Serendipity
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters or any material from its universe. I'm just here to play with them and pretend.
A/N: A late but very merry Christmas to all of you, my lovelies. I hope you'll appreciate the update and forgive me for being absent for WAY TOO LONG. I am grateful for all of you and your continued support. Anyway, lets get on with it - enough of my babbling. 3
Enjoy!
-Annie
Chapter Eighteen
Friends And Enemies
ONE MONTH LATER
The Daily Prophet
Page 1
17th September, 1999
GREENGRASS WEDDING CONFIRMED
In lieu of her older sister's recent nuptials this summer, heiress ASTORIA GREENGRASS announced her own wedding plans to DRACO MALFOY earlier this week. Despite MALFOY's less than pristine past, father of the bride AMBROSE GREENGRASS has nothing but blessings for the wide-eyed couple. MALFOY is survived by his mother, NARCISSA MALFOY, who has declined to comment at this time. More details to follow on Page 5.
There was a sudden rap at the door that caught my attention and I gratefully peeled my eyes from the paper, sucking in a steadying breath.
"It's open," I managed with difficulty.
My office door swung forward and a dark haired wizard poked his head in almost uncertainly, glancing around the small quarters. Bright green eyes obscured behind circular framed glasses met mine and I felt my hand tighten further around the newspaper.
"Harry," I released in surprise, relaxing into my leather backed chair. "What are you doing here?"
"A bloke can't visit a friend at work?" he teased, his tone soft and jesting. His eyes, however, held a tiredness I was all too familiar with, and he scanned me suspiciously. "You look wrecked. What's got you so worked up?"
I sighed and shoved the newspaper under a stack of files I was supposed to be finishing up.
"Coffee's gone cold, is all," I responded, gesturing toward the mug sitting at the edge of my worn hickory desk.
The edges of Harry's lips turned upward so quietly that I almost missed it. He held up a travel cup, steaming at the top.
"Well, it's a good thing I decided to bring a beverage from the lobby," he chortled and set the steaming cup in front of me. "Will tea do?"
I hummed appreciatively and gathered the cup in my hands, letting it's warmth spread over my stiff fingers and the steam curl into my nostrils.
"Peppermint?"
He nodded at me knowingly, taking in my unruly chignon and undoubtedly the dark circles under my eyes. "I expected you might be having a busy week."
I glanced toward the paper resting under my files and worried my bottom lip. "You could say that."
"Still no leads?" he inquired and I shook my head.
"You?"
The look in his eyes told me all I needed to know and I slapped my pen down on my files in frustration.
"I told Ariana we would do all we could to find her father," I muttered, rubbing at the ache throbbing at the side of my skull. "It's been too long, Harry. Everyone that disappeared from that charity gala in France is still missing. How can that be?"
"Someone's working really hard to make sure they aren't found," Harry agreed stoically. "Believe me, we're doing what we can on our side of things."
"It's my job to investigate and find answers," I persisted, feeling helpless. "There's not much for you to go on if I can't give you something to look for."
We were quiet for several ticks of the clock on my wall. This always seemed to happen lately when we ran out of work related things to discuss. The awkwardness bubbled between us. I sipped my tea gingerly and Harry pulled at his collar, glancing casually at my overflowing bookshelves.
"Your tie is crooked," I pointed out, rolling my eyes. "How is it always crooked?"
"You sound like Ginny," Harry laughed. When he realized what he'd said his face grew somber and his smile disappeared. My eyes dropped to my desk, to my hands, to the spot on my ring finger that once bore Ron's ring. An empty coldness erupted in my chest.
"How is she?" I attempted to sound casual but the hoarseness in my voice betrayed me.
"She's - she's good," Harry answered with some difficulty. He looked as if he wanted to say something else but couldn't quite get the words out. I pursed my lips and nodded.
"I'm glad she's well - that both of you are well."
Harry pressed his palms into his trousers and stood with force. "I'd better be going. We're having dinner at the Burrow and I promised Gin I'd find a good wine to bring. Normally she'd be in charge of that but she can't dr - " He abruptly cut off and shook his head, clearing his throat. "Er - she doesn't drink much anymore - "
I thought that was strange - Ginny loved her alcohol. It upset me deeply that so much had changed in our lives in such a short amount of time that I didn't even know the simplest thing about my former friend like the fact that she'd given up drinking.
"Bring a white," I suggested offhandedly. "The Weasley's have a sweet tooth and it's still early enough in the season to get away with white."
A ghost of a smile streaked across his face and he nodded gratefully at me. He stole to the door and peered back at me briefly before slipping out.
