Hp: Hermione and Darkness

Hermione chortled to herself. Why indeed? Why did Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, allow half of the things he did? "It was a binding agreement or something," Hermione said, skirting the issue.

"That certainly doesn't sound very safe," Mary said with a slight edge to her voice. "What kinds of things did Harry have to do in the competition?"

"Well, there were three different tasks that the champions - that's what they were called - had to do," Hermione said, hesitating momentarily. Did she really want to tell her parents that the champions had to outsmart nesting dragons? Or that she herself was held prisoner underwater by merpeople for an hour? Definitely not. That would not go over well at all. "The tasks had different magical aspects to test their skills," Hermione said. "Honestly, it was much more interesting for me to do the research prior to the tasks than watching them. I learned loads. Since the other champions were seventeen or older, I was able to study some more advanced subjects."

"Oh, brilliant!" Bert said. "Bravo! What was one of the most interesting things you learned?"

Hermione smiled to herself. They would now be fixated on what she learned, not what happened during the Triwizard Tournament. Success!

With a smile, Hermione began to blather on and on about Gillyweed, a magical plant that allowed Harry to breathe underwater during the second task. As she animatedly described the intricacies of Gillyweed, Hermione felt a genuine smile stretch across her face. The horror of the past year seemed to fade as she relished recounting Harry's triumphs and the clever spells they had learned.

When she ran out of interesting tidbits about that, she moved on to the Summoning Charm Harry used in the first task. Bert was very interested in the spell that turned a wand into a compass. By the end of their discussion, Hermione found herself actually enjoying reliving the academic successes of the past year instead of the tragedy. Despite the insanity of the year, Hermione had to admit that she certainly learned quite a bit.

Luckily for Hermione, she easily filled the dinner conversation and was able to clear the table quickly (needless to say, Mary's biscuits didn't turn out well, so there was no afters to sit through). Hermione could tell her parents wanted her to sit with them longer, but she convinced them she had an essay to write for school.

As she excused herself from the dinner table, Hermione felt the weight of the day lift slightly, anticipating the solitude of her room. Once safely in her there, Hermione took a deep breath and sat beside her Hogwarts trunk. She had yet to open it since she had been home. She wasn't sure if it would be comforting to surround herself with all of her Hogwarts items or if it would make the horrible memories hurt more.

Hermione rubbed her eyes, probably wiping off all of her makeup. One moment, Hermione felt a rush of pride recounting her knowledge; the next, an overwhelming wave of sadness threatened to pull her under. It was as if her emotions were a roller coaster she couldn't escape. The extreme highs and lows of her mood—thanks, puberty—were utterly exhausting.

Crookshanks, her bandy-legged orange cat, jumped up onto the lid of the trunk and curled into a tight ball. Hermione took that as a sign to leave it closed for now. She gave Crookshanks a few scratches behind his ears and felt him purr in approval. The rhythmic rumble of Crookshanks' purrs was oddly soothing, reminding Hermione of the time she had accidentally become a cat herself. There was something comforting in the familiarity of it, a brief respite from her troubled thoughts.

Adding to her mental exhaustion was her physical exhaustion from not sleeping well. Her body ached with the fatigue of countless sleepless nights. Dark circles framed her eyes, and her movements were slow and deliberate, weighed down by a constant, bone-deep tiredness. Each night, Hermione dreaded sleep, knowing the horrors that awaited her in the darkness. The weight of her nightmares clung to her, making every waking moment feel heavy and sluggish.

Most of her dreams were the same: some variation of watching Harry's memories of Cedric's death and He Who Must Not Be Named's return. In her dreams, she watched helplessly as Cedric fell again and again, the image seared into her mind. Sometimes, her dreams strayed from the truth. Those were the worst ones. In those dreams, instead of Cedric dying, she had to watch Harry, Ron, or Viktor die. It was devastating and nearly incapacitating.

Hermione pushed the nightmarish images from her mind with a shake of her head and gave Crookshanks a few more soft pets. Since Hermione had transformed into a cat during her first year in a Polyjuice Potion blunder, she had a certain affinity for the sound and feel of a cat's purrs. It just made everything feel a little bit better.

Crookshanks decided he had had enough pets and pounced off the bed to Hermione's desk to look out the window. Hermione sighed and turned her attention back to the trunk. Before she could second guess herself, she popped open the latch and lifted the lid. The familiar scent of Hogwarts puffed out briefly before dissipating into her room's stale, hot air.