.vii – semi fini
~
..dizzy..
..throbbing..
..needing..
..raw.
Her head peeled back, her lips parted only to let out nothing but a silent scream. Stifled with a hand cupping her mouth. The young woman's eyes had gone wide – the assault on her senses were too much; so much that she barely felt teeth being inflicted on her right shoulder.
Her hands groped desperately, only to be met with fingers entwining between her own slender digits. The tide wouldn't stop, so it seemed.
"…please…"
"..Just a bit more, 'old to me.."
Sweat licked and sapped of her energy, the wavy tressed youth slumped forth; the tide finally ebbing, her forehead came to rest at the junction of a shoulder and neck. Beneath her, the writhing slowed – and to her surprise, so had her hips.
"W-what happened.." came her meek askance.
The night swallowed any sound, sans her breathless reply..
"..I loved you."
~
Hermione's eyelids were heavy, why she had forced them open – leaving the safe-haven of that memory, was beyond her - but when they did, they were blurred and stung by the grime clinging to her person.
She wanted to go back.
The mind is a wondrous thing. Allowing one to feel things that aren't there and protecting one, from things that are. She often ran to her dreams in states of duress, the only security she had for the past year or two.
Her sense of touch was the first that came back to the Muggle Auror. She found face was flushed to the sodden earth, some of which found its way into the precipice of her partially opened mouth. Every joint was stiffened as she tried to rouse her body to wakefulness. Amazed that her physical self obeyed, Hermione dragged her still sore form against a pile of stalwart rocks. A few going loose at the pressure of her body resting against them.
Slowly by slowly, she righted herself then gave a dry, almost malign laugh – the muck fell from her mouth when she did – This pain hadn't compared to those she fielded at the hands of her another.
Just then, Hermione lifted her gaze towards the sound of laboured breathing, and scuffing soles upon the cave slick cave floors. His words were filled with terror – the thing was closing in on him.
"'Arry! 'Ermione!!"
It ached hearing the pulsing throb of her heart ringing in her ears. It started as a burden in her chest and continued to hammer to her throat, a sort of anxiety, an excitement of knowing what was next to come.
It was named the Chakara. An ancient beast of England's long ago past. A shadow demon that dwelled in the heart of the British Isles' rolling emrald mountains. Said to protect the more sinister of magics of the land. It was awakened by poor Muggles that hadn't had a breath of a chance in the end. They were sent to ward it, another bastion of The Dark Lord's old regime..
But her mind began to work in other thoughts..
Was she really this sadistic to even THINK of having it letting it happen?
Just a few jostles to his body, whispered the back of her mind – How would it make him feel then? Would he understand how it was like to have your back pressed to the wall? She'd not let it hurt him too much.. She would stop it before it brought him to the brink..
A split second of that fleeting thought was trickling in her mind – but the moment had past. And only his incessant cries for help remained. Hermione's back pressed further into an enclave of the dank cavern, almost too hard to see, but her eyes had grown accustomed to the moving shadows; she kept herself well hidden from the melee that was just a few feet from her.
"RON! Move!," hollered Harry.
His voiced bounced off the walls, dampening the sound of his feet. Hermione stole a glance towards the pair – in time to witness the Chakara's hulking and darkened mass lunging it's appendages towards Ron; he had ducked just in time, but the tail end of his robes were caught by the beast's fingernails, he fell to his left with only his robe's left in shreds.
Harry.
Long ago – Hermione had tentatively accused him of having the proverbial White Knight complex. In which, at any smidgeon of danger, Harry would take it on his shoulders to save those in peril. He was affronted by the remark. But it never stopped him; Harry still rushed in with no regard to himself nor the consequences of his actions. He loved being the hero.
Hence Harry being the assumed leader of the so-called, Magnificent Trio. He would be the one that awed all with his heroism. Every child and adult knew him. Celebrity, had gotten to him and equally rubbed off onto Ron. Yet another thing that bound the two.
He'll save his best mate – echoed her mind, hasn't it always been that way? Hermione furrowed her brows listening to her mind's warring; her eyes pinioned on the pair attempting to counter the beast's assaults. In a move that seemed incredulous for its size the beast's prehensile tail sniped outward, just as Harry whipped out his wand and attempted to spellcast, "Avada Ked--!" Harry never completed it. Hermione's jaw tensed.