"Happy birthday this weekend," he said as his goodbye and shut the door before I could even thank him for the tea.
Later that evening, I found myself at Diagon Alley on Ariana's front stoop, a bottle of her favorite Merlot in hand and a bag of groceries slung on my hip. Across the street, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was offering a fireworks show. My stomach turned to lead and I banged rather harshly on the door to be let in.
"Come in!" I heard Ariana holler from somewhere in the depths of the flat.
I tried to doorknob and entered the small flat with familiar ease and a roll of my eyes, kicking off my heels and stealing to the kitchen, trying not to slip on the hardwood floors in my stockings. I settled the groceries on the quartz counter top and set the oven to preheat.
"Did you fall in the toilet or something?" I called out in annoyance.
"I told you that the door is always open," Ariana replied, exiting the washroom with her hair sopping wet and in nothing but a thick daisy yellow towel. She tapped her wand against her mat of hair and it instantly warmed into beautiful curls. "I don't see why you don't just come in."
"It's not polite," I reminded her and she scoffed, waving me off.
"You also have my spare key," she reminded me pointedly, "so you'd think you'd be comfortable waltzing in by now."
I held up the bottle, cutting her off. "Where's your opener?"
"Oh, getting straight to it?" she assessed, eyeing me curiously. "Drawer just past the sink." She slipped into her bedroom to change.
I popped the cork to the wine and stole two glasses from the cabinet above the sink, filling mine to near brim.
"I'm guessing you saw the morning paper," Ariana exclaimed, taking in the sight of my glass as she trailed back into the den. She pranced into the kitchen to pour herself a reasonable glass. Eyeing hers and comparing it to mine, she shrugged her shoulders and filled hers to the same fullness as mine. "Cheers to bad days and even worse men."
I silently cheered, clinking my glass to hers and taking a hefty swig. Moments later my chest began to warm and my muscles relaxed for the first time all week. The wine tasted similar to the one I'd shared with Draco during our evening away in Monte Carlo, sweet at first with spicy undertones. The corners of my mouth curled downward at the thought and I took another bittersweet sip to wash it down.
"Come, sit," encouraged Ariana, leading me to her sofa near the window. "Have you got the keys to your new place yet?"
"I pick them up tomorrow morning," I said, placing my glass on her coffee table. I frowned at the fact that she still did not own a single coaster and mentally declared that's what I would be giving her for Christmas this year.
"Want any help moving?" my friend offered and I smiled warmly at her.
"Thank you, but I prefer to do these things on my own," I declined. "Just take a moment to settle into the energy of the new place by myself."
"Hermit," she teased, elbowing me lightly in the ribs.
"Mum is coming on Sunday to visit for my birthday, if that settles your mind at all," I assured her, nudging her back.
"Oh, I miss Jean," Ari sighed wistfully. "Will you bring her by? It would be comforting to see her again, especially after France."
Ariana trailed off then, her thoughts no doubt shifting toward her missing father and the terrible events of the evening her family's charity gala had gone up in flames. I reached over and gave her olive hand a tight squeeze.
"I'm going to find him," I promised, my voice hard and determined.
"I know," she said, giving my hand a squeeze in return. "Anyway, what Muggle film did you bring to distract me from life this time?"
I stood to grab my bag and rummaged inside of it until my fingers wrapped around a disc. I showed it to her and she furrowed her brow.
"Grease?"
I nodded. "It's one of mine and my mother's favorites to watch when we've had a bad day. It's horrendously cheesy and the main characters aren't even remotely likable."
"My kind of film," Ariana cheered, sinking into the sofa to get comfortable.
I fed it into the player and settled beside Ariana. She curled into the couch and draped her long tan legs across my lap. This had become a staple since returning from France - a weekly girls' night, just Ari and me and a bottle of wine.
From within the kitchen, the oven beeped. Ariana huffed, having just gotten comfortable, and swung herself across my lap and off the sofa, padding determinedly into the kitchen. When she returned I could already smell the pizza preparing itself.
"I can't believe Draco's getting married," griped Ariana. "Especially after what happened in France. He takes after his best mate, that's for sure. Rotten, they are."
Of course I had told Ariana that Draco and I had kissed at the riviera. Really, I didn't even need to tell her - she knew the moment she saw me. She'd been the one to convince me to talk things out with Draco the following morning, as we had successfully avoided each other until then. But when I went to Draco's chambers to sort my thoughts and find some clarity before we returned to England, I found him gone. Bags packed, bed freshly made, not even a note to explain himself.
