Before the Moon Rises

BEFORE THE MOON RISES

Finding Her Way

Chapter Twenty-one

"I played the fool today

And I just dream of vanishing into the crowd

Longing for home again

But home is feeling I buried in you

I can't ask for things to be still again

No I can't ask if I could walk through the world in your eyes

Longing for home again

But home is a feeling I buried in you

I'm all right, I'm all right

It only hurts when I breathe

I'm all right, I'm all right

It only hurts when I breathe."--Melissa Etheridge

July 1998

Hermione sat at her usual table. She could be found in this particular coffee shop on most evenings, unless of course she had something better to be doing--which was very, very rare. So, there she sat, at her usual table, nursing her usual cup of black coffee.

She wasn't sure why she liked this coffee shop so much. Maybe it was because it was a wizard coffee house that had tried to mimic Muggle ways. For example, there was a magicked jukebox in the far back corner that constantly played sad mellow music, unless of course young witches or wizards stopped in, and they always played happy tunes--when this happened, Hermione always found a reason to leave. Or maybe she liked this small cafe because she never had to see familiar faces when she there.

And tonight, thankfully, she was practically alone. The waitresses had long ago stopped asking Hermione if she needed anything. Everyone who worked there was well aware that she would drink four cups of black coffee, no more, no less. She would leave money for them on the table, but under absolutely no circumstances should they try to have small talk with her. She didn't take kindly to conversation. In fact, she was downright chilly...and yet, they often wondered if it was something more to Hermione Granger.

Behind their counter they would sometimes exchange conversations while brewing coffee with a new worker, trying to explain Hermione's situation.

"Who is she again?" the new employee asked.

"Hermione Granger," replied an old worker, measuring out a scoop of ground coffee beans.

"Really? That's amazing. I've never met anyone famous before."

"Don't get any funny ideas in your head. She doesn't talk to strangers."

"She doesn't talk to anyone, you mean," said another worker, wiping down the counter with a wet towel.

"Why not?"

"She's..." one worker paused, halting her hands.

"She's an ice queen," another commented.

"Keep your voice down."

"Oh, as if she'd hear me. She doesn't hear anything."

"What's wrong with her?" the new worker asked, frowning over at Hermione's back.

"She's frigid," said the worker who was wiping down the counter. She tossed the dirty towel into a stack under the counter.

"No, I think it's something more than that," the old worker replied.

One worker snorted in disbelief before walking off.

"Yeah, like what?" asked the new girl.

"There's more to her coldness than just that. Once when she came in, I saw her eyes. There was a flicker of sorrow there, cleverly hidden by her bitter outward appearance. She lived through a War. It's just possible she saw some things that would give anyone nightmares."

The new girl nodded.

If they only knew how close they were to the truth--add in a broken heart full of disappointment and bitter tears and they would have been spot on.

Hermione wrapped a hand around her hot cup of coffee and the other was holding a small red book. She brought this particular book with her every single night, but she had yet to open it. The magic in its pages could not be called exciting but it was full of life-changing events...and she couldn't bear to read the words made permanent in black ink.

She lifted the cup to her lips and drank slowly. She was nursing her fourth cup. The night would be ending soon, and she would return to her flat and make an attempt to sleep before waking up to another endless day like all the ones before.

She looked up as a breeze blew across her face. The door to the café was opening, letting in the cool outside air. A familiar face caught her eye and she secretly wished she could Apparate away immediately, but that would have been unkind.

Ginny Weasley stood at the other end of the café, and her mouth dropped open when she saw Hermione. She walked over to her quickly.

"Hermione? How are you?" she asked, pulling out the chair across from her old friend and sitting down without asking if it was okay. After all, she didn't care what Hermione thought; she would sit there anyway.

"I'm fine," Hermione said, placing her empty cup down on the table.

"My gosh, I can't believe you're in here! I haven't seen you ages. What are you doing in here? This place is so out of the way."

"Drinking coffee," Hermione said, watching as Ginny lifted her hand into the air and called over a waitress.

"Yes, ma'am?" the young girl asked, almost too surprised to believe that Hermione had someone sitting at her table.

"Two teas, please," Ginny said, again without asking Hermione.

"Miss Granger?" the waitress asked in disbelief as if she thought that by changing Hermione's routine something drastic would happen.

"Yes, it's fine." She rolled her eyes as the waitress walked off.

"I haven't seen you in ages," Ginny said, taking a long look at Hermione.

"You said that already," Hermione said dryly.

The waitress placed two cups of tea on the table and scurried away, stopping behind the counter to pass whispers around with the other workers.

Ginny thought Hermione looked much too thin and weary.

"How have you been?" Ginny asked as casually as possible while she placed a cube of sugar in her tea.

"Fine," Hermione said blandly, holding her cup in her hands but never drinking.

"Are you losing weight?" Ginny wondered, unable to stop herself.

"I don't know...maybe," she said, putting her glass of tea down and folding her napkin into a square...and then a much smaller square. She appeared distant and unattached from everyone around her. The jukebox in the back lulled for a few long seconds before picking up again with a particularly sad song.

"Are you eating?"

Hermione pulled her head up quickly and gave Ginny a sharp look. "I eat when I'm hungry," she said defensively. Only I'm never hungry anymore, she added in her mind.

"Okay, okay. Don't get angry. I'm your friend and I can ask you questions," Ginny said calmly.

"Of course you can," Hermione admitted, looking back down at the tiny square that had once been her napkin.

