Teardrop Lullabies

Teardrop lullabies.

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She thought she had gone deaf.

She didn't hear a word of what Professor McGonagall had just said to her, but she figured it didn't matter much, anyways. She had seen this before. Four times before. The same kind of large Eagle owl landing on the head table. It was always the first letter to be delivered on the days it came. Bad news travelling fast.

Hundreds of eyes had followed the owl as it swooped through the Great Hall and landed neatly before Professor Dumbledore, its manners reflecting the cold, impersonal air the Ministry impressed on such news. Whispers had instantly broken out among the students and frowns and worried glances had quickly replaced smiles and morning chatter.

But when Hermione had seen Dumbledore hand the letter to Professor McGonagall with a whisper, and when she had gotten up and walked along the Gryffindor table towards her -her face grave but controlled- she failed to notice what was going on around her.

Someone close to her had died.

That thought overwhelmed her. It took control of her mind and body. That was why she didn't notice her fork hit the floor beside her, nor did she notice Ron place a hand protectively on her shoulder, nor did she notice Harry grimace and close his eyes tightly. She just looked away from Professor McGonagall's telling eyes and stood up.

It would likely be her parents.

Her legs were moving of their own accord, following her Head of House out of the Great Hall. She didn't look back at Ron or Harry, or at anyone else for that matter. She couldn't even register their presence, in spite of the hundreds of eyes now fixated knowingly upon her.

Some part of her had been expecting this to happen.

They arrived at McGonagall's small office, which she could easily recognize from her third year. There was nothing burning in the fireplace, but she stared at it nonetheless. She tried to imagine a warm fire in it, just so she could concentrate on something other that the letter in her teacher's hands.

"Miss Granger?" McGonagall interrupted her rather incongruent train of thoughts. "Please take a seat, Miss Granger."

She did as she was told and gripped the arms of the chair tightly, bracing herself for what was to come.

"I believe you may have an idea of what I am about to tell you, Miss Granger. This letter was sent from the Ministry of Magic informing of an attack yesterday night. It seems several Death Eaters apparated at your house and-"

Professor McGonagall had been looking at her intently all the time as she spoke. Her voice was low and soft, unlike the one Hermione was used to hearing from her every Thursday in Advanced Transfiguration.

"Professor?" She hesitated, her eyes wide. A part of her mind was ashamed because she had interrupted her teacher and Head of House, while a nameless voice in her head was telling her how silly it was that she was worrying about something like that. At a time like... this.

She sighed and shook her head slightly before bringing her eyes back up to meet her professor's attentive ones. "I just- I don't know if I can hear this now. Out loud and... there. I'm sorry, professor, I-"

McGonagall nodded knowingly. "I understand, Miss Granger. Perhaps you would prefer to read this." She handed her the letter, which was written in neat, curvy handwriting and had a stately black stamp on top.

*-*-*

Albus Dumbledore:

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

I regret to inform you that, as consequence of Death Eater activity that took place yesterday between 10:57 and 12:18 of the previous night, Mr. and Mrs. Richard Granger have been found dead at their house in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire.

While the protections you had requested for the Granger household were in place at the moment, five Death Eaters were able to breach the wards and enter the house. Neither the Department of Magical Law Enforcement nor the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes were alerted. The reasons for this omission are as of yet unknown.

A group of Aurors and Obliviators apparated at the site at 12:46 am, in response to an alert issued by muggle authorities that are aware of the meaning of the Dark Mark. Further research and inspection by these and other Ministry officials revealed that both muggles were held captive for some time while Death Eaters searched through the house. They were later put under several curses, including the Unforgivables, before being finally put to death by means of Avada Kedavra.

The Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee has explained the attack as an accidental fire, since the house was burnt down by the Death Eaters upon their leave. Thus, the bodies of Jane and Richard Granger are practically unrecognizable.

We are sorry about the consequences that this could have on you and your students. Assure yourself that we are currently looking into the matter and trying to prevent unfortunate circumstances like this to present themselves any further. Feel free to contact us if deemed necessary.

Amelia Bones

Minister of Magic

Alastor Moody

Magical Law Enforcement

Percival Weasley

Magical Accidents and Catastrophes

Arnold Peasegood

Obliviator Squad

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Auror Squad

*-*-*

Hermione wondered why she'd always liked reading so much.

