Chapter Text
Chapter 17: Dirty Like You
“A tear slipped down Hermione’s cheek, but this time, it wasn’t from pain or sadness. It was something else, something she wasn’t quite ready to name, but it was enough. She managed a small, grateful smile, her heart feeling a little lighter, a little stronger.
“Thank you, Daphne,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but filled with a quiet strength she hadn’t felt before.
Daphne pulled her into another embrace, holding her tightly, as if trying to shield her from everything. They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, finding solace in the silence, in the shared understanding that, from now on, neither of them would have to face the darkness alone.”
Hogwarts, June 21st, 1993
The first rays of dawn crept through the heavy, emerald-green curtains of the dormitory, casting faint stripes of pale gold on the cool stone walls. The enchanted sconces on the walls flickered faintly, their dim light struggling against the growing dawn. The soft, rhythmic sound of her dormmates’ breathing filled the room, punctuated occasionally by the rustle of blankets. But for Hermione, the serenity was deceptive—a thin veneer of calm that barely covered the storm within.
With a sharp gasp, Hermione bolted upright, her chest heaving as if she'd just surfaced from the depths of a dark and endless ocean. Her hands trembled as they gripped the edges of the blanket, and she blinked rapidly, trying to banish the lingering images of her nightmare. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, a frantic, racing rhythm that seemed deafening in the quiet dormitory. Her nightgown clung to her back, damp with sweat, and she shivered despite the warmth of the room.
The nightmare had been so vivid, so real. Miss Thornfield’s voice—sharp and cruel—still echoed in her mind, each word dripping with disdain. "Ungrateful girl." The words cut through her thoughts like shards of ice. She could still feel the phantom grip of the headmistress’s bony hands on her arms, yanking her backward, dragging her into the cold, suffocating shadows of the Orphanage. The weight of those memories pressed down on her chest like a physical force, squeezing the air from her lungs.
She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, her breath shaky and uneven. It was no use; the images wouldn’t fade. Her mind, traitorous and relentless, replayed them over and over—the bleak, gray walls of the orphanage, the hollow eyes of the other children, the cold, biting wind that seemed to seep through every crack in the building. It had been a place devoid of warmth, of comfort, of kindness—a cage. The thought of returning there after a year at Hogwarts—a year that, despite its many hardships, had at least offered her freedom—felt like being shoved back into a prison she had only just started to forget.
Hermione let out a small, bitter laugh that sounded more like a choke. Freedom. Had she really been free? This year had been anything but easy. She’d faced mockery, isolation, and bullying—cut off from nearly everyone in this castle. And yet, Hogwarts had still been a sanctuary compared to the orphanage. Here, she had books, knowledge, and a world of magic to lose herself in. Here, she could imagine a future where she wasn’t just another nameless, forgotten girl.
Her gaze drifted to the foot of her bed, where her trunk stood, packed neatly and ready for the journey back to London. It sat there like a silent sentinel, a reminder that her time this year at Hogwarts had run out—for now. Her fingers curled tightly around the edge of the blanket as a sense of dread settled heavily in her stomach. The countdown to summer had ended, and the thought of returning to Willowbrook made her chest tighten.
The dormitory was still and quiet. None of the other girls had stirred yet. Daphne’s bed, draped in pale green hangings, was directly across from hers. Daphne, the one person in this house who had shown her kindness of any kind, slept soundly, her soft breathing barely audible over the gentle rustle of fabric. Hermione’s gaze lingered there for a moment, a pang of guilt stabbing through her. Daphne had been dragged into her orbit of troubles, for showing a shred of kindness and Hermione felt guilty for bringing another person into that trouble.
Hermione swung her legs over the side of her bed, her bare feet brushing against the cold, smooth stone floor. A shiver ran up her spine, but she welcomed it; the chill grounded her, pulling her away from the tendrils of her nightmare. She rose slowly, her muscles stiff and her movements deliberate. The air felt heavy, almost oppressive, and she needed to escape, even if only for a little while.
She cast a glance at the window, where a faint hint of gold and pink edged the horizon, the first light of dawn creeping over the Forbidden Forest in the distance. Her thoughts drifted briefly to the Astronomy tower, its elevation and remoteness offering a kind of stillness she desperately craved. Perhaps there, she could find some clarity—or at least a moment of peace.
