. . . Chapter 25
. . . Regular Days and Scars . . .
That morning, Hermione had woken up bright-eyed and ready beside an equally sanguine Ron. A bubbling lightness had perched over their house on Valona Street and Hermione could tell Harry and Ron felt the same. They were finally taking that decisive and final step forward. The Reviewing was over and they were just 'regular' Ministry employees. How funny that they were working for the people who were hunting them just a month before. In the lift as Ron and Harry moved to step off at their level, Ron turned and kissed Hermione soundly on the mouth before stepping off the elevator. Harry muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Get a room." The grille clanged shut and Hermione was left gaping after him in the presence of a thickly built witch still standing in the lift. She sneaked an embarrassed glance at the older lady who was smiling directly at her.
"I've seen worse in these lifts over the course of the last forty years, believe me," she said, grinning and stepping off at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes without a look back.
Hermione was just getting her blush under control when the elevator stopped and she left the compartment empty, stepping out onto the carpet in the black tiled walls of the corridor. At her desk, Hermione shuffled a few papers around before Grayson materialized behind her.
"So, today?" Grayson started and Hermione turned around.
"Yes?"
"Right, today - the meeting with LaFoe went really well but we don't know anything yet about her approval of the work and then next the bill but we still have to wait on her input about the bill so will you go down to archives and pull previous bills that the Goblin Liaison office has done so we can use those once LaFoe gets back to us?"
"Oh, um, sure. I just - "
"No, no - I'll walk you down. It's a stairway access archive room off of the Office of Misinformation here on this level," Grayson explained quickly.
Hermione pushed her chair back away from her wooden desk and stood up beside Grayson. He was roughly Neville's height. His smile was bright white as he looked down at her.
"So that's a yes, then?" he asked her. She nodded.
As they walked through the expansive sub departments of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Hermione looked down at her short nails, paint was peeling off of them most unbecomingly. She silently spelled her polish off with a quick charm Ginny had taught her. At least she'd worn a newer set of dust gray robes with a slight metallic sheen today. The transition in robes every day had been a bit awkward after the last year of wearing whatever they'd felt like. It was like getting put back in a uniform after being done with it for a while. She just wanted to look her best meeting new people in the archives department if she met anyone new.
"So, noticed you came straight here today are you three done with that Reviewing?" he asked and ran a hand through his black wavy hair.
"Oh, yeah. Finally. We basically stuffed a year's worth of events into a stretch of two or three weeks. I personally can't wait for a few more normal days." What was normal in the wizarding world anyway? Befriending Harry and Ron first year had left her with almost no concept of normal. . .
Grayson barked out a laugh. "Understood."
A few moments later and the black tiled walls of the Office of Misinformation dead ended into a large black wooden door. The door was fronted with a gold plaque that read:
Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures: Department of Archives
When the door swung open, a thousand years or so of files and bills and records stretched endlessly up and away on large black shelves. Grayson walked her over to one bay of files.
"Ok, so you've got to ask it for the type of files and such that you need and then," he patted a desk beside himself, "you've got to skim the thing and make sure that it's something useful. We have to check every single one out and the woman in charge of that, Madam Edgecombe, is sort of a stickler. Odette ripped one page in one file last year and is forbidden from checking files out."
Oh, so that answered why Odette wasn't asked to go with her, Hermione thought. Edgecombe . . .
"You wouldn't know if Madam Edgecombe has a daughter? Marietta?"
"S'a matter of fact, I believe she does. Just finished Hogwarts, I believe," he turned to look up at the files, "Show you what you'll do." He raised his wand up and pointed it at one shelf. "Previous Goblin Rights Bills."
About forty or more files rushed out and hovered about a foot in front of their spots on the shelves. Grayson pointed his wand at the desk beside them and the files dove and stacked themselves in five stacks.
"Just read through these and if you see anything you think we should reference check it out with Edgecombe and if you see something that makes you think we should look at more files, bring those down and check them as well, ok?"
"Yeah, alright," she answered. Doing something like this felt a lot like the library at Hogwarts. A more sinister library with black shelves and files. But still, the smell of parchment and dust was so familiar, so ordinary.
"Alright. Thanks then! And if you need anything, just wind your way back out of here and come find me," Grayson offered, kindly.