In spite of all the years in which books had been the main course of her diet, her mind couldn't digest these words. She lied back on the chair and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself while imagining the soothing warmth of the flames in McGonagall's fireplace.

But all she could see was her house burning and the Dark Mark floating above it in the night sky.

She gasped and opened her eyes. Professor McGonagall was still looking at her intently, but her expression was calm and unreadable. Hermione swallowed and nodded repeatedly as she placed the letter on the desk before her.

"Thanks, Professor," she said, in a voice that sounded too normal to be hers. "Now- Now I want to know what happened."

She looked mildly surprised. "Well, Miss Granger, all I know is in that letter. Maybe Professor Dumbledore could tell you more. I'll take you to his office if you want to, but first we need to settle some things."

She got up and moved towards a wooden shelf. "Hermione Granger. Sixth Year," she muttered, as she tapped her wand twice over the surface. The bolt unlatched itself and a single red file flew out from the pile stacked inside the shelf.

Professor McGonagall headed back to the desk and donned her glasses before opening it and sorting through several sheets of muggle paper and rolls of parchment.

"It is stated here that your godparents are your aunt Caroline Granger and her husband Steve Broadbery. They will be contacted as soon as the Ministry officials finish sorting things out at your house. You will, of course, be granted permission to leave the school to attend the services and meet with your family. A reading of your parents' will is likely to take place as well. It would be wise to have someone from the Order accompany you, though."

Hermione just nodded, still gripping the chair tightly. She didn't know how much of what she had listened had actually registered in her mind, but she just wanted Professor McGonagall to keep talking so she could concentrate on something else than the image of her parents being tortured by Death Eaters and her house becoming a pile of rubble and ashes.

She nodded repeatedly again, trying to shake those mental images away.

"Professor?" She didn't know why she was even asking this (she already knew the answer), but she had to be certain. "Did they... torture... my parents? Much?"

The old woman sighed and looked up from the file. "I'm not going to lie to you, Miss Granger. Death Eaters often show inhuman brutality towards muggles."

Hermione closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands, resting her elbows on the desk. "I never told them anything," she admonished, her voice muffled.

She felt a hand pull hers from her face and place it on the desk. McGonagall smiled sadly. "That is completely understandable. You are a strong, intelligent and brave girl, Hermione," she said, her voice going slightly ft when pronouncing her name. "I'm sure your parents are very proud of you, no matter what."

She nodded again.

Professor McGonagall let go of her hand and cleared her throat before going back to her usual stiff manner. "Now, would you like to clear some things with professor Dumbledore or would you prefer to go to your Common Room. I believe you have... what class do you have right now?"

It took her an unusually long time to respond. A part of her still believed she was down at the Great Hall, finishing her eggs. "Charms," she stated.

"Very well, then. I'll inform Professor Flitwick that you are excused from your classes, and if you want to skip the afternoon classes as well, just let me know. I'll inform you when we're ready for you to leave the school."

She nodded again, thinking. Anything Dumbledore could say right now wasn't going to help much, but she didn't want to be alone in the Common Room either. That would just make her think incessantly of her parents.

"Could I just go to classes right now?" she asked.

Minerva McGonagall looked considerably surprised at her request, which, by her standards, meant she was utterly gobsmacked. "But- are you sure of this, Miss Granger? I thought it would be best if you- if you took some time to sort out your mind and digest what has happened to you... Your life is going to change dramatically, I assure you. I can arrange for Madame Pomfrey to bring you some Dreamless-Sleep Potion-"

"No!" she interrupted Professor McGonagall for the second time, but this time she stood up. "No, professor. I know. I know, but- no." She noticed she had been waving her arms in the air frantically and that she wore a deep frown. Letting her hands fall to her sides and made her way towards the door.

Hermione knew what she wanted. She had always known what she wanted in her life, and this was not the exception. She would go back to class and think about Glamour Charms and then she'd go to lunch and eat while she catched up on the week's lesson for Ancient Runes and... Well, it sounded too silly when she actually put words and thought together.

She just wanted to believe her parents were safe at home or at their practice.

