Hermione sits in dark booth at the far end of the Leaky Cauldron. She comes here every day; her parents drop her off as they speed to work. It's quiet here, and she has a corner where no one can see her. She's as invisible as she feels. She keeps an avalanche of pain on her back, trying to stem the flow.
She's written her friends so many times this summer, but only Neville ever responds, with long letters of "How are you?" and "I can't wait to see you again." Hermione is happy that at least one person seems to care that she's alive.
Well, two. She gets letters from Mad-Eye Moody, which make her smile and washes away the tears that leak from her eyes every day. Between the admonishments of "Constant Vigilance!" she reads the gruff affection the former Auror has towards the polite young girl who's kept Harry and Ron alive all this time.
She thinks, sometimes, that only Moody and Neville are ever aware of that fact that she has kept them in one piece. Everyone likes to praise Harry, but it's Hermione that keeps them both alive. Not even Molly acknowledges that, and it wraps around Hermione like a cocoon of silken bitterness.
She chews her lip as she works on a practise Arithmancy sheet. She loses herself in a whirl of numbers, a mist of equations, and a fog of astrological movement charts. She forgets that everyone is ignoring her plea for an answer, and she forgets that her only friends are a grizzled old man and a boy she won't be able to see until school begins. For a little while, Hermione is not bitter.
She barely notices when someone jostles her table. "Excuse me," a deep voice says apologetically, and she murmurs an "It's okay," without looking up once. The figure stops, and looks down at the mass of hair on her head.
"Hermione?" it asks softly. Hermione looks up; it's Blaise Zabini, from her Arithmancy and Ancient Runes classes. A Slytherin, and quiet, but he's never been rude before, so Hermione, being Hermione, is polite.
"Hello, Blaise," she says kindly. "How are you?"
He looks at her for a moment, tilting his head to one side. He studies her, tries to really see her, as she looks down at her ink-stained hands. He decides to be honest. "Lonely," he replies, and looks down at his feet. He's not quite sure why he said that to her, or why he was so honest; he only knows that she will not judge him harshly for it.
And it is her turn to look up, and look him over. She decides to be honest as well.
"So am I."
She extends a small hand towards the chair opposite her own, which Blaise gracefully slumps down into. She hands him a practise sheet, and they both look down and begin to write. As they practice, they slowly begin to feel one another out, dancing around one another as they ask questions. They enjoy the kind verbal sparring and word games they play with one another. When they leave, they nod to one another, neither quite looking the other in the eye. When they go home, and eat, and retreat to the night, they smile at the quiet talk they had today.
And neither is surprised when they find the other the next morning.
Blaise hands Hermione an Ancient Runes sheet, and they sit down, heads bowed and fingers racing as they write.
And the dance begins anew.
"What's it like to be a Gryffindor?" Blaise asks one day. They're walking around Diagon Alley, still not quite looking at one another.
"Annoying," she answers promptly, walking into Flourish and Blotts.
"Everyone expects you to be some superhero," she continues, reverently tracing her hands across the spine of an ancient book. "They think that all we do is sit around and brag about adventures, and plan on fights, and flex our mighty muscles as we admire the sound of our own songs."
"I don't think you're like that," says Blaise quietly, picking a history book off the shelf. "I know you're brave, but I don't see what muscles you have to flex."
Hermione laughs. They pay for their books and leave.
"What's it like to be a Slytherin?" she asks as they step into Madame Malkin’s. Hermione turns and faces the window as Blaise tries on robes, tracing her fingers on the windowsill.
"Boring," he says, his voice occasionally muffled by fabric. "Everyone thinks that they're always scheming and plotting and thinking of ways to kill Muggleborns. They all think that we're brewing dastardly potions to poison innocent first years."
"I don't think you're like that," she says, tapping her fingers on the cold stone sill. "I think you're cunning, but I've seen you in Potions. You'd poison yourself before you managed to get it to a first year.
Blaise laughs. He pays for his robes, and they leave. They walk back to the Leaky Cauldron, still not looking at one another, but enjoying the company all the same.
"Will we still be friends when school starts?" asks Blaise abruptly one day. Hermione studies his profile as he chews on a ball of clotted cream, looking at the racks of candy.
"I wasn't planning on stopping," says Hermione, reaching up to find a non-sugary lollipop.
"Good," murmurs Blaise, paying for their candy. " 'Cause neither was I."
They leave the shop, not looking at one another, but shoulders touching.
Hermione and Blaise stand side-by-side, scanning the crowds. Hermione puts her hand up and starts waving it wildly, trying to get Neville's attention. He walks over, with Luna Lovegood at his heels. Hermione and Neville hug, and Neville nods his head in a friendly fashion to Blaise. Hermione introduced the two a few weeks back, when they were shopping for school supplies, and after a few false starts, they got on very well.
Luna surprises everyone by launching herself at Hermione and wrapping her in a hug. Hermione is startled, but strangely touched.
Hermione turns around, and a wide smile spreads on her face as she spots her two best friends. She starts walking towards them, then stops dead. Standing in between them, in her spot, is Ginny. And they're laughing with her in a way that they never laugh with Hermione.
