DISCLAIMER: the only thing I own are the plot and the original characters of this story, everything else you may recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling. My only profit is my personal entertainment and hopefully yours.
WARNINGS: pureblood!Hermione, OOC, rated M for coarse language, mentions of violence and sexual encounters; modern.
This fanfiction comes with dedicated website: godisawitchfic dot tumblr dot com.
26.
WOW
.
( Diagon Alley, Blaise Zabini's flat – London, England;
October 4th, 2003, around 09:30 p.m. )
What was left of supper sat on the table inside of the almost empty take-away boxes, while muggle hip-hop music played in the background and spirits were high thanks to the booze and the greenery.
It was a Friday, and the group of former Slytherins was gathering at Blaise's apartment like they did every week on that particular day: the rest of the weekend was dedicated to family and other personal businesses, but Friday they dedicated it to friends when possible.
Theo was comfortably sitting on the sofa, with his best friends on either side, and he was facing Pansy and Tracey, who were perched on twin armchairs as they shared the latest news and gossip; Gregory was momentarily out of the living room and inside the kitchen, cutting strawberries for his wife, who was currently pregnant with their second child.
Their firstborn, Faith, was barely two years old, but this time the baby had been convinced on purpose: with their activity doing great and a solid network of people that could eventually help by baby-sitting, the couple had felt the need to further expand their family, having both lost a parent or both (in Goyle's case) during the war, and their friends were very happy for them.
If parenthood suited anyone in the group of former Slytherins, it was the Goyle-Davis pair.
"I can't believe it's actually happening", Tracey was telling the woman she'd shared a dorm with for seven years. "It feels like yesterday when you would hide your sketches in the trunk and Daphne, Millie and I would pretend not to know anything about it".
The blonde witch was referring to the upcoming launch of Pansy's clothing brand, which she'd announced to her inner circle a couple weeks before: even though it was pretty much old history, it had still been the talk of the evening, considering it was happening tomorrow; the topic had been temporarily outshined by the pregnancy announcement occurred over the main course of the dinner, but now it had been brought up again.
Theo smirked and relaxed on the backrest of the sofa, not particularly interested in hearing the same story for the eightieth time.
From the way they copied his movements, grabbing the glasses they'd previously sat on top the coffee table at their feet, Blaise and Draco seemed to have the same opinion.
He didn't just know everything about Obsidian Couture just from Pansy's endless tales, though. His sister brought up the subject with awful frequency, too.
Still unexplainable for everyone who'd met one witch or the other during their Hogwarts years, the two women were now joined at the hip: it wasn't like they couldn't survive if separated, but it was clear that they thrived in each other's company.
He didn't know what exactly had happened to create such a strong bond between the two, but he was grateful for it: he knew how much of a good friend Pansy could prove herself to be as he'd experienced it first-hand, and from the little Hermione had shared about her past, he felt like that was exactly what she'd needed the most.
He wasn't very informed about his sister's life in the five years following the second wizarding war, all he had were the information available to the general public, like old Australian magazines and Google searches on Victoria Sallow, and the things he'd gathered from both Eloise's and Pansy's stories, pieces of a puzzle that he knew for a fact was much bigger than he could ever begin to guess.
What Theodore was sure of was that she hadn't had an easy life.
"Any news?", he asked Pansy, taking advantage of a small pause in her speech to get the dark-haired woman's attention. "The Heating Charm won't last much longer", he added, trying to simulate indifference.
Sometimes he sounded like an anxious mother rather than a considerate brother, and what was worse was the fact that he was fully aware of it.
"Stop pestering me about this, Nott", the witch protested. "You were here when your sister called me the last time this morning. Her meeting was delayed".
"Meeting for which she left two days ago. Couldn't she just use the Portkey to go to Fairytale and then apparate to Sydney like she usually does?", he countered. In his humble opinion, it made a lot more sense.
"She could have", Pansy conceded. "But it was wiser not to. She had to rush to Sydney for some of her Muggle business, don't ask me what it is because she didn't say it, but in this kind of situation she usually follows a very strict protocol. Hermione tries to move with Muggle means of transport as much as she can. It wouldn't be too out of this world if the Australian or the English government one day decided to check on her, not when she has all that money and her hands in many things they're interested in. If they do, there'll be records of her travels and stuff like that, which is why she pays a doppelganger to take planes instead of her all the time. Unluckily, this time around the girl we usually use for the job wasn't available, and with such a short notice she couldn't come up with anything better".
"I still don't think it's safe for her to be alone on the other side of the world", Theo replied, refusing to drop the subject.
"I'm sure she'll be perfectly fine", intervened Blaise, trying to laugh it off as if it would have been enough to ease the tension, but his laughter died in the silence that suddenly filled the air.
The stillness was broken by the "Pop!" sound of someone who just apparated into the room.
Standing next to a suitcase of considerable dimensions, Hermione was welcomed into Blaise's living room by her best friend's awkwardly loud sigh of relief. "Finally!", she exclaimed. "See, Theo? She's still in one piece".
He rolled his eyes. "That's not what I was worried about", he hurried to explain, because Hermione already looked pissed.
She was currently greeting Tracey and congratulating the witch for her pregnancy, but as she was hugging the blonde she didn't miss the opportunity to send a threatening glance in his way.
"Malfoy Manor is under the Ministry's protection for a reason. I know it's not what you need to hear right now, mate", he paused for a moment, looking at Draco as if he was waiting for his blessing, which he obtained, to continue. "They'll strike again. Whoever tried to kill your family will probably try to do it again. And the Ministry itself confirmed these people are also coming after you, sister".
"What does that mean?", asked Goyle, who was just now returning from the kitchen with a bowl full of minutely sliced strawberries. "How can the attack at Malfoy Manor be related to Hermione?"
The following thirty minutes went by with the twins sharing what had been discovered thus far, albeit reluctantly on Hermione's part, with those people in the room who weren't fully updated on the situation.
Quite obviously, even Tracey and Goyle knew that the Manor had been set on fire and luckily saved from it; if they hadn't been called by Mrs. Malfoy's phone and asked by a delirious Lucius Malfoy if Draco was with them, they'd have read about it in the papers.
Reporters had come out with many different theories about the event, but none of them resembled the truth even remotely.
To say that journalists disgusted Hermione would have been quite the very definition of euphemism.