"He's gone back to England early," Blaise had told me, appearing behind me with a deep frown etched across his face. "He was needed at home. He asked me to tell you not to speak to him anymore. It's honestly for the best, Granger." The coldness of that statement echoed deep inside my bones.
I'd heard him and Draco bellowing at each other several hours earlier and the hideousness of it kept me and Ariana plastered inside our room for hours until they quieted down and we deemed it safe for me to approach Draco. By then, it had been too late and he was gone without so much as a goodbye, leaving Blaise to tell me off for him.
He hadn't bothered to contact me since, leaving me bewildered and angry and feeling used and small. I did admit I was mostly angry with myself above all else, for even letting myself enter a situation like that with him, of all people. I couldn't believe how stupid and deranged I had let myself become while at that sunny riviera, where magic was everywhere and the cares of the world were nowhere to be found. It was a happy, careless little bubble that popped the moment reality surfaced, shattering my rose glasses and stabbing me in the eyes. It wasn't until I returned to England, to my parent's cozy house on Whitby Bay, that everything really sunk in. I was so mortified that I didn't leave my childhood bedroom for two days.
"I didn't even know he and Astoria were an item," Ariana continued, bringing me back to the present. "It just seemed like they were friends, right? If he fancied anyone I was sure it was you. Just the way he looked at you - "
"It's in the past, Ari," I forced out, stubbornly setting my chin. "As far as I'm concerned, it never even happened."
She frowned at me. "Don't do that."
I slugged my wine in silence, glaring at the movie playing on the television I'd helped her pick out when she'd moved into her flat. Shortly after she'd moved in, she had dinner with Blaise to discuss where their relationship was going and discovered that Blaise had been sleeping around since returning to England. Ariana had ended things with a harsh slap and a few choice words for the suave Italian, landing herself on the cover of Witch Weekly.
Thankfully on my end, Jean Granger kept the questions about Draco to a minimum, reading her daughter well. Instead, she helped me find the perfect flat in London, even helped me with the deposit, and supplied me with plenty of good meals and evening strolls around the bay while I prepared for my move. My father and I were still on the outs. He kept busy at work and then at home in his study and the cold front left me eager to move on with life more than ever before.
"Pizza's ready," announced Ariana proudly. "I've got a tub of ice cream in the icebox for later, as well."
We nursed our feelings in greasy cheese and carb-filled dough until the wine lulled us to sleep and we curled up together on Ari's vintage velvet sofa, momentarily forgetting everything else.
I picked up the keys to my flat the following morning.
My new home was quite the quaint place that reminded me of my flat in France, situated becomingly above a small bookstore and its neighboring flower arrangement shop and across the street from a cafe and antique store. Just down the lane was a corner market and a chemist where I could collect groceries and cough medicine and just about anything else I would need. Every Saturday afternoon from 10 AM to 2 PM the street was full of vendors for the local farmers market and arts festival and in the evening the cafe across the street offered live music that filled the air with an ambiance of home and life. The windows in my bedroom overlooked the back alley that weaved toward a nearby park and trail littered in tall trees the color of autumn.
The flat itself was on the second floor and housed a fairly modest balcony. It also came with hardwood floors and large windows for Crookshanks to lounge at and soak up the natural lighting. It came with a washer and dryer in a cupboard closet next to the kitchen and a rather spacious layout for dining and entertaining - thought I doubted I'd really utilize that aspect. Though I didn't really need the extra space, I got the flat with a spare den that I could use as an office and reading room, and an extra bedroom. The best part of it was that my landlord - the sweet couple of the bookshop below and my neighbors across the hall- had given me complete approval to decorate and paint however I wished, which I would be taking full advantage of.
I spent most of the day moving myself in, rearranging furniture, and setting up my fireplace to accept the Floo network - doing anything and everything to keep my mind off of the article in the paper I'd seen yesterday. By nine o' clock that evening, I'd successfully exhausted myself and ended up falling asleep in an armchair next to the fire, Crookshanks curled up next to me, purring in tandem.
Sunday morning came fast and unexpected, accompanied by the incessant chiming of the doorbell. I startled out of the armchair with such force that I flung Crookshanks across the entirety of my den. Skidding to a stop before reaching the kitchen, he hissed at me with disgruntlement and trotted into the kitchen to his water bowl.
"Mmrph," I grumbled as the doorbell rang again, grabbing at an ache in my neck. "I'm coming, I'm coming."
I swung the door open and was immediately greeted with a face full of paper bags.
