Believe

Believe

Hermione sat alone. She couldn't face the large group of people who had congregated at her uncle's house. She was alone in the deserted church, her every tiny movement sending quiet echoes through the large building. It was raining heavily outside, the drops ringing on the elaborate stained glass windows. Her eyes were dry now; it seemed she had used up every tear that her eyes could produce.

She had known it would be dangerous; it would have been foolish not to acknowledge that. But she had been ready and willing to face that danger. She had, after all, been sorted into Gryffindor at Hogwarts. She was clever and sharp-witted, yes, and seemed a perfect candidate for Ravenclaw. But, as Ron had told her affectionately, she had proved herself an undeniable Gryffindor these last few months. The very decision itself - to leave school and join Harry - had been recklessly brave. Without conceitedness, she had known this, but today she did not feel brave. She felt stupid, foolish, and responsible.

It had seemed to her she was risking her own life, solely hers, in this mission. Her family was full of Muggles, of absolutely no importance to the wizarding world. She dug her fingernails into her arm bitterly as she thought of it. She had not even considered, not for a second, that her family would be at risk.

But the twisted mind of Bellatrix Lestrange did not work like Hermione's. How she had found them, Hermione did not know. But she had. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had encountered three masked Death Eaters last week and Bellatrix had evidently been amongst them. After this, she knew Hermione to be personally aiding Harry Potter - not to mention the fact that she probably recognised Hermione from the Ministry event of nearly two years earlier. She was a confirmed enemy of the Death Eaters, and to make matters worse, of Muggle parentage.

She could almost hear Bellatrix's mirthful celebrations, her inhuman delight at having tortured and murdered two more Muggles - in her eyes, worthless, inferior beings.

They had been so cold, no mark on them. They had not put up a fight, judging by the orderly state of the house. They couldn't have done anything at all. Hermione could see the agony written eternally on their faces - she didn't like to think about what Bellatrix had done to them before finishing them off.

The injustice of it, the shock, the desperation of it all kept hitting Hermione again and again as she sat on the cold bench. She would never see them; they would never see her again. Never see her wedding day, if she ever had one, never see her triumph when she helped Harry finally defeat Lord Voldemort, if, indeed, he ever did. She regretted with a painful feeling in her stomach, that she had not spent more time with them. So caught up in events at Hogwarts, she had so often gone to visit the Weasleys after just a week or so at home during summer. She had rarely gone home during Christmas holidays. She could never get those missing days back now. She could not go back.

Hermione breathed deeply, struggling to keep herself under control. She had to empty her mind, focus on nothing, do nothing. Or did she? Should she keep busy, constantly occupied, around other people, filling her mind so as to overshadow the death of her parents - the only parents she would ever have? She didn't know what to do or what to believe. She couldn't keep the image of those icy corpses out of her mind. Where were they now? Where were their minds, their souls? Were they simply - gone? It was incomprehensible. Death was beyond human understanding; even the unfathomable intellect of Hermione Granger could not find a logical, point-by-point explanation for it. She was helpless, hopeless.

There were footsteps. They resounded down the aisles. Hermione turned and saw a cloaked, hooded figure. She almost screamed. Bellatrix had come for her too; she had punished her and now she was here to finish her off, to get rid of one of the Dark Lord's nemesis' closest allies.

Hermione stood up and drew her wand without hesitation. She didn't care. Most likely, she would be dead within a minute - with luck, Bellatrix would not torture her. Even if she did, the physical pain of the Cruciatus Curse could be nothing compared to the mental torture of loss. She pointed her wand straight at the heart of the hooded figure, but with a jerky motion she lowered her hood. It wasn't Bellatrix Lestrange; it was - to Hermione's utter astonishment - Luna Lovegood.

'Hermione,' Luna said breathlessly. She was soaked through and took off her black cloak, placing it carelessly on a bench. 'Please don't hurt me or anything. I just wanted to see how you are.'

Hermione caught her breath, which she realised she had been holding since the arrival of the other girl.

'How on earth did you know I was here?' she asked, still holding her wand, though now playing nervously with it in her hands rather than pointing it at Luna.

'I spoke to Ginny. I went to visit her at the Burrow, she invited me to stay, you know? It's the Easter holidays, so we're not in school. But I thought it would be nice to stay with friends...and Ginny was nice enough to invite me...' Luna trailed off slightly, looking absentmindedly at her hands. Then she jerked her face up and met Hermione's eyes with her wide, dazzling ones. 'Ginny told me. But she said you wanted to go to the funeral alone. I suppose none of us knew them.'

