There are some complications to living in a non-magical neighbourhood, at least for a witch. Like coming and going. Especially apparating. It can't be done outside the house, for obvious reasons, but it can't be allowed freely inside either. Not when effective wards are needed.
"Sorry," Hermione says, as she crams them into the small space left in the laundry room. She should have reminded her parents not to leave the drying rack out and full of clothes, and can't make herself fix it now. It's warm in here with her jacket on. "It's just, it'll take forever to get to Diagon with the regular communications and since I'm not living here anymore my parents got disconnected from the floo." It's still a source of frustration for her, even years later; the fact that it doesn't matter that her parents are aware of the magical world. The laws where never written with mudbloods in mind, and to this day no one's seen the need to change them.
Beside her, Kakashi is silent. Hermione takes a breath, then moves on before anything else can be said on the subject. "Remember," she says, "make sure to hold on, and whatever you do, don't fight it."
"Maa," Kakashi answers lightly, "don't worry, it's not like a mistake can tear us into pieces or anything." And okay, maybe Hermione has been a bit overzealous about this, but disapparating with non-magicals is tricky to begin with and Kakashi has his own set of powers.
"Don't be a baby," Hermione answers while drawing her wand and offering him her left arm. As soon as he grips it, she turns. No point in delaying the inevitable and all that.
It goes well. They pop into existence in the backyard of the Leaky Cauldron and while Kakashi looks a little wide-eyed and ruffled he's neither freaking out nor throwing up. "That's your transportation of choice?" He asks.
Hermione shrugs and gives him a smile. "You'll get used to it," she tells him while leading the way towards non-magical London. He makes a doubting noise at the back of his throat but doesn't question her.
Shopping with Kakashi turns to be an interesting experience. He had told her beforehand, as she researched available stores for him to buy clothes for the wedding, that he wanted it to be painless and quick. Maybe she should have asked him to clarify, or at least taken the hint from how most of his clothing is parts of the Konoha shinobi uniform.
"This will do." Kakashi stops before they're halfway to the medium-priced menswear store Hermione's found. She casts a glance at the window display, and she knows immediately why she discarded this one. It's all expensive brands and airy interior design.
"Um," Hermione manages, "you sure about that?"
Turning to her, Kakashi cocks his head, his eyebrows twitching. "Something wrong with it?" he says.
"Nope," Hermione glances through the window again, sees a well-dressed salesman without a hair out of place. "But it's bound to be expensive. Like really expensive." She comes from a middle-class family, and getting what they need has never been a problem, but stores like that? Not for her, and she knows it.
"Well," Kakashi says, "that should mean they can be effective. Unless there's something else?" He steps to the side and gestures for Hermione to go ahead.
"You're crazy," she says, shaking her head but moving.
"Maa," Kakashi answers, and she can hear the smile in his voice, "tell me something I don't know."
To avoid going first Hermione holds the door open for Kakashi, who saunters in with his hands in his pockets and a way too relaxed stance. The door falls shut behind them, and Hermione's never felt this out of place in her life. Ever. The fancy looking shop assistant steps up to them, and for a terrifying second Hermione's sure he's going to rudely ask them to leave. She's in a pair of H&M jeans and a slightly too worn jacket after all, without makeup and with her hair on end. In Diagon Alley it'll pass as a fashion statement. Here, not so much.
"Hi," the man says with a smile, "I'm Patrick, how can I help you today?" He seems genuine, and is focusing on Kakashi, making Hermione relax marginally.
"I'm going to a wedding," Kakashi says, "which apparently means I need a suit. I don't know the details." He looks up to study the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and Hermione finds herself the centre of attention for the shop assistant. She'd slap Kakashi if it wouldn't be a further demonstration of how little she belongs here.
Patrick gets details about the event from Hermione, guesses Kakashi's size with scaring precision, and sends him into a changing room with a pair of dark grey suit pants and a light blue shirt. The jacket, when it comes on, could be tailored to fit him, and Hermione has to admit Patrick does know what he's doing. There's more questions (yes, the mask will stay on; yes, Kakashi wants to be able to take his jacket off; no, he is not tying a noose around his neck), Patrick hums, goes to get two other shirts and sends Kakashi back into the changing room.
Since Kakashi doesn't have much of an opinion, Hermione and Patrick unanimously decide he's having the band collared one that Patrick has a fancy name for, and Hermione simply calls green. Darkish, Slytherin, green, with a grey pattern on the inside of the collar, peaking out where it meets the mask. It's the kind of shirt that makes Hermione wish she could fill out men's clothes and wear it herself.
Not fifteen minutes later they're back out on the street, and Hermione must agree it was indeed quick and painless. Unless you count the hole it must have left in Kakashi's finances, which he just shrugs at. "I have told you," he says dryly, "repeatedly, that money is not one of my problems. I did mean it."
