CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Wednesday night held such warm, soft winds that Hermione followed Crookshanks onto the balcony. Muggle-wise, it was in no way sanctioned. That didn't stop Hermione from climbing her way onto her magically reinforced wood slats with a bottle of muggle rye and Ginger Ale.
The sunset was a beautiful affair in purples and pinks with cute orange clouds holding the last of the sun's dying rays.
"Meaaa-rw ?"
Hermione had begun her evening with two shots inside and left the notes she compiled on Olde Magik on her arm chair. A fluffy, long haired tail flicked in annoyance in and out of her face as she breathed in the city. The air was heavy with everyday pollution but cool enough to relieve her lungs. Crooks was sitting on the railing of the extension next to the crude blue hammock that she suspended from nothing.
One leg planted on the ground, she controlled her sway as her lazy fingers guided the mixed drink into a cup.
"Mer-row !"
"Oh, hush, Crooks.. As soon as it gets too cold, I'll leave you alone."
He didn't seem that impressed by the answer but only looked to the roof where he longed to go one last time before squatting along the railing instead.
"Thank you.. good man." She breathed out before pulling in the much too alcoholic concoction into her mouth.
I should visit Severus tomorrow.. Min's not around so it'll be good to spend some on his side just in case.
She refilled her glass and chuckled. Good preparation for the weekend. Hermione hummed as the pinks grew near red in the sky. She considered that she hadn't seen most of the gang since Mother's Day..
Harry and Ginny looked happy.. Hermione sighed and took a large gulp. Ron just stuffed himself as usual.
Another gulp.
She sprawled in the wrinkled set of office wear she came home in. Didn't bother changing, just went straight to the liquor cabinet. Just another day of much too much time and not enough information. She stretched her toes before her. Her forearms bare. Shiny scar tissue from burns and cuts and …
mudblood
Hermione sighed once more and lolled back her head to the taunt material supporting her. Blood and booze rushed to her head. Bellatrix had that way of contaminating her brain, each thought doubled to memories and doubled again, taking up exponentially more and more space in the forefront of her mind.
She thought about what Neville had said about the Wizarding Community and sex. The comments Bellatrix made. Could she be.. ?
The frosty glass stilled on her way up to her lips.
Nah. She's probably just trying to get under my skin.
Hermione all but chugged the rest of her drink.
Although.. Her head grew fuzzy and a cool wind shot through her blouse making her shiver. Time to go back inside.
Crawling back inside was a much more deliberate effort then it was getting out a half hour earlier. She managed to place the empty glass decanter and pop bottle right side up on her table. Attempting to slide the wonky thing back below the window was a delicate task, however. That was when the wind rustled through the thin, red curtains and knocked the plastic bottle off and deeper into her home. Wasn't the end of the world, but the loudness caused Crooks to berate at her from the outside. "It was the wind !" He sassed back and she didn't bother with a response.
Next, she waltzed gracelessly to the washroom to shower some sense back into her.
The water was warm and comforting. The pound of the pressure on her scalp and shoulders. The texture of her shampoo in her hands. The smell of her cheap floral products and synthetic body scrubs.
She collapsed on top of her sheets with absolute dead weight. The towel clung to her damp skin and she considered wiggling under the covers and going to sleep just like that. Unfortunately, the alcohol buzzed beneath her eyelids keeping her awake. She spent a good handful of minutes trying to convince them to remain shut before she gave up.
Hermione huffed.
Inebriation drew a hand to the collar that she stroked yesterday in her office. The delicate touch that lit a fire the day before.
Yet nothing came. Yesterday, her body was frantic and uncaring. Now, it lay dormant on rough sheets even though she craved the opposite.
Her brows furrowed, still very much tipsy, and thought of what could shift her into the mood.
Back in Hogwarts, she didn't need any type of provocation, her body was limber and studiously waited for the privacy of her four cornered bed. The Burrow and Grimmauld Place held bathroom floors to release any emergencies. The thought of those times wasn't too pleasant, but she made the best of what she had.
What was frustrating was knowing that she'd settled for much less before and here she is now, unclothed and in the solitude of her own home and couldn't even be bothered to be interested in herself.
The next sigh heralded a drunk, probing hand to sneak under her towel.
Even the thought of old fantasies couldn't rekindle that absent flame.
Once, it was Ron, but that became hearty no years ago. Then it was Viktor, but that left so much to be desired. Fleur was just too complicated after the War. Hermione could barely look at her after being treated at Shell Cottage.
Finally, then: a spark.
Hermione swallowed nothing down a dry throat.
