- Rating:
- R
- House:
- The Dark Arts
- Characters:
- Draco Malfoy Hermione Granger
- Genres:
- Angst Drama
- Era:
- Multiple Eras
- Stats:
-
Published: 05/22/2004Updated: 06/05/2004Words: 3,542Chapters: 2Hits: 638
Four Scenes to Change Her Life
LizVega
- Story Summary:
- One year after her husband's death, Hermione meets the man who murdered him. This chance encounter pushes her over the edge of reality into a world she never thought herself capable of entering.
Chapter 03
- Chapter Summary:
- When crazy takes over.
- Posted:
- 06/05/2004
- Hits:
- 252
III.
Harry was carrying her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. When he opened the door to her small house, the pungent scent invaded his nostrils and he wrinkled up his nose; it reminded him of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place before Mrs. Weasley had exterminated it. He frowned when he realized just how long it had obviously been since Hermione's in-laws had visited her.
Harry tried to ignore the stench, the filth, and the fact that there wasn't any electricity (Ron and Hermione had lived as Muggles during the war) as he laid her down on the bed. She wasn't twitching anymore, thank Merlin, but she was still deathly pale. Harry wondered how long it had been since she'd eaten anything as he sat down in a musty smelling chair across from the bed and watched her. He knew she'd lost a lot of weight but the sight of her protruding hip bones made him shudder; she looked dangerously thin.
He remembered how proud he'd been when she told him she had finally set a speaking appointment. He cursed her stupidity for choosing that particular date, but he thought she could handle it. Hermione had always been such a strong, rational person; but every time a fresh crisis occurred, Harry managed to forget how insensitive the public and press could be; not to mention it was the first anniversary of Voldemort's death. People were still celebrating and some had grown bold enough to utter his name. Their nerve, apparently, had been too much for his dear, wasted friend.
The second the words' were out of that old bloke's mouth, Harry had sprinted toward the stage. He caught Hermione just in time to stop her from smacking her head on the hard floor and laid her gently on his knees; his reflexes proving again to be useful, but this wasn't Quidditch. He watched in horror as her eyes rolled up into her head and her mouth began to twitch. She was murmuring all sorts of horrible things about Ron and that day.
The vultures had rushed the podium when they stopped shouting at each other long enough to realize that she'd fainted. Harry screamed for them to get back, but when they realized who her protector was the throng surged forward, and a collective voice began to shriek at the Great Harry Potter. It was only when he pulled his wand out that they quieted down; he was also a highly feared Auror now, in addition to being just The Boy Who Lived- and Vanquished The Dark Lord. He managed to ignore their requests for autographs as he threw Hermione over his shoulder and shouted at them to make a clearing.
He heard a few titters at his harsh attitude, but only clenched his jaw in retaliation. Fourteen years experience in fighting the bad guys had yielded a certain type of self-mastery for Harry; righteous anger wasn't always the answer.
~
Her eyelids slowly opened. She knew she was home when the familiar, musty smell enveloped her. Somewhere mixed in with the dirt and grime that had accumulated in a year, she still smelled him, but no one else could follow that logic.
"Harry!" she croaked when his scar flashed in the passing light as he pushed his hair out of his face. She remembered then what had happened at the meeting, and put the rest together at the fleeting sight of him slumped in the old chair across from her.
She squinted in the dark as she tried to prop herself up on the pillows but found she had underestimated how weak she actually was when her limbs went numb. That's what happens when you don't eat anything for two days, almost three now! She silently scolded herself.
"Are you okay?" His gruff voice came from the spot she knew he was occupying, yet she couldn't see him anymore because the moonlight had shifted.
She let herself fall back down on the pillows and squeezed her eyes shut. What a stupid question, she thought wearily. She hadn't been okay for years.
"What happened?" she asked, avoiding his query.
He was silent for a moment before he swore under his breath and she heard him rustling around inside his robes.
"Lumos," he muttered.
When his pale face came into view she saw he was giving her the accusatory stare he gave everyone he questioned as an Auror.
"You fainted when that old bloke asked you about - him." Harry hadn't said Malfoy's name for a year.
Hermione kept quiet and avoided his gaze. She couldn't stand the idea of another drawn out conversation with Harry. It always made her feel worse after he left and she was alone again.
"Are you okay? Do I need to go to St. Mugo's, or can I persuade you to come, too?" he repeated in that harsh voice he usually reserved for a newly caught Death Eater. Her coyness was making him angry.
