A/N – The last three chapters have had one review each; are you guys not as interested now that Voldy's dead? Confused...
She stood in the airport with her shaky arms wrapped tightly around her body. The trembling didn't stop there; it spread down her body and wound its way around her toes. She clenched her jaw tightly to keep her teeth from chattering. This was it. She had left Grimmauld Place, left Harry and Ron and Ginny and her magical family. And now here she was at the airport. All she needed to do was buy a plane ticket to Australia and she would officially be re-entering the Muggle world. She had no real plans, just a vague idea of where her parents may be. Close to the shore, most likely (they loved the ocean), and probably in a bigger city. Sydney, Brisbane, Melbourne, Adelaide, Perth... there were too many choices. She had decided to start in Sydney, simply because she liked the idea of the city. Perhaps her parents felt the same.
She had considered Apparating for a moment and just as quickly dismissed the idea. She had no idea where to go; she was Determined, yes, and could be Deliberate, but her Destination was all wonky. She could picture the Sydney Opera house, but that was about it. She wouldn't be able to Apparate directly to Australia, of course; it was too far away and would require at least a dozen jumps, none of which she was at all familiar. And there was the small matter of the Indian Ocean. Thus, the airplane.
Hermione hated flying. Broomstick, Thestral, magical motorcycle or airplane, it was all lost on her. There was no other choice though; it had to be an airplane, and it had to be today. She was afraid she'd lose her nerve if she waited any longer.
She approached the ticket counter cautiously, her trunk bouncing on its rickety wheels with every step. The woman at the counter appeared to be frustrated at her computer, so Hermione waited patiently in silence.
"Be right with you love, if this bloody piece of rubbish machine would unfreeze." The woman lightly hit the computer with her open palm, cursing under her breath. "Ah ha! Magic. Hitting things always helps." She turned to face Hermione with what appeared to be a well-rehearsed simulated smile. "How can I help you today?"
"I'd like a ticket to Sydney, Australia, if you please. First availability."
"Just one ticket, love?"
"Yes, please." She nervously shifted her weight, regretting the flight before she even got on the plane.
"Hmmmm, okay, let's see here... the next flight takes off in just over two hours. There are two seats left; one is a middle seat and the other next to an emergency exit. Would either of those do?"
"Yes, the emergency exit, please." 'That way I can jump out of the plane if we go down,' she thought, and almost laughed aloud at her neurotic internal monologue. Yeah, sure, this was a great idea.
"Alright miss, I just need to see a form of identification. How would you like to pay for this ticket?"
Hermione handed the woman her Muggle ID card and the credit card she kept for emergencies. Her parents had given it to her before sixth year, and she hadn't found any real reason to use it. This seemed like a good enough excuse.
"Herm... Hermony?"
"Erm, it's Her-my-oh-nee."
"Ah, lovely. Well, Herm... Miss Granger. Do you have any bags?"
Hermione lifted the trunk onto the scale and the woman put a tag on it. She was handed her ticket, and Hermione watched as her trunk was lifted onto the conveyer belt. It disappeared seconds later. She thanked the woman, took the tickets, and cursed the Wright Brothers for their ludicrous ingenuity.
She made her way to security and was easily through the line in a matter of minutes. She slowed her pace as she approached her gate. She wasn't ready to sit yet, wasn't ready to think. Taking note of the location of her terminal, she made her way to the airport book shop and perused the shelves.
Mindlessly she flipped through the stacks, picking up books at random and placing them down just as listlessly. Romance, mystery, horror... she'd had enough horror, thank you very much. And romance didn't seem to be a good choice at the moment, either. She settled on a classic science fiction novel that was supposed to be both funny and irreverent. "So long, and thanks for all the fish." She smirked. Yes, that would do just fine.
Hermione still had quite a bit of time to kill, so she meandered towards the coffee shop ahead. After a few minutes spent on a much too difficult caffeinated decision, she found herself wandering the terminal once more. That got old quickly, so she made her way towards the designated gate.
She blew a concentrated puff of air on her Irish Cream Mocha, watching the tendrils of hot steam disappate. She looked up from her seat to the counter for the upteenth time to where an airline employee stood. The man seemed calm, even with the line of people in front of him. She felt anything BUT calm right now; her stomach did a small flip and she felt the long-absent yet still familiar pull of nausea that came with flying. Or even preparing to fly. Or even thinking about it.
