Hello! Just a little extra scene to fill in the gap after chapter 19 of The Crownless - The Fuckening. It didn't quite fit the narrative unfortunately so it had to be cut, but here's a little slice of life.

I can't think of any TWs necessary. There's mention of character death, so maybe spoiler warning? This section takes place AFTER CHAPTER 18 BEFORE CHAPTER 19.

Without further ado, grab a snack and enjoy.

08:32 am, 19th of September, 1999 - Penthouse, Hyde Park Gardens, London, UK

Hermione shifted, revelling in the silken sheets that slid over her body. She peered through her lashes at the grey light that shone through the curtains. Though the Penthouse had become a frenetic hub of activity, Hermione often found herself pausing, idly admiring the design of the space. It was airy, light; fashionable yet welcoming.

It was Pansy's.

Hermione stared unseeingly at the curtains, trying to imagine the short girl with the unforgiving sneer, taking the time to think so carefully about patterns and colours; building this palace - this home - for her collection of orphans and run-aways.

Hermione couldn't pretend that Pansy's death had meant a whole lot to her, but in the days after the group had returned to London, she had felt the ripples, seen the hole that the formidable woman had left. It was only in quiet moments - a rarity these days - that she was able to acknowledge the ghost of Pansy's presence in the Penthouse. She had begun to try to bridge the gap between what she had always known about them, and what she was coming to realise, the more she learned.

Somewhere along the way, during those years in Hogwarts, Pansy, Nott, Zabini and Malfoy had all been reduced to their baser characteristics in Hermione's mind; a reductive method of organising thought. And, she supposed, the beginning step towards prejudice. Regardless, she had come to find Zabini to have a wicked mind and a sharp tongue, and through him, she had learnt of Nott's pontificating and the way Pansy and he would bicker like siblings. Like Harry and Hermione. And though she still had trouble seeing Pansy as more than the two-dimensional bundle of poisonous traits that Hermione had always known her to be, her heart ached at the realisation that Nott was not yet aware that her funeral had taken place days before.

She sighed and sat up, taking in the room Greengrass had forced her into after she had fallen asleep at the breakfast counter for the third time. A bag of clothes lay abandoned on the chaise, the innards spilling over the sides after she'd rifled through it the night before for her baggy joggers to sleep in.

She slipped off the bed, stretching her aching muscles. It had been days since they'd made it back from Scotland, landing in the waiting room of St Mungo's in a heap of growling Veela and mud, and she had barely slowed since. If it wasn't keeping an eye on Malfoy, it was heading off paperwork at the DoM, meeting for brief catch-ups with Taliesin who was run off his feet with trying to co-ordinate the magical task forces with the Muggles on Hadrian's Wall, or she was answering pointed questions from Jay and Kilmore about why a good portion of the British Isles was suddenly a 'No-Fly zone'.

MI5 and Taliesin could tide over for another couple of days, and she had no reason to go into the office. Today was strictly Malfoy-sitting duty.

Hermione ruffled a hand through her hair as she left the room, relishing in the freedom of her errant curls from their usual confines. She padded quietly along the hallway, passing Malfoy's closed door, heading straight for the smell of coffee that beckoned her tired bones. She bit her wince as she slowly ambled down the stairs, her still healing bruises barking at the movement. Quietly, she crossed the living space, dodging the stacks of files and loose paper that had begun to form a maze between the lounge area and kitchen.

She flicked on the coffee machine, her favourite appliance in the lavish penthouse, and leant against the counter as she spied Harry leaning over the breakfast table.

"Coffee?" she asked by way of greeting. He flinched, starting at the interruption and looked towards her, his eyes dragging, refusing to part with the file in front of him.

"Yeah, thanks," he said absently as he finally looked at her. The dark circles under his eyes rivalled her own, and the weary half-smile that pulled at his lips seemed to be an effort in of itself. He pulled off his glasses and scrubbed his eyes with his finger and thumb, blowing out a long, tired sigh.

"What's that?" Hermione said, jerking her chin at the file before reaching to the cupboards. She knew Harry was pushing himself, obsessing the way he used to. The only difference between then and now was the thickness in the beard that lined his jaw.

"Account movements," he said roughly. He looked down at them, his green eyes scanning the page as if willing the information he sought into existence.

"Take a break," Hermione chided as she watched the machine fill the second cup. Harry tapped the table with his thumb before grunting his response. Sluggishly, he moved from the table to the counter and flashed her a weak grin as he accepted the steaming mug.

An easy quiet fell between them, only disturbed by the chirping purr of Renfield who launched himself onto the counter to sit between them. Hermione ran her fingers through his glossy fur and smiled to herself, recalling a memory from the day before when she'd stopped by the Warehouse to have a quick word with Tin, only to pause halfway down the stacks to see Crookshanks trot from one aisle to the next with an army of obedient gargoyles in tow.

