Betrayed

None of these charcters are mine, they belong to J K Rowling.


Hermione woke up a few hours later. She must have cried herself to sleep she mused. Her hair was bushier than usual, tangled and wild. At least she’d managed to put everything back in its correct place before falling asleep she thought, her sleep laden eyes roaming the room drowsily.

With a yawn, Hermione flung back her covers and stood up. She went to the bathroom, where she brushed her teeth. Even though she’d only been asleep a few hours, she really hated the taste left in her mouth after sleeping.

Walking downstairs, Hermione could smell her mother’s cooking. While it perhaps wasn’t always as nice as the house elf prepared food at Hogwarts, it wasn’t bad, and was cooked with love. The thought made Hermione smile. Love was such a strong emotion-it had saved Harry’s life, after all, imagine how simple things in life would be if a pinch of love could be added. She almost giggled at the thought of standing over a cauldron, adding ingredients. 1 unicorn hair, 1 bezoar, and a pinch of love, all entering the cauldron, being mixed together.

The giggles stopped abruptly however, as Hermione realised she might never have another potions lesson again. Even if she did, it would be unlike no other before it, as the double-crossing potions professor would be absent. She bitterly recalled all those moments in class when Snape made her feel bad about herself, and her quest for knowledge. An ‘insufferable-know-it-all,’ he’d called her. Well, she’d rather be an insufferable-know-it-all than a traitor.

With a grim yet determined smile upon her face, Hermione walked into the lounge, where her father was reading the paper. The evening meal was almost ready, and Mrs Granger was just adding the final touches to it. Hermione turned on the television, and sat down on the comfy sofa, her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

Mr Granger couldn’t help but anxiously look at his daughter over the top of his paper. He had never known her to be so quiet and sullen. True, she had only been at home a few hours, and spent most of that time sleeping, but she would never usually head straight for the television. More likely than not, she would have a book in her hand, trying to read it as she walked around the house, accidentally bumping into tables and chairs, before finally collapsing on the sofa, legs curled under her.

Although Hermione’s gaze was directed towards the bright pictures on the black box, her eyes glazed over.

Mrs Granger entered the room, to get the two of them to the dining room where the meal was on the table. She stopped as she saw Hermione’s unusual behaviour, and shared a troubled glance with her husband over his paper. Their eyes met, and each knew something terrible had happened this year.

“Now then, come along you two, your food is on the table,” Mrs Granger announced, attempting to inject some cheerfulness into her voice, but not quite succeeding.

Hermione was startled by her mother’s voice, lost as she was in her thoughts. She got up slowly, walking past her mother into the dining room, where she sat at her usual place when she was at home, and picked up her knife and fork.

Noticing the worried looks passing between her parents over dinner, while they tried to make conversation with her, Hermione knew that they had realised something serious was up, but wouldn’t push her to tell them until she was ready. A quiet sadness passed over her, as she realised how difficult it must be for her parents. Their only daughter had gone off to a boarding school at the age of 11, and they only ever saw her at the holidays. They had let her go, they hadn’t sent her, that was true, to a place where magic was possible, a world that, clever as her parents were, was almost impossible to comprehend. An alien world, where wizards and witches lived many years longer than their muggle counterparts, well, unless they were killed in some strange or horrific way. While Hermione was thinking all this, she realised with a start that she considered her parents to be muggles, and that she hardly knew them anymore. Every time she came home, they seemed much older, much tireder. To her, Mr and Mrs Granger were muggles, special muggles to be sure, but just muggles. They were her parents, but no longer her Mum and Dad. They were too formal to her for that.

The sadness that before had been quiet became deafeningly loud in her heart as she realised the main father figure in her life for the past five-six years had been a wizened old man, named Albus Dumbledore, and now he was gone.

Sitting at the table with her parents, Hermione burst into tears once more.

Mrs Granger immediately ran to Hermione’s side, wrapping her arms around her, whispering soothing nothings, knowing her daughter needed this release of emotion. A few seconds later, and Mr Granger had joined his wife and only child, holding them both.

They remained like this for a while, until Hermione’s crying had settled down to gentle sobbing. Her father gently moved away, leaving Hermione’s mother to continue holding her, still making soothing sounds. Hermione took a deep breath, and stopped sobbing. Her mother released her hold on her daughter, but remained close.

“I….I’m sorry about that,” Hermione began, feeling a little ashamed. She had helped Harry fight against Voldemort many times, she should be stronger than this.

“Hush, there’s no need to be sorry. Crying isn’t a sign of weakness, it proves you’re moved by something, or have too many difficult emotions contained inside you. It is much better to let it out, dear,” Mrs Granger soothed.

Her mother’s words made sense, Hermione realised, as she thought about them.

“Things at Hogwarts have been rather…strange recently,” she began, pondering on the words to use so her parents would explain. “I’ve told you about the war, and Voldemort. Well, we had a spy, who Voldemort thought was loyal to him. This spy gave Voldemort scraps of information, withholding anything important, and relayed all of Voldemort’s next moves to our side. However, it seems that the pressure got to our spy, and he killed Albus Dumbledore, the only wizard Voldemort was afraid of, and the Headmaster of Hogwarts. That’s the reason we left early, after the Headmaster’s funeral. The spy ran away, and we have no idea where he is, or any ideas of Voldemort’s next moves.”

Silence greeted this announcement, as her parents attempted to take in all of this information. Seeing comprehension dawning upon their faces, Hermione continued.

“Professor Dumbledore was a great man. Every one looked up to him. He was old, wise and fair. He knew exactly what was going on throughout the school, and many, including myself, saw him as a father figure. He was well respected throughout most of the wizarding community, and his death was a shock to everyone.”

“Oh, Hermione,” Mrs Granger was almost in tears, imagining all of the emotions her daughter must be feeling.

“I’m okay, just a little shaken up. His death has only just sunk in, and I realised what our community has lost.”

“What will happen next year?” asked her ever-practical father. “Will they be able to find a new Headmaster?”

“Next year’s plans are shaky at the moment. My Head of House, Professor McGonnagal, took charge after Dumbledore’s death, but the fate of the school was undecided when we left. I’m sure an owl will be sent to let me know what will happen.” Hermione replied.

Mrs Granger moved as if to hug her daughter again, but before she could reach her, there was a flash of light and a huge BANG!

Then there was only darkness.