'That's right,' said Hermione, sitting down at the front bench of the church and turning around to look at Luna, who was two rows behind. 'Well, I just felt better alone for now. I'll see everyone later. I'm going to stay at my own house tonight.'

'I Apparated here, you know,' Luna said, as though she had not heard Hermione. 'Just passed my test.'

'Well done,' Hermione said shortly. She was not in the mood for Loony Lovegood's ramblings at the moment. They had nothing in common; they saw the world in different ways. They had never even been that close, really. She knew Ginny had become quite good friends with Luna, but Hermione preferred people who lived in the real world. And right now, she needed to be on her own. She did not want any more confusion right now.

'Yes, well...' Luna still gazed at Hermione. 'I slipped away. You shouldn't really be alone. But then neither should I. You shouldn't stay at your house alone. The Death Eaters know where it is. I thought I'd come with you.'

'I can do okay by myself. They know where I live, fine. I don't care anymore. They can come and get me. Just go away, Luna!' Hermione was angry now. Her blood seemed to be rapidly approaching boiling point and she struggled not to shout. Luna looked impassive. This infuriated Hermione further.

'You shouldn't have come,' she said. 'I don't want to speak to anybody, not even Ron or Harry, so definitely not you. And I don't particularly feel like being surrounded by a dozen Aurors, protecting me while I stay at my own house. I don't want it. I just want to go...' Hermione choked. She couldn't say it anymore. Because it wasn't that now - home is made by the people there. And now there was nobody there.

'You want to go home?' said Luna softly.

There was an awkward silence. Hermione covered her face with her hands. She wasn't going to cry again. She couldn't let herself. She felt, rather than heard, Luna walk towards her and sit beside her.

'My mother died when I was little,' she said plainly. Hermione uncovered her face. Luna was staring in her airy, daydreaming way at the altar.

'Yes, well...' Hermione wasn't entirely sure what to say.

'I still miss her. I always will.' Luna didn't look at Hermione. 'But it's okay.'

Hermione couldn't suppress a small snort.

'But it's not okay, though,' she said. 'I'll never see them again. You'll never see your mother again. And no one ever knows where they are, if they ARE anywhere at all.'

'Ohh,' Luna sighed, 'They're somewhere. Of course they are. Don't worry about that. You'll see them again.'

She looked at Hermione briefly, then gestured around the church.

'So this is a Muggle church, isn't it?' she said.

'Erm - yes,' Hermione said, shrugging.

'All of this - it's what Muggles believe in, isn't it?' said Luna.

'Some of them,' said Hermione. 'My parents aren't - weren't very religious. But it's just tradition, really - churches and funerals. I don't know...'

'Hermione Granger doesn't know?' Luna asked with a flash of a smile.

'That's right,' Hermione said. 'I have no idea. I don't know the answers. Not about death, not about religion. I just don't know.'

Luna stood up suddenly.

'Shall we go then?' she asked, stretching out her hand.

'To my house? But you said...' Hermione stared at Luna.

'Oh, well, if you really want to go there,' said Luna. 'But I'll stay with you. You can't be alone. It's not really fun, anyway, being on your own.'

Hermione continued to stare at Luna, unsure of what to say or do. Luna looked back at her with no particular expression on her face. She was still soaking wet from the rain outside. Her feathery blonde hair was darkened slightly by the rain and hung loosely around her face. She was wearing a thin, white cotton dress that clung to her pale skin, almost transparent from the rain. The candlelight shadows of the church danced on her face.

Hermione gave Luna her hand hesitantly and let her pull her from the bench with surprising strength for her slight, waif-like figure.

'Shall we Apparate?' Luna asked.

'No,' Hermione replied, looking around the building. 'I'm not sure if the vicar is around or not and I'd rather people saw us walking into the house. They may think it's...well...someone breaking in again. It's only a five minute walk.'

So they set off, Luna throwing her witch's cloak back over herself. Hermione had nothing warmer than the black shirt she wore, but right now, she didn't care.

It was very dark outside, with no moon or stars to lighten the rumbling, navy and black skies. The rain battered down upon their heads fiercely, angrily, as though the skies were expressing their hatred at the injustice of the world. The skies were echoing Hermione's heart pounding.

They did not speak as they walked through the empty suburban streets; the rain was too loud and too oppressive.

Eventually they reached the house. It was semi-detached, with its familiar - but not familiar enough - little garden of geraniums and tulips.

