"Be honest, does it suit me?" Ginny asked, eyeing a strand of dark blonde hair that she'd pulled between her fingers. She was now the proud owner of a long blonde mane, and dark blue eyes. Hermione had changed all of their appearances, making them as different as possible, she'd also gone blonde, only lighter and much more reminiscent of Malfoy than she'd expected. Her hair was now as straight as Ginny's, and her eyes the same colour, hoping to pass themselves off as sisters and not friends. Ron was now sporting light brown hair, with brown eyes, whereas Harry had been given a glamour charm for his scar, his eyes were blue and his hair brown. His glasses transfigured into a different style.
"Sort of Ginny; sort of." Ron attempted to console his worried looking sister, and earned himself a vicious glare. Sensing the possible start of a sibling war, Harry had bundled them into the fireplace of the Burrow, yelling "The Leaky Cauldron" with such volume they winced. Moments later, they stumbled into the well-known London pub to the disgruntled murmurs and comments of its clientele. Not one of them gave the four a look of recognition, and Hermione released a breath she wasn't aware she'd been holding, she began to untangle her limbs from the others, impressed with the way they'd managed to tie knots with each other during the journey and clambered to her feet.
"Right, let's go then." She said briskly, offering a hand to help Ginny up who seemed to be struggling against her squirming brother. When all were on their feet, they left to the Muggle part of London, instantly swallowed by the throng of the crowds, no one giving any of them a second glance. Harry had already grabbed Ron, and was pulling him into the first shop he'd seen. Ginny slipped her arm through Hermione's, and tugged on it hoping she'd follow.
"What's happened between you and my brother?" Ginny asked, steering Hermione into the women's section of the shop, her unfamiliar eyes flicking over to the less distinctive heads of her brother and boyfriend.
"I don't really know Gin," Hermione said, flicking through a rack full of shirts, checking them for her size as Ginny copied. "I don't think anything has really changed in all honesty, we're still friends. We just happened to have kissed."
"You don't think anything has changed, but he looks at you as if you were a puppy, and he's a child desperate for one." Ginny said disbelieving, her arm becoming weighed down with different coloured tops.
"I hadn't noticed; in all honesty, I mean…I love Ron, I do, but a relationship with him…" she trailed off, selecting her clothes from the rail and turning to the next one with an interested eye.
"Don't worry; Harry told me, and I understand. I don't prefer it, it would be wonderful to have you in the family by name one day, but you'll always be a sister of mine, and your happiness is number one." Ginny said comfortingly, as she began to pilfer another rail full of clothes, casually discarding things that weren't to her liking. "I just wish I knew what was up with Harry," she sighed, turning her gaze to the men's section again, checking the two boys hadn't abandoned them.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asked slightly sharply, the concern pouring out of her like the rain in summer.
"He's…distant, with me. I mean. I don't expect him to be the same after the war, but he's barely looked at me twice in the way he said he would. He's told me he loves me, we're together, but…why doesn't it feel that way? We're not at war anymore. We're safe, people would love to know and see us together, but he keeps his distance. It's infuriating because he won't tell me why." She explained, as she picked up a leather jacket, inspecting it absently.
"I've not noticed any of that, but I have seen him look at you the way you say Ron looks at me. Perhaps…perhaps he just needs time to adjust, I can ask him if you like." Hermione offered as she shifted the load of clothes she'd picked up in her arms, heading towards the till to pay.
"No…no, you're most likely right. Chances are this will all be something stupid and insignificant." Ginny said partially to herself as she followed Hermione, throwing her a grateful glance as the older girl took Ginny's purchases from her.
"Thanks, I don't get muggle money; I'll give you what I owe outside." She whispered, gesturing to the boys to come over and pay.
They'd visited several more shops chatting in a care-free manner that reminded Hermione of why she loved the girl so much before Harry found his chance to talk to her. They'd entered a shop that specialised in jeans, and as they'd spread out, finding their own sizes Harry had found himself by Hermione's side.
"I got an owl this morning, from the Ministry. I have to attend the Malfoy trial." He muttered to her, as he looked at the labels on the women's jeans. Hermione gasped, turning to look at him wide eyed.
