Sorry it's been a while! It's been hard to start writing again. Last weekend was very difficult and exhausting, and this week so many things went wrong in my personal life, I've just been too depressed to write. I sat down and tried to write this chapter three times since I got home on Monday. Then I slept all day long yesterday, and I made good money at work last night, so that cheered me up, and I'm feeling better now. Here's to optimism for the future and a good creative outlet! Cheers!
So here it is! Enjoy...Or don't. Okay, here we go:
Hermione spent the rest of the night wrapped in Draco's arms, staring at the wall and plagued by worry. She kept running scenarios through her head. How was Ron going to react to all of this? What would Ginny say? Would she be angry? Mrs. Weasley would definitely cry when she saw her, she thought with a cringe. On a scale of one to killing Bellatrix Lestrange, how angry would she be that Hermione had left them all to believe she was dead?
The sun slowly rose, and a soft gray light seeped in through the window shades. It was morning, and Hermione hadn't slept a wink. Finally when seven o'clock rolled around, Draco's alarm went off and they rose to get ready for their day. They didn't speak more than a few sentences to each other, and Draco sat closely to her as they sipped their coffee over breakfast. All morning he did things like hook his leg in hers as they sat at the table, or he rested his hand on her lower back as they brushed their teeth. He held her hand the entire drive to the bookshop, and Hermione knew he was worrying about her trip home.
"I'll write you as soon as I get there and am settled in, okay?" Hermione assured him as they stood in front of the bookshop, where he had given her a ride to work.
He nodded, pulling her into a tight hug and kissing her on the forehead.
"You should just get a mobile phone and call me," he complained.
She smiled, hugging him tightly. "I'll consider it," she promised.
He kissed her like it would be the last time.
As she watched him drive away, she felt a small pang of sadness. She reminded herself that she would be seeing him in three days-or a week if he decided not to follow her to Britain after all. She turned to enter the bookshop, taking a deep breath and walking to the office to find Marion.
"Good morning, Joan," the old woman greeted as she sorted through papers. "Lovely day today. I think spring is just around the corner."
Hermione nodded. It was sunny and bright today, although the cold winter wind was unforgiving and ever present. "Marion, I'm so sorry, but I need to request some time off."
Marion looked up at her in surprise. "Alright. When?"
"Tomorrow," Hermione said with a wince. "For a week—please. I have some personal things to attend to—"
"Okay. Just let me know what day to expect you back."
Hermione blinked at how easily Marion agreed. "I…I would expect I'd be back a week from tomorrow. I have to go back to England."
"You're going home?" Marion exclaimed with a smile. "Oh that will be lovely. What a wonderful trip for you!"
"Something like that," Hermione muttered, doubting it would be all that lovely or wonderful. "Thank you, Marion. And I'm so sorry for the short notice, it was just… there have been some rather unexpected events…"
Marion held up her liver-spotted hand, smiling kindly, her eyes shining from behind her glasses. "It is not a problem, Joan. Do not worry about it. You are very hard and dedicated worker, I'm sure it is something very important for you to request the week."
Hermione nodded. "It is."
"Then I wish you the best and I hope you travel safely. Will you post a notice on the front door that we will not be having book club this week?"
Hermione felt a wave of guilt hit her. She hadn't even thought about the book club.
"Joan, I see the look on your face. Do not concern yourself. It is one week. Your book club will be here when you return."
She nodded. "Of course… Thank you, Marion."
She exited the office and began her usual work routine.
She grew more and more nervous as the evening approached. It wasn't until just before closing time that she remembered to post a hand-written notice that book club was canceled for this Friday on the door. She was smoothing the taped notice over the glass when Florence suddenly appeared at her side.
"Grandmere says you're going home for a week," she said as she leaned against the window and toyed with a loose thread on the sleeve of her sweater.
Hermione nodded. "I am, I'm leaving tonight."
"Is Draco going with you?"
She shook her head. "He might follow at the end of the weekend, but I'm leaving tonight with Harry."
"Harry? The one who was searching for you?"
She nodded.
"Oh, you are reunited! That's wonderful. I told you all you needed to do was call him. Are you excited?"
Hermione laughed at that. "Not exactly."
Florence frowned. "Are you not looking forward to going back to your home?"
She sighed. "No, not really. Remember how I told you I ran away? I'm going home to see my friends…who currently think I'm dead."
The young girl's eyes widened. "Well I'm sure they will be happy that you're alive, no?"
Hermione shrugged. "Yes, but when they find out I'm seeing Draco... Ron will probably be furious."
"Ron?"
"He's one of my best friends…or he was, until we broke up…"
"Ah," Florence nodded in understanding, turning back to her sleeve. "Ex-boyfriend drama."
"It's not ex-boyfriend drama," she insisted.
