Chapter Text
“She wondered how to un-know certain things, certain specific things that she knew but did not wish to know. How to un-know, for example, that when people died of stone-dust, their lungs refused to be cremated.” — Arundhati Roy, The Ministry of Utmost Happiness, Chapter 9.
When they first learned that Hogwarts would be opening its gates for students again in September, Hermione felt relieved in an unsuspected way. Where Harry and Ron had readily accepted Kingsley's offer to take part in the Auror training program despite uncompleted NEWTs, she had asked for a while to reconsider, claiming she needed time to decide which Ministry Department she wished to join. Thankfully — two weeks later, in the middle of July — an owl arrived at the Burrow, a parchment stringed to its claws, informing them that if they wished to do so, students who weren't able to complete their Seventh Year at Hogwarts due to the war were welcomed back in what would be an exceptional Eighth Year class. The owl didn't even get the chance to go back before a new parchment was in its possession, informing newly appointed Headmistress Minerva McGonagall that only one-third of the Golden Trio would be making its way back on the castle grounds for the upcoming year. A decision made before arguments could sprout about with Ron about her decision, although it did nothing to prevent the argument that ensued when he understood the implications that would come with it.
Even she knew that it might have been worth thinking over before answering, but a part of her couldn't help but be convinced that returning to Hogwarts would allow normalcy to return to her, though temporary. She craved the familiar feeling she always had when she strutted about in the corridors of the castle, her bag thumping heavily against her hip as she clutched it, making sure no fly-away parchment could — actually — fly away from her grasp. Infinite knowledge at the tip of her fingers, or in a precise flick of her wrist, at the tip of her wand.
She did question her decision now that she was faced with the wall that would lead her to the rightful platform to board the Hogwarts Express.
Light filtered through the glassed ceilings of Kings Cross as she stared ahead at Platform 9 3/4, the metal of the trolley carrying her trunk biting into her palms as she tightly held it in her grasp, knuckles whitening. It was a warm and dry day, the sun harshly striking the glass roof above her, barely any wind filtering through the open space. Behind her, a Muggle was announcing loudly the headline of The Sun about the solar storm that happened a few days prior, selling copies for 28 pence. Sweat seemed to pool beneath her top and Hermione had to remind herself that she couldn't cast a chilling charm out in the open until she had passed the wall. She couldn't tell with certainty if she felt too hot because of the unusual temperature or the fear that seemed to have taken place in her body at the realisation that she was about to face hundreds of students and their family members all at once in a few seconds.
She had been shielded from the eyes of the Wizarding World during her summer at the Burrow, only leaving occasionally to help Harry clean out his newly inherited townhouse, Grimmauld Place — with the help of a very disgruntled Kreacher who refused to even acknowledge her existence unless it was to frown at her, and also refuse to even consider accepting a piece of cloth. Maybe she should've accepted the Weasley's matriarch offer to come together at the station to see Ginny and her off; she had pretended to want to shop in Muggle London before leaving for the beginning of the term. Maybe she was stalling in hopes that she wouldn't have to say goodbye.
A shaky breath later, Hermione was running towards the brick wall as she had done when she was 11 years old. Only this time, her parents weren't flanking her sides, a reassuring hand settled between her shoulder blades as they pushed her forward, towards a new beginning.
As soon as she passed the magical threshold, an unusual quietness settled around her as her skin prickled with the familiar feeling of ambiant magic cooling down her body. No need for a chilling charm after all.
Hermione couldn't remember a time where the station had been as calm as it was at the moment before boarding the Hogwarts Express, she realised fearing people would pay attention to her might've been ridiculous in the current context. Families and friends were still scattered in small clusters along the platform, whispering among themselves. Quiet laughter could be heard amongst some, quiet sobs from worried parents for others — not sure if they were ready to have their children leave them for a few months again — filleding most of the atmosphere. Perhaps Molly's own sobs were the loudest, making Hermione think that it was the norm throughout the rest of the groups. Her steps faltered as she approached the people most familiar to her, feeling like she was intruding on a private moment. For the first time since she reunited with them, the brunette noticed that Arthur and Molly seemed a tad older than they ever had, grey streaks parsed more evenly through their ginger hair, lines etched deeper on their forehead, between their brows. The war had made them worry infinitely, Fred's death had aged them faster than they were prepared to. They didn't seem ready to let their youngest in the hands of Hogwarts for the last time.
