My Boosty
Telegram
A cool breeze swept the Forest of Dean, whispers from another veil speaking a warning no human could understand. In its embrace, coat billowing, stood a young woman. Her hand twitched as if stifling a movement long practiced. Sat around her neck like a collar, was a gleaming silver locket. Spread from its place against her chest was mottled skin, marked as if burned. If it was painful she gave no indication. Fingertips pressed gently at the locket like a lovers caress, as something only she could hear slithered into her ears.
They underestimate you. They think you weak. They have no patience, have lost faith, and yet they research nothing, prepare nothing as you have. But you, you are stronger than they realize, smarter, greater. We know this. You know this. In her left hand, she clutched a small beaded bag. In her right hand she held loosely a wand made of vine. Vine wood calls to those destined for a higher purpose, those who look for a cause. Well there Hermione Granger stood, beaten. Months of stunted progress had worn her down. Her face was gaunt, skin pale, eyes dark but she faced the world straight backed and determined. The very picture of a woman with a cause. You would do better alone. The voice hissed lovingly. It is time to prove them wrong.
She spun with intent and disappeared into the night. She did care for them but the boys were a liability. Mothering them, mediating their quibbles, taking care of their supplies, food, water, where the trio went next, setting the wards, all on top of doing the research, was a burden she could not afford. This was war. It was about more than just her friends, this was about a future she must prevent.
--
Months later when she returned to Harry and Ron, it was not because Hermione missed them. The gaped at her, a woman transformed by her time away and by the corruption around her neck. She led them to Hogwarts, like a dark St. Nicholas with horcruxes in her bag. They needed something that could destroy the artifacts. The sword of Gryffindor was still lost but it was not the only thing imbibed with venom. The trio sneaked back into the Chamber of Secrets but in the end she could not let the objects be destroyed. That voice screamed for her to stop it, to save them.
Against her own will and in only a moment her wand was drawn, ancient language hastening forth from her like a fountain. The boys had expected the betrayal. They fought back. It took both of them, but in the end Ron had stabbed a basilisk tooth into the locket with force. It shrieked from its place, nestled against her skin but the presence that had accompanied her all those months had disappeared. She and the boys stood staring at each other as she lowered her wand shakily.
Hermione? They questioned.
Wetness trailed her cheeks. The only thing that understood her, that had kept her company.. was gone. A great weight had been lifted from her, yes. But now there was a twisted kind of grief. She pushed it aside. There was still a war to be won.
Win it they did. The world saw peace. Voldemort's dark version of the future was prevented. But no matter the good she had done, Hermione could tell people were frightened of her. How very different she was from the girl who had fled the burrow months ago. Harry and Ron were no exception.
Hermione repairs the silver locket, wearing it like some kind of morbid token. A reminder that someone had seen her once.
