Hope everyone is quarantining well; I finally made my way back to this piece, and I figured now is as good a time as any to update!
2001
Hermione saw the change in the faces of patrons as she walked back into the Cauldron. They were more wary now, watching her glide back behind the bar and keeping their eyes on her as they quickly drained their glasses. Suspecting that something had gone very wrong-as Dave's lack of presence was most certainly noted-the customers finished their drinks, slapped some money on the tables, and shuffled out slowly. Within a half hour, the Cauldron was empty.
Hermione used her wand to get rid of the mess of alcohol and glass caused by Dave and the Snatcher, even though she usually preferred to do such tasks by hand. She then resigned herself to washing glasses and replacing them in their proper cabinets, but her mind was whirling.
Dave, and the Avada, Ethur and his grubby touch, nerve endings curling in on themselves, agony, then eyes of silver, Malfoy, there are more important things to tend to than blood traitors.
Blood traitors.
Hermione shuddered. That's what they'd all been called, everyone who'd been associated with her. Why she'd sent her parents to Australia. No one else would die. Not because of her.
She suddenly winced, realizing that she had been chewing her lip so hard that her teeth had broken the skin. Raising a finger to her mouth, she tenderly touched the spot and felt the sting of her salty skin against the small wound. When she pulled her finger away, it was stained red.
Normal. She bled red like any pureblood. And yet, in this world, somehow she wasn't normal enough to be human.
The world was so bloody unfair.
As the last customer left the Cauldron behind, letting in a gust of chilly night air as they made their way out, Hermione set down the glass she'd been drying mindlessly and simply stood at the bar, listening to the crackle of the fire.
She felt something tickle in her throat, and made a sound to clear it. When it didn't leave, she took a breath, but then the sob that she had so far suppressed came bubbling up from deep inside her and left her mouth in a pathetic wail.
Clapping a hand over her mouth, Hermione hurried to the front door of the bar and locked it, turning off the outside lights and closing the blinds so that no lingering patrons would witness her meltdown.
She slid down the back of the door into an undignified heap on the alcohol-stained floor, trying and failing to fight the tears. Her breaths came and went violently, and she could feel the black spots of panic clouding her vision.
She scrambled for her wand to cast a Calming Charm, only to remember that it wasn't in the pocket of her trousers, but in her coat. The panic grew, until her heaving breaths and erratic sobs made her head spin with dizziness. Her hands came up to clasp her head between them in an attempt to stanch the thoughts echoing like death knells in her mind.
Why did he have to die? Why couldn't I have been stronger? It's my fault he's dead. Dave's dead. One of the few who was kind to me in this godforsaken city. He's dead and his family and all those Muggleborns will-
Oh, Merlin. His family. The Muggleborns.
Hermione's head shot up from where she had cradled it in her hands, her mind instantly clear. She had to warn them; she had to do something. Voldemort would have them all killed-
Not bothering to wipe the tear stains from her cheeks, she flew to the bar and grabbed her coat, not bothering to put away the glasses still sitting on the counter. As she turned to pick up her things, her elbow accidentally knocked one of the glasses over and onto the floor. It shattered loudly, causing Hermione to wince.
Vowing to clean it up first thing the next morning, she flicked the lights off in the Leaky Cauldron and let herself out the back, purposefully not looking at the spot where Dave had been murdered.
I won't fail you in this, she thought. I'll save your family and the innocents you fought to protect. Your death won't have been in vain.
Then she pulled her cloak tight around her body and fled into the night, running like You-Know-Who himself was chasing her.
For all she knew, maybe he was.
She knocked on the door again, more frantically this time.
"Jada, please! It's Her-Hestia Jones. From the Cauldron." Another loud knock. "Please, it's bloody important-"
The door swung open, revealing Jada Wood, her dark skin lightened in the moonlight. Her brown eyes were wide with fear, and she had her wand up threateningly as though she expected danger.
"Jada," Hermione breathed, watching as the woman lowered her wand a few inches. "Something's happened. You have to take your family and run. Your husband-"
She cut off as a little boy not more than five years old ran to the door, half-hiding behind his mother's legs and staring up at Hermione with inquisitive inky eyes. Hermione recognized his picture from one that Dave had shown her. His oldest son, Isaac.
"Whozat, Mama?" he asked, pointing at the young witch with sticky little fingers.
"A friend," Jada replied, leaning down and taking Isaac's face in her hands. "Now, what did I say? Finish packing your stuff. If you're done in five minutes, Mama will buy you a chocolate, okay?"
Isaac's eyes lit up, and he scurried back into the house. Jada immediately leaned out into the street, looking both ways before tugging Hermione inside.
"Jada, I'm so sorry to tell you this, but it's important. Dave's been murdered, and the Death Eaters will come knocking at your door any minute. You have to-"
"I know," Jada replied firmly, looking Hermione in the eye.