"It will be," Florence said with a roll of her eyes. "There is always ex-boyfriend drama. You will have to let me know how that goes. I'm sure it will make for a good story."
Hermione shook her head. "You and your stories," she muttered. She thought over her life and what kind of a story it would make before taking a moment to feel grateful that Florence only knew her as Joan Spinner-simple and boring, twenty-four year-old bookshop girl. As she walked back over to the cash register to help a customer waiting to purchase a book, she realized with a grimace that she probably wouldn't have the luxury of being Joan Spinner much longer. Once the rest of the world realized Hermione Granger was alive and well, dating Draco Malfoy—she shuddered to think of the media frenzy that would no doubt ensue.
At six o'clock sharp, Harry walked in the door of the shop, clad in Muggle jeans, a thermal long sleeve shirt, and a gray zip up hoodie. Hermione was counting the money in the cash register, but spotted him the moment he entered and rose on the tips of her toes to wave at him.
He frowned, appearing confused, before hesitantly approaching her at the counter.
"Harry, it's me," she told him, knowing he didn't recognize her disguised appearance.
He blinked a few times, his green eyes widening from behind his thick-framed glasses. "Wow. This is…weird. How did you manage that? You don't look anything like yourself!"
She rolled her eyes and began putting the shop's daily revenue in a large zippered pouch. "That was the whole point. I altered an old masking spell." She closed the cash register and locked it.
"You altered a…" he trailed off with a laugh as he shook his head. "Of course you did. I shouldn't be surprised, but somehow I am."
"Joan!" came Florence's voice from behind the bookshelves.
"Be right back," she said, taking the pouch of money and moving to the other side of the counter.
Florence came wandering out from the shelves. "Joan, Grandmere is looking for you, she wanted to know if—oh!" she exclaimed as she spotted Harry. "I am sorry, but we are closing."
Harry stared at her, appearing very confused and clearly not understanding a word of French.
"No, Florence, this is Harry—the one I told you about," Hermione explained with a smile. "Harry, this is Florence. Florence, he doesn't speak French."
"Oh I am sorry!" Florence said, switching to her accented English. "Harry, how nice to meet you!" She approached him and held out her hand. He accepted it and shook it, and Hermione started heading to the office to deliver the store's money to Marion.
When she returned to the front of the store with Marion at her side, Florence was chatting at a million miles an hour—as she oftentimes did—and Harry was staring at her with wide eyes, looking mildly uncomfortable and slightly horrified.
"Ready to go?" she asked, her voice full of amusement.
Harry straightened at her approach. "Yes, ready," he said. "Nice to meet you," he said to Florence as Hermione grabbed her purse and jacket from behind the counter.
"Nice to meet you too, Harry!" Florence chirped. "Good luck going home, Joan. See you next week!"
Hermione hooked her arm in Harry's and they made their way to the door, calling goodbyes behind them.
"So what's the game plan?" Hermione asked nervously, pulling her jacket tighter around her as the door shut behind them.
Harry adjusted his glasses on his nose. "We're going to apparate to the French Ministry in Paris, and there's a portkey waiting to take us back to England in about an hour. I figured that would give you enough time to pack and such."
"Where will the portkey take us?" she asked as they set down the street, heading for Hermione's apartment.
"Kingsley's office. He gave us permission to arrive in his office, where we can use his personal floo to go anywhere you'd like. I figured you'd want privacy, that way you don't have to see anyone in the ministry or the press, you know? You don't have to face the public just yet. I thought we could stop at Grimmauld place to see Ginny first. There's plenty of room there, so you can stay with us for however long you like."
She smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Harry."
"So…erm…Florence was telling me about you and Malfoy," he began.
"Is that why you looked rather horrified?"
"I didn't…I didn't look horrified," he defended.
She laughed. "You absolutely did."
"Well she just… she talks so fast. And she talks a lot. She kept saying how handsome Malfoy is," he said, his face scrunching up in disgust.
"Well he is handsome," Hermione told him.
He grimaced. "Alright, that's enough. I said I'd be accepting, but I definitely do not want to hear you go on and on about how much you fancy him, or how great his arse looks in a suit."
Hermione laughed at that. "I never said anything about his arse!"
"No, but Florence did. I wasn't sure where this conversation was going-better to lay out the rules here and now."
"Oh please. This is me you're talking to. When have I ever gone on about a guy with you?"
"That's a fair point," he conceded. "I just wanted to be sure."
She rolled her eyes. "Don't worry yourself, Harry. I won't divulge the gritty details of my relationship with Draco to you."
He stuck his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. "Thanks," he grumbled.
When they arrived at her apartment, she lifted her spell as soon as the door had closed behind them.
The tingling faded and she looked up to see Harry grinning, looking very much like the joyous, eleven-year-old boy she had met first year at Hogwarts. "Hey Hermione," he said, before chuckling to himself.