She nodded back at him and sat down at the desk.
Five and a half hours and upwards of fifty files later, Hermione walked the journey from the desk in archives to the front desk of the department where Madam Edgecombe sat. She levitated the relevant files in front of her and let them fall gently in front of the woman, who looked up frowning.
"Taking all these?" Madam Edgecombe asked.
"Yes, it's thirteen - "
"Obviously. Alright," she looked down at a book with graphed names and numbers. "Name?"
Hermione hesitated for a moment, "Hermione Granger."
Madam Edgecombe looked up at her and then narrowed her eyes. "Didn't know you worked here."
"I'm new," she said, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.
"Hm," Edgecombe was looking at her with open hostility now. "You know, it took about a year for those boils to disappear of Marietta's face. Left a couple scars, even. A curse she seems to think you were the mastermind of."
Hermione swallowed. Oh gods above. She had in fact been the one to create that particular hex. . . Ron and Harry had been so proud at the time. Anyone who signed the parchment was not to reveal anything about Dumbledore's Army because the parchment was enchanted to reveal it to everyone if you did. Boils.
"You know, she was dosed with Veritaserum, made to betray her own friends, then covered in boils?" Edgecombe gripped the edge of the desk.
"I'm sorry, I didn't know - " she faltered.
"You didn't care, sweetheart," she said, voice dripping in sarcasm. Hermione saw her pick up a quill and fill in Hermione Granger. Out - 13. "You and your friends may have been heroes this last year but as far as my family is concerned, you are cruel and nothing more than a bully who enjoys tormenting innocents. Take these," she pushed the files toward the edge of her desk, "and get out of my sight."
Hermione grabbed the files and hugged them to her chest, blinking back tears. It wouldn't do to go crying down the corridor of the Department. She hadn't known it was Veritaserum that made Marietta give up the group. They had always thought it was Marietta's mother forcing her to give in and tell Umbridge on the lot of them. The walk back to her desk felt a lot longer this time. She felt mean and like everyone knew about what she'd done to Marietta. Did many other people know? Her arm itched the whole way back to her desk. She'd marked Marietta, scarred her. The realization made her shudder.
Setting her shoulders and putting that horrible recognition in its own compartment, she put the pile of files on her desk and got out some place markers and spent the majority of the rest of her day going back through the information to locate what she'd thought would be useful down in archives. Odette had started helping her comb through the files at some point and when the clock outside Grayson's office chimed five they stood together to leave.
In the lift, Hermione made the decision to exit at Ron's level and see if he and Harry could go home with her. She stepped out into the circular lift lobby and began walking to where she'd spoken with Auror Silvestri the other day. A flash out of the corner of her eye drew her attention: shoulder length brown hair with streaks of gray. Hermione stopped on the spot and pivoted.
"You!" she practically shouted at him.
"Miss Granger," he greeted flatly, stepping toward her.
"You're the one that's been following me!" she accused.
He frowned at her and shook his hair to cover a particularly nasty scar that cut across his forehead and down one side of his face.
"Not following, you stupid girl. I'm a Preventer."
"A what?" She crossed both arms over her torso.
"A Preventer," he leaned against the cubicle wall of a desk beside them. "It's the newest branch within the Auror Department. A few of us are Preventers now: we go to areas we know have a relatively high wizarding population and basically stand guard. We're Aurors that have been reassigned." Hermione noticed he didn't look pleased when he said 'reassigned'.
"So then - then you're a Preventer in Ottery St. Catchpole?"
"Yes and I happened to see you the other day shopping and we've been informed that anyone who helped bring about the end of You-Know-Who is in a particularly high amount of danger. Once I knew that you lived there, I figured Harry Potter and the other boy did as well so I followed you home. Then I found out that yes, in fact, they did and I tried to watch for you when you were alone as a preventative measure. Well, I actually attempted to follow you that first time. You're quick on the uptake. Ever thought about becoming an Auror yourself?"
Her mind was whirling with new information. "Um, not exactly my cup of tea. So then you'll be around more in the future?" He wasn't stalking her. Preventer. He was protected them then.
"Yes, unless another takes my spot," he had dark brown eyes and looked a bit scary, that scar on his face looked more like a deep burn. He kept shifting his head so that his hair fell in front of the scar.
