CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Summary: Hermione suffers a terrible attack and who should find her but one of Wizarding Britain's most eligible bachelors. The relationship that builds between them is one no one saw coming, but no one predicted the danger that would surely follow. Post-War. Rated M for a reason.
Disclaimer: I do not own canon events or characters, they belong to J.K Rowling. I am not making a profit from this fanfic, everything is purely for entertainment purposes.
Page count: 9
Wood Manor – Saturday 26th December 1998
When Oliver woke he was alone, there was a slight chill in the room and the sky outside had grown dark, the only source of light the being moon streaming through the window and into the room.
Blinking until his eyes came into focus, he sat himself up and rubbed a hand over his face and stifling a yawn. He wasn't sure of the time but given by the appearance of the moon, he knew that not only had he slept through lunch, but dinner, too, which made sense as his stomach gave a sudden rumble. He couldn't believe he'd slept so long, especially when he hadn't even felt tired.
Looking around, he saw Merlin still curled up comfortably on the end of the bed and he couldn't see or hear Hermione in the room. Frowning to himself, he climbed off the bed and went in search of her, first checking the living room and the kitchen before defaulting to the library. Surprisingly, she wasn't there and so he checked the remainder of the rooms until he came to the final room of his search.
Pushing open the door he stepped inside, his eyes adjusting in the darkness of the room and he could just make out a figure sat on the bench, staring down at the keys of the grand piano.
"Damsel?" Oliver's voice was soft, but still loud in the silence of the room.
She didn't respond, she didn't move, she made no sign of even acknowledging his presence and feeling worry fill him, he walked further into the room and stopped beside the piano. Pulling his wand from his pocket, he shot a soft ball of light into the air and turned to look at Hermione. He watched her carefully; her body was straight with perfect posture, her hands resting gently on her thighs and her head tilted as she stared down at the keys of the piano. He counted that she only blinked every five seconds and it was too slow to even be considered blinking.
"Damsel?" Oliver tried once more. "Hoo long have ye been here?"
Much to his relief, she responded but it was so faint even in the silence of the room he barely heard her.
"I don't know," she whispered. "It was still light out,"
Oliver frowned; given the darkness of the sky and the moon, that meant it had at least been a few hours, possibly even more.
"What are ye doin' in here?"
"I just wanted to..."
He watched the way her hands lifted from her thighs and hovered over the keys, her fingers twitching as if they ached to play.
"Ye can touch it," he told her gently.
"No, I'm okay," she said, her hands moving away from the piano and she clasped them together tightly, resting them in her lap.
"Are ye hungry? We slept right through lunch an' dinner."
"I'm sorry, Oliver."
"Sorry, what fer?" He asked confused.
For the first time that night she turned to look at him and Oliver didn't like what he saw. There was something different about her expression that made him feel angry and confused; she didn't like look herself. She looked like a broken shell. Her face was ashen; her usually wild hair flat; her expressive eyes emotionless and dazed.
"For bringing you into this, for putting all this pressure on you, for taking over your life with my problems. You didn't deserve to have this happen to you and I'm truly sorry it did."
"Hey," Oliver said softly, "None af this is yer fault, ye hear mae? None af it! Ye havnae put mae under any pressure, ye havnae taken over me life an' ye dinnae bring mae intae this. A'm the one tha' found ye an' a made the decision tae bring ye here rather than tae take ye tae the hospital. A'm the one tha' insisted tha' ye stay here, where yer safe. A don' feel any pressure, a'thing a do fer ye an' every decision a make is me own, an' a've made them withoot any third party influence. Yer've naw reason tae apologise."
"But you should be with your family, Oliver. It's Christmas,"
"A've seen me parents an' a've spent time with them, but sometimes they can be a bit tae much. A'd much rather be here with ye, knowing that yer safe. A'm a big wizard an' a can make me own decisions in life. Yer a brilliant witch, Damsel, an' yer one af the kindest, most genuine people a've ever met. Yer the one tha' dinnae deserve any af this, but unfortunately it happened an' there's nothing we can do aboot it except not give in an' let them win. Yer strong, anno ye are. Don' let them win, don' give them the satisfaction af turning ye intae somethin' yer not."
She closed her eyes and when they opened again, he saw a spark that wasn't there before. It wasn't quite what it usually was, but it was certainly a step in the right direction.
"It's alright tae cry, Damsel. Yer've had somethin' truly awful happen tae ye an' crying is a way af dealing, af getting oot all the pent up emotions yer've been holding back," he told her gently.
"If I allow myself to do that, I won't stop," she whispered, her eyes tearing up.
