Hermione yawned. She stretched languorously, rolling her neck and sighing contentedly as her back cracked. She slammed the cover of the book that she'd been reading shut, absentmindedly waving away the dust that flew into her face.
Rubbing her eyes, she glanced out the glazed glass window. It wasn't a shock to her that she'd been sitting in the same spot for hours; the sun was about to set. If she craned her neck, she could see her mother bustling around in the garden, pulling carrots and potatoes for their dinner. As if she could tell that Hermione was watching her, her head popped up, staring straight into the window behind which Hermione sat.
Hermione quickly ducked out of sight, ignoring the pang of guilt that assaulted her. She's likely to burst into tears again; you have every right to avoid her until it's time to leave.
Four more days, then you can relax. You're only going to be three days travel from here.
She sighed, suddenly struck with a feeling that she couldn't name.
Some would call it regret, but Hermione stubbornly refused to admit that she was terrified to leave the only home that she'd ever known. She'd taken to reading obsessively, trying to keep her anxiety at bay. The guilty little voice in the back of her head never missed an opportunity to remind her that she was, for all intents and purposes, an impostor.
You don't deserve this opportunity, it would whisper nastily. You cheated.
She couldn't deny that she had a dark secret. But, after what had happened in the forest all those years ago, she simply refused to believe in anything that wasn't tangible. If she didn't believe in it, it would go away.
Right?
So she had decided to focus on her studies, boycotting any literature that danced around the subject of the supernatural. If she had it her way, she wouldn't even own a bible; it was too direct of a reminder that there were things that science couldn't explain.
Absentmindedly, she rubbed the old scar underneath her chin. It was a nervous habit that her mother had tried hard to discourage. The scar tissue was an uncomfortable souvenir of what she'd experienced in the forest all of those years ago.
She would take her secret to the grave, of that she was sure. She was constantly torn between stubborn denial and unhappy acceptance; it was a strange way to live. She wasn't sure how much of her accomplishments were her own and which ones had only come about because of otherworldly interference, which made her feel like she was constantly living a lie.
It was almost like a half-life. One that most certainly held the whiff of a curse, which she knew she deserved. One didn't just get to turn away from a fairy bargain, not after it had been struck.
Hermione hadn't set foot in the forest in ten years, which suited her mother just fine. A full curse would have manifested by now, surely.
She wanted desperately to put distance between herself and the creature who resided in the woods.
So, naturally, she had jumped at the chance to leave her village behind. The Duke of Sussex had recently taken on a new physician, one who was looking for a qualified apprentice. Her father had very quietly made some inquiries; he'd surprised her with the good news barely a month previously.
"Hermione, come and sit," he'd said excitedly, motioning for her to join him. "I've received some correspondence that will interest you."
She obeyed, her interest already piqued.
"My dear," her father said, taking her hands in his own, "I know that you aren't satisfied in this little village of ours. So I've taken the liberty of begging a favor from an old friend."
"I don't-" she began to protest, cutting off with a sigh as her father waved her objection away.
"It's no secret that you're brighter than you'll ever admit. I haven't told your mother of my plans yet, I don't think she'll be terribly happy with me. But, nevertheless, I have secured you a position in the court of the Duke of Sussex; you're to leave in a month."
Hermione's jaw dropped, and for once she had nothing to say.
He chuckled good-naturedly at her shock, squeezing her hand. "My friend in the clergy is very well acquainted with the man who has recently taken the post of physician to the Duke; he's in need of someone who has some training and experience to help him attend to the lord and his family. Father Albus has very kindly secured permission from the good doctor to take you on as an apprentice."
"F-Father, I haven't got the training, nor the-"
"Hermione, I have taught you everything that I know. If I had your mind I have no doubt that I could wait upon the king. Don't deny it; you seem to pick up anything that you try. Perhaps there's a bit of truth to those old stories after all. Magic runs in our blood, us Grangers." He'd mused, tapping his finger against the table.
Despite her best attempts to remain neutral, she'd flinched.
He sighed at her reaction, standing abruptly and lacing his fingers together. "I know that you've always wanted to leave Ashwood. I don't know why, so I won't pry. But believe me when I say that another opportunity like this is unlikely to present itself."
"I'll go," she blurted out, unable to stop the excitement from welling up inside of her. "I want to go!"
"Excellent, I'll send along the good news. Keep this quiet from your mother for a little while, mind. She's likely to be quite cross with me."
