Hermione woke up early the next morning. Yawning, she opened one eye and peeked out the window. It was snowing “ yet another white Christmas.
Quietly, Hermione pushed back her covers and sat up. She reached up, opened the window, and looked out. The morning sunlight reflecting off of the fresh layer of snow on the ground was almost blinding, and the stray rays bouncing off the drifting snowflakes caused them to sparkle, dazzling her eyes. She blinked several times and grinned.
‘What wonderful Christmas weather,’ Hermione sighed happily, falling back onto her bed and breathing in the chilly air entering through the open window. Her thoughts drifted lazily to her meeting with Shadow the previous night. Thinking back, it seemed almost like a fairy tale, like it had never really happened after all. Of course, they hadn’t really talked about anything, but the flying…the memory of it was akin to something from a dream. She had never felt so free, so disconnected from everything. It had just been her, the never-ending expanse of sky, and…Shadow.
Hermione yawned again and stretched her arms out above her. At that very moment, she felt completely at peace with herself and everything around her. Remembering her time with Shadow helped to push all her job- and family-related worries out of her mind, something she usually had a difficult time doing.
After a few more minutes of lying in bed, hovering somewhere between being asleep and awake, Hermione eased her lower half out from under the covers and stepped into her slippers. She draped a knitted shawl around her shoulders half-heartedly and shuffled out of her room, closing the door behind her.
The moment Hermione stepped into the hallway, however, her contentment seemed to fall away like a loose extra skin. She shivered; the cold feeling of dread now weighed heavily on her mood. What would she do once she saw Ron downstairs?
‘Hermione, is that you?’ came Mrs Weasley’s voice from downstairs before Hermione could turn on her heel and run back into her room
‘Yes,’ Hermione called back, her heart sinking. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’
‘Hurry down now, dear, we’re already half-way through breakfast.’ Mrs Weasley poked her head out the dining room doorway and smiled at Hermione. She wore a stained, maroon apron and had bits of tinsel in her flyaway hair.
‘I’ll be right down,’ said Hermione, returning the smile weakly.
As Hermione descended the rickety staircase, she quickly planned out what she would do once downstairs. She couldn’t afford to look at Ron; she had never been good at lying to him. Her mind raced as she tried to mentally craft a good answer to the inevitable question: where had she been the night before?
When Hermione entered the dining room, Ron didn’t look up. He appeared to be eating his porridge with great concentration, and even when Harry pointed out Hermione’s arrival, he simply grunted and continued to eat.
‘Good morning, Hermione,’ said Alicia with a smile.
She was sitting next to George, who busy heaping copious amounts of strawberry jam onto a slice of toast. Across the table, Fred was attempting to charm the raisins in his slice of Christmas cake to build miniature snowmen on his plate, a job that was being received with glares from Alicia.
‘Happy Christmas,’ Hermione said distractedly to Ginny and Mrs Weasley as she squeezed past them to get to her usual seat beside Ron.
Hermione saw Ginny and Harry exchange concerned looks out of the corner of her eye, but she ignored them. She knew they were both itching to ask what had happened “ Hermione and Ron’s fight had not slipped past their attention unnoticed, but neither of them actually knew what the yelling had been about.
‘Good morning,’ said Hermione nervously, sliding onto her chair and glancing quickly at Ron before grabbing a slice of toast. ‘Happy Christmas.’
Hermione saw a muscle in Ron’s cheek tighten, but other than that, he showed no sign that he was aware of Hermione’s presence. Instead, he said loudly, ‘Pass the butter, Harry.’
Harry’s eyebrows shot up, but he did as requested and handed the butter dish over to Ron. ‘Where were you last night?’ he asked Hermione inquisitively as he did so.
‘I had to meet with a friend,’ said Hermione. That’s not a lie at all, she reassured herself. ‘We “ er “ we were discussing the case.’ She grimaced inwardly. Okay, maybe that one was.
‘Hermione, you ought to take a break once in a while and just enjoy some time with your family,’ Mrs Weasley chided. She looked up at Hermione over the hot chocolate she was sipping. ‘It’s a shame you couldn’t come carolling with us last night.’