"Yeah, yeah," Hermione says and elbows him lightly, "I just thought it meant not a problem, not I can buy whatever I want."
"Maa," Kakashi answers, "you see, buying everything one wants is easy if one doesn't want very complicated things. Like, for example, not being stuck in a dressing room all day. I find it to be a worthy trade-off."
"Filthy rich," Hermione mocks him, "that's what I hear; you're filthy rich."
Kakashi shrugs and gives her a blinding smile, his hands tucked in his pockets. "Well," he says, "that too."
The laugh it startles out of Hermione is more resembling a donkey than anything ladylike. "If that's the case, you," she points a finger at him, "are definitely buying me lunch."
"Now where did that female independence you've been campaigning about go?" Kakashi's voice is meant to sound disappointed, but Hermione can hear beyond that.
"Sorry," she tells him, "the gold digger won out."
Kakashi places a finger against her shoulder and ruthlessly shove her two steps to the right. She avoids hitting the streetlight pole he places in her path by pure luck. They both know that when lunch rolls around, she'll demand to take her part of the check. No matter what.
.oOo.
While shopping for clothes is not Kakashi's thing, he does seem to enjoy poking about in the various stores of Diagon Alley. Mostly, he questions the sanity of things: Why have a Remembrall when it doesn't tell you what to remember? Aren't self-supporting socks impractical to store in a drawer? Who would ever buy their kid a screaming toy? And why would anyone, ever, risk eating Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans? Of course, that last one calls for Hermione buying them a box. Not that she has any idea how to get Kakashi to try them, but she'll figure something out.
It's been years since Hermione had so much fun in Diagon, if ever. She'd always been too aware of how making fun of the wizarding lack of logic set her apart, and as the years passed most everyone from mixed or non-magical families stopped questioning the craziness. Neither was it something she could really share with her parents, because they were sceptical enough about the magical society as it was. Pointing out weirdness and inconsistencies in too great numbers might have made them question her going Hogwarts.
A small voice in the back of her head reminds her, however, to keep it down, to be careful. Not that she should care anymore; it's been obvious for years that she'll never be fully accepted in the magical community. But she doesn't want to step on unnecessary toes, and she doesn't want to worsen the situation for the new generation of muggle-borns fighting to get make a place for themselves.
It sucks, that nothing she does in this world is ever only representative for herself. That her actions invariably both reflects on, and is seen in the light of, bias and stereotypes. Woman. Muggle-born. Bookworm. Gryffindor. There's so many of them to navigate it's easy to miss out on who she is in it all.
Still, that's just a minor pin-prick-sensation in the back of her head. Probably hormones. Nothing to pay attention to or it might spread; so, Hermione doesn't. All in all, it's an amazing day.
That is, until Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
It starts out great. George is behind the counter, covering the break of whatever newly graduated Hogwarts' student they have hired at the moment. He was always fun and warm and welcoming. Is still, even if the death of Fred and the fact that he's now a father has him more settled these days. Less unruly. Sometimes, Hermione misses the days she was part of the Weasley family. She hardly ever sees George and Angelina anymore. Hasn't even met little Fred. But it is what it is.
Kakashi mentions something about Naruto, and George fires off a wicked grin and offers to show him some muggle-friendly gifts. Or retaliations. Whatever Kakashi wants to do with them. And yeah, George might be less unruly these days, but no one can accuse him of passing up the opportunity for a great practical joke. That, he'd said once, his hand over his heart, would be to defile Fred's memory.
Hermione is a few steps behind as the others crosses the shop towards the non-magical section, momentarily distracted by something resembling a winged pygmy puff that gets entangled in her hair, when Ron steps out the door to the basement laboratory. It's good to see him. It is. While they're not exactly friends anymore, they're, well, something. Hermione still hasn't figured out what, even if they meet regularly. Maybe it's because they don't talk anymore, not just the two of them.
"Hi," Hermione says, trying to hold the struggling fluffball in place. "Please help? With whatever this is?" It's hard not to laugh at the whole thing, so Hermione doesn't bother trying. She tries to look at the little creature, but it's nothing but a brownish green blur at the edge of her vision.
"Sorry," Ron says, laughing as well, "that's Archie. He got a bit of an unfortunate colour, so no one bought him. He lives in the rafters now."
The day started out good, the visit to WWW did, and even the conversation with Ron. Maybe that's why Hermione is completely blindsided by how fast it all goes to hell. They've been talking about Iceland, and how Ron's taking a more active part in the product development, and how they, with a little help from Fleur, are looking into the French market, planning to open a new store there. And Hermione? She doesn't think. Forgets she's meant to walk on eggshells.
"I'm happy to hear that," she says, "I can't believe you've gotten this far." The mood changes with all the brutality of a car crash, fast enough to give Hermione a whiplash.
