Chapter Text
Hermione Jean Granger: brightest witch of her age. Hermione sits in her bed, fiddling with a quill, considering what her next stroke will be. Hermione Jean Granger: insufferable know-it-all. She tosses it, turns it, and even drops it, which she quickly corrects with a swift flick of her wand. Hermione Jean Granger: cleverest witch. She’s not sure what to do, what to write, what’s appropriate to write. Hermione Jean Granger: nightmare. A copy of The Daily Prophet sits at her right and she glances at it uncomfortably. Hermione Jean Granger: genius. There’s only one thing she can focus on, one thing she’s known for awhile, one thing that the Ministry only just accepted–Voldemort’s returned. Hermione Jean Granger: Mudblood.
There are voices outside of the room she’s sharing with Ginny and the distinct sound of an owl. Hermione sets down her quill and pulls her frizzy, curly hair into a bun loosely placed on the back of her head. She releases a deep sigh and allows herself to fall back onto her bed, where Crookshanks, her hideous but resourceful cat, scatters to get out of the way of impact. Hermione turns her head to look at the squished-face creature to find him peacefully licking his paw, then letting it gently scrape against his cheek. She silently wonders to herself, pondering on whether or not her fur would cooperate the way his did if she were a cat. She quickly shuffles that thought away, thinking back to second year when she spent weeks stuck as a half-morphed version of Millicent Bulstrode’s cat. She shivers at the image of it.
Hermione is hearing voices multiplying by the minute and debates on whether or not she should join the ruckus. She truly doesn’t want to. In fact, the only thing that she wants to do is write a letter to her parents, but she just can’t find the right words. She almost decides against leaving the comfort of her own room until Ginny comes flying through the door, “Harry’s here,” she exclaims, out of breath.
Hermione all but rolls off of her bed and finds herself in a dead sprint towards Harry’s room, where she finds herself side-by-side with Ron, shooting a grin his way. The pair bursts through the bedroom door and find that it’s pitch black. Hermione strides towards the curtains and pulls them open in one dramatic fling of her arms. “Wuzzgoinon?” Harry asks, rapidly blinking his eyes.
Ron saunters over towards Harry and smacks him right on the top of his head, “we didn’t know you were here already!”
Hermione gasps and scolds Ron, “Ron, don’t hit him!”
Harry grabs his glasses and quickly sets them atop his face, glaring up at Ron.
“All right?” Ron asks Harry.
“Never been better.”
The trio sits in a circle tossing a piece of parchment to each other and begin vivid accounts of their summers. Hermione, when not recounting her summer, grins quietly to herself, enthused to be back with both of her best friends. Life was always both the simplest and the most complex when the three of them were together. Harry–her brother, her lifeline, the one who she could always trust, no matter what–and Ron–supreme arse, tall, handsome, and always knew exactly how to say the wrong thing. She loved them. They were her people, her support system, and her almighty purpose in this silly, complicated thing they call life.
Days filled with laughter, fear, comfort, and paranoia fleet by as Hermione prepares herself for their return to Hogwarts. Hogwarts had always been her most favorite place in the world. The thought of curling up next to the fire in the Gryffindor common room with her favorite book, Little Women, devouring a plate of treacle tart that she snuck from the kitchens was enough to make Hermione giddy. Despite that, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of the Wizarding World on her shoulders. Knowing that Voldemort was back and Harry was his primary target was enough to keep Hermione’s nose out of her books, and in their place, her wand–learning both defensive and offensive spells to protect the ones she loved to the best of her ability.
Although she had other issues to worry about, there were a few things she needed before her return to the castle she calls home. It was an overcast, murky day, and a Ministry of Magic car was waiting just outside of the Burrow. “It’s good Dad can get us these again,” said Ron as he, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny piled themselves into the backseat.
“Don’t get used to it, it’s only because of Harry,” said his father, from the front seat, “he’s been given top-grade security status. We’ll be joined by additional security when we arrive at the Leaky Cauldron too.”
Hermione shivered at the thought, feeling the burden of the political turmoil that the Wizarding World had found thrust upon it. However, that feeling quickly evaporated as they arrived to the Leaky Cauldron. Additional security my arse, she thought to herself.
Apparently, additional security was referencing Hagrid, their half-giant gamekeeper at Hogwarts, who was grinning ear-to-ear at the sight of his favorite Hogwarts students. Hagrid swept Harry into a bone-crushing hug and then engulfed Hermione and Ron into one similar.
As the group of Wizards and Witches stepped into Diagon Alley, Hermione’s breath halted and her mood shifted in an instant. Diagon Alley had, in all senses but literal, lost it’s magic. The enthralling shops full of color, whimsy, and nostalgia were tainted by large, soul-destroying posters carrying security advice from the Ministry of Magic. Windows had been boarded up and vendors had taken it upon themselves to prance around selling tools and gadgets claiming that they were effective against Werewolves, Dementors, and Inferi.
