Hermione had trouble falling asleep that night. Although she'd had a good time with Harry and had enjoyed the change of scenery, she felt let down afterwards. She had forgot that being around Muggles her age often left her feeling alienated. They should have been her peers, but she didn't actually feel comfortable around them. Even the music was unfamiliar to her, which made her feel left out somehow.
She belonged to the wizarding world, but without Ron it felt cold and empty. And returning to her old bedroom, where she had been so lonely as a child, Hermione felt the familiar isolation and despair.
Her only distraction was thinking about the strange reunion she'd witnessed between Harry and his cousin. Dudley Dursley had been something of a joke to Ron and his brothers, but Hermione had always noticed Harry's discomfort when he was mentioned. Dudley must have improved a lot, judging from how Harry had reacted to him, but she suspected there was still a lot of old pain.
She'd been tempted to ask Harry what Dudley had meant about his parents fearing revenge, but she kept quiet. He'd never revealed much about his life with the Dursleys, and she hadn't wanted to press him for details in public.
It was hard to believe they were related—they really looked nothing alike. Dudley was blond and large, where Harry was dark-haired and compact, and their features were different as well. Furthermore, Dudley had a spoilt look, which Harry lacked, although she may have been prejudiced by what she'd heard about him.
He was also nothing like another tall blond athlete she'd recently met. Dudley was built like a side of beef, while Ryan was more graceful, like a powerful male dancer. She knew she should be flattered by his interest in her, but she mostly felt sad. He just didn't seem like the kind of person who could understand what she'd been through, and she'd rather be alone than experience the disappointment of being misunderstood.
She got a few fitful hours of sleep near dawn, and when her alarm went off she groaned. It was the day of her big meeting at Gringotts, and she'd probably look like death warmed over.
Her fear was confirmed by a glance in the mirror. Is this what I'll look like in twenty years? she thought grimly. Taking a shower did little to revive her, and her severe black robes added to the effect. Normally she'd have tried to cheer herself up by wearing something more flattering, but she'd been instructed to dress as formally as possible, in her most traditional robes.
The only positive aspect of her appearance was her hair, charmed into ringlets. Tying her bushy hair back, as she'd always done previously, would only have made her look worse. Even so, her parents were startled when she entered the kitchen for breakfast.
'Darling, are you all right?' asked her mother. 'You look like you didn't sleep at all.'
'I slept a bit towards the end, but it was a rough night.'
'I'm so sorry. Will you have a time to nap during your lunch break?'
'Not likely,' said Hermione. 'I'll be in planning sessions until the Gringotts meeting at four. But I can have coffee now, and I might take an Energy Draught this afternoon.'
Hermione finished her breakfast and arrived at the Ministry. The coffee accomplished what she'd hoped, and she was able to get through her morning meetings tolerably well. By lunchtime, however, she was flagging again, and so she popped into an apothecary and purchased a potion to give her a boost.
It worked. Within minutes of drinking it, she felt her eyes brighten and the corners of her mouth turn up, and she almost vibrated with energy. This is brilliant, she thought. Why hadn't she known about Energy Draughts back at Hogwarts?
She wasn't actually required to do anything at their Gringotts meeting. All of her work had been in the preparation, and she was mainly attending as a learning experience. The meeting would be run by her mentor, a highly accomplished witch named Octavia Wind. Octavia had worked for many years in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and like Hermione she dreamed of improving relations among magical races.
'I never thought this day would come,' confessed Octavia. 'For years I've been trying to bring it about, but the war completely scuttled things. But we've a real opportunity now to set things on the right foot with the goblins.'
'It's an honour just to witness it,' said Hermione as they reviewed their notes one last time.
'You'll be doing more than witnessing it,' said Octavia. 'Your research has been invaluable—I've been amazed by all the precedents you unearthed.'
Several of Hermione's other colleagues nodded, and Octavia continued. 'We took a real risk, you know, accepting you straight out of Hogwarts, and with a tarnished history as far as Gringotts is concerned. But you've more than demonstrated why Kingsley recommended you.'
