A/N: Trigger!Warning: Alcohol use.

Chapter 17

When Hermione was finished with her letters to Harry and Ron, the witch decided to also write a letter to her parents, as well as Ginny. By this time, everyone else in the restaurant had left, the Gryffindor began to feel at ease enough to reach out to those she cared for.

She'd updated her parents on her studies, and how she'd been advancing now that she had time to focus without classes or other students, but she didn't dare tell them about Draco. They knew about Draco. The old Draco. It was more than likely unwise to tell them that she'd been spending time alone with him. They'd worry, and she didn't want to cause them any more distress.

But Ginny, however, had to be told. The red-haired witch was just as likely to flip a table as her brother, but then she'd set it back on its legs to sit across from Hermione at it and ask eagerly, "So then what happened?"

Hermione had to get it off of her chest how Draco hadn't shown her an ounce of malice. How he'd been kind to her, patient with her bad attitude, and all of the things they'd talked about so far. She thought about leaving out "the lap incident", and the long handshake, but decided that full disclosure was best, that way her best girlfriend could give her some honest feedback and advice. Because, unlike she and Ron, Harry and Ginny were an item that decided to try a long distance relationship despite the eighteen months the men would be away at Auror training in Berlin. Hermiome was hoping Ginny had some kind of boy advice, since the elder Gryffindor had very little in comparison.

"Miss Granger," Madam Puddifoot said from behind the bar, pulling Hermione's eyes from her parchment where she was almost done with Ginny's letter. "I'll be closing in ten minutes."

The younger witch looked at her watch, and found she'd been there for well over an hour. It was ten to eight, and she said in surprise, "I really lost track of time! Might I get the check, so that I can be on my way?"

"Oh course, dear." Puddifoot turned to the far end of the bar and grabbed the check, then walked to set it on Hermione's table. "Are you walking back, then? Or do you need me to call you a carriage?"

"I'll be walking. A carriage won't be necessary," Hermione denied politely.

Madam Puddifoot nodded with a slight smile, which faded as she said, "I hope I'm not stepping out of line by saying this." She paused, as if she'd answered her own question, the answer being that she was stepping out of line, but went on anyway. "You do know that you don't always have to be in danger, right, lass? You're safe now. You understand?"

Hermione looked at the old witch with her jaw loose. She hadn't been expecting these words from the business owner, and it took her a few seconds to grab her bearings and nod, saying, "I… Yes… Thank you."

She didn't know what else to say, because Puddifoot had read her, too. Was she really that obvious? Hermione had only been to Puddifoots a handful of times before winter break. Where had the Madam had time to notice her while in the throng of all of the other students?

Hermione didn't want to think about it too hard, so she put her pack and cloak on her shoulders, and gave Madam Puddifoot one last small, timid smile before halfway racing out the door. The Gryffindor had not expected, nor did she need, the Madam to say something like that to her. She knew she was safe. She knew she didn't have to always be in danger.

But, oftentimes, it's hard to break habits, no matter how deadly.

As she made her way down main street, Hermione passed the Hog's Head, and froze mid-step as her head turned to the building. The windows glowed from the candlelight within, through which she may have been able to see silhouettes of patrons through the dirt and grime on the panes. She chewed on her lip, then pivoted on her heel and walked into the warm building, sure to do a good job of hiding her face from the eight or so other patrons in the shadow of her hood as she pulled up to the filthy, sawdust covered bar.

Hermione searched through her bag for a shiny golden Galleon while Aberforth didn't pay her any mind. He spent two or three minutes at the end of the bar, finishing a conversation with a man who was in a moderate stage of inebriation, before he gave the man one more pint and walked over to Hermione.

Recognition hit his face instantly, and he gave her a surprised look under thick, white eyebrows, saying in a voice low enough to be covered by the chatter of the pub, "Miss Granger. I didn't see you come in. What can I get you?"

'You don't always have to be in danger.'

Madam Puddifoot's words rang in her head as she looked up into Aberforth's blue eyes and said, "Fire whiskey. Neat. Water back on the rocks."

Abertforth nodded at her with a strange look, and moved to grab a glass that looked semi-clean and set it upon the bar before her. Then he reached behind him, and without taking his eyes from her, he grabbed a random brand of whiskey and poured two fingers worth of brown liquid into the bottom. Hermione put the Galleon in her hand down next to the glass, which she grabbed up, drank the contents of in one gulp, and set the glass back down.

"One more for the road, please, Aberforth," she said to him. He nodded, poured three fingers of whiskey in the bottom. As she took it, a burning in her stomach and tremble in her bones from the strength, Aberforth set a glass of water down, then turned to put the bottle back on the shelf before he walked down to the opposite end of the bar to scratch behind the ears of a large, white cat.

His blue eyes were stuck on the witch, showing brightly with concern, his lips stuck in a small, sad frown.