Shipping D1 - Acts of Service
Spring A1 - Bare
Trope E3 - Healing Hands
Stacked With: FPC; BAON; Star; Fence; T3; SN; IC Ship; SpB; Trope
Individual Challenges: Old Shoes (Y); Performance Art; Long Haul (Y); The Real MC; Two Cakes (Y); Eating Cake (Y); Zed Era (Y); Hold the Mayo (Y); Saucy Oven (Y); Disabled (Y); Ethnic & Present (Y); Rian-Russo Inversion (Y); Rowl in Her Grave; Neurodivergent (Y); Gryffindor MC; Hufflepuff MC; Magical MC (Y); Red Lights; Red wave (Y); Red Bull (x2); Missing Rainbow;
Primary and Secondary BCs: Found Family; Sneeze Weasel; Bee Haven; Machismo; Second Verse (Ladylike; Not a Lamp; Persistence Still); Chorus (Endless Wonder; Odd Feathers; Pear-Shaped; Wabi Sabi); Demo 1 (Spinning Plates; Muck & Slime); Demo 2 (Tomorrow's Shade; Unicorn; Head of Perseus; Hot Stuff; Sailor Delight)
Tertiary & Generic BCs: T3 (Thimble); SN (Ameliorate)
Hunt: Genderfluid
Word Count: 4,475
Warnings: stalking; chasing; brief attack; injury; blood; implications of past abuse
~o0o~
Several days after Halloween, Hermione was writing out letters to schedule interviews for her current assignments. Unless there was an unexpected event, that's how she had to go about things. Especially since only the younger generation of wixen were breaking into cell phones and email. Even then not all of them used them. Cedric was across from her, doing the same thing she was. Luna had a day off and was spending time with little Lily.
"Are you going to the monthly family dinner this weekend?" Cedric asked.
After their little, call it a heart-to-heart the other day, they'd been able to have conversations without falling into an argument. At the very least Cedric was being more straight-forward to her and that helped a lot. And she tried to be more understanding about their need to constantly be moving around. Time would tell if they could maintain these promises to understand each other.
She had a feeling she would always be wary of letting them get too close.
"Not sure," she said. "Mandy sent me a heads up that Ron and Harry have been plotting to set up matchmaking interviews for me."
"You mean blind dates?"
"Same difference."
Cedric hummed and rested their chin in their hand. "Yeah, guess so. Fleur and Fred have been telling me about these nice girls they know."
"I'm sure they are nice."
"Yeah, but I doubt I'm really their type."
She finished sealing off the envelopes and stood up.
"Well, I'd better mail these off," she said. "I've got an appointment. Got any you'd like me to send off for you?"
"Nah, I'm still workshopping them," they said. "Thanks for the offer, though. See you tomorrow."
"Right. See you tomorrow."
She stood up and smoothed her pencil skirt before heading to deliver her letters to the mail room. She needed to get a grip on her emotions.
There were two lines she did not cross: The line between professional dress and casual dress, and more importantly, the line between work relationships and personal relationships. She already crossed the first line and she threw herself over the second, but she pulled herself back and redrew them. She could not cross them again.
It was better this way.
Hermione left the Ministry and took the tube down to the office of an old friend of her parents. Mrs. Cohen was a witch, but her skills as an empath made her a successful real estate agent. She was also the one who gave Hermione her first stuffed vulture. It was made of felt, but still.
She entered the office and was waved back by the receptionist. She still knocked and waited for a response before entering.
Mrs. Cohen stood up and went around to greet her.
"Hello, Hermione!" she said, kissing her cheek. "It's been far too long, dearie, far too long. Have a seat. Would you like some tea?"
"Please. Thank you." Hermione sat down. "I'm so glad you could meet me today."
"Listen to you, dear. Last I really saw you, you still had quite the stutter. I thought you were going to pretend to be Deaf like Paulina so you wouldn't have to speak. And now you've done a complete Eliza Doolittle."
Hermione winced slightly and touched her hand where a permanent scar rested. A reminder from her time in speech therapy.
"Oh, I see I've touched a sore topic for you," said Mrs. Cohen, cringing. "Here you are dear, some tea. Now, what can I do for you?"
"I've been living in a studio apartment for… oh… about thirteen years now," she said. "Same place and… I'm only thirty-two, but I really think it's high time I settle down in a forever home. I was hoping you could help me find that. I would prefer London, if I picked a small town I'm likely to be an outcast based on… everything about me."
"Still fancy yourself a Morticia Addams?"