With practiced silence, Hermione reached for her wand on the nightstand, her fingers brushing the smooth wood. She tucked it into the pocket of her robe before draping the robe over her nightgown. Her movements were slow, careful. The last thing she wanted was to wake her dormmates.
As she opened the dormitory door, the soft creak of the hinges made her wince. She paused, holding her breath, her heart skipping a beat. The room remained still, her dormmates undisturbed. She slipped through the doorway and into the Slytherin common room, which was bathed in the faint glow of the dying embers in the fireplace. The room was deserted, the deep green and silver furnishings cast in shadows. The eerie silence of the dungeon corridors beyond beckoned, and Hermione hesitated for a moment before stepping forward, her footsteps light and measured.
The air in the corridor was cool, carrying with it the faint, damp scent of the dungeons. It was a smell Hermione had grown accustomed to over the past year—earthy and slightly metallic. She moved with purpose, her destination clear. The Astronomy Tower.
As she reached the entrance to the central staircase, the oppressive weight in her chest lightened slightly. The steps wound upward, their surface worn smooth by centuries of students’ feet. Each one seemed to echo faintly in the silence, her slippers barely making a sound as she ascended. The tower was quiet at this hour, no other students awake to occupy its heights. She climbed steadily, her breathing evening out with the rhythm of her steps, the cold stone walls enclosing her as she spiraled toward the top.
At last, she reached the door to the observation deck. The air felt lighter here, as though the oppressive weight of the castle’s lower levels had been left behind.
The heavy wooden door to the observation deck was slightly ajar, and through the narrow gap, she caught sight of a figure standing at the railing. The boy’s shoulders were relaxed, but his hands gripped the stone parapet firmly, as if grounding himself.
Theo Nott.
Even from a distance, Hermione recognized him. His silhouette was distinctive—tall and slender for their age, with a kind of deliberate stillness that seemed out of place in a castle full of students prone to constant movement and chatter. Theo was an enigma, even among their fellow Slytherins. He kept to himself for the most part, moving through their house like a ghost, quiet but never unnoticed. His dark hair often fell in his eyes, casting shadows over a face that rarely betrayed emotion. Hermione knew little about him beyond his name and his family’s infamous reputation due to being observant throughout the year to how the other Slytherins never messed with him. She was even sure she heard that his father was one of the Dark Lords original followers.
“The Dark Lord” she thought, that definitely was a story she was well accustomed to now, with Harry of course being the damned “chosen one” “The Arrogant One fits him better” she thought.
Her thoughts returned to Theo, something about his aloofness had always intrigued her. He seemed so unlike Draco and his band of loud, cruel followers.
For a moment, she considered turning back. She didn’t want to intrude, and the solitude she sought might feel more awkward with another person present. But before she could retreat, Theo’s voice cut through the still air.
“If you’re looking for some quiet,” he said, his tone calm and unhurried, “you can stay. I don’t mind.”
Hermione froze, caught off guard. His voice lacked the edge she had come to expect from most of their housemates. It wasn’t mocking or dismissive—just matter-of-fact. She hesitated, weighing her options, before finally stepping forward.
“Thank you,” she murmured, unsure of what else to say.
She pushed the door open fully and stepped onto the observation deck, the cool morning air rushing to greet her. The vast expanse of the Hogwarts grounds stretched out below, bathed in the soft, golden light of dawn. Hermione moved to the railing, leaving a polite distance between herself and Theo. She rested her hands on the cold stone and let her eyes wander over the Black Lake, its surface shimmering like liquid glass, and the dense shadow of the Forbidden Forest beyond.
For a long while, they stood in silence. The only sounds were the faint rustling of leaves far below and the occasional chirp of a bird greeting the new day. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable; it was peaceful in a way Hermione hadn’t anticipated. She stole a glance at Theo out of the corner of her eye. His profile was sharp against the growing light, his expression unreadable but contemplative.
Finally, he broke the silence, his voice quiet but carrying a weight to it. “I wish I could stay here all year,” he said, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
Hermione turned her head to look at him more fully, surprised by the honesty in his tone. She had expected something cryptic or detached, not this. “I know how you feel,” she admitted softly. “I feel the same way.”
