Hermione walked swiftly beside Professor Minerva McGonagall, chasing her Emerald green cloak-tails down the hallways of what would be a future battleground. Even as they strode closer and closer to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione could hear the screaming as faces flickered across her vision. This particular part of the Castle - Hermione noted to herself - had collapsed during the first wave of attack, as it wasn't as heavily warded as the Great Hall or Library. So as they flew towards the familiar set of limestone steps leading up towards the portrait hole, Hermione scanned everything with her eyes, committing every nook, cranny and alcove to memory.
'I won't be forgetting this place a second time,' She whispered in her head, feeling the new Gryffindor patch embroidered onto her robes. It certainly felt good to be out of her green socks, but Hermione still felt slightly tainted by the Slytherin Dungeon. Shaking her head and sighing heavily, Hermione had to take the steps two at a time to catch up to her Professor, whom was already standing and waiting at the entrance.
The Fat Lady had yet to move into place - Hermione concluded upon arrival - and in its place was a man in shiny silver armor. Channeling her inner Snape, the new Lioness pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned ever so slightly. She certainly knew Sir Cadogan, as he was constantly challenging students to duels and changing the passwords of Gryffindor Tower during her Third Year.
"Miss Black, this is where you will be staying from now on. I am the Gryffindor head of house, so if you need anything come to me,"
Hermione nodded her understanding as McGongall turned to Sir Cadogan,
"Wound Heartstring,"
The man in armor nodded, laughed happily and moved aside,
"Please enter, my fair ladies," he stated.
Not changing her neutral expression, Hermione followed her Professor silently into the Gryffindor Common room. It barley changed since the last time Hermione had been there, though everything seemed a little newer, and there were some different portraits on the walls.
During the Final Battle, the room had fallen in on itself, as it was heavily targeted along with Ravenclaw Tower by the Death Eaters. Hermione knew that many students had been trapped inside, and were unable to be saved by any form of magic. Suppressing her urge to shiver in discomfort, Hermione pushed back the emotions threatening to rear up,
"Ahem! Can I have your attention please! Can I have your attention!"
Hermione looked up from her shoes (which she had turned to inspecting) surprised to find every pair of eyes on her. And they weren't friendly eyes either. Every stare was narrowed and dark with hidden malice, similar to the way Slytherin's looked at Gryffindors,
'So much for inter-house unity' Hermione scoffed in her head, keeping her chin from falling as McGonagall called for attention,
"Due to some very special circumstances, students, Miss Hermione Black will be staying here in the Gryffindor Dormitories for the rest of the year,"
Hermione felt the hate only grow as McGongall continued with her little announcement,
"I expect you to treat her with respect and kindness. And I won't hesitate to take points for any bad behavior towards her. Is that clear?"
The room was stoic as many heads nodded, and there were a few deep growls and grumbles. Swallowing thickly, Hermione felt the Professor's hand on her shoulder,
"It might take some getting used too," she said softly, though it lacked any hint of the compassion Hermione was used to receiving from the future Headmistress, "just give it time. Don't cause any trouble,"
Then McGonagall was gone, emerald cloaks waving in a very Snape like fashion as she disappeared out the portrait hole. Now alone, Hermione turned and saw the eyes all pointed at her.
She felt like a butterfly in a glass case, pinned and being observed. She was a literal snake in the lions den. Though her lack of words didn't seem to bother the Gryffindors, as several of them up and left the room in a flurry of anger. Others simply turned, ignoring her presence all together as they stiffly continued what they were doing.
'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.