‘Yeah, you missed out on a lot,’ said Ginny with a snicker. ‘An old Muggle couple offered us some gingersnaps, and it turns out Neville is allergic to them…his Gran refused to fix him up in a Muggle neighbourhood, though, so he had to go the rest of the way looking like he had red spots painted all over him.’
‘Was he alright?’ Hermione asked, concerned.
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Mrs Weasley, jumping in. She shot a reprimanding glare in Ginny’s direction. ‘And I’ll have you know, young lady, that you had similar allergic reactions when you were a child, so I’d watch who I’m cheeky about next time.’
‘Sorry, Mum,’ Ginny mumbled into her porridge amid Fred and George’s snickers.
Breakfast turned out to be an awkward affair. Ron continued to hold his silent grudge throughout the rest of the meal, while the other Weasleys tried to lighten up the mood to no avail. By the time Hermione had finished putting the last bowl in the sink, she felt drained, as if just keeping up her alibi had taken all of her energy. It was not even noon yet, and Christmas was already turning out to be one of the most unpleasant days of the year.
When Hermione arrived in the living room after clearing away the table, everyone except Mrs Weasley, who had insisted on washing the dishes alone, was already settled comfortably around the fire. Hermione’s gaze, however, was immediately drawn to Ron and Harry. They appeared to be arguing over something in the corner by the Christmas tree.
‘Really, Hermione, you ought to let our baby sister do the cleaning next time…’
Ginny, who was curled up at one end of the sofa closest to the fireplace and reading Witch Weekly, stuck her tongue out at George in response to his comment, but Hermione just smiled distractedly, sat down next to Ginny, and muttered, ‘What are they going on about?’
Ginny looked up. ‘I’m not sure,’ she replied. ‘I think Harry’s trying to tell Ron to do something but Ron won’t listen.’
Hermione frowned. What was it that Ron didn’t want to do? Could it have to do anything to do with her?
‘Hermione,’ said Ginny suddenly. She had put down her magazine, and was now leaning forward with a look of urgency on her face. ‘Where were you last night? You weren’t meeting with a friend to discuss the murder, were you?’
‘What makes you say that?’ Hermione whispered back, hoisting up an unconvincingly innocent expression while inwardly cursing herself. Of course Ginny could tell she was lying; she had always been able to.
Indeed, Hermione’s response was met with a stern glare. ‘I’m being serious,’ Ginny said, and her tone confirmed her words. ‘You met with Shadow again, didn’t you?’
‘So what if I did?’ Hermione answered defensively. ‘We were just talking.’
Ginny frowned. ‘You need to stop this, Hermione. You’re not fooling anyone “ not Ron, not Harry, not me, and certainly not yourself. You can’t keep thinking that all of this is going to end well.’
Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples. Ginny was right. She couldn’t stop putting all of this off. How could she manage to stay friends with Shadow for long if neither of them knew the other’s identity?
‘I just wish I knew who he was,’ Hermione mumbled, leaning back so she could stare up at the cracks in the ceiling. ‘It would make all of this so much easier. No more mystery man, no more lies…and I could just crack on with my normal life.’
‘Why don’t you ask him, then?’ Ginny suggested.
Hermione shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Ginny,’ she answered truthfully. ‘Right now it’s like we’re playing some sort of game where we’re both trying to see how long we can go on without knowing much about each other. And I…well, I like it. It’s nice.’
‘That doesn’t sound like you,’ said Ginny worriedly. She paused, and then continued slowly, ‘But you know you’ve got to fess up to Ron eventually, right? He’s worried. He covers it up well by being a prat, but he really is.’
‘I know. I’m in a bit of a compromising position, aren’t I?’ said Hermione feebly.
She sighed again and threw another glance in Ron and Harry’s direction. Ron appeared to be holding a small package in his hand, and kept pointing at it angrily as he spoke to Harry.