As a child she used to think they were heroes, the only people in the world who cared about justice and reporting facts as they'd occurred, but as she grew up and subsequently developed critical thinking, she'd become aware of the harsh reality around her: they (well, most of them) were hypocrites.
They bowed to the powerful, sneered at the poor and mocked the selfless, and they only cared about their personal profit.
There was nothing wrong to want to enrich oneself with the product of one's work, she supposed, but she found moral boundaries to be extremely rigid in their situation: who didn't stand by the truth was a fraud.
To Hermione, it was really as simple as that, which was precisely the reason she was getting so unnerved so quickly as she heard once again the story portrayed by the last Sunday's edition of the Daily Prophet as it came out of her brother's lips.
"…and then Rita concluded by saying it's obviously a conspiracy set up by the friends Mr. Malfoy still has in the Ministry, and that she invites her readers to keep their eyes open as the elections are coming closer".
"I thought the cow wrote for Witch Weekly now?", Pansy gasped.
"She resigned before I was even half-way through my first week of leadership", Theo clarified. "Mrs. Skeeter doesn't like being told what to do".
"Or what she can't do", Hermione added. "I was pretty sure The Prophet was never going to take her back".
"Oh, they weren't", Tracey chimed in, eating the last one of her strawberries before setting the bowl down on the coffee table and speaking again. "There's a new chief editor. He's from another country and he doesn't really care about what happened here before his arrival, or so he claims. At least…", she paused. "Well, that's what Susan Bones told me over lunch the other day. She writes for The Prophet, too".
"Do you happen to know what's the name of the new editor?", the brunette inquired, perching herself a little straighter on the sofa.
The former Gryffindor was sandwiched between Zabini and her brother, sitting stiffly in her coral mid-rise ankle columnist pants.
Her mood had definitely changed since setting foot on British soil, and Hermione could now only think about the downsides of the outfit she'd picked that morning – even though it wasn't morning anymore because of the time difference –, like the fact they were uncomfortable, or annoyingly didn't perfectly match the colour of her nail-polish.
She could be picky and whimsical, especially if triggered by sleep-deprivation and reporters whose fantasy ran wild, and she was regretting her choice of attending dinner at Blaise's tonight despite the last-minute trip to Australia.
The business matter that had required her presence was luckily solved, but it didn't mean she wasn't still bothered by its cause: just like Dylan had warned her it was going to happen, some shareholders seemed keen on backing Lex's father up if he ever tried to dethrone her.
For now, the problem was dammed and the public relationships restored, but she knew she needed the English launch to be a success more than ever: what those people cared about was money, so as long as she managed to keep their pockets full, there was no reason they would associate themselves with Augustus Martin rather than her.
"I can't really tell you right now", Tracey replied. "Susan didn't mention it. But I can totally ask her the next time she comes to the gym. I'm not teaching any classes until the baby is born, but I still spend most of time behind the desk, and she works out at our place twice every week. I'm sure I can casually bring up the subject".
"And if she's not there, I'll try to get it out of her", Goyle intervened from her side. He was protectively surrounding her shoulders with one arm, and by the way he continuously turned to look at her – at the way she smiled, and the way she talked, and how Tracey smiled a little brighter, and talked a little faster in return – it was crystal clear they loved each other dearly.
"Thank you, guys. But I really don't want to bother you", Hermione said. "I can just buy myself a copy sometime next week and see it for myself".
"I thought you refused to buy that shit…", Theo and Pansy noted simultaneously.
"Normally, I do", she confirmed. "But if you put a quill in Rita Skeeter's hands you're either stupid or plain evil. In any case, someone must intervene before her stories lead to another civil war".
"Couldn't you just let someone else take care of it for once?", her best friend objected. "You already have a lot on your plate as of right now".
"Someone else, but whom, uh? Do you know happen to know someone that has both the means and the desire to shut down that hell-hole once and for all?", she countered.
When silence followed her question, Hermione opened her mouth to add something, but she was preceded by Draco.
"They printed shit about pretty much everyone in this room", he said, and everybody agreed. "You're not the only one who wants them to go down for their lies".
"I can't begin to imagine what they'll write about Obsidian Couture", Pansy added. "Probably that I have a factory of enslaved muggle children who sew the garments for me hidden somewhere".
"That wouldn't be too hard to postulate", Hermione observed, mercilessly, even though she knew the idea was completely ludicrous and irrational. "I don't even remember how many times I warned you about this", she added, not passing up on the chance of saying I told you so as it was well embedded into her character. "I hope you got rid of the skeletons in your closet, because they're going to come digging".
"Woah, slow down there. Stop projecting your anxiety on me", the other retorted. "There's nothing in my closet that I couldn't survive if it came out. What about you?"
"Mine is hidden somewhere it can't be found, so I wouldn't worry about someone opening it", the brunette replied, rolling her eyes for good measure.
The fact her friend wasn't concerned didn't mean she wasn't worried sick about her upcoming debut as a fashion designer.
It was something Pansy had put a lot of energy, money and effort into, and if her dreams were shattered her heart would probably end up broken in the process, too.
"I still stand by my original argument on the matter, as you well know", she started, reminding the other witch of the fact for the umpteenth time. "An Australian or American launch would have been wiser in business terms. You could have made a name for your brand overseas before facing the bygones who make the rules here".
"I don't think the Ministry would waste their time or resources on investigating Pansy's clothes rather than deal with Death Eaters, real or presumed that they may be", Blaise intervened, and the dark-haired woman nodded vigorously from her seat on the opposite couch.
"Besides, if they really plan to harass me for Obsidian Couture, what are they going to do when MagiTech becomes a thing here, too? You've seen the faces of those bureaucrats when you came out as Victoria Sallow. They were not exactly pleased", Pansy insisted.
"No, they weren't pleased", joined Theo. "But I don't believe it's because of her fake identity or the company she's built", he trailed off with a sad smile, but the undertones of his speech were extremely loud, and everyone in the room paused for a second to really let them sink in.
Their problem is that you're my sister, his blue eyes, identical to hers, seemed to scream. The problem is that you're a Nott.
"Soon enough it'll be old news", Hermione tried to reassure him, but she didn't really believe it, and the encouragement came out deprived of the confidence it needed to succeed. "In the meantime, we can always take a Portkey and go somewhere else if things here get too tough".
