Chapter Five:

Monotronic by Museum of Love

December 22, 1999

"That is far too much flour Luna!" Ginny gives an exasperated laugh, pushing her hair off of her face with the back of her hand.

"My recipe says it's fine," she retorts and Hermione brushes flour from Ginny's hair. Melody sits on top of the refrigerator, her green eyes watching carefully, tail swishing rhythmically behind her.

Luna held a household meeting a few days ago announcing that Melody will be moving in with them. Harry, who had come home from work not even an hour before, just blinked at her.

"The cat is moving in with us? I thought Melody already lived here?" He wiped sleep from his eye absently.

"Melody is my girlfriend," Luna stated as Ron and Hermione shared a look.

Harry took a seat, somehow still shocked by the absurdities of magic; as Melody leapt from her spot on Luna's lap standing as a fully formed human.

After that meeting, it took Harry a few days to wrap his head around Melody being an animagus, something about how she prefers to be a cat around people didn't sit well with him.

Even now, her green eyes follow him as he slips into the kitchen, getting a glass of water before returning to the living room.

"Please tell me you're making gingerbread." Ron bursts through the kitchen door, freshly showered, hair still wet. He strides across the threshold, kissing Hermione on the forehead.

This room in the house is the only one that remains completely untouched. Bits of Sirius still live in this room, from the sideboard full of records to the Persian rugs. When Harry first took over Grimmauld Place, he refused to change anything, it was almost like a shrine. Slowly, there was change, bits and pieces of everyone coming together, but this room remains unchanged.

"Of course we're making gingerbread. What would Christmas be without gingerbread?" Luna scoffs, flouring her work surface.

Ron settles at the other end of the table as everyone starts rolling out their dough into long sheets. While Hermione is grateful for the traditions she's building post war, it's still hard for her to think about Christmas without her parents.

Luna and Ginny chat amongst themselves as Hermione focuses on cutting the dough. Crookshanks has decided he wants to be close to the action today and remains curled at her feet, one eye open at all times. Constant vigilance.

She tries to fall into a rhythm, to listen to the laughter shared between friends but something deep within her gut just isn't sitting right. She needs to move.

"Did you get gumdrops, Gin?" Everyone stops and looks at her, the record still playing away in the background. Ginny looks perplexed for a long moment before she puts the rolling pin down and starts opening kitchen cupboards.

"I think I forgot…I don't see licorice either. 'Mione, do you want to pop to the shops?" Hermione leaves the kitchen before Ginny finishes speaking.

Hermione knows for a fact that Ginny didn't forget licorice or gumdrops, she's just happy to be out of the kitchen for a moment, away from the laughter and festivities.

Donning her coat and boots, Hermione pulls her hat over top of her unruly curls. Harry is snoring softly, sprawled on the couch. Lately, he's been napping in the living room when everyone's home, he says the sound of people around him makes him feel safe.

It always makes her think about their time camping, when he would fall asleep while she was reading by candlelight and listening to that tiny little radio.

Before she leaves, she turns the radio on to the Quidditch game, knowing he will want to know who wins.

The air is biting, after a rather mild November, December is shaping up to be frigid. There's no snow yet but she can feel it coming in the air.

The main shopping district near Grimmauld Place is one apparition point away, but she chooses to walk, taking in all the old row houses and their decorations.

Late afternoon on a grey winter day, everyone is inside enjoying themselves, There's not a soul on the street until she turns the corner.

The high street is bustling with people getting their shopping done. She's glad to not be alone and relishes the chance to melt into the crowd, listening in on the different conversations.

A young girl pouts because she doesn't want to shop for her sister, a group of teenagers pool their money for a large order of chips, a confused looking man stares into a jewellery store window.

Everyone is focused on themselves as she passes through them all without another word. Ducking into a café she waits in line and no one looks at her. She collects her tea and scone with jam, no one talks to her. Sitting down in a corner by the window, not a soul realises who she is.

For a while Hermione loses herself, drinking her tea and looking out the window. The chatter of the café soothing her, providing background noise and nothing more. But there's something building once again, her arm burning at the thought of the people around her. Panic blooms in her chest as she catches the eye of someone in the crowd outside.

