Sleepwalking by Moonlight turns out to be a beautifully written book, nothing like the trashy romances Hermione guiltily reads and then stores in a far corner of her house. It's tasteful and interesting. The prose is emotional and the characters are lovable. She may or may not have shed a tear at one point.
The book is about a healer, Katya Evergreen, who has begun sleepwalking out to the beach. She wakes up every day, standing in the ocean and ends up catching the eye of a muggle named Dahlia Worth. Dahlia loves the paranormal and supernatural, Katya finds the strange contraptions that supposedly detect ghosts and 'otherworldly beings' wonderfully charming.
Hermione adds the book to her shelf reserved for her favourite books.
Pansy Parkinson, she loathes to admit, has wonderful taste.
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"You liked the book, I see," Parkinson says with a delighted look in her eyes. Hermione is back in the romance section specifically to buy more Violet June books.
"You could say that," Hermione replied coolly. Then, struck with a sudden idea, continues to say, "You know, you've pointed out nice dress robes and a good book to me, I should return the favour. Come on."
Parkinson looks intrigued and follows Hermione to the children's fiction section.
"Oh, Granger, I give you a lurid, steamy romance and you want me to read a book for children?" Parkinson says, an amused smirk on her face.
"It's a good book," Hermione says as she pulls out book one of the Laurel Bethel series; Laurel Bethel and the Disappearing Girl by Colleen Harper. Colleen Harper, of course, is a pseudonym for Hermione Granger.
She has been writing the Laurel Bethel books for several years now and had wanted them to sell on their own right instead of off of her name as a war hero. She should get back to working on the next book, now that she's not stopping off at the Hog's Head anymore she has the time to squeeze in some writing.
Parkinson takes the book and looks it over. She feels the spine, runs her hand over the embossed lettering on the cover, flips it over, opens it to read the summary printed on the dust jacket and then raises the book to her face and fans the pages with her thumb.
The book snaps shut and she says nothing before stalking off, book still in hand.
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The Astonishing Life of Marissa Montegue is also a wonderful, beautifully written book that Hermione breezes right through. As is The Birdhouse and Nighttime Daydreams. She doesn't tell Parkinson this, of course. She doesn't need to know that the author she recommended is Hermione's new favourite, she would probably become unbearingly smug about it.
Much like she is about to become unbearingly smug about Parkinson's admittance that she enjoyed Laurel Bethel.
"It was good for a children's book," is what Parkinson says about it, again in Tomes and Scrolls. Hermione had found her in the children's section carrying the next four Laurel Bethel books. "I'm interested to see how the author handles her interpretation of Hogwarts," is her explanation when Hermione comments on it.
"It's quite good," Hermione says.
Laurel Bethel and the Disappearing Girl takes place the year before Laurel starts at Hogwarts and ends when the Hogwarts deputy headmistress arrives at her door to tell her she's a witch. Hermione is now working on the sixth book about Laurel's fifth year and is almost halfway done with the first draft now. She has made progress since she stopped drinking. She might reserve the pub for special circumstances.
After the last few days of work, that's probably one of few wise decisions because the next few months at the very least looks like they're going to be very fucking stressful. If only the Wizengamot would listen to her.
"Have you read any more Violet June?" Parkinson asks. Hermione is startled to find out that they've both been walking towards the romance section together.
"A bit," she replies.
"And...?" Parkinson prompts.
"And they're fine."
She makes sure to slip in her next Violet June book with a few different ones so Parkinson doesn't notice. She would not give her the satisfaction.
Parkinson is staring at her. A calculating stare that confuses Hermione.
"What?" she asks.
"You're tense," Parkinson says.
She's gone.
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"I just don't understand her," Hermione says, staring into her cup of tea. Luna is wandering around the sitting room watering all the plants. Her wife, Hannah, is sitting on the couch, her wand in hand as rearranges the mantlepieces.
"Some people don't want to be understood," Luna says from somewhere around the far window.
Hannah puts down her wand and takes a sip of her own tea. "So she's told you which dress robes you should buy and pointed out a really good book to you?"
"...Yes?" Hermione says somewhat hesitantly.
"It sounds like she wants to talk to you."
Hermione's eyebrows raise in disbelief. "I highly doubt that that's true. Why would she just leave out of nowhere every time we talk?"
"Maybe she's nervous."
