Exiled Years

CHAPTER 4: Head Full of Ghosts


The all too familiar stench of worry and concern drift in the air of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The days have become tense and long, the end of sch school year approaching rapidly. The wind blows cool outside but heated and warm inside the castle. Stretched and thin are the students and the atmosphere.

Clearly it is a time for a relaxing summer break, but no respite will be granted the students and staff of this school. A girl is missing, deemed important by many, especially the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. She may be a key, a tool, he was looking for. She could be the turning point. That is if she didn’t go insane first.


I walk into the classroom late, a thing I rarely do. Professor McGonagall gives me a half smile, she knows where I was. I sit next to Ron and he gives me a strange look but turns to face McGonagall again. I pull out the notes from last class and look over them quickly as McGonagall shuffles some papers.

“Hermione,” Ron whispers. “How are you?”

How am I? How am I? I want to shout it at the top of my lungs. I don’t though. My sun and moon are gone. Extinguished. My parents and brother are dead. Gone. I can almost hear them now.

“Have fun, Hermia!” my father says cheerfully as I bored the train. The joyous father-voice of pride is easily recognizable, he was so happy. My mother was so happy. Both were proud that I’d been chosen as Head Girl.

“Be good!” my mother calls after the train, her tears welling up and falling down her cheers as she smiles. Approving, loving, smiling. My parents in a nutshell.

Gone. One swish of the wand I imagine. One swish, two words, and three lives taken. My mother was pregnant. A boy by the ultrasound. He was going to be named Aaron. Aaron Julius Granger. A wizard by the Cover’s Test, the magical world’s test. Dumbledore let me take on home over the break. My little brother, I would have called him AJ Granger for short, I’d already planned it out.

My jaw trembles in the slightest and I shake it off. I’ve been fighting my emotions for three days now. I need to be strong. It’s terrible, I haven’t even cried yet. I don’t know if I will. I haven’t cried in a long time. My reaction when the Headmaster told me was inexcusable. I should have balled.

“I have some terrible news Miss Granger.” Tender. Caring. Solemn.

“Yes?” Apprehensive.

“We’ve received word from…from the aurors of Liverpool.” Kindly.

Silence.

“They found the Death Eaters in question and it has been confirmed that your parents were involved in an attack last night.” Honest. Gentle.

“And?” Worry. Dread. Pain.

“Your parents were murdered, Miss Granger.”

“No.”

“I’m afraid it is true.” Comfort. Help. Sad.

I left. Harry and Ron found me halfway to the dorms. I’d passed out. I didn’t speak for a very long time.

Ron looks at me sadly now and graciously changes the conversation. “Have they found her?”

I look at him and shake my head. I’ll just have to tell him later. I take out my quill and begin writing notes. It’s a long, easy lesson today, though some people seem to be having trouble with it. I look over at Ron, he has it down. He isn’t unintelligent, just needs the right sort of instruction, instruction he doesn’t normally get in Charms or Potions.

“Hermione,” he whispers again. I scoot closer to him in my chair; it’s okay because McGonagall never checks on my side of the room.

“Ron,” I wer ber back. “They’ve found her.”

Harry looks relieved. I can tell by the way he lets out his breath and runs his fingers through his hair. I suspect he likes her, has since his sixth year. I don’t say anything unless it is to Ron; and Ron won’t tell.

“And?” Ron prompted.

I shift uncomfortably. “We’ll have to talk about it later,” I say quietly.

“Class!” McGonagall says over the whispers. “I want you to write ten inches on the properties of transfiguring household items and six inches on the properties of transfiguring them back.”

Ron and Harry groan and pick up their things. I’m thankful that this is the last class; I can’t have Harry and Ron bugging me every five seconds on Ginny.

Harry and Ron follow me into my room, I’m alone, thank Merlin. One more year with Parvati and Lavender and I might have become catatonic...really. Head Girl is a lot of responsibility but I like it. It takes my mind off...other things.

“Where was she?” Ron asks impatiently.

If he only knew the shape we found her in... No, better tell him the truth. “Ron,” I begin. “It isn’t a pleasant story, I’m warning you.”

“Hermione,” Harry says pleadingly.