‘Am I just bored with my life?’ Hermione asked after a few moments of silence. She rested her chin on her arms and looked at Ginny. ‘Is that it? Am I just doing this because I want something interesting to finally happen to me?’
Ginny looked uncomfortable. ‘Er…well…I dunno, to be honest with you. I don’t think you’re stupid enough to do that. You know this is stupid, right?’
‘He works at the Ministry, for God’s sake!’ Hermione exclaimed, but not too loudly, ignoring Ginny’s question. ‘How bad can he be?’
‘I don’t think it’s that aspect of your friendship and letters that has Ron so furious…’
‘What do you mean?’ Hermione asked impatiently.
‘Well…’ Ginny hesitated, as if she were trying to think of a good way to word whatever she wanted to say. ‘Well, it’s just that Ron tends to get a bit jealous sometimes’ (‘Believe me, I’ve noticed,’ Hermione scoffed), ‘and he’s just upset that you value the friendship of someone you barely know over his.’
‘But that’s not true!’ Hermione protested. ‘I “ I mean “’
Somewhere near her right ear, however, a little voice piped, You mean what? Isn’t she right? You’ve been sacrificing your time with Ron for Shadow…you even told him you wanted to spend less time together because Shadow suggested it…
Ginny seemed to share this sentiment, for she raised an eyebrow at Hermione in a manner that clearly read ‘Told you so’. Hermione groaned and buried her face in her arms.
‘What am I going to do?’ she muttered. ‘I can’t just stop talking to Shadow.’
‘Why not?’ Ginny asked warily. ‘You’ve got to get a grip here, Hermione. He’s the guy in the mask who writes you sad letters. Ron may be a bit dim sometimes, but he loves you and he’s always been there for you.’
‘I just don’t see why I have to choose! I mean, it’s not as if it’s against the law to maintain a friendship and a romantic relationship at the same time. I’m friends with Harry, and Ron hasn’t got a problem with that.’
‘Ron knows and trusts Harry, though.’
‘Well, there’s nothing not to trust about Shadow,’ said Hermione crossly.
She glared at Ron’s back. He and Harry were still bickering, though it seemed like Ron was on the verge of storming away, for his arms were crossed and his jaw was set resolutely. Hermione wondered idly what had been in the box Ron had put away again.
After a while, she said timidly, ‘Do you think this will blow over like everything else has?’
Ginny knitted her brows. ‘I can’t speak for Ron. You two need to work together to sort this out.’
‘I suppose,’ said Hermione. She laughed reluctantly. ‘I’m being rather immature about this, aren’t I, asking you for help? It reminds me of the days when I always complained about Ron to you in Hogwarts.’
‘And I in turn whined to you about how Harry would never like me,’ said Ginny with a grin. ‘Nothing’s really changed after all, has it?’
Hermione gazed sadly at Ron. ‘Some things have,’ she said quietly.
‘He’s always been like this,’ said Ginny quickly. ‘Don’t worry too much about it. Everything will be fine.’
Hermione’s response to this was cut off when Ron spun around and stomped away from Harry, just as Hermione had predicted. As he approached her, Hermione opened her mouth to say something. However, Ron simply looked pointedly away, walked by without giving any indication that he had seen her, and slumped down next to Fred.
Her anger fuelled once more, Hermione looked over at Harry as if demanding that he do something. He gave her a hopeless shrug.
‘I did the best I could,’ he muttered under his breath as he returned to the sofa where Hermione and Ginny sat.
‘You can sit here,’ said Hermione quickly, standing up as Harry made to step over her feet and sit down on the armrest next to Ginny. ‘I’ll…I’ll be upstairs if anyone needs me.’
Without waiting for a response, Hermione pushed past Harry, who seemed surprised by her behaviour, and hurried out of the sitting room. She almost ran into Mrs Weasley, who had just finished doing the dishes, on her way out.
‘Sorry, Mrs Weasley,’ said Hermione, faking an apologetic smile that did not come easily due to her seething insides. ‘I’m going to my room. If you need me, just call.’
