Chapter 35
Hermione
Hermione was in her room, neatly packing her trunk as Kreature hovered and fretted over her packing choices. Harry lounged on her bed, sprawled on his back as he lazily waved a toy mouse on a stick for her Kneasle lay atop him in a similar pose, half-heartedly batting at the mouse. Kreature had invited himself to help her finish packing, insisting she had no idea how to properly dress or care for herself, despite her assurances that she had been doing just that for years.
“Too many books!” He croaked. “Too heavy for Mistress!”
“I’ll use a locomotor charm, Kreature I’ll be fine. This is how I always pack.” She said absently, her mind on her meticulous packing list as she counted the stack of books in front of her.
“Mistress needs socks!” He held out an armful of paired and folded socks for her approval.
She frowned and checked a list bedside her folded legs.
“No, I already packed socks.” She said kindly. She sighed and began her count again from the beginning. She was trying to stay patient, Kreature was only trying to help after all.
“Are you sure Hermione? One can never have too many socks, Hogwarts gets chilly after all.” Harry said playfully, chuckling. She shot him a glare as Kreature gasped and dumped the load of socks into her trunk, grumbling something about children not knowing how to dress themselves. Harry laughed harder in response.
Her books sat lined up in neat stacks around her. Clothes, similarly arranged by item type were folded and stacked on her bed. Her trunk was half-filled, books, quills, robes and shoes arranged with a military precision in the small space. Kreature’s devotion to Hermione was both endearing and slightly unnerving for her. The elf had started the summer brainwashed with hatred and ended it following her around like a puppy, utterly devoted. She worried about leaving him, knowing the other occupants of the house had much less patience and tolerance for Kreature. Not that he helped the matter much, his rude and cantankerous attitude more or less unchanged to the Order members who frequently came and went. Most of them seemed to think of the elf off as a lost cause, a talking relic of this old house, much like that foul portrait of Sirius’s mom, and Kreature was not one to give kindness freely.
The new year at Hogwarts would be…different. Sirius Black was her father now, a fact that cast a long shadow over the upcoming term. How would it change things? Would people see her differently? Not to mention Dumbledore’s threat of resorting her, was that real? Would the hat even consent to a resorting? The threat on her life was a heavy weight, a constant, unspoken tension that hung in the air. And then there was Malfoy, that sniveling git, constantly making life difficult with his pack of snakes.
“Kreature can bring Mistress books.” Kreature whined, pulling a stack out of her trunk and sidestepping her with it.
“By that logic you could bring me shoes, Kreature, but I’ll never get done if you keep unpacking!” She said sharper than she intended. Kreature didn’t react, but she felt her stomach twist with guilt anyway.
“Kreature, I’m sorry. I’m a bit preoccupied, but I wonder if Harry could use your help on his trunk?” She asked sweetly.
Harry sat up quickly, sending Crookshanks rolling with a disgruntled hiss. “No, no, that’s alright. My trunks…fine.” He said quickly.
“Young Master needs help?” Kreature croaked.
“No Kreature, really, I’m,-”
Hermione smirked, knowing he was cornered, and she was about to have an uninterrupted hour to finish her own trunk. “Yes Kreature, Harry’s trunk is a disaster! I think I even saw a half-eaten chocolate frog in there!” She said dramatically. Although, it was true, she was fairly sure there was one than one half-finished treat in the debris littering the bottom of Harry’s trunk.
“Kreature will help Young Master.” He said firmly, disappearing, and from the shout that came a moment later, presumably appearing in Harry and Ron’s corner bedroom. Harry hurried out in his wake, calling out, “Kreature! No, it’s alright, I don’t need…. Hey, now, I still want that sneakoscope…”
Hermione sighed as his voice faded down the hall. Peace at last. Removing the pile of extra socks, she had her truck packed and locked moments later. Just in time to be interrupted again.
“Knock knock.” Fred’s voice called through her doorway. He sauntered in, hands in his pockets. “Finished packing? Did you leave any books in the library?"
“Just now. Finally set Kreature on Harry.” She smirked. “Got a chance to finish. He kept taking my books out and replacing them with socks!” She scowled as Fred laughed, dropping down sideways on her bed and scooping up Crookshanks. She truly hoped the shrinking charm she’d placed on them held up properly in combination with the featherweight charm because the alternative would be mortifying.
“Hmm. Deflection. A common tactic from those with a guilty conscience. Isn’t that right, Crooks?” He said seriously to her familiar, who nodded his head down in agreement.
She rolled her eyes. “Are you all packed, then?”
He grinned cheekily at her. “Of course, been packed for ages. Not all of us put if off to the last minute, you know.” He winked.
“Har-har.” She said drolly.
“Anyway, I’ve got something for you.” He said suddenly, sitting up, sending Crookshanks tumbling for the second time.
“Oh? What is it?” She crossed the room and sat beside him on the bed.
In answer, Fred pulled a small wooden box from his pocket.
“Don’t touch it,” He warned. “We found it in the main floor study.” He flicked a latch on the box and it sprang open, revealing the golden locket. For a heartbeat, it rested inside the box, as ordinary as cheap brass. As they watched it began to shimmer slightly, almost glowing from within. Hermione stared at the snakes carved into the gold, imagining them dancing each time she blinked her eyes. It’s so beautiful, she thought dreamily. She wanted to hold it, wear it, treasure it.
“Thank you.” She heard herself say, and vaguely registered her hand was reaching for it, the desire to touch the cool gold, to feel the snakes’ cold, smooth scales against her skin impossible to resist. It felt as though the locket itself was whispering her name, speaking to her in a silent tongue that echoed in her heart. She felt a connection to the piece, a feeling of familiarity bordering on kinship. It was absurd, of course…yet the feeling was so strong, almost as if it was made for her…. Take me…wear me…power…power, yours for the taking…. all yours, all for you… the words a feeling, a low hum, barely perceptible, but an echo that resonated deep within her chest. I should be terrified. She thought calmly, instead of terror she felt only that disconnected calm, almost blissful.
Hermione's hand trembled inches from the locket, her fingers tingling. Just before her fingers brushed the gold, a hand clamped firmly around her wrist, halting her.
“Hermione! Don’t!” Fred Weasley said, his voice low and urgent. His grip was surprisingly strong, pulling her back from the unsettling allure of the locket. The hum ceased abruptly, as if the locket was displeased. Hermione stared at the jewelry, then at Fred, a strange mixture of disappointment and relief washing over her.
“It’s the locket from the drawing.” She said, and although her head was clearing, she still felt her voice had a disconnected quality, as if she was still floating in the space between herself and the locket. “Is it… cursed?”
“We don’t know.” Fred closed the box, cupping Hermione’s cheek and looking into her eyes. “Are you alright? The pull on the thing’s pretty strong the first time, it almost got George too. We found it then forgot it entirely; I think it might have a notice-me-not or out of sight, out of mind jinx on it. I only remembered to bring it to you today because I found a note I wrote to myself.”
“I suppose that makes it more dangerous; you’d forget you needed to be cautious of it. But what’s it doing here? Why was Sirius’s brother studying that piece specifically?”
“I dunno. Did he leave any notes?” Fred asked hopefully, looking at the desk.
Hermione frowned. “No, nothing aside from school note and…wait. His journals!”
“Journals…plural?”