Hermione spends the first 20 minutes of the train ride sobbing into Neville's shoulder. When she is finished, Blaise, eyes fixed to the window, gives her a hug. It's awkward, as if he hasn't had much practise giving hugs, but there's affection in it, and Hermione, eyes glued in front of her, hugs him back.
Several other people filter into the carriage. Dean comes in, a small sketchpad in his hand. He draws the profile of little Orla Quirke, who has taken refuge in the carriage after another Ravenclaw began to bully her. Orla plays a chess game with Graham Pritchard, a runty Slytherin with more interest in dragons than Death Eaters. Susan Bones and Terry Boot simply look out the window, making idle talk. It's a small start.
At the Sorting Ceremony, Hermione and Neville sit at the far end of the table, as far away as possible from Ron, Ginny, and Harry. Dean sits with them, all three huddled in a discussion about Voldemort and politics. They are unaware of the curious stares they receive from the Gryffindor table – the genius, the klutz, and the artist, all hissing furiously at one another and gesticulating wildly.
Hermione looks up, over to the other end of the Hall. Blaise sits alone, twirling his knife in boredom. Their eyes brush over one another, and they both smile, red splashing their warm cheeks. Hermione continues to look around the room, and she smiles at all the people who took refuge in the carriage. Orla waves enthusiastically to her; Graham nods his head. Susan just grins at her, and Terry pretends to make a sweeping bow, knocking Luna over in the process. Luna, being Luna, finds it amusing and laughs.
Hermione very pointedly refrains from looking at the rest of Gryffindor table.
A small ripple of whispers draws her attention. The feast has just started, but Blaise is getting up. Very slowly and deliberately, he walks over to Gryffindor table and sits next to Hermione. He runs his fingers through his dark brown hair, and grins at Dean and Neville. The three shake hands.
Hermione is happy.
They are joined by Susan Bones, and Terry Boot, and everyone else from the carriage. A few stragglers joined them; Padma Patil ignores the look of shock from her twin sister, and Theodore Nott simply shrugs off the glares. They eat, and laugh, and Hermione feels something that she's never quite felt before.
She feels home.
The small rocks that begin an avalanche begin to skitter down the slopes.
It's the second day of classes when the avalanche begins.
Hermione's fingers splay all over the parchment she's working on as she helps Neville with his Charms essay. Laughing, she merely shakes her head as Neville leaves thumbprints on her essay. It doesn't smudge her words, so she shrugs it off. Hermione is freeing herself from the tangle of life, a little every day.
"Hermione," whines Ron, "can't you help us too?"
"I'm busy, Ronald," she snaps, turning her back on him.
"You're supposed to help your best friends," continues Ron.
"I am helping my best friend," she says, a touch of frost in her voice. Ron doesn't notice.
"We're your best friends," points out Ron, nodding towards Harry. Harry stands in a corner, trying to digest this new Hermione.
"Best friends don't abandon their friend over the summer," she retorts. Neville's face is too blank; anyone with common sense can see that he's trying not to explode.
Harry opens his mouth to refute the fact that they abandoned her, but his mind flashes to the images of parchment still lying in a corner of the Burrow. He realises that she's right.
Ron, unfortunately, has not yet reached that conclusion.
"Come on!" he pouts, stamping his foot. Hermione stands up, smooths her mane down, and turns around.
"I'm going to go find Blaise," she mutters, heading for the door. Ron explodes, and the first distant rumble of falling rocks can be heard.
"Of course!" he shouts, waving his arms around. "You're a Slytherin lapdog now-"
And Hermione does something she has wanted to do badly for months now; before God and Country, Hermione hauls back and slaps Ron so hard, Harry's surprised his freckles don't fall off. Ron himself falls neatly to the ground. He looks up, and shrinks. No one has ever seen Hermione this angry before.
Dean walks into the Common Room, sees Hermione standing over Ron, and merely shakes his head. Neville gathers his parchment and joins him. Seamus glares from across the room at his former best friend.
The school is divided five ways – Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and them. They who dare revoke their allegiance to an animal and colours and shields. It is four against one, but the one simply cannot bring themselves to care. Hermione has just created the last fissure between herself and the ones she once thought of as her boys. She loved them – perhaps still loves them – but she can't stand aside and be used by them. Hermione simply can't live like that. Everyone must spread their wings.
Hermione stalks off to find Blaise. Ron gets up and turns to look at Neville and Dean, who merely stare flatly back at him.
"Wha-wha?" splutters Ron, incoherent with rage, embarrassment, and bewilderment.
"She's tired of keeping two boys in hand who don't appreciate her existence," says Dean, a sliver of ice touching his voice. "You know how hard it is when someone just expects you to be something so one-sided, yet you did the same to her."
Neville and Dean troop off, and Harry is left standing there, angry and confused. Ginny watches from the sidelines, unable to think of what to say that would comfort him.
And all Harry can think about is that if Hermione was there, she would know what to say to cheer him up.
The aftermath of the avalanche is devastating, as Hermione leaves the rubble in her wake.