‘Why, we’re about to open “’
But Hermione was up the stairs and out of sight before Mrs Weasley could finish her sentence.
The moment Hermione entered her room, she dashed over to her desk and began fumbling around in the drawers, searching for parchment. She found a spare sheet underneath a pile of old documents and eased it out. As she reached over to grab a quill from the mug where she kept all her writing utensils, however, Hermione happened to glance in the mirror and see the reflection of her bed.
Lying atop the neatly made sheets was a poorly wrapped object with a letter tied to it.
Hermione pushed her chair back and stood up so rapidly that it tipped over and hit the wood floor with a clatter. Ignoring the fallen chair, she walked over to her bed and picked up the item, her fingers trembling. She untied the string holding the letter to the package and turned it over.
Written on it in emerald-green ink was the word, ‘Starlight’.
Confused, Hermione looked around. The window! she realised. She had forgotten to close it that morning. That must have been how Shadow’s owl had flown in and delivered the parcel.
Hermione unfurled the letter, eager to see what Shadow had written. To her disappointment, however, there were only a few lines:
Dear Starlight,
Happy Christmas. Use this to relive your happiest memory with your boyfriend “ perhaps it will help you two patch things up.
Sincerely,
Shadow
A thrill of excitement coursed through Hermione as she unwrapped the gift, taking care to preserve the silver wrapping paper. A tiny bottle of a dark green potion fell out onto her palm.
‘Reco Memoria,’ Hermione said out loud, reading the tiny words etched into the stopper. She gasped inwardly when she realised what it was. It was a memory draught “ one that allowed the drinker to revisit any recollection of his or her choice. Its purpose was similar to that of a Pensieve, but slightly different at the same time, for it actually let the drinker become who they were at that the selected moment in time. The potion was incredibly difficult and wearisome to brew, and was therefore not sold in most apothecaries. There was enough in the little bottle for one use.
Wondering how Shadow had managed to find someone to brew the concoction for him, Hermione broke the seal around the stopper and pulled it out. However, she hesitated before downing the potion. It had suddenly dawned upon her that between all the shopping she’d done for her friends and family, she had forgotten to buy a gift for Shadow.
As Hermione stared at the green liquid, slightly embarrassed that he’d given her so much and she’d forgotten about him entirely, it also occurred to her that perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea to take the potion so willingly. What if it had been tampered with? Of course she trusted Shadow, but nevertheless…
Hermione walked back to her desk, reached into the top drawer again, and searched around blindly until her fingers closed around a narrow phial. She took this out, shook it gently, and then uncorked it. Holding it up to the bright sunlight streaming in through the open window, Hermione scrutinised its clear contents for a moment, then returned to her bed and sat down.
Placing the bottle of memory draught atop her bedside table, Hermione carefully poured in one drop of the poison detector in the phial. She corked the phial again, and watched the green potion carefully.
After a minute, nothing had happened. Satisfied, Hermione picked the bottle up and brought it to her lips. Before drinking it, however, she once again faltered, this time wondering if saving the memory draught was a better idea. Regardless, this worry was quickly brushed away, for Hermione reasoned that if there was anytime she needed to remember the better times she and Ron had shared, this was it.
Thus, before any further second thoughts could stop her, Hermione tipped the bottle and swallowed all of its contents in one gulp.
Immediately, the sensation of being disconnected from herself hit Hermione. She blinked and instantly saw clearly in her mind’s eye millions of images spinning past her. I’m inside my own head, she realised. As if to confirm this, she felt her feet hit what felt like firm ground “ apparently some form of her body had followed her.
‘Welcome!’ said a high, somewhat squeaky voice suddenly.
Hermione jumped and looked around. ‘Hello?’ she said out loud. Strangely enough, her voice seemed to disappear as she said the word, but somehow she knew she had spoken it anyway.
‘Is this your first time doing this?’ said the voice, sounding surprised.
‘Taking the potion? Yes, it is,’ said Hermione, feeling a bit stupid for talking to thin air.