"Morning, sweetheart. I hope I didn't wake you," chirped Jean Granger, slipping past me through the doorway and assessing my new living space with a clap of her hands. "Oh, it's even cuter now that you've got everything situated."
Blinking sleep out of my eyes, I set down the heap of bags on my kitchen table and looked my mother up and down. She was dressed charmingly in a pair of old overalls and a bright orange tie-dye shirt, her hair tousled back in a navy bandanna - an outfit I had seen many times growing up that I had labeled her "housework garb". In her large front pockets were three very large and worn looking paintbrushes.
"Mum, what is all of this?" I asked, gesturing to the smorgasbord of items she'd brought with her.
Rifling through the bags, Jean pulled each item out - a week's worth of freshly pressed green juice, a large bundle of eucalyptus and lavender, a basket of plump yellow and red bell peppers and other assorted vegetables, and a tin full of chocolate chip croissants and double chocolate muffins. The next bag contained a small succulent plant, several packets of various seeds, a small book about honing in your inner "green witch", and a faded copy of her favorite storybook - one that she'd read to me while growing up many times.
"The angel of destiny?" I inquired upon seeing it. She smiled at me and said, "a staple of mine that greatly helped improve my life when I was a young woman on my own," and continued unpacking the third bag. Out spilled a collection of spiderweb, plastic pumpkins, skeleton bones, autumnal colored garlands, and a witch hat magnet. When I turned to her for an explanation she simply shrugged and said, "I was clearing out our attic and figured you could use some holiday decor for your new place."
"Halloween isn't for another month," I laughed. "The trees barely started changing color!" Turning to the stack of seeds, I held up the small succulent plant and gawked at her.
"Mum, you know I can't keep plants alive," I reminded her, trying to give the greenery back to her. "What's with all the seeds and leaves?"
"Every young woman on her own needs a plant, Hermione," Jean replied airily, taking the succulent from me and placing it near the windowsill. Crookshanks had since recovered from his tantrum and padded around the corner, nuzzling against my mother's leg. She stooped down to scratch behind his ears and greeted him affectionately. When she straightened again, she placed her hand on top of the bundle of eucalyptus and said, "I bought you some eucalyptus and lavender to hang in your shower - it should help with your migraines - but make sure Crookshanks can't reach it. They are toxic to cats, you know."
"I'll make sure to charm them so that he won't be bothered with them," I assured her, scooping the bundles up and immediately locking them in my bathroom where my cat could not get to them. When I returned to the kitchen, my mother was stocking my bare fridge with the vegetables and juice.
"You really ought to think about starting an herb garden," Jean hummed, jutting her head toward the packets of seeds on my table. "It will save you quite a lot of money and spice up your cooking routine. You've got the perfect balcony for one, you know."
I blinked at her and simply nodded, doing my best not to snort at the thought of me with a green thumb, tossing the seed packets into a stray drawer while she wasn't looking.
"Breakfast?" my mother offered then, rummaging through my cabinets until she found a plate to scoop her pastries onto. "I was walking past that cafe across the street and I simply couldn't resist. It's not too often we get to have sweets in the morning."
Then, from the fourth and final paper bag, my mother retrieved a tall glass of bubbly and a carton of orange juice. I stared at the chocolate goods with a mild frown as she set to making mimosas until my mother waved at me impatiently. "Oh, pish posh, don't look at me like that. We'll have a salad at lunch, I swear."
She gifted me a flute of morning mimosa with a little wink that reminded me too much of Ariana and spirited, "Live a little, dear." After our decadent breakfast, I cleared the dishes while Mum danced over to my record player and selected some tunes for us to jazz to. The throaty crooning of Stevie Nicks filled my flat and I smiled. Mum and I used to always listen to Fleetwood Mac while we cleaned every Sunday before I started at Hogwarts.
"I miss spending Sundays with you," I stated, drying my hands on a dish towel. She beckoned me to her side and held me for a moment, humming along to "Gypsy".
"Let's do brunch on Sundays," Jean suggested, tucking a tendril of hair behind my ear. "That way we can stay close even when we are far away. I'll take the train in."
"Mum, you know I can teach you how to use Floo," I told her, pointing at my fireplace.
Jean laughed uncomfortably. "I don't think I'm there yet, darling. Besides, I get to catch up on my novels on the train."
I decided not to press the matter and instead gestured to my walls. "I brought home some paint samples. Want to give me your opinion?"
Mum pooled over the samples eagerly, holding each one up to the wall thoughtfully. My mother always had the eye for decorating in a way that Dad and I never did, and most of my style and taste came from her artsy vintage aesthetic.
