A couple of notes! Firstly, many apologies for the delay in between posting chapters. I had originally aimed for one chapter a month, but it's been a hectic few months for me so life has just gotten in the way. Secondly, thank you so much for those of you who have left such lovely reviews - reading them put the biggest smile on my face. I hope you enjoy this next chapter!
August 1998.
It came as no surprise to Hermione that Ginny, predictably belligerent, soon arrived with a pop on her doorstep, having quickly worked through the short list of possible escape locations. It took every strained nerve in Hermione's body not to unlock the front door and let her friend come inside; the rain had stretched to Hampstead and so she was likely getting soaked through. She knocked on the door with the brass knocker, rapped on the windows, peered through the letter box into the hallway and eventually crept round the back of the house, through the gate, where she could conjure warming and water-repelling charms without the worry of being spotted by nosy neighbours. Hermione wasn't sure exactly when Ginny decided to admit defeat, but it was gone three o'clock in the morning by the time she managed to fall asleep.
She felt raw when she woke up not long enough later, still wearing the mildly damp clothes from the night before. She had kicked her sandals into the corner behind the door and the muddy streaks they had left on the clean carpet had her stomach swooping, remembering how they had become so dirty. Leaning off the bed to reach her bag, she rifled through it, checking its contents through the Undetectable Extension Charm: mainly books and clothes, as well as her purse, Ron's old Gobstones set, a few vials of potions ingredients and healing supplies and, in a pocket close to the bag's opening, her house keys and Gringotts key on an old novelty keyring from a past holiday in France. Her hands finally closed on what she was seeking and she withdrew the sole silver Sickle from the bag to examine it. It was cold in her palm, and it shone in a way that was almost taunting.
With a sigh, she slapped the coin onto her bedside table, then let the straps of her dress fall from her shoulders and peeled the fabric from her body. She dropped the garment into the laundry basked before heading to the bathroom for a much needed soak.
Hermione was used to the bathroom being sparkling clean, with the odd used towel or old pair of socks crumpled behind the door, so seeing it dusty with misuse made her feel strangely sad, like seeing a scruffy dog in need of a haircut. The pipes creaked as they jolted back to life and the water spluttered from the tap before coming through fully, miraculously clear and clean. She ran her hand under it for several minutes before accepting that it wasn't going to warm up and heating it with her wand. Finally, she sunk in so just the top of her head and the tip of her nose was visible above the water. She watched eddies of steam swirl above her in the early sunshine streaming through the mottled window panes, listening to the occasional plunk of a drip falling from the tap. She couldn't recall ever hearing the house this quiet and she wondered yet again where her parents might be now. She allowed herself the image of a scorching sun, deep azure water lapping into a harbour and the Sydney Opera House glittering in the distance. Slowly, she sunk lower, holding her breath and closing her eyes against the hot water pressing against her skin.
Her mind drifted to Ron and her heartbeat skipped at the thought of his kisses and touches last night. His lips against hers and the taste of him; his warm, welcoming scent - woodsy, grassy - enveloping her with his proximity; the rough skin of his stubbled jaw as he pressed kisses to her neck and collarbones; his large hands sweeping her skin, the throb of his desire for her pressing keenly between her legs... Why had she stopped him?
His wide, shining eyes and crinkled brow, a crooked expression she had glanced before she fled. She had seen acceptance in it.
It had felt so good to be wanted in that moment; to be the object of his desire, to see the hunger in his eyes as they roved her bare chest; to let her mind flicker like ticker tape with images and flashes of what they might do, what he might do to and with her. To think of anything other than... other than...
But she had stopped him.
Why had she stopped him?
A far-sounding tap-tap-tap pulled her to the surface of the bath water. It sounded like an owl tapping to be let in; and, as Hermione clambered from the tub and wrapped herself with a towel, she thought how peculiar that sound was here, in her Muggle childhood home. Even her Hogwarts letter hadn't arrived in such a fashion.
She found the owl outside her bedroom window and let him in immediately. It was little Pigwidgeon and so the letter could really only be from one person. Truthfully, she expected nothing less from Ginny.