They look at her like they recognize her and she ducks out of the way, counting down from ten, trying to shut out the noise. Closing her eyes she continues counting, from twenty this time, each number is a breath. The tea in her mug is lukewarm now, the heat no longer there to help ground her.

She dares to look out the window again, focusing on the flow of people crossing the street, calming her heart once more. When she sees someone leaning against the traffic light, waiting for it to change.

His platinum hair is a stark contrast against everyone else in hats. He's wearing the same thing he wore in November, a wool coat and leather gloves with black trousers.

"Malfoy?" she whispers, focusing on his face in the crowd. The light changes and he begins to cross the street. It's nearly impossible to lose sight of him in a crowd of muggles, especially when you look like him.

His stiff shoulders and perfect posture are unmistakably aristocratic against the gaggle of teens around him. He looks almost ethereal, otherworldly in all black. It makes her heart beat faster, but not in an anxious way. Looking away for a moment she licks her lips, wondering…

Hermione shakes her head watching as he turns down an alley, making a mental note to tell Harry.

Neville is sitting on the front step when she arrives, holding a little potted plant protectively in his lap. He startles when she approaches.

"I thought you'd be inside…" He's breathless and Hermione sits next to him.

"I went for a walk. We needed liquorice and gumdrops for the gingerbread houses." He nods absently. They sit like that for a while, in a comfortable silence, shoulder to shoulder in the cold.

"My gran looks at me differently…" Neville starts suddenly, Hermione turns to him, looking at the side of his scarred face. "...She sees me as an adult now, as a man…she's less critical of me, she believes in me more…" His voice trails.

Hermione's mouth forms a hard line as she looks at him. The war wasn't kind to any of them, but it was especially unkind to him. She touches his face gently, the angry red marks down his cheek have faded, but only slightly. She wonders if they will ever fade fully, or if he will bear these forever.

"Those all sound like good things," she says gently. He wears his hair longer now, a little shaggier so it hangs around his face. Neville is still handsome, even with the scars. He gives her a sad smile and she can't help but watch as his mouth pulls in a lopsided way. Forever cursed with a crooked grin.

"They are, but they make me feel more afraid of failure…we went to see my parents today…it made me feel really alone, made me realise I'm all they've got…"

"Neville…"

"I know what you're going to say. I've heard it all and I've already had this conversation with Luna and Professor Sprout…I'm doing it all right but it still feels so wrong." Hermione wraps an arm around his shoulders, giving him a squeeze.

"I know how you feel…" she whispers, letting her voice trail into the cold air. There's a long stretch of silence between them when the front door swings open behind them.

"Just in time to help decorate!" Ginny says in a chipper tone.

They follow her inside to the warmth of the living room. Ginny, Luna and Melody have worked all afternoon to finish baking all the gingerbread. People and pieces of houses sit on every available surface in the kitchen and have spread into the living room.

Ron and Harry are sitting together on the couch, leaning into the little radio on the coffee table as it blares updates about the Quidditch game. She hasn't seen them this tense in a while and it sets her on edge. She thinks of sitting around the radio for hours in that tent in the forest, waiting, listening for names of people she loves.

The war may be over, but some things still haunt her soul.

Hermione and Neville file into the kitchen after Ginny, taking their respective stations. She decorates in silence as the world continues around her.

Christmas Eve feels overwhelming. No, it is overwhelming. Between packing for the Burrow and getting there, Hermione is done. Before the war she was able to compartmentalise, to strategize and look at things logically.

Since the war her mind has felt like chaos.

Neville and Luna left late last night, Neville to visit his grandparents, and Luna to see her dad.

Harry and Hermione sit side by side on the couch, fully packed and waiting for the Weasley siblings to finish packing.

Melody taunts Crookshanks playfully as he hisses in his crate.

"Excuse me, don't be rude to him," Hermione chides and Melody disappears into the kitchen with a swish of her tail and a gentle hiss.

