Disclaimer: I owe nothing except my own ideas. Though this is only a One-Shot, I still honestly and sincerely pray that you all will enjoy this. :) Oh, and if it is not too much to ask, please kindly let me know what you all think and feel.
Ever since she was born, whether those who surrounded her knew it or not, Henrietta Lily Potter had been set down as a figure of amusement. Of entertainment. A fool. And guess what? She herself would be the very first to admit that, and even add that all she needed would be the hat and dress, and then voila! A fool! In fact, she would go as far as to say that not compelling her to constantly wear the fool's costume was, simultaneously, one of the sole mercies the Dursleys and Wizarding Britain as a whole had shown her, as well as one of their very worst cruelties.
Mercy, in the sense that they did not shatter that final fragile visual illusion, but also cruelty, for through their behaviour and actions, they still made it perfectly clear that, despite that lack of costume, she was still their fool, their jester, bound to amuse and entertain and even serve them in absolutely any way they wanted to, and if she showed any signs of reluctance and defiance, well…
And who could blame her?
Just look at what her life had used to be!
Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Rubeus Hagrid, the Dursleys, the Weasleys, Hermione Granger, Severus Snape, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin…the list went on and on! And believe it or not, that list included even her very own deceased parents.
Oh yes, the likes of McGonagall, Hagrid, Hermione, Sirius, and Remus would have been thoroughly appalled if they had known, but Henrietta's feelings towards James and Lily Potter were actually a turmoil. Yes, she knew that they had loved her dearly, that they had willingly sacrificed themselves for her to give her a new life, and without that new life, she would not have met Noelle, Artemis, and of course, her most beloved Viktor. But that also did not blind and deafen her to the reality that James and Lily Potter had also been fools through and through. And so how could she, as the daughter of two fools, not be a fool herself?
In fact, she would say that she had consented to this private meeting with Hermione Granger as she was a fool.
It seemed as though the two who were supposed to be the best of friends would be staring at each other forever, with one perfectly at ease, and the other increasingly awkward and uncomfortable. One could literally smell the tension in the air.
The comfortable one was truly graceful even in sitting, and one could effortlessly tell that she was tall and extremely elegant, her beautiful embroidered robes setting off her well-built and voluptuous physique to full advantage, and her eyes – wide almond-shaped eyes that have seen so much and mastered the art of discerning between surface glitter and true worth – shone greener than spring itself. Despite the gravity that made her seem far older than her years, her skin was perfectly clear and pure, with fresh lovely roses in her cheeks, and one could also see that her hair, done up though it was, was thick and neat and long, and the way it gleamed like burnished ebony made the fresh flowers woven into it seem like beautiful precious stones had been set on a bolt of the finest black satin.
In dramatic contrast, the other party was a pathetic sight to behold: her skin was dried and wrinkled, her eyes reddened with violet shadows under them, her complexion pale with nerves, and while her hair was sleek and shiny and flowed about her shoulders instead of being bushy as always, the experienced eye could tell at first glance that it was purely the work of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. And while there was a hint of some tasteful perfume, and she was simply yet elegantly dressed in Tyrian-purple, it did absolutely nothing to conceal the fact that she was thin rather than slim – the thinness of a person who had been unable to truly eat, truly drink, and truly sleep well for a long, long time due to severe heartsickness, and was still gritting her teeth to keep on going with the chore that is life itself.
"Are – are you not going to ask me why I requested for this meeting, Mrs. Krum?" Hermione finally broke the silence, a slight tremor in her voice.
Henrietta's beautiful face could not be more serene, more untroubled, though she did note how, despite the tremor, her former enemy's tone still dripped with genuine politeness that was a stark contrast to its former self-righteous shrill. She supposed she also had to give Hermione a point or two for the acknowledgement that they were no longer on a first-name basis. How things have changed. "Are you not explaining it to me now, Miss. Granger?"
Hermione flushed, but managed to persevere. This was the first and most probably the final chance she had to be truly, genuinely, and wholeheartedly honest with the victim whom she had been lying to ever since their very first meeting, and she was determined to not screw it up. Not after everything that had happened. "I must first admit, though, that I am surprised you agreed to meet me like this. I know better than to beg you to trust me, but I am honestly surprised that, after everything that has happened, after all that was said and done, you still agreed to this meeting with me. I had thought you would not even bother replying, let alone coming here."
Despite herself, Henrietta gave a little smile. "I do have a reason. And in any case, here I am. Why have you begged for this meeting with me, Miss. Granger?"
With an obvious force of will, Hermione directly looked at Henrietta in the eye, and again, the increasingly beautiful young witch could not help but note how her former enemy looked every inch a person struggling to relive her life after having received a thoroughly well-deserved thrashing. "I would like to know why you spoke for me. Why you spared me. Why you ensured that I was kept out of Azkaban. And why…and why…"
Henrietta was no longer smiling now, but her eyes were suddenly dark with something that Hermione could not decipher, and when she spoke, her tone was soft, "And why I did not spill the beans about your actions and inactions to your parents, right?"
Hermione went a shade redder, and as her throat suddenly became too tight to speak, she nodded.
"Why would you want to know that? Why not just content yourself with the fact that I did what I had back then?"
"Because I really, really, really want to know."
It was another genuine mark of how much things had changed that, while the genuine curiosity and unfeigned need to know of old were still there, Hermione's voice was devoid of that disrespectful, strident demand – no, command for answers that had used to be one of her most defining features. Her brown eyes, in particular, were bright with heartfelt plea despite the heavy shadows under them.
