Hermione's Gift

Hermione's Gift

Hermione sat, as she did most evenings now, in a small green armchair in the corner of the front room of 12 Grimmauld Place. And, as always, Crookshanks was sat in her lap asleep, snoring gently.

The summer holidays were drawing to a close, and she was making the most of her last evenings, before school began, bringing more work than ever. She liked the silence, her own thoughts, and, for some strange reason, the dank gloominess of the house seemed to comfort her now. She didn't know if it was just that the darkness simply fitted her mood better, or the memories attached to it, that caused a sad but strangely pleasant peacefulness to settle upon her.

Whatever it was, it was true to say that an eerie hush had silenced the menacing whispers and harshness that lurked in the dusty corners Sirius' much loathed childhood home. She rather liked the air of respect and dignity that replaced it, which had grown steadily over the summer, and more so after the funeral...

But even Hermione wasn't naïve enough to know that, to a certain extent, the warmth was false. You could see it in everyone's faces-they were strained, and tired-looking, and the masks were wearing thin. A few of them were starting to crack, and there had been many petty arguments, and people snapping at each other, as they all desperately tried to put on a brave face. For Harry's sake, if anything.

Yes, that was why she liked the silence.

She often heard quiet conversations between Harry and Remus. They had gotten much closer recently, and Harry enjoyed hearing of the many Marauder escapades. The good times. From the man who probably knew Sirius best, or thought he had. The last Marauder. How sad it seemed, that all that remains is one lonely man, and lowly traitor... Harry much liked Remus' company, and the time they spent together seemed to ebb at each others' sadness somewhat, and they would often laugh together. Laughter. How rare that was nowadays. But the little that did exist seemed to eat away at the smog of bitterness and anger, and it made things easier, at least for a while. But then there was guilt, and it would take more than memories and laughter to make that go away...

Hermione sighed, stretching slightly, and dislodging Crookshanks.

Crookshanks, yes. She remembered now. She had planned to give him to Sirius, how could she have forgotten? When she had seen Sirius so lonely during fifth year, she had vowed to do something to help him feel better. She may have disagreed with Sirius over many things, but deep down she respected him, and it pained her that he was so often alone in that house, with no-one there but Kreacher and the portrait of his mother, both of which he held equal distaste for. And though she had been indignant at the so-called injustice that had been directed at the crazy old house-elf, she now agreed whole-heartedly with the nasty comments and snide remarks that were often thrown at him. Disgusting, traitorous creature. It was about time his head was mounted and displayed alongside his predecessors.

Oh, there was Buckbeak too of course, but despite her fondness towards the Hippogriff, she couldn't help think that Sirius needed something a bit more comforting, something loyal, and, well, cuddly.

No, what he needed was his freedom, she scowled bitterly, pounding her fist into the arm of the chair, and fighting back a tear of anger. Crookshanks stirred, alarmed at her outburst, and she forced her thoughts back to all things loyal and cuddly.

She remembered often seeing Sirius, with Crookshanks lying happily on his lap. The secret allegiance they had formed all those years ago, and the relationship they shared that could only exist between a fluffy ginger cat, and a shaggy black dog. She had accidentally walked into Sirius' bedroom one morning, while he was still asleep, and had found the two lying next to each other, with Crookshanks curled across one outstretched arm. Both looked so content, so peaceful, and Hermione marvelled at how different Sirius looked when he was asleep. There was no pain in his face, when the lids came down over those tortured eyes... She spent a couple of minutes watching, smiling, but quietly turned and left when Sirius shifted, mumbling softly.

Tears were now running freely down her face, as she remembered. How cruel a life, his freedom snatched away so early. At least now, finally, he can taste freedom again, she hoped.

But why? Why did all have to be like this?!

Anger once again coursed through her, only to be quickly replaced by an aching weariness. This was what she went through every night, a torrent of emotions, and a jumble of thoughts. One day maybe, she would be able to finally make sense of some, and have the strength to shelve the others.

But until then, that was why she liked the silence.