By the time she crossed the threshold into his flat, Hermione was filled with doubt. With every step she took the feeling grew, like a wire noose around her neck, constricting her airflow—suffocating her.
The boy led her to the kitchen, bare feet padding softly on the wooden panels. Hermione hovered in the doorway. She shifted her weight, stretching out her toes in her muddy boots. She didn't want to track mud into his home, but taking off her shoes felt too presumptive. She settled on leaving them on, but avoided carpets, doing her best to stay on the balls of her feet, to mitigate the damage.
As she followed him through the apartment, she tried to keep her eyes from wandering, but in her periphery, she noticed the plain white walls, bare of any decorations. The living room was sparse, marked by a small square of white carpet. No television; only an iron bookcase and a faded suede couch with a cable-knit blanket thrown haphazardly over the back of it. A modest dwelling, but Hermione knew London real estate: even a small flat in Camden would break her bank. She turned back to the boy, who was clearing three half-eaten cartons of Chinese takeout from the kitchen table.
Reckless power still pulsed in beneath her fingertips, but it seemed more manageable in this boy's presence.
That's how she referred to him: the boy. He'd told her his name the first time they met, on Primrose Hill over the summer, but names held too much power. They provided footholds, but Hermione had been floating aimlessly in the ocean for too long to have any use for an anchor.
Besides, unless this boy had been scarfing down three servings of chow mein on his own, there were roommates. How could she stay, knowing there were others whom she'd be subjecting to danger, especially if they weren't there to speak for themselves?
"I'm so sorry to barge in on you like this," she blurted, balling one hand into a fist and cracking her knuckles. He was silent as he collected the paper plates, so she continued, her throat still scratchy and raw from the smoke. "I thought I would be able to handle it, but I ended up— It was an accident, but I—" She paused. He was a stranger, but he somehow knew her better than anyone else in her life; or at least, he understood this one crucial fragment of her that no one else ever could. There was no point in keeping secrets from him. "I burned my house down. And I really don't want to intrude on you, but I didn't have anywhere else to go, and I thought you might know of someone who could teach me to harness these abilities before I burn down half the city."
He cleared his throat and leaned against the counter, arms crossed, lips turned down. Hermione's heart sank before he opened his mouth. "I don't think that'll be possible."
She twirled a stray curl around her finger as her eyes darted around the room. Despite her best efforts, Hermione couldn't resist trying to piece together the puzzle of this boy's life. The tall boy with the strange name with photographs on his kitchen counter that moved. Her eyes lingered on the one in the center: three boys with their arms around each other, laughing and a girl rolling her eyes, visibly suppressing a smile. Hermione knew it was insignificant compared to her current crisis, but the voice of curiosity in her begged to know if it was technology or magic that brought those photographs to life.
"How did you learn it?" she asked, dragging her gaze back to his dark eyes. She had tried to block out most of her own memories involving magic, but she would never forget watching him. He'd created light out of nothing. It was effortless, the way it sprung from his fingers. He was effortless. Confident and in-control; two things Hermione craved but hadn't felt in years.
He scratched the back of his ear. She didn't miss the way his eyes flitted to the thin, dark stick of wood that sat on the table between them. "I went to a school for wizardry."
Hermione's eyes lifted as she did a double-take, following his line of sight, to the stick. A wand, she realized. Her chest inflated at the chance to learn how to control her abilities in a safe, supervised environment. "Brilliant! How do I enroll?"
He dragged a hand through his hair and tucked his lips in before standing up straight. "Listen, Hermione, the Wizarding World is not really the most accepting of... outsiders. I can give you a place to stay tonight and a hot shower, and teach you a few simple spells so you can keep it under control, but it would best if you did your best to keep this a secret and just... try to live a normal life."
Her lips parted as she took a step back and tried to reclaim her composure. She glanced back at the moving photograph. On second glance, she noticed all four of the subjects in matching ivy ties: a school uniform. Hermione rubbed the base of her throat, unable to keep herself from imagining what she would look like in that green and silver tie, a wand in her hand, conjuring light with only her will. Fearlessly wielding the power that surged right beneath her skin. "If you can't help me, could you point me in the direction of someone who will?"
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his cropped hair. "That's what I'm trying to tell you, there is no one who can help you." He pushed away from the table and tucked his wand into this pocket. "Move to the country, go to university, get a job, and pretend you don't know anything about any of this."
"How am I supposed to forget about it?" she asked, flexing her fingers as sparks shot out of them. He took a step back and gripped the edge of the kitchen counter for support. He spat out a curse. She inhaled and curled her fingers into her palms. Lowering her voice, she said, "I'm too far gone."
He bowed his head, clenched his jaw. Hermione chanced another glance around the room. A pile of books was stacked unevenly in the corner, an open notebook sat on the coffee table, next to a quill and an inkwell, like a scene straight out of a nineteenth-century still-life painting. When she looked back at the boy, he was looking at the ceiling, muttering words like a prayer under his breath.
