venturous1 - "The Morning After" [Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, PG]
Title: Morning After
Author: (venturous1 at LJ)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Warnings: canon character death, blood
Words: 1776
For: femgenficathon on LJ
Prompt: 69) "My wish is to ride the tempest, tame the waves, kill the sharks. I will not resign myself to the usual lot of women who bow their heads and become concubines." -- Trieu Thi Trinh (225-248), 3rd-century Vietnamese revolutionary who led a rebellion against Chinese invaders. Known as "the Vietnamese Joan of Arc."
Summary: Hermione Granger wakes early on the day after Voldemort’s demise. The world looks different.
Author's Notes: I loved this prompt so much, and planned a grand fic for it, where a fierce Hermione stood up to a corrupt Ministry. Numerous attempts to write that fic produced nothing you would ever want to read. Instead, the Muse provided me with this meditative piece, which suits my other goal, to get to know this character better. Thanks to our mods for organizing this fest. And to six-of-one for the speedy beta!
====================
Morning After
Before the first hint of dawn she arose, carefully disentangling herself from their limbs so as not to interrupt their slumber. Hermione climbed down from the enormous bedstead and followed the spiral stairs to level five, to set out for her favorite morning walk.
Already the castle had set to right herself, but the damage was severe. Hermione loved these level five galleries for their east-facing view: as an early riser she had spent many mornings here planning her day. On this day the lightening sky revealed the hallway blasted away. The stone floor at her feet was repaving itself as rapidly as possible, as if to insure her safety. She pressed against the inner wall and went out as far as she dared, peering through broken arches to see Ravenclaw Tower and broken walls below. She, choked back a sob. Hogwarts had always seemed of the mountains, so ‘forever.’ On this morning she saw the stalwart stone walls as fragile as her own skin: wounded, broken and trying to heal.
"Accio Hermione’s Broom!" she cried out, and her Thunderbolt soon appeared, a bit scorched but serviceable. She launched herself for a better view of the aftermt. As she spiraled up into the cool morning air the school grew small and the mountains enfolded it. Preferring the open air to the blasted castle, she flew on, shaking free her hair.
===============
Years ago when she’d willed herself into the treetops, she realized something was different, that her life might not be like her young schoolmates’ with their dollies and tea sets. Her father had been busy and indulgent, and clearly delighted by his intelligent and studious daughter when he had the time. Hermione’s mother, Jean, was harder to read; she was mercurial, gifted and moody. For a while Hermione strove to please her, but quickly learned that there was no reliable formula. No matter what she did, her mother would explode in frustration at intervals. Eventually the daughter learned it was her mother’s temperament, Jean’s own internal weather, and nothing Hermione could do would please her.
In her first year at Hogwarts, she became convinced her mother was a witch who had gone undiscovered. She thought of the many skills her mother had, and all the ways she did not fit in with other mothers and dentists’ wives. How she could guide the weather, and cook like a genius, especially brewing up soups and teas that healed what ailed you. And how she could coax plants and animals to thrive and produce for her. Surely there was Magic running in her veins! All through first year, Hermione would come home, regale her mum with all she was learning, thrust books upon her, and teach her simple spells. She became the coach, and Jean, for a while, the curious student.
At Hogwarts, Hermione assumed she’d befriend other Muggle-borns, but found little connection there. And soon, bonding with Harry and Ron, her life became driven forward by events far beyond her control. Jean grew less interested, even listless, with Hermione away, and during second year their shared lessons faded to naught. Working so hard at school Hermione barely noticed, at first. Finally when home for Easter hols she asked her mother: "Aren’t you interested any more, mum? You never ask me about what I am working on, and you aren’t reading the books I send you." Jean was silent, and sipped her hard cider. She looked at her bright and beautiful daughter, so strange to her, and was a little frightened. "Mother, dear..." Hermione took both of her mother's hands and insisted on eye contact. "You are so gifted! Don’t give up! I know you are good at this! I’ll talk to Professor Dumbledore…"
Jean politely extracted her hands, and looked down, then back at her daughter with a mild gaze and picked up her drink again. "No, no darling, really, I’m fine. I’m happy enough with the business, and my little garden, now that you are such a success at school." She lit a cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke. She turned away, indicating that the topic was closed.
