long ago, she was a Native American from what she remembered, and they met on one of his travels around the world. But that was as far as she knew the man.
"No, I don't. I believe I heard mum once saying that he's a doctor working in London, right?"
"That's what he does nowadays, he's a psychologist specialized in PTSD, the one thing I think Harry is suffering from," Joel said.
"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," Hermione said, her incredible brain correlating all the information she had on the subject.
"Exactly, and I don't think your Wizarding World has much experience on this one," Joel continued.
"I don't believe they even have psychologists. One problem of being too insulated from the muggle world, they think all can be solved by a potion or a spell. But you said that this is what he does nowadays. What did he do before that?"
"He worked for the military," Angela said.
"What your mother is trying to say is that my brother used to be a lieutenant in the SAS, Hermione. That's how he lost his eye and had to retire from active duty."
Hermione, for one of the very few times in her life, was rendered speechless.
"That's how he specialized in PTSD, he saw it happening too many times, and when he was discharged, he decided to help his fellow companions to get back from the pit that this disorder causes. And I believe he'll be perfect to talk to Harry, he knows what he's going through."
"But the magic. . ."
"He has known since you were eleven, Hermione. Who do you think helped us pay to send you to Hogwarts?" her mother asked.
"But I always thought that. . ."
"Nee, we are well off from our practice, but not that well off. And he, as your godfather, wanted the best for you, as we did," her mom said.
"Why was I never told?" she asked, suddenly slightly angered.
"He asked us not to. He wasn't always there, but it was a way to help you to be as best as you could possibly be. And I believe that you did him extremely proud so far, and us as well."
Hermione blushed slightly.
"And you know," Angela continued," I believe that your aunt Helena will be pretty useful as well," she mused.
"Why?"
Angela grinned. "She's what we call an esoteric therapist. She has a lot of knowledge of what us . . . what is that term again? The non-magic humans?"
"Muggles," Hermione said, paying even more attention to her mother.
"Right, muggles. What us humans think of as real magic. She's a Native American, as you know, right?"
"Yes."
"What you don't know is that she's an Iroquois Healer, a medicine woman. She knows all about her people's heritage in healing, and she decided to expand and mix things, so she could deal with body, mind and soul. From what I know, she's actually quite known in the esoteric circles," Angela said.
"So, what does she know?" Hermione asked, her curiosity peaked. Joel laughed, he knew what would get his daughter's attention.
"She's a yoga master, she knows Tai-Chi-Chuan, acupuncture and another thing called reiki. And a few other things that she told me she does for `fun'. Plus whatever is that she knows as a healer of her people," Angela said. To Hermione surprised look, she answered the unasked question. "You do stay away most of the year, Hermione, and they are quite good friends to go out and talk. I believe your godfather would like very much to visit while you were at home, and I think they would be delighted in meeting a few wizards as well."
"This would be great, might be the thing Harry needs, some balance in his life," Hermione said, a huge smile on her face. "Thanks, mum. Thanks, dad," she said, and bolted upstairs, to research how she could help Harry.
Downstairs, two people looked to one another, their smiles vanishing.
-oOo-
"Can you believe that?" Joel asked, sitting back down.
"Hermione never lied to us, Joel. She hid a lot of things, and I believe that she did because she would be scared of us not letting her back to Hogwarts."
"I'm thinking about doing just that, Ang."
"Let's not do that, honey."
"Why not?" he asked, curious.
"Can you imagine what would happen if we took Hermione out of Hogwarts?"
"There should be other schools of magic around Europe, and with Hermione's scores, I think she could get a scholarship into any of them," Joel said.
"That's not solving the problem, it's just postponing it. Do you think this war will stay only in England? If this Voldemort is as dangerous as Hermione says, the other schools are in even more danger than Hogwarts is."
"But the other schools don't have the two main enemies of Voldemort, Dumbledore and Harry."
"And that's why I want to keep her where she is, even if hurts me to do so. Did you pay any attention to what she said?"
"Yes, I did. Voldemort is a lunatic, and Harry has been facing him for five years in a row, putting everyone around them in danger," Joel said, condensing the facts as only a parent would.
"And he's still alive, and because of him, our daughter is still alive as well. Hon, when she put herself at his side, she made a target of herself as big as possible. If we take her away from the people who can protect her, what chance will she have?"
Joel remained silent.
"And one other thing, did you notice how she talked about Harry?"
"As a good friend? I know that," Joel said.
"It's more than that, Joel. They are best friends, and they have been through hell together. This forms a bond stronger than blood, and I believe one would die for the other with no second thoughts and no regrets. Besides, I think she's falling for him," Angela said, smiling slightly.
Joel's mouth opened in a soundless `o'.
"I don't think that she even realized it, but the feeling is there. And even if it wasn't, splitting them would kill her, because she would never let him go without a fight."
"So, what do we do?" Joel asked.
"We do what's right to everybody, even if it is against what we think is right to our daughter. We help her help Harry, and we offer all the help we can so that they can protect each other from that madman."
Joel stood up, and started walking from one side of the room to the other. After a few minutes, he stopped and looked to his wife.
"I always knew from whom Hermione had inherited her genius. Who's going to call Alex?"
"I think it's better if it's you. Who better to explain to his own brother that he's about to heal and train magical teenagers to be warriors?"
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