Hermione shuttered, feeling every ounce of the gleeful memories that Diagon Alley brought about drain from her mind. She felt eerily cold and let her eyes wander about the dreary street. Mrs. Weasley’s voice snapped her out of her dark thoughts. “I think we’d better do Madam Malkin’s first, Hermione wants new dress robes, and Ron’s showing too much ankle in his school robes, and you must need new ones too, Harry, you’ve grown so much – come on everyone –”
After much argument between the Weasley parents on whether or not to split up, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid saunter off towards Madam Malkin’s for the trio’s new robes. Hagrid allows the three best friends to enter the tiny shop by themselves, claiming that it would be “too cramped” with him in it. Upon first glance, the shop appeared to be empty, but in an instant, Hermione heard a voice she wish she didn’t recognize.
“...not a child, in case you haven’t noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone.”
Madam Malkin defended the voices mother, reassuring the owner of the agitating voice that it was far too dangerous to go wandering around alone. The voice snapped, “watch where you’re sticking that pin, will you!”
Hermione briefly thought about fleeing, as the ferret-like owner of the voice belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy, whose father was a known Death Eater. Draco Malfoy swaggered towards the shop mirror clad in handsome dark green robes that glittered with pins around the hem and the edges of the sleeves. While analyzing the robes, he caught the three hesitant figures waiting in the background. “If you’re wondering what that smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in,” he chipped.
“I don’t think there’s any need for language like that!” Madam Malkin yelped as Harry and Ron drew their wands in Hermione’s defense. She then turned and yelled at the two Gryffindor boys, “and I don’t want wands drawn in my shop either!”
Hermione whispered to her best friends telling them to put their wands away as well, claiming that Draco Malfoy was not worth the trouble. It was then that the blonde-haired Draco Malfoy, who towered almost a foot above her, stepped up in front of Hermione and analyzed her face. “Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers.”
Hermione reached up towards her eye, forgetting she wasn’t able to cast a glamor over her black eye that she earned from messing with one of Fred and George’s inventions. She could feel Harry and Ron tense at her side, ready to strike at any second. Hermione, overwhelmed and frankly exhausted decided to tune out the surrounding voices while rubbing her arm under her sleeve.
“...I expect Potter will be reunited with my dear cousin, Sirius, before I am reunited with Lucius,” Hermione heard Narcissa Malfoy spit sharply, snapping her out of her clouded mind.
Instinctively, she grabbed Harry’s arm, preventing him from making a disastrous strike, “Harry no!”
After the stressful robe fitting, the trio walked out of the store, greeted by a beaming Hagrid, “got ev’rything?”
Hermione nodded, while her counterparts spoke words of agreement, clearly deflated from the events that took place in Madam Malkin’s. They reunited with the rest of the Weasley’s and began their journey in search of Fred and George’s joke shop. They began counting the numbers of the shops, waiting to stumble across the twins store, and almost missed it, due to focusing on the numbers placed upon the shop fronts. Except, there was no way to miss it. Set against the dull, lifeless shops of Diagon Alley was a dazzling storefront, that reeked of the twins.
Hermione took her time looking around the shop, completely captivated by the products lining the shelves. She gently rubbed her black eye, thinking to herself that maybe, just maybe, the black eye was worth it. She was proud of the twins. In a time of crisis, this store was just what young Wizards and Witches needed to get themselves through the day. Afterall, a little laughter never hurt anybody.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were standing by the pygmy puffs, looking out of the stores window at the shaded Diagon Alley. Harry, hitting Ron and Hermione in the arm, points out the window at a figure, unmistakably Draco Malfoy, hurrying up the street alone. “Wonder where his mummy is?” Harry spoke, frowning.
“Given her the slip by the looks of it,” said Ron.
“Why, though?” Hermione questioned.
Harry, glancing around the shop, pulls his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag. “Get under here, quick.”
Hermione hesitates, “Oh – I don’t know, Harry. I don’t think this is a good idea.”
Ron, grabbing her arm, pulls Hermione under the cloak. Hermione, caught off guard, finds herself with goosebumps where Ron’s hand had been. She doesn’t get to soak in it for long, as the two boys drag her out of the store and into the streets of Diagon Alley, arguing about which direction to go.
Hermione sighs, “is that not him up there?”
Harry immediately picks up his pace, realizing where Draco Malfoy was heading towards: Knockturn Alley, the side street of Diagon Alley that was devoted to the Dark Arts. The street was barren, completely deserted.
Against Hermione’s wishes, the trio shuffle down Knockturn Alley, peering into every shop and corner to see where Draco Malfoy possibly could’ve gone. After only a few shops, the three friends found Malfoy talking to the store owner of Borgin and Burkes. “If only we could hear what they were saying,” Hermione whispered.
Ron, remembering he’s a brother of two of the most innovative Wizards, pulls out extendable ears, unraveling the strings and feeding them into the bottom of the door. “...you know how to fix it?” They hear Draco Malfoy ask.
“Possibly,” Borgin responds, “I’ll need to see it though. Why don’t you bring it into the shop?”
Malfoy retaliates, revealing that he’s unable to bring “it” in, and that “it” must stay put.
“Without seeing it, it will be an almost impossible job. No guarantees,” Borgin says to Draco Malfoy.
Malfoy nods, accepting Borgin’s words. “Tell anyone,” he says, “and there will be retribution. Fenrir Greyback is a family friend, he’ll be stopping by to making sure you’re fulfilling your promise.”