Yelling can be heard coming from upstairs as the two siblings break into a row. Ginny can't find her suitcase and is blaming Ron but Hermione knows for a fact it's in the back of her closet. She debates going upstairs and helping, but there's a scream of triumph so she stays put, attempting to calm poor Crookshanks down.

"How many people are going to be there this year?" Hermione whispers and Harry looks at her wide eyed.

"Uhm…thirteen…there will be thirteen of us this year…including Luna, Neville and Xenophillius there will be sixteen." She can see him gulp out of the corner of her eye.

"Where is everyone going to sleep?" Hermione inquires and Harry is clearly doing the maths in his head.

"Lord if I know…"

"Ok! I think we have it all! Hermione, you have all the treats?" Ginny pounds down the stairs, suitcase in tow. Hermione holds up her little purple beaded evening bag.

"All in here." Harry gives her a disappointed look.

"You can't just flaunt that around me. Undetectable extension charms are illegal! I have a duty to report unlawful magic Hermione, you know this!" Harry says in a disappointed tone. Ginny strides to the couch, tsk-tsking away at him before helping him up.

"Hush hush, do you want to be stuck carrying all those gingerbreads?" Ginny says cupping his face playfully, all smiles. "Besides, this will not be the last rule any of you break." She gives Hermione a wink before dragging Harry to the front door.

Ron holds out his hand and Hermione takes it, fiddling with her bracelet and clutching her little beaded evening bag. Crookshanks bemoans his protest as Ron picks up the carrier.

"The children are here!" Molly's voice rings out from the front door. Ron is holding Hermione's hand and she's filled with a sense of calm she hasn't felt in a while. Like returning home, the Burrow has not changed one bit.

Molly runs down the porch, pulling the four of them into a tight hug. She breaks out hugging them individually and when she gets to Hermione, she says, "My dear! You look like you haven't slept in weeks, we'll have to get you inside for some tea."

She knows she looks stressed, the lack of sleep and pressure from work are definitely taking a toll on her. Fighting with Ron and worrying about Harry aren't doing her any favours either.

"Alright now, bring your things in. Everyone's in their respective rooms tonight. Ginny and Hermione, you'll have to welcome Angelina in there with you." Molly continues on, pouring hot water into a teapot the second she gets inside.

"Wait, does that mean George is bunking on his own? He doesn't have to share?" Ron sounds petulant. Last year George slept in his old bedroom. Hermione remembers she could hear him crying when she walked by to brush her teeth, without Fred that room must have felt like torture.

"George is in the attic tonight. Charlie and Neville are in his old room." Molly's tone is quick, her eyes trained on the tea cart she's preparing. Harry takes Ron by the shoulder, leading him upstairs and Hermione takes this moment to disappear into Ginny's room.

She sets up her sleeping bag and sits with Crookshanks on the bed for a moment. Ron was apprehensive about bringing the cat, saying it would only be a few days and he could survive on his own.

To be honest, Hermione didn't trust Kreacher. She was worried he was going to leave the door open just for her to return to a sad cat waiting outside, or worse.

"I really don't know where Angelina is going to sleep in here," Ginny says, striding in and promptly pulling the poster of Gweong off the wall. She pats Crookshanks on the head gently before reaching into Hermione's bag and producing a small handful of treats.

"It's only a few nights. We can make due," Hermione says with a smile.

"Mum's right, you know. You look like the walking dead…" Ginny looks at her, making Crookshanks work for his treats before she continues. "...I know you haven't been getting the rest you so desperately need, Hermione. Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?"

Ginny asking her how she's feeling takes her off guard. Not because she doesn't care, Hermione knows she cares. But is Christmas really the best time to tear open all these wounds? She takes a moment, weighing out the consequences of talking about the war.

"It's always the same few nightmares. Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix standing over me…the knife going into my skin. Harry in Hagrid's arms appearing out of the forest and all of my breath leaving my body…walking the halls of Hogwarts and seeing…" She swallows, looking out the little window that faces the orchard. "...seeing everyone dead…seeing their faces…"

She is afraid to close her eyes, but just as afraid to see them while awake.