"Seriously?" Ron says. Cold. Angry.
"Oh, for…" Hermione takes a breath. Reigns herself in and tries to salvage what she can from the wreckage. "You know I didn't mean it like that. I meant the company, going international. That's huge."
"Yeah?" Ron's voice is a challenge now. "And how was I meant to know that?"
The switch from before must have crushed Hermione's ribs as well, because not only is her head ringing, she can't breathe. Ron, of all people, knows her. Should understand that she never means anything but well. That he doesn't is the biggest betrayal of them all. How did they end up here?
"It's not like you ever believed in me," Ron tells her. "You always thought you were better than everybody else."
His words surge through Hermione like white hot iron. "Well," she says, voice calm but hands shaking. "After everything, you should know that's not true. But if it's really what you think? Maybe we shouldn't speak anymore." Before Ron can answer, she turns around and leaves the shop.
.oOo.
Kakashi's aware Hermione is talking to someone downstairs. It's not the kind of thing that passes him by; not in an unfamiliar environment, filled with people with powers and weapons he knows little about. Not to say he's worried exactly – from what he knows about magic he could get out fast enough – more like he's attentive to the details around him. One of those details simply happen to be the red-headed man with clear familial resemblance to George, who stands talking to Hermione.
Ron, Kakashi supposes.
They seem to be having a good time, so Kakashi writes it off, allows his full attention to be on George showing him gadgets and tricks that Kakashi knows he won't buy. He does like the Peruvian Darkness Powder though, and the cheat-sheets, he can see a clear use for those. Also George, being the inventor behind half the tings on stock, can answer a lot of questions about the hows and whys of their function. Kakashi even understands the answers, about 30 percent of the time.
Magic, Kakashi has found, is interesting, quirky, absolutely devoid of logical rules, and a combination of overpowered and underwhelming that he can't quite get a hang on. A witch or wizard can cast spell after spell after spell, and not get more tired than if they were waving a regular stick about. They can apply that power on virtually everything, not stopped by limitations of chakra-reserves or elements or their own connection to things. Hermione can cast a warming charm on Kakashi, if the wind gets chilly, then walk away leaving him warm, but she can't use magic to clean her floor. Also, most of the offensive magic Kakashi's heard of can be negated by hiding behind things. Or stepping out of its path. Now, he hasn't actually seen anyone fighting, and he's aware of that, so he shouldn't jump to conclusions. But still. None of it makes much sense.
When the voices downstairs change in tone, Kakashi and George both pause and look down. It's impossible now to get the context of what's said, but Kakashi knows the tone of Hermione's voice as she says she and Ron shouldn't speak anymore. He's caused her to sound like that, months ago now, practically an eternity in the ways that matter, out on a desolated Icelandic road. He still regrets it.
Hermione exits the store, head held high and steps even. Unlike her, Ron slams the door as he disappears in the other direction.
For a second, George and Kakashi shares a look. George with a twisted smile and Kakashi with a raised eyebrow. "Better go after them I guess?" George says.
"Good idea." Kakashi starts down the spiral staircase. He can live without the planned purchases.
"See you on Friday, if not before." George's voice follows Kakashi out the door. He doesn't respond.
Hermione's sitting on a bench, a few houses over, staring blankly into space. Kakashi walks over and settles down next to her, leaving a foot of empty air between them – they're in a public place after all. He's unsure what he's supposed to do now. A tight, cold lump has settled in his chest, telling him that he can't do this. He's bad at this stuff. Kakashi squashes it down, and asks himself instead; what would Hermione do? Turns out, he knows the answer to that.
"Want to talk about it?" Kakashi asks, and his tone might be slightly drier than he had planned, but it's not too bad. It even draws a momentary hint of a smile to Hermione's lips.
"Not really," Hermione says, still staring at the empty air in front of her. "Not now," she glances over at Kakashi, "and definitely not here." Which means some other place, and later, but Kakashi can do that, he can.
"How about going home?" He asks. "I think I've had my fill of magical things for the day."
"Sure," Hermione doesn't move. They sit in silence and Kakashi tries not to let the mass in his chest affect his breathing. "Can you teach me to hit something?" Hermione says.
"Hit something, is a very imprecise request," Kakashi tells her dryly, and lets his elbow bump against hers. "But sure, I can teach you to hit something. Or someone, if that's what you're after?" It draws a laugh out of Hermione. A win.
"I'm not going to actually hit him," Hermione says. "Whoever throws the first punch loses and so on."
Kakashi shrugs. "Better make sure it's a proper punch then," he says as he stands. Offering a hand, he pulls Hermione to her feet. "If you were to ever decide it's worth losing over."