She knew it sounded wrong even before she was done saying it, but she honestly didn't care: there were battles worth fighting, and she refused to go to war just for the right of calling him her brother.
If England and its stupid reporters had a problem with that, she was sure they could move their home somewhere else and start over.
She'd done it once already, and she'd been brilliant at that, so what was there to lose?
Reality hit her hard when she raised her head and noticed the look in the eyes of the people she had not addressed directly.
A new life meant forgetting the previous one and leaving people behind.
She'd experienced that, too, but it had been only after coming back and seeing her old friends that she'd realized it was the kind of thing you could un-do only once: she and Harry had restored their relationship almost completely with the help of Pansy's mediation, but only on the shared premise that she was never going to disappear again; Ginny had been even more explicit on the subject, and if history was to repeat herself, the next time Hermione pulled such a stunt her red-haired friend wasn't going to be as welcoming; as for Ron, she still didn't know where she stood, and honestly she couldn't tell if he was willing to let her back into his life even now.
Those thoughts could seriously lead her down the very dangerous path of guilt, self-loathing and melancholy, so Hermione shook her head vigorously and tried to focus on the slightly less tragic turn that the conversation had just taken: who were these new Death Eaters? But mostly, what did they want?
"Things don't add up, do they?", Blaise was saying. "There were two attacks in the span of a month or so after years of absolute silence from that party, yet they couldn't be more different from each other in the way they were carried and, possibly, in what they wanted to achieve. There's definitely some crucial detail both we and the Ministry are entirely missing", he theorized.
"Well, if we had names we wouldn't be here talking about them", Draco replied. "Don't look at me like that", he added when he noticed the look his friends were sending him. It was the same he'd seen years before on the Hogwarts Express, but now he wasn't a terrified kid who brags about the Dark Lord choosing him while secretly hoping to sort the mess out without anybody (not Dumbledore and most definitely not his mother) dying because of it. "I don't mean I would personally take action against them".
"Nobody was thinking that", Hermione vouched, but her determination was soon destroyed by the sceptical look on everybody's face.
"Actually, we were all thinking that", Zabini said. "Malfoy's a nasty one", he then proceeded to explain. "I'm pretty sure a real Death Eater, no matter how unproductive, could stand his ground against fake ones".
"You'll just assume they're not proper Death Eaters, then?", she countered, and before she could even start to lecture him about how inappropriate it was for him to bring up the blond's troubled past, the man decided to speak for himself.
"I'm sorry the fact I didn't murder or torture anybody bothers you this much, Blaise", he asserted with a wry smile. "But I get what you're trying to say. If it wasn't for the Dark Mark in the sky I would have never thought Death Eaters to be involved in any of this, personally".
"Exactly my point", Zabini smirked back. "Not to mention Death Eaters would have no reason to go after Daphne. From their perspective, killing a young, Pureblood lady like her would be a waste. The worst thing they'd do to her is marrying her off to their sons or, Merlin forbid it, marry her themselves".
"Because what Daphne hypothetically wants does not matter, obviously", Hermione hissed, annoyed by the misogynist turn the conversation was taking (not that she blamed Blaise, he wasn't the one who'd established that particular role for women in wizarding society), and Pansy and Tracey empathetically nodded their heads.
"Not to them", the wizard complied. "It's the kind of people who'd be desperate about having a daughter rather than celebrating the fact they're becoming a parent. With that I'm not saying they're better with their sons, because they aren't, but I thought you might like to see the big picture in its entirety".
As her best friend's lips quirked up in a smirk and she whispered something along the lines of "Poor, naïve Blaise" in Tracey and Gregory's direction, the witch couldn't hold back the rush of nervous laughter that erupted from her parted lips.
"As much as I appreciate your concern over my alleged ignorance on the subject, it is not needed", said Hermione. "I could take an exam on Pureblood customs right now and I'd probably score higher than any of you. Funny thing is that I'd have to thank Muggles for it".
The reaction of the people in the room didn't surprise her at all: someone's eyes grew wider as their mouths fell open, while Pansy howled without any grace, Draco sent her a sceptical and somewhat challenging look (as if he was determined to test her knowledge as soon as an opportunity to do so knocked on his door) and Blaise simply bowed his head.
"Chapeau", he exclaimed, grinning at her, the stark white of his perfectly well-tended teeth creating a sharp, yet pleasing contrast with the dark, extremely warm tone of his complexion. Zabini was definitely an eye-candy, and if she summed that information up with the fact he simply adored her girlfriend and worshipped the ground she walked on, it wasn't difficult to understand why Ginny loved him as much as she claimed – even though she knew she hadn't shared the sentiment with the man himself just yet. "How would you know so much about our crowd, though? Well, it's your crowd, too, but that's not my point. Why waste your time studying beliefs you found completely wrong? I'm personally kind of mad I've spent all those years of my life adhering to them".
"I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not", Hermione started, pausing for a moment to find the right words to properly convey her message. The subject was delicate, and it could easily lead to misunderstandings, which she wanted to avoid at all costs. "The mistakes you made in the past have forged the person whose home I'm sitting inside of today, and I honestly don't think I'd be here if you hadn't followed the very specific narrative arc you did. I'm not one for blind forgiveness and an optimistic vision of the future where everybody makes amends and finds his happily ever after", she admitted, her expression one of sheer severity as her eyes locked on his and the electric blue flashed with affection. "Anyway, as for why I decided to learn about your customs, the answer is extremely prosaic: know your enemy. We surely can concur that's what we were in school. As for how, you'd be surprised of the things that could be found in the Hogwarts Library".
"I know it speaks volumes for my grades, but I think I've been there only once, and it happened by mistake", Gregory chimed in, obviously feeling the need to lighten the discussion. "So, you know about Jupiter's Jewels, I presume?"
"You're damn right I do. It was very well described in a tome I once found in the Restricted Section. It talked about the families who allegedly built the English wizarding society as we knew it. I use the past tense here because things are changing so fast we could easily wake up tomorrow and finally open our eyes to modernity rather than this hybrid the Ministry is trying to sell to its citizens".
"How well described, exactly?", Theo managed to ask, his voice coming out very high-pitched and yet feeble. "Like, there were details?"
It was then that Hermione noticed an odd blush was creeping up the cheeks of all the men in the living room. Just like predicted.