Hermione, she read,
Mum's told me not to write and to leave you alone and give you some space but you're scaring the shit out of me, mate. I don't know what's gone on or why you're ignoring me. What happened? Mum's beside herself worried about you, she's ready to throttle Ron for scaring you off, but he won't say anything and Harry won't ask him because he says it's probably "private"-
God, I just thought - he didn't hurt you, did he? Pressure you? If it's anything like that, you can tell me and we can sort it out. Whatever it is, we can sort it. Please just write back or let me in or come back.
Love you lots,
G x
Hermione read the letter through twice, letting Ginny's worries sink in. Ron, do something like that? To her, Hermione, of all people? The idea was absurd - so absurd that she knew her reassurance would not be needed. She folded the letter small and tucked it away in her top bedside draw, tucked the words away into the deepest corner of her mind until they were too dark to read.
Pigwidgeon had grown bored of flapping around her nightshade and was now hopping almost thoughtfully across her sideboard, pecking at a discarded hair-tie. When she ushered him to the window, he looked at her and stuck out his leg, anticipating a response to the letter.
Go on, back to Ginny,' she said, giving him a little nudge, and after a hoot and a gentle nip to her finger, he took off in a flurry.
He was back again the next morning with another scroll tied to his foot.
Come on H, tell me what's going on. Is it something I've done? Because I've been wracking my brains and I can't think of anything, so you'll have to tell me if I have. Whatever I've done, I'm sorry. Please can we talk about it? I hope you're alright. Please write back. G x
A sharp pang of shame festered in her stomach with every word she read. The guilt of letting her friend think she had done something to hurt her was harder to ignore than the notion that Ron had assaulted her. Hermione wasn't exactly sensitive but Ginny wasn't exactly tactful; the two of them had come to blows before over misunderstandings, misinterpreted intentions and sharp tongues. It was entirely plausible that Ginny could have said or done something to upset Hermione - if it weren't for the fact that it had been Ron that Hermione had fled from, not her. This letter joined the previous one and Hermione let Pigwidgeon keep her company for a while before sending him back to the Burrow.
The letter Hermione received on the third day simply read:
Hermione, please write back. G x
She kept Pigwigdeon overnight but, the next morning, Ginny, not to be defeated, sent Errol, who woke her with a bang on her lounge window and needed retrieving from the front garden, dazed but otherwise fine. This letter was blank but the meaning was clear: I won't let you ignore me.
Hermione huffed, startling the threadbare bird out of its prone position on the coffee table. After a moment's contemplation, tickling the back of Errol's neck to calm him, she went through to the kitchen to grab a pen. Bent over the kitchen worktop, she flattened the parchment out and wrote:
Harry,
Please ask Ginny to stop sending letters. I am not angry with anybody. I just need some space. Please - she paused for think for a moment - give the rest of the family my love and assure them that I am alright. I will send Errol back when he's had a rest.
Hermione
She sent the letter back with Pigwidgeon shortly after lunchtime with the knowledge that, if anybody could successfully reason with Ginny when she had tunnel vision, it would be Harry. Even so, it was with a certain element of surprise that she awoke the next morning to no owl tapping at (or flying into) her window and no letter to add to the growing pile in her bedside drawer; and, when she sent Errol on his way a few day's later, she was left alone once more.
Between Head Girl duties and classes, it took Hermione a solid week to properly unpack her trunk and decorate her dormitory how she wanted it. For a week, she had lived out of her suitcase, hurriedly Scourgifying any splashes of tea on her school shirt from the previous morning and making do with pairs of knee socks that were ever-so-slightly mismatched, hoping nobody noticed. It had also been a solid week since Ginny had spoken to her.
After the first Prefects' meeting last weekend, Hermione had returned to the common room, retrieved a book from her dormitory and set up camp in an armchair by one of the windows where she had a perfect view of the entryway, certain that Ginny would return soon and they could talk it out. It was only when the bell sounded at noon, signalling lunchtime, that she left her post to grab some food in the Great Hall and spied a flash of her red hair at the Ravenclaw table. Hermione had felt her heart stop for a brief second, before moving to sit next to Neville, who asked her about her morning, none the wiser. That familiar white-blond head at the Slytherin table had been absent for the entire hour.
That evening, the Prefects' common room had emptied of other students by the time Ginny returned to head to bed. Hermione was still in her chair reading and stood immediately when she appeared.
'Ginny, I-'
Ginny had held up her hand and her dark eyes flashed a warning look in the sconces' dim candlelight.
