Loving the Lonely

Chapter 7

 Author's Note: a quick warning for this chapter. There is some unwelcome attention from older men towards Hermione. It causes some bad thoughts for her, not inappropriate thoughts, but more like a dissociation reaction? Not quite that, but she sort of thinks of herself as less than human and more like an object. If that will bother anyone, then please skip this chapter. 

 When Hermione is called into McGonagall's office early one Saturday morning, she doesn't quite know what to expect, but it certainly isn't her parents. The dark hair of her mother is the first thing she sees, and her narrow shoulders are a firm line even as her head is thrown back in laughter at something the headmistress has said. 

Hermione feels like her breath's been sucked right from her body. 

"Ah, Miss Granger, prompt as usual," Headmistress McGonagall greets with a smile. "Your mother and I were just talking about the sort of shenanigans you and your friends have gotten up to in the past." There is a warm light in her eyes. Fondness, Hermione realizes belatedly. When her mother turns around so only Hermione can see her face, there is nothing but cruel coldness. 

"Really?" Hermione replies faintly. "How nice." Her father hasn't even turned around to face her. "What's brought you to my school...mom?" She fights to keep from cringing around the title and her mother sneers at her now that McGonagall can't see. 

Somewhere to her left, there is a brusque cough and Hermione can see the portrait of Severus Snape watching the exchange closely. Her mother glances that way, but Snape holds very still, and nothing looks amiss. Hermione tenses, knowing how much wider the audience is now. 

"Well, sweetie, your daddy and I thought it'd be nice for you to pop home for a visit since we couldn't make it back in time for the holidays," her mother explains in a sugary-sweet voice that makes Hermione's heart clench. 

"I'm more than happy to oblige," McGonagall pipes up. "I was worried when Hermione had to stay over the break, but I understand now. Business in the muggle world isn't quite like it is here." 

Any hope of wiggling out of this is gone. Hermione swallows hard, forces herself to smile, and lifts her shoulders. "Well it's settled then," she says, quietly. "I'll go pack a small bag and be back here soon." 

She turns and runs away, hoping it comes off as eagerness rather than a desperation to escape. The tittering laughter from McGonagall tells her it was the former, and she doesn't know whether to be relieved or devastated that McGonagall hadn't realized anything is wrong. 

A short floo into London and a train ride filled with silence and suddenly Hermione is standing in front of her old home with a light suitcase in hand and her parents leading the way inside. They smile and laugh until the door is closed behind them. Once they're in the safety of their own home, her father kicks the bag from her hand and her mother shoves her aside. 

"You're here for a reason, witch," her mother spits. "Go try and clean yourself up. Make yourself look human." She stalks past, her lean frame somehow managing to seem looming. 

Hermione, for all the deatheaters and horror she has faced and come out on top, shrinks under her mother's gaze. "Yes, ma'am," she replies. Her father plucks up the suitcase, looks at the contents, and scoffs. 

"Wear something made by normal people," he grouches, then tosses her the suitcase. Hermione scrambles to catch it, but the lid is unzipped and her clothes spill out, followed by a few books that she'd snuck in to pass time. 

"Yes, sir," she says, then ducks to pick up her items before scurrying past him to her old room.

She's half expecting nothing to have changed, but of course, this is a day of surprises. Walking in, there is little more than a bed and an empty dresser. Everything she'd ever owned, every book and movie and picture of muggle friends, every last possession she'd had to leave behind all is all gone. Her knees buckle, but she leans against the wall and takes steadying breaths.