Mission accomplished, tension dismissed – she thought.
"The complete regulation of the… Competition", she air-quoted. "As well as a list of winners from the previous two-hundred years. It was written by one of our ancestors, I think?", the witch asked, gently elbowing her brother from his left side.
"I think you're right", he replied. "Unfortunately", he hurried to add.
"I bet it's the same guy who wrote the Pureblood-Directory", Blaise said, being the first to recover from the embarrassment. He'd always been the less involved in Pureblood traditions and etiquette among his circle of close friends, and he couldn't pass on an opportunity to make fun of them. "The good, old Cantankerus Nott", he chanted.
"I've read that one, too. The man loved his opium, obviously", Hermione exclaimed. "And yes, he wrote both of them", she lectured, ignoring the shiver that crawled up her spine when her biological father was called by his given name.
"He was our great-uncle I think, but he was the youngest of Alastair Nott's seven sons, so he kind of removed himself from the family the moment his father died and he wasn't mentioned in his testament".
"So he decided to get his revenge with the rest of the world and write that crap. Sounds fair", the witch sneered. "Anyhow, those of you who ever bothered to read this particular book will know that after you turn the last page it feels like you've just competed in the Jewels two-hundred times".
At this point Draco, who'd been looking completely amused by her discomfort at speaking of Cantankerus just a moment before, sat a little more stiffly on the couch and flashed her a dangerous smile.
She was thrilled to see his smirk freezing up as Theo understood the game she was playing and ultimately joined her team. "You should see the books Lucius made him read when we were younger", he said, pointing a finger at his best mate. "Some of that shit's unbelievable".
"And what's believable it's disgusting", Blaise added, but then he seemed to reconsider his allegiance to the blond, and patted him on the shoulder, smiling sadly. "But it's not much worse than the things Cantankerus and Helen tried to plant into our heads", the Slytherin continued, nodding encouragingly at her brother.
"What matters is that they never got the best of us", Draco replied.
His face was a perfect façade of indifference, but Hermione could read perfectly what his grey pools were screaming: the subject was one he found very hard to digest.
The witch could sympathize with him: self-perception and conscience were things she struggled a lot with, too.
Suddenly, she felt the need to take his hand and just hold it. It was a pity she couldn't do so, not while sitting with their friends, who knew nothing, with the exception of Pansy, about the connection blossoming between them.
"Not our parents, but most importantly not ourselves. We were raised to be the worst possible version of young wizards and witches that we could be, but it was up to us not to be complete assholes, and for a long time we absolutely failed. The choice to discard what we were taught was in front of us the entire time, we just ignored it until it was too late", Malfoy continued, his tone harsh as his words cut through the air and made most of the people in the room uncomfortable; all Slytherins minus Tracey, who being a Half-blood had spent her school-days on the same side of the fence as Hermione.
She'd always wondered, back in the day, how it was to possess her blood status and therefore its social equivalent while being a part of Salazar's elitist crowd.
"We didn't when it mattered the most, though", Gregory countered, snuggling his wife a little closer on his side and giving her a peck on the forehead. "We found a way to learn from the war, from our mistakes…", he trailed off, his voice dropping an octave. "…From Crabbe's death. Even though he wasn't given the same opportunity".
"I don't think he would have taken it", Draco sighed. "It takes a great deal of destructive purpose to conjure up Fiendfyre".
The last sentence wasn't something you could argue with, not if you possessed even a shred of intellectual honesty.
Academic texts contained little to zero information about the origins of the curse, with historians rarely agreeing with each other on anything, but there was one thing all experts mentioned in their studies: Fiendfyre was rare because it required a spiritual effort that was incredibly expensive – and potentially lethal.
"You're right, Drake", Greg complied, and his chest deflated under the weight of that uncomfortable truth. "We told him to let you go, you know, Granger?", he continued, turning his head slightly so that he could look at her in the face as he spoke directly to Hermione. "We saw you and your friends entering the Room of Requirement. We'd been sent to look for you by our fathers since nobody seemed to be able to find you on the battlefield…"
"There's no need for you to do this", Hermione interrupted him, smiling encouragingly as she simultaneously perceived the room as less spacious than before.
The Battle of Hogwarts was a moment in her life that she was yet to metabolize, the worst and the deepest of all the traumas war had left her to deal with.
It was a walk on memory lane she happily avoided. Thank you anyway.
Unluckily for her, Goyle downright ignored what she'd just said. "I remember it like it was yesterday", he begun, but from the way his voice trembled ever so slightly over certain syllables, it became clear for the witch that she wasn't the only one there with a baggage.
Taking a quick glance around, she couldn't find someone inside of Blaise's living room who didn't.
In that sense Hermione felt like they were much braver than she was: barely and with much trouble, but at least they were owning up to it.
She knew she couldn't play hide-and-seek with her emotions for much longer, not while remaining sane, but she wasn't sure she could (ever) stop.
Gregory cleared his throat. "It's almost funny how we were on that floor because we honestly thought there was no way you'd be taking a walk over there. What was it that you said, mate? Let's go enjoy our final hours of freedom because no matter what, we've lost this war?"
"I believe it sounded a little more like let's crawl down a hole in the basement because no matter how this war ends, we're completely fucked up", Draco corrected, his rosy lips quickly returning to a flat, nervous line the moment he was done talking.
"The war fucked up everyone and everything we ever knew", intervened Pansy, who'd been unusually silent for the past ten minutes. Inside her eyes was seething a sentiment that Hermione was perfectly acquainted with: protectiveness. "But I don't think that sitting here and let it fuck us up even more it's the best option we got", she scolded.
"I'm just saying…", Goyle begun to speak, but he was stopped by a quick gesture of the witch, who waved him off.
"I understand what you're saying", Pansy sighed. "But I ask you as your friend to stop killing everyone's mood and let me celebrate my big milestone. Can you do that for me, Greg?"
"I never meant to ruin your party", the man apologized, looking thoroughly sorry for ruining the atmosphere.
If only he knew that it was just her best friend acting as a shield for her feelings and only her own, since apparently she was the only one who still couldn't bear the thought of talking about the war.
"The party is not ruined until I say so myself", Blaise chimed in, standing up and reaching the cabinet behind the sofa. The wizard opened its window and took his wand, then gestured for different bottles to float in the air and sit on top of the coffee-table followed by seven glasses.
