"Hermione," she heard her name called softly and began to stir. "Hermione," she heard again, waking fully and sitting up. Her eyes took a minute to adjust to the darkened room, but as they did she noticed a figure standing at the edge of her bed. It was Ron.
"What's wrong?", she asked, and he shook his head.
"Couldn't sleep," he said, now standing next to her. As he came closer, she began to see him fully. He was wearing only pyjama bottoms, his torso bare. Her eyes lingered on his chest—it had changed so much, just like the rest of him. He had grown into his lanky frame and even surpassed it; his muscles were pronounced even in the darkness. They were bordered by light ginger hair, leading from his chest all the way down to his… She looked up, hoping he didn't notice her staring. He looked at her intensely, not seeming to care that she was admiring him. She opened her mouth to ask him why he was at her bedside, but he spoke before she could.
"Couldn't stop thinking of you," he said. She gazed into his ice-blue eyes, seeing a look in him that she hadn't in years; a look of desire. Suddenly, his lips were crashing down on hers, and she didn't protest. She pulled him down on top of him, desperate to feel his skin on hers.
"Hermione," he groaned, and she pulled him closer. "Hermione," he said more urgently. She reached to grab his hair, but he disappeared and her eyes fluttered open, truly waking up this time.
However, much like her dream, Ron was standing near her bed, though he was unfortunately fully clothed. She heard a crash and jumped to her feet, her lust overtaken by fear.
"What is it?", she whispered urgently.
"There's someone downstairs," he said. "Wait here", he demanded, motioning for her to stay.
She ignored his request and began to follow him as he slowly opened their bedroom door, his wand raised. She grabbed her wand as well and he shook his head when he realised she was going with him. Yet, he didn't object.
"Stay behind me," he said. "If anything gets out of hand, you need to apparate away; go to the Ministry. You hear me?"
She nodded her head and followed him as they crept down the staircase. It was pitch-black and hauntingly silent; she could hear herself breathing as she walked down each step as softly as possible. She tried to quiet her breathing, but her attempts just made her gasp for air. Her heart was thumping hard, making her body vibrate with each beat. All she wanted to do was grab Ron and get out of there. How she had dealt with her life being in danger for so long while she was growing up, she didn't know.
Finally, Ron reached the bottom step. He paused and Hermione could see a figure directly in front of him. Her breath hitched, and she automatically grabbed the back of Ron's shirt. He didn't seem to notice as he was still, holding his wand aloft waiting for the predator to make a move. Even in the dark, Hermione was sure the other person was a man, his figure was large and imposing. He didn't move either. She couldn't tell if his lack of movement was due to shock or because he was planning his next move.
In an instant, the unknown man pulled out an object and pointed it at Ron. Hermione wasn't able to see what it was as Ron immediately tackled the intruder. He had dropped his item, and Hermione was relieved to see that it wasn't a wand. Though it looked to be something just as terrifying—the man had been carrying a gun, and Ron had tackled him as if he was holding a bar of soap. She was frozen in fear, but Ron's reaction was entirely the opposite. He was quick and strong, and the intruder yelped as Ron brought his hands behind him.
"Get the lights," Ron said. Hermione was about to magick them on and was thankful for the reminder to do it manually. After all, if the intruder wasn't a wizard, magic hadn't been used and their spot hadn't been compromised. She certainly didn't want to endanger them for a simple lumos.
Flicking on the lights, the first thing that Hermione noticed was that their front window was broken. Glass laid shattered around it, and another intruder was attempting to run away through the gaping hole. He caught himself on the sharp edges, leaving a trail of blood behind him. She centred her eyes on the other intruder, the one in which Ron now had hogtied. In the light, she could see that he wasn't a man—not really. He was a boy, barely older than 15. He wasn't even as large as Hermione had thought. Instead, he was a wimpy-looking, spot-covered teenager and he looked especially weak, particularly next to Ron. Next to him was a block of wood, painted black—the item she thought was a gun. It then dawned on Hermione, this wasn't a coordinated attack or a life-and-death situation. No, it was an attempted burglary by a couple of school-aged criminals. She let out a wild laugh, relief rushing over her.
"Heloise," Ron said in a calm tone, the intruder no longer struggling under his grasp, "call the police."
It wasn't much later that the police had arrived, as did what seemed to be the entirety of their neighbourhood. They had grouped themselves around Hermione and Ron's humble abode, trying to see what had happened (which was a bit easier now that their front window was nearly non-existent). Hermione felt like she was in a dream, her environment seeming to move around her whilst she stood still. Police had overtaken their home, searching and probing and nitpicking. She had found her way to a dining chair as a very polite constable took her statement. Ron was on the other side of the room, apparently doing the same with another constable. Hermione didn't recall them taking away the intruder, but they must have, as she did not see him anywhere.
The constable interviewing her brought her tea, reassuring her that everything in their power would be done to catch the other intruders. Intruders. They believed that there were more than two men attempting to rob them, though they had a very good idea of who those men were—there had been a string of vandalizations in the next town over by a group of rag-tag teens. The constable confirmed that the boy in their sitting room was one of the gang, so it was very probable that the other men were a part of the small-time gang. When Hermione pointed out that they hadn't been vandalized, the countable led her out to the front of their home, showing her the graffiti that covered the exterior.
The constable explained that criminals often escalate, especially when they've been able to escape tough sentencing on their past crimes. He assumed that the vandals had grown too confident, and decided to try their hands at burglary as well. Their victims seemed to be chosen at random, and Hermione and Ron just happened to be picked.