"It seems only yesterday that you were, well, what you used to be, and as they say, curiosity killed the cat. After everything that has happened, are you really not afraid of what your curiosity could cause you, Miss. Granger? Are you really not afraid of me? Of coming to and even questioning me like this?"
"Of course, I am afraid. Believe it or not, Mrs. Krum, it is impossible for me to be not afraid of you. Impossible for me to be not afraid of meeting you like this. Impossible for me to be not afraid of asking you such questions. In fact, it is taking all I have to sit here, to look at you, and speak with you like this. Even now, there is a tiny part of me that is urging me to make a run for it, lest you smite me where I sit. However, the bigger part of me is reassuring me that you had wanted to smite me, you would have done so long, long ago, especially back then when you exposed Dumbledore and the whole lot of us for what we truly were. That bigger part of me is also urging me to not waste this chance, which may be the only one I would ever have in this lifetime to clear all the doubts that have been plaguing me every single moment. So, yes, Mrs. Krum, I am afraid. But what I am afraid of more is not having my doubts cleared, my questions going unanswered."
For a moment, just a moment only, a glimmer of sadness flickered across Henrietta's features. For once upon a time, she did harbour a tiny hope where Hermione was concerned, but then… "Things might have turned out extremely differently for the two of us if, right from the start, you had been as honest as you are now, Miss. Granger."
Hermione nodded. She, too, looked genuinely sad. "I know that, Mrs. Krum. But it is far too late. As they say, yesterday is history, and it is never coming back, and it is not like anyone would ever trust me with a Time-Turner ever again. Not that a Time-Turner could undo all my misdeeds." She almost chuckled – almost being the keyword, for she knew that it would sound hollow if she really did. "I have to live with the consequences of all my previous choices, all my misdeeds. I have to live with each and every single person in this and every other wizarding community being fully aware of how idiotic and even evil I have been. And I accept all that. But I still really, really want to know why you had been merciful to me. I mean, if I had been in your shoes, I most definitely would not have been as merciful as you have. In fact, I would have demanded the severest penalties, the harshest punishments imaginable, and I would have absolutely relished in the fact that I had absolutely every legal right to do, and there was absolutely nothing that could be done to stop me. So, I cannot help but burn with the need to know why you had been merciful to me, when countless others – including I myself – know that I do not deserve it at all. I know perfectly well that I do not have the right to even breathe your very air. I know perfectly well that my very request for this meeting was, was, well, I am currently abusing the mercy you had shown me. I know perfectly well that I do not have any right to get answers from you, and that you have every right to not answer my questions. But…I would still like to ask. To know."
There was another moment's silence as the two young witches stared at each other, and strange though it was, Henrietta found that she derived a tiny comfort that, while change was the only constant, there were some aspects that were immune, like Hermione Granger's thirst for knowledge and need to find out the things that she did not. Hermione, on the other hand, chewed on her lower lip again as she studied her former victim's serene countenance, wishing for the goodness-knows-what time that she had made different choices back then. "Please, Mrs. Krum. Like I have said, I know perfectly well that I do not have any right, and you are at full liberty to do with me as you will, and there is absolutely nothing and none that could stop you, but I really, really, really want to know. Please. I am begging."
Henrietta gave a little sigh. "Very well. Plainly and simply, the reason why I showed you mercy is because you and I are both fools."
Hermione stared at her.
"The way I saw it, each and every single one of the three of us – the supposed, so-called Golden Trio – had all been fools. Mr. Ronald was a fool for always wanting everything, but never ever doing anything to earn or deserve all that he wanted, and always blaming everyone else but himself when things do not go his way, and always believing that the world owes him a living. I was a fool for once harbouring that frail shred of hope that I would find in Wizarding Britain what I never ever had during the first ten years of my life, for putting up with all that I had and even trying to change the likes of you, Mr. Ronald, and numerous others, and perhaps for even setting foot in Wizarding Britain in the first place. You were a fool for always believing that your ability to swallow and then regurgitate your books word for word always made you superior to all others, for always believing that Albus Dumbledore alone always knew what was the very best to be alone, for always following his lead and doing his every bidding alongside Mr. Ronald, and for always viewing the likes of Minerva McGonagall and Molly Weasley as role models. Yes, the three of us had been fools in every sense of the word. But fool that I am, I still believe that neither you nor Mr. Ronald deserved Azkaban or execution, and so…"
…
"As you yourself had pointed out, you would not have been merciful like I had been if our roles were reversed, for your and Mr. Ronald's crimes had been deserving of the severest penalties. After all, I was not only The Girl Who Lived, but also the Heiress Apparent of the ancient and prestigious Potter Family, and you yourself are only too aware of what you and Mr. Ronald had done to me under Dumbledore's orders and out of your own free will. Spying on me. Manipulating me. Spreading rumours and tales about me. Trying to hold me back as much as possible…but guess what? I may be a fool, but I am neither you nor Mr. Ronald, and I am a fool who is perfectly aware that if you are sentenced to either Azkaban or execution, your poor parents' hearts will be irreparably broken, and they would have absolutely no one to support them in their dotage."
