Chapter Text
All the king's horses, all the king's men
Couldn't put me together again
'Cause all of my enemies started out friends
Help me hold onto you
I've been the archer
I've been the prey
Who could ever leave me, darling?
But who could stay?
The Archer — T.S.
Of all the foul, loathsome people to root out her secrets, had it really had to be that vermin, Rita Skeeter? Hermione brushed an angry and defeated tear from her cheek and swallowed down another wave of nausea, one that tightened her esophagus and left her pale, porcelain skin dewy with a cold sweat. She had done everything she could, gone to every expert, but the answer was always the same. If they tried to remove the (admittedly perfect ) Obliviate she cast on her parents, it would tear at the bonds of the very fabric of their minds and leave them reduced to vegetative shells of their former selves.
Such a positive outlook.
Hermione had mourned, was still mourning, but in private. Never one to publicly air out her dirty laundry, the witch found herself feeling entirely violated. She couldn’t fathom how the conniving, corrupt bug learned of her plight, but she sensationalized every little detail she’d discovered. ‘ Golden Girl’s Ultimate Sacrifice’ was the headline, in thick, black font along with a photo of Hermione outside the Wilkins home in Australia. She had just said goodbye, for the last time, and it showed. Her grief was palpable in the moving image as her breath would hitch and the witch would crumble into a mess of tears before the loop would begin again.
Hot, pulsing rage coursed through Hermione’s veins. How dare Skeeter? The Daily Prophet that she’d been carrying crumpled noisily in her fist and she felt a brief moment of satisfaction. She’d gone down for breakfast, eager to begin her day, anything to get her mind off of all the losses she’d experienced in the last few months—only to have her fragile somewhat peace shattered with the arrival of the post.
No sooner had the owls dropped off their charges did she feel the weight of all her fellow students stares. When she’d looked up from her meal, the pity-filled stares aimed in her direction had the food turning to ash on her tongue. Moments later Ginny gasped her name, a Prophet was shoved under her nose, and with each word she read, Hermione found it became harder and harder to breathe. Forgoing manners, she’d snatched the paper and raced from the Great Hall, unwilling to dissolve into another unfortunate puddle of public tears.
Instead, she ended up stomping through the cavernous halls, with no real destination in mind. Just... away. Hermione wasn’t ready to answer any questions—not about her parents and her botched attempt to save them. Not about the break-up with Ron. Not about how Harry had seemingly taken Ron’s side in the break-up, nor whether the Golden Trio was no more as a result. All that Hermione wanted was to go to her classes, ace her NEWTs at the end of the year, and simply...survive.
The witch had honestly lost track of where her feet had carried her as she wandered the halls in a daze, and broke free from her emotional stupor to look around noting the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, causing Hermione to blink. She’d made it to the seventh floor without even noticing? She began to pace, lamenting this morning’s assault on her psyche and heart. It was so hard to see things from a logical and rational point of view when each and every word printed in obsidian ink seemed to sink through her skin and stain her wounded heart with its darkness.
“I can’t,” Hermione choked out in a broken whisper. Those two words encompassed everything in her life—she couldn’t face a future without her parents, knowing it was her fault and her fault alone that ripped them away from her so thoroughly and with such finality it rattled her to her very core.
She couldn’t with Harry and Ronald, her best friends, the two young men she imagined would be by her side forever and possibly even after that—both of whom had deserted her when she made a decision they didn’t agree with. And, well, isn’t that how it always went with them? A bitter, vile sort of anger churned in her stomach as she recalled the last time they behaved like this, in third year over that blasted Firebolt.
Harry would always take Ron’s side of things. Always. And it was time she faced that truth. Yes, she’d likely hear from him after this expose, his concern for her wellbeing outweighing his unfaltering loyalty to his best friend, momentarily. But even that would sting because it would only be temporary. The moment she said she was fine , Harry would take her at her word and all but disappear from her life once more.
Hermione loathed being reduced to the snivelling, lonely witch she’d been in first year. But that was exactly how she felt.
Her pacing sped, along with the tears falling from her eyes, yet another reason to be frustrated and angry. The witch hated showing weakness. Hated it. And now the whole school had borne witness to her fleeing from their heavy stares, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Whispers likely followed her exit: Poor thing. How awful. Could you imagine?
How could Hermione return as if nothing had happened? How could she keep up her strong facade when everyone knew?
She couldn’t. Things would be forever changed and different and at that moment, Hermione fervently wished for her time-turner, to escape this mess. Hell, anything to escape this hell she currently found herself in.
A gasp escaped her as a heavy, ornate door appeared in the wall opposite her. In her frazzled mental state, Hermione hadn’t thought of the Room of Requirement. In all honesty, she expected it would still bear too much damage to present itself, but...it was there, and she did need to escape.
Without another thought, the witch made for the door, shouldering it open with a heady sense of relief and gratitude. What met her eyes made her pause, and quieted the squall of negative thoughts swirling in her mind. The room was white. Stark white, like freshly fallen snow before the world wakes and turns it to slush. It was bright, nearly blinding and Hermione instinctively shielded her eyes from the assault until they could adjust.
Looking about the space, which seemed to have no beginning or end, the witch could almost make out forms off in the distance, but they were blurry and seemed to move to and fro with no rhyme or reason. In the middle of the room, if you could call it the middle, stood the only item that wasn’t mirage-like. The mirror of Erised, proudly erect and occupying its patch of white, called to her. Even knowing the risks, there was no way she would pass up the opportunity to see that which she most desired.
Parents whose eyes lit up with recognition; were positively thrilled to see their only child.
Eager as Hermione was, she raced towards the mirror, heart beating wildly in her chest. As she drew nearer, a wide, watery smile stretched across her lips. There stood her Mum and Dad, smiling brightly and waving at their daughter. Incredibly, Harry and Ron flanked them, looking happy and welcoming. Oh, how she wanted this vision to be real. The witch couldn’t think of a single thing she wouldn’t give to have her family, for that’s what each and every person there was, enthusiastically waving and coaxing her forward, ever closer to the reflective surface of the looking glass.
Eyes on those that she loved most in this world, she never noticed the way her robes had become twisted about her ankles. Rushing forward as she was, it only to a split-second, one clumsy, terrible moment—to send her off balance. The witch barely had time to yelp as she fell, eyes wide and fearful, towards the glass. The awful sound of shattering never came, however, and instead of smacking into the cold, hard surface—Hermione passed through what felt like an icy liquid that left no trace of itself behind.
She fell, for what felt like a lifetime in a matter of seconds, and landed hard on her bum smack dab in the middle of the Room of Requirement. Only, it looked as it did before the final battle. Hermione’s breath sped, and dark spots formed in her vision before the witch properly fainted, falling backwards onto the stone floor. The sickening thud of her head bouncing against the hard surface echoed about the room, and then silence prevailed.