While she hesitated on wether she should try and make a run for the train without a word and pretend she hadn't seen them in the station, her eyes met Harry's who beckoned her to come towards them with a slight nod of his head. Pushing her trolley towards the Weasleys — Harry was definitely considered one of their child by now — Hermione willed her heart thrumming against her chest to slow down, pasting on a quiet smile that wanted to pass as reassuring as she reached the group of redheads with the additional mess of raven hair. Ron immediately wrapped a lazy arm around her shoulders, throwing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes her way.
"Got everything you needed 'Mione?", he asked in a whisper, slouching down to be closer to her ear.
While already the tallest of the Weasleys, he had grown even taller over the summer; the months spent on the run during the Horcrux hunt well compensated by the food his mother had forced him to gulf down after the last funerals. Though he never needed much convincing to eat more than his fair share, Molly had overdone herself lately, cooking night and days for them — probably as a way to fill the void left behind by the loss she had experienced.
She answered with a nod, barely having time to register that some people were missing before the matriarch engulfed her in a hug, her sobbing becoming even louder and resonating against the walls of the too-quiet platform — though maybe they just seemed louder now that they were right by her ear, Ron pushed aside unceremoniously.
"Oh Hermione!", wailed Molly as she crushed her in her arms before sliding her roughened hands to her cheek, tears filled eyes meeting hers, "Please take care of my Ginny while you're there! I don't know what I'll do if something happens to you two!"
"Of course Molly, I promise.", said Hermione in a quiet voice, trying to make sure her smile was as reassuring as possible.
She barely had time to consider if she should hug her back, her arms laying by her sides awkwardly, before Molly turned to Ginny and crushed her in her arms right back.
"We're sorry Percy couldn't come, he had a meeting with Kingsley he couldn't miss", said Arthur with a slight pat on her shoulder, refocusing his attention on his wife, rubbing her back as he attempted — and failed — to reassure her that Ginny was in good hands this year.
"We tried to get George out of his room but he still wouldn't answer," whispered Harry who came to her left side, "think it's making Molly even more emotional."
"She screamed at his door that he was breaking her heart," nodded Ron.
"It's alright, thank you for trying."
Don't think she would want to come back here anyway if she were in his shoes.
She stood by their circle silently as Molly kept fussing over her youngest who seemed to already be done and ready to bolt towards the castle. Thankfully — although she was ashamed to think so — the first whistle signalling the incoming departure rang through the hall, allowing Hermione to announce that she'd try to find an empty compartment for her and Ginny. She said goodbye to the Weasleys' parents — doubting that Molly even heard her —, hugged Harry who promised to write her as often and possible, and was glad that no reporters were allowed in the station as Ron hugged her a tad too long, leaving a kiss atop her curls. He murmured something that sounded too closely to "I love you" and she pretended not to hear it as she rolled her trolleys to the train.
Her ears were ringing with sound of parents telling their kids to write everyday and take care of themselves as she entered the quietness of the train, marching on towards the back wagon her smaller luggages in hand. With no trouble, she found an empty compartment and almost threw her cases overhead before dropping with a sigh on a seat near the window, keeping only her unregulated beaded bag by her side. It felt like there were less students than usual, if she had found an empty space so easily despite entering amongst the last people — many parents must have decided to send their kids away to different boarding wizard school this year, with no one to wonder why they'd make such a choice. Some had lost their trust in putting their children in Hogwarts after the last year, deeming it unsafe, unfit to care for children. Hermione hoped she'd be able to feel safe enough in the home she had known for the past 8 years.
Wondering if Ginny would even be able to make it to the train without bringing Molly alongside, her wonders were answered quickly as the former barged in the compartment, startling Hermione as the door rattled loudly.