The rest of the afternoon passes in a bit of a blur after that. It's a nice day, so they practice in the backyard. Hermione is beginning to get the hang of punching with her whole body, when her father comes home. Carrying a cake. And a wrapped gift. Then Jean arrives with a suspicious looking bag.
When they sing for him after dinner, Kakashi swears to himself he's going to kill them all in their sleep.
Unfortunately, despite not having a mother to raise him, Kakashi knows his manners. He grumbles and protests a bit, of course, but he can't be seen as ungrateful, can he? He's a guest in Jean and Richard's house, and they're trying to be nice. Hermione will be hearing about it later, however, because she doesn't look the least bit surprised. Just walks up to her room and comes back down with a gift of her own. As if receiving gifts and celebrations is a reasonable response to the fact that you were once born. As if that was in any way a feat done by you.
But oh yes, Hermione'll definitely get what's coming for her. That fact that she laughs as he tells her that only further cements the fact.
After the cake there's the gifts. Which is something Kakashi hasn't been subjected to in forever. Minato tried once, but was wise enough not to repeat it. Now Kakashi's sitting with three wrapped presents on the table, expected to open them under the scrutiny of the givers. It's worse than being put in front of a psych evaluator from T&I.
He gets a knitted sweater from Jean that he has no idea when he's supposed to use and can't see himself in. Unfortunately she's good at guessing sizes, meaning it fits, meaning he'll have to wear it at least once in the next few days. From Richard he gets an electric toothbrush, that he'll also have to use as long as he's living with the Grangers. Kakashi can't figure out what the problem is with brushing by hand but doesn't ask. Instead simply smiles politely, says his thanks, and firmly tells himself not to shunshin out of the room. Why anyone would enjoy getting birthday gifts is a mystery.
Hermione, of course, gives him books. Kakashi knows that the second he grabs the bulky, unevenly rectangular, present. Paperbacks, judging by the weight and the smooth edges. Unfolding the wrapping paper reveals a smallish pile of them. Six, Kakashi counts. Dogeared, with bent covers, and most of them familiar. It's books he's seen in Hermione's hands as she's been reading on the couch, has had stuck under his nose at one time or another, but never found the energy to start on. He runs his fingers along their edges and feels the bumps and creases. Swallows around the tightness in his chest that's replaced the burning awkwardness. Raises an impassive eyebrow at Hermione.
"Not letting me escape these, are you?" He keeps his voice dry.
"Nope." Hermione grins. "I can be quite persuasive; you are going to read those."
"Come back when you have any actual leverage to back that up with," Kakashi tells her. He knows she hears the real answer.
.oOo.
All the upstairs rooms in Hermione's childhood home has dormer windows. Sometimes, she wonders what came first; her love for books, or for the reading nook her dormer has been turned into. With age it's been getting a little short – forcing her to keep her legs bent and reduce the number of pillows and blankets that was once kept here – but it's still her favourite spot in the whole house.
She feels like shit. There are no other words for it. Distractions are great and everything but – by definition – they end. Leaving you slightly sick from too much cake and with aching muscles and bruised forearms. And tired. Exhausted even, but Hermione's unable to stomach the thought of lying in bed with the lights turned off. She doesn't want to be left at the mercy of her own mind at the moment. It's too busy looping around in anxious circles reminding her why she's completely worthless. Not to mention stupid.
Kakashi is just across the hall, and Hermione's entertained the idea of going over there, but can't make herself. Not when he asked, and she told him later, and he should know that means to check in on her again. Telling herself that that kind of thinking is both unreasonable and irrational doesn't make her feel better about herself.
Outside her door, Hermione can hear her dad on the stairs, about to get ready for bed. There'll be traffic in the hallway for at least half an hour then, depending on how late her mum is. Grabbing a cushion to hug against her chest, Hermione leans her head back against the wall and closes her eyes. A few years ago, she'd have told her parents about meeting Ron, but she hasn't wanted to this time. With her mum there's a fifty-fifty chance she'll team up with Hermione against Ron, only to remind Hermione of her faults not minutes later. She'd also be hurt if Hermione told only her father, and she'd rather not put either of them in that position.
When Hermione reopens her eyes, there's a pair of shoes outside her window.
The grip of her wand is smoothened from years of use, and every grain of the wood familiar under her fingers. Her vine wand might have been lost to the snatchers, but Hermione thinks this one suits her grown-up self better. Alder and unicorn hair, unadorned and to the point. Able to blend in somewhat in a non-magical environment. She uses it now for a silent Muffliato, and then flicks it to open the feetless windowpane by her knees.
"What are you doing?" Hermione asks, as the owner of the feet drops from the top of the dormer to land soundlessly on the narrow edge of roof outside the window. He waves like the 15 feet of air behind him hasn't registered at all, and smiles like this is a perfectly normal way of stopping by. For a moment Hermione entertains the idea of a stinging hex.
