Through Her Eyes

Chapter 5: A Snake in the Lions Den

'If Ron were here, he probably would have pummeled me,' Hermione thought, exhaling shakily as she made her way through the Common Room. She avoided bumping into anyone or making any sort of eye contact, practically running up the stairs to the girl's dormitory.
What greeted her was similar to her treatment downstairs. The mindless chatter which had filled the room before was utterly silent now, as the girl's all stared at her from their beds. Hermione felt as if she should say something to break the ice, but the glares she was receiving quickly snuffed out that small flame of hope. Keeping her head down, Hermione went to the only bed left. It had clearly been moved from its original position next to the other girls, and was pushed as far against the opposite wall as possible.

'Isolate the Slytherin,' Hermione thought, 'she might carry something'

Biting her lip to keep the tears at bay, Hermione took hold of her trunk (apparently she had a trunk?) which had been practically tossed across the floor, setting it at the end of her bed. She then threw herself on the mattress, ripped the curtains closed, tossed up a silencing charm and cried. 
Hermione didn't like to cry, really she didn't. She cried for the dead, and the families they left behind. She cried out of exhaustion or hardship. But Hermione had never, ever cried out of loneliness.
And she stayed that way for a long while, blubbering pathetically into her red sheets. She wanted to be someplace familiar again. She wanted to be with Ron and Harry. She wanted to fool around with Ginny, Lavender and Parvati and talk about boys and go dress shopping. She even thought of Malfoy, and wished he would call her 'Mudblood' one more time.
But they were gone, probably killed by the Dark Lord. While she was here under a fake name in a fake life, living with just as much as she had left behind,

'God Hermione, why can't Death be simple?'

That was it. The conclusion she had formulated since the first day of waking up in 1975. She had died, and this was her punishment for her failures in life. Hermione sniffled again, choking on the last of her sobs as she sat up and wiped at her eyes with a sleeve.
She probably looked rubbish, but if Hermione was being honest, she felt rubbish. Not only did the Gryffindors hate her guts, but now the Slytherin's would too.

'Not like they were ever my friends anyway,' Hermione thought rather darkly. She was Hermione Black...and people like her didn't have friends, 'just subjects apparently'

Sighing in a raspy manner, Hermione slowly pulled back the curtain around her bed, surprised to see it was dark. The other girls were obscured by their own curtains, sleeping as Hermione gathered up her things and tip toed out the door. Feeling a familiar sense of comfort in returning to the empty Common room, she started the fire in the hearth again, sitting in the chair closest to the flames. Yet even as Hermione removed a piece of parchment and quill from her bag to start on her Transfiguration Essay (even if it had only just been assigned), no words came. She could only hear the screaming of the ghosts left behind in 1998. Hermione's mind was flooded with sorrow at the sounds of suffocating voices trapped beneath the rubble of the very room where she sat. She heard explosions and shrieks of agony. She saw the blood and dust all over her hands and arms...and she saw the bodies. So many bodies lined up and ready to be identified, some so badly mauled they would never be.
Hermione felt the tears rush forward again, but these were not tears of loneliness. These were tears of loss...

"Ahem,"

Hermione started at the small noise, sniffling rather loudly as she straightened in her chair and wiped her eyes. To her surprise, Remus Lupin stood there. His eyes were dark ringed, his hair was tussled, and he wore nothing but night clothing,

"I-I'm sorry," Hermione stared, failing at intimidating the werewolf standing before her on the carpet, "I didn't wake you did I?"

"No, you didn't," Remus said, "are you...ok?"

Hermione's lips twisted into something between a grimace and a failed attempt at a smile. It quickly fell though, as Hermione sighed heavily,

"No, I'm not,"

Remus hummed a bit and, to Hermione's wonder, plopped down into the chair across from her. He looked sickly in the firelight, but Hermione knew she didn't look any better then he at the moment.

"Here,"

Remus held something out across the coffee table, Hermione taking the object carefully,
"It's chocolate. It...it'll make you feel better,"

"I...thanks. I guess we haven't really been properly introduced. Uh, I'm Hermione Gr-Black. Hermione Black,"

"Remus Lupin,"

The pair shook hands, Hermione relishing the feel of how shockingly soft Remus's hands were,
'Like foot pads,' she thought on instinct, barely able to smile as she sat back and nibbled on her chocolate. Remus didn't seem to have anything to talk about either, as the two sat in a contented silence,

"I think," Remus stated after a while, drawing Hermione's attention, "I need a cup of tea. Would you like one?"

Blinking, Hermione nodded as the boy set to work transfiguring random items in the Common room into a makeshift tea set. And though still aching inside, Hermione felt a bit less lonely. And that in itself seemed to be a scarce pleasure.