She closed her eyes tightly, concentrating on her breathing. How ridiculous that THIS would be the one thing that threatened to make her lose her tightly held control. She had killed Death Eaters, faced Voldemort, helped kill Voldemort... but now more than ever she felt the sudden and irrepressible need to flee, or scream, or both. Not that doing either would draw attention to her, no, not at all.
"Now boarding Group 1, now boarding Group 1." The man's voice was smooth and steady. 'How is everyone else not going completely mental right now?' Hermione thought. Passengers began forming a queue to the right of the counter. She looked down at her ticket once more; she knew she was in Group 3, she had checked it no less than ten times in as many minutes. 'Bloody hell.' The all-too-familiar phrase ghosted through her mind before she could stop it, and the obvious connotation only brought sorrow. She needed to get on that plane. She needed to get away, to find her parents, to set things right. Even if her parents hadn't been in Australia, she would have found some reason to flee. This was not only a reconnaissance mission, but an escape plan. She would find her folks, change their memories, do the best to win back their trust, and start a new life. Yes, that sounded like a good idea. She'd get a job, maybe, something easy and a bit dull. She longed for tedium and busywork, anything to keep her mind off of the past months. A cashier, or a secretary, perhaps.
"Group 3, now boarding Group 3." Shiiiiiiite. This was it. She collected her belongings,which wasn't exactly difficult. Backpack? Check. Coffee? Check. Complete lack of confidence in planes and a paralyzing fear of flying?
Check.
The walk down the jet bridge was fraught with anxious breathes and far too much perspiration. Hermione kept her eyes in front of her as she found her way to the emergency exit seat. When her backpack was stored in the overhead bin and she was settled, she pulled out her book and took a long drag on her mocha. Caffeine and sugar probably weren't the best things to consume when one was in the middle of what was certainly the beginnings of a panic attack, but she didn't care. The warm, chocolately goodness filled her to her toes and she concentrated on the texture of the drink and the subtle hints of what was supposed to be whiskey. If only it were the real thing...
She was so lost in her attempts to distract herself from where she was that she didn't notice the older woman sit down next to her. It was only when the soft bit of what looked to be the beginnings of a scarf landed in her lap that she realized she was no longer alone in her row.
"Oh, sorry, dear! Got away from me, it did." The woman appeared to be in her late sixties, and she wore an aubergine colored mohair sweater. Her face had a nice softness to it, and Hermione noticed the many smile lines around her mouth and eyes. Her hair was the perfect shade of medium gray, a color many women would cover with a dye. Hermione thought it was quite stunning on the woman.
"Oh, it's fine." She waited, deliberating if this would be the sort of plane ride she'd rather enjoy in silence, or if distraction would be appreciated. Remembering how very long the flight would be, she decided that the woman's company was appreciated. "Are you knitting a scarf?" she asked hesitantly. Just because she wanted to chat didn't mean the woman would be amenable.
"Oh, I'm not sure yet. I rather enjoy the sensation of knitting - keeps me relaxed, you know - and sometimes I just start without any sort of plan. It may be a scarf, or a panel for a blanket, or I may just as well decide to rip the whole thing apart and start again. It's the act of knitting that I love more than the result. Do you knit, dearie?"
Hermione smiled, remembering the knobby and less-than-perfect hats she had attempted to make the house elves at Hogwarts. "I do, but not very well. And I don't think I've ever just started knitting for the sake of it. I'm sort of a planner." That was an understatement.
The woman stood up and grabbed her bag from the overhead bin, emptying it item by item onto her seat. Hermione smiled as she noticed a worn copy of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe appear, along with a number of peppermints, a picture of what could only be the woman's grandson, and a small pouch of what looked to be tissues. "Ah, here we are!" The large woven bag went back up in the overhead bin and the woman sat down, handing Hermione a smaller set of knitting needles and a very large skein of multi-colored yarn. "Now. You should be able to finish a scarf, or a hat, or a lovely bit of something by the time we land. But start off just knitting, dear, for the love of it. I think you'll find it's quite cathartic."
Hermione smiled at the woman and took the supplies, tucking her book next to her on the seat and downing the last bit of coffee. "Thank you, that's very nice of you..."