"What's your name?" she asked. Hermione knew she was being rude but she'd been frightened that this was an imposter in Polyjuice so he owed her something. A name and explanation were going to have to be enough.
"Erasmus Lanning. Call me Erasmus if you'd like."
"Alright, I'm Hermione," she said. He nodded. "In the future, if you are going to be 'preventing' in an area with three wand-happy witch and wizards nearby, you might want to let them know."
He laughed and Hermione could tell it was at what she'd said not at her. "Yes, you're particularly jumpy. We should've let you three know - "
A man came up from the row of desks behind Erasmus and whispered something in his ear.
"Well, Hermione, I've got to run but I'll probably be around the neighborhood fairly frequently so don't jump out of your skin again if you see me following you, alright?" He smiled at her for the first time as she nodded. He walked away and Hermione noticed a slightly limp in his retreating form. How did a Auror get reassigned to Preventer, she wondered. Injury? Missions gone bad? As a punishment? What a weight to get lifted off her shoulders - not a stalker. Thank Merlin and Godric and all of them that that was one less thing to worry about.
"'Mione," Harry's voice came from behind her.
She turned to see Harry and Ron walking toward her both looking glad to see her.
"Hi! Ready?" she asked, falling into step beside Ron.
"Yup, let's go home," Ron said, throwing an arm over her shoulders.
Once they had made it home and Hermione was chopping various ingredients for a stir-fried pasta, Ron jumped up to sit on the counter beside her.
"Actually, now that we're all three together I kinda wanted to ask you about something," Ron said.
Hermione let the knife hover above an onion on the other side of a little shield charm she'd put in place to keep from having her eyes water.
"What?" Harry asked from the table where he was scanning the Daily Prophet.
"Well, I was thinking about Snape and Dumbledore - their plan - and realized that if Dumbledore wanted Snape to be the Master of the Elder Wand which he obviously did but he wanted Harry to be the Master of Deathly Hallows when he met You-Know-Who for the last time then. . . Well, Harry he meant for you to kill Snape, didn't he?" Hermione turned with the knife in hand to gape at Ron. Harry spoke first.
"What? N - no! Snape was trying to find me and give me those memories. Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted me to kill Snape. Snape had to give me those before - "
"But that's just it," Ron slid off the counter to lean against the cabinets, "you would've done anyway. He said it himself. You always go and sacrifice yourself for other people anyway, mate."
"But Snape was purposefully telling me what Dumbledore told him to tell me. . ." Harry's words tapered off and Hermione saw a flicker of doubt cross his face.
"Ron, Dumbledore wouldn't - " she started only to get interrupted.
"But he would! He was sending Snape to Harry to give him the memories. Harry thought Snape had killed Dumbledore. Dumbledore was wagering that Harry would kill Snape and become the master of the wand. That's it. 'Greater Good' and all, isn't it?" Ron said. Hermione glanced over at Harry again. It was like watching all the crippling uncertainty he'd had after Rita Skeeter's account of Dumbledore all rush back.
"No, Ron. I don't think so," she said softly and saw Harry lift his head to meet her gaze. "Harry always disarms first. Maybe Dumbledore did mean for Harry to take the Elder Wand from Snape directly but Harry always disarms people first. That's how we heard the truth about Sirius, remember?" she asked them both, glancing from Harry to Ron. Harry looked like he much preferred where Hermione was headed with her line of reasoning. Ron looked like he was turning over her words carefully. "So, maybe, yeah. . . maybe Snape was going to come give him the memories and Dumbledore was hoping Harry would do what he usually does - disarm - and then hear Snape out while he was unarmed thus obtaining the wand and the memories in one swoop?"
Harry nodded, "That sounds more like Dumbledore. He wouldn't have put Snape up to be slaughtered or expected me to do that."
"Right," Ron verbally agreed but looked like he believed otherwise. "Right, that's - that's more like Dumbledore." Hermione was glad to see some of the color return to Harry's face. She turned to finish dinner.
"Oh, almost forgot. Ginny was going to come over later. Ron said you're going into town. Dancing?" Harry asked and Hermione could hear the smile in his voice.
"Indeed," she said, smirking and dumping the chopped ingredients into the waiting olive oil.