"Don't be ridiculous Harry." The last thing she needed was to get dopey from one of the sleeping draughts they always prescribed him to give to her. It was the best they could do, since she wouldn't admit a healer into her home, and she certainly wouldn't venture out for an exam.
He asked for a third time if she was truly fine and Hermione sighed deeply in frustration.
"Please, just stop," she said gently and stared up at the cracked ceiling as her eyes adjusted to the light.
She couldn't blame him, that was how Harry had learned to cope with the myriad tragedies that had befallen him; interrogation of his enemies to the fullest and most persistent degree; especially after Ron's murder. If he just kept asking questions perhaps he'd finally get the answer he longed to hear; but it was in vain. His failure to prove Malfoy's responsibility for Ron's death haunted Harry, yet his ghosts weren't nearly as commonplace as Hermione's.
Everywhere she turned, Ron seemed to be sitting there, just looking at her. The hallucinations had increased dramatically as the anniversary of his death approached, but she wasn't afraid of them anymore; she actually enjoyed seeing him now, even if it made her certifiable. The vision of herself bound with magic in one of St. Mungo's sterile beds made a great sob rise in her chest suddenly, and the wail which stubbornly followed, echoed through the dark room.
"Hermione, this has gone past natural grieving," he said quietly, probably reading her thoughts.
It used to make her angry when he would practice his Occlumency on her without her permission, but that was a different life. Back then, it was scary, sure, but it was also exciting. They'd had so many adventures, and even during the darkest times, there was still the tantalizing scope of the unknown to keep them focused. They had reached the future, though, and Harry was a workaholic, Hermione a recluse, and Ron dead. She didn't want to think about it anymore.
He reached out and found her hand, trembling, then he covered it with his own in a tight grip. "I think maybe we should go to St. Mungo's," he said in a desperate voice.
The beam of light from his wand positioned below his chin gave his face an eerie, translucent look. A wave of paranoia swept over her suddenly, and she had to remind herself that she was talking to Harry, her best friend. There was nothing to be scared of, but so often these days, she was scared, and she didn't know why.
Then, the Voice from earlier that day at the cemetery returned to her thoughts.
'You're scared because you know what your best friend wants to do to you, don't you? Where he wants to take you?' The Voice spoke in a sing-song kind of rhythm, and Hermione wondered, vaguely, if her head was swaying in time to its' poetry. She felt separated from her body, almost euphoric.
Harry was saying something to her about a new sleeping potion he had read about, but she tuned him out. The other voice was far more interesting.
He does want to lock me up, doesn't he? He's like everyone else; he thinks I've gone off the deep end.
'You have gone off the deep end, child.'
'I'm not totally bonkers, I'm just grieving.' She tried to argue with the Voice.
'Yes, you are,' The Voice conceded to the latter.
"It has absolutely no side-effects..." Harry's voice grew softer until she could no longer hear him. She didn't even remember he was still there, such was the attention the Voice demanded.
'But, you know what you have to do to find closure, don't you?' The words tickled at her like a long finger, beckoning her into the dark.
Hermione did know what she needed in order to have closure over that part of her life. She couldn't form the words, even subconsciously, but the Voice was her friend, and it would help her. It would say it for her.
'You need justice Hermione!' The song died away, and the Voice was no longer playing with her.
'Justice! That's all! Nothing to cower over, silly girl!' It chided her.
'The Wizengamot couldn't provide it for you, you'll just have to acquire it through your own resourcefulness!' It was amazing how much the Voice sounded like the old, assertive Hermione.
'My own resourcefulness?' She knew her lip was trembling, although she couldn't feel it.
'Of course! Now, what would have happened if the Wizengamot had fulfilled their duty to uphold the laws which govern the Wizarding community, and found Malfoy guilty?'
'He would have been sent to Azkaban.'
'Which would have resulted in his eventual-what?' The Voice was prompting her, but it was becoming impatient.
"His eventual death." She didn't realize she said it out loud until Harry was standing over her, gripping her shoulders.
"Whose death? Hermione?" His voice squeaked with fear. He thought she was going to faint again.
She knew the Voice was gone; its' seed of demoralization planted in her brain.
She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, before looking up into his eyes.
"Malfoy's." She used the eerie sing-song rhythm the Voice had used.
Harry shook his head back and forth slowly.
"Hermione, what are you saying?" he whispered.
"I'm saying I want justice, Harry, that's all."