"This one," she finally decided, holding the sample labeled 'Grecian Blue'. "It will blend fantastically with the light hardwood. Now, what if we got a bit creative?"
She drifted over to my entry closet and plucked out one of my hat boxes that I kept my arts and crafts supplies in - a gift she'd given me a few birthdays back. She coughed a tad while blowing off a collection of dust that had settled on its top due to how little I got crafty and gave me a pointed sigh, dissatisfied in my lack of interest in anything remotely domestic. She uncapped the hat box and rifled around for a few seconds before she found her prize - a thick stack of floral scrapbook paper.
"We'll need a sander," she finally said, holding the scrapbook paper to the wall in one hand and the Grecian Blue paint sample in the other.
"Mum - " I started to protest but she was already halfway out the door, wallet in hand. I trailed after her in desperation, wondering what kind of crazy shenanigans she'd get us into that afternoon.
After a trip to the store to buy enough blue paint to drown an army and a sander, we stopped by my flat to deposit them on my kitchen table before immediately heading back out the door. We had a talkative lunch with Ariana at the Leaky Cauldron where Ari filled my mother in on all the drama that had taken place between her and Blaise and their fallout.
"I'm disappointed to hear that," Jean expressed in disdain at the mention of Blaise's infidelity. "The two of you were so... passionate."
Mum and I shared a side-eye glance and I giggled into my salad.
"How's the workforce treating you?" my mother inquired of Ariana. "You're in the same department as Hermione, aren't you?"
"We both work in Law Enforcement, yes, but in different divisions," Ariana explained patiently. "Hermit is in Research and Investigations, which is basically the brains behind the force. She studies behaviors and minds of criminals. I just do the regular stuff, you know - burglaries, break-ins, patrols, and the like. Although, I've been considering becoming a Hit Wizard for a little while, ever since my family was attacked in Paris."
This was news to me and I set my water glass down in surprise.
"You can't be serious," I cawed. "That's so dangerous, Ari."
"Oh, please," my friend scoffed. "It's no more dangerous than what Harry does."
My brow creased together. "And you bet your bollocks I had the same concerns with him and Ron when they decided to become Aurors."
Jean sighed in mild frustration, resting a hand on my knee. "Could you both be dears and further explain to me what these positions are so I can include myself in this conversation?"
Ari glanced at my mother guiltily, not used to being scolded.
"I'm sure I've described Harry and Ron's positions to you before, but an auror is basically the equivalent of counter-terrorism operatives. They do very top secret missions and go after dangerous dark wizards, like Lord Voldemort."
My mother nodded slowly in recognition and her lips pressed together thinly, no doubt thinking about the two boys I'd grown up with and loved so dearly putting themselves in the line of fire.
"And you want to join this force?" my mother asked Ariana quietly.
"Well, not quite," Ariana stammered, wondering how to explain.
"Hit Wizards, which is what Ari wants to be, are the equivalent of a S.W.A.T. team member - a highly trained and heavily armed tactical police specialist. Hostage negotiations, deescalating high risk situations, controlling riots, confronting criminals. Basically, they are threat neutralizers that allow Aurors to do their jobs a bit easier, which is why they have to have the same training and credentials as Aurors."
"It sounds very similar," my mother muttered, fidgeting in her chair. "Why wouldn't you just join the auror force, at that point?"
"Mum," I grated forcefully, slapping my hand to the table.
Ariana remained quiet and, to my horror, seemed to mull over my mother's words with seriousness.
"Ari, think about this," I pleaded. "Don't be - "
"What?" countered Ariana, suddenly aflame. "Don't be what, Herms? Stupid?"
"Please don't put words in my mouth, Ariana," I said tersely, feeling an uncomfortable heat spread up my neck. My mother's fingers tightened against my thigh in warning.
"You don't think I've got the stones," Ariana accused, growing more angry. "If I were a man, it would be a completely different conversation, but because I'm a pretty woman, you don't think I can hold my own."
"Oh my bloody hell - "
"Hermione - " I could feel my mother's fingernails digging into my skin through my pants.
"I cannot believe you would think me to be so close minded and so ridiculously anti-feminist. Honestly, how dare you?" I seethed, gaining several curious glances from fellow diners. "After everything that we went through in France, with everything I went through in the war, how could you possibly think of me like that?"
Ariana, though still glaring, looked properly chastised. This did not put out my flames, however.
