Hermione's Scrapbook

There is darkness that envelopes the world. It shrouds us and keeps us from ever seeing even what's in front of our noses. But for every Hitler, Grindelwald, Attila the Hun and Voldemort, Fate gives us a person to light a candle to shatter the darkness. Hermione Granger knows a hero when she sees one. Sometimes, you just have to look a little deeper.

Hermione runs out as some of the Order members get ready to go on duty. She holds up a fistful of bags, each with a handpacked lunch inside. One for Dung, one for Tonks, one for Mr. Weasley, one for Remus, and one for Kinglsey. She gives Dung an unexpected peck on the cheek before scampering off to her room, shutting the door and locking it. Dung touches his cheek, then leaves, a small smile on his face. Everyone else is a bit confused.

Hermione has a small scrapbook that she keeps, buried at the bottom of her neatly organized trunk. Beneath the stacks of notes, rigid books, and neatly folded clothes, you see it. Faded green with silver lettering - the irony of it never escaped her - with torn edges and tattered pages. But it was her special scrapbook, one that keeps her going when the lights were out.

She pulled a picture out of her pocket. It was Mundungus Fletcher, smoking his smelly pipe and laughing at some joke, slapping his knee. She takes out a stick of Muggle glue and carefully applies it next to another picture that she had Xeroxed from a local library, before coming to Grimmauld Place.

History repeats itself. But for every Vlad Dracul and Bellatrix Lestrange, history gives us a Joan of Arc and Mohandas Gandhi.

Mundungus Fletcher. Drunk, thief, salesman of stolen goods. He smelled funny, and was known to goose the female members of the Order, although it was all in good fun, and they'd pinch him right back. He smoked like a chimney and sold unauthorized goods to the Weasley twins. But he uses his underworld connections to further the Order's cause, and has paid the price; Hermione has found him more than once, late at night, bleeding on the floor. She cleans him up as well as she can, then drags him to a couch and waits until he is asleep before heading back to bed. Hermione smiles as she chuckles at the laughing Dung, before moving her gaze to the picture next to it. Dung is considered the lowest of the Order; he saved one person's life, almost by accident. "Whoever saves one life, saves the world entire." Hermione remembers that.

Oskar Schindler. How many have forgotten about him? The womanizing German who risked his life and assets to protect Jews from destruction. The list he had is famous - it is a list of life, a list of people who were saved because of his nefariousness and his duplicity. He took what gifts he had, manipulated them, and used them to save over a thousand lives. He worked endlessly - and was branded a true Nazi. Even though his works saved so many lives, he died penniless in the streets, remembered only by the workers who loved him dearly, who saw what others were afraid to. They saw what Oskar Schindler was.

"I am the conscience of all those who knew something - but did nothing." That would be Dung, who rose above the streets - above the wealthy who sneered upon him - and did something.

Hermione turns the page. She picks up another picture and glues it there. Its Nymphadora Tonks, dancing on the table of Grimmauld Place, swinging a necklace of Kinglsey's just out of his reach. Tonks is rash, and fun. Joy bubbles out of her the way sunlight filters through trees - there's just no keeping her down. There's always something to laugh at, when you're Tonks. Even the fool name your mother gave you. Hermione sits next to her at dinner, laughing at the strange faces she makes (literally) and enjoying the knowledge and conversation that Tonks can provide. But in the morning, she fights. At night, she comes home, battered. But nothing stops her from getting up the next day, and Hermione admires that.

I am hurt, but I am not slain! I will lay me down and bleed awhile; then I'll rise and fight again.

The picture next to Tonks' is an old Japanese woodcut painting. Underneath it, in Hermione's elegant, flowing script, reads the name Tomoe Gozen. A story she heard once, from a Japanese neighbor.

Tomoe Gazan is Japan's most renowned female warrior. She was said to be worth a thousand men in battle, skilled in every aspect of the way of the Samurai. But what made her stand out was the fidelity to her Lord, and her strength of heart. She stood against blood kin and marriage kin, and took more than one head, in a battle to give her Lord the position it deserved. But her most strenous test was when Yonshinaka turned to her and made her leave, to save herself. Her loyalty was so great that she took one last head before leaving, forsaking the warrior's life she loved so much at the command of the man she loved. Her strength was her love for the man who gave her a family. Tonk's strength is her family, whether by blood or spirit. Tonks has adopted the world.