It managed to topple the Scarred Man. Ron wailed.
"Bullocks!," hissed Hermione under her breath. Harry should have known better! No physical damage could be dealt a non-corporeal form, especially one berthed from the depths of Hellspawn Magic, it needed to be banished with Light, White Magics. It was barreling on them now, so with a decided nod laced with the feeling of guilt, the bedraggled Muggle Witch slipped from the enclave and pulled her wand from the safe-haven of the waist-belt of her jeans. Hermione expertly twirled it between her digits, letting it come to rest at the junction of her thumb and index finger she pointed center mass at the creature.
" Quickly! Shield your eyes!," cried Hermione, "Cielo Lumina!" Whether the men complied, she had not spared a second.
With its back to her, the Chakara failed to notice what had hit it. An ethereal blinding light boomed from the tip of her wand, engulfing the lot, when it finally had faded the demon had dissapated into complete nothingness. With a few more shaky flicks of her wand, Hermione murmured a continuous string of an incantation. Eerie fluorescent blue runes etched themselves onto the walls of the cavernous expanse.
"There.." rasped Hermione, "The cavern should be sealed from further attacks."
She slid her weary gaze towards the two, slipping her wand back into its cradle. Ron had finally gotten to his feet, clopping his hands upon his robes. Healthy dust plumes were exacted from his lanky frame. Harry was no worse for wear. He took off his glasses and gave a disgruntled grunt.
"Hermione, what was the…"
"..Occulus repairum."
"Ah, right then – thanks."
"Whoo!", interjected Ron, causing the two to glance to him. "that, was bloody brilliant, wasn't it? Did a right number on me robes, dija see?" Proudly, the red haired man, brandished the fringes of his robes. "Make a wondrous team we do – which.. by the by, thanks for the save mate."
Harry offered a soot face smile and a shrug. Slipping his now fixed spectacles back upon the bridge of his nose, he called out to Hermione who was busily kicking up the remnants of the Chakara, prepping to vile it up.
"We couldn't have done it….," Harry began.
"without you, Hermione…", mouthed the Muggle in continuous fashion as her back was facing the two males. Automatically, without her realizing it, Hermione had plastered a plastic smile upon her lips. She lobbed a glance towards Harry offering a cracked, "It's nothing." Hermione motioned about before quickly adding, "I suppose we had better get to it. The office will be expecting an account..and.."
She stopped short as Ron and Harry shared quick glances, Ron fixedly looking on Harry and urging him with a, "Go on." Hermione knew what was coming, it always amounted to this.. and she still bended to their whims.
Harry nodded towards Ron and said nervously, "Well.. you see, Hermione – You know how Ron and I are.. well.. terrible at writing reports and, well.."
"We'd like you to divvy up a little nook on the matter, lovie. Told 'Arry you wouldn't mind. Isn't that right?" Ron announced almost pompously to Hermione. "We've just reserved the Pitch for a little scrimmage with a few mates from th' ol' 'Ogwarts days. What with Quidditch starting up an' all... T'would 'elp us get in th' mood, eh?"
Hermione shifted her form from resting on leg to the other, before crossing her grimy arms over her midsection. To her surprise and utter relief, her smile remained. Where her voice seemingly failed her, the Muggle Witch offered jerky nod before stealing her eyes away.
"Excellent!", bemused Ron. "Well then 'Arry, since our business is done 'ere, we'd better get a move on, blokes'd be waiting for us, round abouts now – Apparate there in a blink, shan't be a problem." He paused for a breath, then quickly added, "Ready, then?"
"..Go on, Ron, let the lads know I'll be on my way, few things t'tidy up here."
With a shrug, Ron gathered himself up and gave a hefty wave of his wand. Swallowed whole by a spectacular cloud of blues and silver, he was gone.
Harry turned to find Hermione perched upon a flat surfaced outcropping, with a branch of Gerbathian Fire levitated above her. She had already begun to scribble upon a piece of parchment.
"We..thought.."