…
"I may not know your parents that well, Miss. Granger, but from what I do know of them, they are decent and industrious folks who work honestly to earn their daily bread, and they sincerely lavished all the love and affection that they are capable of on you, their only child. I also know for a fact that, due to complications after your birth, you are the only child that they would ever have in this lifetime, so whether I liked it or not, you are the only person whom they could depend on in their dotage. Oh, and I do know that, if there is one similarity you share with Draco Malfoy, it would be that you truly love and care for your parents in your own unique way, which was a major part of why you had always gone out of your way to keep them as ignorant of Wizarding Britain as possible. Yes, you may have been a great and terrible darkness to me, but to them, you are the light of their lives. Their sole pillar in their old age. And fool that I am, I found myself unable to deprive Mr. and Mrs. Granger of the light and hope of their lives, no matter how dark that so-called light had been to me. I would be no better than Severus Snape if I did that. This is the first reason."
Hermione went as red as a tomato and hung her head. Her parents…yes, as Henrietta had observed, they were unable to have more children after her birth, and as they were still perfectly content with her alone, they never ever once considered adoption or otherwise to give her any younger siblings, which meant that she was their only child in this lifetime. They loved and cared for her most dearly, and had done so many things for her, and had taken great pains to temper their treats with lessons in the hope that, even if she neither followed their footsteps in dentistry nor became some great and powerful witch, she would still be a decent person who worked honestly and hard to earn her daily bread. And how had she repaid them? Oh, what had she done to them? To her own self? To their family of three?
"Besides that, I also have absolutely no wish to have my hands stained with their blood or yours. I believe you would agree with me, Miss. Granger, that one of Wizarding Britain's favourite habits is looking for a scapegoat whenever a situation becomes awkward, and then slaughtering that scapegoat in the bloodiest and most brutal way imaginable. Your mundane-born status not only meant that you were not as protected as Mr. Ronald was, but also placed you and even your parents in more danger than the three of you could ever imagine. Mr. Ronald's family may be so-called "blood traitors", but the indisputable fact remains that both sides of his family are two of the so-called "Sacred Twenty-Eight". Minister Bones herself had also made it perfectly clear to all how very few Wizarding Britain's numbers truly are, as well as how it just cannot afford to lose more, and so even those surviving pure-blood supremacists are forced to hold their tongues where the Weasleys are concerned, especially given how that family had always been famed for its fertility. Yes, Mr. Ronald and his family are therefore protected.
But you?
Miss. Granger, you yourself know how the likes of Draco Malfoy and all the other pure-blood supremacists had treated you during your Hogwarts days. You should also be aware of how, even now, with Voldemort gone for good, they are just only pretending to have seen the errors of their ways, just like how they had pretended to after the First Wizarding War ended. Given that, and of course that scapegoat mentality of theirs…Miss. Granger, if you had gone to Azkaban, what makes you think that nothing…untoward would have happened to you as you serve your time? What makes you think that nothing untoward would have happened to your parents as you served your time? And even if you had been executed…what makes you think it would have sated their bloodlust? Their desire to make themselves look better? What makes you think that they would have spared your parents? And what makes you think that the likes of Minister Bones and Madam Marchbanks, who are already overwhelmed by all that must be done to repair this damaged land, could always and effectively protect your parents against any and all threats? And even if they had done the very, very worst to your parents to "punish" them for your wrongdoings, how many of them would defend themselves with the excuse that your parents should have taught you better? That they should have raised you better? And given the prejudice against you, which they could easily backup with your very own actions and inactions, I wonder…how effective would that excuse be?"
Hermione went from the flush of shame to the pallor of stunned horror as her eyes widened and her jaw almost dropped to the ground. She had thought that, even if the very worst were to befall her, the ignorance that she had deliberately kept her parents in since she became Dumbledore's spy would ensure that they were still able to lead safe and happy lives. But now…oh, what a hopeless fool she had been! What kind of danger had she put them all in?! Oh, what would have happened to them if Henrietta had not spoken for her?!
"You and Mr. Ronald have done things to me that no decent person ever would. But even then, I do not want either of you jailed or executed, or used as scapegoats to make others look better. I also most definitely do not want your parents to have to pay for your own wrongdoings alongside you, especially when the payment could be their very own lives in the most literal sense. No. I do not want them to be used as scapegoats, or suffer that kind of penalty. Perhaps they should have taught you better, done a better job as parents, but they are still innocent of your crimes against me, so no. Like I have said, I am no Severus Snape. This is the second reason.
As for the third…well, I owe Minister Bones one, and since she really needs all the brains, brawns, and whatever she could have and get to repair the damages done to this land, I thought that you could still be of some help to her. Or, to be more precise, your ability to swallow and regurgitate books word for word could be useful to her. There is also, of course, the fact that despite your character, your wrongdoings, and that you did not become the valedictorian or Head Girl of Hogwarts, you still graduated with good marks. Yes, you are an adequate witch in your own right, and you have a good memory. It would have been a real waste if it had been either Azkaban or execution for you, and that is something that, even now, Wizarding Britain is in absolutely no position to afford. Yes, it is all hands on deck for this utterly blighted land. I believe Minister Bones agrees with me on this, or she would not have given you your present job, and I do not want to deprive her of your usefulness. Oh, and as unbelievable as this may be…I actually viewed this as the final favour that I did for Wizarding Britain.
Wizarding Britain may have been a disappointment in every sense of the word to me, but even I cannot deny that it does have a few positive points. Noelle. Artemis. Minister Bones. Madam Marchbanks. And of course, my husband, Viktor. I also cannot deny the fact that this was the very place where my parents met, where they were raised in the magical arts, where they had lived, and where they had died. This is also the very place where generations of Potters – my ancestors – had lived their lives for almost eight full centuries. And while I am extremely loath to admit this, I myself also once harboured hopes for this very place. I may have left this place for good, but given Minister Bones' kindness to me, as well as the memory of my ancestors, my parents, and my previous hopes, I thought I would do this place one final favour before my departure: you. Yes, ensuring that you lived and are free to help out in any way possible with the repairs was the one last thing that I did for Wizarding Britain."