Ginny's hand finds hers, "I know you've heard this, but I'm here for you…" Hermione lets herself fall into Ginny's shoulder, "...you may be the brightest witch of our age, but you're allowed to ask for help okay?" Her voice is as soft as Crookshanks' paws tapping her back, silently asking for more treats.

"I've been feeling very…alone lately…everyone seems to be on a path and I just feel like I'm stuck. Stagnant. Trapped. Like I'm not doing enough, like I am not enough."

Ginny hugs her tightly as Hermione keeps talking. "I'm worried it's not over yet."

She can feel herself dissolving, the mask of normalcy she's been wearing for the past almost two years crumbling. She's so worried, terrified of everything falling apart, terrified this little slice of home she's managed to carve out will fall out from beneath her.

Just a week ago, the Prophet's front page read: Harry Potter Shops at Diagon Alley Just Like the Rest of Us. Below was a frantic picture of Harry doing his best to hide the bags of things that very clearly were meant to be Christmas presents.

Below that, was a photo of Theodore Nott in the same restaurant she went to with Ron not even three weeks ago. Only he looked sickly, the image was in black and white but she could tell how pale his skin had become, his dark hair having lost its shine. When he brought his fork to his mouth, his hand shook visibly.

Malfoy sat across from him and the look on his face was concerning. Protective, malicious, like he was ready to leap up from the table at any moment. He looked like an animal poised to kill its prey with one false move. But he didn't move, not an inch, as he sat there across the table from Theodore and stared down the photographer with murder in his eyes.

It unnerved Hermione how drawn she was to that photo, how the second she saw it in the paper her mind connected the dots and came to the conclusion that something is happening. She didn't know what it was, but now she knows that whatever is going on, it isn't good. Her concerns from before weren't unwarranted.

"Come on girls, I've got tea ready." Molly pokes her head in and Ginny gives her a final hug before they join everyone in the living room.

Bill and Fleur arrive a few hours later in a whirlwind of activity and quickly disappear upstairs.

Ron and Harry lay on the rug, they've set themselves up right in the middle of the living room and are playing a lively game of Wizard chess. The Quidditch match blares on the tiny radio in the corner.

Ginny immerses herself in an older issue of Witch Weekly magazine. The cover shows an image of a fashionable woman in summer robes.

Dress for the Job You Want the title reads and Hermione has to stop herself from retching. The job she wants… What is the job she wants?

She managed to bring a few of the books Beatrice had recommended to her after having grazed through the stack that was supposed to prime her for the promotion.

She finishes a rather depressing book about pureblood history and tosses it aside, pulling another from her bag. This read had been a refresher on the sacred twenty-eight, their archaic laws and unwritten rules always make her stomach turn.

"A bag with an undetectable extension charm? In the presence of an auror no else. Bold move, Hermione." George's voice lights up the room and Ginny leaps from her chair, tackling him into a hug.

Angelina follows George in, laying eyes on Ron. Her dark stare boring into him, Hermione wonders if she's going to bring up his recent career change since she has always vocalised his lack of skills on the pitch.

Ron noticeably fidgets as Harry contemplates his next move and Hermione notices. Harry rakes his hand through his hair, pulling it up into an impossible shape before asking his knight to move.

"Checkmate," Harry announces and Ron tears his gaze away, clearly confused at how Harry beat him.

"I hear I'm bunking with you and Ginny tonight," Angelina says, sitting close to Hermione and looking to see what she's reading.

"It'll be a little cramped unfortunately…" Hermione closes her book, tossing a scrap of paper in as a bookmark.

"I don't mind, it's nice being cosy." She looks at George as Ginny talks to him animatedly. "I hear Ron made the Cannons?" Angelina says this like she's asking a question, as if she can't believe it to be true.

Hermione gives a nod and Angelina makes a noise of almost disapproval. It's no secret she's never thought of Ron as a good Quidditch player, and she isn't wrong.

"So it's true, can't believe everything you read in the papers…I'm shoc–"

"Angelina! Here, let me show you where you're sleeping…" Ginny swoops in effortlessly, taking Angelina's bag and ushering her away.

Charlie and Percy arrive not long after George and Angelina. Percy holds the hand of a slight, timid looking blonde woman who stiffens under Molly's hug.