"I doubt that Pansy Parkinson is nervous. Why would she be nervous?"
"Maybe it's to make herself seem alluring and mysterious?"
Hermione sighs and takes a sip of her drink. "Hannah, I seriously doubt that."
"The chittering chameleons think you should reach out to her," Luna says. She's closing a window and walks over to the couch, an airy smile on her face.
"Yes, well, the chittering chameleons also suggested that Laurel should ride a dragon in the next book."
"Dragons are nice."
"Their advice can be rather hit or miss," Hannah says, "but I think they're right. You should try initiating a conversation. Maybe invite her to lunch sometime to show you're interested in making friends?"
"What if I'm not interested in making friends?" Hermione asks with a quirked eyebrow.
Hannah shrugs. "Tell her to sod off, I suppose. I don't know, Mione, it's your decision."
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The next time Hermione sees Parkinson, she flips a coin into her face.
"Congrats on being one month sober," Parkinson says with a smirk.
Hermione inspects the coin. It's a sickle that's been carved to have a '1' on it. She sighs and looks at Parkinson. "I'm not-"
"Shut up, we're going to the Three Broomsticks to celebrate." She turns on her heels and begins stalking towards the pub. She stops and looks over her shoulder when Hermione doesn't follow. "Come on, Granger."
Hermione shakes herself and follows the other woman in silence.
When they enter the pub, Parkinson says, "Sit down, I'm getting your drink. We don't want to break your sobriety streak, do we?"
Hermione doesn't bother arguing and just finds a seat while Parkinson maneuvers her way through the crowd. She returns a few minutes later with two butterbeers. She sits across from Hermione and slides her one of the glasses.
Hermione shifts a bit uncomfortably and says, "Um, thank you. But why are you doing this?"
"Darling, if you think I'll be telling you that, you're sorely mistaken."
She's hardly surprised by this answer.
They slipped into an awkward silence while they sip their butterbeers. Hermione tries to look around the pub, but keeps finding herself looking at Parkinson out of the corner of her eye.
She sits up perfectly straight but despite the fact that she nearly has a foot on Hermione, she only appears slightly taller while sitting - her height is all in her legs. That day, she's donned a forest green bishop-sleeved shirt that buttons all the way up to her neck. She's wearing a necklace, a silver chain - no embellishment, no pendants, nothing. It's just the chain. She brushes some of her hair to rest behind her ear and Hermione notices that she's wearing simple violet shaped earrings.
Parkinson sets her glass down with a particularly heavy hand and says, "The Laurel Bethel books are... good."
Hermione nods with a light smile. "Have you finished all the ones that are out?" she asks.
"Yeah. I, er, I really like Octavia Nightshade. She's kind of badass."
"I like her a lot too," Hermione says. She isn't sure why she's surprised to hear that Parkinson likes the rambunctious, rebellious character. Somehow, she seems like the type of character she would like.
"How many Violet June books have you read now?" Parkinson asks.
"Um, a few," Hermione says, not wanting to admit that she's new reading the very last one she could find.
"And how many is a few? Have you read Marissa Montegue?" Hermione nods. "What about Nighttime Daydreams?" Another nod. Parkinson looks pleased and runs through all the books until she's gathered that Hermione has finished all of them except for A Wistful Breeze. And then, Parkinson says, "You know, there's a special edition anthology of some of her otherwise unreleased short stories. I could lend you my copy."
Hermione can't help lighting up at this. "Can you really? You don't mind?"
"I'll only mind if you steal it or if you ruin it. I'm not too worried about it's wellbeing, though - what with you being who you are."
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Hermione used to have hobbies, she thinks. Writing used to be a hobby, and she still loves doing it, but it's not exactly a hobby anymore.
She needs something to do, something meticulous and repetitive that she can just sink in to. She's too wound up - too nervous. The lull of activity at the Ministry is setting her nerves alight. It has to be a bad sign. She's sure of it.
Maybe knitting, she thinks as she goes about trying to clean her house. It's already spotless however, she's been obsessively cleaning since friday, only stopping to go to the Burrow on saturday.
Perhaps she could try painting.
She opens a drawer on the desk by the door. It's where she does her writing, but she rarely opens the drawers. A black case slides in the otherwise empty drawer.
Oh right.
She takes out the case and closes the drawer with one deft movement. She sits at the desk and stares at the case for a moment. It's not a big thing, but it couldn't fit in any regular sized pocket.