Hermione's white face flushed again and for a moment, she looked as though she would break down in tears there and then. But she did not. It was way beyond that now, and they both knew it. Alongside the others, she had hurled numerous accusations at Henrietta over the years, even going as far as to accuse her of being an utter disgrace to herself and the memory of all the Potters, shrieking aloud that her parents and her ancestors would be utterly ashamed of her if she did or did not do this or that. If she, Hermione, had been in her shoes, not only would she have ensured that all who had wronged her – each and every single one of them – died the most shameful, most miserable deaths, but she also would have danced on their graves and thrown the most lavish parties. And yet Henrietta had…and to think that she had once firmly and adamantly believed that, without her and Ron's keeping Henrietta under Dumbledore's all-wise and all-loving guidance, the inevitable fate that awaited Henrietta Lily Potter was becoming a Dark Lady worse than Lord Voldemort ever was.
Oh, what a fool she had been.
Again, she was reminded of how foolish she had been to once believe herself to be the Second Coming of Rowena Ravenclaw, as well as a magician second to none but, of course, Minerva McGonagall the Just and Albus Dumbledore the Magnificent Himself.
She was neither. The only thing she had been was a fool. And a fool a million times worse than either Minerva McGonagall or Albus Dumbledore, especially considering how she was supposed to be one of Henrietta's best friends.
"The fourth and final reason is the very seal to my being a fool: the ghost of the hope that you could really hone your potential for good, that you could truly change for the better." Henrietta's countenance and tone were as soft and affectionate as a dying mother singing her very last lullaby to her sleeping child. Hermione was now able to recognise that formerly unreadable emotion in her former victim's eyes – neither pity, nor resentment, nor grief, but a deep solemn understanding that made her already bleeding heart ache more. "I never forgot you once said that there were more important things than books and cleverness, such as friendship, courage, and care, and while it was only during that instance, I could tell that you sincerely and wholeheartedly meant that. I could also tell that you sincerely and wholeheartedly feared for me when I went to confront Quirrell alone, and despite your own role in each and every single challenge that I was forced to face in subsequent years, your fear for my life as well as your relief in my survivals were both genuine and heartfelt. You believe that none had noticed it, of course, but I did see that, while it was only occasional, you still did struggle with your very own self.
Yes.
I did see those few moments of clarity where you actually wondered if you were truly doing the right thing. Those few moments where you actually turned away from the mirror as if you cannot bear to look at what you had become. Those few moments where you almost, almost told me all, only that your courage always failed you at the last minute in favour of your fears, your hubris, and your self-righteousness. They may have been very rare, very far in between, but they were still real. I also saw that you were genuinely and wholly horrified by what the Dursleys had done to me, as well as by the full revelations of the type of monsters that Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the other Dumbledorists truly were. I saw how truly and thoroughly broken you were – and still are – by all that. True, like Bellatrix Lestrange, you harboured hopes of being ultimately rewarded beyond your wildest dreams for your loyal service, but your conviction that you were only doing what was truly the very, very best for me as a friend had been verified as well by your oath during those trials. And in that genuineness, I saw some lingering potential. A ghost of a hope. Unlike Mr. Ronald, who only saw me as a means to an end, and whose sorriness at being caught far surpassed his horror at Dumbledore's and the Dumbledorists' true colours, you were, well, a million times better than he was, and like I have said, from the very beginning, he was under familial protection that you were not. Of course, I could have done what those monsters had, turned a blind eye to the fate that inevitably awaited you if I had not spoken up, but that is not me."
Two large tears rolled down Hermione's cheeks, and she brushed them away with a trembling hand. When she spoke, her voice was at once shaking yet restrained, clearly betraying her turmoil, "Believe it or not, Mrs. Krum, you and Ron were the closest things to first friends that I ever had. Ever since I was a little girl, I had always believed that it was always others who pushed me away due to their jealousy of me, but I now see that I had always pushed others away as well due to my own jealousy of them. Yes, I was totally, wholly, and utterly friendless until I met you and Ron. No matter how much Ron and I had let Dumbledore twist what the three of us could have had, that is an eternal and unchangeable fact for me. And once upon a time, I had believed that ours would become a beautiful friendship that would survive the test of time, but then…
I know that what I am saying now might seem like excuses to you, Mrs. Krum, but back then, I had heard nothing but good things about Albus Dumbledore, and when I first saw him during that first fateful Welcoming Feast, I was…dazzled. That long, flowing, yet immaculate hair and beard. Those twinkling blue eyes. That merry welcoming smile. That voice. Those elaborate robes. He looked just like King Arthur's Merlin. But also, more than that – for a moment, I actually thought that my grandfather, God rest his soul, had come back to life to personally welcome me into this world of magic, as well as to personally guide me to becoming the very greatest magician imaginable. I felt so blessed to be attending a school of magic where the Headmaster was the most fantastic combination of Merlin Ambrosius and my grandfather."
At that, Henrietta could not help smiling a truly sad smile. For she knew perfectly well what Hermione was talking about, and she could not deny that. Oh, sure, it is always easy for everyone to say that appearances can be deceiving, and that first impressions are not always reliable, but it is also always easier said than done. She cannot and would not blame Hermione for having fallen for that, especially given how utterly painstakingly Dumbledore had cultivated that particular image, as well as how countless others had also been tricked. What chance did Hermione Granger, whose sole defense in the outside world was being a teacher's pet since her earliest childhood days, have against such a genuine master? "But he turned out to be neither Merlin nor your grandfather. Let alone a combination of the two of them."
