Chapter 7
Hermione
The month of September had seemed to pass by in a blur for Hermione. Between classes, homework, spending time with her friends, and writing to Mystery every day, she rarely had time to sit around and do nothing, and was shocked to find it was already mid-October. She found that it felt good to be so busy, to have a sense of purpose. She had missed this feeling without even realizing it. Most of her friends had given up on their pen pal assignment, usually only writing a few words to meet the requirement of answering the prompt each day. Hermione and Mystery, on the other hand, took full advantage of the daily questions. She had learned so much about her pen pal, and yet, she was desperate to learn more. Although she had a strong feeling that she knew who he was, she refused to acknowledge it, worried if she did, she would do something embarrassing like throw herself at him in between classes. Besides, she knew he wasn’t ready for that. And she would be respectful of that. At least she hoped she could be.
Hermione certainly was not the most confident young woman in the world, but she knew she wasn’t hideous. She also knew men could be attracted to her– she’d never gone all the way with anyone, but she had “messed around” here and there. Viktor had shown her how to do some things, so she knew how to make a boy feel good, and she had some idea of how they could make her feel good (Viktor hadn’t excelled in that area, despite being very eager to try). She often wondered what it would be like to kiss Mystery, to feel the heat of his gaze on her. She wondered if he’d like what he saw.
It was a blustery Monday morning as Hermione made her way through the Courtyard on her way to the library. She’d overslept a bit this morning; nothing major, but she hadn’t been able to take her time the way she liked to. She knew her hair didn’t look quite right, and she had a small spot on her cheek that she hadn’t had the time to cover up. Hermione knew it was frivolous, but she loathed the feeling of not looking quite right, of those days when she just felt a bit off. These days usually coincided with her monthlies, and she realized with a small groan that she was due for that any day now.
As she settled into her usual spot in the library, eager to use her free period to catch up on work, she absently wondered what today’s prompt would be. She had stayed up later than usual last night writing back and forth to Mystery, unable to tear herself from the conversation. She found herself rather cross at him for causing her to oversleep, although she knew that was ridiculous. She spread out her books and opened her notebook.
If you could change one thing about your family or family dynamics, what would it be, and why?
Hermione audibly groaned. Seriously? She asked herself. On today of all days, this was the question they decided to ask? She didn’t even know who they were– McGonagall, the Sorting Hat, they could all bugger off, as far as Hermione was concerned. She sighed as she scribbled angrily in her notebook.
Fuck this question! What happens if we just don’t answer it?
She knew she was being rather crass, but she didn’t care. She was in an awful mood, and this question had made it even worse. It was only a few seconds before Mystery replied, just as she knew he would.
Well good morning to you too. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse, Wildcard! But yes, I heartily agree. Fuck this question. Unfortunately, I think we do have to answer it. Wasn’t that what McGonagall was going on about last week before dinner? Sorry to be the bearer of bad news– would it help if I went first? (please say no. Just kidding– sort of??)
Hermione smiled a little, despite herself. Mystery always had a way of doing that. She knew he was right, of course; they did have to answer the question, at least to some extent. The least he could do was spare her by answering first; he didn’t have to deal with menstrual cramps and nasty spots on his face as a result.
Sadly, you’re correct. What would you say if I told you I’m in an absolutely foul mood today and the only way you could make me feel even marginally better was by answering this heinous question first?
She opened her book to begin studying, knowing she probably wouldn’t get much done this morning. Oh well, she thought. She could give herself a pass for today. She glanced down as his response appeared.
Yikes, sorry to hear that, my lovely Wildcard. I hope your day turns around. You know I’d do anything to make you happy, even something like this. Just know I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than answer this question– that’s how special you are to me.
What would I change about my family? Hmm. Am I allowed to say I’d change everything? I suppose first off, I’d change the fact that my mum is dead. Maybe the fact that I only got about seven years with her and I’ll never get to see her again, no matter how badly I want to. You would have liked her. She was kind and generous, just like you are.
I would probably also change the fact that my dad is an absolute piece of shite and a fucking waste of space, and that’s putting it kindly. I hope you won’t judge me for saying this, but maybe I’d have them switch places. I wouldn’t mind growing up with my mum and burying my dad instead. Sorry, I know this is much too dark for a Monday morning. Or any morning, for that matter. I really do apologize.
Hermione’s heart sank as she read Mystery’s words. She wanted to reach through the pages and hug him. She had already put the pieces together that his mum was likely not living, but this was the first time he’d actually confirmed her theory. As for his father, he’d made it clear from the beginning that he wanted nothing to do with him. Her own discontent quickly melting away, she grabbed her pen and responded.