"There is a comfort in the strength of love: 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else would overset the brain, or break the heart."

Hermione quickly shuts the book and slides it under the bed as footsteps pound up the stairs and to the door. " 'Mione!" shouts Ginny. "It's lunch time, are you hungry?"

"No!" says Hermione. "I'll eat later." She waits until Ginny's footsteps fade, then draws the book back out, and flips it to another page.

Remus Lupin is one of Hermione's favourite people. Despite his careworn face and disease, he is easily one of the happiest people she's ever known. He finds joy in living, something difficult for a man who's lost two of his best friends to a third. Hermione watches him as he cares for the house, carefully keeping it clean. She remembers the last Marauders laughing over a game of Gobstones, chortling whenever the other one got sprayed with the foul-smelling juice. And Remus lives on to carry on the memory of Padfoot and Prongs and Lily, so that no one may forget. She gently brushes her fingers over Remus' picture, then trailing it to the photo next to it.

"Faith makes all things possible. Love makes them easy."

She does not know the name of this man. No one does, really. He was a man walking through the streets when he walked into a demonstration. Some other person's war, one that did not involve him. But this man, this stranger, hands filled with grocery bags, walked into the streets and made a stand. He stood in front of the machines of war, and refused to move, even getting in their way when they attempted to bypass him. Most people don't understand why anyone would do such a thing.

But Hermione does.

Hermione understands the love within us, the beautiful chaos of compassion and inner strength and morality that lets us live beyond the edge of survival. She understands more than anyone else knows. It's her purpose in life to help others understand that, in her own special way. She knows that Remus does too. Remus loves life and joy and happiness as much as she does. As much as that man in that square did. They understand the price that must be paid.

"All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love."

Hermione smiles when she looks upon the next page. It's her two best friends, Harry and Ron. Two of the most misunderstood boys at school. Her boys, her brothers, her life. For six years now, they have protected one another, wept with one another, and laughed with one another. She has no idea what life might have been like, had she never crept into that bathroom one Hallowe'en to cry her eyes out. One scathing comment transformed three lost children into three people, with an unspoken bond of trust, and so much more, between them.

"Where there is true love, there are always miracles."

People would always misconstrue the relationship she had with her boys. She understood it, accepted it, and moved passed it. She loved them more than anything else in the world. Hermione understands, and she knows that deep down, her boys do as well. For all the pain they've been through together, and because of one another, there is nothing that makes them happier to sit in the Gryffindor Common Room, writing and playing and just being .

Ron seems destined to be left behind. She traces his faces gently with one small, slim finger. But Ron has a power unknown to most. His brain may not store as much information as hers, but his logistical ability never ceases to amaze Hermione. He is more than another Weasley to her. He is her best friend, her big brother. Her knight in shining armor. Ron is the unknown soldier, the young man who risks everything for a world that doesn't even realize he exists. But Ron, Hermione knows, will continue doing it. For his family. For his school. For Harry. For her.

And she cries at night, sometimes, for him. For everything he deserves and does not get.

Harry is burdened beyond his years, yet a fire still burns in him. Voldemort has not been able to take everything from him. Beyond the pain of his background, of the people who mock him, of his own internal struggles, Harry shines like a star. He fights everything, in order to make sure that she and Ron and everyone has a safe place to live. How many people can say that they have a best friend like that? Hermione feels privileged to say that she does.

There are no people to compare Ron and Harry to. In Hermione's eyes, they are the every man. They are the man who refused to leave his post at a railway station; he died, but all the trains were sent to safety because of his efforts. They are the woman who steps in a swirling flood to grab a child floating downstream. They are the people who run into traffic to save someone from getting run over, even at the risk of being hit themselves. They are the people who stand behind you and offer you change when you don't have enough to buy yourself a snack. They are everywhere. And Hermione is grateful for that.

She climbs into bed; she's been so tired lately. She crawls under the covers, closes her eyes, and drifts off, her scrapbook clutched to her chest. The last thing her cat sees are her bright brown eyes glowing with an inner smile.

The light in children's eyes is the reflection of Heaven peeking through.

In the darkness, another candle lights. And Hermione will never know, but for a few people, hers is the brightest candle of them all.

Fin.