Hermione was downcast. She thought her mother was depressed, that she was giving up. And in some sense, this was true. Jean Granger had a secret: an illness that she was determined to hide. But that wasn’t all. Although Hermione would not understand this until some years later, Jean was saying, ‘No, dear. I have walked with you this far. Daughter, you must go where I cannot follow."
===========
The sun was just edging above the horizon now, a great soft glowing orb amid a violet-grey haze. The castle was not visible anywhere in the wrinkles of the great mountains. Hermione flew between the deep, cool grays and silver belowand the rose light at the peaks above backlit by slate blue spattered with swirling stars. It was as if she flew into a magical painting of the primordial universe. Life was over. Life begins now.
It was cold in the mountain dawn so Hermione set down on bright ledge to watch the progress of the morning. From her bag she enlarged her tea-making kit and quickly had a kettle boiling over a little fire, and a satisfying cup. She conjured some logs into a comfortable chair and relaxed to take in the view. Scotland was so austere, barren some said. It was perfect for learning magic, she thought, it helped you concentrate. All this rock was like a container, a cauldron that held their magic close.
Looking down she thought she could pick out Hogwarts by the swath of green and the shimmer of the lake. She smiled as she pictured Ron and Harry curled together in that enormous bed. Last night after all had gone quiet at last, Harry had taken them to the Headmaster’s suite, insisting they view the memories Snape had given him. Afterward there was nothing more to say, and no strength left to say it with. Ron and Hermione had gathered Harry into their embrace and held him as he wept for his mother and his childhood. They climbed into Dumbledore’s great bedstead and slept, drinking deep of much-needed rest.
They wouldn’t miss her for hours. And thank Merlin, for they were beyond exhausted. She didn’t know how they, or any of them, had the will to get out of bed anymore. Yesterday (which was two days as there’d been no rest the previous night) she saw her best friend dead in Hagrid’s arms and experienced the crushing blow of ‘all is lost,’, only to witness the miraculous reappearance of Harry, the heroic actions of Neville and Molly, and the end of their wretched foe at last.
Before sending Harry to his ‘death’ she had held the dying Snape in her arms, still believing him a murderer. She had never seen so much blood, nor watched a person die. When he clearly wanted to share memories with Harry, she conjured the vial and lifted Snape’s head to aid the transfer. When complete, she nodded to Harry and he sprang off for the Pensieve while Hermione sat with the still-warm corpse of her professor, his head heavy in her lap, her skirts soaked with his blood. In the quiet of that haunted shack she bent her forehead to his and longed for tears, but none would come. Finally, she gently laid down his head and closed his empty eyes. "I’m sorry, Professor," she said softly. "I have to leave."
She had only gone a stride before she knew she could not leave him with that horrid place for a tomb. She drew her wand, grounded herself and began an incantation. When it was complete, she vanished the blood, smoothed his hair and robes, folded his arms and wrapped him in a grey shroud. Checking again that the anti-Apparition wards were not interfering, she lifted his strangely light body and they vanished with a crack.
==============
The sun was well up now. Her perch high above the world was edged with wildflowers reaching for its light. There were birds singing in the branches of the young birches to her left. A small snake had emerged to sun itself on the rock. What a good idea, she mused. It felt so good, bathing in the warmth of the sun, and she melted into her chair, allowing some of her weariness to rise. Behind her closed eyes tears began to well and finally, spill forth. Hermione sat up to wipe her eyes, and doubled over gasping with sobs of anguish, for so much loss and fear. Finally, here, she could break down.
In time, like a mountain storm, her sobbing was finished, and tired but refreshed, Hermione looked about her. It was time to fly back and make sure her boys did not worry about her. Time to help them meet this day-after, and face their grief and joy and confusion. She laughed, terribly amused that they looked to her for guidance, while she had no idea where she was headed next. But no matter, look to her they did, dear fools, and she loved them with all her heart. Plus, there was much work to do.
She walked to the edge of the cliff and plucked several wild lilies, apologizing to the bees she displaced. Holding them up to the light she admired their fragile beauty and luminous fragrance. She spelled them for freshness and walked a few paces to a large cairn of grey rock, placing them gently at the heart. "I understand now, Professor. Thank you for all you did."
Hermione kicked off the cliff into the morning air and spiraled down the green valleys homeward, toward Hogwarts.