He shifted slightly, his gaze flicking to her for the first time. His dark eyes held hers for a brief moment, searching, before he looked away again, returning his focus to the view. He didn’t reply, but his silence felt more like understanding than dismissal.
After several more minutes, Theo straightened, pushing off the railing with a soft sigh. “We should go,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Breakfast will be starting soon, and the train…” He trailed off, leaving the rest unsaid.
Hermione nodded, reluctant to leave the peaceful solitude of the tower but knowing he was right. They walked side by side down the spiral staircase, their footsteps echoing faintly in the confined space. The descent felt shorter than the climb, and Hermione found herself wishing for just a little more time before the day fully began.
At the base of the staircase, Theo stopped. Hermione paused beside him, unsure if he was about to say something or if this was where they would part ways.
“Theo,” she said finally, her voice hesitant.
He turned to her, one brow slightly raised in question.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “For letting me stay. It helped.”
For a moment, his expression remained unreadable, but then a flicker of something softer passed over his face. He gave a small nod. “Anytime,” he replied, his tone quiet but sincere.
Without another word, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the corridor. Hermione stood there for a moment longer, watching him go. Then, with a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and made her way toward the Great Hall, the weight in her chest, the apprehension of going home a little lighter than before.
The Great Hall was already alive with chatter and the clinking of silverware by the time Hermione slipped inside. The warm golden light of the enchanted ceiling gave her a sense of calm that she welcomed with it being her last day before the summer. She moved to the far side of the table deliberately avoiding the tight-knit clusters of her housemates. It was her routine now—to sit alone, far from the scrutinizing eyes and whispered taunts of her peers. She placed her bag on the bench beside her as a barrier, her plate quickly filling with a modest breakfast.
The sounds around her were a dull roar, blending into a backdrop she scarcely noticed until a flicker of movement drew her attention.
Daphne strolled into the Hall, her pale blonde hair catching the morning light like a halo. She stood for a moment, her sharp gaze scanning the room with calculated precision, before her eyes locked onto Hermione. Without hesitation, Daphne crossed the room and slid onto the bench beside her, ignoring the looks she earned from their housemates.
Hermione blinked in surprise, her fork paused mid-air. “What are you doing?” she whispered, keeping her voice low.
Daphne, by contrast, made no such effort. She leaned back casually, one hand reaching for a slice of toast. “Sitting with you,” she replied, her tone light. “If you can survive everything you’ve dealt with this year, I think I can handle a few dirty looks.”
Hermione’s chest tightened, an unfamiliar warmth blooming there. It wasn’t pity—she could tell that much. Daphne’s words carried a quiet conviction that made Hermione feel seen, truly seen. She lowered her gaze to her plate, fighting the sudden lump in her throat. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Daphne shrugged, biting into her toast as though nothing significant had just passed between them. “That’s what friends are for,” she said simply.
The moment felt fragile, fleeting, as if acknowledging it too much would shatter it. Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but a commotion startled them both.
Hermione turned her head to the side just in time to see Crabbe trip and fall and spill his pumpkin juice all over Daphne’s shoes.
“Oops,” Draco drawled, his voice dripping with mock innocence. “Clumsy of you, Vincent.”
Daphne stiffened, her cheeks coloring with anger as she glared up at Draco. Hermione was already moving, grabbing a napkin and crouching to help Daphne clean the spill. Around them, the other Slytherins snickered, the sound like knives in Hermione’s ears.
“That was deliberate,” Daphne muttered, her voice shaking with restrained fury. She shot a look at Draco, who smirked and made no effort to hide his amusement. “Absolute child,” she added under her breath.
Their clean-up was interrupted moments later by the clipped tones of Snape. “Miss Granger. Miss Greengrass. With me.”
Hermione’s turned a confused expression on the man. She and Daphne exchanged a worried glance before rising to follow Snape, the weight of curious stares from their housemates pressing heavily on their backs. Draco, Pansy, and Blaise wore matching smirks, their whispering clearly intended to provoke. Hermione forced herself to keep her gaze forward, though her hands balled into fists at her sides.
