Inell's Fanfiction Archive

The snow crunches beneath her boots as she carefully makes her way through the Forbidden Forest. Hermione frowns at the ground and whispers the charm once again, wondering why it isn’t silencing the snow. The book said it would work and she knows she has cast it properly. Charms are one of her strengths, after all, and this is too important to do incorrectly. Finally, it works and she continues on her dark path into the woods.

The forest at night is scary and fascinating. As she walks past the trees, she feels completely insignificant. They are centuries old, alive with magic, and have seen more than she will ever witness in her life. The only time she envies those with Wizarding blood, as envy is an emotion she does not bother herself with normally, is when she thinks of them living twice her life span. They will do nothing with those years while she, she would do everything. It is not fair they have something they’ve neither earned nor appreciate.

There are times she allows herself to entertains girlish thoughts of marrying Ron when she’s older, easily casting Ron in that scenario despite her knowledge that they really don’t make a great match in that way. She’s only thirteen but one must always think of the future and make plans. However, her thoughts of marriage to Ron always end abruptly when she realizes that it will be fortunate if she lives past age ninety, as her father’s family has a tendency to live to an older age, while Ron could live to see two-hundred easily.

It’s silly to be upset over something as unpredictable as death, especially considering the growing darkness in this world of magic and wizards that could result in death tomorrow should things continue to escalate, but she doesn’t like the thought of Ron living another life, basically, without her; of any many living another century after she’s gone.

She does not want to become nothing more than a vague memory to the man she spends her life with and to eventually be forgotten. She wants to be remembered.

It is cold tonight and not even her thick gloves protect her hands from the chill. Her cold toes curl in her socks as she steps deeper into the Forbidden Forest. The castle is sleeping behind her, everyone tucked safely in their beds, very few giving any thought to those lying petrified in the hospital ward. They’re only Muggleborns, after all, so why lose sleep if there is not a threat to one’s self?

The number of Muggleborns may be increasing every year, but the majority of students are half-bloods with a smaller amount of Purebloods due to the mixing of bloodlines. Hermione has studied the statistics, of course, and knows there are very few true Pureblood families remaining. They are all dying out and only those who wish to mix their blood, taint it with a marriage to a half-blood will eventually survive. People refuse to see facts and listen to logic. It frustrates her more than nearly anything.

Mudblood. Since Draco Malfoy called her that name, she has withdrawn into her books to research and analyze. He says the word but there are many in this school who think it, even those with a Muggle parent. Those with pleasant smiles and who call themselves friends care more than they act. If it came down to them or one with inferior, in their mind, blood, they will choose what they know. It isn’t safe to believe any differently. Nothing is really safe anymore and she knows, somehow, that it will just get worse in the upcoming years.

There are very few people that Hermione trusts now. This world has made her see how important trust truly is, what it means to rely on someone else to possibly protect you, and she knows there aren’t a handful of students in this school who would step forward if she were attacked for nothing more than being the daughter of two Muggles. She sees beyond the masks of friendliness and insincere words, though they will never know she doubts them. It is to her advantage to remain seemingly oblivious to such things.

The boots she is wearing do not protect her feet from the cold damp snow. She shivers as she finally arrives at her destination. It is dark and the pale glow from the half-moon above is her only light. She doesn’t dare cast a Lumos as she walks for fear of being seen. She has good instincts, thankfully, and spent many summer evenings camping with her parents so she knows how to listen for her path. Now, though, she is here and she knows she is safe.

She kneels on the ground in the small clearing and removes the book she has kept held tightly against her chest. There is only a small amount of doubt in her gaze as she glances behind her into the thick trees as if someone will catch her and send her far away. The book is dangerous and her heart races slightly as she finally whispers, “Lumos.”

The pages are old and weathered with age. Her fingers grow even more cold as she opens the book and stares at the words. She doesn’t know how she found it, but a part of her believes it somehow found her. Ginny was studying with her and there was a whisper in Hermione’s ear, a soft tempting voice that lured her down the darkest aisles of the library until she found it hidden behind a stack of texts. The magic, darker than any she’s encountered, was such that it shocked her when she first touched it but she didn’t resist the voice that urged her to take it and hide it.

This world is starting to fall apart. She was only thirteen and a second year, but she was aware enough to know that things started with a few loose pebbles before there was eventually an avalanche. When that happens, as she is sure it will one day, she will not have to trust others to protect her. She will be ready to protect herself, to protect the defenseless others who will be shocked to discover they are considered nothing more than a novelty or an inconvenience by the majority of those in this world, even those with Muggle parents.

When it comes time to defend herself, Hermione will show them all just what a Muggleborn is capable of and then they will all know who is stronger and more powerful. She will never be forgotten.

The End