Gods, Mystery, I’m so sorry. Here I am complaining about my bad mood when the only thing that caused it is oversleeping and an ugly spot on my face.
I would never judge you, for anything you tell me. You should know that by now. I wish things had been different for you, too– you deserved a childhood filled with love and happiness, and I’m sorry that wasn’t the case. I wish I could take that pain away from you.
I promise to answer the question as well, but would you mind telling me more about your mother? I’d love to know what she was like, from what you can remember.
Hermione bit her lip, hoping she wasn’t overstepping. Her curiosity overwhelmed her, however– Mystery was endlessly fascinating to her, and she had a strong desire to uncover more about him. Relief flooded her system when she read his response.
Don’t worry, misery doesn’t have to be a competition. Besides, I’m sure you look beautiful regardless (not that you asked).
Thank you for saying that, you sweet Wildcard. It wasn’t all bad, I promise. I have happy memories of my mother, and I spent a great deal of time at my best mate’s home growing up. His family certainly isn’t perfect either, but they were kind and welcoming and I was free to run around and act like a child there, something I couldn’t do in my father’s presence.
I’d love to tell you about my mother. She was wonderful. My strongest memories of her are of the stories she read to me. We’d read all kinds of books, and I credit her with my love of reading. She read me Muggle stories– one of my favourites was Winnie the Pooh, do you know that one? She loved to garden and she taught me about growing vegetables. She had the most vibrant flower garden I’ve ever seen, and she worked in it nearly every day. It was always her garden– the house elves or my father weren’t allowed anywhere near it. But I was. I tried to maintain it after she passed away, but I was a bit out of my depth, and my father didn’t like me spending time out there. Said I was already too soft to begin with. I do hope someday I can restore it to some of its former glory, though, especially with my father not around.
Hermione felt tears begin to gather in her eyes as she imagined what it would have been like to lose her mother when she was that small. Especially knowing how cruel his father was– he never went into great detail, but she knew their relationship was strained at best.
Your mother sounds like she was a lovely person– I’m glad you have some happy memories with her to look back on. I loved Winnie the Pooh as a child! What a wonderful story. Makes me want to go find a copy and re-read it myself. It was one of my favourites as a child as well. My dad used to read it to me, and I even have a stuffed Pooh that I received as a birthday present when I was small. I don’t even know where it is now, sadly.
What was her favourite flower? I love the idea of restoring her garden someday. I think that’s a beautiful way to honor her. I’m sorry your father viewed it that way, and that he made you feel like it was weak to try and preserve her memory somehow. I think you’re much stronger than you give yourself credit for, Mystery. I hope you can see yourself the way I do someday.
Realizing she only had about fifteen minutes left in her free period, Hermione stuffed her notebook into her bag and resolved to spend the rest of the time burying her head in her book. She knew she hadn’t devoted nearly as much time to her studies as she usually did– she often found herself distracted either by talking to Mystery or thinking about him. Surprisingly, her marks hadn’t taken a hit, which led her to suspect that perhaps she’d been dedicating too much of her time to her studies in years past. Hermione wasn’t sure if she was still first in her class, but she found that she honestly didn’t care very much. It was strange, almost freeing in a way. Glancing at the clock, she quickly gathered her things, her mood surprisingly lighter than it had been an hour ago, despite the heavy topic she’d discussed with Mystery.
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Hermione arrived at her first class of the day just as several other students began trickling in. She smiled in greeting at Professor Flitwick as she assumed her usual seat at the front next to Luna Lovegood.
“Hello, Hermione!” The blonde said in her usual dreamy tone.
“Hi Luna. How are you?” Hermione asked earnestly. Although she and Luna had never been particularly close, she found she rather enjoyed talking with her eccentric friend this year. She had a way of viewing the world in interesting ways, of reframing Hermione’s thinking in a refreshing way.
“Oh, I’m wonderful. Did you see the full moon last night?” Luna asked, smiling pleasantly.
“Er, no, I didn’t. It was quite foggy when I went to sleep,” Hermione said, puzzled.
“Ah, yes, it certainly was. It cleared up around midnight, and I had a lovely view of it down by the Black Lake,” Luna replied dreamily.
“You were at the lake at midnight during a full moon, Luna? Isn’t that rather… dangerous?” Hermione asked, looking at her with ill-concealed alarm.
“Oh, of course it’s not. I was perfectly safe– I had my dear Thestrals there to look after me. And besides, how often does one get the chance to observe a Mooncalf in its natural state?” Luna asked, cocking her head.
