Chapter Two: Black Balloon
"Baby's black balloon makes her fly
I almost fell into that hole in your life
And you're not thinking about tomorrow
Cuz you were the same as me
But on your knees..."
Hermione shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other. She was waiting in line at a local coffee house, her last stop before home. It was dark outside; she had closed up Flourish and Blotts minutes before. Hermione had a routine, one that she stuck to pretty strictly. Her cat, Crookshanks the Second, and her books were her main comforts in life. Children, too. Somedays she wanted kids of her own. But that meant finding the right guy.
Hermione thought of her past relationships, not that there had been many, she snorted to herself. It wasn't until sixth year that boys started seeing Hermione as a girl. It took Ron all the way till seventh, when they had gone out. Stuffing that thought away, she remembered her first boyfriend, Dean. It had been an awkward relationship for them both, and she grinned at the memory. They were still friends, Dean and Hermione. He was married now, expected his first child. Her last boyfriend, Liam, she hadn't seen in a few years. As soon as the relationship became physical, she left it. But she preferred not to think of that. She'd spent years forgetting the memory of Ron, the smell of his sweater, his crooked smile, the way he had groaned whenever he saw her buried in another book. The way he had grown clinging, jealous. The way his hands had roamed her body, despite her protests...
"M'am? M'am?" The boy behind the counter was trying to catch her attention.
"Yes, sorry." The boy smiled, hearing her British accent, and took her order. 'Damnit,' Hermione thought, 'I'd been so good lately, forgetting that...' She shook the feeling and left, climbing back into her small, green car to go home.
"Home" was an apartment, on a street crowded with apartment buildings and more tiny homes. Hermione had been lucky to find it, and she knew it. She rode the elevator up to the third floor, and didn't moan when she noticed the hall light-bulb was burnt out again. She didn't complain either when her key got suck in the sticky lock, or when she noticed the mail on her floor wasn't hers. 'Silly Mrs. Brown,' she thought, referring to her next-door neighbor. 'Poor lady is such a dear to bring me my mail, but with her failing eyesight, it's hardly ever the right mail!'
Dinner consisted of a TV dinner in-front of the TV, Crookshanks purring next to her. She cleaned up, put in some microwave popcorn she knew she'd want later, and decided to organize her bills tonight. Radio came on, and she sat down. Rain began to beat against the windows again. With the hum of the microwave and the crummy music on the radio (some Lenny Kravitz crap), her mind began to wander again, back to a night some five years ago.
It all had started with jealousy in her seventh year. Ron and Hermione were happily seeing each other, as everyone knew would happen at some point. Harry Potter was still Harry Potter, ultra-famous, star of the Quiddich field, brave warrior, Boy-Who-Lived, best friend to Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Due to some home problems, Hermione and Harry had been growing closer and closer. It wasn't anything romantic, they had just found something special in their friendship. Hermione found it easier to relate and talk to Harry. After Ron had, a few times, come into the common room and found them talking quietly by the fire, he began to suspect foul-play. That was all it took. Before Hermione even knew Ron was growing resentful, he had her cornered in the library after-hours. He pushed her against a wall, put his hands and mouth al over her. To her pleas he only said, "If you loved me you'd do this with me." She begged him to think about what he was doing, but when she remained uncooperative, her hit her, knocked her to the ground. After a minute or two, Hermione became numb, lifeless. 'This isn't happening this is Ron this is us he's hurting me please make this stop he's hurting me Ron...' He left her there, tears streaming down her face, the shock of what he had done finally hitting him. It hit her, too, an hour later, shivering on the ground. Hermione wasn't sure what happened next; she wandered around, where she must've collapsed and was found the next morning. It was the day before Christmas Break. Ron had already gone. A few days later, she awoke in the hospital wing, Harry asleep in a chair beside her after days of Dreamless-Sleep Potion. She reached over and touched his hand, rousing him immediately. He jumped up and hugged her tightly, allowing a tear to escape. She held onto him for a mere moment, then gently pushed him away, rolled over. Hermione would eventually tell Dumbledore what had happened, and Ron, being eighteen, would be told not to bother returning to Hogwarts, ever. Hermione never found out what happened to him. Harry knew never to bring it up. As Dumbledore had once said, because it was a secret, "...naturally, the whole school knows." Hermione doesn't think his life was ever the same again, as very few people from Hogwarts would speak to him.
Hermione snapped out of her daze, mentally scolding herself for thinking about that night. She reached over and felt comfort in the letter to Harry that was inside her bag. She took it out and gave it to Cytheria, her dove gray owl, to take to Harry. He was still a great comfort, but it Iwas/I easier to have long-distance friendships. As she crawled into bed that night, she asked herself the same question she did every night, "Am I lonely?" She thought about her conversation with Rosa, her non-existent night-life, or social life for that matter. Her life was going no-where, she had cut off communication with almost everyone from her past. Crookshanks leapt onto her bed, and curled at her feet. Finally, she told herself firmly, 'This is how I want my life to be. No obligation to anyone else.' One thing kept nagging at her mind...this was the longest it had taken her to answer that question. 'Maybe it wouldn't hurt to meet someone new tomorrow...'