Hermione shook her head, another tear rolling down her cheek. "No. No, he was not. But I was too dazed, too foolish to realise it then. When he first privately summoned Ron and I and told us to do, well, what we had to you, while I did not know what Ron's true thoughts and feelings about it were, I swear to you, Mrs. Krum, that I honestly meant no more than helping to ensure that you did not go astray while you fulfilled your inevitable destiny. For the truth was…I know this is utterly unbelievable, Mrs. Krum, but I was also simultaneously frightened of and curious about you back then. I mean…well, as Ernie Macmillan had so crudely put it during our second year, you should not have survived that Halloween night, and so I actually thought what some said about you being an extraordinarily powerful Dark witch did have some merit, especially since it was an indisputable fact that Voldemort had unintentionally transferred some of his powers to you that fateful night. Dumbledore himself also acknowledged it being a distinct possibility if Ron and I did not help him keep you in check, and so I went along. But believe it or not, at that point in time, it was honestly not for gain or other selfish desires, but a genuine wholehearted desire to ensure that one of my very first and only friends did not go astray."
Henrietta nodded. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.
"But I was also full to bursting with hubris and jealousy. True, on the whole, they had always treated you more shamefully than they ever did Ron, the poor pure-blood, and I, the know-it-all Muggle-born. But there were still aspects where, out of the three of us, they treated me most shamefully. You should know, Mrs. Krum, that those derogatory names of "know-it-all", "Mudblood", and "Bucktoothed Bitch" were hardly all that they called me. Up and down from my head to my feet, there was absolutely no part that they spared. That they did not try to insult or humiliate me through. And I…no matter how hard I tried; it was impossible to not let them get to me. I was furious. I was hurt. My pride was wounded. How dare they?! My pride would shriek. How dare they treat me like this?! Who are they to treat me like this?! Who are they to behave like this towards me – me, who always beat them in every single exam?! Me, who is on a secret mission from Albus Dumbledore the Magnificent Himself?! Me, who is destined to be one of the greatest witches of all time?!
And you…well, you might view this as mere flattery or my own warped imagination, Mrs. Krum, but as we grew, it became apparent that you would blossom into a true beauty. Yes. Despite the fact that you were never as interested or obsessed with looks, makeups, styles, and fashions as the likes of Parvati, Lavender, Cho, and the others were, and you were always content as long as you were tidy and clean and neat, you still shone. Yes, you had the kind of beauty and charm that I knew I would never have, no matter what spells or potions or magical cosmetics I use. In fact, looking at you now, I can honestly say that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and that includes a certain Fleur Delacour, especially since I know for sure that you are honestly not trying to be beautiful, and honestly did not even care about that. But you just were. And you just are.
Also, despite Ron's and my attempts to hold you back where our magical studies are concerned, you were still always infinitely better in the practical applications than Ron and I ever were. Yes, I know now that you had only let Dumbledore, Ron, the other sheep, and I see and believe what we had wanted to see and believe, but it still did not change the fact that Ron and I were no match for you where the practical applications were concerned. Your Patronus is one of a kind, your resistance to the Imperius Curse is something that I can only dream of, the speed at which you mastered all those hexes, curses, charms, jinxes, and counter-spells that you were "allowed" to learn could only be described as impressive, and your gift with magical creatures…yes, even as held back as you had been by Dumbledore's wishes, Ron, and I, you were still a talent. A true talent. While I, whom Remus Lupin once praised to be the cleverest witch of my generation, only scored an "Exceeds Expectations" for my Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L, and did not score a single "Outstanding" in any of my N.E.W.L.s…"
Hermione gave a broken little chuckle that was worse than any sob as she recalled her shock, horror, and grief at that back then, as well as how salt had been sprinkled onto her wound when Henrietta had let all the cats out of the bag, including how she herself had done for her own N.E.W.L.s. "I was jealous. I had viewed Ron as childish and immature for being jealous of you. I had always laughed to myself and scorned him in my heart of hearts for how he was always jealous of everyone and everything, especially you, you whom Dumbledore and Mrs. Weasley had already arranged to be his wife. But the truth is that I myself was no better than he was. No better at all. I was just as jealous as he was of you, if not more so. I was jealous of your beauty, your talent, your wealth, and most of all, the fact that while you never ever sought fame, or fortune, or attention, you still attracted them as naturally as one breathed, while I, who got every teacher's question right, and who had supposedly read more books than the entire Hogwarts student population put together, am reduced to living a lie to achieve what I believe I deserved.
That is right. As you have pointed out, Mrs. Krum, while they were extremely rare and far in between, there were still times where my mind, my heart, and my eyes were clear. Times where I knew that what I was doing was wrong in every sense of the word. Times where I knew that Albus Dumbledore is neither my grandfather, nor Merlin, nor a combination of the two, nor the embodiment of goodness that countless revere him to be, and that he was actually just as bad as Snape and the Malfoys, if not worse. Times where I was utterly ashamed of what I had let him do to me, of what I was becoming because of him. Times where I was so ashamed, so full of self-loathing that it took everything I had to not smash the mirror whenever I looked into it.