"Can't hear you Harry, if you've not noticed.. I'm writing up our little nook – as it's due."
He cleared his throat, "..Hadn't expect it to work out like this, but the best opportunity, I suppose." Hermione continued to feverishly write, "I'll make sure that he'll get back to you, right tired. So's he'll not.. bother you tonight." Harry stated knowingly.
The quill scratching stopped. Hermione never bothered to turn to look at Harry. His intonation stated it as plain as day.
"Ginny suggested a day at the shoppes in London; She'll be waiting at your flat – seeing how the Gala's tomorrow night..", continued Harry gamefully, "Treat yourself, Hermione forget about your worries."
"Is that was you call it then.. worries?," countered Hermione with a soft, yet slow burgeoning anger at which she shortly said, "How long have you known."
"Easy, Hermione…Much too long.." He sounded sorry – but at the same time, unconvinced at the idea; his own voice began to rise. That infamous temper Harry held would be no match for her own fury – gambled Hermione.
"..You had forgotten to heal your arm, I reckon. That one Christmas dinner, a year ago. The others mentioned it..I don't.. didn't want to believe it…" Of course he couldn't very well believe it, Ron was his loyal friend.
"Others??"
"Yeah, Fred, George, Gin..," listed Harry matter-of-factly.
What was she to say about it? Was she to remain angry for something that wasn't their fault? It took everything she had in her to quell those insipid feelings. But with a labored swallow she had managed. Not once did she face Harry. This time around, it wasn't all about him. About the Boy-Who-Lived. The silence that strung between them seemed as if it stretched an eternity. Hermione's back stiffened then relaxed. Harry stared dead on at her. She could feel the heat of his gaze.
"You'd better get on," She said evenly, "They'll be waiting for you." Then, with determined scratching of her quill, Hermione returned to her parchment as a soft poff was heard behind her.
--
They had certainly looked happy.
The image of the pair moved, the red-headed man was seen sneaking in a chaste kiss upon the woman held captive in his arms. Ginny gave a slight wrinkle of her nose accompanied with a soft chuckle. Seeing her brother so.. cozy with someone turned her stomach – but.. he was after all, happy. Her eyes then affixed onto his companion, and she gave a heavy sigh.
Ginny knew the woman had problems – ever since that rumor of unnatural relations with Fleur had come out in school.. she'd not been the same – The muggle, though highly irritating, had always been a staunch woman, her morals never wavered.
'Hermione would never, ever in a million years do what those rumors insinuated. It's not in her character after all, a too right Drama Queen at times, yes perhaps wanting attention…' , reasoned Ginny.
Ginny convinced herself, though, that all those.. 'pock marks' and bruises were self inflicted. Never believing her brother would ever.. EVER do that. She aimed to set Hermione right, help her in someway. This may very well be the first step.
"It's all because of that blasted Veela! First Bill, now Hermione.." the very thought of Fleur Delacour raised an ire in the pit of her stomach. "She's been nothing but trouble for our family." Ginny muttered to no one but herself.
Just then, a distinct cracking sound of an apparation was heard from Ron and Hermione's foyer. Ginny set the picture-frame beck upon the nearest shelving and left to investigate.
"Well..It's about bleeding time, isn't it?," called Ginny.
Hermione lifted her rosewood gaze to meet Ginny's eyes. The red head slipped her way from the steps and rested upon even footing at the landing. Ginny clucked her tongue on the roof of her mouth and teasingly chastised her would-be sister in law, "You look positively dreadful." Her eyes danced over Hermione's form noting all the minor scrapes, shredded wear and blotted skin. "And this is why we're going shopping, you very well can't show up at the Gala as such."
"I can't Ginny - I've.. I've work to do," exhaled Hermione.
"I've always thought you lot worked too hard," Ginny countered non chalantly, "No rainchecks, no half-hearted promises.. I'm to take you out, and we're to have a blasted good time, right? Good." Ginny pulled out her wand giving it a flick and swish.
"Scourgify."