Everyone helped himself with whichever drink they preferred, while Tracey continued to sip on her water.
Alcohol wasn't good for an unborn child even in the wizarding world.
As Blaise returned to his seat, Hermione stood up and raised the glass of red wine she'd chosen for herself. "To Pansy, who's been working nonstop to make this happen even though the smartest person she knows advised her against it", she joked, and soon the others followed her in cheering for their friend.
The raven-haired witch blushed prettily in hearing her words, the last part causing her to grimace. "To friends who care so much about you making the right choices that you can't really be mad at them", Pansy said before blowing her a kiss.
Goyle emptied his drink and turned to Pansy once more. "There's something I don't understand", he confessed. "Didn't we celebrate the fact you were opening a store somewhere around six months ago? Was I so drunk it messed up my ability to déja-vu?"
"We're on the same train, mate", Theo came to his aid. "I definitely remember the same thing".
"That was her pop-up shop, guys", Blaise explained to the pair, getting an approving nod from the witch, whose immediate effect was to spread the smirk on his face. "Is it possible you men never pay attention?", he added, teasingly, but from the way one of his eyebrows imperceptibly quirked up, Hermione assumed he was actually quoting Ginny, and just re-living a conversation he'd had multiple times but from the opposite perspective.
Talking about a victim enjoying the power of becoming headsman.
From there on the conversation finally settled on friendly, cheerful tones, and as the bottles were quickly deprived of their content, the party finally kicked in.
It was a shame her mood was by now irremediably ruined and she no longer was in the right disposition for a celebration.
( Wizville, Curie Road – London, England;
October 4th, 2003, around 11:45 p.m. )
Draco had been quietly listening to the undertones of the woman's words and gestures for the whole night, and it didn't take a genius to know that she'd been leaving Blaise's flat not because she was tired, like she'd said to the the small crowd gathering there, but because she probably wanted to be alone and mope undisturbed.
If there was something the blond was experienced with it was the feeling of being completely and utterly alone even in a room full of people, even surrounded by friends and family, and knowing where that kind of mind-pattern usually led – isolation, mostly, and probably crying yourself to sleep because you feel like you'll never fill the gap between what your life is supposed to be and what it actually is –, the wizard really didn't wish for Hermione to be alone that night.
Mentions of the war as well as the reminder of how Crabbe had been so driven by hate he'd literally immolated his life to the cause, had made him wish not to lay on his bed on his own, too.
There had been a time where he'd been just like Vincent, misguided and ignorant, and even years after he'd finally broken the chains holding his mind, attitude and perspective on life, the young Malfoy still struggled with coming to terms with the person he'd once been.
He supposed the difference was all in the fact he'd realized his mistake way before he'd seen the first casualty made by the conflict, but sometimes he still had the simmering doubt that the ground where he stood on today, he'd gained merely because of his luck.
Because of something unpredictable, and not even slightly related to worthiness and merit.
The presence of the woman at his side didn't help in that regard, as she was a constant reminder of what he hadn't been when it had mattered the most, but it was also strangely cathartic: if She bothered to put up with him, then maybe he wasn't the complete failure he liked to believe he was in the moments angst and despair got the better of him.
He owed it to his child to be a healthy person, but recently he'd discovered than being happy, too, helped even more.
And that's what the amazing witch next to him made him feel like whenever they were on their own and he could get closer to her.
Happy.
He couldn't say for sure that the fact his daughter had been recently blossoming and his involvement with Granger were related, but Draco wasn't a big fan of coincidence: he felt like being with her was somehow making him better (expanding his mind, nurturing his heart, shaking his entire world), and by proximity it was proving to be beneficial for his daughter, too.
The pair was directed to the house he'd purchased just a week before; it was inside the complex Hermione had literally built from scratch and magically hidden in a corner of London, and as their steps echoed quietly on the pavement of the streets, the privacy of the alley allowed the wizard to do something he usually had to refrain himself from doing: holding her hand.
They spent an impressive amount of time together – what with her being the long-missing sister of his best friend, and the best friend of his other best friend, but also his parents' goddaughter coming over for dinner every Saturday she could –, but they managed to spare for only themselves a very little fraction of it, and he wished he could change that.
It was one of the reasons he'd decided to finally move out of the Manor and buy a place where he could grow his child as his own independent self, and the fact they were going to be neighbours was simply a welcome consequence.
He'd been planning to look for a home for quite some time now, especially since Lucius had been released from Azkaban and the quiet routine he'd followed with his mother had been forced to shapeshift and accommodate one more person, but originally he'd opted for muggle London: as much as he appreciated their technology, Draco had been a wizard his entire life, and not without a little heartache he'd come to the conclusion that he was never going to be left alone if he decided to opt for Diagon Alley.
When the opportunity of residing in a magical (and from what he'd seen, technologically advanced) part of the English capital where he wouldn't need to worry about people whispering nasty things to his daughter as he took her out for a walk, he'd been more than thrilled to jump on the train without thinking about it twice.
It was really the best of both worlds.
Money wasn't a problem, and he could easily invest an additional sum in grabbing one of the sick Portkeys Hermione's company made, so that he could still easily come and go from the Manor as he pleased.
Lucius and Narcissa were a big part of Adhara's life, and she was extremely attached to her grandparents: Draco would have never taken that away from her, not in a million years, not if it wasn't his only option.
As much as his relationship with Lucius was damaged, his old man had managed to create a beautiful one with his granddaughter.
The blond had lost count of the times he'd found himself jealous of his own daughter: as petty as it was, he wished his father had made the same effort when he was a child himself.
"What are you thinking about?", Hermione asked in a whisper. Her words came out so softly he wondered if she'd actually spoken them, and the fact she was still walking at the same pace as before, her blue eyes fixed on the horizon, only grew his doubts. She squeezed his hand. "Is everything ok?"
"Yeah, everything's fine", he lied. His goal for tonight was to get the witch to talk about her feelings (and more precisely her feelings about him), not the other way around. If Draco opened up about what was really on his mind, there was a good chance his plan would fail miserably. "I'm just happy I finally did it", he confessed, opting for a classic Slytherin half-lie. "I'm moving out of the Manor".
"The second attempt is going to be better than the first one, I promise", she reassured him, turning her head to face him as she smiled.