Snape led them to the front of the Hall and turned to face them, his arms crossing over his chest. His dark eyes swept over them both with a mix of irritation, weary expectation and a subtle annoyance that Hermione expected was not directed at them. “Mr. Malfoy,” he began, his voice like ice, “has accused you of tripping Mr. Crabbe. Explain?” He said holding out the last word.
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Daphne beat her to it. Her voice was cool, measured. “Crabbe tripped over his own feet, Professor. We were near him, but we didn’t touch him. He just has”—she paused, a faint smirk tugging at her lips—“rather large feet. Combine that with clumsiness, and, well... you get what we just saw.”
Hermione bit back a laugh despite the tension. “Exactly,” she said, nodding. “We didn’t do anything. He fell over his own stupid feet.”
To her astonishment, Snape’s lips twitched, a faint chuckle escaping him before he quickly masked it. He glanced toward the Slytherin table, where Draco was watching with poorly concealed irritation. “I see,” Snape said, his tone dry. “Very well. You are dismissed.”
Hermione and Daphne exchanged relieved looks and hurried back to their seats. Draco’s smug expression had soured, and the rest of his group looked equally displeased.
“They really thought that would work?” Daphne muttered as she sat down, rolling her eyes.
Hermione smiled faintly, her tension easing as she reached for her pumpkin juice. She lifted the goblet to her lips and took a sip—only to immediately freeze. The liquid was bitter, the taste sharp and metallic. Her tongue tingled unpleasantly, and to her horror, thick, black saliva began pooling in her mouth.
She looked to Daphne, who had just taken a sip from her own goblet. The other girl’s face twisted in disgust before she clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.
“Merlin’s beard!” Daphne managed to exclaim, muffled by her hand. Black goo dripped from the corners of her mouth, staining her robes. Hermione realized with mounting panic that the same substance was oozing from her own lips.
Without another word, the two bolted from the table, ignoring the laughter and jeers erupting behind them. They rushed toward Snape, who had just turned to leave the Hall. His expression darkened the moment he saw them.
“Professor!” Hermione tried to say, her words garbled by the thick goo spilling from her mouth. She pointed frantically to her lips, her eyes pleading.
Snape’s sharp gaze flicked between them and back to the Slytherin table before his jaw tightened. “Follow me,” he said curtly, leading them out of the Hall and into the Potions classroom.
Once inside, he gestured for them to sit, his movements swift and precise. From a nearby cupboard, he retrieved two small vials of pale blue liquid and handed one to Daphne. “Drink,” he instructed, his voice firm but calm.
Daphne didn’t hesitate, downing the potion in one gulp. Within moments, the black goo vanished, leaving her mouth clean and her expression furious. Snape handed the second vial to Hermione, who followed suit, sighing in relief as the disgusting substance disappeared.
“Professor,” Daphne began, her voice shaking with anger, “what was that?”
“A harmless prank potion,” Snape replied, his tone carefully neutral. “Unpleasant, but non-toxic.”
Hermione’s frustration boiled over. “It may not be dangerous, but it was humiliating!” she snapped. “Someone needs to—”
“I will handle it,” Snape interrupted smoothly, his dark eyes gleaming with promise. “Rest assured, Miss Granger, this will not go unpunished.”
There was a weight to his words that silenced further protests. Hermione and Daphne exchanged a look before nodding, knowing better than to push further.
“Thank you, Professor,” Daphne said, her tone clipped but polite. Together, they left the classroom, the lingering taste of bitterness replaced by a quiet, simmering resolve.
As they stepped into the corridor, Hermione immediately spotted Draco leaning nonchalantly against the wall. His polished black shoes gleamed in the dim light, and his arms were crossed over his chest in a posture of casual arrogance. His pale, pointed face was alight with a smug smirk as his cold gray eyes flicked between her and Daphne.
“Well, well,” he drawled, straightening as they approached. “Look who’s joined the charity club. Greengrass, lowering yourself to keep company with filth now?”
Hermione bristled, her fists clenching at her sides. Before she could retort, Daphne stepped forward, her chin held high. “Good morning to you too, Draco,” she said evenly, her voice betraying only the faintest hint of annoyance.