"Hello, Harry," she joked back with a smile. "What's so funny?"
He shook his head. "It's just…I'm so relieved to be saying that again. Hey Hermione. I was afraid I'd never get to say that again. Silly, I know. I'm just…I'm in a great mood tonight." He shook his head. "How was your day, anyway?"
Hermione smiled and started for her bedroom, Harry following behind her. "Pretty good." She stopped with a grimace. "Actually, I've been pretty stressed today, if I'm going to be honest. I'm worried about Ron."
Harry nodded, suddenly looking very serious. "You mean his reaction?"
She nodded and pulled her suitcase out from under her bed, placing it on her neatly made bed and opening it.
Harry sat on the bed next to her open suitcase. "Everybody is going to be overjoyed to see you, Hermione—you know that right? No one is going to get mad at you. Not really."
"What about the whole Draco thing? You can't tell me you honestly believe everyone will accept that calmly."
Harry rubbed the back of his thumb against his forehead—something he used to do often as a teenager. He'd started doing it when his scar was hurting him, but Hermione knew for a fact that his scar hadn't caused him any pain since Voldemort died—so the habit must have stuck.
"How about we just…not mention that for now," Harry suggested.
"They'll have to know eventually," she told him. "I meant it when I said he was a permanent fixture of my life."
Harry chuckled. "What, are you going to marry him?" He immediately sobered. "Wait…you're not, are you?"
She laughed as she tossed a few articles of clothing into the luggage. "I have no plans to marry anyone, any time soon."
He sagged with relief.
"I asked Draco to come home to England at the end of the weekend."
"What? Why?" he asked, sounding rather put out.
She shrugged. "I'd feel better having him with me, you know?" She folded a pair of jeans before placing them in her suitcase.
"No, I don't know," he said. "He's Malfoy. The fact that you want him there for moral support makes absolutely no sense to me."
"He's not…Malfoy, okay? He's…he's just Draco to me now. He's…well, he's not exactly kind, because he's rather abrupt at times, and definitely snarky, but he's…he's kinder. He's funny, he's thoughtful, he's sweet; he listens to me… I'm telling you, Harry—he's a different person than he used to be."
Harry sighed, putting his hands in his sweatshirt pockets. "I'm sure Ginny will want to have him over for dinner," he grumbled.
Hermione's face lit up. "Really?"
Harry rubbed his eyes. "You know how Ginny is. She loves to socialize. She never really got involved in the whole Malfoy-hating thing. She didn't have many interactions with him in school. I'm willing to bet she'll be the most accepting of this whole…arrangement."
Hermione warmed at the thought of Ginny backing her relationship with Draco—she was a good person to have on her side. "Well it'll be nice to have someone's support."
"Hey! I support you!"
She threw him a skeptical look as she sorted through her dresser.
"I mean…I do!" he insisted. "I just…I think you deserve better than Draco Malfoy, is all. You're practically my sister, Mione. You deserve the whole world. You deserve the moon if you want it. Do you know what I'm saying? I just want the best for you."
"Well, I want Draco, and I think he is the best for me. We compliment each other very well. I haven't even been seeing him for very long. Only a little over a month—that's not very long."
Harry grumbled in agreement.
"But in that short time…" She paused in folding a shirt. "I don't know, Harry. It's just… I can't say it's been perfect, because it hasn't. We fight quite a bit. But I'm so happy with him. I really am. I can talk to him about anything, he makes me laugh; he makes me feel beautiful—as a person. Not just on the outside." She made a disgusted sound. "I sound so silly saying this," she said as the put the shirt in the suitcase. "But I just…when I'm with him, I feel like I'm home." She looked up at Harry, who was regarding her thoughtfully, through narrowed eyes. "Does that make any sense at all?"
He nodded. "That's how I feel with Ginny. Like I'm home."
She smiled. "It's a good way to feel."
"It is," he agreed.
She ran to her bathroom to grab a few more items—her toothbrush, a razor, her shampoo and conditioner, shaving cream—and put them in the suitcase.
"I just wonder," Harry said slowly, "if maybe you're taking to Draco so well because he's the only familiar thing you have here."
Hermione considered that for a moment as she zipped up her suitcase. "That's a valid concern, I suppose, but I don't think that's the case. I suppose only time will tell."
He nodded once more.
"I'm ready to go when you are," she told him as she took a deep breath. She pulled out her wand and shrunk her suitcase to the size of a small purse, then stuffed it into her messenger bag. She looked up at Harry and smiled. "I love magic," she laughed.
Harry grinned. "Me too." He rose from the bed and held out his arm. "I'll side-along you," he offered.
She tucked her bag under her arm and walked over to him, holding tightly to his side. He wrapped his arm around her and lifted his wand, and they disappeared with a pop.