"Madeleine, dear, Madeleine Montgomery." She held out her hand and Hermione took it.
"Hermione Granger. It's a pleasure."
The two women sat in silence for a bit as Hermione began to cast on. She tried her best not to plan out what she was making; it was difficult, but once she got used to the movement of the needles she allowed herself to simply enjoy the repetitive motion.
The flight attendant came around with beverages and Hermione settled on ginger ale; she hadn't had the drink for years, as carbonated beverages were largely unknown in the wizarding world.
"Madeleine, that picture in your purse, is that your grandson?"
The older woman beamed, and Hermione knew it had been the right question to ask. "Why yes, that incredibly beautiful boy does belong to me. His name is Sebastian, and he's just about two years old. In fact, I'm going to Australia to celebrate his birthday! My daughter, Leila, married a charming Australian man she met at university; I love him as my own, only I do wish they lived closer." She frowned. "What about you, dearie, are you on holiday?"
Hermione decided to tell the truth, or a version of the truth. "No, I'm actually going to see my parents. We've been a bit... estranged for the last couple years, and I'm hoping to reconnect with them."
Madeleine nodded sagely. "That's very good to hear, very good indeed. Family is so incredibly important, you know. We don't know the number of our days, of course, so it's necessary to keep close to the ones that we love. Young people don't always understand that, it seems. It's a wonderful thing you're doing, dear, reaching out like that."
Hermione nodded and opened her mouth to speak once more but found herself unable to do so. Horrified, she felt unbidden tears streak down her face. She turned her head in an effort to hide the sudden outburst of emotion, but it was too late.
"Ohhh dearie me, I've said too much. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, Hermione."
The young woman shook her head, wiping away the tears. "No, no, it's fine, Madeleine. It's just that I miss them so much, and I suppose I just sort of tried to push them out of my mind for the last two years. I was... well I was involved in some things that they probably wouldn't approve of, and it lead to our parting ways. My friends have sort of been my family since then, but as much as I love them, it's not the same as my mum and dad, you know?" She looked down at her hands. "I just hope they can forgive me."
Madeleine's posture changed, and she sat straight up in her seat. "Now you listen her, girl. Your mum and dad, they love you. I've only known you for an hour, but I can tell you are a kind and loving daughter, no matter what it was that kept you apart from your folks. I'm not saying it's going to be easy, but your parents are still your parents; they will welcome you home with open arms, mark my words. It's their job to love and care for you, and it's your job to show them that they can trust you not to up and leave again, okay? When you see them, don't give them excuses; just tell them that you're back, and that you love them, and that you want to be a family again. The rest will come, child."
The tears that had been trailing down her cheeks before were now a torrential stream. She felt all the emotion from the past few days course through her. She cried for her mum and her dad, for Professor McGonagall and Gregory Goyle and Zacharias Smith. She cried for Harry, her best friend, and Ginny, the closest thing she had to a sister. And she cried for Ron. She could only hope one day he would understand and forgive her.
Madeleine enfolded Hermione into a somewhat awkward side-hug, and the witch fell into the comforting embrace, allowing her tears to soeak the woman's shoulder. She should have felt embarrassed, carrying on like this, and in front of a relative stranger, but the comfort the woman gave was like a soothing balm. When all her tears were spent, she sat up and looked out the window. "I'm sorry about that, crying on your shoulder like a child. You've been so very nice to me; thank you."
"To weep is to make less the depth of grief."Madeleine smiled. "That's Shakespeare, or so a greeting card told me once. I always thought it was a wise word." She reached over and squeezed Hermione's hand.
Hermione let out a shaky laughed and turned back to the woman. "Yes, Henry VI, I believe, although I'm not sure which part, exactly."
"Ahhh, so she reads! In the middle of anything good now?"
"Well, I just picked up The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. I'm not usually one for science fiction, or fiction in general, but it's a favorite of my dad's. I've only a vague idea of what it's about, but Dad liked to quote it sometimes. Something about fish, and towels, and forty-two."
That led to quite a long discussion about other books, and other genres, and the comparison on the benefits and drawbacks of paperback versus hardcover. Before long, Hermione's mood had lifted and she barely registered the fact that her knitting had improved quite a lot since her S.P.E.W. days.