Draco’s smirk widened, his gaze narrowing. “Thought you might enjoy being just as dirty as your Mudblood friend,” he sneered, enunciating the slur with deliberate malice. “How noble of you, Greengrass. Truly inspiring.” His tone was laced with mockery, his every word designed to cut deep.
“Have a good summer,” he added airily, before turning on his heel and striding away.
Hermione watched him retreat, rage bubbling in her chest. Her nails dug into her palms as she trembled with fury. “How dare he—how dare he say that to you?” she spat, glaring after his retreating form.
Daphne’s hand settled gently on Hermione’s arm, her touch firm but calming. “Let it go, Hermione,” she said softly, though there was a tension in her voice that betrayed her own frustration.
“Let it go?” Hermione repeated incredulously, jerking her arm away. “How can you just brush this off? He’s awful! He’s a vile, arrogant bully, and now he’s dragging you into his twisted games because of me!”
Daphne sighed, her calm exterior wavering for a moment as her shoulders sagged slightly. “Draco and I… we’ve known each other our entire lives. This isn’t the first time he’s acted like this, and it won’t be the last. I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to be used to it!” Hermione snapped, her voice shaking with righteous anger. “It’s not fair! You don’t deserve this, Daphne. You—”
“Neither do you,” Daphne interrupted, her voice firmer now. She stepped in front of Hermione, meeting her gaze with unwavering clarity. “But this is the world we live in. Draco thrives on control and attention. If we let him get under our skin, he wins.”
Hermione’s chest heaved as she tried to tamp down her anger. “It’s not just about me,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter but no less intense. “I don’t want him to hurt you. You don’t have to stand up for me—he’ll only make you a target.”
Daphne’s lips curved into a faint, almost wistful smile. “Hermione, I made my choice the moment I sat beside you at breakfast. He can make me a target all he wants; I don’t care.” Her tone was resolute, her eyes steady. “You’re my friend, and I’m not going to let him—or anyone else—push you into a corner. That’s what friends do.”
The word struck Hermione again like a physical blow. Friend. It felt foreign, almost surreal, to hear it directed at her. She stared at Daphne, her throat tightening as she tried to swallow the lump forming there.
“You really mean that?” she asked softly, her voice almost breaking.
Daphne’s expression softened, the faintest hint of vulnerability shining through her composed façade. “Of course I do,” she said. “You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”
Hermione blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. “I… I would,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just—I’m not used to this. Someone standing up for me like this.”
“Well,” Daphne said with a small, encouraging smile, “get used to it. Because I’m not going anywhere.”
For a moment, the corridor was silent save for the distant hum of chatter from the Great Hall. Hermione took a deep breath, feeling a flicker of warmth and hope replace the anger that had consumed her moments before.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her words laden with gratitude.
Daphne looped her arm through Hermione’s as they started walking down the corridor. “You don’t have to thank me,” she said lightly, though her smile lingered. “But if you really want to show your appreciation, you can help me figure out a way to make Malfoy’s life miserable next term. Something subtle but spectacularly satisfying.”
Hermione let out a surprised laugh, the sound lightening the tension in her chest. “That,” she said with a small grin, “is an idea I can get behind.”
As they turned a corner, the weight of Malfoy’s words began to fade.
The train ride back to London passed in a haze of motion and sound, the countryside blurring past the windows as the Hogwarts Express sped toward King’s Cross. Hermione and Daphne shared a compartment near the middle of the train. Unlike the boisterous groups of students in other compartments, their corner of the train was subdued, a quiet reprieve from the noise outside.
Hermione stared out of the window, her chin propped in her hand, while Daphne flipped idly through a magazine she’d pulled from her bag. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was laden with unspoken words.
Daphne finally broke the stillness, closing the magazine and looking over at Hermione. “So,” she began hesitantly, her voice softer than usual, “what will you do over the summer?”
Hermione didn’t look away from the window, her gaze fixed on the passing fields. “Survive,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with resignation. “What else is there to do?”
Daphne’s brows furrowed in concern. “Hermione… it doesn’t have to be like that,” she said, her tone earnest. “I’ve been thinking about it, and there has to be a way to make things easier for you. Maybe I could owl you regularly, or send you some things to make it better. I don’t know, just something.”