I sigh. I did warn them. “She was half gone when they found her,” I explain. “She was in the middle of the Forbidden Forest babbling, talking incoherently to a few centaurs. It was odd...I’ll get to that later. Anyway, it was Snape that found her. Heet eet were all torn and ragged, like she’d been walking on them bare through rocks and stuff. She was...she was in pretty bad shape you guys.

“But the centaurs, that’s what I can’t understand! They were talking with her, holding a conversation even. They weren’t hurting her mind you, just talking. But it was all gibberish, to me at least. To Snape and Lupin and Moody too.

“She was...she was glowing an odd color. It was like a murky blue/gray. Her eyes were dilated almost completely and were giving off an eerie bluish silver tint. I think that something is seriously wrong with her. What she was saying...”

I cut off there. It was too terrible to tell. The things Ginny had said. She’d touched Snape\'s arm and screamed, scratching her neck, her eyes filling with that blue terrible color. Then she’d began ranting. “A man sits next to Death. His Mistress commands the army and berates him for living. Hate eats the Virgin’s b and and Envy gnaws at her bones. Beware the Deceiver! Beware the Mistress! Beware the Days of Desert!”

It was haunting to say the least. I would have thought her insane had I not known her for so long. Dumbledore seemed...pleased I think. Not happy, he wouldn’t be happy about this. But more like he’d just discovered the key to the puzzle and now knew what to do. I want to know what that is. I’ll have to go into the library tonight and take a look in the Restrictectioction.

“What did she say?” Ron pressured. Harry looked at me intently too.

“A lot of things,” I say dismissively. “Let’s go to the library. I’ll know more after I do.”

“We’ve got practice,” Harry mused. “We’ll join you afterwards, Herm.”

Sure they have practice. I wonder if they even care. Well that’s a rather odd thought. Of course they care, Ginny is family to Ron and practically family to Harry. But sometimes I wonder about their goals. Oh, that’s r, th, they don’t have any! How silly of me! I’m the only one (once again) who knows what they are doing when they get out of Hogwarts. They’ll be asking for help any minute now. I can hear it now.

“So, Herm? What are you doing after school?”

“Well I was going to join the cause and fight Voldemort. You know he’s become stronger over the years and Dumbledore has given all those speeches about standing up for what is right...so I thought I could get a job in the intelligence sector.”

“Wow. Sounds cool. Mind if we ride on your coattails to the University of Aurors in Glasgow? Oh, you can give us all the answers in real life too.”

“All right then.”

Rather horrid of me to be thinking that, but it is what is going to happen. I’m sure Harry and Ron will do wonderfully in the Auror college; they both get top marks in Defense Against the Dark Arts. But truthfully I wish they’d think on their own once and again.

I crack open a likely looking book, time to focus. I’ve drawn up a list of supposed symptoms and links. The color blue, babble, centaurs, auras and their enhancers, seclusion, starvation, insomnia, the list goes on. There must be some connection, something I’m missing.

Trelawny. I shudder. This shit is right down her alley. I haven’t talked to that horrible fruit bat since last Christmas when she told me great ill would befall Harry. Well DUH you “all-seeing-all-knowing-I-know-how-you’re-going-to-die-and-what-you-ate-for-breakfast-twelve-years-ago-this-Sunday” phony, pot-smoking fraud! Harry has a tough future, but you know what? We all do! Every one of us! Death and horror await our future because of Voldemort. It doesn’t take a bloody psychic to understand that!

But as much as I hate to admit it, Professor Trelawny probably would know something about this. As much babble that comes out of her mouth, Dumbledore did hire her. He wouldn’t have a complete idiot teach his students, would he? No. Plus, she did teach a bit of folklore and history on the side. And Harry claimed she prophesized the return of Peter Pettigrew. Harry was excitable that year too though. No, Trelawny y bey best hope. Oh, but I loath that tower.

I pick up my notes and a book I think will be helpful and head to her rooms, hoping that Lavender and Parvati don’t decide to drop in, the little Trelawny-drones.

I’m not twenty feet from the hatch to her room when I can smell it. Damn incense. Stupid stuff really and I doubt it is good for the lungs. I sigh and enter the small and heated room. No Trelawny in sight. Maybe she is psychic and hides in the shadows every time some one appears so she can come mysteriously from her mists. Phony old bat!