Draco Malfoy awoke to a bright, sparse room and soft snoring. He looked down to see Astoria; her wheat blonde hair was a mess, and he could tell she had been tossing and turning in her sleep. The fact that her movements hadn't woken him up in the night was a true testament to how exhausted he must have been. Hell, the fact that he had apparently fallen asleep with all his clothes on, and in the same bed as Astoria, no less, spoke volumes.
He slowly untangled himself from her limbs, taking care not wake her. Theo had died last night; well, that wasn't true, it could have been months before, but the impact of his friend's death was still as fresh as if it had happened hours ago. 'Gods, Theo, I told you to get out while you could. I told you to come with me. I wish I would have made you listen.'
He turned to the bedside table and saw Astoria's bag there. He opened it and peered inside at the disarray. He shuddered. A woman's purse (or in this case, small closet) was a scary thing, indeed. He pointed his wand into the clutter and whispered, "Accio underpants. Accio jumper." It was a bit crude, but it worked. He looked over to see if Astoria had awoken at his words; not only did he want to give her the chance to sleep more, but he DEFINITELY didn't want her to hear him calling for his briefs. They were good friends, but she was still a Slytherin, and she wouldn't hesitate to tease him mercilessly.
The garments flew into his hand, and he was thankful, once again, that he had been able to pack one extra outfit and several pairs of briefs before fleeing Nott Manor. Would have been awful embarrassing to wear the same pair over and over, no matter how many scouring charms he used.
He headed to the door in order to find the bathroom when he saw a small stack of clothes on the unused bed. Frowning, he stood in front of the pile and studied it from a safe distance, not wanting to touch. Potter must have dropped this off for him after last night's awkward "I'm poor now" confession. He blushed at the thought of having to borrow clothing from a Gryffindor of all people; what had he become? He was the Malfoy heir! 'The Malfoy heir who has been alternating between two very dingy outfits for the last how many weeks?' He sniffed at his current ensemble and wrinkled his nose. With a sigh he began picking through the clothing. He sneered at the overly bright red sweater with a golden snitch and cast it aside. A red t-shirt with the words "Chudley Cannons" wasn't even touched; Draco used his wand to move it onto the 'no' pile. He may be some sort of peasant now, but he had standards. "Well well well, what do we have here?" he whispered, pulling a green and white striped tee from the pile. "Slytherin green, how very interesting." He put it in the 'yes' pile and continued sorting. When he had four t-shirts, two decent jumpers and a worn pair of denims in hand, he left the room to find the lavatory.
After a decadent and relaxing hot shower (the cottage had TERRIBLE water pressure) Draco emerged to try on his new used clothing. The jeans looked as if they may be a bit tight, if not a couple of inches too short, but he tried them on anyway. Once he shook the revolting thought of wearing Potter's denims, he stopped to admire himself in the mirror. "Damn, I look good." They were a bit tight, but he decided he rather liked the look. A quick wave of his wand and the hems extended another three inches. Reaching back into the pile, he slipped on the green striped t-shirt. It, too, was a bit short, and was fixed easily with magic. He made his way through the rest of the pile, noting happily that everything fit just fine once he transfigured a few garments. He stopped and looked at himself for a long while. It was the first time he'd worn a t-shirt anywhere other than bed. The denims were a brand new experience; his upbringing taught him that one must dress according to their ranking in life. As such, his closet at the Manor had been full of expensive button-ups, hand-tailored slacks, and many, many custom-made suits. He found the comfort and casual air of his new clothes to be rather addictive. He didn't have to worry about wrinkles, either, which was a plus. And if he spilled? Hell, they were Potter's clothes.
Happy with his new wardrobe, as slim as it may have been, he stepped outside the bathroom and into the hallway. It was then that he remembered that not only was he in Potter's clothes but Potter's house. He felt a sudden urge to run back to the room where Astoria lay and climb into the other bed. If he could get himself to fall back asleep, maybe he could get adjusted to a more nocturnal schedule. Then he wouldn't have to deal with Pothead or the Weasel at all. That, however, was a coward's way out, and Draco was done with that sort of behavior. He dropped the excess clothing next to the bedroom door and stood looking down at the stairs. With a groan, he began the descent to the kitchen, and to the reality of his very pathetic, very frustrating new living situation.
A/N – Hope you liked it. I'm very excited for what I've got in store over the next five chapters or so. Lots more character development. Stayed tuned...