Hermione turned to her, a small, bittersweet smile on her face. “Daphne, that’s kind of you. Really. You’re probably the only reason I’ve made it through in one piece, and you don’t need to do that. I would feel bad asking that of you. Besides I don’t have a way to send you letters, if I get letters sent to me by owl I don’t even want to think of what would happen.”
Daphne leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “You’re not asking me, Hermione. I’m offering. I hate the thought of you going back to that place, knowing what you’ve told me about it.” She hesitated, glancing at Hermione’s guarded expression. “It’s not fair that you have to go back to an orphanage where… where you’re treated like that. It’s horrible.”
Hermione’s gaze dropped to her lap, her fingers twisting together nervously. “Fairness doesn’t really factor into it,” she said after a moment. “It’s just the way things are. And besides, it’s only for a few weeks. I can endure it.”
“That’s not the point,” Daphne said, her voice thick with frustration. “You shouldn’t have to endure it. You deserve better than that.”
Hermione met her eyes, her own dark and shadowed with weariness. “I appreciate that, Daphne,” she said softly, her words genuine. “But this is my reality. I’ve learned not to expect too much.”
Daphne shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You deserve more than you expect, Hermione. You really do.” She hesitated, then added, “Promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Write to me,” Daphne said firmly. “Even if it’s just once. Let me know you’re okay. Please.”
Hermione blinked, the intensity of Daphne’s concern catching her off guard. “I’ll try,” she said after a moment, her voice thick with emotion. “I promise I’ll try.” “I’ll try and get to Diagon alley at least once.”
Daphne reached across the compartment and squeezed Hermione’s hand. “Good,” she said, her tone softening. “Because I’m not going to stop worrying about you, you know.”
Hermione smiled faintly, her chest aching with a complicated mix of gratitude and guilt. “Thank you, Daphne. For everything.”
The rest of the train ride passed in relative silence, broken only by occasional comments about the upcoming term and idle speculation about their classes next year. Daphne did her best to keep the conversation light, sensing that Hermione wasn’t in the mood to dwell on heavier topics. Hermione appreciated the effort, even if her thoughts continued to drift to the orphanage waiting for her in London.
The chaos of King’s Cross Station hit them as soon as they disembarked. The sound of bustling travelers, the sharp whistle of the train, and the faint hum of announcements over the loudspeakers created a cacophony that was overwhelming after the relative quiet they had just come from.
They maneuvered through the throng of students and parents, weaving between luggage trolleys and teary reunions. Hermione couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy as she watched other students reunite with their families, their faces lighting up with joy.
When they reached the exit through the wall, Daphne stopped and turned to face her. “This is where we part ways, then,” she said, her voice tinged with reluctance.
Hermione nodded, her throat tightening. “Yeah. I guess so.”
Daphne stepped closer, her expression earnest. “Remember your promise, okay? I want to hear from you. Even if it’s just a quick note.”
“I will,” Hermione said, her voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, to Hermione’s surprise, Daphne pulled her into a tight hug. “Take care of yourself, Hermione,” she said softly.
Hermione’s chest ached as she returned the hug, holding onto the moment for as long as she dared. “You too,” she said, her voice muffled against Daphne’s shoulder. “Thank you. For everything.”
When they finally pulled apart, Daphne gave her a small, encouraging smile before turning to join her waiting family. Hermione watched her go, feeling the weight of loneliness settle over her once more.
Adjusting the strap of her bag, Hermione made her way through the bustling station, weaving between crowds of travelers. She scanned the exits, her heart sinking as she realized there was no car waiting for her. No sign of anyone from Willowbrook.
With a heavy sigh, she resigned herself to taking the Underground. She tightened her grip on her trunk and set off toward the nearest station, her mind already bracing for the cold reception she knew awaited her.
The journey to the East End was grueling.. Navigating the bustling labyrinth of the Underground with her heavy trunk in tow left her aching and drained. Each step closer to Willowbrook Orphanage weighed on her like a leaden burden, not just physically but emotionally. She moved through the crowds in silence, her thoughts a tumultuous blend of memories from the past year and the bleak reality that awaited her.