"Do you understand how many people I have lost to the violence in this world? How many deaths I've witnessed - friends, strangers, children? Nymphadora Tonks was an astounding auror and a woman and a wife of a werewolf and a mother. Harry's godson grew up without parents and I lost my very good friends and they were some of the strongest, smartest aurors I knew. I trained right beside you in France, fought side by side with you while the streets were quite literally on fire, and I go to work everyday with the single intention of finding your father. I know better than anyone that you have it in you to be the best damn auror on the force, but you don't have anything to prove."
More people looked on, recognizing my face and whispering.
"I know you are worried about your dad - "
"That has nothing to do with this," Ariana spat.
"Doesn't it?" I challenged and Ari set her jaw. I threw up my arms in exasperation. "You can do whatever the hell you want to, Ariana, and whatever you choose to do you will excel at. But do not mistake my confidence in you as approval and do not expect me to be happy about this decision. I'll be damned if I lose someone else to all of this."
My knuckles were white against the table when I finished my railing and my heart thumped with emotion. Tears brimmed in Ari's eyes and my mother's mouth sat agape.
I slapped coins on the table, ending our meal in finality, and stomped out of the Leaky Cauldron. My mother caught up to me several moments later, her face severe.
"That was harsh," she whispered disapprovingly. "She's your friend."
"Exactly," I snapped and when my mother opened her mouth to speak again, my nostrils flared. "Don't. Okay? Just don't."
I held my arm out for her to take and with a resigned sigh, she took my arm, allowing me to apparate us back to my flat.
Later that evening, my mother set a cup of tea before me and took a seat in the squashy armchair near the fireplace, cradling her own cup. I took her silent peace offering and sighed heavily, feeling a pang of guilt for remaining so moody after our lunch, knowing I only had a few more hours with my mother until she had to catch her train back to Whitby.
"What did you have in mind for my walls?" I asked her casually, sipping my tea.
My record player hummed quietly along with Frank Sinatra in the background of my flat.
"I thought that sanding the scrapbook paper pattern onto the blue paint would give the walls a nicely distressed vintage aesthetic."
I pondered it in my head, imagining my walls draped in the light blue of the Mediterranean waters. An image flashed behind my closed eyelids, picturing the French Rivera in all her glory. I swallowed painfully against the memory of that cliff side.
You jump, I jump, right?
"I don't know if I'm feeling the color anymore," I croaked unpleasantly and my mother squinted at me, trying to figure me out. "Maybe we should do yellow, brighten things up a bit." I glanced around my apartment and all of my dated, earth toned belongings, from my burgundy armchair to my forest green sofa, to the cream rug in the center of the den, to my brown table and bookshelf. "It would look better with my furniture. Like a gold yellow?"
My mother assessed my flat and hummed. "Or a dusty rose or mauve would look good too," she agreed. "But your bedroom? I really think you'll love the blue in there. You always did love that beach villa style," she insisted, cocking her head to the side. "And if you absolutely hate it, we can just paint over it."
I chewed at my bottom lip before nodding in agreement. By the time my mother left, we had mapped out the color scheme for my flat - rose petal and mauve tones for my bathroom, lavender and Grecian blue for my bedroom, and a distressed but cheerful pale yellow accent wall for the main of the flat.
"We'll start painting next Sunday," Mum promised, kissing me on the cheek after out walk to the train station.
"Granger?"
I skidded to a stop abruptly, my burgundy sneakers squeaking shrilly against the slick pavement. I whirled around at my surname, the hood of my windbreaker snapping backward, exposing my plaited hair to the elements.
"Blaise?"
My breath sputtered out of my chest in a foggy cloud and my body reacted with a violent shiver as it registered just how cold the dreary evening was. Nervously, I peered discreetly through the trees on the trail for a sign of blonde hair, but came up empty. I released a grateful and somewhat disappointed breath, realizing it was just me and Blaise in the small park. The sight of his familiar face made me feel conflicted - I couldn't decided if I was more annoyed or happy at our encounter.
"I thought that was you," he said, appraising my damp and panting form with a smirk. "You look like a drowned rat."
"Charming," I scoffed, deciding to go with annoyed. I shot him a well placed glare and folded my arms securely across my chest. "What the hell are you doing here?"
His eyebrows shot upward at my clipped tone and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.
"I live nearby," Blaise responded, looking confused. "Just a few blocks down, as a matter of fact. I go running on this trail when I have the time."
"Good hell, is nothing sacred?" I muttered grumpily, swiping at a lock of hair that had matted itself to my forehead.
"Don't sound so pleased," he snorted sarcastically. "What are you doing here?"
"I live there," I sighed, gesturing toward my building.