Hermione pushed the key into the lock and opened the door to the roomy hallway, with its inoffensive framed pictures of daisy fields and horses. The Muggle police investigators had ended earlier that day, inconclusive of course. There was nothing to find.

Hermione switched on the light of the living room and led Luna inside. The carpet was thick, soft, and peach-coloured, the walls magnolia. There were leather armchairs and a matching sofa, modestly adorned with subtly-coloured cushions. It was altogether a very ordinary Muggle living room. It reflected Hermione's parents. They had been normal, hard-working; never controversial. Hermione tried to empty her mind of these thoughts. She couldn't think about them, she just couldn't do it.

'Do you want anything to drink?' she asked Luna, who was standing in the middle of the room, dripping wet.

'Oh, yes please,' Luna said, smiling. Her enormous eyes reflected the bright electric light bulb.

'Tea?' Hermione offered.

'Yes,' Luna replied simply. She sat down on the sofa, removing her cloak. She wasn't shivering, though she looked as though she had just taken a swim in freezing water.

Hermione left the living room and made a pot of tea in the polished kitchen. She used no magic - she was Muggle-born, that would always be a part of her. Her parents had been proud of her and fascinated by her life as a witch, but they had never truly understood it. They had continued to live their simple, non-magical existence without intrusion. Sometimes Hermione had felt guilty for her less than normal life. She was different, and they had always accepted that, but it had created an unbridgeable gap between them. She felt sick with guilt.

Luna was waiting mutely in the living room as she brought the tea in.

'Thank you,' Luna said, pouring rather a lot of milk into her cup. 'Did you like it here?' she asked after a minute's silence.

Hermione was momentarily stunned. This was Luna's uncanny habit of saying uncomfortable things that prodded too close to the truth surfacing as usual.

'I - I don't know,' Hermione said, squeezing her hair dry with a tea towel and handing it to Luna, who refused it. 'I liked being with them. I loved them.'

'Okay,' said Luna simply. 'Is it really your home?'

Hermione gulped some tea, which burned her throat. How could Luna speak to her like this? She couldn't deal with interrogation or probing at her personal feelings today.

'Does it matter?' she asked. 'It's a part of me. They were Muggles. They were innocent. My life, my decisions got them killed. It's all my fault.'

She shivered uncontrollably. She could go and get some warmer, dryer clothes from upstairs, but she felt that all her life's energy had been sucked out of her and she might never move again. She could summon something warmer, but somehow she did not feel like doing magic in her parents' house. It was her parent's house. It wasn't hers, not really.

'You chose the right path; everyone says that. Everyone admires you,' said Luna, her milky breath warming Hermione's forehead as she leaned on Luna's shoulder. Luna's voice was uncharacteristically clear and direct.

'But -' Hermione groped for words, blinking to try and keep back the tears that were prickling her eyes. 'But I miss them. I want to know they're all right. Don't you ever feel that? About your mother?'

Luna sighed and Hermione felt her small hand stroke her damp hair.

'Oh, yes, but I know she's fine,' Luna said. 'I heard her, beyond the veil. I heard all of them whispering. But I feel her, too. Every day, I feel her under my feet as I walk, in my hair in the wind, caressing my face in the raindrops. I feel her in my wand; whatever spell I do, she's there, giving it life, making it real. She is in the magic, radiating through it.'

'But my parents were Muggles, I don't -' Hermione began.

'Oh, it doesn't matter,' Luna said, more dreamily now, staring at the ceiling, her hand now in the small of Hermione's back, stroking her warmly. 'Maybe they're not in your magic. Maybe they're in that church. Maybe you could feel them, in the colourful windows, in the statues and crosses. They'll be there. Believe me, Hermione.'

Luna turned to Hermione, lifting her head gently from her shoulder. She put a hand on Hermione's cheek, which, despite her best efforts, was now tearstained.

'I just...' Hermione trailed off.

'Believe,' Luna said, her eyes boring into Hermione. 'Believing is not just learning facts to prove something. It really isn't. Believing is letting go, completely. It's accepting, it's not questioning, it's falling. Believing is LETTING GO. Being free; totally free.'

Hermione felt dizzy; her mind spun and she was falling. Her cheek rested against Luna's, her hands clutched Luna's. The room was spinning in and out of focus; her parents' room, a room of reality, stability, normality. A room of learned facts and established norms.