As Flitwick began to speak, Hermione shook her head in amazement at her friend. A Mooncalf? Thestrals? Luna was nothing if not interesting, she thought to herself. Refocusing on the small professor in front of her, Hermione quickly began taking notes as he spoke.
“Today, we will begin our work on non-verbal Charmcasting,” Flitwick began. “As you know, this is an advanced skill that requires a great deal of mental control, intent, and very precise wand movements. The charms we will begin with today are simple ones that you have mastered quite some time ago; however, as I have mentioned often, the true mastery of magic lies not just within the incantation, but in developing a deep understanding of the spell itself.”
Although Hermione had managed to cast a non-verbal spell or two during her time on the run with Harry and Ron when she'd had nothing but down time, she'd found the practice rather difficult and frustrating. She looked forward to practicing the skill under the expert guidance of Professor Flitwick.
“An important component of non-verbal casting is clearing one’s mind and concentrating one’s magical energy into one place. We’ll begin with some meditative exercises. Please pick up your wand. Begin by focusing on your breathing– allow the pattern to become subconscious. In, out, in, out,” instructed Flitwick.
“Now, focus on a single object in the room. Something small enough to hold in your hand. Close your eyes and picture the object in your mind,” the professor said.
Hermione closed her eyes, picturing the candlestick in the corner of the room as she listened to Flitwick’s disembodied voice. “If you feel your mind begin to wander, pull your focus back to the object. Picture the small details of it– think about how it would feel to touch it in your hands, what the texture would be, what the weight of it would be. Once you feel confident in visualizing the object, open your eyes and find your wand.”
Hermione opened her eyes, the image of the candlestick still burned into her brain. She looked up as Flitwick began to speak again.
“Begin to flick your wand with the movement of Wingardium Leviosa,” he said, and Hermione dutifully followed his instructions.
“Continue the movement until it becomes muscle memory, until you no longer need to focus on telling your wrist to obey your instructions. Once you’ve done that, bring back the image of the object you chose. If you lose the movement, start over again,” Flitwick said calmly.
Without looking back at the windowsill, Hermione pictured the candlestick in her mind, not allowing herself to pause and overthink the gentle swish and flick of her wrist. She kept her mind clear as she awaited further instruction.
“Now, picture the object beginning to float into the air towards you. Once again, if your thoughts are interrupted, simply start from the beginning. Do not allow yourself to feel frustrated. You are calm, you are focused,” said the professor.
Hermione nearly lost her focus, but closed her eyes for a few seconds to bring her mind back to the candlestick.
“Now, as you picture the object lifting, say the spell in your head. Do not move your lips or utter any sounds, simply allow the words to echo in your mind,” he instructed.
Wingardium Leviosa. Wingardium Leviosa. Wingardium Leviosa. Wingardium Leviosa.
Hermione repeated the exercise a few times, uttering the spell in her brain as she continued picturing the candlestick lifting. To her delight, the candlestick began to lift off the sill and float towards her. Refusing to break her concentration, she kept her eyes on the candle as it levitated into the air.
“Excellent, Ms. Granger!” Flitwick clapped his hands quietly. “Ah, and Mr. Nott! Looks like you’ve managed to master this as well– fantastic work!”
For some strange reason, the mention of Nott’s name caused Hermione’s focus to break at last, and the candlestick came clattering to the ground with a sharp clunk. She jumped at the commotion, feeling her face color in embarrassment. She jerked her head around and met eyes with Nott, who was looking at her in curiosity. For just a moment, she allowed to indulge in admiring him. Pretty eyes, she remembered saying to Fay and Parvati a few weeks ago. And they were, she thought. Nott’s eyes were what she’d describe as “sleepy,” sort of a softly detached quality to them. His green-blue eyes weren’t unkind at all, in fact, she felt herself being drawn into them as she studied him. Hermione blinked, realizing she’d probably been staring at him for an uncomfortable length of time. Offering him a small smile, she turned back around to face the front of the class, painfully aware that her face still felt rather hot.
The rest of the class passed quickly as Flitwick had the students practice the levitation charm with other objects. As it turned out, Hermione and Nott were the only two out of the six students in the class to successfully cast the non-verbal spell. At the end of the period, Professor Flitwick announced that next class they would continue their work with basic spells. However, he surprised Hermione by calling her and Nott over after dismissing the rest of the students.
