Chapter 9

Hermione was terrified. What were her girls going to find out? Would they find out? She set about shopping that day, spending probably more money than she had intended, but she was far too distracted to bargain down even some outrageously priced ingredients from the apothecary.

She walked around in a daze, more than occasionally bumping into people. Nobody really payed her much mind- there were many rather vacant witches out there- but she knew that if anyone she knew had seen her they would have noticed without a second glance just how upset she was.

~*~

As darkness began to beckon at the horizon, Hermione turned her path towards the Muggle world. She knew that to stay in the wizarding world, she would be too tempted to communicate with her daughters, to comfort them, to entreat out of them the information they had gained. If they had gained it. So she walked into the world she had abandoned all those years ago.

She ended up at the entrance to a rather drab motel, its paint peeling a little and dirty, its sign lit up with only one globe, as the other had blown. It showed a 'vacancy' sign, though, so -knowing that her pocket couldn't handle a night in the Ritz- she walked into reception.

There was an empty counter, with a dim fluorescent light buzzing overhead. A key rack of chipboard in the bland office was all that benighted this place a motel. There were grimy plastic strips in the doorway to where Hermione assumed the owner lived. She could hear murmuring sounds and flickers of light, and she extrapolated that the owner was watching television. Hermione felt an overwhelming sadness at her isolation from this world. To think that she hadn't watched television for at least a decade… to anyone outside the wizarding world, it would have been a feat of self-restraint. Television was everywhere. But in the wizarding world, it was unnecessary, although she knew that it would have intrigued Arthur Weasley no end.

She cleared her throat loudly, to cut off weary thoughts as much as to alert the manager to her presence. There were a series of muffled noises, and then footsteps trudging to the doorway. The strips jerked back, allowing a view of the owner.

He was in his fifties, and his hair was lankly grey. His nose seemed more bulbous than it probably was, angry red against his washed-out skin tone. Seeing that she was a customer, he turned his watery, weepy blue eyes to the counter and trudged to stand properly behind it. Hermione noticed that he walked with a distinct limp, and that his liver-spotted arms were also flecked with scars, smooth white streaks on his wrinkled, tired skin.

"Madam," he drawled, obviously making some effort to be polite, "My humble motel is open to you. Take any room you like." He wryly waved his hand at the chipboard behind him. Hermione noticed that she would be the only customer tonight. "They're all pretty much the same," he completed in a weary tone.

Hermione nodded, and hardly even heard the price of the room she payed for. Taking the key she was handed, she walked to her room. The grounds were about as dismally bland as the office had been, and Hermione found that she wasn't surprised that she was the only customer here tonight. Pushing open the grimy door to her room, she began to realise just how hungry she was. Out to dinner tonight, she confirmed silently. The light flicked on noisily, a yellow glow lighting up the room.

It was typical motel-style; double bed in the middle of the room, television, clock radio, ensuite, kitchenette, couch or two. Drab carpet that had seen far too many years and spills. Outdated linen that looked even more sickly in the yellow light. Hermione sat down on the bed, measuring its softness, before standing again, walking back out the door and locking it behind her. Back down the path, back out onto the street. She hailed a taxi, and took the drivers advice on a restaurant for dinner.

~*~

Finally, she ended up in a tiny restaurant in the heart of London. There was little road noise due to the good design of the building, and the décor was appealing. The lights were soft, and Hermione, for the first time in many years, wished that she had someone to share this with. A sigh passed her lips, slumping her shoulders, but she smiled at the waitress as she seated her, taking the offered menu and ordering the house red.

There were only four other tables occupied. Hermione wondered for a fleeting moment what it would be like to live in the Muggle world again. Then she remembered her amazement that first day she had realised she was a witch.

She had been standing under the tree in the backyard, the one that she had loved to climb, until one of the branches snapped in a storm, and dad had decided that it wasn't safe enough to climb anymore. She had been looking at a bird's nest in one of the lower branches, admiring it, wondering if she could do birds for the assignment that she had been given at school, when she heard the screeching of a cuckoo chick, and a tiny little baby bird had fallen out of the nest.

She had grabbed the tiny creature out of the sky, and, so incensed at the stealing cuckoo chick, promptly rose up into the air, picked up the cuckoo chick, placed it out of the nest, replaced the little chick- a robin's chick, she had identified- and returned to the ground. Then, as the red mist of injustice had faded from around the edges of her vision, she realised what she had done.

~*~

The wonder of magic still captured her heart, and Hermione knew that she would never be able to fully return to the Muggle world, though she missed it. Hermione turned her attention to the other occupants of this little restaurant, to take her mind off her own loneliness, creating stories for them.

At the table closest, were two lovers: a redhead and a brunette, gently speaking to each other as if they were the only two people on the planet, gently brushing fingers and gazing into the other's eyes. Hermione's heart quickened, and she mournfully moved on, feeling sorry for herself.

At the table to the left of the lovers, were a woman and a child. The little boy was smiling, and both appeared to be sharing some hidden joke. Hermione remembered when her little twins had been the boy's age, and smiled wistfully. Her little girls were growing up. The table behind the mother and son contained another lonesome figure, a woman of about thirty; sitting on her own, she was gazing intently at the menu. When the door chimed, she turned around quickly, and Hermione saw that she had been waiting for her partner. Husband, she saw, as the warm light bounced off their gold rings.

The only other table that was occupied was one right at the back of the restaurant, which held a shadowy figure, male and alone. Hermione snorted quietly at the idea of going over and introducing herself. Instead, she turned her thoughts to the menu; the waitress came over and took her order- the chicken and a glass of house white.

Hermione wondered how long it had been since she had tasted a good glass of white wine- the brews that passed for alcoholic beverages in the wizarding world were just not up to the same standard as their Muggle counterparts. Butterbeer was all well and good until one really wanted to get sloshed. Then you had to resort to red currant rum, or assorted other hard liquors. Nothing nice like dry white wine. Wizards just didn't have the subtlety for it. Hermione settled herself down for a long, long night.

~*~

A/N: Thankyou to Kirbee Angel, TomFeltonsSexiiWun, Michelline, peanut, Therese, Tracey Claybon, Mertle (thanks!!! That's the highest compliment I could hope for!!!), Mockingbirdflyaway, F75, LM, Silverleaf and Kimmerz. Phew, that's a list. I would answer all your questions right here… but they'll all be answered in later chapters, I'm sure!! Thankyou for the time you've put in to reply, even if it's just been two words. It's greatly appreciated.

Hope you enjoyed the latest chapter!!

*kitten