Humming, she stood up, trying in a futile effort to arrange her hair back into the plaits that she'd spent far too long weaving that morning. She eventually gave up, tousling her lion's mane of curls and striding to the door as soon as her mother had disappeared into the cottage opposite the surgery. Her mind was occupied by her research, so much so that she didn't hear the clinking of glass vials outside the door. Just as she placed her hand on the doorknob, the heavy wooden door was flung open from the other side.
She almost fell flat on her face.
She barely caught herself in time, clutching the doorway and glaring halfheartedly at the man who stood outside, his hands still occupied by the large wooden boxes that he was carrying. "Ron, you could have knocked!"
"Sorry, 'Mione," he rumbled, glancing at her from around his burden, his bright red hair shining in the sunlight. "I didn't know you were still in there. Give me a hand, would you?"
She stepped aside, holding the door open as he maneuvered the heavy boxes through the low door frame and deposited them gently on the wooden table that she had just vacated. "How did you open the door so quickly?" She asked, a smirk tracing its lazy way across her mouth. "I didn't even hear you coming up the way, and with all that glass you're making a racket."
He shrugged, still unpacking his delivery. "When you've got your nose in a book, the king's fanfare couldn't make you look up."
She laughed, helping him to gently remove the vials and bottles from their straw-packed boxes and arranging them according to size on her father's shelves. "Fine, you have a point. Where's Father?"
"Still at the inn, I think. Hermes still hasn't gotten over that limp; his right hoof is still swollen," he replied, his brow furrowing as he inspected on of the bottles. "This one's cracked; it'll have to go back."
"You're sure?" She peered over her shoulder, tsking at the hairline crack that bisected the delicate vial. "Bother, they're so expensive."
"Your father won't be happy," Ron mused, sticking his tongue between his teeth as he moved the rest of the boxes off the table.
"He can never stay angry with you."
He grunted inelegantly in response.
"So, how've you been?" She asked, shooting him a glance through a curtain of her hair as she busied herself with rearranging the plants that sat on the windowsill. "Anything new happening in town?"
"Not really," he replied distractedly, picking up the rest of the bottles and checking them for flaws. "I saw you yesterday. There's not much going on this time of year. The harvest isn't for another month-"
"Oh really, because that's not what I heard." He glanced up at her teasing tone, his brow furrowing.
"Nothing's happened, honest."
He was so earnest that she almost believed him.
"I'm sure," Hermione murmured, hopping up on the table and giving him a pointed look. "So, is there any reason why you're avoiding telling me about how your walk with Lavender went last night?"
He turned a striking shade of red, which clashed magnificently with his fiery hair. "Ginny told you, didn't she?"
She couldn't keep a grin off her face. "She did, but only after I wrestled it out of her. Why didn't you mention it?"
"I asked her to keep it quiet. There's not much to tell."
"You liar!" She crossed her arms in mock annoyance and raised her eyebrow. "I doubt that very much."
He sighed, running his hand over his face. She noted with some amusement that he had only managed to deposit an impressive smear of dirt on his nose. "She talked about children nearly the whole time. I barely got a word in."
"Well, her sister has two, and her brother has three. I'm sure she's feeling left out," Hermione said lightly, hopping off the table and untying some of the dried herbs that hung above her head. "She's twenty and unmarried, so people are starting to whisper. You should understand what that's like."
"You're twenty-one and unmarried," his tone warmed with amusement before he uncrossed his arms and moved to help her. "I'm the sixth son of a poor family; the girls aren't lining up to be courted."
"Oh, Ron. Don't start wallowing," she groaned, taking in a lungful of thyme-scented air. "You've got plenty of qualities that are just as good as anyone, better actually."
"Pigs wallow, I complain," he grumbled, wiping his hands on his apron. "I just don't want to court someone who's more concerned about what people think of her than how we feel about each other."
Her eyes widened, and the hint of a blush appeared in the apples of her cheeks. "How very chivalrous of you, Ronald. You're wasted in this place."
"Don't mock me," he muttered, walking over to her father's desk and rummaging around in it for a moment. Finally, he produced several metal surgical instruments and began to clean them with a quiet fervor. "You're leaving, and soon you'll be clad in silks and walking with some lord's son. Consider naming one of your children after me, won't you?"
She didn't miss the bitterness in his tone, despite his attempt to make a joke.
"Ron," she sighed walking over to where he was determinedly working and leaning against the wall beside him. "I'm not abandoning you. Father Albus thinks that I would be a good fit for the position, that's all. He should have chosen you."
"'Mione, you're too damn talented. You should go." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and couldn't help the small smile that crept over his face. "Don't give me that look."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm a girl, there's only so far I can go. You could become a great surgeon."