“Ah, Miss Granger,” her willowy and highly-annoying voice said thinly from behind the smoke screen. I squint to see her through the mists but they mysteriously cleo sho show her thin and insect-like form, brooding in her chair. “How long has it been since you’ve graced my rooms? Almost four years to the day isn’t it? I, of course, knew you’d be coming soon.”

“Hm,” I said non-commentally.

“So, a history lesson then,” she says dewily. I’m almost surprised, but then I remember I’m carrying a history text with me.

“Yes,” I say. “I was wondering about the centaurs. Their connection with stars and time especially.”

“A good question Hag Hagrid I think, dear,” Trelawny said boredly. “But, still within my range of knowing. Let me see, the centaurs. They are of course highly gifted with astrology, more accurate than any human, I must admit. They hide mostly in dense forests and there are large colonies in India and Scotland. Their place of origin is Greece, however, and Misamona, is e.” e.”

“Misamona?” I ask. This I’d never read in any books, it certainly didn’t mention that in Fantastic Beasts.

“Misamona,” Trelawny replied. “An ancient city. Long ago a group of women, Amazons, discovered it and tried to take it over. After many, many decades of fighting, the Amazons left it. Hundreds of centaurs were killed, contributing to their low population now. I’m sure you know that centaur pregnancies are seven years, then twenty years to adulthood. But the city has been deserted ever since, their seeing glass left unguarded. After all, only a fool would enter Misamona without a centaur guide, and they aren’t people friendly.”

I nod. I rather like this Trelawny. This Trelawny knows her stuff. Not like that fake routine she puts on for her classes. I doubt that Lavender and Parvati have seen this side of the fruit bat.

“So,” I ask. “What is the seeing ball? Some sort of crystal ball, tells the future?”

Trelawny snorts and hands me some tea. It is sweet, rather too sweet for my tastes but god. “Does it tell the Future? The Past, Present, and Future, my dear, are all hidden in that glass. Not ball, glass. It is rumored to look like a mirror or a...it is a Muggle thing...a telephone?”

“Telescope,” I supply.

“Yes! Telescope. At any rate, it is said to have been stolen by one of the Caesars. I doubt it however. No one can have it; it is lost, so to speak.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, giving myself time to collect my thoughts. “What about the way they talk. Harry told me a bit. He said he met ntauntaur in the forest, Firenze, I thinTheyThey say things like Mars is bright tonight, and gibberish.”

Trelawny bristled visibly and said, “Not gibberish to them. It is the way they speak. Cryptic to the last, centaurs guard information. Their minds are as clear as glass, unless you’re pathetically inept with your inner eye.”

It is my turn to snort. “That would be me. So they speak this way because it is like, the language of prophesy or something?”

“Some say that,” Trelawny replied mysteriously. “Some say they are creatures of prophesy. Why do you think wizards hunt them, aside from their medicinal attributes? To know the Future is a powerful thing, Miss Granger.”

I bite my lip. The thought comes to mind, I won’t bother denying it. Is Ginny a...a prophet...or prophetess as it were? Could she be? The centaurs understood her and it did sort of fit. I sigh. I will ask.

“What are symptoms of...of talent with clairvoyancy, Professor Trelawny?” I ask cautiously. “Not, just a little, like Lavender and Parvati, but extreme. I’m talking like, prophesy spewing type.”

Trelawny raised an eyebrow. I know she doesn’t get out of her room a whole ton, so I’m not surprised she doesn’t know of Ginny. It did only happen a few hours ago. Well, she went missing a week ago so she actually should know. I continue anyway.

“Lack of interest in food,” I say. “Insomnia because of awful dreams, antisocial behavior, the color blue perhaps, and a strong aura, stronke Ike I can see it strong.”

Trelawny turns her head sharply to me. “What was said? By whom?”

“Ginny Weasley,” I reply. “She’s said a lot of things.”

“She doesn’t take my class,” Trelawny mused. “What did she say? The exact words, Miss Granger.”

“‘A man,’” I dutifully repeat, the words are burned in my head anyway, “‘sits next to Death. His Mistress commands the army and berates him for living. Hate eats the Virgin’s blood and Envy gnaws at her bones. Beware the Deceiver! Beware the Mistress! Beware the Days of Desert!’”