Before any protests were provided by the once-Prefect, a soft mist of mauve and burgundy swirled abouts her. Tendrils drifted through Hermione's somewhat tangled tresses, leaving behind a scent of Jasmine, in effect, taming her wiley mane. About her face the mist seemed to tingle alive, 'scrubbing', if you will, the soot and sweat from her. Once the plume had evaporated, Ginny offered a smug grunting grin.
"Much better, and a bloody well lot QUICKER than your run of the mill shower." The much younger woman had given Hermione yet another quick once over and announced, "Wear could be a trifle more well to do, but.." she had tapped Hermione upon her forehead with the tip of her wand and in an instant, the elder woman's tattered garb had been shifted – mended of the battle scars that she had garnered just a few hours ago.
Taking hold of Hermione's wrist, Ginny tugged her would-be Sister-In-Law out into the waning London daylight – much to the Muggle's dismay. Hermione pulled the collar of her coat about her neck just as a stiff wind kicked up, before she paused at a most disturbing sight. At the curb along 25th and Rodham, sat a schitzophrenically colored Mini Cooper. Flourescent greens, yellows and pinks swirled together to form misshapen flowers, liken to a trip of the 1960s.
Hermione gave off a tiny, yet surprised, "Oh.." Causing Ginny to beam madly.
"Like it then?"
"Ginny.. what.. what IS that?"
"Silly girl – it's a car, and here I thought you were a Muggle."
"Crikey Gin, I KNOW it's a car.. but.. why would you have a it?"
"Och well, that – Harry knew I'd fancy to drive right soon, since we are moving near you lot – and well.. since EVERYONE has these things – I might as well do as all muggles do, eh? So.. we decided to get one. Mind.. I'm still a mite rusty, but I do well enough."
She motioned in and grudgingly Hermione slid into the passenger's side. Quickly enough she had snapped the belt into place, when Ginny eeked in and questioned, "By the by, luv - What does it mean when Muggles honk?"
--
"Stop gaffawing, it is effectively rude. I thought I taught you better."
"Sorry gran."
"mmph." Mrs. Longbottom motioned towards her already emptied te cup, and Neville responded with a practiced movement – pouring the remaining bits of liquid from the pot into the aforementioned. She cupped the chalice gently, nursing her drink, but all the while training her eyes upon her only grandchild.
His gaze was fixated upon their houseguest, the Platinum haired beauty whom he had introduced as his 'partner and friend.' The boisterous woman parted the lip of the cup from her own, before lobbing a look onto the female on horseback. Her eyes traveled back onto Neville before remarking softly but ever in that chastising tone, "Close your mouth Neville."
Neville blinked furtively and flushed a deep beet. "Yes ma'am." He settled back onto the seat opposite his stalwart Grandmother. It seemed to him that this woman would go on living forever, tougher than leather, always riding him on every little nuance. He never minded though. Despite her strict ways, he loved her. "More crackers Gran?"
Mrs. Longbottom shook her silvered wisps in negation. "Mind, Neville - company." Just as she had said that, Fleur, framed by the dusky hues of nightfall, made her way onto their country estate porch. "Miss Delacour, enjoyed your ride, I see?"
Fleur, helping herself to the pitcher of Lemonade set out, nodded agreeably, "Oui ma'amoiselle Longbottom, but I sink it would 'ave been more appealing were someone.." she paused and nudged Neville's foot with her leathered riding boot, "..would 'ave joined moi?", chuckled Fleur.
"Horses dinnae like me much, I'm afraid, Fleur.", confessed Neville.
The silver haired Veela mearly clucked her tongue and shook her head, "Zen I would 'ave taught you, mez amis." All before she turned her crystalling eyes onto Mrs. Longbottom, "you 'ave ze mos' beautiful acreage I 'ave ever 'ad ze pleasure of visiting. Merci.. for 'aving me.
"The pleasure has is reciprocated ten-fold, my dear." Mrs. Longbottom set the teacup back unto its platter gently. "Are you two ready then for the morrow's gala?"
Neville quickly bobbed his head – "yes, Gran. I've got me tux all laid out an' pressed. I still don't understand why we have to gussy up in muggle attire."
"Arthur Weasley and his bloody infatuation with the culture I suppose. Never had a Minister of Magic as.. enigmatic as he. That should explain enough about the matter Neville.", chortled Mrs. Longbottom.
