The True Confessions of Hermione Granger
by Mio Granger
I feel very foolish about starting a diary at the age of sixteen, but Ginny says it helps a lot, and with the stress of...EVERYTHING, I need help. Ginny and I have been spending a lot of time together recently, because the adults are all crazy and almost more protective over us than Harry. While boys can be tortured and killed, girls can be raped, and even a Death Eater would condescend to ravish a Mudblood or a Muggle-lover for a bit of fun. I realize how flippant I'm being about it, but really, flippant's the only way to be unless you want to go half mad with anxiety, like the adults. They relax a bit when we go everywhere together, the ridiculous notion of 'safety in numbers' soothing their frantic minds. It sure didn't help the French at Avignon, now did it?
None of my wizarding friends would've gotten that joke. Not just the intellectual part, but whole history aspect. Hogwarts only highlights strictly magical history, and Avignon doesn't fall into that category. It's a shame the entire wizarding community is so singleminded, for all the bluster. If I'm Head...
You know, something about the crisp white paper makes you want to scribble down your deepest desires, but I don't feel quite comfortable with that yet, so I'll speak of more mundane things.
Harry and Remus are always absorbed in deep conversation in the most shadowy part of the parlor. They've built a sort of shrine to Sirius in the hall where they burned his mother's portrait (yes, they had a lot of anger, and I for one am glad the terrible old biddy's gone) and nearly every day something new is added to it. It makes me sad, that Harry and Remus most of any of us have to suffer this incredible hurt, day after day looking at a chair Sirius had sat in or a cupboard door he'd banged in shin on...oops, sorry for the smudge. Tears don't wipe off wet ink so cleanly, you know? It also makes me sad that Harry tells all his feelings to Remus and not at all to me. I don't begrudge Remus that honor, but I am Harry's best friend, after all.
I just looked at that last sentence and it occurred to me that if I'm his vest friend, I can seek him out as well as he seeking me. I'm off to do that now, hope Ron doesn't come blundering in on us.
Bugger. Ron did end up barging in, but Harry and I had a nice long chat anyway, yes, and I believe he's going to start confiding in me as well as Remus; thank goodness, I was beginning to lose touch with him. Well, we had quite a good heart to heart, during which I cried quite a bit (my time of the month, can't you tell?), and then Harry actually broke down and cried. It was the optimal time for a hug, so I gave him one, and right in the middle of it, Ron came in. His face turned bright red, from the tips of his ears to the back of his neck, and I could feel mine go red in response for the thing he was silently accusing me of. (A sight I must've looked, blotchy from crying and scarlet in addition!) And in the space of a second, I became self-righteously furious. Was I not allowed to give my best friend who was going through severe emotional trauma a hug? I flapped my hands at Ron from behind Harry's back, making angry grimaces at him, and he backed out again. Harry and I ended our hug, and if he noticed my face was still unduly red, he took it as a side effect of tears.
We were just phasing back into normal conversation when Ginny burst in. She had been looking for me all after noon and Ron had only just condescended to tell her I was in the study with Harry and Mum had dinner ready in the kitchen. We banked the fire and headed there, Ginny chattering nonsense at us and Harry attempting to surreptuously scrub the red away from his eyes. Then Ginny, in the midst of inane gossip, says, "I'll tell Mum you went to the loo, Harry," and continued prattling away. Harry and I exchanged amazed looks, because Ginny—well, she can get on your nerves sometimes, but she's just that great of a person that you don't mind it too much. So Harry went off to clean himself up, and Ginny and I progressed to dinner, where, of all people, Remus proceeded to give me concerned looks. Everyone else was too busy plowing into the scrumptious repast Mrs. Weasley likes to call dinner to notice that dear Hermione had an unusually shiny nose. Remus is always noticing things like that, though. I wonder if maybe he can smell emotions, I think I've read somewhere that werewolves have heightened senses, particularly smell, all the time, not just during the full moon. Something to ask him next time he deems it appropriate to talk to me.
So that was the rest of Friday, and Saturday Tonks wrestled permission from the Powers That Be to take Ginny and I shopping. Ginny's been receiving a commission from Fred and George for "services rendered," which means either she's been helping test their products, been rounding up innocents to test their products on, or offered her insight into a revolutionary new prank. I got the cutest pair of tan corduroy pants and a modest off-the-shoulder sweater for this winter, plus a necklace that's the outline of a rose, but they cost me a fortune. If I wasn't so set against the twins wasting their talent on jokes, I'd offer a few ideas myself. A girl's always ready for some spare cash.
Sunday even Harry granted some time out of Grimmaud Place that wasn't within close proximity to the Dursleys, and he and I took Ron to the library and attempted to show him how to use the internet.
Monday, we (trio—me, Harry, and Ron) took a jaunt up to the attic and rediscovered some boxes that had apparently been given back to the Blacks after Harry's grandparents copped it—ARGH, Ron's callous manner is rubbing off on me—full of Sirius' things. Notes to his friends (Harry pocketed a few of these), badges and ribbons and other mementos, the odd books or two (The Weird Sisters Complete History, The Werewolf In All Of Us: Coming To Terms With Your Lycanthropy (a note in the front cover explained that To Whom It May Concern, Sirius had tried to present it to Moony as a gag Christmas gift one year and soon found himself dodging it, due to the fact that Remus chucked it at his head, but it was, nonetheless, a very interesting read.), Hexes like A Bat Out Of Hell, and a pressed narcissus flower. That evening, Dung tried to sell Emmaline Vance Lobalug venom, and was severely reprimanded. Despite her softly curling chestnut hair and large lash-fringes eyes, that woman can deliver a lecture to rival Mrs. Weasley's. I admire her.
I would be deceiving myself if I didn't write that I went back up to the attic later and pocketed that werewolf book myself. I simply cannot resist the promise of an intriguing text. So far, however, it looks to be the sort of stuff a teenaged Sirius would find 'interesting.' There's a whole section on the sex patterns of the werewolf!
Yesterday was too banal to bother recording, except that Fred and George gracewd this miserable house with their presence for a few hours. They swept in here, showing off their, um, what do you call it, oh yes, bling-bling in the form of pure gold cloak clasps, designer Hogsmeade robes, a beautiful jeweled bracelet for their mum and a silver pocket watch for Mr. Weasley. Unobserved, they snuck Ron and Ginny extra Extendable ears and a few other 'necessities', with the implication to share the goods.
Tonight I plan to finish my astronomy homework, but in the meantime I'll doubtless crush Harry at a few games of chess and be crushed by Ron in a few more. Grimmaud Place gets abysmally dull after a while.