"So do I." She hissed, "I gave a couple of memories to Shacklebolt."
"I have to speak," Harry told her, dread in his eyes," apparently what I submitted isn't clear enough. They want me to talk it through." Disgust laced his voice; it was clear that it was a thinly veiled attempt by the Ministry to discover more about what had actually happened during the past year.
"Say what you absolutely have too. You said it the other day; you're Harry Potter you can say as much or as little as you want, and with Shacklebolt as Minister, it should be a case of the ball is in your court."
"I don't know if I should have submitted the evidence Hermione." Harry admitted to her, looking ashamed of himself, "I don't know if I did the right thing."
"How are you speaking as? His defence or?"
"Defence, I didn't want him to go to Azkaban. The moment the war ended I went to Shacklebolt; told him everything, and gave him my memories. I wanted Malfoy to have a new beginning, like I was going to get, but now I think about it I don't know why. Malfoy let the Death Eaters into the castle a-"
"Oh; not this again!" Hermione spat; surprising both her and Harry. "Tell me what happened next! You found out he was being forced to do something he didn't want to do. You were obsessed with him that year. You saw how he behaved, sure he did it, but you even said he would have been killed if what happened didn't happen! He couldn't kill Dumbledore!"
"So why was he happy to be in the Room of Requirement after he was spotted looking really rather uncomfortable at his Manor? He may not have turned us in but he was still happy to join in!" Harry retorted to her outburst just as quickly. Hermione bit her lip, unsure herself, had she done the right thing too? Then the words they'd said the morning after the battle rung in her mind.
"I don't know Harry, but we both did the right thing. Think about it, you wanted him to have a new beginning, maybe he'll get one. We both submitted evidence where he wasn't comfortable to do the really horrendous shit in the war, he's just a bully, and does what he does best. Bully. Maybe having both of us speak in his defence will humiliate him. He needed to be saved from a lifetime in Azkaban by the golden trio." Hermione tried to persuade, almost herself as much as the boy beside her, mulling the words Harry had said about the Room of Requirement about in her mind.
"I guess you're right. Everybody deserves a second chance." Harry begrudged her, rubbing his chin in a thoughtful manner. "Ron didn't submit anything, and he isn't going to. He hopes Malfoy rots."
Irritation burst into life in the pit of Hermione's stomach, and she rolled her eyes.
"Well he would wouldn't he?" She said quietly, checking to see that Ron wasn't about, "The Malfoy's are the people Ron just can't see past, he's not going to stop and think about what would happen should Malfoy be sent to Azkaban."
"What would happen?" Harry asked, curiosity ringing in his voice, his low tones filled with his thoughtfulness.
"Malfoy is one of the only Slytherins that are able to come back to Hogwarts," she began quietly, "If the new year goes ahead, and there are no Slytherin year eights, how is that going to look to all the first years? Slytherin may have a reputation for creating the most dark wizards, but we've just had a war. We need some eighth year Slytherins to return, we need them to at least be in the castle to start breaking people's prejudices. Yeah, I doubt Malfoy will change, he'll probably still bully as always, but he'll be there. Just seeing the guy walk about the castle will mean that he's clearly not as dreadful as his reputation because he avoided Azkaban. It pains me to say it, but Slytherin needs to be seen in a better light if we're to avoid another Wizarding War, having someone famous; and Malfoy is famous, simply for being a Malfoy, who fought on the other side in the war, walking about Hogwarts will do more good than bad. Even if it doesn't make sense to you right now." Hermione whispered to him, throwing pairs of jeans over her arm in slightly varying shades of black and blue. Harry appraised her carefully, his brows knitted together, but he nodded, his lips pulled together tight.
"I hate that you make sense sometimes." He grunted, as Hermione laughed lightly. He made to turn away from her as Ron called him, his face a picture of his old deep thinking manners. Hermione sighed, tugging his sleeve gently.
"Harry, tell Ron when he asks what we were talking about, that I told you to be more "together" with Ginny. She's legitimately concerned." She told him, watching Harry's face pale. He nodded, and left to go over to Ron, as Ginny took his place.