‘I suppose I should explain this to you, then,’ said the voice, sounding slightly exasperated. ‘I’m your unconsciousness. Among other things, I manage these memories and your feelings towards them. The potion you took is a limited version of an actual memory draught. It will only permit you to revisit your happiest memories. I’m here to guide you along as you make your way through your mind.’
Hermione furrowed her eyebrows. ‘This sounds like something out of a “’
‘“ science fiction novel, I know,’ finished the voice impatiently. ‘I thought you’d say that. I realise that all of this sounds rather unrealistic, but without my guidance, it’s likely that you’ll get lost. It’s confusing up here.’
‘I noticed,’ Hermione muttered. She sighed. It would have been so much easier if she had just used a Pensieve. What was she thinking, using the memory draught for this? She should have saved it for something more important.
‘Now, now, you mustn’t think like that,’ the voice chastised. ‘Simply revisiting a memory isn’t going to do you very much good if you can’t experience it again.’
Hermione said nothing in response to this.
‘Very well,’ continued the voice. ‘I understand you’re here to find and relive one of your happier moments with that boyfriend of yours?’
‘Yes.’
‘Let’s get started, then.’
As if on cue, all the pictures whirling around Hermione turned pale gold, glowed for a moment, and dropped, forming pools of a shining gold substance. Tentatively, Hermione reached out a hand “ but was she really reaching out a hand? After all, in this state, she didn’t actually have any physical form “ and touched one nearby. The image of Ron and Harry standing next to the Christmas tree downstairs shimmered into view.
‘Don’t bother testing that one,’ the shrill voice warned as Hermione made to dip her hand into the viscous substance, ‘it won’t work.’
‘What do you mean?’ Hermione asked. She stepped back and frowned.
‘Try it.’
Hermione did so, and found to her surprise that there was an invisible, inflexible barrier preventing her from penetrating the golden surface.
‘Why doesn’t it “?’
‘Like I said, it only lets you visit your happiest recollections, which means you’re barred from entering the ones I don’t categorise as “happy”. Now, carry on…there are lots more memory pools for us “ you “ to visit.’
Hermione proceeded onwards, not quite walking but still in full control of her movements. As she passed by pools of gold, all of which she touched, her unconsciousness continued to speak to her and explain how she felt towards each of the memories she came across. At times, Hermione found it rather annoying; for instance, she hadn’t asked to be told that she’d actually secretly known she was overreacting when Ron accused Crookshanks of eating Scabbers in third year. However, she couldn’t deny that all of it was very fascinating, so she pressed on, searching for a suitable memory to relive.
Finally, Hermione located a pool of gold bearing the wavering image of Ron abashedly giving her a bouquet of flowers. It had been an early birthday present the year before, and though the gesture had been simple and somewhat cliché, she had been touched by Ron’s thoughtfulness (which rarely showed in his actions) nonetheless.
She now skimmed the gold substance with her fingers and felt them break the surface. ‘This one will do,’ she said out loud, desperate to get the task over with. She didn’t know if Shadow’s suggestion would work, but perhaps remembering why it was that she loved Ron in the first place would at least give her reason to be more patient with him, because at the moment, she felt slightly ashamed for lying to him “ even if she did still think he had been wrong.
‘You sure you want to go with that one?’ asked the voice doubtfully. ‘We’ve still got plenty of time to look around for more. It’s not every day you get to visit your own storage of memories; you might as well make the best of it.’
‘Yes, I’m sure,’ said Hermione firmly. At the moment, she just wanted to step back into the world she was used to and enjoy the rest of Christmas with everyone. Everyone but Ron.
Again, a wave of guilt washed over Hermione. Determined once more to try Shadow’s suggestion, Hermione cautiously knelt down by the edge of the recollection, preparing to step in. As she did so, however, she accidentally moved her hand into another memory puddle behind her. To her surprise, she did not hit a rigid blockade.
Hermione turned to see which of her happier memories her unconsciousness was allowing her to enter. She expected to see an image of Harry or Ron, so it took her a few seconds before she recognised the masked figure on a broomstick as Shadow.