"Will you not be joining us zen, Madame?"
"Goodness I, girl..." The woman shifted laboriously so to regard Fleur with her handsomely etched face. Neville, quick on the uptake, eased form his seat to automatically come to his Gran's aid. At which Mrs. Longbottom, swatted his hands away, "Thank you Neville, but I'm not that invalid – yet…" her eyes flicked unto Fleur's chuckling features, "I've out, how do you young one's say, out partied meself, I'm afraid. Not since that whole bruhaha with You-Know-Who, I'd much prefer to doll abouts the daisies than muck it up in some sodden suaree." Mrs. Longbottom finished perfunctorily as she looked from Neville, who was stealing longing gazes at Fleur to Fleur who often.. just lost herself in her own thoughts, but had enough manners in her to afford a congenial dip of her veela head to an old maid.
"Besides that – is it not a celebration also in which to honor the both of you and your little escapades, as well as bieng the birthday for the MInistry?"
Neville began to stammer, Fleur beamed an almost impish smirk.
"Somewhat."
Mrs. Longbottom looked thoughtful for a beat and nodded. Neville had started to wring his hands nervously, and she sensed that something urgent needed to be said; the pair needed to be alone. Inwardly she hoped Fleur wouldn't hurt Neville too badly. Mrs. Longbottom had been a young woman once – she knew the look of love and non-love intimately. And for these two, it was plain to see in their eyes, the emotions that burbled there.
As Neville wrung his hands together continuously, Mrs. Longbottom rose tiredly to her feet. As soon as Neville and Fleur made for her, she held a leathered had aloft, "don't make me curse the pair of you..I'm still a dead fast draw.," she mused. Carefully she eased herself towards her Grandson and offered a chaffed kiss to his temple. Causing him to blush even more pronouncedly. "Get it off your chest, boy.", came her hoarsy whisper. "And you," she motioned with a jut of her chin towards Fleur, "..I hope you find what you're looking for." And with that, she turned about and left.
"I'm.. sorry."
"For? Your Granmuzzer is refreshing, Neville. I can see why you love 'er immensely."
He stuffed his busy hands into his slack's pockets. "yeah.. yeah.. Fleur.. can I ask y'something, then?" Sipping from her cup, Fleur offered a soft grunt in acknowledgement. "Right..well, d'you consider me a frien' an' all?"
"Mm. Oui."
"Could you ever.. I mean t'say.. we've been workin' t'gether f'a'while, an'.." Neville at this point was pacing before Fleur, not once meeting her eyes. Patiently she waited for him to gather his thoughts. Her arms crossed over the full of her chest. But a beat of a breath, Fleur caught Neville's gaze.
Emboldened by that meeting of their eyes Neville, sucked in his breath.
"Fleur I.. would you..do you.."
"Don'." whispered Fleur. It was a mere flutter of an eye, not even a second past. A slender digit had gone to rest gently upon his lips ceasing any flow of words that may have formed in the pit of his palette. Neville's gaze had gone wide with fright. Fleur's own evenly met his as she continued.
"You 'ave meant a great deal to me Neville, your companionship, your frien'ship – I cherish zat. I am sorry I cannot give you what you want. So please.. don' ask me to. It's not mine any longer.." Her hand dropped to her side, in a defeated manner. "I am Veela.. what you feel.."
"Is not up to you to decide, is it?", said Neville softly. "..what I feel f'you, goes b'yond your lineage.." he shrugged, "I'm not that daft, y'know."
"I never said, I would never say zat about you!"
Immediately Neville steeped closer, his hands going to rest upon Fleur's shoulders, with the words that fell from his lips, he brushed aside her comment, "I.. care f'you, Fleur Delacour, b-but not in the way yuir thinkin," lied Neville. "You've been a grande lady and an even grander friend. But..what I –was- goin' t'ask y'was..", he managed a weak smile through his falsehood and embarassment, "Is she goin' t'realize in time?"
Taken aback, Fleur's mouth worked open and closed, never finding voice to what was running through her mind. The end resultant was – there was no more questions as to who the she was.