Jeremy Bezel, the Ministry wizard who had negotiated Hermione's restitution, shook his head. 'There's no such thing as a tarnished history with the goblins,' he said. 'The Ministry made good, and Miss Granger is completely in the clear. And besides, no small number of goblins told me in private that they're grateful to her for helping eliminate You-Know-Who. They didn't like him any better than we did.'
The time for their meeting was near, and everyone gathered their notes and travelled by Floo, one after another. There were six of them in total, and they soon assembled in front of Gringotts.
Hermione was still feeling slightly manic from her potion, and she knew her eyes were open a bit too wide, but she was just so excited to witness such an historic event. Two liveried goblins bowed as they entered the great silver doors, and they passed into the vast marble hall. Before they had time to look around, they were greeted by a goblin who said, 'You are from the Ministry, I presume? Please come this way to meet Director Ragnok and his delegation.'
They followed the unnamed goblin into a large and impressive room Hermione had never seen before. The walls were lined with tall mirrors which reminded her of Versailles, and everything was illuminated by delicately crafted chandeliers, which were far more beautiful than anything she'd seen in the French palace.
Hermione was the last to enter, and before she had finished admiring the surroundings, a stern voice barked, 'What is the meaning of this?'
She turned and saw a severe-looking goblin at the head of the table, who scowled at her and said, 'Is this an attempt at a joke? If so, I hadn't thought my opinion of wizard humour could fall any lower.'
Her colleagues were looking at her as well, and Hermione stammered, 'I beg your pardon, sir. Have I offended?'
'Don't mock me with your feigned ignorance, when you clearly took pains to recreate your unforgivable crime!'
She was horrified and completely baffled until she caught her reflection in a mirror. Her manic eyes—still circled underneath from fatigue—quickly took in her appearance, from her cascading ringlets to her traditional black robes. Great Merlin, I look like Bellatrix Lestrange!
Dimly remembering what she'd read about goblin etiquette, she fell to her knees in supplication. 'Please forgive this most grievous affront! I am not worthy even to clean your soiled weapons, still coated with the blood of your enemies.'
'Insult upon insult!' he raged. 'Goblin words in the mouth of a wizard become the language of scoundrels!' He turned to the pair of uniformed goblins standing by the door and cried, 'Guards, subdue her! I would do it myself, but to unsheathe my dagger would be an insult to those I've already disemboweled with it.'
At the words 'subdue' and 'disemboweled,' two of the wizards in Hermione's party pulled out their wands and pointed them at the two guards, who were holding their long swords towards Hermione's neck.
Jeremy Bezel spoke. 'My apologies, Director, but there's clearly been a grave misunderstanding. I'm certain Miss Granger meant no offence. Would you please allow me to ask her what happened?' Ragnok growled but nodded, and Bezel turned to Hermione. 'Please, just speak plainly.'
With two swords at her throat, Hermione could barely find her voice, but she managed a hoarse reply. 'I'm so sorry. I never saw it until today, but ever since I started wearing my hair differently, I've been told I look like ...' she choked, 'Bellatrix Lestrange.'
Several of her colleagues nodded, and one exclaimed, 'That's who you remind me of! It's been driving me crazy all week,' before Octavia scowled him into silence.
With tears falling, Hermione continued. 'I'm terribly sorry. I definitely didn't mean to insult anyone. I have nothing but respect for the Goblin Nation, and my highest hope is to establish proper diplomacy between goblins and wizards.'
Ragnok laughed derisively. 'Your friend Harry Potter is better at diplomacy than you'll ever be. Potter returned stolen treasure to us,' he said, indicating a carved horn in the display case behind him, 'which is infinitely more valuable than empty words from arrogant wand holders.'
'Please, Director,' said Jeremy, 'I beg your leniency and ask you to call off your guards and allow Miss Granger to leave unharmed.' He glared at the two wizards who were still pointing their wands, and they lowered them.
'Miss Granger may leave,' said Ragnok. 'And so shall you all. Gringotts has no wish to negotiate with treacherous fools. If you want to try again, send Potter and a mountain of stolen goblin treasure.'
The guards withdrew their swords, and one of the wizards who had raised his wand helped a tearful Hermione to her feet. She continued to bow as she walked backwards from the room.