"Thanks, Professor," she muttered. "I'll just go to the common room then, and take some time."

McGonagall nodded gravely and moved towards a door in the corner. "This should take you directly to the Gryffindor common room. If you need anything, just come back down," she said as she unlocked the door.

Hermione let go of the doorknob, which she hadn't realized she was holding, and crossed the room. With a final "thanks", she crossed the door and began ascending a circular staircase.

She emerged in what she supposed was a secret passageway behind a portrait. It opened pretty much the same as the Fat Lady, swinging to one side. Upon emerging from the dark tunnel, she found herself at Gryffindor Tower.

The Fat Lady was chatting with some other portrait just in front of her. She could either go inside or walk all the way back down to Charms. Her books were still up at the dormitory, so she figured it wouldn't hurt to go fetch them before she went back down. "Kneazle," she said to the Fat Lady, who let her in and continued talking.

Hermione felt awfully small and alone in the deserted common room. She looked at her watch. She was only twenty minutes late... But one quick glance at the lit fireplace was all it took.

She could hear a masked voice shouting "Morsmordre" and casting the Dark Mark. She could smell burnt flesh. She could see those white faces, donning black robes and laughing as her parents screamed under a Cruciatus.

The scene was so clearly etched in her mind that she didn't need to have been there.

It was almost too much to bear. How come she was thinking of Advanced Charms class just a minute ago? She wasn't even fooling herself anymore. She couldn't deny everything that letter had said. Her parents had been tortured, her house had been burnt and all of it had been compressed and belittled until it could fit in a stupid letter from the Ministry.

She wished she could do the same. That she could ignore everything and write it down in her planner and close it until she needed to remember. But she couldn't do that. It was her family. Her parents. They were... dead.

Her breath quickened.

She wanted to scream.

So she ran to the nearest couch, threw herself on it, and screamed into a cushion. She screamed until her body shook and her voice broke. She screamed until hot tears were rolling down her cheeks and wetting the cushion and the couch.

She had never sobbed so loudly nor had she ever cried so much in her life. Maybe that was why she felt somewhat numbed and relieved in doing so. She tried to stop crying, though. She couldn't.

So she continued sobbing and crying and shaking until she forgot how silly, dim-witted and stupid she may look. She lied on that couch and grieved until she forgot how miserable and alone she felt and she fell asleep.

When Hermione woke up in her four-poster bed and stirred under the cosy, warm sheets, she unknowingly succeeded in believing nothing had happened the previous day.

It was until she noticed the Chudley Cannons poster on the wall that she knew something wasn't right. She was in Ron's bed, in the Sixth Year boy's dormitory. Her eyes hurt, too, and they felt swollen. She blinked several times, trying to adjust to the lack of light.

When she sat up and looked at the Daily Prophet lying in the bedside table, reality came crashing down upon her. There, on the first page of the newspaper, was a large picture of the Dark Mark floating ominously on the dark sky as several Ministry workers attempted to put out a fire with limited success. The house under the Dark Mark was already considerably damaged.

And above this image, eight words were printed in bold black letters: TWO MUGGLES SLAUGHTERED AFTER LATEST DEATH EATER ATTACK

Hermione gasped and looked away, her eyes stinging once more. She let her body fall back on the bed, but then a wave of dizziness rose from her stomach and spread across her head.

Slaughtered.

She thought she was going to be sick.

And she thought right. She tried to hold herself as she hastily scrambled out of the bed and ran out of the room and towards the end of the corridor, where the bathrooms were. But before she could reach the toilet, Hermione emptied her stomach on the white tile covering the boys' bathroom floor.

Just a second after, someone opened the door behind her.

Hermione was bent over the sink, supporting herself with her arms and trying to steady herself. She felt nauseous and weak, and the vomit on the floor wasn't helping at all. It didn't help that Ron Weasley was standing under the doorframe, looking at her worriedly.

He looked between her and the floor and grimaced. Pulling his wand out, he vanished the mess with an "Evanesco" spell. Meanwhile, Hermione looked away and washed her face, ashamed.

She gasped as she looked up at her reflection for the first time. Her face was red and blotchy, and her eyes were incredibly sore and swollen. She couldn't stand her own sight.