"Technically, this is the third", he retorted. "When my probation eventually came to an end, I shared a flat in Muggle London with Theo and Blaise for a couple of months. Some of the best days of my life".
"What happened then?", Hermione inquired, but after a couple of seconds the gears in her mind must have completed their math, because her eyes comically widened and she brought her free hand to her mouth as she gasped. "Jesus, I'm so sorry".
"Wasn't he the guy who turned water to wine? That was some magic", he smirked. "Anyway, I returned to the Manor when I found out I had become a father".
"A bachelor's abode is hardly the right place where to take care of a baby", she frowned. "It must have been hard for you to have another human being to look out for without the customary nine months to prepare for it".
"I understand why Jennifer never told me she was pregnant", Draco started, but then he cut himself off as he realized what slippery slope he was putting himself into.
Women didn't want to know about your dead ex-girlfriends, right?
Apparently, this one did, because she released her hand from his grip and grabbed his forearm instead, the fabric of his jacket being the only thing separating her skin from what was left of his Dark Mark.
After the fall of Voldemort it had started fading, and during the course of his time in the muggle world he'd gone to a top-rated tattoo-artist and got a work of art out of its remains.
He very much preferred muggle tattoos, because they were statements: so he'd made two more, one about what he wanted for himself and one celebrating his promise to his daughter to be the best parent he could possibly be.
"Why do you think she kept it a secret?", the brunette urged him.
"For the time we spent together, Adhara's mother was my best friend", Draco sighed. It was clear he had now to re-adjust his plans, but perhaps talking about his feelings was the key to make Hermione open up about hers. Regarding him, potentially. "I was cut off from everyone I'd known previously to the day I was left in muggle London. I couldn't contact my mother, and the couple times I met Blaise and Theo it was because they were also living in the muggle world and we happened to be in the same place. I wouldn't say Jennifer and I were in love with each other. The moment it started we already knew it wasn't going to last, we already had a deadline. I was bound to leave the moment my probation was over, and she was still into her ex. Our plan was to just keep each other company for a little while", he explained.
His relationship with Adhara's mother was something he rarely talked about, as it was complicated and easily misunderstood, but it felt oddly good sharing it with Hermione.
"Unfortunately, I could never check with her if my theory was true, but… I feel like she was never going to tell me that I had a daughter. I've made the math and she probably got pregnant when I was starting to get ready to leave. I couldn't break the Statute of Secrecy and I wasn't planning on making her my wife, so I had to tell her that I was leaving the country", Draco continued, taking advantage of her silence to finish his story. "It was her sister who called me after being called herself by the hospital. The only thing Jennifer had in her wallet were two tickets for Manchester and the emergency contact I'd given to her. I don't think she was ever planning to use it".
"She must have felt exceptionally alone", Hermione noted. "I'm really sorry her life ended this way. I can't believe she died of something like childbirth in this century".
"The doctors said she'd stopped caring about herself a long time before. She was underweight despite being pregnant and around the fifth month she stopped showing up for work. When Adhara was born she was the tiniest little thing, and I risked to loose her right after I discovered she existed", at that point his voice trembled under the emotional pressure of the memory, and he did his best to hide his sorrow with a hit of fake cough.
It was a strange feeling, being angry with someone who was dead.
As much as he missed his friend and lover (though not in the latter capacity) on a daily basis, Draco was still mad about the fact she'd deliberately endangered his daughter's life: she could have told him the truth, and perhaps he would have never left the flat they'd shared for a little less than a year; she could have called, and surely as hell she would have received the best medical care money could pay for; she could have lived, and Adhara would have had her mother.
He wasn't sure he could ever forgive her for that.
"She's safe now, Draco", the woman muttered after a little while. "Adhara is fine, and she's a happy child. You're doing an amazing job at raising her on your own, and I can promise you that no one of your enemies will get close enough to hurt her".
Then she stopped walking, and Draco realized two things: first, they'd reached their destination and walked around it two times already, and if she hadn't stopped they'd probably be having their third go at this point; second, she'd managed to see what really was bothering him before he'd done so himself.
The present threats to Adhara's safety were much scarier: they had nothing to do with the regular course of nature, it was all about the depravity of mankind.
The relative peace which had followed the attack at Malfoy Manor was perhaps what unnerved him the most: he knew someone was watching, he knew someone out there was plotting to hurt the people he cared about (Hermione included), and it was making him insane not being able to do a single thing to deal with the problem.
"I still wish I knew who these people are", he remarked.
Hermione nodded, but she decided not to add fuel to the already rampaging fire. Turning her head to the gate that lead to the externally identical semi-detached houses located at civic numbers eight and ninth of Curie Road, the witch eyed them for a second before she turned back to him. "Remind me of which one you ended up getting?"
"I'll be living in the one on the left", Draco said. "The other had a Jacuzzi in addition to the pool, but I think this one is a little more suited for a toddler", he explained, removing his brand-new pair of keys and fiddling with them.
When the gate was finally open, he offered her his arm and the pair started to walk towards the front door until he changed direction and forced the woman to continue to tread the stone pavement that connected the front yard with the back garden of the house.
The one she'd sold Draco was one of her personal favourites amongst the buildings scattered all across WizVille, or so she'd said, and over the outside in particular the man agreed: it was stunning.
The fiberglass inground pool was medium-sized, approximately 36 ft. long by 14 ft. wide, and his waters looked absolutely inviting even if it was the beginning of October; the pavement was bluestone, and it blended seamlessly into the lush vegetation of the back yard.
Over the wooden patio there was a divan sofa that together with the hammock on one side and the ottomans on the other created a private little corner in the otherwise very open garden, on top of which where the things he'd put there a couple hours ago, when he'd felt optimist over the possibility of getting home with the girl he fancied that night.
Sometimes he felt like a teenager, but perhaps it had to do with the fact he hadn't had much time to think about romance when he'd been what was deemed the appropriate age.
On top of the coffee-table sat a bottle that came directly from Lucius' personal supply, the one Narcissa only suspected about, but which he'd discovered about, purely by chance, around the time Voldemort had moved into the Manor and his father had started visiting the place an awful lot, therefore getting busted by Draco.
Next to the expensive wine were two perfectly polished burgundy glasses, and scattered around the table some candles were burning, illuminating the otherwise dark corner.