Luna kissed her cheek very softly; her large, rosebud lips felt like petals. Hermione gripped her in a desperate hug, their damp bodies breathing in time with each other. Hermione sobbed weakly, burying her face on Luna's shoulder. Her skin smelled of rain and leaves and wind; the scent, though faint, seemed all-consuming, overpowering to Hermione. It filled her, stirred her blood, pulled her somewhere...downwards. She was falling; she felt she had let go of the edge of a cliff and was gliding blindly downwards, where it smelled of rain and leaves and wind...

'You are different,' Luna breathed in her ear.

Hermione lifted her head and traced Luna's face with trembling fingers. Luna's eyes closed - it seemed to Hermione that she had never, ever closed her eyes before. Luna's hands caressed her waist and Hermione brushed her lips over Luna's face. They rested on her mouth and remained there, motionless, for a few moments.

'Believe, let go,' Luna whispered.

Hermione kissed her, slowly, dreamily. Luna responded delicately, tenderly, her fingers tracing Hermione's whole body lightly. Their tongues met after a few minutes, with a deep intimacy that overwhelmed Hermione. Luna's hands rested on the top of Hermione's shirt and, without a trace of awkward fumbling, she began to undo the buttons.

Hermione allowed her to, until the buttons were all undone and Luna began to pull off the wet shirt. Then Hermione broke away from her lips and swallowed, frowning nervously.

'I don't...' She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what she was thinking.

'Frightened that it doesn't make sense?' Luna said with a smile, her liquid eyes traveling between Hermione's face and her body. 'Scared that it's not logical?'

Hermione only hesitated for a moment. She kissed Luna deeply, passionately, letting her hands explore her thighs beneath the white cotton dress. Luna pulled off Hermione's shirt and unclasped her bra with ease. She caressed her breasts delicately, her thumbs massaging Hermione's nipples.

Hermione unzipped Luna's dress at the back and pulled it off, then removed her modestly laced bra. She broke from Luna's lips and began kissing her neck, moving slowly downwards, finally resting upon Luna's breasts, kissing them both in turn, biting very lightly as she did so.

Luna breathed heavily and lay back on the sofa. She pulled Hermione toward her and kissed her with an intimacy and mastery that seemed to send sparks of light in front of Hermione's eyes. When at last they broke apart, Hermione sat upright and gazed at Luna's almost naked body, lying beside her. Her skin was so pale, almost transparent, like gossamer. Her waist curved so gracefully, her breasts were so feminine and full. Hermione thought - no, she believed - that she had never seen anything so beautiful as the sight of this ethereal, dream-like girl.

She leaned over her and began to kiss, with inexplicable pleasure, every inch of Luna's body.
They awoke, entwined in each other's bodies, late the next morning. The sun was streaming in through a chink in the curtains of the tidy living room, with after-rain brightness that turned everything white and hazy.

Hermione made them breakfast. She did not use magic to prepare it, but, with an untroubled sigh, charmed it to fly into the living room, not wanting to carry two large plates through the door.

They passed an hour or two, Hermione showing a fascinated Luna the television and various other Muggle 'artifacts'. Then Hermione led Luna out to the back garden, where it would be safe for her to Apparate back to the Burrow, unnoticed.

'Say hello to everyone from me,' Hermione said.

'Oh, of course. But what are you going to do now?' said Luna. Her hand was loosely, fondly, holding Hermione's.

'I'm going back to Ron and Harry,' Hermione said. 'I have to. I want to. That's what I chose to do and it's the right thing.'

'Yes,' said Luna, 'it is the right thing to do. And you'll be okay.'

'I will visit. I will come and see you,' said Hermione, embracing Luna closely. 'Before your holidays end, I will see you again.'

Luna nodded, her eyes and hair sparkling in gleam of the sun. Then she Disapparated.

Hermione left the house soon after and walked to the church, walking through numerous puddles without noticing.

She walked through the gate at the side of the church, to the large glade of trees that held the graveyard. They were buried quite near a wall of the church building, where the sun shone through the trees and brightened, without warming, the headstones.

Hermione leaned against the stone church wall and let her eyes fall on the graves, but she could not keep her eyes in focus. Instead, she became focused upon her breathing - the freshness of the air, washed by the night's rain. She was acutely aware of the coldness of the stone behind her, hard and rough against her skin. They were there. They were filling her lungs; they were holding the church together, giving her something solid to lean against. They were there, almost tangible, everywhere. She didn't know it, she couldn't prove it, she didn't analyze it or think about it. She just believed it. She believed in Luna. She believed in herself, her choices, her heart.