Her colleagues followed her, and they were coldly ushered from Gringotts into the street. As soon as they were a safe distance from the bank, Hermione looked pleadingly at Octavia and said, 'I'm so sorry! I've ruined your dream.'
Instead of scolding Hermione, a fierce-looking Octavia turned towards Bezel. 'You said they'd forgiven her and that her past wouldn't matter!'
'I didn't expect she'd turn up looking like Bellatrix Lestrange! I really didn't see it myself until just now, but he's right—it's about the worst insult we could have imagined.'
Hermione wanted to vanish, but she stood there with her arms wrapped around her own torso. 'I should have realised this would happen. I never saw the resemblance until today, but my friends all noticed it. I'm so sorry,' she said, her voice quavering.
Octavia softened a little. 'There, there. This is hardly the worst moment in wizard-goblin relations. We'll give Ragnok time to cool down and see if we can dredge up some treasure confiscated from Death Eaters.'
'But you've waited so long for this,' moaned Hermione.
'Then I'll wait a little longer. Come on, let's go back to the office.'
Not feeling up to Apparating, Hermione followed Octavia to the Leaky Cauldron and Flooed to the Ministry. Before rejoining the others, Octavia said, 'Maybe you should just go home for the day.'
'Are you ... sacking me?' asked Hermione.
'No, dear, of course not. You clearly have a lot to contribute, and you strike me as someone who can learn from her mistakes. But I think the best thing you can do right now is get some rest, and we'll see you on Monday.'
'All right, thank you. And again, I'm so sorry.'
Hermione returned to the fireplace she'd come through and took another pinch of Floo powder. 'Granger House,' she said, and she emerged into the mercifully empty lounge. Her parents were still at work, and she had no desire to interact with them.
As she climbed the stairs to her room, she remembered her dinner plans with Luna. That's the last thing I want to do, she thought, and she was tempted to owl her friend and cancel. But she remembered that Luna had wanted to speak to her about something important in private, so she decided just to lie down for a bit and hope for the best.
She managed to fall asleep for a short while, but her despair returned when she awoke and remembered the day's fiasco. How could she have been so careless? And to make matters worse, she'd completely disregarded Bill's advice not to use goblin idioms. 'They'd see it as pandering,' he had warned her, and she'd arrogantly ignored him.
I should probably burn these robes, she thought miserably, looking down at the formal robes that had enhanced her resemblance to the haughty Death Eater. She took them off and threw them on the floor, and pulled on a pair of blue jeans and a nondescript Muggle shirt. And for added measure she cast a Finite Incantatem on her ringlets and tied her bushy hair back into a braid.
She still had no desire to talk to her parents, so she Apparated directly from her bedroom to Diagon Alley. She had arranged to meet Luna in front of Gringotts, which of course was the last place she wanted to be seen. So she Disillusioned herself and waited for her friend to arrive.
Luna turned up not long after, wearing a very flowy-looking Muggle sundress. Hermione made herself visible again and said, 'Hello Luna.'
'What's wrong?' asked Luna. 'All your Wrackspurts are back. Has something happened?'
'I just had a disastrous day at work and probably set back wizard-goblin relations by several hundred years.'
'Oh dear,' replied Luna. 'How many years precisely? I seem to recall the seventeenth century was slightly better than the eighteenth century in that regard.'
'I couldn't even guess,' said Hermione dourly.
'Are you hungry at least? I've a lovely restaurant in mind.'
'I can't say I'm particularly hungry, but I could do with some tea.'
'Perfect,' said Luna. 'I'll lead the way. Do you mind walking? It's about half an hour from here.'
'That sounds good, actually,' said Hermione, and she followed her friend through the Leaky Cauldron into the Muggle neighbourhood beyond. They were quiet as they walked, and Luna led her around an improbable number of corners. Hermione was certain they would wind up where they'd started, but they always seemed to arrive somewhere new.
Eventually they reached a very narrow road, and Luna stopped in front of what looked like a small café, which was softly illuminated from within. The sun was still out, but very little light reached the alley, and none at all landed on the café window. The painted letters said, 'The Unanswered Question.'
'What an odd name for a restaurant,' remarked Hermione.
'Is it? I suppose you're right. I think you'll like it though.'