***fin***
Author: (venturous1 at LJ)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: PG
Warnings: canon character death, blood
Words: 1776
For: femgenficathon on LJ
Prompt: 69) "My wish is to ride the tempest, tame the waves, kill the sharks. I will not resign myself to the usual lot of women who bow their heads and become concubines." -- Trieu Thi Trinh (225-248), 3rd-century Vietnamese revolutionary who led a rebellion against Chinese invaders. Known as "the Vietnamese Joan of Arc."
Summary: Hermione Granger wakes early on the day after Voldemort’s demise. The world looks different.
Author's Notes: I loved this prompt so much, and planned a grand fic for it, where a fierce Hermione stood up to a corrupt Ministry. Numerous attempts to write that fic produced nothing you would ever want to read. Instead, the Muse provided me with this meditative piece, which suits my other goal, to get to know this character better. Thanks to our mods for organizing this fest. And to six-of-one for the speedy beta!
====================
Morning After
Before the first hint of dawn she arose, carefully disentangling herself from their limbs so as not to interrupt their slumber. Hermione climbed down from the enormous bedstead and followed the spiral stairs to level five, to set out for her favorite morning walk.
Already the castle had set to right herself, but the damage was severe. Hermione loved these level five galleries for their east-facing view: as an early riser she had spent many mornings here planning her day. On this day the lightening sky revealed the hallway blasted away. The stone floor at her feet was repaving itself as rapidly as possible, as if to insure her safety. She pressed against the inner wall and went out as far as she dared, peering through broken arches to see Ravenclaw Tower and broken walls below. She, choked back a sob. Hogwarts had always seemed of the mountains, so ‘forever.’ On this morning she saw the stalwart stone walls as fragile as her own skin: wounded, broken and trying to heal.
"Accio Hermione’s Broom!" she cried out, and her Thunderbolt soon appeared, a bit scorched but serviceable. She launched herself for a better view of the aftermt. As she spiraled up into the cool morning air the school grew small and the mountains enfolded it. Preferring the open air to the blasted castle, she flew on, shaking free her hair.
===============
Years ago when she’d willed herself into the treetops, she realized something was different, that her life might not be like her young schoolmates’ with their dollies and tea sets. Her father had been busy and indulgent, and clearly delighted by his intelligent and studious daughter when he had the time. Hermione’s mother, Jean, was harder to read; she was mercurial, gifted and moody. For a while Hermione strove to please her, but quickly learned that there was no reliable formula. No matter what she did, her mother would explode in frustration at intervals. Eventually the daughter learned it was her mother’s temperament, Jean’s own internal weather, and nothing Hermione could do would please her.
In her first year at Hogwarts, she became convinced her mother was a witch who had gone undiscovered. She thought of the many skills her mother had, and all the ways she did not fit in with other mothers and dentists’ wives. How she could guide the weather, and cook like a genius, especially brewing up soups and teas that healed what ailed you. And how she could coax plants and animals to thrive and produce for her. Surely there was Magic running in her veins! All through first year, Hermione would come home, regale her mum with all she was learning, thrust books upon her, and teach her simple spells. She became the coach, and Jean, for a while, the curious student.
At Hogwarts, Hermione assumed she’d befriend other Muggle-borns, but found little connection there. And soon, bonding with Harry and Ron, her life became driven forward by events far beyond her control. Jean grew less interested, even listless, with Hermione away, and during second year their shared lessons faded to naught. Working so hard at school Hermione barely noticed, at first. Finally when home for Easter hols she asked her mother: "Aren’t you interested any more, mum? You never ask me about what I am working on, and you aren’t reading the books I send you." Jean was silent, and sipped her hard cider. She looked at her bright and beautiful daughter, so strange to her, and was a little frightened. "Mother, dear..." Hermione took both of her mother's hands and insisted on eye contact. "You are so gifted! Don’t give up! I know you are good at this! I’ll talk to Professor Dumbledore…"
Jean politely extracted her hands, and looked down, then back at her daughter with a mild gaze and picked up her drink again. "No, no darling, really, I’m fine. I’m happy enough with the business, and my little garden, now that you are such a success at school." She lit a cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke. She turned away, indicating that the topic was closed.