He'd hadn't planned to actually come home this early, so the wax was barely starting to melt around the little flames; all things considered, perhaps he owed Gregory a thank you for wanting her to go home sooner because of his big mouth.
Luckily for him, she hadn't decided to leave Blaise's on her own.
"I don't think there was ever a time you refused me a drink…", Draco trailed off, leading the way to the patio. "I hope you won't start now".
He waited for Hermione to be comfortably perched on the blue divan sofa before taking the sit next to her, and before a minute had passed he was already working with the bottle opener.
When the drinks were served, the brunette took a small sip out of her glass and moaned in pleasure. "I was going to say that it was selfish not to share this bottle earlier with the others, but scratch that", she said before having a much more generous gulp.
"Well, as much as I love my friends, this bottle comes from Lucius' personal stack, and I think he'd rather have me drinking it with a beautiful woman I'm trying to seduce", Draco confessed, winking at her before he set out on drinking from his own glass.
"Listen to that. Are you trying to seduce me now, Malfoy?", Hermione teased, finishing up and placing her burgundy glass on the table once more before grabbing the bottle and helping herself with a second serving. "I'll let you know you've done your homework. The wine was a nice touch".
"And the candles were not?", he smirked. "I'm glad you like it", he added, in a more serious tone, and even though she didn't reply directly to that, she flashed him a smile that made him wish to sneak a bottle out of his father's supply every night if it meant he got to see it again.
Lost in contemplation, it took him a while to realize her cheeks were turning red.
It never ceased to amaze him.
How she could be edgy, and bold, and dangerous, but at the same time she would blush like a schoolgirl if he stared for too long.
"I'm sorry", he apologized when he noticed that she was also starting to look uncomfortable. "It's just that… Umh, wow-", he stuttered. "You're really beautiful. I mean, you're always beautiful, but I like what you're wearing", he managed to tell her, nervously scratching the back of his head as an embarrassed grin spread across his face.
Make it or break it – he told himself, and the thought seemed to calm him a little.
Hermione looked a little dumb-struck, but she recovered quickly and sent an unimpressed glare at her outfit, like it was something she'd thrown together last minute, and without much effort.
It was a look he'd noticed before in Narcissa's and Pansy's faces, and he possessed tangible proof that in those occasions the two witches had actually spent a considerable amount of time getting ready.
The woman then proceeded to finish up her wine for the second time, which added even more colour to her cheeks. "It's a shame I was thinking about taking my clothes off and help you inaugurate your pool", she said, slowly standing up as she started removing her jacket.
Draco noticed the nude high-heeled sandals for the first time as she unhooked the straps on her ankles, and now barefoot, she circumnavigated the coffee table and approached the point where the water begun.
The only thing the blond managed to do, as taken as he was with the private show she was putting up for him, was to stupidly knit his brows. "Don't you think it's a little cold for the pool? It's night, it's the fourth of October and we're in England", he postulated.
Not that he wanted to refuse whatever she was willing to offer to him, but tomorrow was a big day for the best friend they shared, and he knew Hermione would have regretted it if she missed it because of a cold.
"You hurt me, Malfoy", she said, her hands now disappearing behind her neck as she started playing with the thin straps tied in a perfectly symmetrical bow behind it. "As I mentioned when I gave you the tour of this house, all the pools come with a default spell on the garden that keeps the temperature around twenty-two Celsius degrees. Of course, you can disengage the spell and just stick to the regular weather the city has to offer. Follow the advice of someone who grew up here in London, it's not funny when it rains all the time", Hermione explained, exposing a little more skin at each pause between her sentences, until her clothes were in a pool at her feet.
On his part, Draco stood up and took a couple steps in her direction.
Turning her back to him wearing only her strapless nude bra and coordinated lace panties, she then took a hold of her slightly-below-the-shoulder hair and tied them up in a messy bun.
"Care to join me?", she asked, and to him it was a mermaid's lullaby.
Then the witch unhooked her bra with a quick gesture of her fingers, throwing it away as she dived into the water, never looking back.
It landed right at his feet, and Draco merely grinned at the piece of fabric as he undressed at the speed of light before joining her in the pool.
Perhaps there was a page in Lucius Malfoy's book that could still be saved.
Women melt for a compliment if it comes from the heart.
( Wizville, Lovelace Avenue n. 8, Obsidian Couture – London, England;
October 5th, 2003, around 01:30 a.m. )
To be a good Auror one needed to apply himself and dutifully study the Code, but to be an excellent one, he or she also had to possess an excellent gut.
Or at least, that's the opinion Mina Jennings had created for herself over an entire teenage-hood of dreaming about entering the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
Eventually her dream had become reality, only she hadn't been given a badge per se and she moved in the shadows: over the course of the years, she'd realized she could have never done it any other way.
It wasn't much different than being in a muggle action movie, really; every-time she closed a case she celebrated by drinking a Martini and considered the idea of finding herself her personal bond-girl.
Possibly blonde, beautiful and with a great ass.
In the past ten days, since the very moment Minister Shacklebolt had granted his permission, the witch had gathered quite a bit of information about one Hermione Granger, and she had to say she was impressed with the things she'd discovered so far.
The new wizarding neighbourhood where she was currently located, for example, was something the woman had managed to accomplish over the course of just a couple of months, and with the press keeping extremely quiet about the whole ordeal.
People knew something bigger and somewhat better than Diagon Alley was about to be realized in London before Christmas, but nobody had bothered to dig into the official records and connect the woman to everything.
In Mina's opinion, that spoke volumes about the quality of their papers.
Reporters were too busy finding out if she was dating, or speculating about her secret life in another hemisphere by recycling old Australian articles, a life which, she had to admit, had been quite eventful; Merlin forbid they'd waste their precious time investigating something worth knowing for the population, they were too busy telling the tale of how Cantankerus and Anastasia Nott had sadly given up on one of their children, and how the witch was reconnecting with her brother.
Over a week of reading into her past, it was clear for the woman that Hermione Granger (or Eloise Nott, or Victoria Sallow, or whatever other fake identity she had, just because her character wasn't shady enough already) had more secrets than she had hair.
Mina hadn't been surprised when browsing through her dating life: lonely but at the same time busy, definitely not an overall great experience.
As for her current situation, she'd had to go through five different issues of WitchWeekly before discovering the woman had bought the paper and therefore the only information she could find there was what Ms. Granger allowed the world to know.