By the time she reached the orphanage, the sun was dipping low in the sky, casting long shadows over the drab, gray building. Its imposing silhouette loomed ahead, a reminder of all the pain and fear she had tried to leave behind during her time at Hogwarts. A bitter taste filled her mouth as she approached the wrought-iron gates, their familiar creak echoing in the stillness.
The door opened before she had a chance to knock. Miss Thornfield stood there, her tall, gaunt figure framed in the dim light of the entrance hall. Her thin lips stretched into a smile that sent a chill down Hermione’s spine.
“Welcome back, Hermione,” Miss Thornfield said, her saccharine tone laced with menace. Her sharp eyes raked over Hermione, taking in her disheveled state with a glimmer of satisfaction. “I trust your little… vacation was pleasant.”
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to stay silent. Any response would only fuel Miss Thornfield’s cruelty.
“Come now, don’t stand there gawking,” Thornfield continued, her smile widening as she stepped aside to let Hermione in. “We’ve missed you terribly. The orphanage has been simply lacking without your… unique contributions.”
Hermione stepped inside, the familiar oppressive air of the orphanage closing in around her. The walls, once stark and cold, seemed to shrink, suffocating her. She barely had time to set her trunk down before Miss Thornfield thrust a piece of paper into her hands.
“I’ve prepared a special list of chores for you,” Thornfield said, her voice oozing mockery.
Hermione glanced down at the list, her stomach churning. It was exhaustive, detailing tasks that would take her well into the night—scrubbing the kitchen floors, weeding the overgrown garden, polishing the dining hall tables. Her hands trembled as she folded the paper, stuffing it into her pocket.
“I understand,” Hermione said quietly, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within her.
Miss Thornfield’s smile faltered for a moment, as if she had hoped for more resistance. But she quickly recovered, her eyes narrowing. “Good. I’ll expect you to begin bright and early tomorrow. And remember, Hermione—there’s no room here for defiance. You may have forgotten your place while gallivanting off to that ridiculous school, but I assure you, I’ll remind you.”
Hermione’s jaw tightened, but she nodded, knowing there was nothing to gain from engaging further. Thornfield dismissed her with a wave of her hand, turning her attention to the clock on the wall as though Hermione were no more significant than a piece of furniture.
She trudged up the stairs to the girls’ dormitories, her footsteps echoing hollowly in the empty hall. The room was just as she had left it—bare, cold, and devoid of any comfort. Her bed, a narrow cot with a threadbare blanket, stood against the wall beneath a single, small window. Hermione sat down heavily, her trunk at her feet, and let out a shuddering breath.
The night crept in, the dim light of the orphanage giving way to darkness. Hermione remained seated, staring out the window at the faint glimmers of the city beyond. The murmur of distant traffic was a faint reminder that a world existed beyond Willowbrook, a world where she had glimpsed freedom and belonging, if only for a short while.
As she sat there, her mind drifted to Hogwarts. It wasn’t perfect—far from it. She was still the target of cruel taunts and prejudice, but it was a sanctuary compared to this. At Hogwarts, she had books, learning, and a spark of hope that kept her going. She thought of the Black Lake, its surface rippling under the soft breeze, and the warm glow of the library’s lamps as she buried herself in her studies. Even the Slytherin common room, cold and unfriendly though it was, felt less suffocating than the orphanage.
Her chest tightened as she thought of Daphne. Of her parting words at King’s Cross, her insistence that Hermione write, her unwavering support. Hermione clung to that promise like a lifeline. Daphne was right—there were people who cared, who would miss her. She wasn’t entirely alone.
But here, in the cold, sterile confines of Willowbrook, it was hard to hold onto that hope. Miss Thornfield’s words echoed in her mind, a cruel reminder of her place in this world. She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she fought back the tears threatening to spill over.
One day at a time, she told herself. Just like always.
She turned her gaze back to the window, the faint sliver of moonlight casting a pale glow over the room. In her mind, she began counting the days until September 1st. Each number was a step closer to freedom, to Hogwarts, to the place where she could once again feel like herself.
And no matter what Miss Thornfield or anyone else threw her way, Hermione resolved to endure it. Because she had to. Because she always did.