The glass of tea drops from Trelawny’s thin fingers and crashes on the ground. She looks at me for a moment and moves to some books I’d not seen earlier on a large shelf. Thumbing through one she hurriedly tosses it to the side and looks through another. After the pile grew to a substantial size she read aloud from one book. “‘A man sits next to Death. His Mistress commands the army and berates him for living. Hate eats the Virgin’s blood and Envy gnaws at her bones. Beware the Deceiver! Beware the Mistress! Beware the Days of Desert!’”

She looks at me and I nod. “MissMiss Weasley speak High German?” she asks me.

“No,” I reply. “She shouldn’t. It is possible I suppose, but not likely.”

“So she wouldn’t have a copy of his book?” Trelawny asked, showing me the book. I’ve never seen it. It appeared to be in German, a language I spoke little of. The words were familiar, “blitz” I knew meant lightning, but I didn’t know the rest.

I shake my head.

Trelawny reads from it further. “‘And when the Sands of Time engulf the Sea of Reason, Death shall come to ye present and slaughter the pig on the alter. Leave not your lands and morals, the war comes, swift on the backs of a thousand cloaked warriors.’ It is the most terrifying prophesy known to man, Miss Granger. It was written by the Greek scribe, Orphelius, from the mouth of Pythia Grynhilda, the Oracle over a thousand years ago. Not many people know it, but those who do hope they never hear it again.”

“What does it mean?” I ask. I’m horribly inept at deciphering psychobabble.

“The end of the world, Miss Granger, the end of reason and sanity, and the beginning of chaos and death.”

I put down my tea, now cold, and study my fingers, flicking some dust out of them. “I saw her,” I finally admit. “Ginny, I mean. If you’d seen her, you’d think the same. She started glowing a hellish blue, her eyes dilating and glowing all crazy. She said it and writhed on the ground, Profes It It was horrible in my ears and I didn’t even know why.”

Trelawny sighed. “We may have a genuine oracle on our hands. I assume Albus was pleased.”

“He looked pleased,” I admit.

“We’ll just have to convince him to send her to Delphi; she’ll be safe there at least. They’ll train her, take care of her. Maybe they can make a real Pythia out of her.” Trelawny looked at me. “You mustn’t tell anyone about her, Miss Granger. She will be in a lot of danger if you do. I will see the headmaster, you...you should continue working on something else I believe.”

I frown, but stand up and gather my book. “Thank you, Professor Trelawny.”

I see a spark of amusement in her eyes and it prompts something in me. “Professor, what house where you in?”

“Slytherin, naturally,” she said. With that her dewy look came back and she said genially, “So nice to talk to, Miss Granger. Do come back later. And, Miss Granger, I am truly sorry for your loss. I too know how it is to lose a loved one in that manner.”

I looked at her long and hard for a moment then nod. Frowning I shake my head and leave, I’ve too much to think about.


Stepping out into the sunshine I squint my eyes and look in the direction of the Quidditch field. I suspect that Harry and Ron will be there practicing. I’d rather not spend my afternoon watching boys fly around on sticks. I assume that is part of the wizarding world I still don’t understand. For all my efforts I’m still an outsider. Fine. I don’t care. I’m Head Girl. Take that, pure-bloods.

I opt for a nice walk around the lake. Why not? It’s cool, slightly windy, and the sun is high. It’s a perfect day. As I circle the lake I look out and smile at the sunbathing squid. I remember the first time I saw that squid I was petrified. Now it is just an attraction that comes with being a witch.

The grass is cool and inviting, especially under the tree of the great willow, not the womping one. I lean against the trunk and close my eyes. Sometimes afternoons are so perfect. It’s Friday, no classes tomorrow.

“Hermione,” Ron calls to me.

“Out of practice so early?” I question, not opening my eyes.

“I took pity on them,” Ron explained, taking a small stone and skipping it across the lake. “Said that we needed lives too. Only one match left, to Hufflepuff. Should be a blowout. To win the cup we need to win by twenty or more.”

“Hm,” I say, a cool breeze sifting through the long leafy whips of the willow. Ron comes and sits beside me, holding my hand in his, tracing the lines on my palms and knuckles.

“Find anything,” he said casually. “In the library I mean.”

“Not in the library,” I say cryptically. “But I did see a former teacher.”