She made a silent promise that Renfield and Crooks would never meet.

"Malfoy made an appearance yet?" Hermione said into the lip of her mug as she watched the rain lash against the grand windowed wall.

Harry leant forward, bracing his elbows against the counter and nodded. Hermione turned to him and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Whatever he was about to say was lost to the sound of the fireplace roaring to life. Hermione tensed, immediately reaching for her wand. Harry stuck out a hand, his other hovering over his pocket as he leant back to see who had arrived. His shoulders dropped and his smile grew as he nodded to the newcomer, before returning back to the counter. Hermione peered at him waiting for an explanation, but Harry merely shrugged, a mischievous light dancing in his green eyes.

"Morning," Ron boomed as he came into the kitchen space, a small box in his hands. Hermione's lips parted in surprise before she reached to greet him, planting a quick kiss on his wind-chilled cheek.

"What?" was all she could manage as she watched the boys exchange quick words. Ron had barely stepped foot in the Penthouse since their time in London, usually opting to meet in whatever office or tent he had co-opted since their retreat. He looked as drawn and exhausted as Harry and Hermione. She knew that he had been back and forth between the Ministry and the wall, working with Taliesin, but she still eyed his unshaven scruff and the hair that was now long enough to scrape back into a messy knot with concern.

"Where is His Royal Fuck-Face this morning?" Ron grouched as he cocked a hip against the counter. Hermione pursed her lips and threw him a tired look that he responded to by poking out his tongue.

"He's at the club with Zabini," Harry said.

Hermione whirled on Harry, her eyes widening. "What?!" she snapped, suddenly more alert than she had been minutes before. "Why didn't you-"

"'Mione stop," Harry sighed with an amused expression. "Zabini's with him, they're not going anywhere. They're doing admin work and club stuff." He waved his hand as if to illustrate the missing words. "Today is your day off."

Hermione blanched and shook her head. "I can't just take a day off, I-"

"Well today you are," Ron cut in, folding his arms across his chest in a pose that brokered no arguments.

"It's already been decided and planned out for you 'Mione." Harry offered her another small half-smile. "Happy birthday."

Hermione frowned, looking between them. "My birthday isn't until -"

"September nineteenth," Ron said, pulling the box placed on the breakfast counter towards him. "We know. You've reminded us enough that you're the oldest over the years." He threw her a teasing wink as he opened the box, revealing a monstrous chocolate cake, decorated with artfully arranged glazed strawberries that looked more akin to fine art than food.

"From that bakery you like on Oxford Street," Harry supplied, as he peered over the side of the box to look in.

Hermione looked between them, shock grounding her to silence.

She'd forgotten. In amongst everything, she had forgotten her own birthday. She'd been so wrapped up with everything: the collapsing country, the healing injuries, burying Pansy, searching for Nott and Malfoy's general existence that she'd forgotten.

Hermione loosened a breathy chuckle as her throat tightened - whether it was from emotion or exhaustion, she couldn't decide.

"As lovely as this is," she began, her stomach growling in agreement as she eyed the cake, "If Malfoy's at the club then I really should be getting there too."

"Absolutely fucking not," Ron barked, his tone uncompromising. Hermione wondered if this was a layover from all the time he'd been spending on the frontlines.

"Seriously, he's fine. It's covered," Harry continued, the calming diplomacy to Ron's autocratic temper. "He's gone there to get out the way for the day. The club's closed, warded. He's as safe there as he is here."

Ron huffed as he pushed off the counter, crossing the kitchen to rifle through the cupboards.

"You're allowed a day 'Mione," he said, pulling down a pile of plates. "Even Senior Twathead realises that."

Hermione gave Ron another weary look as Harry chuckled, taking the plates. With a lazy twitch of Harry's fingers, the decadent cake floated from the box and landed gently upon a plate. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a single candle and very carefully placed it amongst the bouquet of strawberries and lit it with a whispered 'incendio'.

"Don't forget to make a wish," Ron said gently.

Hermione looked between them, noting the weariness that shadowed the mirrored twinkle she saw amongst the green and blue. She looked down at the singular candle, its flame dancing upon the sugary glaze of the strawberry. The smell of fresh chocolate permeated the room; a foreign piece of joy in darkening days. Her heart squeezed as her bones groaned, her fading bruises smarting from every breath.

They stood on the edge of a precipice, the cliff edge falling away into murky waters below. It seemed that with every hour that passed these days, some new piece of information was another chip away at the foundation of normality. With every minute, chaos became more tangible, fear more prominent. There she stood, in Malfoy's kitchen, decorated by the Late Pansy Parkinson, whose funeral she had attended days prior, with information spread on every surface, that would hopefully glean some information on the whereabouts of Nott.

But some things didn't change, she thought, as she looked between green and blue.

Hermione bent down and closed her eyes, holding the feeling she felt close to her chest, savouring the moment...and blew.