The next morning found Hermione in her usual place; she was behind the counter of Flourish and Blotts, having arrived right on time as always. The California rain had given her a break, at last, and today was sunny and bright. A day that held promise. She was fumbling with a roll of tape, that had somehow become entangled in a lock of her hair. The bell over the door jingled, and two unfamiliar faces came in.
A man followed a young girl in. They both had blonde hair, so blonde it was almost white. By the way he watched her, it was clear he was her father, or guardian at least. He made a quick survey of the store, its over-crowded shelves, dusty smell, and the peculiar girl behind the counter. She was trying to remove something from her hair, and had only briefly glanced up when they entered. She was about his age, pretty but not what you would call stunning. Her hair was carelessly pulled up off her neck, and she wore a loose burgundy shirt that looked like it had been made in India. 'No-nonsense kind of girl,' he thought.
Hermione only quickly looked up when the two figures entered. The man was tall, by Hermione's standards. He wore loose black robes over Muggle clothes, a white shirt and black jeans. 'Hmm, guess he wants to be able to blend into either world.' He carried himself gracefully, but not pompously. The little girl made a beeline for the collection of Wizard children books, and Hermione only got a small glance of her. Her hair, the same shade as her fathers, was pulled into two pigtails, and she wore dark purple robes over a purple jumpsuit. After freeing her hair ('Damned tape'), Hermione quietly made her way over to the girl. Hermione figured she was eight or nine. "Hello, is there something I can help you find?" The girl looked up to Hermione, and Hermione saw the blue eyes were absolutely vacant, empty. The girl looked towards the man, then back to the stack of books. The man with the blonde hair rushed over.
"This is Aucella, Ella. She's mute, doesn't speak at all." The man explained quickly. He and Hermione's eyes did not meet.
"Ah, I understand." Hermione replied, still looking at Ella. "Maybe I could still help you find something?"
"Yes, we're looking for this series, about a Muggle detective, they're supposed to be very funny. Ella and I love to read together, don't we? Yes, Ella just..." The man's voice faded as he and Hermione's eyes met finally. As they recognized each other, the store became pin-drop quiet, and Hermione wondered to herself how the gods could play such jokes on her. "Granger?" the man asked, somewhat breathlessly.
"Hello, Draco."
Next Chapter: The story of Ella, and Draco and Hermione catch up.
"Baby's black balloon makes her fly
I almost fell into that hole in your life
And you're not thinking about tomorrow
Cuz you were the same as me
But on your knees..."
Hermione shifted her bag from one shoulder to the other. She was waiting in line at a local coffee house, her last stop before home. It was dark outside; she had closed up Flourish and Blotts minutes before. Hermione had a routine, one that she stuck to pretty strictly. Her cat, Crookshanks the Second, and her books were her main comforts in life. Children, too. Somedays she wanted kids of her own. But that meant finding the right guy.
Hermione thought of her past relationships, not that there had been many, she snorted to herself. It wasn't until sixth year that boys started seeing Hermione as a girl. It took Ron all the way till seventh, when they had gone out. Stuffing that thought away, she remembered her first boyfriend, Dean. It had been an awkward relationship for them both, and she grinned at the memory. They were still friends, Dean and Hermione. He was married now, expected his first child. Her last boyfriend, Liam, she hadn't seen in a few years. As soon as the relationship became physical, she left it. But she preferred not to think of that. She'd spent years forgetting the memory of Ron, the smell of his sweater, his crooked smile, the way he had groaned whenever he saw her buried in another book. The way he had grown clinging, jealous. The way his hands had roamed her body, despite her protests...
"M'am? M'am?" The boy behind the counter was trying to catch her attention.
"Yes, sorry." The boy smiled, hearing her British accent, and took her order. 'Damnit,' Hermione thought, 'I'd been so good lately, forgetting that...' She shook the feeling and left, climbing back into her small, green car to go home.
"Home" was an apartment, on a street crowded with apartment buildings and more tiny homes. Hermione had been lucky to find it, and she knew it. She rode the elevator up to the third floor, and didn't moan when she noticed the hall light-bulb was burnt out again. She didn't complain either when her key got suck in the sticky lock, or when she noticed the mail on her floor wasn't hers. 'Silly Mrs. Brown,' she thought, referring to her next-door neighbor. 'Poor lady is such a dear to bring me my mail, but with her failing eyesight, it's hardly ever the right mail!'
Dinner consisted of a TV dinner in-front of the TV, Crookshanks purring next to her. She cleaned up, put in some microwave popcorn she knew she'd want later, and decided to organize her bills tonight. Radio came on, and she sat down. Rain began to beat against the windows again. With the hum of the microwave and the crummy music on the radio (some Lenny Kravitz crap), her mind began to wander again, back to a night some five years ago.