"I thought she'd never let me go at this rate," huffed the redhead, "but look who I found on my way!"
"Hermione! Feels good to see you with us this year!", smiled Neville who claimed the seat in front of her.
She hummed in agreement and in with them came Luna Lovegood, dainty plum earrings clinking as she settled in the booth next to Neville, a soft smile on her lips. Her eyes seemed unfocused as she stared above Hermione's head, tilting her own to the side in wonder. Hermione raised an eyebrow at the younger girl as she started to ruffle through the bag at her right side, Neville and Ginny starting to debate on who was most reluctant to let them board the train between his Gran and her mother.
She couldn't help but feel relieved as she thought that Luna seemed healthier than when she had last seen her, at least when she last recalled seeing her. Was it at Colin Creevey's funeral? Maybe Fred's? Her unfailing memory seemed to be hazy over the past few months. The fair-haired girl had regained colours in her cheeks — maybe she put on some blush? or was it due to the ambiant heat? —, her robes fitted her properly again, instead of hanging from her frame as they had. Though she had never lost the sparkle in her eyes through the war, they seemed to twinkle in the overhead yellowish light, the rattling of the train highlighting the hues of blue inside of her irises by interval.
Before Hermione could consider that staring at her was overly rude at this point, Luna finally pulled out a teabag — with, purple leaves? Guessed Hermione —, handing it over to the lonesome third of the Golden Trio, soft smile still shaping her lips.
"Verbena, you should sleep with it under your pillow. They'll help keep the oozlum from nestling in your hair," she explained when Hermione gave her a puzzled look as she took the teabag in her hands, "they're harmless really, but they tend to make people unable to look to the future."
Verveine. She passed her right hand through the curls at the top of her head, tilting it upwards at the same time. She felt nothing, saw nothing, but nodded her head at the sole Ravenclaw as she dropped the teabag in her beaded bag. "Thank you Luna, I'll—", her voice faltered hesitantly, "I'll try to remember."
A smile probably seeming more like a grimace doned her lips as she focused her attention back to the now closed door of their compartment, letting Luna join their friends conversation, inputting which advices her father gave her for the year.
Folding in on herself, Hermione wrapped her arms around the legs she pulled up to her torso, her feet resting on the booth seat. Their part of the wagon seemed infinitely smaller, yet emptier, than it had two years ago when she boarded the train for her Sixth Year. Certainly smaller than when she first came at 11 years old, uniform on before even boarding, strutting around individual compartments in search for Neville's toad. Did he still have it with him? She wished she would quiet her mind of her worries as her eyes kept flitting back and forth from the window to the door in what she hoped was a discreet way, resisting the urge to pull out her wand to apply wards around them. A particularly rash rattling swayed them all around as the train took on some speed and Hermione pressed herself against the wall to her right side, trying to avoid bumping into Ginny. Her eyes unfocused just as she seemed to see a flash of silver hair and dark robes flowing by the window of their door, disappearing as the sudden movement stopped.
An heaviness was settling behind her irises and she willed herself to close her eyes as the sun passed through the window to her right, blinding her. If she couldn't rest during their trip up to Scotland, she would at least pretend to do so, unwilling to participate in the animated debate surrounding her. She should feel safe, they were all war veterans, she was safe. She didn't need— they didn't need her to stand guard, analysing everything and everyone giving life to the train. It was okay. They were okay. She was okay.
The train ride passed by in a blur of flashing colours behind her eyelids — red, purple, blue, green and white spots dancing around in her mind as every noise she couldn't distinctly make out rung in her ears. She wrapped her hands around her jean-clad legs a little tighter, dropping her head against the carpeted wall. She'd feel better when she would arrive at Hogwarts. She had to seem better when she arrived, thought Hermione as she could feel Ginny and Neville taking turns at throwing worried glances her way every now and then. Slow down your heartbeat, take even breaths, only a few more hours to go.