"Listen," he finally said, his dark eyes returning to hers. Before he could utter another word, the front door burst open. At the sudden sound, Hermione staggered backward, tripping over the carpet
"I'm back! With vodka!"
When she righted herself, she noticed a streak of mud had stained the white carpet. She looked up at the ceiling, not willing to draw any attention to it.
"For the love of Merlin," he muttered, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Theo, I'm in the kitchen."
"I think the Muggle overcharged me but this should- Hi. Who are you?" A second boy with shaggy brown hair and a boyish smile stood by the couch, holding a bottle of vodka by the neck.
He threw a lazy hand in her direction. "This is Hermione."
Hermione gave a small wave and a half-hearted smile.
"I'm Theo." A heavy silence settled over the trio. Hermione trained her eyes on her boots and chanced another glance at the mud on the carpet. Theo set the glass bottle of alcohol on the kitchen counter. "I'm sorry," he said after a moment, "did I interrupt something?"
"It's not like that-" the boy said.
"Are you magical, too?" Hermione asked. As soon as the words slipped out, she offered a sheepish smile. It had been nearly three years since she'd been in school, and yet, she too easily regressed back into her childhood eagerness. It was safe to assume that he was magical, or at least knew about magic, given the moving photographs in the kitchen, but it would have been safer still to keep her mouth shut.
Theo coughed. "Depends on why you're asking."
The boy sighed. "She's a Muggle-born. A stray."
Theo paled. Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion at the new term. "A what?"
"A Muggle-born," he repeated with an air of impatience. "Someone born to two non-magical parents."
She glanced between them. "Okay. Is that bad?" She tucked the word stray into her lexicon: she'd ask for the definition later.
"It's not ideal," Theo said, at the same time the other boy said, "Yes."
Hermione paused. "And that's why you want me to leave? Because my parents aren't magical?" Stop talking, she scolded herself, but the words kept flowing. Apparently, she'd used up all of her self-control on the trip to Camden. Her voice only rose. "You can do magic, but you haven't evolved beyond the need for meaningless, antiquated hierarchies?"
"Wait, no, you can't leave," said Theo.
"Theo-" The boy placed a gentle hand on Theo's arm.
Theo shook it off. "No, you're not going throw her to the wolves like that. Hermione," he turned to her, "It's not just a hierarchy it's a- it's like a food chain."
Hermione opened her mouth. Each answer she received only spawned a thousand and one more questions.
"You don't need to scare her," the other boy hissed, as if Hermione couldn't hear every word he spoke. "She can leave now and at least try to live a normal life. We'll teach her a few basics so she doesn't accidentally kill anyone, and no one will ever find out about her."
"Unless they do," Theo said. "And then she's fucked."
The two boys held each other's glares. Hermione rocked back on her heels, debating whether she should leave now and save face, or risk waiting around until they kicked her out on her ass. Theo broke away from their staring contest first and turned to face Hermione, disregarding the other boy's protests. "There are some very powerful people in the Wizarding World who think Muggle-borns are an abomination."
The words spun so quickly in her head, she felt dizzy. "So much that they'd kill me?" Hermione asked. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't toyed with the idea of death, but dying at the hands of someone else was an unbearable thought. If her life were coming to an end, it would be on her terms.
"Only if you're lucky," Theo said with a grimace. "Most are enslaved. A pretty, young girl like you would likely get the sold as a concubine."
An icy chill inched its way up Hermione's spine, lodging itself in the back of her neck. "Oh."
"So that's why you can't go to magic school."
Hermione nodded, wringing her hands, picking at the dirt underneath her fingernails. "Is there any way to tell the Muggle-borns from the..." she trailed off as she realized she didn't know any of the terminology.
"Pure-bloods," Theo supplemented.
The boy snorted. "And I don't think I need to dignify that with an answer. Considering you know nothing about magic, you'd never be able to hold a conversation with a pure-blood."
"Even if you could," Theo continued, "pure-bloods aren't exempt from all laws. The government still demands sacrifice. Your best bet is staying hidden."
Hermione nodded and spun on her heel, pacing back and forth in the kitchen. She ran her fingers through her hair and tugged at a knot she'd been working on all day. "Okay. Okay, so, I'll leave the country. I'll go to Australia or Brazil or-"
"Hey, you don't have to decide right now," Theo said. "Stay the night, take a shower. We'll talk tomorrow."
Hermione shook her head, prepared to argue, but Theo had already taken her by the wrist and pulled her to a linen closet. As he reached for a clean towel, the front door sounded again. The boy looked up, mouth agape. Hermione froze as Theo cringed. She crossed her arms over her chest and moved behind him. When Theo saw her apparent fear, he offered an encouraging smile. "Sorry. You're not in danger, but he won't like this."
"Who?" She didn't move her arms from her chest.
"I went to five goddamn bakeries before I found this goddamn pie. You two should kiss my feet for all the sacrifices I've made this week." The third boy entered the kitchen holding a white box with both hands, stormy eyes bouncing between the three of them. "What's going on?"
"This is Hermione," Theo said, biting his lip. "Hermione, this is Draco."