Facing Ron was hard, too, so she averted her eyes to the floor and found her voice. "You- you want to use the Cleaning Spell, Ron, not the Vanishing Spell." It seemed entirely inappropriate that she should be correcting Ron at that time, but perhaps it was the only thing she knew how to do.

"Oh, right," he replied, and then hesitantly walked towards her. Hermione recoiled from his touch as soon as he lightly placed his hand on her back. "Leave me alone, Ron," she croaked.

He didn't move.

She whipped her head and stared at him, breathing heavily. "Leave me. Alone. Please." Her temper was quickly rising. She didn't want him to be here, when she felt so hideous and vulnerable. It didn't matter that it was the boys' bathroom. She'd throw anyone out. Anyone who dared enter, whether they wasted to use the loo or whether they were trying to comfort her. At least it was the middle of the night.

He first looked taken aback (probably by her appearance; he'd heard her yell a thousand times), but then looked back at her just as fiercely. "No, Hermione. I'm not leaving!" His eyes softened and he continued in a lower voice. "I'm...ah... sorry you saw that. The Prophet, I mean. I shouldn't have left it there, I... Well, after I brought you up I stayed there and kinda fell asleep too."

She frowned, confused. She'd fallen asleep on the common room, and Ron- Ron had taken her up to his room. To his bed. And he'd stayed here. Watching her sleep after she'd been wailing like a baby. And he'd read the Daily Prophet. All the school had seen it. Everyone knew her parents had been killed.

Slaughtered.

She felt vile rise in her throat again, but now, and indescribable anger had taken hold of her. Her hands clenched until her fingernails were beginning to perforate her palms.

How could they? How could they treat human beings in such a way?

For the first time in her life, Hermione wanted to be Harry. She wanted to be able to kill Voldemort, like the prophecy said. She also wanted to persecute and find those five Death Eaters who had destroyed her family and her home. She'd show them all what a stupid muggleborn witch was capable of.

She wanted to be Harry so she could blame herself. The fact that her closeness to Harry had put her -and her family- high up in Voldemort's hit list had crossed her mind. And she would never forgive herself for thinking that.

Ron was still standing in front of her. He looked concerned, albeit a bit frightened. And if Hermione took a look at the mirror, she'd understand why. "Mione, are you all right?"

She wanted to punch him, really. Why didn't he just leave her alone? Thankfully, she didn't quite release her anger on him, but instead grabbed a toothpaste tube, tossed it on the floor and stepped on it viciously.

"I'm perfectly fine, Ron. Couldn't be better, really. And all thanks to Voldemort," she glared at Ron, who still cringed at the name. "All thanks to him and his bloody Death Eaters, who have no respect whatsoever for human life, not even if it's about my parents, who I hardly knew because I never told them anything. And now, thanks to them, I'll never be able to tell them why someone showed up at home and tortured them, and they'll never know they didn't deserve this, because it's me the one who should be dying in this stupid war, but instead-"

"HERMIONE!" He'd taken her by the shoulders and shaken her forcefully. She stopped swishing the toothpaste and gaped at him, her eyes wide. "Don't ever say that you want to die! DON'T EVER SAY THAT AGAIN!"

He was furious.

She was, too. "Oh, come on Ron. You know we're all going to die here! We're too much involved in this war, and so are all our families and all our friends! I just wanna hear what you have to say when Ginny jumps in front of Harry to block a curse or when Harry can't defeat Voldemort or when your parents or your brothers get killed in a stupid mission for the Order!"

He grasped her shoulders even harder, and she threw his hands off of her. All wave of emotion left her with that motion. She felt weak again. Ron was still looking at her, eyes shining. Only then did she realize that she'd said too much.

She opened and closed her mouth several times, unsure of what to say. But Ron interrupted her. "Fine. Fine. If that's what you want, Hermione. Stay here and continue crying and breaking things until we all die!" With that, he turned around and stormed out.

Hermione hadn't thought there were more tears left in her to cry.

But she'd never heard Ron cry before. She heard his body hit the door and slide to the floor on the other side.

She was sure Harry was just as miserable as she was, blaming himself in the common room.

So she cried with them both. For them both. And for herself.

But neither of them could cry themselves to sleep this time.