Oliver held his hand out and she barely spared it a glance before placing her own hand in his. Giving her hand a gently squeeze, he tugged her up from the bench and led her out the room, through the manor, back up the grand staircase and into the living room. As he stepped into the room he lit the fireplace with a flick of his wand and pulled Hermione over to the couches. She sat down beside him, looking to him in confusion before he summoned a large blanket and draped it over the both of their laps.
He sat back against the couch and held his arm out in invitation and Hermione went into him willingly, moving closer and snuggling herself against his side and he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
"Let it oot, Damsel," he encouraged softly. "A promise, a won't think any differently af ye. Tae mae ye will always be a strong, independent an' terrifyingly smart witch. Yer'll never face judgement from mae."
She gave a sniffle and she turned her head to bury her face against his chest, hiding herself from him.
"It's not a weakness tae cry in front af someone. It may make ye feel vulnerable, but it makes ye strong. It means yer strong enough tae allow someone tae see ye in tha' moment. An' strong is what ye are."
The damn burst and Hermione broke out into heart wrenching sobs, her hands gripping at his t-shirt and her tears soaking through the fabric. Oliver held her against him, his hand rubbing over her arm comfortingly and his cheek pressed against the top of her head as he remained silent. He hated seeing her so distraught but he knew she needed to get it all out of her system, bottling it all up wasn't good for anyone, let alone her. A witch as powerful as Hermione bottling up her emotions could be dangerous to anyone in her vicinity if her magic started acting out and she lost control.
He ignored the hunger pains in his stomach and focused his attention on her, and half an hour later, her sobs died down into quiet sniffles which soon stopped entirely and the room fell into silence.
"Better?" He asked softly.
"A little," she admitted, her voice sounding hoarse.
"Tha's better than nothin'," he replied. "Now, a don' know aboo ye, but a'm starving. A don' care what time it is, but a'm in need af food. Hoo aboot ye?"
"I could eat," she muttered, still keeping her head buried against his chest so he couldn't see the state of her face after all the crying.
"What do ye fancy? Anything ye want."
"Anything?" She asked quietly and he felt the way her mouth twitched into the smallest of smiles and he knew exactly what her answer would be.
"Anything," he confirmed.
"Chicken pie," she answered.
His mouth pulled into a smile, he'd been right. He knew her better than he realised.
"One chicken pie, comin' up," he said.
She reluctantly pulled away from him and she kept her face hidden as he stood and left for the kitchen. With the help of a little magic he had their food cooked and served in no time at all and he returned to the living room with two plates in his hands. Hermione quietly thanked him and they ate their food in silence, sitting side by side. Once they'd finished the dishes were sent to the sink to be washed later and they fell silent once more.
Oliver watched Hermione carefully, seeing that the redness of her face and eyes had gone and the puffiness of her eyes was no longer noticeable. She sat beside him, fiddling with her fingers as she stared down at them, watching the movements intensely.
"I haven't had chance to ask, how's your mother?" Hermione spoke quietly.
A smile pulled at Oliver's mouth, glad to see that she was up to talking. "A lot better with the new potion regime yer've given her," he replied. "It took her a while tae get over the effects af the chemotherapy but she woke the next day feelin' better."
"And her treatment? What's the plan?"
"Chemotherapy twice a week every fortnight fer a total af six weeks, making it six treatments. After Dr. Clay wants tae review her case befere making a decision aboot surgery. We're hoping the magical treatments will help tae speed up her recovery an' strengthen her immune system. If all goes tae plan, hopefully Ma will be fine."
"I'm sure she will be, Oliver," she said. "From my first impression of her, she's got a will of iron and I don't doubt she won't let this beat her. Her potion regime will have to be tweaked a little as each week goes by, but I know Thomas will take care of it and ensure she's well taken care of."
"Between ye both me Ma's never had such good health care," he replied. "Me Da thinks very highly af ye as does me Ma, they were talking aboot ye over breakfast an' remarking on hoo much better the care af the team would be," he said and much to his surprise a red tinge filled her cheeks.
"When's her next treatment?"
"Wednesday, me Da' goin' with her this time," he answered. "An' a have tae tell ye somethin'."
"Alright," she frowned slightly.
"Me parents know yer here."
Her entire body froze and her breathing stopped so he reached out and wrapped his hand around hers, the contact helping to calm her slightly.
"A dinnae break yer trust, they were there when Bobby came tae get mae, a dinnae know they followed mae until after. All they know is yer here fer yer safety, nothing else. They're not gunna tell anyone yer here an' a've asked them tae give notice befere they visit."
"Okay," she breathed out slowly.
"Yer safe here, Damsel."
"I know; it's the only place I've ever felt safe."