"I don't think ill of you t'all, please…"
Lowering her gaze, Fleur allowed for a few forced rippling motions of her throat as she swallowed, "Was it zat obvious.."
"Y'hid it well, it's jus'.. now it clicked." Neville tugged her into a gentle embrace, to which she didn't fight. When he pulled back, he didn't meet her eyes, "If yuir apt - I'd like t'ear yuir story… Dellis Stoudemire's version o'tha night, I'm sure was overblown.."
"..I've 'eard it regaled a few times.. Ze latest one I recall 'ad me tying 'er to ze bed an' making 'er my zombie love slave..", laughed Fleur, rather sourly. "I am 'oping to put closure to zis, Neville.. more zan anysing.."
--
Turning the knob to their flat, Hermione gained entry, only to find a few of their lamps had already been lit. It was well into the night-hours before she and Ginny had returned from their shopping spree. And she had to admit, at least to herself – it was wonderful being free from those ties that bind.
"Seems the blokes made it back alright," murmured Ginny as she rounded the foyer enroute to the den.
"Mm," came Hermione's soft response. Following suit, the year older woman laid her things out on the nearest couch. "D'you think.. he's asleep?" Ginny's back was to her; as she looked upon the red-head though, she had gave a bit of a pause. Hermione needed to talk – tired of the stress of holding it in her. But how would both she and Harry feel?
"He could be. I don't know," said Ginny shortly.
"He is that," murmured Harry, who now joined the pair. He ambled towards Ginny and offered a quick, almost embarrassed kiss to her cheek. At which, the young woman scoffed. Hermione had already looked away and gone to tend to the fireplace. Beginning to stoke it alive - It was getting on in the night.. and upon the onset of the winter season, their flat had gone a few degrees colder.
"Good," said Hermione absently. "are you two in a hurry, then?"
Harry and Ginny shared wary looks before Harry offered his fiancee a gentle squeeze in reassurance on her arm, "Is there somethin' you need, Hermione?"
The flames of the slight hearth roared to life at the final prod of the stoker. It's warmth was encouraging, Hermione. With a long drawn in breath, followed with the flat of her palm pressing her loose wavy curls, she lobbed a tired glance over to the two. "I.. had thought we could chat a mite," without meaning to, her voice had unceremoniously cracked. "If you two wouldn't mind..?" Harry answered for the both of them when he shook his head in negation. "Right. Have a seat then?"
Their forms were immediately imprinted upon the sofa nearest the fireplace - Hermione, on the other hand, had too much in her to sit still. Stealing glances upon the pair, she told herself that they were her friends, if they had already had an inkling of what was going on, why not.. confess the whole lot of it? Rather than have them guess.
"Spit it out, will you.." goaded Ginny; never one for beating about the bush.
"Right, yes.. Right. I'm.. I'm tired.."
With a roll of her eyes and Harry's furrow of his brows, Ginny exasperated, "If that's all then go to bed, Hermione."
"No, no.. not in the manner that you think!" Hermione pleaded, "I have some.. some confessions to make, to tell you both of.. and I'm just tired of running from them.. and you, my friends."
They continued to stare curiously, but settled back listening.. Harry gave a slight nod of his head, indicative for her to go on.
Keeping her voice low, Hermione started to tell her tale – how.. incredulous as it seemed, the meeting of a stranger's… Fleur's… eyes had struck something deep within her, making her realize things in her life; how the years could change a person; how.. Ron had first struck her. And had since then, been abusing her – shifting ever subtlely to Emotional Sabotage. She had burst, telling them everything that had been infecting her for so long. Carefully, Hermione, though under this intense scrutiny, omitted the mention of Fleur - some aspects of the heart need not be mapped aloud.
As the night grew longer, only Hermione's voice spoke volumes.
--
The next day bled into the night of the Gala. Hermione felt a sense of relief from the telling of her story. That.. nothing could go wrong - In the end she had told both Harry and Ginny, that she needed to see Fleur, to talk to her.. If they could only help to keep Ron distracted for just a few minutes. Harry agreed, surprising Hermione.
With a glance afforded at the digital clock on her night-stand.. Hermione's heart gave a start. Forty-five more minutes danced on till the event. She gently curled her digits about the base of her lipstick and eased the light mauve color upon her lips, just as the sound of Ron's disgruntled curses swam from their closet.