They entered, and Hermione paused to inhale the tea-scented air. 'Jasmine,' she said, and the tension in her forehead relaxed just a little.
A server wearing an apron greeted them. 'Please, take any table you'd like.'
Luna chose a very private table in an alcove, though nearly every table in the restaurant could be described that way. Hermione was a bit puzzled by the topography, but she was too fatigued to make a study of it. The menu was on a little stand on the table, and she saw that there were at least as many teas as there were food options.
'Thanks, Luna,' said Hermione warmly. 'I admit there's something soothing about this place, and I think the walk did me some good. Although I'm sure I'll never find it again.'
'Perhaps, or perhaps not,' replied Luna.
They looked at the menu and made their selections. Hermione's appetite had recovered somewhat during their walk, but she was mostly looking forward to a pot of jasmine tea, which she'd already decided on before reading the menu.
The server came and took their orders, leaving the two young women facing each other with no further distractions. Luna was quiet for a while and just looked at Hermione, prompting her to wonder if she was supposed to say something.
'Is there something I can help you with, Luna?' she asked. 'Are you all right?'
'I'm fine, thank you. I just felt we needed to spend some time together.'
Hermione was disappointed—she'd assumed Luna had a specific purpose for inviting her out, and this felt a little unformed. Although she had to admit the ambiance was pleasant. It was completely opposite to the lively Muggle pub she and Harry had visited the night before at her request. But perhaps this quiet and slightly lonely café was a better match to her mental state. We certainly won't run into Dudley Dursley here.
'I'm sorry things went so poorly today at Gringotts,' said Luna. 'Would you like to talk about it?'
Hermione sighed. 'I'm just so mortified—I don't even know where to begin.'
Luna nodded in agreement. 'Yes, finding the beginning is hard. I often prefer to start with the end and go backwards from there.' Hermione looked at her sceptically but Luna persisted. 'What was the last thing that happened?'
'My mentor, Octavia, sent me home early to get some rest.'
'What happened before that?'
'I asked her if I'd been sacked.'
'And were you?'
'No. She said I still had a lot to offer, and that I seemed like I could learn from my mistakes.'
'That sounds pretty nice already,' said Luna. 'You weren't sacked, you got to relax a bit, and your mentor spoke highly of you.'
Hermione just looked at her, dumbfounded. She couldn't argue with Luna's brief analysis, but this wasn't exactly a sensible conversation either. She realised she could have responded in a dozen different ways but decided for some reason to surrender. Perhaps a bit of Luna logic was what the doctor ordered. Hermione logic certainly hadn't worked out very well lately.
'So what happened before that?' asked Luna.
'We Flooed to the Ministry from the Leaky Cauldron. Normally I would Apparate, but I was overwrought and feared I might Splinch myself.'
'I'm glad that didn't happen. I'd much rather have tea tonight with all of you than with not all of you.'
Just then, the server arrived with their tea and instructed them not to drink it right away. 'It's much nicer if you steep it,' she said.
'So you didn't Splinch yourself. What happened before that?'
'We stood in front of Gringotts, and Octavia told me the Ministry could probably smooth things over by giving them goblin-made artefacts they'd confiscated from Death Eaters.'
'I'm told that's an excellent way to endear yourself to goblins. Similarly, my father has offered Snorkack-made items to the Snorkacks, but so far they haven't come to recover any of them.'
Hermione knew better than to interfere with Luna's belief in the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. If destroying their house with an Erumpent Horn hadn't been enough to disabuse the Lovegoods of their existence, then nothing Hermione could say would work.
Anticipating Luna's next question, Hermione continued. 'Before that, Bezel said he hadn't previously noticed I now resemble Bellatrix Lestrange, but that showing up at Gringotts looking like her was a grave insult. And before that, Octavia scolded him for believing they'd forgiven me for the break-in.'
She continued working her way backwards through the awful meeting. Luna was delighted to learn that Hermione had not, in fact, been disemboweled. Hermione punctuated her narrative with long sips of her jasmine tea.
She was surprised to discover how enjoyable and thought-provoking it was to recount events backwards. She found she couldn't actually find a beginning point. She hadn't awakened that morning and said, 'Right, I'm going to do my best impression of old Bellatrix today.' Instead, the causes kept extending farther and farther back, to her poor night of sleep, to the evening she'd spent with Harry, to her low spirits from the breakup with Ron, and to the discovery of the hair charm in the Grimoire. There never was a single beginning point.