"I'm ready to go home," she laughed, as she displayed all her purchases for Hermione to see. Hermione grinned, and looked at her watch.
"We ought to start thinking about leaving actually, the shops will close soon." She agreed, "come help me in the changing room, I might need different sizes."
"Of course," Ginny said, making to follow Hermione.
Her trek back up to Gryffindor tower was slow as she trudged thoughtfully up to her dorm; she waved her wand over her features, her blonde tresses melting back into their usual wild chocolate state. Her eyes returned to their sparkling mahogany tones, as the bruises flowered back on to her skin. The walls of Hogwarts we're looking bare, portraits had been removed for cleaning and repairs, as had the many tapestries and suits of armour. The holes in the walls, or sheer lack of a wall in some cases was more pronounced than usual, the crunch of the stone dust making Hermione feel slightly guilty with every step. She walked gingerly past the transfiguration classroom as a hand shot out from the door, roughly tanking her inside the classroom.
The door slammed shut, and she reached for her wand, only to find it slapped roughly out of her hand, clattering on the floor several feet away. In retaliation she swung desperately at whoever had grabbed at her, and found herself restrained instantly.
"Stop being so bloody difficult Granger!" A familiar voice snarled at her, gripping her upper arms, and slamming her against the wall. The face of Draco Malfoy sneered at her; confusion and rage a blizzard in his winter eyes, his body unusually close against her, barring Hermione from an easier struggle.
"Malfoy." She acknowledged, setting her jaw in a furious return snarl.
"Why are you at my trial?" He demanded, roughly shoving her against the wall again, as if emphasising who was in control of the situation. She growled, irritated at the unnecessary confrontation, Hermione moved her feet as if to kick at the insides of his legs, only to find him apply light pressure with his knee on the inside of her thigh.
"I submitted evidence, some memories, not many, only two." She gasped, surprised at the sharp pains now coming from her leg. His face seemed to transform, the sharp edges of his face becoming lethal as his anger over took him, a deadly beauty over coming all else. His eyes glittered as the blizzard raged on. Fear blossomed in Hermione's blood, spreading with every quickened beat of her heart as he gripped her upper arms harder.
"I fucking knew you'd be on the side wanting to see me rot like my bloody father." He hissed at her and the fear that had created vines across her body grew thorns as her rage exploded.
"You stupid ferret! I'm your defence, you cock! Biggest mistake of my life that after this!" She spat at him, struggling against his body that still pinned her to the wall. He released her, stepping back as shock flooded him, his snow white skin paling further. Hermione pushed him roughly diving for her wand as he mouthed nothingness into the air, stumbling backwards onto a desk making no effort to catch himself. The swirling snows of emotions in his wintery eyes now blown out, as he looked at the door in confusion.
"Defence?" He asked her weakly, turning to look at her livid form now pointing her wand at him, fresh red marks on her arms.
"Defence." She affirmed, watching him warily, her murderous feeling still alive and well. She noted he had a fresh suit on, one that didn't seem to have seen the war at all, no stains that were almost impossible to get out and no evidence of blood, or a quick repair. He was pushing himself into a more comfortable position, shock still evident on her face and she sighed, slipping her wand back into her pocket as she realised he'd made no effort to get to his. He couldn't anyway, the trace still held too much sway in a court case, and what good would it do him to be hexing people.
"Why?" He breathed finally, after allowing himself to look her over several times, appraising her figure under the patchwork of bruises, cuts and ruined clothes. "Why are you defending me after all I've done?"
"Yeah, I'd love to know that too after this little show you decided to put on Malfoy." She snapped at him, placing her hands on her hips to stop herself from shaking with anger. Panic slipped over Draco's expression for the briefest of moments before he could control himself again. He seemed to consider himself a moment and closed his metallic silver eyes in defeat.