The darkness of the night engulfed them and she couldn't help but startle in what she hoped was an unnoticeable way as she got off the train only to be met with rows upon rows upon rows of thestrals harnessed to their carriages. Oh how she missed the time she thought they were merely magical carriages led by nothing, thinking Harry had finally gone completely crazy while he discussed with Luna what led them to the castle. She didn't dare to look around her to see if others had reacted in the same way as she had, realising that they could properly see the creatures for the first time. She had been able to see them since her Sixth Year, probably could've before if she had encountered them right after Sirius' death. Maybe they could all see them now.
Hermione willed herself to keep her eyes focused on her feet as she followed her friends to a carriage they chose, a flash of silver passing by in the corner of her eyes as she hopped on. When she looked back, she only saw the hoards of students walking about the earthy ground toward their own carriage, no silver to be seen apart from the ties of Slytherins. Maybe she should get her eyes checked, she wasn't sure she was supposed to hallucinate house colours in the wild.
The ride to the castle passed in a quieter blur than the train ride had. Again, she kept her eyes closed the entire time. No flashes of colour behind eyelids this time, no groaning of metal against metal. Only the discreet ruffling of leaves in the wind.
Her cheeks hurt, her eyes felt heavier than they had at 11 in the morning and though reassured that she wasn't the only one who had flinched upon entering the Great Hall, Hermione forced herself to focus on the Sorting Hat singing its welcoming song, a polite small on her face. There were no ginger or black with violet hues hair laying on the ground. The stone walls stood high and strong around them, the ceiling displayed the twinkling of constellations in the night sky it always had, chandeliers and their accompanying candles levitating above them, dripping wax disappearing before it could reach the top of their heads.
The Great Hall had never felt as quiet at the beginning of the school year as it was now. Most people preferring to speak in low voices to their friends rather than in boasterous voices that barely pretended to listen to a word said as they used to do the previous years, rejoicing at the idea of spending a new year with friends. Perhaps they were just as scared as she was to speak in the wrong tone, provoking new potential ghosts to rise beneath them; ghosts they had known in flesh only a few months prior.
Polite and scattered applauses rang through the heavy space around them and Hermione joined them at what always felt like a second too late. She forced her smile to be wider as she turned her eyes to the Headmistress, willing herself to pretend to listen with attention to the calling of unfamiliar names of unfamiliar faces that was sure to happen in a few minutes. She could easily to do that for a few minutes before she had to turn her attention to the plates of food that would appear for her dreaded first meal back at Hogwarts as a student. How had she ever thought that she would feel good about being back? Her eyes focused on the hat of McGonagall, the reassuring drawl of her Scottish accent starting her welcoming speech for the oldest and newest students that would walk amongst the ancient corridors of the castle for the upcoming year.
Ginny must have noticed she had zoned out of the speech as a sharp jolt of her elbow met her left side, eyes widen before she turned back towards their old Transfiguration teacher.
"The tower will be located at the right of the Bell Tower and has been accommodated with individual chambers for each of our returning students," louder whispers seemed to ripple through the Hall and the Headmistress Sonorus charm rang a tad louder over the students' voices order to be heard, "No need to fret children, you will still be allowed access to your Houses' Common Rooms, but as I said, the castle wouldn't allow us to modify the plans of the existing Common Rooms to adapt to this exceptional class. I will escort you myself to your new accomodation at the end of our supper, so please do wait for the Hall to empty before leaving." The clap of her hands seemed to conclude this part of her welcoming speech, but didn't help to quiten the loud rumble of whispers surrounding them. "Now for the Sorting Ceremony, if Miss Edith Aebbe—"
Hermione tuned out the rest her sentence as she turned to the red-head by her side with furrowed brow.
"What was this about? I didn't quite catch the beginning of her speech."
"Yeah, could noticed that," huffed Ginny as she fully turned to her yet staring straight ahead to the table in front of her for a second too long, "thought we'd finally be able to be roomies but McGonagall just told us that yous Eighth Years would have your own tower. Apparently the magic of the castle thought easier to sprout out a new tower rather than let you back crashing in our Common Room.", she grumbled and grabbed her goblet of pumpkin juice, muttering under her breath, "What a load of rubbish I swear."