"You did say I should make sure your parents didn't catch me." Kakashi opens the window all the way and crouches down on the roof with his elbows on his knees, looking like it's a comfortable position. It shouldn't be. Not for long. Hermione retracts her legs enough that he can squeeze inside should he want to. "You look like you could need some air," Kakashi says.
Despite everything, Hermione laughs. "You are insane," she tells him and gets a widened smile in reply. "Let me just put on a pair of shoes and a sweater." Because why not? The fresh air makes breathing feel easier, and Hermione knows that Kakashi won't let her fall. "If I tumble down and die, I'll haunt you for the rest of your life, just so you know," she still tells him as she digs out a pair of trainers from her closet.
"And here I was," Kakashi says, "planning to push you over the ledge to get back on you for tonight."
Hermione emerges from her sweater to raise both her eyebrows in question. She still hasn't managed only the one. "Doesn't sound melodramatic at all," she says as she climbs up on the window seat, "murdering because someone took note of your birthday." If Kakashi didn't have the mask, Hermione thinks he might have stuck his tongue out.
The roof is steep, but the tiles are dry and the trainers give Hermione enough grip to get her up alongside the dormer. She settles on its roof; legs stretched out in front of her on the flatter part and back resting against the main roof. With a cushioning charm it's a decent recliner. Unfortunately, the stars are hidden behind a combination of clouds and city lights.
Before settling down next to her Kakashi presses his hand against the compact air above the tiles, feeling the charm. "Handy," he concludes.
"It's bizarre," Hermione says, allowing herself yet another distraction, "how you can walk on water and level this house to the ground, yet has never seen a feather being levitated."
"Please," Kakashi says, and Hermione can practically hear the sceptical look on his face, "it wounds me you think so little of me. I could level this neighbourhood. Easily."
Hermione wants to laugh. To continue the conversation, saying something about him still not being able to float a feather of accio a book. She exhales instead, long and slow to avoid sighing. Her chest feels heavy. For a while there's only the rustle of leaves and the occasional car passing by out on the main road. Hermione closes her eyes. Maybe she could fall asleep up here, where the air isn't as stifling and the darkness is less compact.
"You want to tell me what happened?" It's a question only in the loosest sense of the word, leaving Hermione the choice to answer. Or not. Fifteen minutes ago, she'd wanted him to ask, now she has no idea how to respond.
"I don't know," she says eventually, "it's just… It'll sound…" Stupid, she thinks, but doesn't say. Negligible. And maybe she is overreacting. Not to mention she doesn't want to focus on this at all; it feels like losing. They've got so little time left, and Hermione wants to enjoy it. "It's all such a mess," she says out loud. "I wouldn't even know where to start."
"The beginning seems like a reasonable place," Kakashi says, his voice calm and steady in a way Hermione wonders if he can back up. He has no idea what he's getting in to, does he?
"It's a long story," Hermione tries. There are years, after all. Speckled with small spots of complication that never looks like much when you see only one. Until you get the distance and see how widespread the stuff is. Not to mention start to realise, slowly and far too late, how some things where irreparably skewed from the start.
Next to her, Kakashi shrugs. "As far as I know," he says, "we've got nothing planned until lunch with what's-her-name tomorrow."
"Luna." Hermione quiets. She's getting cold, the air cushion beneath her doing nothing for insulation. Applying a warming charm on her hoodie and stuffing her hands in its pockets is easy enough, and she offers the same to Kakashi. The way he melts against the roof as she casts it is evidence of how forced his earlier relaxed stance was.
When the silence has stretched far enough to snap, Hermione takes a breath. The beginning. Maybe she can figure the rest out as she goes. "I was the one who kissed him, you know," she starts. "Smack in the middle of the battle of Hogwarts. It wasn't planned or anything, it just happened. For once, he said something thoughtful, and the fact that I'm saying 'for once' says it all really. I still haven't figured out why I did it, apart from adrenaline and the overhanging possibility of not surviving the night, and I remember thinking even then, that I had no clue how I ended up there. Or if it was the right thing." Hermione pauses. Swallows around the thickness in her throat. Merlin, she wishes now she'd have listened to that questioning voice in the back of her head back then. Or any of the times it had reared its head in the years to come. "Anyway," she continues, knowing she needs to push on or she'll lose her confidence, "it got the ball rolling, and with everything back then, I think I needed something warm and bright."
Taking her hands out of her pockets, Hermione hugs herself. She wishes she'd have brought a cushion up here with her, then berates herself for forgetting she's a witch. They're on the roof and it's dark outside, it's not like anyone will see her. For courtesy's sake she offers her second conjured pillow to Kakashi, only to make a third when he takes it. With one under her head and one pressed against her chest, Hermione grasps for where she was. There's never been the need to tell anyone the full story before; most everyone is too much of a friend to Ron to talk to, and her mother had been around as it all happened.