It was why she'd taken out of the shelf the copy of Harry Potter's biography that she'd bought the moment it hit the stores two and a half years before.
Back in the day she had ended up not reading it: she'd personally met the man and she'd already asked him what she wanted to know about the war, so she was more than happy to spare herself the more gruesome details.
The first wizarding war had been the reason she'd lost her parents as a child, the reason she'd been expelled from the wizarding world at the age of five and shipped to distant muggle relatives in South Africa, in a point of her life at which magic was very much part of her daily routine, at least as an excited spectator, only to be re-allowed into it as soon as she'd been old enough to attend Hogwarts and, to be completely honest, she'd started to think the things she'd believed being reality were only a product of her imagination.
As much as she hated wizarding society for cleaning their hands and leaving her alone for a period of time that had lasted almost six years, she'd still hated living with her uncles more, and blessed the castle the first time she'd set foot into it.
The official beginning of one's studies at Hogwarts was a crucial point in the life of an English witch or wizard, even though their families ended up sending them off to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons: it was a rite of passage that completely changed your existence, and Mina had no doubt it had been the same for Ms. Granger, too.
Half-way through the tale of their third year in the castle, the Ministry's employee had a clear idea of the kind of witch Hermione had been as a student.
It was very different from the one she'd put together both through her research and by meeting the woman face to face, but hopefully she was going to find some answers when she reached the part of Potter's biography that was most definitely going to be the biggest game-changer.
If discovering her magical ability at the age of eleven had probably completely altered the shape of her life, the things a war could do to such a young lady were appalling.
It was common knowledge, stories people inside the Ministry of Magic whispered about all the time.
Her first trauma had probably occurred when she'd been called Mudblood for the first time during her second year: the event had been described with plenty of details, and Mina Jennings had genuinely felt sorry for her, to the point where she'd actually exulted when the same girl had punched the young Malfoy in the face heir after a couple of chapters.
He really was an annoying prat.
Returning to the present, though, she thought it was peculiar that Ms. Granger and Mr. Malfoy now seemed to be in such friendly terms.
She assumed it had to do with the fact that Draco Malfoy was a very old, very close friend of Hermione's twin brother, Theodore, and she wondered if, to this very day, the sexual tension she'd noticed in Potter's narration was still lingering.
Something else was common knowledge, she was thinking as she sat on one of the benches and listened to the silence of the streets.
The neighbourhood was mostly inhabited, and only a few commercial activities seemed to be already operative.
To be honest, Mina quite enjoyed the architecture of the place.
She just couldn't understand why someone would spend so much money in realizing a new district rather than improving the pre-existing Diagon Alley and be so secretive about it without the situation looking shady.
The book was open on her lap, but she'd barely managed to read more than a couple of lines, preferring to enjoy the slight breeze dancing through the air instead.
There had been a feeling in her gut all evening, which was why after a day spent on reading information and compiling a dossier about one Hermione Granger, she was now using her scarce free-time to walk around her neighbourhood.
Mina sighed, looking at the watch on her wrist.
It was very late and she needed to be at the office at eight in the morning, so she decided it was time for her to return to her flat.
Putting The Boy Who Lived back into her bag, the witch grabbed her wand and tried to remember the nearest apparition point.
She had to give Ms. Granger that, the entire WizVille place seemed to be reassuringly safe.
Determined to be home as soon as possible, the witch arose from her seat, but froze when she noticed that the lights were on in one of the buildings, though nothing suggested the one going on was a legal activity.
Forcing her eyes to focus on the fancy signboard in the entrance, the Auror noticed it recited "Obsidian Couture", a name that she was sure she'd already heard, and in relation with the only case she was currently following.
It took her a couple of minutes, and by the time she realized what exactly it meant in her investigation, Mina had already reached the other side of the road and she was now looking inside through one of the windows.
Inside there was a young woman who looked exceptionally busy: she was transporting two buckets filled with a liquid she couldn't quite recognize, and not far from her, many mannequins fitting beautiful garments sat on the shiny parquet.
Her movements were stiff and very mechanical, and when she turned her back on the Auror and took out her wand, pointing it at the buckets in front of her feet, Mina knew the blonde girl meant trouble.
Two spells ran simultaneously across the air.
"Confringo!" The contents of the buckets jumped in the air and on top of the clothes beautifully exposed on the mannequins.
"Reducto!" The shop's window shattered in a million pieces.
Mina entered the boutique without thinking twice, passing through the arch now present where before her spell there had been glass, but as she raised her wand at the back of the woman and opened her mouth to tell her to identify and surrender herself, the blonde girl emitted a weird sound and simply fell to the ground, violently hitting her head on the floor.
The Auror was by her side in a matter of seconds, so she didn't miss the halo darkening her eyes before they rolled backwards, as if they wanted to look into their owner's brain.
Someone out there had used an Unforgivable, the Imperious Curse, on the witch in her arms.
The unknown girl took a breath that was deeper than the ones preceding it, and slowly opened her eyes again.
"W-where am I?"
Author's notes.
I'm so very sorry about how much it took me to update. Just the usual... life got in the way, I'm sure you're all familiar to that. Anyway, yesterday I finally had my last exam for this session and now I'm all yours (kind of) until early September. So, yeah, more time to write this story and return to a more fast-paced updating schedules.
I'm currently half-way through chapter 30th - spoilers are available on tumblr for those of you who are interested -, and be re-assured I'm not planning on abandoning this story even if I've slowed down a little.
I mean, I couldn't even if I wanted to: there's literally an ad with the faceclaim I picked for Hermione hanged in front of the exit of my condo, so the reminder is pretty constant, lol.
As usual, I want to spend a couple of words to thank those of you who are reading, putting my story in your followed/favourites and gifting me some of your time to review. It is extremely appreciated and I hope I'll do a job good enough for you to keep doing so. :)
Also, you can expect chapter 27th sooner rather than later.
I still feel awful for how long you waited since the last update.
Until next time, I hope you have an amazing day!
p.s. who do you think it's the Imperioused girl? Let me know in the comments!
p.p.s. am I the only one who's hardcore shipping Greg and Tracey?
p.p.p.s. last chance to vote on the poll on my profile regarding Draco and Hermione's little romantic trip, it'll soon be removed (and probably replaced by a new one).