The police helped Ron board up their window as Carol invited herself in and made Hermione more tea, not hiding her disdain of the thugs who had broken it. She was sure that they weren't from around there, nor had they gone to Mount Saint Michaels. Parents are too afraid to discipline nowadays she ranted, making it known that her children would never have even contemplated such a thing.
The police finished their inspection and went to bid them farewell, giving Ron the name of a painter and a handyman. Fortunately, their exit encouraged Carol to leave too and Hermione and Ron were left alone.
Even though she was extremely relieved that the break-in was nothing serious, Hermione still felt on edge and sipped her tea with a shaky hand.
"There's going to be a write up in the newspaper about the burglary," Ron said. "But they assured me that they will keep our names and address out of it."
Hermione nodded her head. She hadn't thought about the burglary leading to Ron and Hermione being found out by less than desirable people. She was glad that Ron had, and was smart enough to keep them out of the publicity that the crime would create—and there likely would be a lot, as Whitby almost never dealt with that sort of thing.
"Though, even if they had, the only thing we need to keep out of the news is our faces," Ron said. "They're the only real thing that connects us to our past lives."
Our past lives. The phrase swirled around in her head. Our past lives. It was true, wasn't it? Hermione was in the past. This was Heloise's life; her future.
Another week passed in relative calmness. Their window was fixed and their house repainted, signalling that the threat was over. But, of course, it wasn't. Not for Hermione. Their experience with the muggle burglars was a reminder—a scary one, at that—that they were just a moment away from danger. More danger than from a couple of teenagers and a block of wood.
As best as she could, Hermione tried to go back to normal. Her coworkers were compassionate, thinking her jumpiness was due to their scrape with criminals. She couldn't let them know that she had been jumpy for years, that her life was filled with crime and scares and death. Her anxiety was the way she dealt with it, and until very recently, it had begun to subside.
She let her coworkers placate her as best she could without telling them her real fears. Lucy was especially responsive—for someone who talked so much, she was a great listener. They were beginning to grow closer and had gone out twice that week to get away, as Lucy said. And Hermione needed that—to get away. Even with the handymen gone and their home fixed, their home felt stuffy and overrun. There were no places to relax; no reading corners. It's not that their house wasn't nice and cosy, it was more about the residents in it. Ron had barely looked at Hermione since the break-in. She had no idea why. Though the little devilish voice in her head told her that he had always wanted to ignore her—that he hated her—but niceties required he interacted with her. And now that they had their fright (and were reminded of their immortality) he no longer had the energy to fake a relationship with her. Now, he was able to treat her the way he truly wanted.
Lucy was suggesting another girls night when she changed topics, suddenly remembering something.
"Oh," Lucy exclaimed, "I'm working on the monthly newsletter and I nearly forgot; I need a photo of you."
Hermione froze where she was standing, nearly dropping the book she was holding. She could feel red hot panic rise up in her. Ron's voice echoed in her head. The only thing we need to keep out of the news is our faces.
Lucy noticed Hermione's discomfort and added: "I can take the photo another day if you want. But you do look cute."
Hermione tried to force a smile at Lucy's compliment. "No, it's not that," Hermione said weakly. "It's just that—," she paused, how was she going to lie her way out of this one? "Could we go to the back?", she asked, hoping that the short walk to the back room would give her enough time to come up with a plausible reason why they absolutely could not put her photo in the newsletter.
"'Course," Lucy said, looking slightly concerned as she followed Hermione. They made it to the back room and Hermione closed the door behind her, making Lucy look even more concerned.
"I can't have my photo in the newsletter," Hermione said outright.
"Uh-huh," Lucy said, apparently already having surmised that.
"It's just that I can't have my face be public." Stay as close to the truth as possible, Rowan's reminder rang through her mind. "Because—," this was the hard part. "Because, I'm hiding from an ex," she lied.
"Oh," Lucy said, equal parts worried and intrigued.
"We weren't really ever dating," Hermione said, remembering that they told Lucy that she and Ron had been together since secondary school. "But, he thought we did, or at least that I was interested. It got really bad; he was always hanging around me, sending me letters and coming to my house. He had even tried to beat Ron up." Her lie was now streaming out of her, and the gasp Lucy gave only fueled her on. "After we graduated, it started to get really bad. I even got a restraining order. It got to the point where I really thought we were in danger. That's why we moved—to get away from him."
"Wow," Lucy said, "I'm so sorry."
Hermione nodded her head, shame now replacing her fear. What kind of person lies like that to a friend? Especially a lie so vile; one that was a terrifying reality for so many people. She felt nauseous from the guilt of her lie.
"That's why I can't have my picture in the newsletter," Hermione said, getting back to the reason she began this whole charade. "Probably best not to have my name either," she added, not wanting Lucy to know that her name had been changed.
"Of course," Lucy said, putting a sympathetic hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Don't worry about it."
"Thanks Lucy, you're the best," Hermione said. Lucy smiled softly before heading to the door. "Oh, and Lucy?", Hermione asked. Lucy turned around and faced her. "It's probably best—or at least, I'd prefer, if this doesn't get out."
"Yeah, totally," Lucy assured. "Your secret's safe with me."
Hermione smiled as the other woman left. She took a moment to breathe before heading out behind Lucy. She could see her hands shaking slightly—she never was much good at lying. But this was something altogether different. Not only was she betraying the trust of the one friend she had made, but she was also reminded, once again, that her entire life—her identity, her job, her relationships, were all a fraud. She was living a lie, and she knew that one way or another the lie would cease. She hoped it would be because the death eaters were found and she could safely go back to being Hermione. But she worried about the alternative, of her either being found out...or killed.