Ron’s fingers stopped quickly. “You don’t mean...”

“The one and only fruit bat of Hogwarts,” I reply. “She was actually rather helpful. She seemed...worried maybe. I don’t think that’s the right word.”

“What did she say?”

I say nothing. I don’t want to tell him yet, not until it’s confirmed. “I don’t want to talk about it. I need to figure this out a bit, Ron.”

He frowned at me and said, “She’s my sister, Herm. I should know if she’s safe or not. Harry’s worried too. So is everyone in the family.”

I look at him seriously. “I think she’s a prophet, Ron.”

I watch as his brows furrow and he drops his hands. He suspected it maybe. He’s not stupid. I wait.

“What is going to happen to her?” he asks.

“I don’t know.” I lean my head on his shoulder and close my eyes. “As I said, I spoke with Trelawny. I think she wants to move her to Delphi.”

“Delphi, Greece?”

“Yes, Greece. She should be safe. Should Dumbledore agree, and Ginny too I would think, she would be moved as soon as possible. Trelawny said something about training or guidance.”

“That’s...I suppose that’s the right thing to do,” he concedes.

I stand abruptly. I’d rather not be there when the shit hits the fan. Ron can get pretty upset and walking right at us Draco Malfoy. Why would he be coming over here? Why would he be interested in us other than to mock us, and he does...repeatedly. He’s with his two body guards, Crabbe and Goyle, the twin beefy boys. Ron stands at my side and I feel him push me back a bit. I restrain from rolling my eyes, typical male ego and protectiveness. He and I both ready our wand hands for fast work.

“Granger, Weasel,” Malfoy sneers, his goons copy him, Goyle (I think) cracks his knuckles. “What a –”

“What do yont, nt, Malfoy?” Ron growls out, his fist clenching. A vein in his neck throbs, this won’t be good.

“Want? Want? I don’t want anything from you,” he says dryly. “I’m merely here to give my condolences; I heard Granger’s parents were dead. I just wanted to say it’s too bad you weren’t there you filthy mudblood –”

“Enough, Mr. Malfoy!” someone growls.

For once I’m glad it’s Snape. It at least causes Ron to think twice about immediately jumping Malfoy and killing him. And I know he wants too. It’s bad when Ron goes quiet. You don’t have to worry about him when he’s loud and yelling, that means he’s out of control. When he’s in control however, then you have to worry. It’s opposite with Harry...

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle,” Snape says in a deceptively cool voice. Silky and traitorous, that is how I would describe it. “Please leave –”

“You can’t do that!” Ron explodes. “Just send them away with a slap on the wrist! Do you know what that fucker said to Hermione! I can’t believe you, you bias son of a –”

“Ron!” I hiss, pulling on his arm.

“I would listen to her, Mr. Weasley,” Snape growls out. “And that will be a detention with Filch for inappropriate language. And you three go to my office!” he snapped randomly at Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy merely smirked, knowing he would get off easy. He jerked his head, signaling his cronies to follow him. “And Mr. Weasley, meet me in my office so we can discuss your detention...now!”

Ron stared at him an extra moment, then nodded. He smiled at me and then followed Malfoy to Snape’s office. I saw him fingering his wand as he walked away. It seems he’ll get his vengeance after all.

“Miss Granger,” Snape says to me. I can’t help but notice his voice is softer than it usually is. I look at him and meet his eyes, not so harsh I notice. I can almost imagine a small sympathetic smile on his face, the kind Dumbledore gives. It hits me I don’t want his pity. I don’t want anyone’s pity. I want...revenge. “I am truly sorry about your family. I wish to express my understanding and offer my apologies.”

“Pity,” I say coldly. “You mean pity. I don’t want pity, Professor. But thank you.”

He looks at me for a long moment. “Never, Miss Granger. Never pity. It seems some people grow beyond that, you seem to have done so. I wouldn’t pity you anyway. Good day, Miss Granger.”

I watch him leave. His black robes billow out behind him as he retreats. I suddenly find I was holding my breath and I let it out. Leaning on the tree my body begins to shake uncontrollably. My chest heaves painfully and I fall to the ground, clutching my stomach and tremble madly. Doubling over I open my eyes and see a single drop of water fall on the ground. Another tear stings my eyes and I begin to cry.