Nine Months Later
Draco felt no sadness when packing his bags. Leaving Hogwarts held no sorrow for him, nor any happiness; it was just a fact, something that had to be done so that he could move on and deal with his life. Hermione had left in the middle of the night eight months and twenty-seven days ago. She left without saying goodbye, disappearing as if she'd never existed. As if he wasn't worth telling. He knew that Potter knew she was leaving – he must have given her that blasted cloak of his, otherwise someone would have noticed her exiting the grounds – but she hadn't thought to include him in this secretive loop. Well Draco, he thought, throwing a turtleneck into his trunk with too much force, she made it clear she wanted nothing to do with you. You returned the feeling. She didn't want you to know where she went because she doesn't give a rat's ass about you.
It amazed him that he could still feel this strongly almost nine months later. Chucking a pair of dress shoes into the trunk with a satisfying 'thunk', Draco whirled around to snatch another garment from his wardrobe; his hand closed on nothing. He suddenly realized that he had finished packing. Internal rants really do speed things up sometimes, he mused, looking around his very empty room. McGonagall had given him the option to stay through the summer; although he had graduated, Draco was reluctant to return to the very large, very empty manor that awaited him. Plus, all the legal work had to be sorted out before he moved in. And it's not easy inheriting anything from a prominent magical terrorist.
Draco levitated his trunk out of the room, turning around and grabbing Étoile's birdcage in his hand – she didn't like being levitated, it made her feel inferior. Without looking back, Draco left his dorm and closed the thick black door for what he hoped was the last time.
When his raven squawked loudly, Draco murmured, "Silénce, mon ami, nous allons partir."
Shocking Draco, Étoile squawked again. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" he snapped, impatient with his familiar. She's never like this…Étoile is always a patient traveler.
Another squawk. "Don't tell me you're sad to be leaving," he sighed, switching into English, frustrated. "You never liked this blasted place anyways. Don't you want to go back to the big empty manor where you can fly around wherever you'd like? Only me and you, girlie."
Étoile cocked her head, obviously annoyed, and cried out again. This time she flung herself against the side of her cage, back towards Draco's room. "You don't have to live on the bloody table anymore," the blonde ground out. "What, do you want to say goodbye to the room?!"
Forcefully pushing the door open with a burst of magic, Draco flung his arm out towards the empty room. "See?" he yelled. "Nothing to bloody care about -"
But something caught the Slytherin's eye. There, on the table surrounded by a ring of dust, was a green lump. It was just under where Étoile's birdcage used to be, so it must have been tucked under the base. The fabric was worn and not overly damaged – it had apparently been under the cage for a while – but Draco drew his wand none-the-less. Since Hermione's departure he'd manage to re-make several enemies, and he wouldn't put it past Susan to leave some nasty hex for him to find. Carefully heading towards the small lump, a flutter of recognition passed through his mind. I know this fabric…it's familiar…
Suddenly, Draco's heart stopped. It's Hermione's scarf, he thought, his mind virtually frozen. It's Hermione's Harrods scarf, and I didn't put it there. She had it. I put it in her room before she left. Why is it under the birdcage?
The blonde hesitantly reached forward to pick up the material, and was immediately assaulted with the smells of vanilla, parchment, and cinnamon; Hermione. Lifting up the scarf, Draco saw the worn yellow logo and the tattered tassels on the edge, his mind propelling him into the midst of battle and a dark hallway closet when he'd held this material close to his heart. When it had meant something to him other than betrayal and love lost.
He picked up the scarf and threw it at the wall, rage bubbling through his entire body, threatening to explode through his crackling aura. Something stopped him though; when Draco threw the scarf, a small slip of paper fell from the inner folds of the material. An envelope, yellowed and faded yet protected by the scarf, fluttered to the ground and landed just in front of his feet.
As Draco approached the envelope warily, his heart jumped up into his throat; the flowing cursive was heart-wrenchingly familiar, it's normally confident loops and curves marred by blots and obvious hesitations.
Hermione.
Hermione left me a letter.
Bloody bitch.
Wonderful girl.
"What the hell, Étoile?" Draco shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "You knew it was here all along?!" The bird seemed to shrug, her amber eyes all-knowing and patient. "Bloody chicken," the Slytherin mumbled, ignoring her offended squawk.