"There was a lot of good things, of course. Honestly, I don't know how I'd gotten through the year after the war without him. But there was also…" Hermione breathes, "…there was also moments, right from the start, from before then even, because I'd known him for years…"
"I told myself they'd get better. All of them. And some of them did; some things that was simply him being raised with archaic views of housework. Like how he started out expecting me to cook for him. And wanting thanks for 'helping out' with household chores. Or thinking towels never needed washing since he was clean when he dried himself off. And I hear myself saying these things, and it sounds insane. There I was, practically raising him to be a proper grown-up, and…" Hermione cuts herself off. She'd actually forgotten about the towel-thing until she'd heard herself say it. This is slipping into a rant about the raising of the youngest Weasley son, however, and that's not what matters.
"That wasn't even the problem," Hermione says, softer now, and Kakashi's eyes burn against the side of her face. She watches the tops of threes against the dark sky. "I've told myself afterwards that that should have been enough, but it wasn't, and not the other stuff either. I always thought I was smart, and that I wouldn't take any crap or live with someone who was bad for me. Only I wasn't, and I did." Kakashi remains silent in the pause, and it drags more words out of Hermione. She's not sure she could stop now if she wanted to, which she realized she doesn't.
"Ron was… He is…" Hermione searches for a place to start. "Ron grew up with five older brothers and a younger sister. They're an old, pure-blooded family, but poor. His brothers, though, all made names for themselves at school, being head boys, and Quidditch-captains, and famous tricksters, and whatever. There was no way left to stand out in his family, I guess. I don't know. Either way, it was always a thing with him, when others were better, and I…" What used to be a lump in Hermione's throat is now an impassable tumour, stopping her from forming words. There's the beginning of tears in her eyes, but they've yet to escape. She can do this. If she can get her voice back.
"And you were better," Kakashi fills in. The words cut like a knife.
"Not," Hermione manages, then restarts; "I never thought that. More book smart, yes. Better at organizing, yes. A sharper analyst, sure. But never better. I've never thought I was better than anyone else."
"I've been a genius most my life, you know." Kakashi's voice is calm yet piercing through the darkness. "The prodigal son of the White Fang, youngest to graduate the academy, youngest jōnin. I'm better than most people at being a shinobi, and in Konoha that's what counts." The words are matter of fact rather than ashamed and Hermione wonders what it feels like to be so confident in one's abilities. "Does that mean I'm worth more than them?" Kakashi continues. "No. Have I worked harder than them? Not necessarily. Life isn't fair that way. But if I were to say we are all equally gifted, that we can all do the same things? I'd be lying and they would die. To let someone think they're as good as me, and then send them out on a S-ranked mission, that's not to ascribe us the same value."
There is a point to his reasoning, only, "it's different for you, your job is…" Hermione is cut off.
"No, it's not." Risking a glance to her side she meets Kakashi's stare. His eyes are narrowed, a combination of thoughtfulness and protest Hermione thinks. She looks back at the empty darkness above her. "The stakes are only higher," Kakashi continues smoothly. "When it comes down to it, it's a matter of how you utilize the resources in a community, and where an individual can contribute effectively while feeling comfortable. That's the same for academics as it is in the military. If you want to have a discussion about whether the differences in paygrade is fair, that's one thing. But don't mix up someone's value with their skills, and don't make yourself less because of it."
There's an edge to his voice by the time he finishes, and Hermione finds she has no idea how to respond. She didn't say that, did she? That skill and value went hand in hand? Because she doesn't think it, never has, only… Well; Ron did. He also made her believe that everyone else would think she saw it that way, and that they did. Turning to Kakashi Hermione opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again. Kakashi thinks she makes herself less because of it, and she does. She really, really, does, but that's not enough to make people like her.
Under his mask Kakashi's cheeks twist into a smile that never reaches his eyes. "Sorry," he tells her, "I'm supposed to shut up and listen. We were at the point of Ron not being able to handle how you are intelligent and analytical, both things sought after in most societies."
"Yeah," Hermione can't help but answer, "because I never go off on tangential rants about things, so I'm totally judging you for it." She hasn't begun to think about the main point of his interjection yet and needs to buy herself some time.
Kakashi doesn't take the bait, but lets silence fall between them as Hermione catches up. What he'd said about skill had been slightly off the mark, hadn't it, because surely you can't simply compare things like that? The fact that something makes sense in a military setting doesn't necessarily mean it translates unto civilian society. It's not the same at all. Is it? Hermione will have to think about it later, let it roll around in her head and see how she feels about it. Right now, she's devoted herself to tell Kakashi about her and Ron. Not able to meet Kakashi's eyes as she tries to find her way back into the story, Hermione once again turn her stare out ahead.