"And you've taken up running the trail all of a sudden?"
"I've been stressed. It helps me to stay active," I explained reluctantly, kicking at a small pebble. It flew past us and smacked into the roots of a nearby pine.
"Still can't find Ari's dad?" he guessed, reaching to pat my shoulder like an old friend.
His touch jarred me and I slapped his wrist.
"Don't," I forced out, my eyes hardening. "You don't get to act like we're best pals."
"I thought we got along pretty well," he said quietly, surprised. He pulled his hand back as if I'd bitten him, placing it in his jacket pocket.
"That was before you decided to be a floozy and whore around like a piece of steaming garbage."
"Ooo, kitty has claws," Blaise deadpanned. "That's not your business."
"She's my best friend - of course it is my damn business, you blithering dung pot. You're pathetic and a coward and she deserves a hell of a lot better than you," I snarled and turned to storm off.
"I couldn't agree more."
His words stopped me in my tracks and I glanced at him over my shoulder, ignoring the splatter of moisture dripping from the leaves above my head. My eyebrow cocked upward and my chin tipped forward in curiosity, my anger toward him muted by my shock.
"There's no excuse for how I acted," Blaise continued, scratching at an itch on his long nose. "Ariana is fantastic and beautiful and passionate but I can admit now that I was just using her for a distraction."
My blood prickled under my skin.
"Which was wrong of me," he said quickly, noticing the glint in my eyes. "But I'm not necessarily the picture of perfect manners. I'm not the kind of man that could do right by someone like Ariana. At the end of the day I'm just a lost cause."
There was a strain of hollow sadness in his words and they struck me like ice against my spine. A pregnant silence echoed harshly between us, swirling bitingly in the wind. The sun was starting to sink beneath the trees.
"How - How is she?" he finally asked, his voice hoarse and weak. His eyes studied the wet pavement, avoiding my stare. I recognized the twinge in his voice, the shadows in his eyes. It was the same twinge when I spoke about Ginny, the same shadow that crossed my vision when I thought of Draco.
"It's cold and I need to finish my run. Would you care for some tea?" I asked him pointedly, taking pity on him.
His head snapped upward and his eyes widened, assessing me deeply.
"Got anything stronger?"
I would never admit it to him, but I actually kind of missed the metro-sexual idiot. Perhaps I was catching a cold.
"Maybe - if you can keep up."
I set off at a jog down the trail. He accepted my challenge with a chuckle, close on my heels.
He ended up winning our race. After all, he was more athletic and fit than I was, and I was long out of practice. My lungs were still seizing as we climbed the stairs to my flat.
"Precious," Blaise teased, trailing a long brown finger along my recently redecorated walls.
"My mum has an artistic touch," I explained as I swiped my wand over our drenched clothing to wick away the moisture, somewhat embarrassed.
He rifled comfortably through my apartment and made himself ridiculously at home, prying through bookshelves and rummaging through records.
"I've only got wine," I offered, inspecting my small kitchen. "Oh, and this." I held up a small bottle of amber-red liquid and shrugged.
"Firewhisky?" guffawed Blaise. "Hermione Granger has a bottle of firewhisky. I never thought I'd see that day."
My cheeks reddened and I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at him like a child. "It's not mine. Er - it belonged to my - well, it was an old friend's."
"Weasley didn't take his alcohol when he left you?"
"I left him, actually. Anyway, the whisky is quite good mixed with tea. I have some autumnal spice blends that would taste quite good with it. Would you like some or not?"
He nodded and turned his attention back to my electronics, utterly fascinated. I set the kettle to boil and fixed us a hot toddy. He let out a long, shrill whistle and patted his knee dramatically.
"Whew, all that rain is sure making my bladder sing. Can I use your loo?"
I rolled my eyes and pointed him toward my bathroom, returning to the stove. I finished prepping our drinks and set his down on a coaster on the coffee table. Crookshanks lazed on my armchair near the fireplace and threw me a dirty glare as I waved him off.
"Scoot over," I instructed the cat and he blinked at me with apathy before jumping onto the armrest and allowing me to sit down. I scratched along his jawline as a thank you and he forgave my intrusion quickly, purring loudly against my hand.
"I never expected someone so drab to own something so sexy," Blaise drawled, reentering the den.
I nearly spat my toddy across the room and choked against the burn of the whisky.
"What in Godric's name do you think you're doing?" I coughed.
Blaise practically giggled, pointing at me. "Oh, you should see the look on your face. Priceless."
I balked at him. "Why on earth are you in my robe?"