It wasn't until hours later, when nothing remained of the cake but crumbs, that Ron finally left, grumbling about Tal's penchant for choosing meeting locations that were almost always muddy. Harry brushed off any attempt she made to help him look over files and all but chased her from the living area.

Hermione skipped up the stairs, Renfield at her heels, a small smile alighting her lips. She swung into her room, feeling lighter than she had in a long while. It had been an age since the last time the three of them had had a chance to talk about nothing and just be. Her cheeks were still hurting from laughing at the boys' antics; too often these days it felt like the children that they had been buried under heavy darkness, leaving only the hard lines and grim faces remaining.

She crossed the room, intent on sliding back under the sheets for a nap when a tap sounded at her window. Her responding yelp frightened both her and Renfield, who side-eyed her from the throne he made from her pillows. Outside, flapping in the wind was a great Eagle Owl, whose piercing orange eyes held so much accusation in them that Hermione felt the need to profusely apologise to the bird as she let it in.

Hermione turned and assessed the situation, leaving the window open behind her. Renfield sniffed, his tail twitching slightly as he eyed the feathered creature that landed with aplomb upon the vanity. It stuck out its leg, revealing two packages, and hooted in such a curt manner that Hermione straightened and placed her hands on her hips.

"You are welcome to dry off here, you are also welcome to wait for the weather to pass." She levelled the bird with a scowl and a pointed finger. "But you will not take that tone with me. I do not control the weather."

The owl continued to stare, its leg held out waiting.

Renfield cocked his head, watching.

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave in, too tired to fight.

"Take it up with the other avian creature around here if you've got a problem," she grumbled, loosening the packages. As soon the owl was free, it gently nipped her fingers and stretched its great wings, launching itself back out the window. Hermione tutted and secured the pane, before examining the packages in her hands.

Both were long and rectangular, wrapped in thick grey paper, a black ribbon crossing into a knot to finish the overall aesthetic. Hermione's brows rose high on her forehead as she perched on the bed, turning them over in her hands, searching for a sign of a note. She pulled out her wand and cast a detection net, searching for signs of foul play.

As the spell ticked away, Renfield leaned out from her throne of pillows, his whiskers twitching as he scented the boxes. She watched, bemused, as he brushed his muzzle up against the corner of both before returning, seemingly satisfied with a job well done, just as the woven charm sparked green - no malicious intent detected.

Hermione smirked at the feline's superiority as she began to unwrap the first box revealing a long black wooden box. She flipped the golden latch, gently lifted the lid and let out a quiet 'Oh,' as she peered at the contents inside.

Lay upon a bed of rich, mercury velvet, was a huge quill - the feather was unlike anything she had ever seen. Carefully, she lifted it from the box, admiring the enormous black feather in the light. It was iridescent, each black barb held a thousand colours that danced in the light of the room. It was like a rainbow was trapped in darkness, swirling and simmering in the soft downs and for the life of her, she couldn't imagine the bird that it had once belonged to.

A piece of folded parchment sat in the bed of the box, under where the quill had been placed. Hermione eagerly unfolded it, curious to know who the gift was from.

End them with your words,

D.M

The breath left Hermione's chest as her pulse skipped. She read and re-read the elegant curve of the handwriting.

It couldn't...

Why would he…

She ran her fingers down the feather, marvelling at its beauty. Her throat tightened as her grip trembled.

Of all the things that had happened between them, the uneasy truce that they had bartered since Scotland, this was another thing to add to the list of questions she had regarding Draco Malfoy.

He didn't like her. No matter what happened between them on the killing fields, they were not friends, they were tentative allies at best. Yes, she slept in a room ten feet from him, and yes she was adult enough to admit that he was a rather pleasant sight to view over morning coffee, but breaking bread with an old enemy, with so little left unspoken, does not an ally make.

With fingers that trembled, she picked up the second box, taking care to unwrap the luxurious packaging. Another box was waiting, a twin of the first. Hermione ran a finger down its sleek black lines, still holding the feather in between her fingers. She flipped the second golden latch and lifted the lid and gasped, her hand shooting to cover her parted lips.

Lay nestled in mercury velvet, was a long, jewelled dagger. She lifted it from the box, twisting it to see the intricate designs cut into the hilt. It was a thing of beauty, painstakingly crafted with care by an artist's eye. Her gaze snagged on the incandescent jewel that lay in the pommel: a black opal - a rainbow in darkness. She ran a finger along the flat of the blade, reading the elegant inscription that glinted in the light:

Mea est - Rusus difficile,Verum percutiamus

Hermione frowned and glanced to the box, spying another folded parchment. She unfolded it quickly, her thoughts silent from shock as she held the feather and dagger.

My oath to you - Strike hard, strike true

For when your words fail you

D.M

...thoughts?

find me on tumblr thusatlas