"I thought I had…" she starts, trying to sort out her thoughts, "I don't know. Dignity? Self-preservation? Self-respect? Integrity? Something, that would make me put my foot down. I used to look at people who were in bad relationships and wonder why they didn't simply leave. Like, didn't they respect themselves enough for that?" Admitting it hurts, and Hermione closes her eyes. Pretending she's alone doesn't ease the pain, but it lessens the humiliation marginally. She takes a breath, ignoring the way it stabs its way down her abdomen, and decides not to stop for anything. It's better not to allow herself time to think. Or feel.
"Then," she starts, "I was sitting on the couch one evening, years later, and I realized there was very little of me left. It had started so small. With Ron being upset that he got average scores at the NEWTs, meaning I never celebrated being top of class. With learning not to question how or why he did things, because he'd get offended, to learning not to discuss things at all, because I'm an obnoxious know-it-all who always must be right. Never mind that you break a vacuum cleaner if you stand on it, or that it belonged to my parents, or that they liked it. I still shouldn't try to catch him out and question his judgement.
"The thing is, I know I'm a wiseacre, okay? No, don't poke me. I am. I question things, and I ask why and how and what if. I just used to think that the people who became my friends knew this and liked me anyway. That they didn't take my questions and remarks as critique because they knew I'm both curious and eager to share things. Only Ron clearly didn't, and he was supposed to know me the best. We lived together. I loved him. So if he didn't, then how could anybody else?
"I told myself that he could apparently love me despite of all that, and if I could just reign myself in, everything would be perfect. My personality maybe not the most pleasant one, my control-freakiness is a standing joke among my friends, but I thought… I don't know… I just… Clearly it was never enough for him.
"And anyway, I was sitting that day on the couch, and I realized I'd been wanting to change the throw cushions for over a year. Ron wasn't interested in that kind of things. I'd tried to discuss it with him, but he never gave me a straight answer. Only, I couldn't go out and simply get new ones, because I was already domineering and kept either making decisions without him or bulldozing over him. So, I hadn't. I'd toned down to the point of self-eradication, and it still wasn't enough. I wasn't meant to go ahead and singlehandedly decide, meaning no decisions could be made since he refused to discuss things since I always "won", and in the end that meant I wasn't the one in complete control. He was. Just in a very passive aggressive, illusive way.
"Not that I left him then. We talked about it, and it was meant to get better, and even saying that now makes me feel fucking stupid. It wasn't until over a year later, when it was getting obvious he despised me, when he'd been trying again and again to catch me out in something, getting nastier and nastier when I either could rationalize my actions or was okay with being corrected, that we broke it off. Not I, we, because even then I couldn't make the decision. Because he said he loved me despite who I am, and I'm still not sure I can hope for more than that. Now though, I'm thinking I'd rather live alone for the rest of my life than have to cut away enough of me that I can be tolerable as a partner."
Hermione's head is spinning. Partly from lack of air, she thinks, and partly from trying to figure out what got included in her monologue and what might need clarification. But mostly from pure, unadulterated terror. In the silence that settles after her words, she can hear her heartbeat rushing in her ears. Feel the coolness of tears on her cheeks and snot smeared over her upper lip. She wipes her face on the sleeve of her shirt and keep her eyes shut. Kakashi might have said before he doesn't see her as an obnoxious know-it-all, but up until this point no one's fully taken Hermione's side in any of this. Her mum had mostly agreed, but also fitted in an I-told-you-so and a well-you-can-be-quite-difficult-sometimes. Her dad hadn't said much about Ron at all, but has warned her off using too long words since she was a kid, telling her they make her sound uppity.
"I'm trying to figure out," Kakashi finally begins, his voice scratchy. He clears his throat. "A more constructive way of telling you you're an idiot." Hermione tries to keep her feelings off her face but can tell by the way Kakashi inhales that she's failing. "Not like that," he clarifies. "You're an idiot for being grateful he loved you despite, as you say. I'm not the best at these things, but even I know you're supposed to be loved because of who you are."
"But what if." Before Hermione can finish the sentence Kakashi pokes her in the arm. Hard. If there weren't tears running down her cheeks Hermione'd glare at him. As it is, she doubts it would have much effect.
"No ifs," Kakashi tells her. "There are people who love you because of who you are."
I love you too, Hermione doesn't say. Those kinds of words are too complicated, too easy to misinterpret. 'I love you' is so easily confused with 'I'm in love with you'. But Hermione loves her parents and her friends, chocolate and books, the worn-soft sweater she inherited from Harry and the smell of newly mowed grass. She's not in love with any of those things. "Right back at you," she tells Kakashi instead, glancing over to meet his eyes for a second.