But in each and every single one of those instances, there was also fear. I was afraid. No, I was beyond afraid. I was petrified. I was petrified of what would happen if I were to tell him that I wanted out. I mean, Mrs. Krum, you yourself knew only too well what he is like. What he can be and what he can do. What would have become of me and, by extension, my parents if I dared to say no to him? What would he have done to me? And them? And what chance did I have if he turned against me, or washed his hands of me while pinning the full blame on me? So, I always allowed my fears to lead my hubris and jealousy to convince myself that I was just being stupid and irrational in the extreme. That Albus Dumbledore was well and truly all that his supporters believed him to be, that he only had everyone's best interests at heart, and that everything would turn out perfectly fine in the end as long as I just did as he said. That…while you were richer, more beautiful, and more talented than I would ever be, you would still have become a monster worse than Voldemort without Ron and I to keep you in check. That was so much easier. So much nobler. Like a Knight of the Round Table on a mission for the Holy Grail."
Henrietta nodded again. "But he was not King Arthur. And what he had entrusted you and Mr. Ronald with was no mission for a truly good purpose. And in the first place, the Quest for the Holy Grail had actually been the very beginning of the end, not only for the Fellowship of the Round Table, but also for Camelot itself. Even I know that Merlin had warned Arthur right from the start that, at the very moment where the Round Table was complete, his reign would start to fall into disorder, for that very moment of completion was his reaching his very pinnacle, and so he would only fall from then. Like how a flower starts to fade and wilt once its bloom has reached its fullest, when a person's work is done, in one way or another, they end up being shattered, for that is the way of the world."
Hermione gave another broken chuckle, though there were no tears this time despite the ache in her heart. Back in the old days, she and Henrietta had had more than one private discussion about King Arthur, his Knights, and of course, Merlin and how much the Muggles had got right and wrong, and while she was in no position at all to ask if Henrietta had been genuine during those discussions, she, Hermione Granger, had been. Yes. She had been truly genuine and had thoroughly enjoyed those discussions – even the most consummate actors needed the occasional rest, and sometimes no longer knew whether they were acting or not. Pity that that genuineness had always been so selective and so momentarily. "And like you have said, my mission had been a mission of evil from the very beginning, and so it has ended with evil. I was shattered in every sense of the word. I know I am infinitely lucky that my parents forgave me even after I confessed all to them, and had been with me every step of this new way despite it being obvious that, even now, there are still times where it took all they had to just look at me in the eye, but I must say that my shock had been as great as my relief, if not more so. For they are both people of honour and pride, and I had honestly not believed that they would forgive me if they knew what I had done and not done, let alone help me on this new path."
If there was one good deed you did after Dumbledore had illegally removed the Trace on you during your first year as part of payment for your services, it would be that, with each and every single protective spell and charm that you learned and mastered, you were sure to cast each and every single one of them on your parents, their house, and even their practice itself. Yes. While you had lied to them, concealed so much from them, went against all that they had tried to teach you, and did everything you could to keep them in ignorance, you still loved and cared about them enough to use all the magic you knew to protect them, and even regularly replenished those protections to ensure their effectiveness. That was most definitely one of the primary reasons why they choose to forgive you, for it was another definite proof that you were not a wholly lost cause. That, and the fact that, as impressive and thorough as those protections had been, they would still be inadequate against the likes of Albus Dumbledore or an angry wizarding mob. True, you may have been a very great fool, but you still had potential to be better.
"No doubt there were many who called you a fool for confessing everything to your parents, Miss. Granger. But the very fact that you did so…well, perhaps I am not as foolish as I had believed my own self to be for speaking up for you. They did not dare say it aloud, of course, but there were many who believed that I should have spilled the beans to your parents and gotten them to disown you. But that is not me. They should not hear it from me, but you. For it is you who are their daughter, not me. I am a stranger to them, one who is utterly unrelated to them in any way, and so, besides ensuring that they do not get innocently implicated in any issues where my name is being used for others' selfish desires, I do not owe them anything. But you, you are the one who owes them the truth, the full entire story. And whether they decide to forgive or disown you had not been my choice to make. Not in the least. For it is they, not I, who are your parents. It was their choice to make and theirs only, not mine. I may be a great many things, but even I am not presumptuous enough to claim the final say in those particular decisions that fall under the category of private familial matters."
And this was the person whom Albus Dumbledore had declared – more than once – would most definitely become the very worst Dark Lady to ever plague Wizarding Britain if she was not kept under his control at all times? For a moment, Hermione Granger wished the ground would literally open up to swallow her whole. Her shame and grief were that great. This was the very person whom she had wronged in the most unforgivable ways, and yet, it was this very same person who showed far more sincere care and genuine consideration for her and even her parents than the likes of Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall ever had. She would also have to live with the fact that she owed this very same person so many unpayable debts.
No, this person was never ever a fool. It was her, Hermione Granger, who had been the fool, and the very Fool of the Millennium at that.
For a moment there was silence as the two young witches stared at each other, and then Henrietta sighed again. "I will also tell you one other thing, Miss. Granger. For what it is worth, I never truly hated you and Mr. Ronald. If there were two who really, really got under my skin, their names are Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore. Minerva McGonagall especially. In fact, I believe I would always view her as the evillest witch whom I have ever had the misfortune to meet. Yes, I believe her to be a million times eviller than even Dumbledore and Voldemort ever were, and you will never ever believe the number of times where I wanted to get Minister Bones – who was in charge of Magical Law Enforcement then – to conduct a formal public investigation about her own husband's death. But guess what? Somehow, I always managed to get myself to not go that far. And while there was a tiny part of me that had hopes of her getting a life sentence when the books were thrown, the rest of me – the majority – also knew that, at the end of the day, she would survive. Yes. Believe it or not, I already knew from the very beginning that the likes of her, Dumbledore, and the others would survive.