Her eyes met Neville's and she willed her now smaller smile to not completely disappear, "Yeah, rubbish."
"At least we'll still be in the same tower Hermione," smiled Neville, "and it's not like we can't hang in the Gryffindor Common Room whenever we want, just can't sleep there." he shrugged while turning his attention to the still grumbling Ginny.
"And you'll be closer to the library Granger! Bet you're glad 'bout that ay!", exclaimed Seamus Finnigan from his right. His voice quieter as he threw an angry glance behind him to the Slytherin table, "Just too bad we'll have to share our space with some o' these fuckin' snakes.", he grumbled beneath his breath, "Can't believe puggy Parkinson dared to show her face this year."
"Didn't you read the Prophet over the summer?", said Romilda farther down the table, "She had to come back as part of her probation!"
"Should've just left her to rot in Azkaban if you ask me." grumbled Seamus in a louder voice, whispers of agreement being voiced through the table.
Hermione refused to take the time to process the information, tuning out the ambiant noise of conversations and applauses surrounding her as the small pack of First Years were attributed their new Houses, still joining in always at what felt like a few seconds too late to the applause. She could feel curious eyes from the new students upon her from all sides and as a result, forced herself to plaster on her Golden Girl trademark smile once again, pretending as best as she could that she was truly interested in the passing of the Ceremony. Surely they had either seen or heard about her through the summer or previous year — be it as one of the three Undesirable or one of the three youngest people in history to receive and Order of Merlin: First Class.
When the food appeared on all of their tables, she barely noticed it as their Headmistress wished them a great meal. The first forkful she brought to her mouth tasted bland, lumpy, as did the few following. Hermione spent most of the supper neatly cutting the food on her plate in an attempt to appear as though she was eating, forcing herself into a conversation with Neville about the upcoming Herbology curriculum. She couldn't stop her cheeks from reddening as he realised surprisingly that she hadn't read their new assigned book yet — she hated to admit to herself that she was just as surprised as he was at the realisation that she hadn't already read every book in the syllabus three times over.
By the time dessert popped around the Hall — courtesy of the Hogwarts house-elves —, the brown-haired girl could feel her stomach tightening up in knots. After spending the summer at the Burrow with Ginny, Harry and Ron, it had been a reassurance to know that she would be able to still share a room with the youngest Weasley through the year. Now, she was getting closer and closer to the realisation that she would spend part of the year on her own, alone with her thoughts most nights. She couldn't let herself dwell on the idea yet couldn't get herself to engage in the conversations surrounding her any longer, turning quieter and quieter with each passing minutes.
Seeing the first group of First Year led back to their dorm by the Ravenclaw Sixth Year prefect was both a relief and the unmistakable feeling of impending doom. Groups of students started to trickle out of the Great Hall as the last of the food disappeared from their tables, Hermione's untouched plate along the way. Ginny patted her shoulder in what was desired to be a reassuring way and soon, only the returning Eighth Year were left remaining with their Headmistress. She rose from the professor's table with Flitwick, exchanging quiet words before he left as well, letting her turn to them.
"If you would please follow me."
Her Golden Girl fake smile was back in place, never wanting to disappoint — or worry — her old Head of House. As a result she followed Neville closely as they all started to walk towards their new tour; partly hiding behind him, partly trying to make herself disappear in the too small group of students.
The corridors were quiet, the few whispers coming from Dean and Seamus resonating against the cold stone. Her eyes stared straight ahead at Longbottom's back, preventing her from being tempted to look around, scared of which memories she might be thrown back into if she dared to. The ascension to the tower passed too quickly for her, — though she had to admit, as Seamus had said, she was glad to see she was so much closer to the library now — and she could hear some students scoff when McGonagall declared that the first password to their Common Room would be "unity". They were all in for a year were this word would certainly become overused by any and every professors present with them for this new term.