Before things gets awkward Kakashi steers them back onto the subject of Ron, and what happened that afternoon. Hermione talks until her throat gets sore, and then continues talking. Tells him about this day and others, about how Ron knew how much it hurt her that her unpleasant sides (here Kakashi pokes her again) were a standing joke among their friends but still went there, about the catastrophe of her trying to teach Ron to drive. Once she's started there's no stopping. Hermione didn't even know she had so much to say on the subject, and that is without touching the… eh… more intimate issues.
Kakashi has an impressive vocabulary when it comes to synonyms for asshole, Hermione discovers, as he uses a variety of words to describe what he thinks of Ron's actions at different times. Yet mostly, he listens. Which is really all Hermione needs. He listens and asks and every now and then points out that she's being an idiot, again.
It ebbs out eventually, into a slow-moving conversation about growing up as someone who picks things up faster than the rest of the class. About being challenged too little and forced to drag others along too often, and in Hermione's sake; all the while being reminded she should conform. Be a good girl and not think too much of herself. Focus on helping her peers, instead of asking too complicated questions in class. To quiet down, to hold back, to not be a distraction.
Humming, Hermione is trying to grasp an elusive thought when the cushioning charm snaps. It's not audible in itself, but the way she and Kakashi crash against the tiles a few inches beneath them are. There will be bruises tomorrow. Hip and elbow at the very least. "Ugh," Hermione manages, rolling on the ridged tiles to sit up, "and that's why witches still need to buy real, manufactured furniture."
"Clearly," Kakashi says dryly. He's lying on the roof like nothing happened and it's comfortable this way as well. Hermione vanishes his pillow.
"Come on," she says, holding back a yawn. "I'm exhausted. For some reason I feel like I've gone over my messed up former relationship with a fine-tooth comb, while crying an awful lot."
"I wonder why." Kakashi sits up, leans forward to place his hands by the edge of the dormer roof, and vaults down in front of it. Hermione throws her remaining pillow at him, but he ducks away with ease. "What are you waiting for?" he says.
"I was waiting for you to gain some sense," Hermione tells him, "But I see now that's a lost cause."
"Maa," Kakashi says, "I didn't take you for naïve. It's good you realize your mistake. Now get a move on or I'll leave you out here alone."
.oOo.
Kakashi wouldn't leave Hermione on her own out on the roof. Obviously. She's a civilian, and could slip and fall and kill herself any second, none of which is going to happen on his watch. It would be great if she sped up though, because he's tired and unsettled.
For months, Hermione's been a rock. Steadfast, wise, persistent. Without her, Kakashi doesn't know where he'd be today. Or rather, he does know where, but he prefers not to think about it. It's never been a secret that she has things of her own to deal with; that she's familiar with anxiety, darkness and desolation, Kakashi just never expected… well, this. For someone who's intelligent and rational, who's always been able to make sense of his messes, to be utterly blind when it comes to herself.
Meaning it's suddenly up to Kakashi to be Hermione's Hermione, and by God does she deserve someone better.
There's a memory however, from what feels like ages ago: It's okay to say you don't know what to say, it whispers. The important thing is to listen.
Tonight, Kakashi has discovered he can do that. These months has given him quite a crash course, both in dealing with Hermione in every possible state of mind, but also in having Hermione deal with him. Human beings fall apart, and while it hurts in every fibre of Kakashi's being when it's happens, he knows now it's not dangerous. In this it's more like he's the conductor, having Hermione's pain use him for grounding. Of course it's terrifying, receiving that much power and being trusted not to accidently injure, but it's also…
Good.
In Kakashi's stomach there's a small pocket of warmth that has nothing to do with any charm, and everything to do with being trusted and able to help. Not that that stops him from feeling nauseous. Or angry. Or devastatingly sad. But it makes it worth it. Kakashi's gone to war before, and he'll do it again if that what it takes. For Hermione against Hermione, and it's confusing but also completely clear. The only regret is how little time he has left, because even after everything shared tonight, he guesses the wounds run deeper than what's been said. That every harshly spoken word might need to be negated, one by one, before Hermione will be able to understand rather than just hear.
Seems like Kakashi is doomed to forever be slightly too late to save his friends.
AN: It took me more time than I thought to write this. I had a lot of fun with the first part, but then got stuck on the second for a while. I've lived the relationship I imagine Hermione and Ron would end up having, and I had to gather my thought around it. It's further back than me being burnt out, meaning I had to dig deeper to get it out. It feels cleansing to have it in print now though, no matter if parts of it isn't my finest literary work. I've really been looking forward to this part, where Kakashi is in a place where I imagine him being able to listen to Hermione, and occasionally be the voice of reason. There's so many things I think she needs to get perspective on, and this was a major one. That said, it's also hard when the balance between them change. Please let me know if they slip out of character. Or you know, other things you think about.
You should know by know I love you, but it bears repeating: I love you! Thank you for joining me on this journey.