~000~000~000~
Wood Manor – Tuesday 29th December 1998
Several days past since the incident and Oliver had been watching Hermione carefully, but he was sure to give her space to allow her to come to terms with all that had happened recently. Before it was as if she'd blocked it all out, she'd refused to deal with it and instead pretended as if it had never happened, but now he'd often find her sat in library or the grand piano room, staring off into space with a dazed look in her eyes.
Now she was quieter than usual and she only tended to speak unless he asked her a question first. He suspected the only reason she ate was because he made all their meals and sat with her, watching every bite she took or every sip of water she drank down. Now, whenever he walked past her room he could hear her cries and Merlin's whimpers. He hated seeing her so upset but he knew he had to let her work it all out for herself. She needed to fully process what had happened in order for her to overcome it.
Oliver had barely been up long himself when he exited his room and headed for the kitchen with the intent of making breakfast, and as he walked past Hermione's room he heard silence. He'd only just stepped into the living room when Bobby appeared before him, bowing and fiddling with the edge of his pillow case.
"Master Oliver, Mr. Shacklebolt and Jolkins bes here," he squeaked out.
Oliver felt his stomach drop and he breathed deeply. "Show them in, please, Bobby," Oliver replied.
Bobby nodded and disappeared from the room and Oliver turned on his heel and headed back to Hermione's room, where he knocked on the door.
"Damsel," he said softly, "The Minister an' Jolkins are here," he informed her. "We'll wait fer ye in the kitchen."
Leaving back to the kitchen he busied himself with making a cup of tea for himself and Hermione, and she made an appearance not long after. He gave her a gentle smile, seeing that she'd obviously been awake longer than he'd thought as she already looked as though she'd taken a shower, with her now damp hair being pulled up on top of her head, and she wore a grey jumper dress, black leggings and a pair of slippers on her feet.
"Bobby's jus' letting them in now," he said, holding out her new favourite mug in offering.
She took it from him and sipped at the hot liquid, leaning against the breakfast bar and her eyes watching the doorway expectantly.
"Good morning," The Minister greeted them both as he stepped into the kitchen and both he and Jolkins declined the offer of tea, wanting to get straight to business.
"Let's sit down," Oliver suggested, moving over to the kitchen table.
He held the chair out for Hermione and she slid onto the seat and he moved to sit beside her whilst the others took seats opposite. Before words were exchanged he felt Hermione's hand move to hold his beneath the table and he gave it a gentle squeeze of comfort.
"We've got them, Hermione," The Minister spoke softly.
Oliver wasn't blind to the way Hermione's features went blank before suddenly filling with more emotions than he could name. She slouched in her seat and moved to lean against his side and he raised his arm to wrap around her shoulders.
Jolkins removed a folder from beneath his robes, set it on the table and then removed three photographs from it, pushing them across the table to show them to both him and Hermione. Oliver blinked, his eyes slowly taking in the faces of the men thought to be responsible for attacking Hermione, and he admitted, she'd described them well considering she didn't remember much about that night, considering she only had short flashes of memory to go on. And as his eyes looked over the photographs, he was aware that two of them -both the blondes- had their eyes closed and their skin tone didn't look normal. Frowning, he looked to the others for answers.
"They're both dead," Jolkins informed them. He blinked in surprise and Hermione let out a shuddering breath. "You're looking at Mark Farrow, Justin Beatie and Shaun Daniels," he said, pointing to the each of the photographs in turn, making Shaun Daniels that one that was alive.
"What happened?" Hermione asked quietly.
"The DNA samples we had were a match to both Farrow and Beatie, they were the ones to attack you whilst Daniels helped to subdue you. The trace at your parent's house led us straight to him and we caught him and took him in for questioning. We were able to get him to reveal the identities of the others involved but when we went to their homes they were found dead, and from what we can tell, they've been dead a few weeks."
It was fair to say Oliver was surprised by the revelation and Hermione's reaction was similar.
"Daniels denies any knowledge of their deaths but we ran a few tests on his wand and found he'd recently cast The Killing Curse twice. Not only will he be put on trial for sexual assault, but for murder and it'll be a long time before he's released from prison, if he's released."
Hermione caved in on herself, her arms coming up to wrap around her stomach protectively and she bowed her head.
"So these are her stalkers?" Oliver asked.
"We believe so," The Minister answered. "Whilst we didn't find any of the items taken from your previous flat after the break in, Hermione, we did find in the home of Farrow photographs of you, both from newspaper articles and otherwise. It's looking as though he's the one that had an obsession with you, and the other two were his friends and were brought in to help him contain you. The piece of fabric Merlin grabbed during the break-in, we were unable to pull any DNA samples and although the fabric does seem to be of a good quality, it's far too common to trace back to a specific tailor or to see the records of anyone that may have bought such an item. Neither Farrow, Daniels or Beatie were the ones to conduct the break-in, and none of them have a back ground in Curse Breaking either. This means the one that did break-in to your flat was likely hired to do so."
