Hello! Sorry for a shorter chapter again here, the next one is definitely a lot longer :D Hope you are still enjoying the story!
Chapter 7
Theo slouched, something he didn't do often, as he sat in the darkened street and waited. He'd disilusioned himself to make sure no one spotted him, but there was barely a sound as the hours ticked by so he thought he probably needn't have bothered. The minutes passed and still he watched the darkened windows of her house. He was used to the monotonoy of surveilance, so it didn't bother him. At some point, around three, he was sure he could hear her scream from the street. It was almost nothing by the time it reached his ears but, sure enough, about fifteen minutes later the lights flicked on behind the paisley curtains of her bedroom. His heart bled for her.
Kicking a rock in anger, he watched it skid across the pavement. Suddenly, he stopped moving. There had been a movement in the cluster of oak trees to his left. Had he imagined it? Was it a bird or fox? Theo watched in silence, waiting.
Gripping his wand between his hands, he cast a Homenum Revelio charm. Nothing. Whoever was there, if there was someone, was gone now. The hairs on his neck prickled, standing on end as the wind whipped round him and chilled the sheen of tense sweat that had just appeared.
He relaxed slightly. Maybe it was his imagination. Just incase, he'd send Potter a message, request some back up - someone newly recruited who Hermione wouldn't remember from school. If Fenrir had found her, he'd definitely need it.
It was like a horrific sense of de ja vu. She found herself slumped against the toilet again, throwing up into the bowl, shaking and cold, her skin pricking with goosebumps. She looked at her watch, 2 am. Sobbing out a frustrated growl, she hit her hand onto the floor once, twice, three times.
At first, after a nightmare, the fear gripped her. The fear, the dread, the overwhelming despair. Then came the anger; at herself, at Voldermort, the Death Eaters, at Harry, at Ron, at Dumbledoor, at everyone - most recently, and most specifically, Theodore Nott. She shouted her frustration again, wanting to claw and kick at everyone, everything until her fingers were bloody and her throat raw.
The lack of sleep, the inability to rest her weary mind, was the worst part. She stood, rinsing her mouth with a minty mouthwash that swirled down the plug hole as she spat it out. Her eyes were red rimmed, puffy, she looked half dead.
It was like a horrendous flashback to three years ago but, even worse, it wasn't in her head. She was living it all again. She couldn't do it. Suddenly, the walls of the house were pressing in on her, suffocating. She pulled on some trainers, lacing them, and stepped out into the cold. The wind whipped her hair, its icy fingers crawling over her skin, but the feel of it was like slipping into a bath. It wiped her mind, making her focus on the wind, the darkness, the cold, instead of her nightmares.
The exhaustion was getting to her. She thought she saw someone, sitting on the wall across the road, but when she looked again she was alone. "I'm going mad." She laughed, stepping over the threshold of her house and into the street.
She walked the ten minutes to the bookshop, opening the door and slipping into the darkened shop. Pushing the door closed behind her, she flipped on the lights, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the stark contrast. When she had, she moved through the silent shop, picking up a book and curling into the armchair.
As she tucked her legs beneath her, she realised Theo had forgotten his suit jacket the other day. She picked it up and set it over the arm, making sure not to rumple it. It probably cost more than all the books in the shop combined, knowing Theo.
She opened the book, flipping to the first page and starting to read.
Some point after four, she must have drifted off. Mercifully, it was a dreamless one, the first few proper hours in over a week.
When she blinked her eyes open, she realised she was in the shop. She didn't know how she'd got there, but there she was - a scary thought. She remembered the nightmare, waking up, throwing up... she must have left the house and come here after. She shouldn't have done that, not alone in the night.
She looked down, noticing she was covered in a jacket. Theo's jacket. She recoiled when she realised, not wanting to think about how she'd thought it smelled good. That was an unusual, unexpected and unwanted thought.
The chill had permeated her bones and she was shivering. It was 7 am, she had to get dressed and ready to open the shop. She stood, resigning herself to wearing Theo's jacket as she looked down. She realised she was only wearing the t-shirt from last night and a pair of lace up trainers. No matter her mental state, it wouldn't do to give the neighbours a view of her knickers this early in the morning. At least Theo's jacket properly grazed her thigh. She pulled the material closed and hugged it round her, the smell of Theo's cologne surrounding her.