It all had started with jealousy in her seventh year. Ron and Hermione were happily seeing each other, as everyone knew would happen at some point. Harry Potter was still Harry Potter, ultra-famous, star of the Quiddich field, brave warrior, Boy-Who-Lived, best friend to Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Due to some home problems, Hermione and Harry had been growing closer and closer. It wasn't anything romantic, they had just found something special in their friendship. Hermione found it easier to relate and talk to Harry. After Ron had, a few times, come into the common room and found them talking quietly by the fire, he began to suspect foul-play. That was all it took. Before Hermione even knew Ron was growing resentful, he had her cornered in the library after-hours. He pushed her against a wall, put his hands and mouth al over her. To her pleas he only said, "If you loved me you'd do this with me." She begged him to think about what he was doing, but when she remained uncooperative, her hit her, knocked her to the ground. After a minute or two, Hermione became numb, lifeless. 'This isn't happening this is Ron this is us he's hurting me please make this stop he's hurting me Ron...' He left her there, tears streaming down her face, the shock of what he had done finally hitting him. It hit her, too, an hour later, shivering on the ground. Hermione wasn't sure what happened next; she wandered around, where she must've collapsed and was found the next morning. It was the day before Christmas Break. Ron had already gone. A few days later, she awoke in the hospital wing, Harry asleep in a chair beside her after days of Dreamless-Sleep Potion. She reached over and touched his hand, rousing him immediately. He jumped up and hugged her tightly, allowing a tear to escape. She held onto him for a mere moment, then gently pushed him away, rolled over. Hermione would eventually tell Dumbledore what had happened, and Ron, being eighteen, would be told not to bother returning to Hogwarts, ever. Hermione never found out what happened to him. Harry knew never to bring it up. As Dumbledore had once said, because it was a secret, "...naturally, the whole school knows." Hermione doesn't think his life was ever the same again, as very few people from Hogwarts would speak to him.
Hermione snapped out of her daze, mentally scolding herself for thinking about that night. She reached over and felt comfort in the letter to Harry that was inside her bag. She took it out and gave it to Cytheria, her dove gray owl, to take to Harry. He was still a great comfort, but it Iwas/I easier to have long-distance friendships. As she crawled into bed that night, she asked herself the same question she did every night, "Am I lonely?" She thought about her conversation with Rosa, her non-existent night-life, or social life for that matter. Her life was going no-where, she had cut off communication with almost everyone from her past. Crookshanks leapt onto her bed, and curled at her feet. Finally, she told herself firmly, 'This is how I want my life to be. No obligation to anyone else.' One thing kept nagging at her mind...this was the longest it had taken her to answer that question. 'Maybe it wouldn't hurt to meet someone new tomorrow...'
The next morning found Hermione in her usual place; she was behind the counter of Flourish and Blotts, having arrived right on time as always. The California rain had given her a break, at last, and today was sunny and bright. A day that held promise. She was fumbling with a roll of tape, that had somehow become entangled in a lock of her hair. The bell over the door jingled, and two unfamiliar faces came in.
A man followed a young girl in. They both had blonde hair, so blonde it was almost white. By the way he watched her, it was clear he was her father, or guardian at least. He made a quick survey of the store, its over-crowded shelves, dusty smell, and the peculiar girl behind the counter. She was trying to remove something from her hair, and had only briefly glanced up when they entered. She was about his age, pretty but not what you would call stunning. Her hair was carelessly pulled up off her neck, and she wore a loose burgundy shirt that looked like it had been made in India. 'No-nonsense kind of girl,' he thought.
Hermione only quickly looked up when the two figures entered. The man was tall, by Hermione's standards. He wore loose black robes over Muggle clothes, a white shirt and black jeans. 'Hmm, guess he wants to be able to blend into either world.' He carried himself gracefully, but not pompously. The little girl made a beeline for the collection of Wizard children books, and Hermione only got a small glance of her. Her hair, the same shade as her fathers, was pulled into two pigtails, and she wore dark purple robes over a purple jumpsuit. After freeing her hair ('Damned tape'), Hermione quietly made her way over to the girl. Hermione figured she was eight or nine. "Hello, is there something I can help you find?" The girl looked up to Hermione, and Hermione saw the blue eyes were absolutely vacant, empty. The girl looked towards the man, then back to the stack of books. The man with the blonde hair rushed over.
"This is Aucella, Ella. She's mute, doesn't speak at all." The man explained quickly. He and Hermione's eyes did not meet.
"Ah, I understand." Hermione replied, still looking at Ella. "Maybe I could still help you find something?"
"Yes, we're looking for this series, about a Muggle detective, they're supposed to be very funny. Ella and I love to read together, don't we? Yes, Ella just..." The man's voice faded as he and Hermione's eyes met finally. As they recognized each other, the store became pin-drop quiet, and Hermione wondered to herself how the gods could play such jokes on her. "Granger?" the man asked, somewhat breathlessly.
"Hello, Draco."
Next Chapter: The story of Ella, and Draco and Hermione catch up.