“I’d like the two of you to begin working on mastering a few silent defensive and dueling spells. You should spend time practicing on your own, and next class, you’ll pair up to practice non-verbal dueling,” Flitwick said, his eyes traveling from Hermione’s face to Nott’s from where he stood on a stool.
“Are you sure, sir? Shouldn’t I be mastering more of the basic spells before I–” she began, but the professor cut her off.
“Granger, you and I both know you’ll master those spells in a matter of minutes. The same goes for you, Mr. Nott. By all means, continue to work on them on your own time, but the both of you are certainly ready for something more challenging. After all, this is a Mastery-level course, is it not?” Flitwick said, raising a grey eyebrow.
Hermione nodded, chewing her lip. “Of course, professor.”
Flitwick nodded. “Very well then. I trust you two are already acquainted, yes?”
Hermione felt her face flush again. “Erm, sort of. We’ve had courses together but we don’t know each other very well.”
“Interesting. You are aware that the two of you have been competing for first in your year since you were eleven, yes?” Flitwick looked mildly amused as he studied them.
Hermione realized with some discomfort that Nott hadn’t said a word since they’d been summoned, and she felt her eyes dart towards him without moving her head. She couldn’t be the one to respond to everything– she allowed the question to sit between the three of them, fighting the urge to tap her foot impatiently.
Nott cleared his throat. “Yes, I am aware,” he said. His voice was deeper than she expected, and Hermione felt her skin prickle involuntarily.
Flitwick cocked his small head at them. “Well then, I suggest you get to know each other, at least to some extent. It’s important to build a foundation of trust if you’ll be dueling together. I hope you won’t let anything such as house rivalries stand in the way of that,” he said sternly.
Hermione shook her head. “Of course not, sir,” she said, and she felt Nott watching her as he nodded in silent agreement.
As she turned to exit the classroom, she realized that she would either have to speed walk ahead of Nott or fall into step with him. She also realized that she shared her next class, Ancient Runes, with the Slytherin. Continuing to chew her lower lip, she found herself walking next to him, an awkward silence hanging between them. Taking a deep breath, she turned towards him, putting on her friendliest smile as she extended her hand.
“Hi, I’m Hermione Granger. I don’t believe we’ve ever officially met,” she said, feigning confidence she didn’t feel.
Nott looked at her in surprise as his eyes flitted from her face to her hand. He seemed to hesitate a moment before taking her hand and giving it a quick shake. “I know who you are, Granger,” he said softly before dropping the handshake.
Hermione frowned at the strange buzz the brush of his fingers had left behind, and watched in confusion as his hand, now by his side, made a fist and then flexed. Haven’t I read this scene in a book somewhere? She asked herself hazily, her confusion growing. Had he dropped her hand because he didn’t want to touch her? With a growing feeling of self-consciousness, she wondered if he did indeed believe her blood to be dirty, despite what she’d thought about him, and had drawn his hand away out of disgust or fear. For some reason, she felt tears begin to prick at her eyes, which only humiliated her further.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was– I’ll see you in class,” she muttered, knowing she was doing a terrible job at hiding her emotions. Without turning to look at him, she rushed ahead to Professor Babbling’s room.
“Granger,” she heard Nott call, but she ignored him.
Hermione refused to look at him during Ancient Runes, although she could feel his eyes boring into the back of her head. She saw him rise and try to get her attention after class, but she nearly ran back to her dormitory, not stopping to see if he was following her. Once she was safely inside her room, she cast a silencing charm and sank to the floor of her bedroom. Thankfully, the eighth years had each gotten their own room, so she didn’t need to worry about being disturbed as she let the sobs wrack through her body. Hermione wasn’t even sure why she was so upset– they had never even spoken prior to today, and Nott hadn’t really done anything to cause her to react this way. For whatever reason, the sting of his rejection (had it even been a rejection? She wondered), had affected her more than she anticipated.
She had forgotten herself– forgotten how she’d been treated by so many Slytherins for years, how small and worthless they were able to make her feel. Hermione had believed that Nott was above this, but what did she have to back that theory up? That he had never called her Mudblood like his friends? That she thought maybe, just maybe, he was her Mystery pen pal, who had made it clear that he didn’t care about blood status? She felt incredibly stupid for letting herself get carried away, for believing that perhaps Nott might not hate her for who her parents were, that he might want to be her friend. Grateful that her next class wasn’t for another hour, Hermione ignored the persistent growling of her stomach indicating it was time for lunch. She curled up on her bed, letting herself cry until the tears stopped on their own. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, her brain sternly instructed. She sighed in agreement, imagining what Healer Tilden might say in this situation.
