Chapter One
"How have I accumulated so many things?"
Knick-knacks and tchotchkes abounded around her, some packed away while others teetered in very un-Hermione-like heaps. She had started by organising by rooms – that was easy. All pots and pans in one box, all dishes in another, clothes and bedsheets in a third, books in the next twenty or so. She got cocky then, until she considered the rest of the vast amounts of bits and bobs accumulated over more than a decade of travelling the world.
She shook her head and turned away, reaching for the kettle and her last remaining mug. She still had a week until the big move. Further packing could wait until another day. She let the steam curl around her face as she inhaled the velvety scent of vanilla rooibos. Would they have a similar tea selection over in the States? Or would she have to beg Draco and Luna to send her care packages? How did transatlantic Wizarding post even work?
She set her mug down and picked up the pile of post, tapping it against the table's surface for a moment before flipping through, deliberately ignoring the scarlet envelope with the shimmering Ministry logo near the top. Ron's unmistakable chicken scratch jumped out at her, and she plucked it from the stack. She knew Harry wasn't coming to her leaving do tonight, but maybe Ron…
"Hi 'Mione, I can't believe you're leaving us! I'm sorry it's been so long since we've caught up, but Lavender and the girls haven't been very well, and work has been sending me from pillar to post all around the country. We'll have to come visit you in America for sure, as soon as you're settled in. I'm sure the girls would love to travel, and dad's been raving on about Disney, whatever that is. But have a fantastic night tonight, I hope the move goes well, and I know you'll be spectacular in your new role. We love you. Love, Ron."
Hermione blinked rapidly, feeling a bittersweet twinge curl around her belly before she tucked the note back into its envelope and set the pile down. She took a big glug of still-too-hot tea, and she blamed the sudden moisture in her eyes on a scalded tongue and throat as she quelled the wave of nostalgia and memories that sprung up in her traitorous brain. She took a deep and steadying breath.
According to her watch, Hermione had just enough time to stop being a Mopey McMoperson and actually put some effort into changing for her party. Yes, it was disappointing that her childhood friends couldn't (wouldn't?) come, she told herself firmly, but she did have lovely people who would show up tonight to spend their Friday evening celebrating her. The least she could do would be to perk up and show a bit of willing. Walking into her bedroom, she waved a hand at the sleek little clock radio and the Wizarding Wireless station flickered to life.
"And coming up on our Friday News Bite at Five, we'll interview Sarah Beardsley, Minster for Magical Health and Population, on the question on everyone's lips: What will happen when the Ministry's BROOM deadline passes next week? Who's left, and what will they-"
Hermione dove toward the radio, smacking the switch to turn off the magical antenna as soon as she was in range. She pulled her iPhone from her pocket and plugged it in instead, exhaling gently as the brash chords and baseline of "Veteran Cosmic Rocker" filled the room. There were very few problems in life where her dad rock playlist couldn't at least take the edge off.
x.x.x.x
Hermione apparated to the secluded spot behind the skips in the alleyway and hoped she had gotten the location right. She'd never been to the Owl and Scroll before, but she knew it was one of the only Wizarding pubs in this area of South London, and Ellie from work had known the manager well enough to get a decent rate on the back room. Hermione had initially pushed for the Leaky Cauldron for old times' sake, but to expect everyone to get home from Diagon Alley all the way across London after a Friday night out was a bit unreasonable. Plus, Luna later reasoned, it would be hard enough to say goodbye to everyone as it was without the location itself being steeped with memories of people who weren't there.
Hermione tugged at the hem of her dress. Most of her clothes were packed, and she hadn't had the heart to dive into one of the few already sealed boxes for a change of heart. She'd laid out this outfit a few weeks ago, choosing the Gryffindor-red dress and gold strappy heels optimistically. It had been so long since she had had a night out, so she figured that she might as well go all out and do it properly. But when the night finally rolled around, she felt chilly and exposed in the short frock and a bit gaudy in the shiny shoes and red lipstick. She didn't feel unattractive, per se, but she felt like an imposter in her own body.
She took a deep breath and pushed the door open. It was as if she'd stepped into a time machine. The olde-worlde dark wood panelling combined with the swathes of floor-length fabric on the robe-wearing patrons in the main part of the pub made her feel like she'd be arrested for public indecency for exposing a glimmer of thigh.
"Hermione!" a chirpy voice cut through the sedate murmur of office workers enjoying their end-of-week pint. "You're here!"
A blonde witch more bubble gum than person in a hot pink bandage dress clutched Hermione by the arm and dragged her through the pub to the function room in the back. Before she could blink, a glass of prosecco was pressed into Hermione's hand, and she was immediately surrounded by hugs and chatter.
"If you smother her now, she'll never make it to America," Draco Malfoy said, arching a brow. He stood at the edge of the room like a marble statue in expensively cut charcoal robes, looking positively regal. The effect was ruined somewhat by the beaming six-year-old clutched bodily to his left arm.
"Draco," Hermione called out, trying to keep the relief from her voice as she extricated herself from the throng and made her way over. "You made it! And hello, Auggie."
"Of course we made it. We wouldn't miss it. Augustus, go and fetch your mother."
The youngest Malfoy scurried off, returning with Luna Lovegood Malfoy, luminous as her namesake in a diaphanous silver maxi dress, her blonde hair in an intricate updo.
"Luna! You look like a fairy princess!"
"And you look like a vixen– you scrub up nicely! Don't let the gnargles see. They're drawn to red, you know." Luna winked. "Drink up! There's plenty more where that came from. We've bought out all the bubbles the pub had in stock, so we're going to send you off in style."
"You shouldn't have! That must have cost a fortune."
Draco scoffed. "What's the point of being a… What was it that you called me some years back, a 'poncey little inheritance toad'?" He spread his hands and shrugged. "What's the point of being a poncey little inheritance toad if you can't use it on alcohol-fuelled debauchery in the name of friendship?"
Auggie tugged at his father's sleeve, looking thoughtful.
"Daddy, if Aunty 'Mione thinks you're a toad, does that make me a tadpole?"
Hermione snorted into her prosecco and immediately relaxed. Bit by bit, and with the help of a not insignificant quantity of bubbly, her friends eased her into the throng. Auggie was removed by a nanny within the first half an hour, and the small area designated as the dance floor at the back of the pub soon filled with whirling partygoers, Hermione in the thick of them. It was amazing what a little prosecco and a cushioning charm under her heels did for Hermione's dancing skills.
After a particularly athletic group shout-along to "Mr. Brightside," ending with Draco bodily picking her up and twirling her dangerously close to the pub's ceiling beams, Hermione's lungs heaved, and her legs trembled. She extricated herself from the masses and sought out a shadowed corner of peace, flinging herself into a chair and flopping her head and shoulders onto the sticky table top. She closed her eyes as the floor wobbled and spun.
"Good evening, Miss Granger."
She turned her head to the side, right eye peeking over her arm. She could have sworn she saw a very fuzzy, distorted vision of someone with the exact same nose as her old Potions Master, but all wavy as if viewed through a large pint glass full of water.
"I've never been drunk enough to hallucinate before… And why Professor Snape?" she moaned.
"I hate to disappoint you, Miss Granger, but that day has not yet arrived. In order to stave it off even further, I'd suggest getting that glass of water in front of you down your neck sooner rather than later."