"But this doesn't make any sense," Oliver spoke up. "She received a letter a few days ago, hoo's tha' possible if Farrow's been dead fer the last few weeks?"
"That had us puzzled, too," Jolkins said. "We took handwriting samples from all three of their homes and none of them were a match to the letter you received. We checked the activity with Farrow's account at Gringotts and large sums of money seemed to have been withdrawn every couple of weeks. We've been unable to trace where that money went, but we believe it was used to both pay the thief and to pay someone else to write those letters, that way it could never be traced back to Farrow."
"So now tha' he's dead, she'll stop receiving letters?" Oliver said.
"Chances are she'll stop receiving letters once the money's ran out. If you do receive more, send them straight to me and we'll see if we can trace it back to the one writing them."
"Wait, so it's all over?" Hermione whispered.
"It's all over," The Minster said with a soft smile. "You've got your life back. You no longer have to live in fear."
Hermione broke down in tears and Oliver held her against him as she turned to bury her face in his chest, hiding from the view of the others.
"Thank ye," Oliver said to them both, a weight being lifted off his shoulders now that he knew Hermione was safe.
They both nodded and looked relieved themselves. "We'll leave you alone as we have a few loose ends to tie up, but if you need anything you know where to find us," The Minister said, and with that they both stood to leave, picked up the photographs and left out the kitchen.
"Damsel?" Oliver questioned gently.
"I can't believe it's over," she said through her cries.
She pulled back from him, tears falling down her face but he noticed her eyes seemed brighter than they had recently, the spark he was used to seeing being present but not quite as what he remembered. He knew she just needed a little more time.
"It's over," he confirmed, reaching up wipe away her tears with his thumbs and her eyes fluttered closed and she took a deep breath.
"Thank you," she breathed out. "I honestly don't know what I would do without you. You've been the one thing that's kept me grounded through this whole ordeal."
"Ye don' have tae thank mae."
"I do," she disagreed. "And I'm going to start with chocolate chip pancakes."
She pulled back from him and stood from her chair, putting her attention on preparing breakfast. When it was all cooked and served they ate in silence until the dishes were sent to the sink to be washed.
"I should probably start looking for a new flat now this is all over," she said, reaching up and retrieving a glass from the cupboard so she could pour herself some pumpkin juice.
Oliver found himself frowning. "Yer staying,"
"Excuse me?" She questioned with a raised eyebrow, not at his words but at the tone at which he'd spoken them in. It had almost sounded like an order.
"Yer not moving oot af the manor, yer staying."
"But..."
"Yer staying," he repeated, his gaze being intense and daring her to argue with him.
She looked down at the counter and she felt the heat that flooded her cheeks as she nibbled at her lip. "I'm staying," she muttered quietly.
"Glad we're on the same page," he replied. "So, what are we doin' taday?"
A smile pulled at her mouth. "Meet me in the living room, and bring plenty of snacks and beverages," she said, before she darted out of the kitchen faster than he'd ever seen her move.
Shaking his head and being pleased that she'd been able to offer him a smile, he did as asked, gathering snacks and beverages before taking a seat in the living room.
"Merlin, watch it!" He heard Hermione scold and he chuckled, knowing that the large dog had likely nearly tripped her over. Again.
The large dog bounded into the room, jumped up onto the couch with a bone in his mouth and he made himself comfortable on the cushions beside him. When Hermione appeared in his line of sight he felt a smile pull at his mouth when he saw the evidence of what she'd been up to.
"Oliver Wood, I, Hermione Granger, reigning champion and Queen of board games, challenge you to a rematch," she said formally, her arms laden with board games piled so high she could barely see where she was walking. She reached the table and placed them down before turning to look at him with a raised eyebrow. "Do you accept the challenge?"
His mouth pulled into a smirk. If it was anything like last time he knew this could last a few days, probably even longer now that he knew the rules and strategies to help him to win. It was a good job he still had a few days of the holidays left before being expected to return to training, and it was a good thing he had no plans, knowing he was going to be far too busy in the coming days.
"A accept, let the war begin."
A bright smile pulled at Hermione's mouth, her eyes sparkled beautifully and a laugh left her as she sat herself down on the ground and chose the first game to play, snakes and ladders.
"Mr. Wood, I do hope you know what you're getting yourself into," she smirked. "Let the war commence."