Be Careful in the Dark

Within days of her return, she fired off a scroll to Dumbledore containing information useful to the Order about Voldemort's plans. She also sent Snape a scroll of information that she thought would make Snape's double life easier. At the very end of it, she told him to expect a visitor. Some information she kept to herself because she had plans for it.

The rest of her semester passed in a haze. Classes happened. Apparently she studied because she passed them. Somehow, Dumbledore had gotten permission to teach Harry, Ron, and Hermione how to become animagi secretly. It would not be a matter of public information until after Voldemort was a confirmed kill. Hermione did not even want to think about how many favors the bearded old man must have pulled on to make that it possible.

Before she knew it, Hermione was stepping off the train, home for the holidays.

Her mother, willowy and pale skinned, stood smiling as her bushy-haired father wrapped her in a giant bear hug. However, as Hermione met her mother’s eyes, Jane Granger’s smile faded before she stepped forward, and crushed her in a tight embrace.

On the way home, the three of them talked of the events of the semester. Hermione kept her parents apprised of many of the challenges facing her and the wizarding world: Voldemort, Dumbledore, Harry, Ron, and the NEWTS were all familiar terms to her parents. She had, however, prevented Dumbledore from notifying her parents of her kidnapping earlier in the semester. Her status as an adult had made his compliance non-negotiable.

Hermione stepped into her childhood home and smiled. This was a place that felt like home. Hardwood floors and cream walls lined with books, a sparkling Christmas tree in one corner, evergreens and lights wrapped around the banister of the stairs. She jogged up the stairs, smiling as her feet wore of well-worn carpeting, as her parents entered the kitchen to prepare dinner.

She stopped in the doorway of her room and sighed. It was left as a shrine to her childhood. No mark of her life post-eleven marred the pristine child’s space with the exception of a pile of books about the wizarding world. Hermione had read them the first summer back in the hopes of better navigating the world she now found herself in.

Later that night, she lay under her green comforter and tried to sleep. She could hear the clock in the upstairs hallway ticking. She could hear the walls of the old house settling and sighing. Finally, lips pursed with irritation, she got up.

Hermione paused in the kitchen, surprised to see her mother awake. Hermione took after her father’s side of the family. Something that she had always felt was unfortunate. Her mother’s hair was sleek and a beautiful maple color... nothing like the mop of hair on Hermione’s head. Everything about her was graceful and delicate, somehow Hermione always ended up feeling frumpy and uncoordinated. Tonight though, as her mother looked up at her, Hermione saw the woman she had grown into in her mother’s face.

“You looked sad, when I came home today.” Hermione stepped into the circle of light around the kitchen table.

“You look older” she replied, giving Hermione a small smile as she said it.

“Well, that happens.” Hermione sat down in a chair, propping her feet up on another one.

“You father and I had hoped...” Jane trailed off. “If you hadn’t turned out to be a witch we had intended to send you to a private school in the area. You spent your first years of school there. In fact, that’s why your father and I moved here. We wanted... more for you than we had for ourselves. We have not undergone any battles with magical madmen but we grew up in a rough neighborhood, lived a hard life where everything was struggle. A struggle for food, for shelter, for safety. And truth be told, we were the lucky ones. But we worked hard, got ourselves an education, and have a life now where we can give you chances we never had.”

Her mother stopped and stared into the mug in front of her. Hermione sat up straight, hoping her mother would continue. After a minute, she did.

“You can see it in people’s face, you know. See their lives in the lines of their faces, in their eyes. Your face changes when you live a hard life, something I still see in my own face after years of soft living, something that I never wanted to see in yours. A hardness because you have to work so hard for so little, because people try to hurt you, because a scrap of hope takes everything in you to maintain, because your innocence is pulled away too fast, because the fear is so thick you can swim in it, because you’re never really sure what tomorrow will bring. I see that in you now, Hermione. I see strength there; I see intelligence and I understand that you are doing what must be done. You have sacrificed because to do any less is to give up, to let the darkness take the world. I love you for that. But it makes me sad that you had to make those choices; that I couldn’t protect you from it.”

Hermione’s lips began to tremble halfway through her mother’s speech. By the end, she had buried her head in her arms to weep silently. She heard her mother move. Felt the safe warmth of her arms around her. Hermione turned and wept onto her mother’s shoulder; cried the messy, hiccupping, tears of a child’s splattered innocence onto the only person who had noticed.

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After Christmas and New Year’s, she told her parents she was going shopping for school supplies and went to find Alex.

She found him, sitting in a coffee shop, reading a book. She watched him, the bland, unnoticeable exterior. He did not look like he had spent years undercover with a terrorist organization, ferreting out their leader. He did not look like he had once tortured someone to death. He did not look like someone who had sacrificed his career and killed several of his fellow countrymen to save a man and child he barely knew. And yet, he was.

She sat down at his tiny, unstable coffee table. He looked up, startled, and Hermione felt a small thrill of satisfaction. This was not a man who was caught by surprise. He frowned at her. No wonder, since she'd opted to show him her real face.

"Can I help you?" So polite and urbane but Hermione knew he was already moving for his gun.

"No need for the gun Alex. I just came to tell you, I was successful." Hermione met his eyes. He blinked at her and she could almost see him trying to put the pieces together. "I just wanted to tell you... to say thank you."

The pieces clicked.

"Maya?"

She just gave him a small, secret smile.

"You're going to be good at this." Alex said, bitterness thick in his voice. "You should be frightened of that."

"I'm about to sacrifice my entire life on the off chance that it will stop Evil Incarnate. Do you think I'm not afraid?" Hermione felt calm though her voice trembled.

"Are you sure it's really Evil Incarnate?" This time weariness battled with bitterness.

"It's not even human anymore."

Alex sighed and rubbed a hand over his head.

"Don't forget how easy that line is to cross, Maya."

She nodded and stood.

“If you ever need... anything,” she paused, unsure of the reception of her offer, “you can contact me at this number.” She handed him a small, white card with a phone number on it. It was a spelled card and untraceable. He took it with a small frown. Hermione sighed. "Don't forget that some people come back across that line, Alex."

A flash of hurt over his face.

"Be careful in the dark." She heard him say before she vanished into the crowd.