The year on the run was a hard time. Forest, trees, the boys, the locket, the voices. A few days of that and the cycle repeated with a slightly newer set of trees, the boys, the locket, and the voices.
Shell Cottage provided relief barely gained from their time at Grimmauld Place. Finally, they were in a place meant for people again, a bedroom, a bathroom, real chairs and a table. That satisfied a need that a tent and a jar of fire just couldn't fulfill.
It was the touch starvation that surprised her the most.
Her body responded to that.
She'd been through so much, there were so many expectations.. She couldn't let down Harry. A war weighed on her shoulders.
Her heels dug into the bed.
But at the Cottage, she was held.
Her head rolled back.
She was washed. Cleaned.
Her breaths grew short. Quiet agony.
To be handled. To be cared for.
Her calves seized. Her knees bent.
To feel breath on her neck. Feel soft, feminine curves.
Jaw clenched. Face half buried in her pillow.
Long nails, the weight of her straddle..
Sweet, white hot pleasure.
Blonde turned to a wild, dark mane..
Her throat strangled her whine.
Too late.
Hermione shuddered. Muscles tensing and spasming in waves.
Wind blew from her open window. A creak from Crookshanks pacing on the balcony. She lay there letting her body relax and recover. One of her calves seized painfully and she noted to ask for more supplement potions from Severus.
The deed was done and she drifted to sleep never once considering who pushed her over that edge before her consciousness blackened to nothingness in the night.
The next morning she hobbled out from underneath her sheets to dress for the day and sent a patronus to Severus before flooing to work.
The Ministry still bustled with the recent news of the Longbottom's. Papers detailing the initial tragedy all dancing with the black and grey images of the wild, deranged witch she had met far too many times in her short life. She ignored the awkward awareness that her presence brought as she marched her way to her department. Fluttering papers and conversations died on lips as she passed and she was reminded all too clearly of her Hero status in this world. If that was the price to pay to be a Hero, I would rather not have the honour.
We were kids and everyone here would've let me die.
The sense of bitterness hovered over her shoulder the rest of the day until she called it quits to leave early. Already, her mail was packed with offers from journalists doing 'Where Are They Now' pieces on her and likely other victims of War. Even the usual papers that the Department of Mysteries circulated all carried the same questions and suspicions of how the Longbottoms woke up. She didn't even recognize some of the handwriting as tens of faceless Unspeakables anonymously attempted to crack the mystery. Hell, every department in this building might be trying to ask the same question...
It was all too much for Hermione's hungover Thursday morning.
She left a note for Fletch that she suspected would go unread before she headed back to the Floo system to go home. From her house, she gathered some supplies into a care package before giving Crooks a pet and diapperating to Sheffield.
It was a cool day set with overcasts better feared in the open air of the small city rather than inside the basements of the Ministry of Magic. Exiting the alley she popped into, Hermione casted a quick glamour to rearrange some angles on her face and give herself some bangs. The area seemed to be in an awkward and depressing stage of gentrification as old steel and metal work factories were in the process of being converted into lush new apartment buildings for the burgeoning art scene to move in. Catching a cab was relatively easy and they set forth to Barnsley.
The flipped houses transitioned to back their former glory as they exited the wealthy hub of the city. Unkempt roofs and overgrown lawns started to sprout with growing frequency through the taxi's windows as they travelled North. Summertime meant swathes of children out and about, enjoying the warm, winding air. It seemed as though even some of the happy children lost some of their youthful shine as they drove away from the new Industry city and towards the old coal town. Hermione watched some spotty kids run around in and crowd at corner shops until they hit a patch of greyish greenery. The sight reminded her of the old days back at Hogwarts. Then again, everything does, she quirked her mouth sardonically. She sighed inside the cab and wondered if Sev was smoking again and if she should pick him up a couple of packs. Briefly, she thought with a smile if she should try to bring over whatever it is that Lex really does smoke for a try.
They pulled up to a row of houses on the edge of the town, the grass here seemed mostly dead and compacted with sparse clumps of litter along with other rubbish forgotten in the curbs. Hermione paid the Cabbie and left with the carebag in hand.
She could immediately tell Severus' house from the rest. The building wasn't in the best conditions by far and still wasn't the nicest on the block, however the lawn was a cacophony of life. Flowers and grass grew with abandon in the front in a way that would've caused her mother to comment and her dad to have joked about her being too judgemental. Her half smile wavered at the thought.
Her attention was caught suddenly by a flicker in the attic window.
She tensed.
Her wand was already in hand as she stormed the house ready to face whatever was inside.