Why?
Because each and every single one of them still had power. That is right. They may have all been fools like we were, but each and every one of them is still a powerful fool. Quirrell once told me that there was no good and evil, only power and those too weak to seek it, and in a way, he did raise a valid point. True power is indeed a law unto itself, especially in a place like Wizarding Britain. Albus Dumbledore was never the official Minister for Magic, but through the three positions he had held, he was still one of the most powerful men in Wizarding Britain. The power behind the throne, as some would say. Likewise, while Minerva McGonagall had been neither the Minister nor the Senior Undersecretary, due to her three positions, she was still one of the most powerful women in this land, and so another power behind the throne in her own right. And when one had been a power behind the throne for as long as they had, well…"
Hermione stared at Henrietta, for that was something that honestly did not occur to her until now.
"It is not that they are truly invincible, or utterly untouchable, or thoroughly exempt from the law, but as they have been in power for so long, there are definite dire consequences if they were to be literally gotten rid of. Consequences that Minister Bones and the few truly decent ones cannot afford in the current situation. Like I have said, they do need all the brains, brawns, and whatever they could have and get, and for all their respective flaws, McGonagall is genuinely one of the very best Transfiguration Mistresses alive, and Dumbledore's very mind itself is a genuine veritable store of secrets and tales, both ancient and new, magical and otherwise. Also, while I have never known Elphinstone Urquart and never would, I have no grievance against him at all, and as far as I know, he is innocent of his widow's wrongdoings, just as much as your parents were of yours. In the event where something or even some things were to be unveiled as a result of an investigation, his very memory and even his very spirit would be shamed, and I do not want that.
So, while I cannot deny that it had been a real disappointment to me, I had braced myself for the reality that it will be neither life-imprisonment nor execution for any of those two, for Minister Bones, the decent ones, and this very land as a whole cannot afford that. I told myself to be content with unveiling – once and for all – their true colours to the whole wide world, to be content with my official restraining orders against them as well as their official oaths to me, to be content with my finally being well and truly free, and…to be content with the fact that I was the one who spoke up for you and even protected you and your parents, while they did not lift a single finger to help you despite having exploited you in every possible way as well."
…
"I am neither a saint, nor an Angel, nor some deity of endless forgiveness and infinite patience. I am Henrietta Lily Krum, nee Potter, and while numerous others call me fool in their hearts of hearts for settling for so little in recompense, I still honestly say that I am also content with the fact that your being spared and even having your current well-paid job is as much their punishment as it is yours. I believe you know perfectly well what I mean here."
Oh, Hermione Granger did know all right. There were still times where she actually wished that she had been condemned to Azkaban or even executed. For with all the beans spilled, her conscience had finally snapped wide-awake with a vengeance as well, and even now, it was merciless and relentless. No, actually, she would say that now she knew why her former victim had spared and even shown her and her parents genuine grace, she felt worse than she ever had. She now knew what it was like to feel utterly unworthy of the money she earned, the food she was able to eat, the clothes she was able to wear, and even the very air that she presently breathed. And not even the fact that McGonagall and Dumbledore now had to lie on figurative beds of thorns and thistles brought her any comfort or relief – while McGonagall was still the Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts, she was no longer Deputy Headmistress or Head of Gryffindor House, and would never ever be either of those again, and was still on the strictest probation. Dumbledore, on the other hand, had been permanently and irrevocably fired from all positions of power, and was still a "guest" of Minister Bones and the Unspeakables at the Ministry, having the "time of his life" as day after day, they compelled him to spill his guts.
Oh, they had survived all right. They were still surviving. But they were not living.
No one could look at Minerva McGonagall with her complexion now that of a corpse's, her head and shoulders now bearing a permanent droop, her eyes now always swollen with crying and sleeplessness, her mouth now permanently folded into a thin line of pure suffering, and her aura of age and weariness and sorrow, and call her living. No, remorse had become her constant companion, her very own shadow, and in fact, it practically seeped from her every pore. And Dumbledore…well, Hermione had seen neither hide nor hair of him since the conclusion of those fateful trials, but from what she remembered of the looks on Minister Bones' and the Unspeakables' faces then, and from what she had heard of the Department of Mysteries' methods, she entertained no delusions about him having an easier time than his former best lieutenant currently was, and in fact, she believed that things were infinitely worse for him in the new tender care he was currently under.
Amelia Bones was, after all, a formidable woman whom only a fool would underestimate or cross, and the Unspeakables…well, the Department of Mysteries was called the Department of Mysteries for a reason.
The two young witches looked at each other in silence for the umpteenth time, both exhausted in mind, but while one seemed to have broken a final lock and was as at peace as she was drained, the other was now more burdened by the weight of new knowledge. For such was the price that had to be paid, and Hermione Granger harboured no doubts that it would take the rest of her life and even beyond for her to pay. "Now that you have gotten the answer to your question, I believe that we are done. Good day, Miss. Granger."
With that, Henrietta rose to her feet and turned to leave, but Hermione suddenly cried out, "Wait! Henrietta, wait!"
Henrietta paused, though she did not turn back to look at her former tormentor. She was also not in the least angry or upset that Hermione had addressed her by her first name when she had no right to. If anything, she was curious. What is it now? What other questions could she still have? What more could be said?
"I am sorry. I am truly, humbly sorry for my part in all this. I am sorrier than I can ever say for having been such a fool."