"All without the adoring life-partner I can spoil rotten with gifts," she said. "Even so, I'd like to hold Shabbat dinners once in a while. Hanukkah, Purim, Passover. My friends aren't Jewish, but they still celebrate with me so I don't have to be by myself. Maybe if I have the space, I'll make the friends and connections to fill the space."
"A lovely idea and you've picked a good time."
"I'm glad to hear that." Hermione handed her the list she had been working on plus her price range as well as budget for renovations.
"There are plenty of magical options in the way of renovations," said Mrs. Cohen. "Muggles never notice anyway and when they do, they remark how unobservant they were to not see additions or paint jobs. Plus, the changes can be done much faster. What sort of move-in date are we looking at?"
"Before December 25th or after January 8th," she said. "I plan to go on holiday during that time."
"Very good. I've already got some ideas in good areas you might like. In fact, I can call and get you a couple showings right now if you're interested."
It wasn't like she had anything else to do.
"Yes," she said. "That would be nice."
"By the way, dearie, I've been reading your articles," she said as she pulled up the files. "You're quite the journalist! Changed my mind on more than one topic."
"Thank you."
She waited quietly while the showings for three houses were set up. Mrs. Cohen rose to her feet and grabbed the same, big, red handbag she'd toted around since Hermione was a young girl. At this point, she suspected Mrs. Cohen bought enough to last a lifetime and would die when the last handbag wore through.
They walked to the tube and saw the first house which was nice, but it had too much of a contemporary feel to it. Hermione was more of the "modern appliance, classic design" type. She would love an AGA oven and a refrigerator with a water dispenser. A deep kitchen sink was a must. Plus a waterfall shower would be a dream. But she wanted gothic architecture. She would accept art deco as well. Art nouveau and French provincial would be fine if the colors were done right.
The second turned out to be a bust. Foreclosure, plus it looked to have been left alone for much too long. It would cost triple what they were asking just to make sure it didn't collapse on top of her.
The third was much too far out of the way to be reasonable for her. Especially with the type of life she led outside of work.
Hermione knew what Mrs. Cohen was doing. She was getting a sense of what her client did and didn't want. She'd show some like this that were not a good fit. Some that might be close, but not click, and then when she showed her dream home she would be so happy that she would sign any papers stuck under her nose.
"Not to worry, dearie," said Mrs. Cohen. "I'm sure we'll find you the perfect place."
"I know you will," said Hermione. "I appreciate your help with this."
"Of course, of course, and I'd like for you to visit me and Gene soon," she said, patting her hands.
"Yes, Mrs. Cohen. Shall I call you, or…"
"I have your number, dearie, I'll call you when I have more listings for you to look through. But call if you see a house for sale that you would like to look at."
"I will. Goodbye."
After ending the conversation three more times, Hermione was on the tube back home. She didn't like apparating when she was tired like this. The cats could manage for a little while longer. They had plenty of kibble. It gave her time to read her book anyway.
Feeling eyes on her, she looked up to see a man staring at her on the opposite side of the car. Unassuming, average. Dammit, she made eye contact. Glancing back down at the page, she made sure not to look up again until she had to switch stops.
As she sat down, she saw the man who was staring at her board. This time, he sat down across from her.
It could be a coincidence. Don't look. Just remain completely disinterested, but not unaware. It was fine. Sure, maybe the stricter laws against defense against muggles might not be on her side (she was kicking herself for misunderstanding that bill) but she had a mean right hook.
Toying with a button on the cuff of her pinstripe blouse, she thought of the steps home. One more train change. It wasn't late, just really dark because of winter. Maybe she would have been better off apparating. Five blocks to her building. If she could keep ahead, she could apparate. Shorter distances were easier. She was wearing heels. It wasn't icy, yet. No chance of slipping, but she could still roll an ankle if she had to make a run for it. She could throw them. Or use the stiletto heel as a weapon. Thin enough, sharp enough. She could fight off one attacker without magic, she'd done it before.
Train change. She watched the doors. Sure enough, he boarded. She got the last seat. He stood right in front of her, staring down at her. She could throw her wig to blind him. Maybe he just wanted money. Her wrists trembled. Three stops to home. Five blocks from there. Two stops. One stop. Why did she want to remain in the city?
Well, it wasn't like small towns were any different, just more blatant excuses for predatory behavior and a higher risk of being an outcast.
The way the man was standing, she nearly bumped into him. Brown hair, pale skin, brown eyes, nose that has been broken but since healed. Scar on forehead. Fireplace, no doubt. Dress: button down, jeans, trainers, jacket. If it came down to a chase, he would catch up easily.
Heart pounding so fast she thought it might escape ahead of her, Hermione walked briskly through the crowds. As she pushed through the turnstile exit, she looked back to see him following.