"Ron told me to tell you hello. He's going to come over to my flat later this evening. You're more than welcome to come over, too," Ginny said hopefully.

"I don't know, Gin. I've got things to do..."

"Like what?"

"Just things," she replied, finally taking a sip of her tea. I need to think about life. I need to think about loss. I need to think about why my heart won't stop aching and why I can't stop seeing Remus every time I close my eyes.

"We never see you anymore, Hermione. I think Ron is bringing Harry over as well. I talked to Neville earlier this week. He might drop in. We would have a great time. Everyone misses you," Ginny added quietly.

"Well, no one has told that to me."

"You won't answer anyone's owls."

"Oh," she said. It was true. She had a stack of letters on her desk that she hadn't even opened. They probably all said the same things. We miss you Hermione. Come visit us Hermione. How are you Hermione? Are you still crying Hermione? And the truth was, she didn't want to see anyone. She wanted to be alone because no one understood what she was going through. After all, no one knew exactly what had happened with Remus. No one knew of her constant heartache. Only Harry had the vaguest of ideas, but still he did not know the extent of the ache.

"Hermione, we all lived through the War," Hermione winced, "and we've all had to deal with the aftermath of it. We have each other for support, but we can't help you if you won't let any of us in," Ginny said seriously.

"I don't need help."

"Who says?"

"Me."

"And what a fine expert you are. You aren't eating. You aren't sleeping--"

"Who says I'm not sleeping?" Hermione asked angrily.

"Are you?"

"Yes. Sometimes."

"Then why do you look so exhausted?"

"Because I dream when I sleep, and that's never a good thing," she whispered into her cup of tea, taking a drink to stop the knot from forming in her throat.

"What do you dream about?"

"Nothing," she said, but what she meant to say was Remus. She took another sip of her tea.

"Hermione, come over. Sit with us. Laugh with us--"

Hermione released a bitter laugh and looked at Ginny. "You can't be serious."

"What? I am," Ginny said honestly. "We miss you."

Hermione looked down into her cup of tea and for the first time in a long while, she felt as if she might break down and cry in front of someone else. She swallowed with difficulty and sighed. "Harry told me something once."

"What was that?" Ginny asked quietly.

"He said that he once heard Dumbledore say that there were worse things than dying," she whispered, blinking her eyes rapidly to stop the tears.

"And?"

"And he was right," she said, pulling a couple pieces of change out of her robes. She placed them on the table. "The tea in on me tonight. It was good to see you." Hermione stood up.

"W-what? Where are you going?" Ginny asked, standing to her feet quickly.

"It's been a long day. I'm going...home," she said, walking toward the door.

"But Hermione--" Ginny tried to say, but Hermione was pushing open the door to the café and disappearing out onto the empty and dark street.

Once outside, Hermione breathed in a trembling breath. It was late and there were very few people out, but she began walking down the street, unsure of where she was going.

She had been walking for a long time before she stopped on a corner beneath a lamppost with a flickering light burning atop it. Where am I going? Why don't I just go home? she asked herself. What home? another bitter voice replied. Just because you live there doesn't make it a home.

Her bottom lip trembled slightly. She looked around; she was alone, and some small part of her didn't want to be. Without realizing it, she heard a voice inside her head, a memory from the past.

My Mum took me to this old cathedral just outside the city. She was looking for comfort...

Suddenly an older man was standing on the corner near her. She looked at him in surprise, not having heard his footsteps; he smiled sweetly at her.

"Excuse me, sir," she began, "are there any churches outside the city?"

He smiled again. "There are many churches here, child. Which one are you looking for?"

"I don't know the name of it," she said quietly, trying to remember Remus' words, "but it's very old and it has high, arching ceilings. There are stain glass windows with people on them, I think." She chewed on her bottom lip as she thought.

"Sounds familiar. Remember anything else?" the old man asked, still smiling kindly at her.

"There is an altar at the front...full of candles, I think."

"Yes, yes of course. You must be talking about St. Brigid's cathedral. It's a very old and beautiful place."

"Could you tell me how to find it?"

"Of course." He then proceeded to explain to her how to get there. "It's quite a walk on foot."

"I don't mind."

"Plenty of time to think," he said gently.

"Yes," she said quietly back to him. He smiled again and she was reminded of her grandfather from years ago.

"Have a safe journey there and I hope you find what it is you're looking for."

"Just a small piece of what I'm looking for would suffice," she admitted sadly.

"I have no doubt you will find what it is you seek," he said before nodding his head and walking away.

"Thank you," Hermione called out to him.

She turned in the direction he had explained and began walking. She didn't care if it took all night to find the place; what else did she have to do? Nothing. Same as every night.

She felt only slightly guilty for leaving Ginny so abruptly. She couldn't remember the last time she had wanted contact with other living beings. She had somehow begun to love the feeling of emptiness inside her; it was as if she had become a part of the dark and hollow nothingness--she had willingly given into it.

She had no good reasons for walking toward the cathedral. Perhaps some tiny part of her heart was still hoping to find something to ease the ache in her chest. Perhaps it was foolish but she kept walking; she couldn't stop now, not when she was so close.

Before she knew it, she was standing still, grass beneath her feet, looking up at the foreboding façade of St. Brigid's. She took a deep breath, ascended the stone steps and stopped in front of the large wooden doors. She shrugged her shoulders in answer to the doubts in her mind, and with a distant hope in her heart, she pulled open the doors and stepped inside.