The young witch paused in her rant, staring blankly at the woman. "You-you know?"
Jada nodded solemnly. "A man came by earlier. Warned me that my family was in danger and that we would have to flee or face high treason and execution."
Hermione's blood ran cold. Only three people currently knew about Dave's death, and she was pretty sure the other two weren't the kind to come around knocking and warning his widow of her impending demise. "A...a man? What did he look like?"
"Tall, brown hair, brown eyes. No one I recognized. He was urgent, though. Seemed very concerned for our family." Jada's eyes filled with tears as she spoke.
Well, it didn't sound like Ethur or Malfoy. But who could've warned them?
"Let me help you pack," Hermione offered, clasping the woman's hands in hers. She hadn't known Jada as well as she'd known Dave, but in this moment she knew she'd die for the woman if it came down to that.
Jada shook her head. "No. I'm not putting anyone else in danger. I've already had to…" she seemed to choose her words carefully, "send some others away."
"I know about the Muggleborns," Hermione stated quietly.
It was Jada's turn to look shocked. She started to pull her hands away, but Hermione held on.
"You are the most noble soul in this entire city for what you've done. There are very few as brave as you, and none who would sacrifice their lives for people who aren't considered people." Hermione felt emotion choke her. The woman would never know just how personal this felt to Hermione, who held each Muggleborn life as dearly as she held her own.
"I will not stand by in comfort while others suffer." Jada's voice trembled, but there was steel in her words.
She took one of her hands away then, and raised it to Hermione's face. "Please take care of the Cauldron for us. It's what Dave would have wanted." She studied the younger woman's eyes for a second. "If they find out that you know anything-"
"I'm trained in Occlumency," Hermione replied firmly. "Your secret will be safe with me." She paused. "However, it might be best for you not to tell me where you're going, just in case."
"You are the most courageous witch of our age, Hestia," Jada murmured before pulling Hermione into a tight hug.
Hermione could barely contain her tears as she heard the phrase, an almost twin of the one that had followed her throughout her years at Hogwarts and beyond.
You're the brightest witch of your age, Hermione.
She briefly wondered if she would ever hear her name spoken by anyone ever again.
"Good luck," Hermione whispered, clutching the older woman in a way she wished she could cling to Harry. Or Ron. Or Ginny.
On a whim, her heart beating erratically, she took a chance and said under her breath, "Born from ashes."
"Rise in fire," Jada whispered back, her hold releasing as she searched Hermione's eyes curiously.
Without answering the unasked question, Hermione gave another squeeze of Jada's hand and walked toward the entrance, letting herself out and closing the heavy door behind her.
She gave herself three breaths: one breath of longing, to escape like Jada and her family would. One breath of sadness, that she was trapped here without her best friend or any allies at all. One breath of preparation, of bravery, for the path ahead: Malfoy's interview, changing ownership of the bar, waiting and waiting for someone, anyone to find her. Preferably a someone with green eyes and a lightning scar.
But all that could wait until tomorrow.
As Hermione walked down the street toward a Knight Bus stop, she pulled her cloak tighter around herself and let herself wonder about the Muggleborns that Jada had sent away. Did they make it out? Did they find another safehouse? Would she ever make it out? Her heart thudded at the thought, and she quickly shoved it away. Harry will come. He's finding the others, like he promised, and then he'll come.
The Knight Bus came to a screeching halt in front of her, and she gave a polite nod to an Imperiused Stan Shunpike before sitting in silence until the bus stopped with a lurch in her neighborhood only minutes later. She drew no attention to herself, per usual, but stopped outside her own front door, feeling suddenly unsure.
Don't be a coward now, Granger, she scolded herself. There are no monsters under your bed tonight. They're on the streets, and they won't find you here.
Like every night, Hermione sent up a prayer of thanks to Hestia Jones, wherever the poor woman was, for allowing her to use the woman's name. She always vowed to live up to the name of an esteemed Order member.
Waiting another beat until she was at peace, Hermione allowed her frozen breath to rise into the sky, a tiny unseen smoke signal in a city of fog. She exhaled this plea, and watched as her breath-and her hope-left her mouth and dissolved into the crisp London night. Then she opened her front door and entered, turning to shut out the cold and mourning the fact that she could not do the same with the bitterness in her heart.
1999
She threw a hex back at the man hot on her heels, and watched as he tumbled sideways and fell into a graceless heap. She leapt over his outstretched arms and landed hard on the forest floor covered in dead leaves and pine needles. There were patches of snow as well, capturing her footprints like a photograph as she wound her way around the dark imposing trees.
"Harry!" she called, whipping her head around to find her best friend. She saw several more men lumbering in her direction, their wands out and their faces angry. "Harry!"