Shit.
Too many people to apparate. Anyone could catch on and get splinched. Big mess that could lose her promotion. Just keep walking. Apparate once close to home. Five blocks.
Her lungs burned as she kept her fast pace. She hurried along zebra crossings and anxiously waited when it was too crowded to cross. Almost there. She looked back to see him race across the street towards her. Very few people were on the street. They wouldn't be likely to intervene if she was attacked.
Feeling like one of the girls in a horror movie, she broke off into a weird little run, her heels clacking against the pavement, her bag bouncing at her hip. Almost home. Almost home. Why did she take the tube?
She'd often had creeps catcall her or a couple guys who just walked next to her until she snapped and yelled at them into running away. This was an outlier. She was terrified. She might not have a choice in using her wand.
She heard him again. Felt him right behind her.
"NO!" She swung her bag, nailing him in the head.
The man stumbled. "Ow! Bitch!"
She turned to run and was shoved to the ground. Pain shot through her knee, her stockings tore and her skin burned as it scraped against the pavement. She ripped off her shoe and hurled it at him. She took off the other and scrambled to her feet.
She galloped along, unable to put any substantial weight on her knee. She crashed into someone. She looked up to see Cedric whirl around in surprise, shopping bags in hand.
"Hermione?"
"Help!" she gasped.
"Get back here!" the man snarled.
Cedric pulled her close. Her pursuer slowed and put on a charming air.
"Ah, my wife is so clumsy," he said. "She gets so confused sometimes, she doesn't even know where she is. I'll just take her home."
"What the fuck are you on, mate?" Cedric snapped. "Or do you think I'm just that stupid?"
Their expression was hard and their eyes stormy. She had never been so happy to see them in all her life. She clutched onto their brown leather jacket like a lifeline, balancing on her least injured foot. Both legs stung but her right knee throbbed with pain.
"He's been following me for an hour," she said softly. "I accidentally made eye contact. Straight down the barrel."
"Can you walk?" he asked.
"Yes, but not fast."
"Come along, love," said the stranger. "Time to take your medication."
"Get a head start." Cedric maneuvered her behind himself. "Wait a second, I know you! Remember me, mate? We went to primary school together?"
He spoke loudly. Brightly. His smile dazzled and attracted the attention of passersby. Hermione used their distraction to apparate the last block. She got out her keys and swiped the card to enter the building. She hobbled over to the bench by the mailboxes and plunked down to catch her breath.
Her shoes… What did she do with her shoes? Oh, she must've left them behind. Her stockings were torn and her right knee was swollen and already going purple, both knees were bloody and stung horribly. She could feel the grit from the street on them. Several more people entered the building and barely spared her a glance.
Then Cedric walked in and spotted her right away.
"Are you alright, Granger?" they asked, hurrying over. "That knee looks really bad."
"I-Is he…"
"Sent him off," said Cedric. "Now when he gets the urge to stalk someone he pictures Margaret Thatcher naked on a cold day paired with a debilitating headache. But if anyone asks, I've never spoken to the bloke."
She scoffed softly. Did he watch an Austin Powers movie lately?
"Snitches get sti-stitches." She mimed, zipping her lips.
"Anyway, I better take a look at your knee, make sure it isn't broken."
"F-f-fine."
They frowned. "Why didn't you apparate in the first place?"
The words wouldn't come up. Her hands shook too much to sign. She couldn't let them know she knew BSL anyway. Cedric clicked their tongue and straightened up.
"With your consent, I can carry you to my flat and patch you up."
She nodded. They adjusted their shopping bags and scooped her off the bench. She must've been heavy with everything else, but Cedric didn't complain or even show the strain.
"I really think there oughta be an amendment on what is acceptable magic to be performed in front of Muggles," said Cedric once they were inside. "Not that I blame you for letting that one through. I had to read it five times to understand what it was really saying."
Hermione hummed, not ready to speak just yet.
They set her down on the kitchen counter, glanced at her legs, and hesitated.
"I'll let you roll your stockings down. I'll get the emergency kit."
Feeling embarrassed and altogether weak, Hermione focused on unclasping her stockings from her suspenders and tugging them off. She folded her pencil skirt so her legs could be tended to, but not so they could see her telltale tattoo. She shrugged off her coat and swiped a stray tear off her cheek.
Her hair. She ran her fingers along the hairline and was relieved to find that none of the bobbins had shifted. Still, she might give it a wash when she got home to make sure nothing was in it. It was human hair and very expensive.