"For crikey's SAKE! 'Ow th'bloody 'ell is this supposed t'go abouts one's neck??"
He had flounced out with the bow-tie crumpled in his balled fist. "I'd been putzing about with his bullockin' thing for twenty some odd minutes! YOU do it. You're a Muggle, you should know." Ron spat annoyingly. His tyraid only ceased when Hermione rose from her seat before her vanity mirror.
She was clad in a simple off the shoulder burgundy dress of which its train pooled about her feet. Her hair had been gathered up into a French-Bun – accented with a Zirconian clasp. About her neck was a cluster of pearls that gently hugged her swan like neck. As her eyes rose to meet Ron's, he gulped – quickly regaining his senses, he said, "Should dress yourself up a bit more, maybe then you'd not look as sickly.."
Hermione had noted Ron's ire was a constant thing during the day, especially upon his return from visiting his family at the Burrow. She had been careful not to aggravate him more, but.. As she was the only person in near proximity for him to loose his rage, Hermione was a target. Easing herself closer to Ron, her eyes lowered to the crumpled fabric that he threw at her; cautiously as she could muster Hermione slipped the article about his neck and collar.
Deftly her fingers worked with practiced ease, until her wrists were gripped almost too ferociously by one of his mammoth, calloused paws; her eyes snapped upwards to meet his fire-laced gaze.
"It's TIGHT," he hissed.
"..It's just a bit snug, is all Ron," pleaded Hermione.
"I should know, 'Ermione – I'm wearing th' blasted thing."
Her mouth had gone dry, her heart raced, threatening to burst from her chest. Their doorbell had rung, offering her the saving grace she needed. Ron immediately loosed his grip and glanced to her giving her a once over.
"Tha' should be everyone.. don't dawdle." He paused and gave her a lopsided smile, "..After all, we wouldn't want to miss this mem'rable night, isn't tha' right lovie."
--
They had been one of the later arrivals, initially because it was harder to find the Ministry's portal opening. The powers that be had moved the opening from that overburdened Telephone Booth to the round about of Picadilly Circus hidden amongst the cluster of the fountain statue right in the middle of it all. It was the perfect locale. Muggles loitering about igniting London's nightlife. So.. the magical Populace gussied up in attire befit an outing to the Opera was spot on. No one thought it unusual. .
"I sink.. we 'ave found it.."
Neville inclined his head to regard the burlesque statue. Spying a little Cherubic Angel sticking out upon the left hand side of it. He trifled with his collar before Fleur reached out and gently wrested her companion's hand to the side.
"Ehh.. sorry."
Neville shifted his gaze back unto Fleur, who's flowing river of silver hair, had been curled loosely; it fanned just above the small of her back. Of which was opened to the elements. Her skin was bronzed evenly, giving her an even more exotic look. She wore a Spaghetti Strapped silk-like dress, slit along one side to about higher than mid-thigh; frosted with sequenze it added to her scintillating elegance. A singular diamond graced her supple neck, shaped in a tear – the only accent that capped off her visage.
"If I hadn't mentioned – you look absolutely smashing.."
She smiled then eased her tall frame alongside his and eased her arm at his offered elbow. "It's time."
And with a caress of her hand over the Cherub's belly, they were swallowed whole. After the line of Magic and Reality blurred, both her and Neville's feet were planted on a plush carpet of deep wine. What greeted their eyes was ultimately impressive and even a bit daunting.
Above an enchanted stringed Quartet played the haunting melodies of long dead composers, as the slew of bodies upon the floor of the Ministry were being encircled upon by illusory butterflies – trailed by pixie dust. Platters upon platters of finger food freely floated, weaving through the masses and only stopping with a mere calling.
Ahem
Fleur and Neville managed to peel their gazes from the elaborate décor towards a plump, yet beaming Witch. She affixed her half-moon spectacles upon the bridge of her nose and she cheerily mused out, "Invitations..?"