"I didn't know Percy's got a girlfriend?" Ron whispers in Hermione's ear. The feeling of his breath on her skin gives her a shiver. His proximity isn't something new, but having him this close with his family near. It makes her uncomfortable.

"Her name's Audrey," Ginny says from her perch in the living room.

"How do you know that?"

"Mum told me."

"Why hasn't she told me then?"

"She has."

Ron furrows his brows at her as Ginny goes to greet the new addition.

Suddenly, everyone's gathered in the living room, crowding around Hermione's chair. Charlie's booming laugh fills the room as the radio still prattles on about chasers and beaters and shooting-out-of-nowhere seekers.

Bill and Fleur talk amongst themselves in a quiet corner and Hermione observes that Fleur is looking around unfocused, fidgeting and biting the skin around her thumb. It's unlike her to be or even look distressed.

Percy stands with Audrey and Molly, his back straight as he shows something to his mother.

George and Angelina laugh with Ginny who's forever smiling lately, Hermione feels a pang of jealousy. Ginny's ability to throw herself into revelry is praiseworthy.

Her palms are sweating as she fiddles with her bracelet, looking at Ron who's mid conversation with his dad who just arrived.

She stands, looking out to the back garden and making her escape before anyone can notice.

It's not cold enough to snow yet, it feels like it will but not a single flake has fallen. The little chickens in the pen out back peck and claw at the almost frozen ground.

She grabs a bucket of feed, the air biting her exposed skin but her jumper and a hurried warming charm keep feeling her nice and cosy despite her frozen, non-escaping inner turmoil. The hands on her watch indicated it is barely 5 in the evening, and it's already pitch dark. She gives a long sigh, breathing in deeply, tossing feed into the chicken pen.

"It's a little cramped in there." Arthur's voice startles her and she drops the bucket. "Sorry Hermione, I didn't mean to scare you." He holds his hands up carefully.

"No, no it's alright, I didn't mean to make such a mess." Embarrassed, she drops down, scooping the seed back into the bucket. Arthur makes a non-committal sound and with a short wave of his hand, the bucket is filled again.

"Would you like to help me set up for dinner?" He gestures towards a white tent with the curtains pulled, she can just see a long table with mismatched chairs sitting inside.

"I'd love to."

Her and Arthur work together, manually setting the table before casting warming charms and setting up lanterns. The mismatched carpets over the grass give some colour to the otherwise stark tent.

"Just in time for everyone to sit!" Molly says enthusiastically, tying the curtains back. Arthur places the last napkin on the place mat and walks to give his wife a chaste kiss.

Hermione is grateful for the quiet moment she shared with Arthur before dinner. The Weasley's file in, all talking amongst each other while Harry, Neville and Luna gather just before the entrance.

"I thought your father was coming too?" Hermione asks and Luna tilts her head to look at her.

"Oh he'll be here soon. He was distracted by a pygmy puff on the way over, they're not seen in the wild as much anymore you know, he's been tracking their numbers.'' Everyone around her nods dutifully. Hermione makes a mental note to look them up when she gets back home.

"Mrs. Weasley, I've brought some flowers for the table." Neville catches Molly before she can put the plate of food down, she effortlessly floats the dish the rest of the way to the table, taking the bouquet from Neville and transfiguring a vase from a napkin.

"They're beautiful, Neville! Are your grandparents here too?" He shakes his head and Molly touches his cheek gently. "That's alright, we can pack some leftovers for you to take home for them."

Dinner is loud but uneventful. Hermione can't remember the last time she ate something so filling. She helps Ginny cart out all the homemade cookies. Everyone says they taste amazing but the lingering taste on her tongue can only make out the stale taste of cardboard.

Hermione never actually liked eating gingerbread, only decorating them. While growing up, her mother always made gingerbread and sugar cookies and they would spend hours decorating them together. Now they just don't seem as sweet as they did then.

That night in the Burrow she falls asleep to the sound of the ghoul rattling the pipes and hearing the echoes of Ginny's shallow breathing and Angelina's soft snores.