When she passed through the portrait amongst the last students, a slight sigh of relief escaped her as she finally dared to look around. The Common Room — though she was seeing it for the first time — had an odd sense of familiarity. It strangely looked like the Gryffindor's Common Room, if it had clashed and mixed with what she assumed were elements from each of the Houses. It was a circular room, lighted up by a few candles levitating and its own fireplace near the entrance they just passed through. Tapestries of various shades covered the walls, each of them representing one of the four Houses. The ceilings were way higher than they had been at Gryffindor's, bookshelves going to the top of the single windowless wall. Despite craning her neck up, it felt like she might not be able to see the books at the very top unless she climbed one of the extensible ladders propped against the shelves. In between each tapestries, arched windows carved in rough stone allowed them to look out north at the Bell Tower courtyard and the greenhouses, moonlight casting blueish shadows that clashed against the yellow shades of the candles. Vines and various plants hung from the windowstills, and Hermione saw Neville's eyes twinkle as they rested upon them; they'd never die as long as he was present.
Wooden tables were sprouted about the large room, two of them sporting the checkered pattern of Wizard's Chess engraved unto them while the rest had rectangular greenish banker's lamps on them, reminding her of photos she had seen of the Sorbonne library when she was younger, though the shape differed. Only velvety armchairs could be seen around those tables from her spot, all dark wood with carvings that reminded her of the Gothic style, the fabric's colour a darker mix of their origin Houses' colour; forrest green, dijon yellow, a dark scarlet and the colour of the black lake. A large sofa and a few armchairs of the same textile stood in front of the fireplace mantel upon a large carpet whose design she couldn't decipher for now but which seemed Persian. Gold and silver carvings could be seen upon the mahogany wood of the staircase leading to what she assumed would be their dormitories; four balconies — two at each level — of the same wood but with stone ramparts standing at the sides of the imposing bookshelf. It truly looked like the castle tried its best to bring about elements of what she assumed were each of their Houses to make them feel at home for this last inpromptu year.
"I won't take up too much of your time before letting you find your rooms, as I'm sure you all are ready for a good night's rest before your classes start tomorrow.", started the Headmistress after turning towards their group, "There will be no separation of boys' and girls' dormitories, as I assume by now that each of you are mature enough to stay responsible."
A pointed looked fell upon them at these words, lingering a tad longer on Finnigan who started to snicker and attempt to whisper in Thomas' ear. He was cut short by the precedent Gryffindor Head House clearing her throat.
"Though you are allowed to invite some of your fellow Seventh Year students here, as I know many of you has spent the last year in their company, I would ask that you make sure they go back to their dorm before their curfew. I hope I do not need to remind you that you all came here to study and pass your NEWTs.", another pointed look fell on Seamus before he could attempt to make an unheard small comment again, "We have extended your own curfew to midnight, trusting that you will use this time wisely as the library's curfew has been extended as well to accommodate the students that weren't present last year."
A tint of pink crept up Hermione's cheeks when she heard those words; she was pretty certain that she was amongst — if not the only — the students that hadn't been able to follow classes at Hogwarts the previous year due to the Horcrux hunt.
"If you were to be found by Mr.Flinch in the corridor past that time, the fact that you are now of age will not prevent you from disciplinary action, including, but not restrained to, detention." And now no one could doubt that this was particularly targeted to Seamus once again, "You will find your schedules in your individual rooms, and before I tell you on which level you will find them, I would like to inform you that for this upcoming year, your uniforms will not need to sport your Houses' colour or emblem."
Whispers rippled through the front of the room as Hermione looked down, seeing the gold and red of her tie vanish at these words, the lion of her robe along with it.
"Even out of class she can't help but make the longest speeches," whispered Seamus in front of her with a smirk.
"Can't believe we'll have the same uniforms as Slytherins.", said Zacharias Smith, frowning at the latter.
"I will ask of you to still wear your uniforms while attending classes, but you may wear whichever garments you wish to during the weekends, as long as it stays appropriate to be worn on the school grounds.", this time, a general glance to most women in the room left a response to Hermione on who this was directed to, "Now, as for your sleeping arrangement."
Hermione sort of zoned out as names for the first level started to fizzle out, the students concerned being dismissed and allowed to go and find their room.
