Life in Volumes
Without access to windows, visitors, or owls, Hermione measures time with notebooks.
There were notebooks before, of course, but her research had barely advanced back then. Too many raids. Too many demands. The attack had been unfortunate, but maybe it was better this way.
The first “real” notebook, ‘Volume 1’, she later named it, was nothing but vague ideas for weaponized potions. However, what began as a desperate bid to stay helpful from bedrest ended up laying the foundation for her greatest breakthroughs.
So it was Volume 1, when it all started.
(It was also when she and the other Muggleborns were first moved into the underground shelter, so there was that, too.)
Sometimes, in the back of her mind, she has vague gut impressions about how many weeks or months went into a notebook.
This is not true for volumes two through five.
During those notebooks, there was only pain from badly scaring wounds, and scores of floating candles that never burnt low, and a desperate, all-encompassing need to be useful.
Volume 6 she creates a protocol for fortifying and reweaving the Order’s wards.
Volume 7 she brews a Polyjuice that allows the user to switch between three different appearances at will.
Volume 8 the pain gets worse. The Muggleborns are pushed deeper underground, and the few visitors all but stop. It’s the last time she sees Harry or Ron. Her exploratory serum to temporarily allow the drinker to occlude keeps failing. She’s assigned Shacklebolt as a handler. She notes absentmindedly he appears to resent living underground with the Muggleborns.
Volume 9 she creates a pain block of unbelievable proportions. It all but severs the myelin sheaths between her nerve endings. She decides not to investigate any potential corrosive properties and bottles the whole thing.
Volume 10 she’s productive. She’s so productive. Reweaves the wards, develops a shielding spell that can be directed at a target up to 100 yards away. It’s the first time she’s developed a spell. The wording seems to seep from the universe onto her tongue. This is what it means to be a witch. Shacklebolt seemingly pulls some strings and announces he is needed in battle and she will be assigned another handler. She is on cloud 9 and not sorry to see him go.
Volume 11 she’s trying to facilitate becoming an Animagus. It’s not working. It would work except she’s developed a tolerance to the painblock and the scars on her back from that stupid raid she can’t remember are burning, burning, burning, and maybe it would work best as a potion not a spell, no she can make it a spell, she can, she has to, this could be big, this could win the war, fuck her fucking back hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. Volume 11 is awful. Volume 11 is never ending and the other Muggleborns in the attack are also succumbing to the pain from their scars and everything is awful and Volume 11 feels like it has lasted years and for fucks sake she’s so close, what if someone's Animagus is a dragon? What if a few of them are? That could change the tide of the war she just needs to focus and…and try harder and…and…and…
Volume 11, clearly, is not pretty. There’s no great breakthroughs, and a lot of rambling.
She takes no pleasure, therefore, in turning it over to her new handler, a previously ruthless double-agent turned notorious war hero who must owe Kingsly a favor, Draco Malfoy.