"Ah, yes.." Neville slipped his hand into the depths of his tux jacket and pulled out the card with their names, swirling upon it in quicksilver writing. Taking it, the jovial Witch beamed a smile and tittered towards the nearest, turn of the century clad footman. His powdered wig have a little jostle as he bellowed, his voice resounding in the huge hallway.
"Mr. Neville Longbottom & Ms Fleur DeLacour… from the The Mystical Unknown, R & P, Co.."
--
Hermione's grip became white knuckled upon the banister where it rested, she peered down to the landing and instantly rested her eyes on a sight that she's not seen in two years. From behind her she could hear the deep basso laughter of Ron, Harry, Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnegan, and a few others from their Hogwarts days. All slipping into soft white noise. She had failed to notice another body came to rest along the railing beside her own fixated form.
"..I'll admit. She's readily attractive. Quite the Eye-Candy.."
Startled by the voice, Hermione's eyes grudgingly eased from Fleur towards her side. Ginny's flaming mop of hair brought her back to the now. Along with the gentle heat crawling upon her cheeks. Ginny arched her brow precariously as she observed Hermione.
"..She is.. quite," came Hermione's softer response.
Ginny's gaze drifted from Hermione to Neville and Fleur, already gliding upon the dancefloor, "Is it true then. The rumor that was spread about you and she long ago?" Hermione didn't answer. The bluntness that oozed from Ginny's lips had caught her off guard. Her fingers fumbled at the necklace upon her throat.
"Mm. I don't quite understand it, Hermione. It's.. it's unnatural the way you look at her. I mean.. how could you? If you gave my brother another chance.."
Hermione chanced a look behind her to find Ron gulping down another chaser of Firewhiskey – she let loose a soft sigh and then turned to regard Ginny, "If what I told you and Harry had no credence to anything then I don't know how else to put it Ginny. There are two sides to every coin, and if you can't accept what your brother is.."
"..Pardon my saying, Hermione, but who are you to tell me what I can and cannot accept? You who does nothing but sit on her arse all bleedin' day long pining for some woebegone SNATCH who used YOU for a one night STAND?" Ginny's voice rose in decibals equal to the flush of red covering the bridge of her nose, to her cheeks and no doubt.. her ears. "Grow up Hermione, use your common sense, instead of thinking with the wrong parts of your body."
"Why are you.."
"Because he's my BROTHER! Be damned if I'll see him hurt for your.. your Drama Queening!"
"Problems…?"
Hermione lifted her eyes from Ginny to meet Ron's inquiring look. Ginny looked away and unto the dance floor where Fleur was already ensconced in the arms of another man. "Didn't think so..well.." Ron's hand sniped out and grabbed Hermione's wrist. "Dance then? Good. Ta, Gin."
Dragging Hermione unto the landing leading towards the dancefloor, Ron's grip never lessened in its ferocity, causing Hermione to balance between the pain being elicited and the bodies she haphazardly collided into. Once he was satisfied at where they were positioned.. he yanked her into his arms, lowering his head to only allow his lips to graze ever lightly upon her earlobe.
"Got my sister in a right tiff y'did.. Never saw 'er like that. What were you talkin' about eh?"
Not too far away.. the familial bob of white-blonde head appeared in and out among the sea of bodies on the floor. Ron.. had been watching. His arms coursed tighter about Hermione's form. "Oh.. her." He scoffed, "Nice taste though, I give you tha' much.."
Hermione's eyes widened and Ron continued, "D'you think I'd'a not known?"
"Ginny," realised Hermione suddenly.
"Blood is thicker 'n anythin'."
The stench of liquor clung heavily on Ron's breath, she didn't know how much he'd had, "Ron please.. you've.. you've drunk too much.. let's.. let's sit? Please?" Her voice wavered, there was no denying she was afraid. But before he could negate or instigate anything a deep contralto voice cut in from behind the troubled pair.
"M'sieur Weasley.. per'aps you should listen, to ze woman, oui..?"
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It seems.. I have to make my apologies.. for one.. taking too long to get this installment out.. and two, lying and saying everything will be wrapped up in this chapter. :p It turns out.. the story wanted to write itself. From the looks of it, it went off on a tangent..
Expect the next to tie up loose ends. R&R always welcomed! And my apologies again..