She stepped out into the light, shielding her eyes from he sun, and closed the bookshop up behind her. There wasn't anyone out this early; aside from a few pigeons and a lone cat, she was alone. Sprinting quickly home, she breathed a sigh of relief as she reached the safety of her front door. Stripping off Theo's jacket and dropping it on a chair, she stepped shakily into the shower.
A headache was creeping up behind her eyes. The lack of sleep weighing heavy on her. The warm water felt heavenly on her skin, massaging out the knots in her spine and flowing over the tense muscles. She stood under the hot water, her skin turning pink. It almost burnt, the heat a fiery intensity, but she couldn't move. Thoughts floated around her head, never ceasing as she stood there. The pattering of water ringing in her ears. Weak, coward, scared, all the adjectives she'd been critiscising herself with over the last few days circling like vultures waiting for any sign of a crack to swoop. Eventually, her alarm rang from her room. She jumped and turned off the tap, hissing slightly as the cold air flashed against the heated skin. She climbed out of the shower, her legs shaking as she stepped onto the mat.
She looked at herself, her eyes ringed in dark black circles, her hair hanging wet against her clammy back. The heat of the bathroom suddenly felt stiffling. After she'd changed and dressed in a pretty pink dress that she hoped would function like a mask for the people of the town, she walked slowly up the road and back over to the bookshop.
She'd just entered, turning on the lights and flipping the closed sign to 'open', when Margaret clattered in through the open door. "Hello dear."
"Hello!" Hermione called back, lifting a new box from the mornings delivery onto the counter; some fiction novel that was all the rage with the younger audience. She'd had a few of the towns teenage girls come sweeping in in hopes that she had a copy. She'd sold out last week and had told them, much to their displeasure, that they'd have to wait until the new order came in. Apparently, as one girl had told her with a dramatic hair flip, it was the ultimate tragedy. Hermione looked at the blurb as she pulled out a stack of them; it was some sort of teenage angst novel, something with vampires and warewolves she was sure. She shivered and thought that if they'd ever had the disfortune to meet either, they would not be rushing to starta warewolf or vampire fanclub.
Margaret came forwards, teetering up the aisle, "You weren't open yesterday." It was an observation, but Hermione felt like she had to answer. Margaret was staring at her with all-knowing eyes. Something akin to how Dumbledore had looked at people when he knew they were just about to launch into a lie.
"No, sorry Margaret, I had to take a sick day." When Margaret started to look worried, Hermione rushed to say, "It was just a migraine, all better now." She could tell Margaret was not fooled, her eyes scrutinising her.
"Okay," Was all she said, conversation forgotten. They moved onto lighter topics, Margaret's granddaughter, who was Hermione's age, was moving to town. She'd had enough of her big, London, life and was moving back home. Margaret asked if Hermione would take her to dinner when she arrived, show a friendly face, as the poor dear didn't know anyone in the area anymore. Hermiome gave a non-committal shrug, which Margaret read as a firm acceptance. "Wonderful," Margaret clapped her hands together, walking stick hooked over a wrist, "I'll tell her to pop by the bookshop when she arrives tomorrow."
"Sure," Hermione's smile was fake as she forced it onto her lips. Another, probably as disastrous, dinner at the Pizzeria to look forward to... excellent.
She didn't see Theo that day. She was pretty sure she was relieved. His presence was annoying, a thorn in her side and had disastrous consequences, but maybe she was glutton for punishment because there were moments - few and far between - that she didn't mind him being around. Like when he'd made that joke about pissing on the carpet. That had truely made her laugh in a way she hadn't for a long time.
She pushed the thought out of her head. It was a recipe for disaster. One moment of laughter for a week of torture, it wasn't worth it... it was better if they stayed out of each others way.
At six in the afternoon, Hermione finished closing up the shop. She tucked her hair into a bun, pulling the hood of her raincoat up and over her hair, and stepped out into the drizzle. The fresh air hit her like a slap in the face, the smell of the rain soothing her soul. She had always enjoyed the rain.
She walked the short journey home, humming to herself, looking forward to a roaring fire, seeing Crookshanks and a little bit of romance on TV. Maybe there was a packet of hobnobs she could dip into; it wasnt turning into the worst day, she decided.