Her own name was heard in the middle of the second level and she couldn't pretend to have listened to who had already been called, nor who was left. Climbing up the stairs two-by-two, she quickly reached the second floor. She could decipher the door of the shared bathroom at the end of the corridor, with 5 doors on both of its right and left side. Glancing at each door as she quickly walked by, Hermione found her name written on the second to last door on the right side. Hermione J. Granger, engraved in cursive gold letters in what she guessed to be McGonagall's handwriting, as she had so often read it on the margins of her essays.
As soon as the brunette passed the threshold of what would be her bedroom for the upcoming year, she pulled her wand out of her robe and briskly got to work, more out of habit than necessity. Though she knew that she should know that Hogwarts was now safe, she couldn't help but start to cast protective enchantments on the door and window before even taking a proper look at the room.
"Protego Totalum, Fianto Duri, Repello Inumicum, Salvio Hexia, Cave Inumicum," whispered Hermione turn by turn, ending with a, "Colloportus." against her door. Only then could a semblance of calm settle in Hermione's bones, allowing her to properly look around for the first time.
Despite having the bedroom for herself, the bed to the far right side of the room still had a canopy, thick curtains hanging low to the ground. A tarteran of intricate embroidered velvet ornamenting the cloth in a rainbow of dark reds, yellows, greens and blues, a bit too on the nose with the whole "unity" theme, but they complimented the rich walnut wood of the four-poster; golden tessels weighting it down. At the top of the canopy, the wood of each column had an engraving representing the four houses; snake, lion, eagle, badger. Bedsheets of black silk, way too many pillow to feel comfortable. At least the bed was larger than it had been when she had to share her space with 4 other girls, although it did take a good third of the room's space, especially with the bedside table propped against the wall next to it. Maybe it was just that the room was very small in comparison to what she had been used to?
On the other side of the window, opposite the bed, stood a small desk of three cupboards made of the same walnut wood as the bed against the left wall; a small reading lamp upon it, a gothic carved armchair standing in front of it. Her trunk had already been brought to her room, standing to the left of her desk next to a carved full-length mirror by the door. She was used to her trunk being at the foot of her bed, but it allowed for far more room in the small space that they were allotted. Deciding against taking a shower at this time of the night, Hermione prioritised getting her beaded bag out of her trunk first — as she had put it there before coming out of the train; she didn't need the professors to lecture her, or worse, confiscate it as it was illegal — settling it on her bedside table. What followed next was her pyjamas, a washed-out The Who shirt that belonged to her father from The Kids Are Alright tour and a tartan flannel pant she had bought with her mother the summer before her Fifth Year; the latter was a tad too short now, stopping a little too high above her ankle since her last growth spurt in Sixth Year.
She pulled out of her robes, untied her tie and discarded the rest of her clothes — as if they had been suffocating her — in a mess on the floor. Her bra was unclasped and left on the ground with it all before she threw on her night set in what seemed like a hurry. After pulling her head through the collar of her shirt, Hermione was met with her own image in the mirror, eyes widening as a deer in headlight, her hair a halo of freed curls rebelling against her face. She bent down and found her wand she had put back in the pocket of her robe and dispelled the glamour charm she had cast on herself in the morning.
Her eyes found the scar on her left arm first. She quickly slid her glance back towards her own face. Purplish dark circles slowly appeared again under her eyes, the moonlight filtering in through the window casting deepened shadows against her jutted cheekbones. The shirt hung too low around her neck, collarbones picking out, sharp bones at her shoulders giving an odd shape to the material. A flick of her wand tied her pants tighter around her hips hidden by the lenght of her top.
As she stared blankly at herself, the young woman could barely recognise herself. The Brightest Witch of Her Age. She couldn't stand the image reflected back in the mirror; there didn't seem to have anything bright about the person that was staring back at her. Muscles of her frail wrists pulled taunt as she tightened her grasp against the wand in her hand.