His hand trembling, Draco reached out and picked up the letter. His thumb brushed aside a layer of dust that covered the carefully-penned word, "Draco", the slight crookedness of the writing and the uneven penmanship indicating that Hermione was emotional when she wrote it. I know you too well, he thought, tenderly brushing off the dust covering the seal on the back. It was a legitimate wax seal, not a magical one, and Draco's heart twisted painfully; she had to have written this after her core was damaged.
Shaking noticeably, the blonde broke the splotchy wax. He pulled out the parchment within, and then hesitated. Do I want to read this? he wondered, uncertain. I'm done with her, she made that clear. This will probably end up just hurting me more, honestly. But….how can I not read it? Damn her, this is just like something from one of her blasted novels.
Sighing and cursing his vulnerable heart, still in pain after all these months, Draco unfolded the paper. Her smell wafted up to him again, but the blonde braced his spirit and began to read.
Dearest Draco,
Yes, Draco. Not Malfoy, not Ferret - Draco. And yes, you are my dearest. My only. My other half. I hurt you, intentionally, and it's killing me. But I can't leave tonight without telling you that, I can't let you live your whole life thinking ill of me when I only wanted to do you good. But I digress, this is not meant to be about me, this is meant to be about you.
Hopefully you don't find this letter for some time – I want to be long gone when you're reading this, so if I haven't left just bugger off and let me leave – and I hope that you've moved on. I desperately hope that you move on. I have to believe that you will, otherwise I don't know that I could leave you.
Getting directly to the point, my love, I am not good enough for you. A man with your wonderful qualities and personality has a world filled with possibilities ahead of them, and should in no circumstances be shackled to an Almost. A magic-less witch is no fit company for a man such as yourself, and to think that I could impose myself upon you for any amount of time is deplorable, both for my sense of dignity and yours.
I must convey that the harsh words I used earlier were the most difficult words that have ever crossed my lips. I regretted them before they had even formed in my mind. I listened to every word you were saying, and desperately wanted to agree with you, but knew that for your own good I had to free you from my horrid company.
Please know that I love you, and I always will. I am not saying this to make you feel guilty, or so that you try and seek me out – in fact, please don't. I hope you will be living a normal life, and I have no intention of disrupting it with my letter. But, I simply must tell you how I feel. It was your words of love that saved me from the Guardian and gave me the power to escape with what little magic I have left, and I realized that I have not yet had a chance to return your passionate words.
I love you, Draco. I will never stop, and I know that I will never find somebody else as long as I live; you are my soulmate, and it is because I love you that I need to set you free.
Please, forget about me and the hurt I've caused you.
Love, always,
Hermione
Draco stared at the letter for a long time, reading it and rereading it until the letters blurred before his eyes. Time stood still for what seemed like a miniature eternity, wheels turning in Draco's head as he attempted to process what was staring him in the face.
The only word he could latch onto was 'love'.
I have lived for eight months and twenty-seven days believing that she hated me, he thought slowly, but now she says she loves me.
Conflicting emotions warred within his mind, words spinning out of control and feelings ricocheting off of every possible surface.
I should go find her, ask if this is true.
No, you idiot, she said specifically not to go find her.
You're actually going to listen to what an emotional witch wrote in a letter? You're a bloody Malfoy for Merlin's sake, you never listen to anyone!
But…Hermione wrote it. She's not just any witch.
Exactly. And because she's Hermione, you have to go find her.
Striding purposefully over to the corner, Draco snatched up Hermione's scarf from where he had thrown it. Lifting the scented material to his nose, he closed his eyes and saw her; frizzy, uncontrollable hair, tired yet loving brown eyes, pale, freckled skin, a smile that lit up her face and brought out dimples on her lovely cheeks….
I'm finding her, he thought, shoving the scarf into his pocket. Damn what she wants, damn what she thinks about her self-righteous sacrifice. Damn you Hermione, I'm going to find you, and you can't bloody well stop me.
HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM HGDM
Pulling her winter coat more closely around her, Hermione stepped off the bus and onto the crowded sidewalk. It was rush-hour in Boston, Massachusetts, and Hermione was one of the thousands of people just trying to get to work as quickly as possible. She stuffed her headphones into her ears, humming along to her latest favourite playlist as she weaved between pedestrians.