She pictured the older woman, her eyes kind and her smile reassuring. “The way someone else treats you does not define your value, Hermione,” she would say. “Only you can decide how to handle rejection or hurt. Remember, someone’s reaction may not mean what you think it does. Take a step outside of yourself. It’s your job to navigate this with patience, compassion, and open-mindedness.”
Hermione took a deep breath as she let the words wash over her. Of course, this was only her own guess as to how Healer Tilden would advise her, but she was confident that her Mind Healer would say something very similar if she were here right now. After she had calmed down, Hermione curiously reached for her glowing notebook. She nearly opened it before she decided she should probably go find Nott and apologize for her behavior. It was the right thing to do, she knew. Still, she felt herself biting her lip as she approached the Great Hall, unable to stop herself from engaging in her nervous habit. She wasn’t sure what she’d do when she arrived– was she going to march up to the Slytherin table and ask to speak to him? The thought made her cringe. To her surprise, Nott was leaning against the entrance of the room, eyes darting across the steady stream of students who entered for lunch. Was he looking for her?
Sure enough, when he spotted Hermione, he pushed himself off the wall and approached her, running his fingers through his hair. Gods, he’s quite tall, she thought as he stood in front of her. “Granger, I–”
“Nott, I owe you an apology. You didn’t do anything wrong– I’m not sure why I reacted like that. I’m just having a particularly bad day,” she said breathlessly, cutting him off.
He looked at her in surprise once more, his lips parting slightly before he spoke. “You really don’t need to– er, are you okay?”
Hermione looked at him curiously. “I’m fine. Just one of those days, you know?”
“I do,” Nott said shyly. The awkward silence hung between them once more, and she could see his eyes scanning the floor anxiously. He looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped himself.
“Anyways, I should probably go meet my friends–” she started, but he stopped her.
“Wait. Are you sure I didn’t do anything to upset you? You just caught me off guard when you introduced yourself to me. I’m sorry I wasn’t more…erm, I should have been more friendly,” Nott said, rubbing his head again.
She shook her head. “Like I said, you didn’t do anything wrong. Honestly, Nott. It was stupid. I thought– I was just being stupid.”
He cocked his head at her. ‘What do you mean?”
Hermione felt her face begin to heat again. Great, she thought. “It’s just that– you dropped my hand so quickly. I thought maybe you didn’t want to touch me because of– because I’m not a Pureblood,” she mumbled, mortified at her admission.
Bracing herself, she looked back up at him and found he was looking at her in horror. “Why would you think I’d– Granger, I would never. Is that really what you think of me?” He asked, but his tone wasn’t angry. He sounded almost wounded.
She cringed. “Erm, no. I mean, I don’t think so? We don’t really know each other, and it's just that some of your friends have expressed– I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” she finished lamely.
Nott still wore the same pained expression as he shook his head. “I don’t think that way, Granger. I’m sorry if I ever gave you that impression.”
Without thinking, Hermione reached up and placed her hand on his shoulder, closing the distance between them just a bit. She felt him flinch under her touch, and she nearly yanked her hand back until she glanced at his face. He was looking at her with unmasked vulnerability, his heavy-lidded eyes betraying an unmistakable desperation. Unconsciously, she gave his arm a squeeze and rubbed her thumb along his bicep, feeling him shiver at the motion.
Dropping her hand at last, she met his eyes again. “Let’s just start over, shall we?”
Nott was still staring at her, and she watched his chest rise and fall quickly before he cleared his throat, seeming to remember that she was expecting an answer. “Of course, Granger.”
Hermione smiled at him. “Professor Flitwick did say we should try to get to know each other. Would you like to meet up sometime? Erm, to study or something?” She stammered out nervously.
He smiled that adorably boyish, shy smile again. “Yes, I’d like that. Are you free tomorrow evening? We could meet in the library?”
Hermione nodded in agreement. “Tomorrow sounds good. Should we say seven or so?”
“Seven it is,” Nott said, gesturing for her to walk first into the Great Hall.
They parted ways as they entered, and Hermione briefly looked over her shoulder to throw him a small smile. He returned it, his cheeks flushing as he ran his fingers through his hair. As Hermione sat with her friends, she couldn’t help but let her eyes drift over to the Slytherin table more often than she liked to admit. Each time, Nott returned her stare, causing the unmistakable feeling of butterflies to rise in her stomach as she tried to focus on the conversation around her. Her mantra played in her head as she reflected on the strange turn her day had taken.
I am open to change, and I trust that the future holds possibilities I cannot yet see.