For a moment, just a moment only, Henrietta considered turning her head back to look at Hermione – only one who was as heartless as Voldemort would be unaffected by the depth of genuine emotion in those simple yet all-encompassing statements, in her very tone. But then she recalled how indecisiveness had always been one of Wizarding Britain's very worst flaws, as well as how it was far too late for both of them, and so she just replied softly, "I am sorry too. I am sorry for pretending to be friends with you and Ron when we never ever were. I am sorry for my own part that led to your becoming a fool."
That was the very last time Hermione Granger ever met Henrietta Lily Krum face-to-face. And those were the very last words she heard from her very worst victim.
You did not have to do what you just had for her. No one would have expected you to.
But I still did. I did it as I expected it of myself. At some point, fools have to cease to be fools for good. And we all have to really grow up.
And you are sure she has? Are you sure she would? She has enjoyed playing the fool for so long, and as they say, once you are something, you are always that something.
Then it would be her loss, not mine. And anyway, she is no longer my concern. The rest is entirely up to her.
Such was the "war" between the two voices in Henrietta's mind as she thoroughly washed herself in the shower. While she had made peace with her past, that meeting had still been nothing short of mentally exhausting, especially since Hermione Granger was neither Albus Dumbledore nor Lord Voldemort, but also a victim of the two in her own right. As the lingering ghost of her old bitterness had protested, Hermione did not deserve to know, and denying her that desperately desired answer forever would have been honey-sweet, for it would have given her a real good taste of Dumbledore's own medicine. The spirit of maturity, however, urged otherwise, reminding her that permanently holding onto grudges against those who were not her true enemies was something only Severus Snape did, and by giving Hermione that answer, she was also freeing her very own self from perhaps the last shackle that chained both her and Hermione to their miserable deceitful past.
A past that they both needed to be freed of to truly move on with their respective – and she did mean respective – futures.
Yes, maturity can be a real pain in the neck sometimes, and the fact that it is right does not make it any easier. But it was still something that had to be done if one wanted to have fewer regrets later on in their lives.
And besides, the voice of maturity remarked with a hint of satisfaction as she turned off the shower and wrapped a towel around herself, we both know that we would never ever see each other again.
Yes. Through that strange implacable bond shared by two who were of the same sex, and were rivals as well as victims forced to perform on the same stage, Henrietta Lily Krum and Hermione Jean Granger both knew that that was their very last meeting. Yes, while they did not voice it aloud to each other or their own selves, there was still a mutual understanding that, come what may, they would never meet again in the flesh. Never ever. And perhaps it was for the best.
It was then that Henrietta saw a trail of rose petals and scented leaves on the floor, and it led her right to the bed which she and her husband shared. True enough, on the bed was a vision of masculine perfection clad in only briefs: thick, rich dark hair cut short and styled neat. Thick eyebrows. While his eyes were closed as he drank from a champagne flute, one could effortlessly see the lush sensual lashes, the high chiselled cheekbones, the slightly crooked yet still well-formed nose, and the lips that would make any Goody Two-Shoes wet or hard with desire at first sight. And that was before adding the effect of the immaculately-trimmed goatee, which was a perfect frame for that consummately masculine face and mouth.
The very act of drinking also highlighted his strong throat, which led to the body of a God – the broad shoulders, ripped abdomen, and muscular arms of a devout athlete, powerful legs, and his briefs did absolutely nothing to conceal his most impressive genitalia. Oh, and to complete this portrait of utter sensual delight, by either side of the bed were lit candles the sweet scent of which pervaded the entire room, making the entire atmosphere soft and comfortable and drowsy, and by the right side of the bed was a tray of ripe berries, fresh cream, champagne flutes of what looked to be mimosa, and a champagne bottle in an ice bucket.
"Fresh from the bath." Viktor Krum purred, his smile dark and seductive and triumphant, his eyes nearly black with love and inflamed desire as he observed his wife, who looked as lovely and rosy-cheeked and dewy-fresh as Aphrodite was when she first rose from the foam. A veritable sight for sore eyes…and a veritable feast to be savoured. He leaped out of the bed and approached her with one of the champagne flutes, "Mimosa, my darling?"
Henrietta smiled, but shook her head. "No, thank you, Husband."
Devoted and loving husband that he was, Viktor was at once concerned. It was not like his wife to refuse mimosa, which had been the very first type of cocktail he had introduced to her when she officially became of age, and therefore special to her. "Why? Is everything all right, darling?"
"Oh, I am fine. It is just…" she took one of his large, warm, deliciously calloused hands in hers and placed it on her abdomen, and then patted that hand, a world of meaning in her eyes and the smile that was reserved for only her husband.
At first, Viktor's brow furrowed a little in confusion, then slowly, gradually, his eyes widened as enlightenment struck him. "You…you are…we…we are…"
Henrietta nodded firmly, her eyes sparkling with joy and assurance, her smile widening at Viktor's wonder and the fact that they had created a new life together. "You remember the check-up I went for this morning, Husband? It has been confirmed. Only a little more than a month, but still…oh, Husband, we are going to have a baby of our own."
To say that Viktor Krum's joy was beyond expression would have been the Understatement of the Millennium. In fact, he took his wife in his arms and swung her around, grinning from ear to ear, and laughing in a hearty way that no one would ever have associated with the strong and silent man of few words that was his usual image. And as Henrietta Lily Krum laughed along with her husband in mutual joy, it occurred to her that they were acting like a pair of fools.
A pair of silly yet truly and wholeheartedly happy fools.
A pair of truly happy and truly blessed fools who now had so much to plan and look forward to, especially given how their family of two was going to become a family of three.
It seemed almost like a fairy tale.
THE END