‘Oh, now that one is worth taking a second look at,’ piped the voice, sounding much more pleased with Hermione now. ‘Go on, enter that one.’
Hermione looked up and glared at nothing in particular. ‘I can’t,’ she said angrily. ‘I’m here to fix the problems between Ron and me. Seeing Shadow again isn’t going to help. Besides, he’s the one who suggested I do this…I’m sure he’d want me to go with the Ron memory.’
As if to prove that she didn’t intend to stray away from her current mindset, Hermione turned back around and lowered both legs into the memory of Ron she had just been about to visit. She felt the thick substance swirling around her, but it didn’t cling to her clothes and drag her down.
‘Get out of there,’ said the voice irritably, just as Hermione was about to let go of the edge and drop. Hermione felt an unseen force tugging her out of the pool. ‘Don’t be ridiculous; that’s not the one you really want to go to.’
‘Oh yes it is,’ Hermione hissed through clenched teeth. She tried to tear herself away to no avail. ‘Let me go! I thought you were my guide, not my boss.’
‘I’m also you,’ her unconsciousness pointed out, refusing to cease its hold on her. ‘In fact, I control most of your actions, and right now, I’m controlling this one…so off you go.’
And with one more heave, Hermione tumbled backwards into the memory of her last meeting with Shadow.
As she plummeted towards whatever bottom awaited her, the liquid-like matter around her began to thin out until it felt as though she were free falling through air. Hermione struggled to reach out and grab hold of something, but there was nothing there, so she simply shut her eyes tightly and prayed that she wouldn’t hit anything hard.
Soon enough, Hermione sensed the atmosphere around her turning colder. She opened her eyes, looked up, and barely had time to notice the light grey sky above her before, with a soft whoosh, she gracefully slid into what felt like a form-fitting bodysuit and landed on the thin, wooden handle of a broomstick.
With a thrill, Hermione realised she was inside her body once again, but this time as what seemed to be an outside presence. She was not in control of her actions, for right there before her eyes, she saw her own hands guide the broom upwards into the clouds. Though she knew somehow that she was looking up at Shadow, her current, visiting self was free to look wherever she chose.
Every turn, every swoop Hermione still sensed as clearly as though she were experiencing the broom ride for a second time. However, she was not aware of the same worry she remembered suffering from her first time around. Instead, she felt extraordinarily light and free of ordinary concerns. She wanted to laugh out loud, or perhaps spread her arms and lift off on her own.
This must be what real flying feels like, she realised as she heard herself express her coldness to Shadow. All thoughts of making up with Ron had by now completely escaped her mind.
Shadow turned around. Hermione took in every detail of his, from his tussled, black hair down to his scruffy trainers. She had never noticed how thin his lips were, how pale his skin was, how pointed his chin was. His eyes burned with a ferocity she couldn’t recall ever coming across in his letters, or even in his speech. Before he opened his mouth to suggest sharing his broom, he bit his lip and hesitated for the slightest fraction of a second.
Hermione found all of this enthralling. She felt to urge to simply sit there and study Shadow’s features all day. Again, the sense of familiarity she had felt so many times the night before came back to her, stronger than ever. Still, she couldn’t figure out what it was about Shadow that reminded her so much of someone else, and she quickly gave up on trying to.
Too soon, it seemed, Hermione heard herself declining Shadow’s offer. With a surge of disappointment, she felt her broom being turned and directed at the ground again. As she began to descend, she twisted around to look at Shadow. His lips were pursed, and his hands clenched the broomstick handle so tightly that Hermione got the feeling that it wasn’t the cold that was turning his knuckles white.
At that very moment, Hermione began drifting upwards and away from her body. She watched as her figure and Shadow’s became smaller and smaller, until they were just points on the ground. Then, the chilliness around her faded away, and the scene at the park was gone.
When Hermione opened her eyes again, she was back in the attic of the Burrow.
[A/N: Thank you so much to my amazing beta, Amy (Kedavra)! She gave me the idea for the potion and Hermione's "guide". WIthout her, this chapter wouldn't even be finished.]