She knew that she didn't quite look as healthy as she had before she had to flee with Harry and Ron last summer, the conditions while she was on the run didn't allow her to take the best care of herself. She had had to support the constant wave of worries from Harry, then Ginny, then Ron and finally Molly — when she regained the bit of energy to do so — on her state over the summer, but that was certainly because they wouldn't take the time to look in a mirror themselves. They had all been impacted by the war — and apart from Ron who had spent the summer taste-testing every single dish Molly made, — what she saw in herself wasn't much different from how she saw Harry in her opinion. Healing would take time. In the meantime, of course her clothes would hang low from her gaunt frame; that's what a war with months on the run did to one. That they wouldn't understand that was beyond her.
With a final fleeting glance to her left arm, Hermione recast the glamour on her unsighlty scar before stalking to her bed, a last round of protective concealments being cast inside once the curtains were drawn shut. Another flick of her wrist to Scourgify her teeth — if her parents knew she hadn't brushed her teeth before settling into bed; she could almost hear her mother nagging in her ears. They'd have a proper fit about the importance of healthy teeth. Wand kept under her pillow, she engulfed herself underneath the heavy covers and convinced herself she would let the night play out behind her closed eyes.
"Tempus."
4:32 in the morning.
She should be down by the Great Hall before 8 if she hoped to have a bit of breakfast before the throng of students would ruffle in a hurry before classes.
Hermione had been down in the Common Room for a few hours now, head tilted to the side, staring listlessly into the ambers licking and dancing around against the stone of the fireplace. A battered second-hand copy of Michel Strogoff by Jules Vernes laying unread on her lap. The light from the fire created shadows dancing around in front of her eyes, emitting a warmth that radiated through her slumped body on one of the armchair.
She had found herself to be restless in her bed, feeling suffocated in the silence of the unfamiliar room, the darkness inside her curtains making her startle and go for her wand at the slightest sound her mind conjured in the dead of the night. Her feet led her to the common space of her new tower before she could truly think about it.
Here, she chose the armchair that allowed her the best view of the space around her. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to take a proper look around and analyse every nook and crannies of the Common Room, her brain too foggy from the accumulated lack of sleep to be able to properly take it all in and register the information she would gather if she did so. The brunette had angled herself in a way that made sure her only blind spot would be the back of the entrance painting behind her, wand clasped in her right hand. She was still able to see the the bottom of the dorm stairs from the corner of her eye. The balconies to dark to decipher anything from the second level.
She had brought with her a book passed down to her by her mother, but hadn't been able to make it past the first chapter despite having read it a couple of times already. The annotations in the margins had made her eyes feel all prickly and weird; she probably just needed a good rest. She wished she could've made herself a cuppa, she would need to go down to Hogsmeade as soon as possible to buy a new set lest she trouble the castle's elves for it; until she was sure they were being paid a minimum wage — with paid leave —, she had to heart to make sure she wouldn't exploit them unnecessarily. The last tea set she had had been broken during—
She should've asked one from Molly before leaving. Maybe if she owled Harry he would be able to at least send her one cup before the next village outing.
The loud rustling of wind against leaves outside could still be heard all around her despite the windows blocking out most of the noise. Perhaps she was experiencing another auditory illusion, her mind tricking her into believing it was louder than it really was in the quietness of the late hours. A creaking of wood resonated in her mind, she knew it to be from the ambers burning in front of her, not an auditory illusion.
Was the sound of padded feet against carpet only in her mind? Hermione's neck cracked as she turned her eyes towards the staircase, a shadow seeming to create movement in the obscured space. The candles levitating about the room had burnt low and she couldn't be sure if what she was seeing were truly socked feet against the carpet of the stairs, any movement now stilled. The potential intruder — if not another figment of her imagination — seemed to have noticed her presence in the room. Before she could cast a Lumos, the shadow retreated up the stairs.
Another night owl struggling to find sleep in this place.
Her ears strained to listen as they went back, the faint sound of a door closing at what could've been the second floor losing itself in the echo of burning wood from the fireplace and branches cracking against the outside of the stone walls.
"Tempus.", she whispered.
5:07 in the morning.
She would go back to her room at 6 to collect some clothes from her room and be the first to the showers before breakfast.