"You are…right of course," he agreed as Hermione realised that was as close as she was going to get to an apology. Her face contorted into shock and alarm as she figured out why he was evening daring to agree with her. It was her War Hero status. Her words in the courtroom in his defence were worth galleons made of platinum. He wasn't going to risk antagonising her further, but if she'd been on the other side, his attack wouldn't have mattered. He was screwed anyway, might as well go down feeling like he'd killed a part of her soul again.
"You need me," She spoke the words into the air as if to make the desperate situation of his real and unavoidable. He sneered at her, the anger snapping back to life.
"Go on then Granger, blackmail me, what do you want so you will keep me out of Azkaban." He snarled; humiliation rife in the glare he threw at her.
"You think I'm as low as to blackmail you?" she asked him disbelievingly, "I knew you thought I'm the lowest of the low anyway, but blackmail? You think I'm that awful?" Disappointment fell onto her figure, as her shoulders slumped, and she fell against the wall for support. Confusion sparked to life in Draco's pose and he leaned towards her curiously.
"Isn't…isn't that what's supposed to happen? You know I have need of you, and there is no way you'd give it to me willingly, so…what did you want?" He asked her, his voice steady and careful. He obviously hadn't been expecting her reaction. She laughed humourlessly, and turned her sad eyes to him, her molten brown gaze dripping with pity and sympathy.
"You fucking idiot." She told him, "You haven't had a real friend in your life have you?" She asked, not expecting an answer. Draco bristled slightly, still humiliated and confused.
"The memories were willingly given. You didn't ask for anything. No one asked me anything. I didn't even expect to have to turn up at your trial when I gave them. Now you assault me, and then expect blackmail when you learn the truth. I used to think you were so brainwashed there was no hope for you, but now I see you've never been around people who love you. People who love you without expecting anything of you or from you. People who will do things for you just because; not because they'll get something in return, willingly given or not. So I pity you Malfoy above anything else. You can however tell me one thing. What were you doing in the Room of Requirement with Crabbe and Goyle?" Her speech seemed to have a profound effect on Malfoy, who had listened to the entire thing wide eyed and almost cowering at her words. His expression had flickered between confusion, alarm and sadness the entire way through; his gaze locked onto the brunette who had been his bullying victim the entirety of the time they'd known each other. Her question juddered something inside of him and he flushed a peculiar shade of pink.
"I was keeping up appearances. My parents were here. My aunt was here. The Dark Lord was here, and I'm here running about with his fucking brand on my arm!" He hissed, shame and humiliation poisoning his tone, "You think I would have been able to just live had he known everything? Crabbe and Goyle may have believed everything that was said, and even enjoyed it, but I…"
"I get it." Hermione interrupted, making to leave as she threw him one last pitying glance. "I won't submit this as evidence." She swept out the door and briskly marched down the corridor immediately leading towards a staircase. A loud roar and a bang followed her, and she jumped spinning around to see Malfoy's lean figure with a desk held in his hands, the table part of it clearly slammed into the wall as it now sported a large crack. She stared at him in shock, only to see an emotion she knew all too well returned.
Pain.
He threw the desk down, running his hands through his hair, his anger shook him to the core, and his body began to tremble with uncontrolled rage. He'd show her. He'd chase her down and make her feel like hell for talking to him like that. He left the classroom, chasing after her as he heard an all too familiar voice.
"Hermione! I thought you'd be in the common room by now, not behind me! Oh well, doesn't matter, I came to talk to you anyway."
It was the Weasel. His voice was happy and cheery, but lecherous tones rang strong and clear to Malfoy. He froze on the stairs, carefully sidling himself into a spot behind a suit of armour, and shielded by the remains of part of a wall. This had turned out better than he'd expected. He crouched down, out of sight, but able to hear.
"Oh, I was going to sort out my bag, I don't think I can get your clothes right now-" Hermione was saying, and Malfoy's brow creased with amusement, the idea that Hermione was practically his mother carrying about his clothes tickled something inside him.
"No, it's not about that, Ginny said she'll take them for us, but it's about…us, you know as you're my girlfriend I-" Malfoy's eyebrows shot up in unrestrained surprise, he'd seen it coming, but part of him had always thought that Hermione wouldn't be so low as to fall for a man who belittled her, and had to be practically babied by her.