'I just need some space, Hermione,' she said. She raised her eyebrows pointedly and a beat passed in which Hermione recognised the echo of her own words all those months ago. She took a shaky breath and nodded, bowing her head as her eyes threatened to fill with tears despite herself. At that, Ginny's face had softened. 'I'll come and get you when I'm ready,' she said. Hermione nodded again.
Behind them, the tapestry had then rolled up with a clatter as someone else returned to the common room. The person's tall shadow crept before them along the short entryway and Ginny, seeing who it was, threw a withering glance over her shoulder before bidding Hermione a quiet goodnight and hurrying up the girls' staircase.
'Goodnight,' Hermione murmured and turned to grab her book and sit back in her armchair, her eyes falling on Draco Malfoy's lean figure standing in the archway. He was in his weekend clothes, fitted black trousers and a snug woollen jumper in a dark colour. His features flickered golden in the candlelight and Hermione had caught his grey eyes flash down her body, appraising her distinctly Muggle clothing and lingering somewhere around her knees before zipping back up. His fingers tightened on the book he held at his side and his throat bobbed as he swallowed and nodded curtly.
'Granger.'
He crossed the room, climbed the boys' staircase and was gone, and something in Hermione's chest had throbbed uncomfortably as she watched him leave.
'Ouch!'
Back in her dormitory, Hermione yanked her hand from the depths of her trunk, snapped from her reverie by her fingers clasping around something hot and metal. She shook the heat from her hand, glaring in the direction of where the offending object lay, before digging through the remaining books and clothes with more caution this time. She had a fleeting inkling of what it was that had caught her, but the idea was preposterous. For it to burn after all this time…
She pushed aside some stray socks and there it was at the bottom of her trunk: an innocent silver Sickle. She closed her fingers around it, feeling the metal still warm from the Protean Charm as she turned it in her palm to examine the figures along its edge. To her confusion, it showed the same letters it always did, the same letters it had shown since she'd last felt it burn all those months ago.
She gave the coin another squeeze, its rough perimeter catching on a tender patch of skin along the inside edge of her finger that had brushed the searing metal. If it wasn't for the burn, she could convince herself she had imagined it. It must have been a mistake, she surmised. Or the effects of the Charm wearing off. That must be it.
She lay the coin on her bedside table, then thought better of it and tucked it away inside her drawer where she couldn't see it, and finished unpacking her trunk, thinking of anything but the person who definitely wasn't holding their own matching silver Sickle, waiting for her.
An hour or two later, she pulled on her boots and headed to the Great Hall for an early dinner before her patrol duty that night. The Entrance Hall was empty of any other students and only a handful of others were sat scattered up and down the benches at the dining tables. Her eyes flitted to the Slytherin table before she could stop herself and she jolted at the sight of Malfoy's blonde head ducked low over his plate. Shaking herself, she headed towards the Gryffindor table. She was already too close to reroute herself by the time she spotted Ginny finishing the last of her roast potatoes.
'Oh…' Hermione mumbled. Ginny looked up and met her gaze, dabbing gravy from her mouth with a napkin. 'It's okay, I can-'
'No, no, it's fine,' Ginny said, 'I'm just finishing anyway. Honest, sit down,' she continued when Hermione looked unsure.
Hermione lowered herself onto the bench opposite as Ginny placed her cutlery on her plate and got to her feet. She leaned forward and rested her hand on Hermione's, giving it a gentle squeeze.
'I'll come and get you later, okay?' she said.
Hermione smiled. 'I'd like that,' she replied.
'See you later.'
'See you.'
She watched as Ginny left the Hall, her red hair swishing down her back behind her. When she looked away, she - of course - realised that her choice of seat had positioned her directly opposite that infuriating blond head from across the Hall. She scowled to herself. He was still engrossed in his plate - perhaps a book on the table in front of him - luckily; if he glanced up at any point, he'd be looking directly back at her, she realised, and focussed her attention on filling her plate.
She was halfway through her quiet, solo meal, the tables gradually filling up more and more, when the familiar sound of an owl's screech and wide wings drew her eyes to the enchanted ceiling of the Hall with a brief glance. A large, handsome eagle owl; Malfoy's owl, she noted, and returned to her food.
Which is why she jumped in surprise when, in a flurry of feathers, the owl landed on the table in front of her, its burden landing in her gravy with a thunk.