Someone stepped on the edge of her coat, but Hermione didn't even bother to turn around and see who it was; she knew that her coat was a bit long, but she had decided that the occasional trip or slip was worth the ability to cover up her scrubs in public. It was embarrassing enough just to wear the scrubs, but wearing them in public tended to give off a 'serial killer' vibe that Hermione liked to avoid.
Just as her song was coming to an end, she walked through the staff doors of the Massachusetts General Hospital for Children. A large pod filled with multiple desks dominated the small area, and flickering white lights casting bizarre shadows from the hodge podge of secretaries and computers. Hermione walked up to the large metal box on the wall and punched in her card, the loud 'click' barely audible above the regular hospital din. "You're here early today," the main receptionist said to Hermione, smiling.
Hermione returned the smile and shrugged. "Traffic was light," she replied, moving into the next room that contained the employee lockers. Hermione spun the dial to its combination – 713 – and shucked off her cumbersome jacket, draping it over the small hook inside of the locker. Reluctantly, Hermione paused her iPod and pulled out her headphones, placing her beloved possession on the top shelf. Some muggle technology truly surpassed wizarding ones, in her opinion. Grabbing her nametag from the shelf and switching out her nice boots for 'sensible shoes', she locked her locker and once again walked out into the reception area. With her light blue scrubs, white shoes, and hair pulled back into a relentlessly gelled bun to keep it out of the way, Hermione looked like the stereotypical image of a nurse.
It had taken her a while to get used to the fact that her scrubs didn't have pockets; usually she never dreamed of purchasing anything without handy places to hide your wand. However, shortly after beginning her paid internship at the hospital, Hermione had realized that she genuinely had no need to carry her wand around. So, she left it at home, locked in a drawer on her bedside table. It's not like she could use it for much anyways.
Walking leisurely down the hallway illuminated by fluorescent lights, Hermione stopped by the staff coffee machine to brew a cup while she waited for her supervisor and coworkers. This was her second month working as an intern at the MGHC, and she absolutely loved it so far. Her supervisor, Dr Catherine Shiley, had told Hermione on multiple occasions that with her work ethic and skills she would be welcomed back for a permanent job at the hospital once her degree was finished. Shiley had even suggested that Hermione switch from the ambitious medicine program to the simplified nursing stream so that she could work sooner, but Hermione had rejected that idea straight out.
She had immigrated to America ten months ago, showing the American equivalent of the Ministry of Magic her 'Semi-Competent Witch' papers with one small alteration – rather than reading Hermione Granger, a name known even in the Americas, she had shown them altered certificates that declared a semi-competent "Miss Harriet Greer" wished to be granted United States citizenship. 'Harriet' had been granted her request, and had arrived in Boston with forged high school and university papers so that she could take her MCAT exams. Passing those with flying colours, Hermione had promptly been granted admission to the university internship program of her choice. After six months of classes, she had finally been allowed to live the child-medical experience every day. Her friend, Abigail, had asked her why she was so certain that medicine was her field – Abigail herself was having second thoughts about the program. At the time Hermione couldn't describe how she knew that she'd found her calling, but later, inside her head, she put it into words; the hole inside of her was still present, but it didn't hurt as much. Whenever she was at work, the hurt dulled and offered her merciful release. That was why she liked medicine; it was selfless, and offered a reprieve from her guilt.
Dr. Shiley came bursting down the hallway, her long white lab coat billowing Snape-like behind her. Severe and thin-boned, Dr Shiley looked like an amalgamation of angles; she was beautiful, in an austere way, and had one of the most musical and rare laughs that Hermione had ever heard. Her short black hair framed her thin, Japanese face perfectly, and Hermione had always thought that Shiley must have been incredibly sought-after when she was younger. Abigail scuttled along just after the impressive doctor, her long blonde hair twisted back into a bun that was already falling out around her ears. Her large blue eyes looked at Hermione as if to warn her, but the ex-Gryffindor was ready for one of the supervisor's moods. "Good morning Doctor Shiley," Hermione said pleasantly, extending a full cup of coffee as a peace offering of sorts. "Did you have a long night?"
Abigail barely concealed a snort, turning her laughter into a strangled, choking cough that prompted both Hermione and Shiley to raise their eyebrows. (Hermione had started the whole eyebrow-raising thing – it was apparently a quirk that she'd picked up from Draco – but everyone in the Americas had quite liked the action. Abigail described it as 'wonderfully foreign'.) Doctor Shiley glared at the young, blonde intern before snatching the coffee out of Hermione's hand and taking a long, deep draught. "It was a horrible night, Harriet," she said shortly. "There was a car accident over by the aquarium – two children were involved, as well as one infant. None of them were too badly harmed, thank God, but I was needed to perform physical and psychological analyses. Thanks to the stupid city transit routes I didn't arrive home until after four in the morning."