"Er, my plasters and stuff are cartoon-themed," they called. "I thought the beige ones were boring."
"It's-s-s fine." She inhaled deeply, rolled her thumbs over her knuckles, and whispered under her breath. "Pickle, packle. Tickle, tackle. Double trouble. Lease, leash. Say, shay. Pathetic Spaghetti. Unique New York. You know you need unique New York."
"What was that?"
"Nothing." she was relieved she got her stutter under control. "I was talking to myself."
Cedric returned and clucked their tongue, taking in her injuries.
"Here, sit back a little more," they said, helping her back until the edge of the counter straightened out her legs as much as they could go. "You're so tiny…"
"I am not!" she said indignantly. "I am average height."
Almost.
They smiled slightly and cleaned up the cuts with warm, soapy water from the sink. She hissed and winced only once, though she gripped onto her scarf tightly. Once the blood was cleared, the scrapes didn't look all that bad.
"Your shirt is ruined," Cedric noted.
She looked down to see the damage and they poked her knee with their wand, mending it.
"OW!" she howled and swung at them on instinct. "THAT HURT!"
"Mum always taught me that distracting someone made it hurt less," said Cedric, dodging the blow. "Guess she was wrong."
Hermione frowned and sighed through her nose. The knee was still horribly swollen, but her ankles weren't. Cedric wiped up the newly blossoming blood off her skin and bandaged the cuts.
She suppressed her emotions the best she could. They were an empath too, as was Luna. A skill so rare in magic and yet she knew three with the gift. Perhaps they were drawn to the way her emotions oozed and spilled out of her like pizza dough in a dumpster. It was no good.
Cedric looked up at her, stroking her skin once with their thumb. Her heart quickened.
"That really scared you, didn't it?" they said softly.
She nodded. "It's been so long since I've taken martial arts lessons."
"I didn't know you were a martial artist."
"Not since I was a kid."
They hummed, turned, and opened their freezer, taking out a bag of frozen peas. They secured it to her knee—padding it with a tea towel to avoid giving her frostbite—and turned back to open the fridge to put away their groceries.
"Diggory?"
"Hm?"
"Is that a turtle?"
Cedric looked at the shell the size of a football sitting next to neat rows of beer, water bottles, and fizzies.
"Tortoise. His birth name is Archibald, but he's been renamed George Slow-pez."
Hermione stared at him, then snorted. It might have been her adrenaline, but in that moment that was the funniest thing she had ever heard of in her life. She chortled, guffawed, and wheezed.
She picked up a napkin and buried her face into it.
"You have the greatest laugh," said Cedric.
"I'm sorry? Did you say I have the greatest arse?"
"Greatest laugh," they stressed, grinning.
She sniffled and dabbed her face.
"Thank you," she said. "For… for coming to my rescue."
"Of course," they said. "You should probably elevate that, give the magic a chance to work. Have you eaten?"
"Not since lunch."
"Ah, well, you probably wouldn't have been able to apparate anyway," they said, picking her up and carrying her over to their couch. "It's harder when your blood sugar is low."
"Is that a skeleton?"
They set her down and picked up the skeleton dressed in a Santa suit, placing it back on the stand. She remembered the skeleton, but she couldn't let them know that.
"Yeah, my roommate," they said. "Great roommate, really. Doesn't make noise, doesn't take up too much space, and he only sometimes eats my special cereal."
She giggled and they smiled. Their expression was so soft, she lost all amusement and felt flustered.
"What?"
"I've just… never heard you really laugh before."
She tucked her hair back. "It's been a while."
They slid over the ottoman and summoned pillows from their bed, stacking them up for her to rest her leg on. She just had to wear the pencil skirt, didn't she? At least they were being respectful.
"There we go, just keep that still, give the spell a chance to work," said Cedric.
"Right."
What was she doing? Returning to their apartment with them again? Playing the damsel in distress? Ugh! What happened to not crossing the line?!
"What, do you hate my style that much?" asked Cedric, misreading her disgust with herself.
"No. Inner turmoil. Don't worry about it," she said. "I was in such a good mood and it was all ruined by one entitled ass. Your flat is lovely."
"Thanks. I hope you like rechta."
"I have no idea what that is."
"Homemade noodles. Chicken, chickpea, courgette, potatoes, turnips. Grandmama used to make this dish. She's Amazigh, but she moved to France for her ambassador career rather than stay with the family. Met grand-père there, but he died before I was born."
"Oh? That's interesting," said Hermione.
The air was soon warm with spices.
"So, how'd you learn that snitches get stitches?" they asked.
