"In my Veins" is a translation of one of my work in the fandom of Harry Potter - the title in italian is "Come sangue nelle vene" and it's posted under the same nickname on Wattpad and Efpfanfic.
Unfortunately, english is not my mother-tongue.
I looked for a beta but I didn't find any, so I opted to ask my sister to take a look - two people is better than just one, even if our english is on the same level.
Well, I truly hope I didn't make too many mistakes; If - or when - you find some, please let me know via PM or review, so I can correct them as soon as possible.
Thank you all and... Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or its characters - just having some fun with them. I do, however, own the plot.
No copyright infringement intended.
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Chapter I
Prologue
"You who, like the stab of a knife,
Entered my plaintive heart;
You who, strong as a herd
Of demons, came, ardent and adorned,
To make your bed and your domain
Of my humiliated mind
[...] Accurst, accurst be you!"
- Les Fleurs du Mal, Spleen et Idéal, Charles Baudelaire
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«Hermione...»
Three years. It had been three years. One thousand and ninety-five long days without her; without an owl, a letter, a phone call, some news.
They thought she was dead - all of them thought so.
She disappeared a few days after the last battle, after the battle - the one that has seen the Dark Lord defeated by Harry, Harry Potter.
The battle that saw the rise of a new dawn for the Wizarding World; a new light on a fallen world in total darkness.
Missing.
The last look on that red train - treasure chest of nostalgic and childlike memories for every of them - before they went home. The last words in that muggle station - King's Cross - that hides the entrance to the Wizarding World - a part of it.
«I need to stay a few days with them, Harry.» Said the head girl, her face tired.
«Of course, Herm. Do not worry - go and spend with them all the time you want. We'll wait.» Replied the dark boy, green eyes sparkling of a love so deep that it can not be explained in simple words.
Hermione smiled at him, grateful for that complicity and affection, but most of all for that understanding he always showed.
«Thank you, Harry.»
The-Boy-Who-Lived had hugged her tight then watched her greet Ron and Ginny and the rest of the Weasley family, before heading towards a distinguished couple whose face were happy and worried at the same time.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger hugged - with tears in their eyes - their only child, the one that, up to forty-eight hours earlier, they had been deprived of memory - memories recovered with the help of Professor Dumbledore that, even within a canvas of forty centimeters, was able to accomplish such magic.
He had watched her go, hand in hand with her parents.
That was the last time that Harry Potter had seen Hermione Granger.
Three long and endless years earlier.
And now here she was, in front of him, same as he remembered her, but tremendously different.
He did not know what to say.
He wanted to hug her and then shout at her.
He wanted to throw a hex on her and cover her with kisses.
«Hello, Harry.»
Hello, Harry. Three years that you do not show, three years that you're practically disappeared, three years in which it was unleashed each and every Auror to find you... and you tell me "Hello Harry"?
These are the words that the Saviour of the Wizarding World wanted to say to her best friend.
Best friend who went missing for three years.
Without any news.
Without a shred of a letter.
And now here she was, standing a few metres from him.
Ron had stopped breathing.
Sitting behind the desk next to Harry's, intent on arguing with Draco Malfoy who was gently resting on the desk of the red headed boy, intent on observing, showing - for once - the same astonished face of the man who kept calling Weasel, Ron had paled. Completely.
«Won't you say hello to your best friend?» The curly girl asked, a slight smile gracing her lips.
Harry was silent for a long time.
Why?
This was the question he had in mind, that buzzed - like a pesky fly that you can not catch even though you keep trying and trying - in mind for over three years.
«Why?» Was in fact the answer that, after long minutes the dark-haired gave her.
Hermione tilted her head slightly.
«Why?» She repeated hesitantly, not understanding what his friend wanted to ask her.
Harry looked at her again, in silence.
«Yes, Hermione. Why. Why did you leave? Why haven't you ever write? Why the hell have you disappeared from sight?! Three years! Do you realize? Three bloody years I've been looking for you! Three bloody years spent sleepless, convinced that my best friend was dead, her body lost somewhere! Here's what I ask you. Why! Why didn't you say anything?! And now? Now you come back and say "Hello, Harry?". Hello, Harry?! Where the bloody hell have you been!» blew the boy, as a music box too long charged that transmits its sweet notes faster than it should, like a balloon filled with water to the brim and more.