He tugged at the silky belt cinched against his waist and strutted in a full circle.
"Plum compliments my skin tone," he hummed, ignoring me. "And I just love the lace, Granger. Though, it's pretty see-through. Very risque of you."
My lips pursed together.
"You're absurd," I wheezed, wondering if I should whack him upside the head or giggle like an idiot. "Take it off, you absolute ponce."
"French," he fawned as he slipped out of my robe. "Did you get this on your little shopping trip at the riviera?"
I yanked the bundle of lace and silk from his grasp and tossed it into my bedroom, snapping the door firmly closed behind me.
"No," I replied gruffly. "And if it's perfectly fine with you, I'd rather not discuss France."
"Me neither," he agreed, solemn all of a sudden, and took to the sofa, cupping his drink in his large hands. He raised his glass as if in cheers and said, "to forgetting France", before knocking back a long gulp. The ease at which he was able to down the whisky laced tea made me wince.
"I'm famished," he declared after a long silence, setting his glass down on the coffee table. My eyes narrowed, noticing how he had chosen not to use the coaster right next to him.
My stomach whined in response. I realized just then that I hadn't eaten since breakfast.
"I'll order take-out," I huffed. "You like Chinese?"
"Only if I get extra egg rolls."
I could practically hear my father lecturing me about how if I continued to roll my eyes, they'd get stuck that way eventually.
That night I was plagued with nightmares - an occurrence that often happened when I was overcome with anxiety and overworked to an ungodly degree. Multiple times during the night I awoke in a sweat, springing upward with my arms stretched out, a scream trapped in my throat. I dreamed of black scaled snakes and flashes of green light and tiny, childlike fingers slipping through my grasp.
A voice slashed desperately through the silence of my bedroom, like a cymbal crashing around my ears.
Mummy!
My heart thrummed violently and my hands wandered to my abdomen.
Mummy, don't leave.
It was a little boy.
A child.
My child.
My abdomen lurched, as if I'd been kicked in the ribs, and my breath whooshed out between my lips.
Don't forget me, he begged.
I swore I felt tiny fingers on my shoulder. I leaped from bed, startled, promptly tripping over my slippers and landing flat on my bottom. I could still feel where he had touched me - my shoulder tingled and pulsed with energy.
"Who are you?" I whispered desperately, my voice shaking as much as my hands. "Hello?"
When I got no answer, I tore from my bedroom and settled on the couch with Crookshanks and a cup of calming lavender tea. I didn't dare go back to bed.
After a silent, stubborn week, I settled my pride and had a bouquet of yellow daffodils sent to Ariana's flat with an apology. Later that evening found me still at work, staring tiredly at a spot on the wall next to my bookshelf. Internally, I begged the spot for some kind of clue - literally anything - that could help me track down my friend's father and the rest of the missing people from the gala.
My hopes were short lived and by eight o'clock I started to pack up my things and call it a day, the idea of a hot bubble bath worming its way longingly into my brain.
"Knock, knock," came a small voice from my doorway.
I let out a small yelp, slapping my hand to my heart and sending a file of documents crashing to the floor. Ariana stood meekly in front of me, looking timid and thin. She scooped down to help me collect the documents and then squeezed my hand, offering me a thin smile.
"I got your flowers," she told me, helping me to my feet. "I figured you'd still be here - Harry says you've been staying late every day."
I swallowed dryly at the mention of my friend. I hadn't seen Harry much since the week of my birthday except for his occasional drop in at my office to say hello or bring me caffeine and updates.
"I didn't know you and Harry were that close," I commented.
Ariana shrugged and said, "Well, we all work on the same floor. We were bound to connect at some point. And even though you and I weren't really speaking, I still wanted to keep tabs on how you were doing."
"I'm sorry about my tantrum," I apologized. "It's not worth our friendship."
"I'm sorry, too," she agreed. "I never should have said those things about you - I was just frustrated and taking it out on you."
"It's in the past," we agreed together.
"Are you up for a girls night?" asked Ariana. "I could use a night on the town."
"I don't know, Ari," I started to protest. "It's late and you know I don't like going out at night - "
"Please, Hermit?" she nearly begged. "I could really use the distraction, and you've been cooped up in this office way longer than what is healthy. Give yourself a break and come out with me."
"Fine," I relented, steadying the anxiousness bubbling in my stomach. "But I'm not staying out past midnight. It may be the weekend, but I've still got things to do."
She waved me off, knowing full well that the only thing I had planned to do with my Saturday was laundry and reading. We were totally staying out past midnight.