"Right, good luck with that," Harry joked.
Dinner passed amicably. Hermione could tell that Ron had more to say on the subject of Dumbledore but was holding back for Harry's sake. Harry was getting more concerned about Travers after Parnell had stopped talking about something abruptly when Harry got to his desk after lunch. Ron and Hermione took turns helping Harry guess at what Travers could be using the Polyjuice for. Gringotts had undergone extra security measures so he wouldn't be able to be there. Hogwarts was swamped with people for the reconstruction effort which, according to page 6 of the Daily, was on schedule to be open in time for that fall. The article implied that the castle was partly being healed by the witches and wizards charged with reconstruction and partially healing itself. The three of them agreed that the Room of Requirement was probably not included in the reconstruction of it all. They decided that the room probably couldn't come back from the Fiendfyre. Hermione filled them both in on Erasmus Lanning as well and Ron and Harry both were also ridiculously pleased that that was at least one matter settled.
After a quick shower, Hermione threw on a top and her nicest pair of jeans. Looking at herself in the mirror, she carefully transfigured and altered her top to be a bit more dressy in its cut. She put in her only set of dangling earrings - from Ginny, sixth year - and applied more makeup than usual but less than she'd worn at the ball. She looked through her shoes only to find that she didn't have a single pair of high heels. What girl didn't have high heels? She felt blood rush to her face. She was the worst girl ever, she decided. She transfigured a pair of cute flats into pumps. She had to go shopping - Ginny would be outrageously happy about accompanying her. She'd ask her to go sometime this weekend. Transfiguring clothes like this was ridiculous.
Hermione walked out of her room in her transfigured outfit, feeling particularly attractive at the moment and saw Ron in dark jeans and a dark green button down on. Her heart and stomach flipped over in a combination of happiness, nerves, and desire.
"You look nice, Ronald," she complimented as she drew nearer to him. She didn't miss the way his eyes travelled up and down her form. Hermione found herself nonsensically pleased to elicit any kind of staring from Ron.
He coughed and met her eyes, "You look - whoa." He grinned his lopsided smile at her. Eloquent as ever.
"Thanks. Shall we?" she gestured to the back door. They were going to Apparate to the spot where Hermione had Disapparated from when Erasmus was following her and then walk around. They knew of a couple bars but weren't sure of the dancing aspect so they'd agreed to wander to the few places they knew of and just see. Ron took her hand and Hermione Disapparated them both and they were almost instantly in a dark brick alley. Ron brought his unoccupied hand to Hermione's shoulder and gently backed her up until she was leaning gently against brick.
"You're beautiful, Hermione," he whispered before bringing his lips to hers for a gentle kiss. Much more eloquent, she had time to think before her eyes shut and gentle kisses quickly became more heated. Hermione broke away from him breathlessly after a few minutes with her eyes still closed.
"If we keep this up, I'm not going to want to go dancing anymore," she muttered against his mouth and felt him smile against her lips.
"Right, yeah," Ron said, taking her hand and leading her out of the dark cover of the alleyway. Streetlights lit their path and music pulled them up the road and soon they were standing outside a dingy looking staircase that led down to a basement that obviously held a band. The mural that was painted along the side of the stairs was a blues singer in front of a curtain and surrounded by smoke. Perfect.
"Here ok?" she asked him. His face clearly said no but she was delighted when his mouth said yes. They went down the stairs and found an unexpected lounge -like atmosphere. The band was a four person band of four older men - The Juvenators - from the name on the large drum. Hermione's first thought was how fun it would be to dance to rhythm and blues. Her second thought was that no one else was dancing and they would look ridiculous. . .
"Drinks?" Ron asked, glancing around apprehensively at the people scattered around at tables.
"Yeah, I brought Mug - I - money," she said loudly but the music was so loud Ron had to lean down to her to hear. Some of his hair was so close to her nose. It was like smelling more of that Amortentia in Slughorn's class again. He led her away from the door they'd just come through and they ordered drinks - well, Hermione ordered drinks. She ordered herself a glass of wine and Ron a medium ale. She didn't think it was too large of a departure from drinks that he would have had before. She didn't want to order something ridiculous and scare him off of Muggle establishments forever. They found two chairs in a dim corner and sat together to listen to the band play.