He shook his head, his expression wistful. "I'm happy to take over your father's shop when he retires. We can't all gallivant off; Mum would never forgive me if I left."
"Come visit me, as often as you can," she whispered, trying to immortalize this memory in her mind. "I'm going to be awfully lonely without you around."
"You'll be just fine; you'll have plenty to do."
"Plenty of time to make a fool of myself," she grumbled, crossing her arms self-consciously. "I'll be some simple village girl who doesn't know the proper way to do anything."
"Have you finished that book on court etiquette yet?"
"Yes, but only just. It's French, so I don't know if that will be enough to endear me to anyone." She impatiently blew a curl out of her face and gestured for him to turn to face the centre of the room. "I need to practice my curtsy."
"Don't nobles send their young ladies to France?"
"I'm not a lady, so I don't know," she retorted. "Turn around, please."
He sighed, but turned around obediently. She took a deep breath and concentrated. It wasn't difficult, in theory. "Tell me if my leg wobbles."
"Ah, but you'll be remembered if it does. Perhaps the Duke is in need of a new jester," he chuckled at the dirty look that she threw him. "They'll call you Hermi-o-ninny."
She managed to simultaneously perform an elegant curtsy and gesture rudely at the same time, laughing loudly at the shocked look that flitted across his expression; she laughed so hard that she nearly lost her balance.
He recovered quickly, shaking his head at her. "Where'd you learn that?"
"A book," she responded easily, still grinning. "The elegant hand flourish was learned from Fred."
"I should have known," he groaned, striding to the window and peering out at the setting sun. "They've yet to write a book about something that you can't learn, are you sure that you didn't make a deal with the devil? Ah, there's your father now."
He was turned away from her, so he missed the flash of fear that colored her expression before she was able to regain control of her emotions. She swallowed hard, trying to arrange her features into a warm smile.
She'd never plucked up the courage to tell Ron what she'd seen in the woods all those years ago.
A second later, Hermione heard the clatter of a horse and cart and her father's determined commands. "I'd better go and soothe Hermes. Can you measure out some oats for a mash before you go?"
She was out the door before he responded, completely clueless to his lingering gaze.
Her father barely glanced at her as he fussed over their large, stocky draft horse. The gelding regarded Hermione with eyes red-rimmed and watering from pain, and she immediately moved to reassure him, breathing in his familiar earthy smell as she gently patted his soft nose. "He's still hurting, Father."
"I know, that damn hoof is trying to foster an infection." Her father swept off his hat and regarded her with eyes blood-shot from exhaustion.
"I was up all night making a poultice, but he's kicked the medicine off. Tom is convinced that he needs a new shoe, won't listen when I tell him that there's something wrong with the whole foot. This is why he never managed to make it as a teamster." The last statement was muffled as he ducked around the horse and made for the cottage.
"Ron's brought the order in, you're going to want to take a look," she called absently, still comforting Hermes. "Besides, Tom was just trying to help. It doesn't matter that he was wrong."
"Hermione, when you have him yammering in your ear about the best way to loop stitches, I'll gently remind you of what you said." His cheeky response was tempered by the warm smile that lit up his hazel eyes.
Hermione clucked gently, moving carefully to the offending hoof. She lifted it, administering a gentle slap to the horse's rump as he resisted her ministrations. Her eyes raked over the injury, and she made a small "ah" of satisfaction as she found what she was looking for. "Father, there's a rock wedged deep underneath where the old shoe is. There's swelling, it has to be. I reckon it's been there for at least a fortnight."
"You know how to get it out, I was hoping to draw it out with the poultice" he called, hoisting a large canvas sack over his shoulder. "I have some strong spirits in the shop-"
She laughed, shaking her curls out of her eyes as she set the hoof back down. "I need to be whole and hearty when I arrive at the Duke's court; there is no way that I'm inviting this grumpy animal to kick me silly. He'll have to bear it without the added sting."
"My dear, the alcohol is for you," he chuckled, waving at Ron, who had just popped out of the workshop. "My dear Ronald, how badly have we been swindled this time? The apothecary's always charging far too much for his supplies."
"Terribly, I'm afraid," he replied, his eyes glittering with amusement. "I've set aside all of the items that you can argue over."
Hermione chuckled and turned her attention back to Hermes, who was still dutifully standing on one leg. "Those two are incorrigible, aren't they?" She murmured fondly, sticking her tongue between her teeth in concentration as she bent over the swollen hoof.
I'm going to miss them.