'Before that,' she continued, 'I asked Kingsley if there might be a position available for me at the Ministry. But that was only after Professor McGonagall had encouraged me. Which I suppose was preceded by that panic attack I had several weeks before our N.E.W.T.s, when a Gryffindor second year accidentally set fire to my revising schedule in the common room. Which happened because I'd left it on the table while I spoke to a different second year about which electives she should take.'
'There seems to be a common thread,' observed Luna, who was delicately eating the pasta primavera she had ordered, lovingly inspecting each vegetable before she ate it.
'I don't know what you mean,' said Hermione, between bites of her panini sandwich.
'Every single event you've recounted has a common element. I'm surprised you can't see it.'
Hermione felt a little annoyed. She thought she'd been getting into the spirit of the conversation, but now Luna was chiding her for missing the point. 'Is the common element magic?'
'That's not a bad guess,' said Luna. 'But no. Try again.'
Hermione thought some more and said, 'I'm the common thread. All these things happened to me.'
'Well spotted,' replied Luna. 'If you were a Ravenclaw you'd be admitted to the common room now.'
Hermione deliberately ignored Luna's patronising comment. 'Why does that matter?' she asked. 'Of course I'm the common thread. That's the nature of a personal narrative. You can't have a personal narrative without the subject.'
'Can't you?' asked Luna. 'That seems like a bold assumption.'
'I can't very well describe what happened to me in a sequence without arranging it around myself as the subject.'
'Who said you were the subject?'
'How wouldn't I be the subject?'
'That's a great question. How wouldn't you be the subject?'
'Luna, you're not making sense.'
'If I had a Sickle for every time someone said that to me,' mused Luna. 'But you're assuming that all these things happened to you.'
'Of course they did. Who else would they have happened to?'
'You're changing the subject,' observed Luna. 'Interesting.'
Hermione just glared at her.
Luna continued. 'Your entire narrative depends on a concept we haven't adequately defined. I think now would be a good time to do so.'
'You mean I should define myself?'
'No, I mean you should define "I."'
'Aren't they the same thing?' asked Hermione.
'Well we won't know until you define it.'
'Fine. What am I?'
'How should I know?' replied Luna. 'You need to ask yourself.'
'I'm me.'
'All right. And what is that?'
'I'm ... my thoughts.'
'And who is thinking them?' asked Luna.
'I am.'
'That seems awfully circular. How do you know you're thinking them?'
'I know I'm thinking them because it's a valid perception. I'm experiencing it, and that makes it real.'
'Oh, so your thoughts are real?'
'Well, as real as thoughts are. I mean, they aren't necessarily substantial, but they're real in their own way.'
'Are your thoughts more real than my thoughts are?' asked Luna.
'I suppose I'm not qualified to say,' replied Hermione. 'But if my thoughts have reality, I'd have to assume yours do as well.'
'Then what differentiates them? Your thoughts and my thoughts, that is.'
'The person who's thinking them.'
'And who is that?'
'In my case, it's me.'
'And who is that?' persisted Luna.
'The one thinking my thoughts.'
'So when you're not thinking, what happens to that "me?"'
'It still exists,' said Hermione.
'Really? A thinker without thoughts still exists?'
'Well, it's more than just the thinker in the moment. It's the entire collection of thoughts, past and present.'
'Memories, you mean?' asked Luna.
'Yes, why not. And emotions. And other mental faculties too.'
'All of that's you?'
'Yes.'
'And who is that?'
'It's me. Hermione.'
'And what's Hermione?'
'Me,' said Hermione a bit feebly. Why was this so difficult?
'Could you exist without Hermione?'
'I suppose the name Hermione is arbitrary. It's not technically me. But the idea of Hermione—irrespective of the name. I don't know that I'd exist without that.'
'Why not try?'
Hermione felt a small catch in her mind. What would it mean to exist without the concept of Hermione? What would remain?
'There's raw perception,' she answered.
'Yes, and who is that?'
A undefinable emotion washed over her. Who was that?