"What? I'm your what?" Hermione was spluttering, her discomfort was obvious, but the oblivious Weasley member battled on.
"Well obviously, I mean after we kissed, but I was just asking if you'd like to move into my room with me in the Burrow now that Harry is thinking of asking Ginny to live with him." Weasley blustered on, ignorant to Hermione's efforts to interrupt him.
"Ron, no." She said sternly, "I really don't think I'm your girlfriend at all. Your friend; yes. Your girlfriend; no. I'm also not ok with moving in with you into your room in the Burrow. I need space. I don't think it's ok to be making these assumptions about Harry and Ginny either, not when she was saying something different to me earlier!" She fled, her footsteps becoming distant as she went up another floor. The Weasel hadn't given up though, and gave chase for the briefest of moments, before swiftly turning on his heel, he strode towards Malfoy's hiding place, and Draco shrank back into the darkness, cursing Merlin for his lack of being able to use his wand, and stopped breathing as the red haired boy stomped past him. Ron's fists were clenched, and he was gritting his teeth. He hadn't taken the rejection well, and it was all Draco could do to swallow down a mocking laugh. He stayed put for several seconds, waiting for the footsteps to vanish altogether before revealing himself, his emotions in turmoil. He was still angry with Granger, but oddly proud of her for realising she could do better than the Weasley boy. He slipped down the stairs, pondering what he could do with the information, if anything, heading for the Slytherin common room.
Irritated from her encounter with Ron, and bizarrely Malfoy, Hermione shimmied out of her clothes. She quickly changed into a new set, relishing in the freshness of the fabric, the lack of rips; tears and unexplained stains a welcome sight. She sighed with pleasure before snatching up her sequined bag again, gazing at it with a mixture of respect and reverence. She then tipped the entire bag out onto her bed, the thunderous noise of books, clothes, vials of potions, food supplies and finally a portrait causing her to wince guiltily. Turning over the portrait of Phineus Nigellus, who was somehow still sleeping after the loud bangs and thuds, so that he couldn't see his location reminded Hermione of all the times spent on the run. A sigh escaped her lips once more, realising just how much she would have to do to sort her own belongings out after a war. A brief conversation with McGonagall had confirmed she was able to use her old Gryffindor dormitory as a sort of home whilst the ministry found her parents. Her childhood home had been sold due to the brand new 'Wilkins' needing the money to re-locate, and intruding on the Weasley's with all her possessions seemed just too much. Especially in the same room as Ron.
She withdrew her wand from her pocket, taking in a deep breath; preparing herself for the work that was to be done. With a couple of waves and a flick, all her books had piled themselves up on a bookshelf, her clothes had made their way into her wardrobe, and her old ones were now in a pile at her feet; mingling with Harry and Ron's. The stench made her stomach turn and her nose wrinkle in disgust. Amazement began to flitter to the forefront of her thoughts, and she wondered how they'd been able to stand the smell for a year. Cleanliness had been reduced to bathing in every patch of flowing water they'd discovered, but fresh water was a nightmare to come across, and scourigify; although wonderful, couldn't solve the real hygiene need. Another flick of her wand, and the pile of clothes was bound in a bag, the smell thankfully removed. She'd deal with it later.
She ended the charm on her bag, and then tucked it into a draw in her wardrobe, patting it fondly, delighted that its last job was to act as storage for her purchases instead of a suitcase for three on the run. Phineaus began to stir in his portrait, but before he could cause a commotion, Hermione summoned a house-elf.
"Winky, please do me a favour, please take this portrait to Harry for me. Oh, and the clothes. Here," she said in a rushed whisper to the startled looking elf, pressing the bundle of stinking clothes into her hands, "and tell him that they're his problem now." She smiled, as Winky grabbed up the portrait vanishing with the distinctive crack of a house-elf. Her brown eyes gazed at the order to her room, as a knock came to the door. She jumped, confused, her fingers tightening about her wand.
"Hermione?" A questioning voice came, as the door opened ever so slightly.