Hermione was downcast. She thought her mother was depressed, that she was giving up. And in some sense, this was true. Jean Granger had a secret: an illness that she was determined to hide. But that wasn’t all. Although Hermione would not understand this until some years later, Jean was saying, ‘No, dear. I have walked with you this far. Daughter, you must go where I cannot follow."
===========
The sun was just edging above the horizon now, a great soft glowing orb amid a violet-grey haze. The castle was not visible anywhere in the wrinkles of the great mountains. Hermione flew between the deep, cool grays and silver belowand the rose light at the peaks above backlit by slate blue spattered with swirling stars. It was as if she flew into a magical painting of the primordial universe. Life was over. Life begins now.
It was cold in the mountain dawn so Hermione set down on bright ledge to watch the progress of the morning. From her bag she enlarged her tea-making kit and quickly had a kettle boiling over a little fire, and a satisfying cup. She conjured some logs into a comfortable chair and relaxed to take in the view. Scotland was so austere, barren some said. It was perfect for learning magic, she thought, it helped you concentrate. All this rock was like a container, a cauldron that held their magic close.
Looking down she thought she could pick out Hogwarts by the swath of green and the shimmer of the lake. She smiled as she pictured Ron and Harry curled together in that enormous bed. Last night after all had gone quiet at last, Harry had taken them to the Headmaster’s suite, insisting they view the memories Snape had given him. Afterward there was nothing more to say, and no strength left to say it with. Ron and Hermione had gathered Harry into their embrace and held him as he wept for his mother and his childhood. They climbed into Dumbledore’s great bedstead and slept, drinking deep of much-needed rest.
They wouldn’t miss her for hours. And thank Merlin, for they were beyond exhausted. She didn’t know how they, or any of them, had the will to get out of bed anymore. Yesterday (which was two days as there’d been no rest the previous night) she saw her best friend dead in Hagrid’s arms and experienced the crushing blow of ‘all is lost,’, only to witness the miraculous reappearance of Harry, the heroic actions of Neville and Molly, and the end of their wretched foe at last.
Before sending Harry to his ‘death’ she had held the dying Snape in her arms, still believing him a murderer. She had never seen so much blood, nor watched a person die. When he clearly wanted to share memories with Harry, she conjured the vial and lifted Snape’s head to aid the transfer. When complete, she nodded to Harry and he sprang off for the Pensieve while Hermione sat with the still-warm corpse of her professor, his head heavy in her lap, her skirts soaked with his blood. In the quiet of that haunted shack she bent her forehead to his and longed for tears, but none would come. Finally, she gently laid down his head and closed his empty eyes. "I’m sorry, Professor," she said softly. "I have to leave."
She had only gone a stride before she knew she could not leave him with that horrid place for a tomb. She drew her wand, grounded herself and began an incantation. When it was complete, she vanished the blood, smoothed his hair and robes, folded his arms and wrapped him in a grey shroud. Checking again that the anti-Apparition wards were not interfering, she lifted his strangely light body and they vanished with a crack.
==============
The sun was well up now. Her perch high above the world was edged with wildflowers reaching for its light. There were birds singing in the branches of the young birches to her left. A small snake had emerged to sun itself on the rock. What a good idea, she mused. It felt so good, bathing in the warmth of the sun, and she melted into her chair, allowing some of her weariness to rise. Behind her closed eyes tears began to well and finally, spill forth. Hermione sat up to wipe her eyes, and doubled over gasping with sobs of anguish, for so much loss and fear. Finally, here, she could break down.
In time, like a mountain storm, her sobbing was finished, and tired but refreshed, Hermione looked about her. It was time to fly back and make sure her boys did not worry about her. Time to help them meet this day-after, and face their grief and joy and confusion. She laughed, terribly amused that they looked to her for guidance, while she had no idea where she was headed next. But no matter, look to her they did, dear fools, and she loved them with all her heart. Plus, there was much work to do.
She walked to the edge of the cliff and plucked several wild lilies, apologizing to the bees she displaced. Holding them up to the light she admired their fragile beauty and luminous fragrance. She spelled them for freshness and walked a few paces to a large cairn of grey rock, placing them gently at the heart. "I understand now, Professor. Thank you for all you did."
Hermione kicked off the cliff into the morning air and spiraled down the green valleys homeward, toward Hogwarts.
***fin***