Hermione nodded, allowing her boss to rant and expel all of her negative energy; it wouldn't do to behave that way around the children. "That's horrible," Hermione said sympathetically, frowning. "Why did they make you come in today?"
"They didn't," Shiley replied, giving a half-smile. "In fact, they told me to stay home. I just couldn't miss the opportunity to come in and terrorize my young interns, so I dragged my sorry self down here for your sakes. Hopefully my sacrifice does not go unappreciated?"
"Of course not Doctor Shiley," Abigail said quickly, sliding up beside Hermione and resting her hand on her friend's shoulder. "We appreciate every moment of valuable time that you allow us to share with you."
The doctor raised her eyebrow again. "Thank you Abigail for that gushing praise," she said dryly. With a sigh, Shiley set her half-drunk coffee down on the coffee table. "Well, ladies," she said, rubbing her hands together, "shall we begin?"
The majority of Hermione's day passed in a blur. She administered countless physical examinations, walked several children up the seven floors from diagnostics to surgery-preparation, set a dozen broken bones, iced an insane amount of sprains or strains, and gave out a seemingly ridiculous amount of sweets.
She only noticed that she was being watched when she was escorting her last patient of the day, a young boy, back downstairs to his mother. Whipping around, immediately on alert, she didn't see anything; just a hallway full of doctors, patients, and empty gurneys. But she had definitely felt someone's eyes on her back. Hermione narrowed her eyes, scanning the area for a familiar face or something out of place. Unfortunately, before her visual search was finished, she felt a small tug on her arm. "Miss Greer?" the little boy said, still clutching his forearm cast, "Is something wrong?"
Hermione's face filled with a genuine smile – the boy's concern was quite touching, really. "No, Arthur," she said softly, taking the boy's un-injured arm. "Nothing's wrong. Let's go find your mummy, okay?"
"Why do you say mummy, not mom?" the young boy asked, confused. "And why does your voice sound strange?"
Hermione laughed. "I come from a faraway place," she said, leading the enthusiastic Arthur down the stairs. "Over there it rains all the time and we all speak funny, and we call people 'mummy' instead of 'mom'."
Arthur's brow furrowed. "Do you come from Wonderland?" he asked, looking up at her. "My mom….mummy is reading me all about Wonderland."
Smiling, Hermione ruffled Arthur's hair as she met his relieved mother's eyes across the room. "Of course, Arthur," she said sweetly. "I come from a Wonderland that is filled with magic, and oddities, and people who changed sizes and shapes." A pang of melancholy filled Hermione's soul; what she was saying was far too close to the truth, and it hurt to remember what she could not have. "But…I can't go back, you see, so instead I get to stay here and meet lovely boys like you!"
Arthur grinned from ear-to-ear, obviously very proud of being called a 'lovely boy'. Apparently when one is a five-year-old male it isn't insulting to be called 'lovely' yet. "Are there princes in Wonderland?" he asked, one step behind Hermione as they crossed the lobby.
An image of white-blonde hair, pale skin, and grey eyes flashed across Hermione's vision. "…yes," she said slowly. "There are most definitely princes."
Hermione watched as Arthur hugged his mother, the middle-aged woman trying to avoid bumping the energetic boy's cast. "Mo-mummy!" Arthur cried out, "The nice Miss Greer is from Wonderland! She speaks weirdly, and she says that where she lived there was magic and princes!"
Arthur's mother smiled sadly at Hermione, her expression apologetic. "Have you been bothering Miss Greer, Arthur?"
Suddenly bashful, Arthur hid his face in his mother's skirt. "Not at all," Hermione said quickly, interjecting before the boy's self-confidence could completely shatter. "Arthur's been a very good patient, and just needs to avoid bumping that arm or putting too much weight on it."
"What do you say to the nice doctor, Arthur?" his mother said, stepping away from her now-shy son.
"Thank you Miss Greer," he mumbled, looking at the tips of his shoes.