She didn't answer. Hermione did not answer.
Three pairs of eyes focused on her figure.
She spent a long time without saying a word before the silence was broken.
«I'm sorry.» A clear voice said. Clear, almost musical.
Harry rolled his eyes.
She's sorry. She's sorry!
«You-you ... you're sorry?» He stammered, anger visible in every syllable.
He burst.
Any concern, suffering and pain suffered in those days of darkness and absence poured into a river of rage thick and sticky on the curly girl who stood helpless in the face of this assault that tasted like an emotional outburst.
«You're sorry?! I-I... You're crazy! You disappear for three years without leaving a miserable, bloody note. We lost every track of you, I lost my reason and I struggled every day, surviving every hour just to get to the day when you would have been found, in health, and you'd have told me that you missed me, that what happened to you was something completely absurd, impossible and unthinkable for that you had to abandon me. And now you tell me you're sorry? What? What the bloody hell are you sorry for, huh, Hermione? What!»
Harry was a ball of anger and frustration.
The joy of seeing her again there, in front of him, unharmed, was overwhelmed by the rage to see her there, in front of him, unharmed and without an explanation.
«I understand your anger, Harry. I do not blame you. But I said I was sorry. I'm sorry to have caused so much commotion.» said Hermione quietly.
Harry approached her threateningly, a finger pointed.
«Commotion? Commotion!? You're raving! Commotion! I was scared to death, I lost ten years of my life! You know what I felt when after a month without news from you, I contacted your parents and they told me you were gone? You know what the fuck did I feel? I thought you were dead. I thought one of the runaways Death Eaters had found you, killed you. I thought... I thought— I would have never seen you again, Hermione. I thought... I thought I was dying.» He finished, the tears flowing down his cheeks, fear and relief to take the place of anger.
She smiled.
She smiled at him as only she could do.
That smile of affection, love and trust. Comprehension.
That smile so hers.
Then he jumped on her in an istant, hugging and holding her tightly to his chest, sniffing the scent of home and family that she exuded.
She hugged him slightly, her hands on his back, her face sunk in his neck.
She pulled away after a few moments. It was her to break away.
Harry looked at his friend in the eye and then he stroked her cheek.
Distantly he noticed how her skin was cold, but that thought never came to his conscious part.
Harry led the way and she reached Ron, still in the same position, crystallized in the moment his eyes had rested on the figure of the girl he had loved and had lost.
Hermione approached him while he kept still. Eventually he got up, mumbled a «'Mi-'Mione…» and hugged her.
Quickly breaking away from the too hot embrace, Hermione gave him a slight smile that warmed, however, the heart of the red-headed boy.
Draco Malfoy had been stuck in the same position.
When she turned and met his eyes, the blond winced as she stood motionless and impassive.
Having pretending and acting down to a fine art, Draco recovered immediately, without anyone - at least he believed - aware of any disturbance present in those icy irises.
«Malfoy.» Said Hermione as a greeting. «It's a pleasure to see you again.»
Draco was astonished by the courtesy and, secondly, by the immobility of that phrase that was polite and studied. False in its arrogance.
«Granger.» the blond boy replied, «Look who's back from the dead.»
This time it was the young woman to be startled even if her body dind't express it but for his slight pupil dilation.
She shook her head, Hermione, and smiled at the blond, then she turned to Harry.
«I've got an apartment on the border of the Wizarding World. This is my address. I would like it if you came to visit me.» She said letting slip a note on his desk; she then smiled and proceeded through the office door of the three youngest Auror - and, at that moment, also more surprised and shocked - of the entire ministry, leaving them a strange and bitter taste on the tongue and a little warmth in the chest using a person plural - you - omen or auspice? - of their upcoming meeting.
One question furrowed now the minds of the three Auror.
Was Malfoy also invited?