"In primary school, I tattled on a girl and she stabbed me with a fork. I still have the scar from it. It's better to keep authority out of it. They won't do anything unless they catch you in the act."
"Ah."
They said nothing else. And that was why she didn't have friends. She always said something weird and then they didn't know what to say next. Her current friends were just… a fluke. A result of them feeling sorry for her and never getting around to telling her to buzz off. She had perfectly crafted an image of herself in their minds. Don't stray. Don't cross the line.
Hermione dropped her head back and sighed heavily. Once again, she got the idea of running away and starting over where people didn't know her.
"Cedric, if you could pick anywhere in the world to go, where would you visit?" she asked.
"Hm… not sure. I've never really been anywhere," they said. "I visited Fleur's family in France when I was a kid, but that's about it. Couldn't stay away from the farm too long. Why? Going somewhere?"
"I've been considering it."
They brought a bowl over to her, the bottom wrapped in a tea towel so she wouldn't burn herself.
"Thank you," she said. "It smells great."
She stirred it and took a careful bite so she wouldn't burn her tongue.
"Mm!" She took another bite. It was warm and spicy and the textures were great. "This is good."
"Glad you like it." They picked up a remote off the side table and flicked on the telly, sifting through channels before settling on the travel network.
The pair ate in silence, watching a program about the thirteen most haunted buildings in the world, twelve of which were coincidentally in the U.K. and one in America.
While they ate, Cedric made sure Hermione alternated between heat and ice. When she had her fill, her knee was feeling much better.
"Ever notice how the History channel is all about aliens and the travel channel is all about paranormal activity these days?" she commented as the next show started up about the ghost of a cajun skunk ape.
"Yeah… I blame capitalism," said Cedric. "The need to sell everything to as wide an audience as possible overrides the need to create and put out something meaningful any day. What sells? Sensationalist stories about aliens and ghosts."
"Good point." Hermione set her empty bowl aside and rested her cheek against her hand. "I think aliens exist, but that they're too far away to make contact within our lifetime."
"I read an article once that we're simply the early bunch and that other sentient life has yet to evolve," said Cedric. "Maybe we'll have a major event like Signs. But why on earth would aliens with an aversion to water attack a planet that is 70% water?"
"Mm, that whole movie was an allegory for faith," Hermione explained. "The main character is a preacher who is questioning the existence of God after the death of his wife. The aliens are a metaphor for demons and the water represents holy water."
"Huh… that… that's weird."
"It's still a decent alien flick if you ignore the flaw in logic," she said.
"No argument there. I liked Cowboys vs. Aliens until they showed the aliens."
"Definitely. I think a lot of directors don't realize the best suspense is often built by what you don't see."
"Yes! Exactly!"
"So… have you seen all the movies on your posters?" she asked.
"Yes. I love horror movies," they said. "I've always had a fascination with the strange and unusual."
"Well, you yourself are strange and unusual."
They grinned and pushed their hair back. She remembered running her own fingers through it.
"Yeah, well, I spent half my life pretending I wasn't," they said. "It's nice to be myself."
"What's your favorite movie?" she asked.
"Oh, that's a tough one. Let me think."
She hadn't meant to stay so long. To talk so long. She just happened to look at her watch and it was already late.
"Oh!" She scrambled to her feet, hissing at the twinge in her knee. "I have to go. It's late and I have things to do before I go to bed."
"I understand." Cedric stood and got her coat. "Would you like to take home some leftovers?"
"Er, yes. Please."
Cedric scooped some rechta into a glass container while Hermione pulled on her coat and got her purse. She looked for her shoes before remembering they were missing. She unrolled her skirt and chanced her weight on her right foot again. It didn't hurt that time, but the limb felt stiff.
"Here we are."
"Thank you," she said, taking the leftovers. "And… thanks again for the rescue."
"Anytime. Can you get to your flat alright?"
"Yes, it's actually exactly four floors up from yours," she said. "If I wasn't feeling all woozy still I'd apparate now, but I don't want to end up in someone else's flat."
"Smart move. See you tomorrow at work."
"See you tomorrow," she agreed and left. She was still limping slightly, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been if left alone.
She entered her flat to three angry cats. She gave them wet food to make up for her absence and got everything ready for tomorrow. Packed her lunch, styled her wig, laid out her clothes. And the entire time, she was arguing with herself at the idea that she was falling for Cedric Diggory.
"Oh, heaven's sake girl, it's just a crush," she muttered. "You got them all the time in school. You had a good shag, but that's it. It's not indicative that there's something deeper. You've spent over half a decade stuck in a little office with them day in and day out. You won't break your rules again just because you're lonely."
She wouldn't. She refused to.