She shot a stinging hex and several other nastier versions in their paths, not watching to see if she landed them. She made her legs go faster, cursing her lack of athletic ability as her chest tightened. She heard shouting and the crashing of bodies through the forest.
"Harry! Harr-oof!" She lost her breath as she knocked into another person, and for a terrifying second she thought it was all over before he gripped her upper arms and she saw his black hair flop into his face.
"Let's go," Harry said, and Hermione thanked Merlin a thousand times over as they raced for the edge of the territory, toward the Apparation Zone. Harry kept Hermione's hand tight in his, but they lost their balance when a spell hit the large tree directly to their left.
"Duck!" Hermione shouted as the giant oak tipped their way. The pair darted out of the way and kept their heads down. When they crossed the border, with outraged shouts echoing behind them, Hermione felt it like a breath of fresh air.
"Home," Harry said, and Hermione imagined 12 Grimmauld Place with all her might, desperate to return safely and catch her breath.
The world spun horribly for several seconds and Hermione was reminded just how much she hated Apparating before they stood in front of the home of the Order. Harry hustled her inside and muttered the counter-spells to the traps they'd set, and Hermione barely made it inside the front door before she was stumbling.
"Woah, I got you," Harry said, his arms coming around her and keeping her upright as she staggered forward. "Come on. Couch."
She let him basically drag her to the living room couch and gratefully sank into the cushions like she could become part of the fabric.
"We're...we're okay," Hermione said disbelievingly. "That's the closest they've gotten to us since…"
She looked up and met Harry's sad eyes for a second before both of them buried the memory. No more death, not even in their thoughts. Not today.
Harry sat on the floor in front of her, his foot pressed up against hers as if he needed a physical reminder she was there.
"We didn't get the Horcrux," he mumbled, playing with a frayed bit of cloth on his shirt. "The Order was counting on us and we didn't get it."
"We'll get it," she said reassuringly, reaching down for his hands and holding it on the edge of her lap. "And we'll be fine."
Harry watched as she played with his fingers, her cold skin pressed against his warm callouses.
"Do you ever think about it?" he asked, not removing his gaze from where they were joined.
"What, the Horcrux?" she said. "Of course."
"No," he said, his eyes shifting up to hers. "Us. You and me, I mean."
"Oh," she replied, breaking eye contact and looking away uncomfortably. It was silent for a minute.
"I can't say I haven't thought about it," Harry said, scooting a little closer. "You're my closest friend. I need you like I don't need anyone else. What if it's not platonic? What if it's, you know, something more than that?"
"I don't know," Hermione said doubtfully. "This is war, and all we have is each other. What if we're just lonely?"
Harry shrugged. "Only one way to find out."
Before she could react, he had sat up and reached for her head, pulling her closer until their noses bumped into each other. When she didn't immediately recoil, Harry closed the distance and let their lips meet.
It wasn't passionate, it wasn't desperate. It wasn't two lovers curled against each other to keep out the cold and the bad memories. It wasn't a deep need, a fire in her heart that ignited. It was just two friends kissing, and she knew with certainty that this wasn't her great love.
Harry pulled away reluctantly and looked at her, his eyes so much more green up close. Her heart lurched in her chest, absolutely terrified to tell him how she felt, that she didn't feel this for him-
"Lonely," Harry confirmed, moving backward and falling back to a seated position at Hermione's feet. "That didn't feel...it wasn't…"
"Right?" Hermione finished, feeling her breath release in deep relief.
"Oh good," Harry sighed. "You feel the same way. That was definitely not anything."
"Ouch," she said, but the smile on her face gave her away.
"Oh you know what I mean," he replied, nudging her foot. "You're an excellent kisser. We're just not…"
"Meant to be."
"Exactly."
There was comfortable silence between the two for several seconds before suddenly Hermione snorted, and Harry guffawed, and then they were both bent forward, clutching their stomachs and rolling with pure laughter.
"What were we"-Hermione gasped-"thinking?"
"I don't know, but oh Merlin that was so awkward," Harry wheezed. "I'm so sorry."
"No, no, don't be," she said, Harry's figure blurred in her tears caused by her giggling. "At least now we know-oh Merlin, my stomach hurts-"
It took several more minutes before they both were able to calm themselves, and Hermione had to wipe away moisture from both eyes as they let out sighs of relief and catharsis.
"I love you, 'Mione," Harry said as they settled down. "I really do. You're still my best friend."
"I love you too, Harry James Potter," she replied, placing her hand in his again. "We'll get through all of this together."
Harry's face sobered at the reminder, and his face took on the weariness Hermione usually saw in his visage. It suddenly occurred to her that when he laughed he looked younger, and Hermione hadn't heard him laugh like that since before the war.
"Yeah," he agreed, and they sat in silence for the rest of the evening, their brief distraction gone like smoke and the reality of their duty before them.
Short chapter, but it looks longer on my Doc :)
Kat