Hermione unzips the case and opens it.
She runs her hands along the tools inside - the bone fold, the scissors, the awl, the brushes, the x-acto knife, the small cutting mat, the artist tape, the sewing kit.
She'd forgotten about book binding.
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Book repairing is exactly the mindless task Hermione needs. It distracts her perfectly during her time spent at home. She's trying to enjoy the sudden stint of having almost nothing to work on, but she can really only do that when she's resewing spines and fixing book covers.
With August comes a sudden tsunami of work. Hermione is yet again fighting to be listened to while the rest of her department generally refuses to listen. Banshees had recently shown an interest in being classified as Beings, but everyone dismissed anything Hermione said on their behalf. Then there's the exhausting pile of paperwork and supervising her division. It's all a lot for one person.
Hermione begins sleeping in her office.
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Hermione returns to Hogsmeade for the first time in three weeks and heads directly to the Three Broomsticks. She'll need to go back soon, so she can't get a firewhiskey. She gets a butterbeer and hopes it'll calm her frayed nerves and ground her. She's been tense, dazed and vaguely separate from her body for a few days now.
"You look like utter shite, dear."
Parkinson slides into the chair across from Hermione.
"Where've you been, anyways? On a bender, perhaps?"
"I've been working," Hermione replies wearily.
"Yourself to death?"
Hermione frowns into her drink. Yeah, maybe to her death. This time of year is always hectic, but it seems to be getting worse and worse.
Parkinson sighs and slides a vial towards Hermione. She picks it up and inspects the label. 'ENERGY POTION - THREE DROPS EVERY SIX HOURS.'
When she looks up to thank Parkinson, she's gone.
Hermione downs the rest of her butterbeer and lets three drops of the energy potion fall into her mouth.
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There are azaleas in the windows.
Hermione doesn't know why, but she stops in front of the little florist shop between the Ministry and the deli she had gone to lunch at.
She's not sure what she's doing, but she goes into the shop. She buys a small bundle of azaleas. It's a muggle shop, she has just enough money on her.
In her office, Hermione transfigures a cup into a vase and puts the flowers into it. She arranges it to sit nicely on her desk.
There's a small rectangle of paper between the bound together stems, she takes it.
The azalea represents many things
but this one is here to remind you
to take care of yourself
The azaleas die a week later.
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Come September, things calm down. Now, she only has to deal with inspections and paperwork and trying to convince her fellow department heads that what they're trying to do is a bad idea. She knows they won't listen, she really does, but she won't stop trying to convince them.
She's getting more time at home now, she's been able to write a few more chapters and mend a few more books. She's normally too tired to leave the house, but one day, when she spots Violets in June: The Violet June Short Story Collection, she spontaneously decides to go sit and read in the park on the outskirts of the village.
The park is a calming place. It's tranquil, usually vacant and quite pretty. Hermione sits on a bench and folds her hands over the book while she just takes in her surroundings. There are flower beds and a lot of bushes and trees that all sway in the gentle wind. The water of the not-quite-a-lake-not-quite-a-pond ripples around the small animals and bugs moving about in it.
She takes a nice, deep breath and opens the book.
?
When Hermione puts the book down, Parkinson is sitting beside her, hands tucked away in the folds of her robes as she watches the ducks with a serene expression. The gentle expression is a nice change, it suits Parkinson.
"Still busy with work?" Parkinson asks.
"A bit," Hermione answers. "It's slowed down some."
Parkinson hums thoughtfully. "You know, I don't think I know what you do."
"I'm in the Being Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
It feels surreal. Sitting here in a park, side by side with Pansy Parkinson. It feels... Hermione doesn't think she has the words to properly describe it, but it's... nice.
Parkinson looks at her. Hermione is about to ask what she's staring for when she says, "That suits you."
Hermione isn't sure what that means. "What about you? What do you do?"
"Oh, this and that," she replies with a vague wave of her hand.
Hermione would push, but something stops her. She isn't sure what. She checks her watch.
Half six.
The sun is setting.
Hermione gets to her feet. Parkinson follows. They don't speak as they walk back to the village. Hermione stops at her door, Parkinson stops as well.
"This is me," she says.
Parkinson looks at the nice little cottage for a moment, then says, "It's nice. I'll see you, Granger." She walks away and Hermione watches her retreating silhouette.