Sometime in the second song they listened to from their seats, Ron had leaned over to ask her about the antique microscope on her shelves. He'd referred to it as a "torture devise" and she'd laughed and leaned into him to tell him what it was. When Hermione leaned over, Ron had put one hand on her thigh and when she leaned away she was terribly pleased that he didn't remove it. The heat of his hand permeated the fabric of her jeans. She smiled and took another sip of wine. No one danced the entire time that they were there but Hermione found that with Ron's hand on her leg and the frequent leaning against each other that they had to do to speak that she didn't much care that they weren't dancing.
That night after they'd Apparated from their alley back to their back yard, Ron had kissed her before her head had stopped spinning from their travel. He ran a hand from the side of her neck down over her transfigured top, cupping and kneading her chest wonderfully. Hermione felt her breath hitch at the contact and let him walk them from the middle of the yard to where they leaned against the brick wall beside the back door. One hand of his wrapped behind her head and cushioned it where it met the hard surface. She tilted her head back experimentally and sighed with delight when he moved his mouth from her lips to her cheek and then her neck.
"So smooth," he muttered huskily against the side of her neck. She almost melted into the wall behind her. Her brain felt a tiny bit fuzzy from the two glasses of wine she'd had but even so, she realized that if Harry and Ginny caught them, they'd never hear the end of it. She brought both hands to push lightly against his chest and he leaned away from her to look at her better. "Inside?" he asked almost as if he was winded. She nodded and he turned to open the back door for her, helping her in. Ron followed her into her room. She flicked on a lamp and they fell together on the bed the instant the door was shut.
He brought a hand to the hem of her shirt and looked at her. She knew he was giving her the chance to say no but this time she bit her lip and nodded at him instead. He reverently brought the other hand to the edge of her shirt and slid it up over her stomach and, breaking eye contact with her, pulled her shirt up and off. Thank Merlin she'd worn a nicer bra tonight. Just a plain tan one but at least it wasn't ratty like a few of the other ones she had during their year on the run. Ron had thrown the shirt over to a spot on the floor and was sitting up above her, looking her over with a marveling sort of look on his face. He put his hands on her, running his finger tips up over her skin on her stomach and coming to the cups of her bra where he let his hand spread out and put delicate pressure on her. She blushed watching his face and felt sexy for the first time in her entire life.
"Hermione," he exhaled out before meeting her eyes and leaning back over her to kiss her again. She felt his tongue feeling delightfully around her mouth and couldn't believe that this was her life, that Ron was above her and thought she was attractive enough to act this way. Hermione decided to even the score and brought her hands to the dark green shirt that he had tucked into his jeans. She pulled the shirt up to free it and began working on the buttons from top to bottom, letting her fingers brush his skin as she worked. "Mmm," he groaned against her mouth and she felt like the temperature in the room had suddenly sky rocketed.
He leaned up away from her and let her push the shirt down his shoulders. He had faint crisscrossing lines across his arms from their first trip to the Ministry with Harry. A painful looking scar from where he'd been splinched from their other trip to the Ministry. Ron had a healed but still fresh looking scar diagonally across his right side. He was looking down at her with a hungry blaze about his eyes. She sat up and got on her knees so they were kneeling, facing each other in the yellowish lamp light. She knew in the low light that he'd be able to see the skinny diagonal scar across her torso from their first trip to the Ministry and if he saw her back he'd see the jagged small scars on her upper back as well. She looked at what seemed like Ron's newest scar and brought her fingers to it, slowly tracing its path across his ribs, keeping her eyes trained there.
In response, Ron swiped a hand across her neck - Bellatrix's scar - and then brought that hand to Hermione's collar where she knew that her scar from Dolohov started. She held her breath as he traced the silvery scar with his hand from her collar bone, down between her breasts, to where it stopped just beside her navel. When he reached the end of it she exhaled shakily and met his eyes, looking up at him through her long lashes. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, that she hoped he still wanted her even though her body was scarred and imperfect, that his scars made him that much more precious to her. Everything she wanted to say died on her lips when Ron kissed her, a bruising, needy, powerful kiss. No more clothes came off that night but that kiss and those touches across scars had left them both naked and raw in front of each other.