"You are most welcome, Prince Arthur," Hermione said, crouching down to get the boy's attention. "And," she whispered, pretending to be very sneaky and conspiratorial, taking out her phone. "this is what Wonderland looks like."
On her phone screen there was a picture of the Hogwarts grounds, sent to her by Harry; the Black Lake actually looked somewhat blue, and the Forbidden Forest had somehow managed to look slightly less terrifying than usual. Arthur's eyes lit up, and he immediately regained his excited energy. "Thank you Miss Greer!" he said enthusiastically, hugging a surprised Hermione and resting his chin briefly on her shoulder. "You're not a scary doctor at all, nothing like the ones on TV!"
Hermione was watching Arthur and his mother leave, the young boy surely regaling his mother with tales of Wonderland and princes, when she felt a set of eyes on her again. Turning slowly, Hermione scanned the busy lobby behind her. "You're paranoid, Granger," she grumbled, stomping off to the locker room to change out of her shoes.
She left the room a few seconds later, her long coat covering her scrubs, her iPod headphones dangling around her neck, and her oversized bag slung over her shoulder. Walking alongside her was Abigail, amazing Hermione with how energetic she was even after a full day of work. "..and that Chesney kid! Ugh, what a nightmare!" Abigail moaned as she punched her card. "I mean, you can only have one sucker, right? I told him this a dozen times, I swear…"
Hermione punched her own card and followed Abigail through the glass doors and out onto the street, nodding and smiling along with her friend. "Oh, and Ha-rri-et," Abigail said in a sing-song-y voice, her attitude seeming to entirely shift. "Did you see the new gynecologist who breezed in today?"
"Doctor Aamani?" Hermione said, slightly lost. "Yes, I did see him for about two seconds. Why do you ask?"
"We-e-ell," Abigail said, her tone of voice making Hermione nervous. "I've heard that he's single."
"Bloody hell, Abby!" Hermione said, a bit too loudly. "The poor man hasn't even been here for an entire day and you're already trying to set me up with him?"
"You've been alone waaay too long, Harriet," Abigail said, widening her eyes and feigning innocence. "Plus, I'm not trying to set you up – it's just he happens to be available and stunningly handsome. I'm only drawing your attention to the facts."
Just as Hermione was about to state that she was definitely not interested in the new gynecologist, she felt a sharp tug on her long coat. This time, however, she didn't hear a muttered apology, curse, or see someone almost trip trying to right themselves. Instead, as she was jerked backwards, she felt a strange pressure on the small of her back….almost like a warm hand….and…what was that smell?
When the pressure on her back lessened Hermione whirled around, expecting to see someone standing there and looking either extremely apologetic or extremely pissed off. However, there was nothing there. No one standing behind her, their hand still semi-extended. No one even close enough to have stepped on her jacket and then run away. Hermione blinked. Oh no, she thought. …magic.
"Harriet? Harriet, are you okay?"
Abigail's voice jerked Hermione back into reality, and she answered her friend's concerned question quickly. "I'm fine, it's all good. I just…tripped."
Abigail shrugged and moved on, calling back, "Hurry up or we'll miss the bus, ninny!"
Her eyes still scanning the empty air behind her, Hermione looked at exactly the place where a disillusioned witch or wizard's eyes would be. Her vision hovered there for a moment before she looked away, tingles running up and down her spine. She felt edgy all the way home, waving goodbye to Abigail half-heartedly when the girl reached her stop.
As Hermione walked up the six floors to her flat –apartment, Americans call it an apartment –she couldn't help but focus on the invisible stranger who had stepped on her jacket. And that smell…it was so familiar, but the image that went with it escaped her….
Turning the key and stepping into her flat, it was a moment before Hermione looked up from the ground. When she did, however, she gasped, dropping her bag, keys, and iPod unceremoniously onto the floor. "….you!" she breathed, eyes wide. "You…git!"
A/N: Sorry for the bit of a cliffy, you guys...but I bet you can guess who it is. :) So, one more chapter to go! Maybe an epilogue, no telling yet...but we'll see. And, apologies about my description of medical school in the US; I'm basing this entirely on assumptions I have, and the little research I've done about Canadian medschool. So, it's most likely all wrong, and I'm sorry. Please don't pelt me with rotten fruit. *hides*
Thanks for sticking with me this far everyone - all I ask is one more week, then I will set you free from my torturous writing. Look for an update this weekend. Much love! ~sneakyslytherin