'It's just a point of contact. Between subject and object.'
'So what does that make Hermione?' asked Luna.
'An elaboration.'
There was silence—an inner silence Hermione had never experienced before.
Luna said nothing, waiting for Hermione to speak again. It was a while before she did.
'Is the elaboration necessary?' asked Hermione.
'Was it just now?'
'No,' she answered simply.
Hermione remained in silence for a while. An indescribably pleasant rushing sensation filled her shoulders, neck, and head. It somehow felt larger than the boundary of her body, and she felt a wave of love. Not love for Luna or anyone she could name. Just love.
'I love you,' she said, not understanding why.
Luna smiled. 'Yes.' She resumed eating her pasta.
Hermione returned to her sandwich, which had grown cold. She didn't mind. Each point of contact she made with it was perfect. The rushing sensation had spread to her heart and mid-torso. She looked around at the café, which seemed enchanted to her somehow, and not in a wizarding way. This was far more magic than magic was.
'Is this what things are like for you?' asked Hermione.
'I don't know. I can't read minds. But if you mean what I think you mean, I suppose the answer is "sometimes." It varies.'
Hermione nodded and was quiet some more. She refilled her teacup. The tea was warm but not hot, and she was able to drink it quickly. Jasmine.
Her thoughts drifted towards Ron, and she felt love. She thought of Octavia and felt love. She remembered Ragnok and smiled, feeling more love. She thought of Bellatrix Lestrange in the mirror and felt love.
She thought of Harry and her heart swelled even more. He was her brother, her very self.
She thought of Ryan Bellamy, and a lovely sensation flowed all the way through her. His image in her mind was momentarily replaced by Errol Reddington, but the familiar pain was absent.
Her parents. Oh, her parents whom she'd almost lost! She wanted to go home and hug them.
'I love you,' she said again to Luna. 'I should go home. I want to see my parents.'
'All right,' said Luna. 'We need to pay, though.'
Hermione giggled. When had Luna become the practical one?
They got the server's attention and paid their bill. When they walked out, Luna asked, 'Can you get home all right? Do you need help?'
'I'm fine,' said Hermione. 'I could probably ride a Patronus home right now.'
'But then you'd have to Obliviate everyone,' noted Luna. 'Also, your otter Patronus is rather small.'
'I suppose you're right. I should Apparate then.' She stepped a little farther down the alley, out of view from the café window. 'I'm glad I came out with you tonight,' she said. 'I didn't want to.'
'I know,' replied Luna. 'That's all right. Will I see you tomorrow at Harry's match?'
'Yes,' said Hermione, and her heart soared. A Quidditch match! She could hardly wait.
She hugged Luna and said, 'Thanks for everything. And see you tomorrow.'
Hermione turned on her heel and Apparated straight into her bedroom, not wanting to startle her parents. She went downstairs to find them.
They were at the kitchen table, reviewing paperwork together. 'Mum, Dad. How are you?' she asked.
'All right, just sorting out our homeowners insurance.' replied Daniel. 'How are you? How did your big meeting go?'
'It was a disaster. Couldn't have gone worse. Truly dreadful.'
'Oh no!' said Emily. 'Are you all right?'
'Yes,' she said. 'I love you.'
Her parents exchanged glances but smiled. 'I love you too,' said Emily, rising from her seat. Hermione pulled her into a hug.
'And you, Dad,' she said, attempting to hug him in his chair from behind.
'That's no good,' he said, standing. 'Let's try again.'
She hugged him properly and said, 'I'm so glad you're home. I missed you.'
Her mother hugged her again, and then smirked. 'Don't take this the wrong way, but have you been drinking?'
'Yes, jasmine tea. It was lovely. We should buy some.'
'I'm glad to see you in such a good mood,' said Emily.
'Thanks. I should go to sleep now. Harry's match is tomorrow and I didn't get much sleep last night.'
'All right, dear,' said Daniel. 'Thanks for coming down.'
Hermione returned to her room and smiled when she saw her bushy hair tied up in a braid. She'd wear it in curls again tomorrow. So what if she looked like Bellatrix Lestrange?
Before long she was in bed and fast asleep. Her dreams were bright and vivid, and mostly about flying.