"Oh, Ginny, come in, come in," she relaxed, waving the red-head in. Ginny didn't need telling twice, and skipped into the room her features the same as they'd always been.
"Was going to take our clothes from you, I really need to see what I've bought, and what I can now throw out." She laughed, realising that Hermione had been doing the same. Hermione grinned at Ginny and gestured to the piled up bags of shopping she'd dismissed to behind the door were.
"There, that'll be your clothes and the boys; could you do me a favour?" She questioned, as she picked up Bill's tent, turning to Ginny questioningly.
"You want me to return Bill's tent for you?"
Hermione nodded a coy smile on her lips as Ginny laughed.
"Oh sure, it's not like I'm taking anything back anyway," Ginny answered sarcastically, holding up her hands full of the bags they'd all bought earlier that day. Hermione smiled, tucking the tent under her friends arm. "I'll see you later," Ginny smiled, taking her leave with a rather awkward waddle. The door clicked shut, and Hermione's eyes fell on the rather over used dittany. She closed her eyes, remembering the bath she'd had the day before. The water had forced her to face many things she didn't want to, the state of her physical being for one. Living off whatever they could scavenge for meals had not done her physique wonders. The sight of her ribs had made her feel sick, and she missed the healthy glow she'd given off before. Cuts mottled almost every inch of her, as well as several burns from the run in with the dragon. Thankfully they could have been worse, but the unexpected plunge into the water had helped quell the fire somewhat. The magical gash on her arm had hurt her to the very core to touch, but it was still caked in mud, grit and dust from the days before. She'd rubbed it till it had bled, and vomited from the pain. Hermione's vanity, whilst little, was still present, and she'd hoped her usually wild mane of hair had been looking worse for wear due to living rough, but as she'd submerged herself into the abnormally hot water, she'd discovered she was in need of a haircut. The knots were almost impossible to get out, and it's formally healthy shine had vanished. Along with the dark circles under her eyes, Hermione was a wreck. An idea to go to Pomfrey had flickered to life in the back of her mind, but shame had stopped her. She was Hermione Granger, a Heroine of the second Wizarding War. Something about getting medical help for herself seemed like admitting she wasn't really a heroine, even though the idea of that title made her feel nauseous. She'd done what she'd hoped anyone would do when they learnt their best friend was the marked nemesis of a Dark Wizard. Help. She'd gone to Madam Pomfrey anyway, only to discover that she was clean out of potions that would help her. Burn paste had been completely depleted, vitamix had been guzzled, and bandages were gone. Even Skele-grow. Hermione had shuddered at the thought, remembering the way Harry had described it. A small talk with Pomfrey had revealed that she'd had to start using her limited knowledge of Muggle healing to deal with the amount of injuries that needed more attention than a charm or two. Hermione had accepted that the only way she could help herself, was to do it herself. Selfishly, she began brewing healing potions after discovering that the more complex ones we're being made first. She'd taken several cauldrons from the potions classroom, and stuffed them full of ingredients for various health potions. Then she'd pilfered the potions masters store cupboard, brazenly walking up to Gryffindor tower, levitating her stolen goods in front of her. She hadn't noticed the shocked and curious gaze of Draco Malfoy as she'd strolled past the Great Hall. The dittany now on her bed would be added to one of those potions, and handed to Pomfrey upon their completion.
She'd sent a letter to George, asking him for a jar of his bruise paste, and thankfully the morning had brought her a couple of owls, one bearing a jar of paste that she'd smothered over herself almost instantly, and to her relief she was several bruises free after it had all sunk in; with a letter from George, asking if she knew how to get hold of a muggle cannon. She'd sighed, and had written a sharp reply thanking him for the jar and telling him she'd pay him the next time she saw him, but a cannon was not a toy, nor something easily handed out to Muggles. She gently advised him that a cannon probably wasn't what he was looking for, and that she'd do her very best to help him should he find what he was really looking for.
With a start, she realised that she'd nothing left to sort out. With that, she turned, and went to join the Weasley's and Harry at the Burrow, her mood turning slightly sour that there was nothing left for her to keep her mind busy save confronting a man who had harassed her earlier.