Hermione coughed a bit when they stepped out of the floo at the Leaky Cauldron the next day. As with most modes of magical transportation, she still felt out-of-sorts being shot around through the ether only to land in another location.
The bar, she noticed when she looked around, was dim as ever. She hadn't been sure what she expected, but as it was the first time she had made her way back to the general public of the wizarding world since the battle, it seemed odd that it didn't seem much different from the handful of times she had visited prior to Voldemort's return.
Both she and Ginny had to shake some soot out of their hair as they crossed the threshold of the fireplace, though Hermione definitely had to work harder to get it out of her curly locks. As they fussed with their hair, Tom caught their eye and smiled at them, giving them a wave and a toothless grin. Hermione smiled politely, but Ginny waved and grinned, taking Hermione's elbow into her own and starting towards the door.
Though the bar was mostly empty, it was hard for Hermione to ignore the stares of the few patrons as they both made their way to the Diagon Alley entrance. It was an odd experience, she realized, to be sought out in this way. She was used to catching eyes at Hogwarts, being Harry Potter's best friend made that an inevitability, but not outside of the castle walls, and certainly not without Harry beside her. When the whispers started, picking up when the girls were just barely within earshot of the patrons, Hermione's stomach turned.
She shot Ginny a glance, and the girl just shrugged nonchalantly.
Once they pushed through the exit door of the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione's breath caught as they were greeted by something that seemed somewhat... normal. It seemed the thirteen or so weeks since the final defeat of Voldemort had been enough time for Diagon Alley to heal. Gone were the sinister signs boasting artifacts of the dark arts, the street vendors selling bogus protection equipment, and the general aura of despair that had permeated the place the last time Hermione had visited.
As Bellatrix. The last time Hermione had visited as Bellatrix. The thought made her shudder.
Though it had not quite returned to it's previous vivaciousness, the alley had managed to pep up considerably. Ollivanders, she could see, was back in business, as were Flourish and Blotts and Madam Malkins. The defensive item peddlers had been replaced with a few of the former tenants- a flower vendor, a man boasting the best bottled pumpkin juice money could buy, an older witch with a cart full of jeweled necklaces and earrings. There was even a man on the far street corner announcing the day's headline of the Daily Prophet: War Heroes turned Aurors: Potter and Weasley Spotted Meeting with the Minister.
"Reckon we'll be a story tomorrow?" Ginny asked, giggling, as she beelined for Flourish and Blotts, dragging Hermione along behind her.
Hermione took a nervous look around. The usual crowds of Diagon Alley had certainly returned, and it seemed that every single one of them had at least one eye on her and Ginny. She shoved her hands in the pocket of her robe, trying to calm her breathing by placing a hand on her wand as she felt her heartbeat start to pick up pace. Looking at the ground, she said, "I'd be surprised if we weren't, Gin. Let's get inside."
Her steps overtook Ginny's in a few strides and she was dragging the other girl now across the cobblestone path. She hid her face behind her hair as best as she could, and when they made it into the shop, she scanned the room. Something about the tall bookshelves filled to bursting was comforting to her, but she panicked a bit when she realized that it was packed with Hogwarts students looking for their supplies for the start of term.
Ginny placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Hermione, are you alright?" she whispered.
Hermione nodded slowly. She closed her eyes and took a centering breath, then looked over to Ginny with a forced smile.
"I'm brilliant, let's get these books."
Ginny gave her a suspicious look, but gestured with a hand, inviting her to lead the way.
The girls managed to get their shopping done fairly quickly and without further incident, though Hermione couldn't seem to shake the dread that settled in her chest over the feeling of being watched. They had just four books, a new cauldron, and a new set of scales to obtain between the two of them, and once they finished that they headed off toward Quality Quidditch Supplies so they could pick up a broom servicing kit as Hermione's gift to Ginny. She had it on good authority that the girl would be receiving a new broom from a certain bespectacled auror.
Coming out of the store, they decided to wander around the street vendors, seeing if there was anything they wanted to pick up. Snacks and flowers and sweet-smelling potions greeted them at a few stands, and they lost themselves in the simple pleasure of shopping for fun, something that had not been allowed to do in what felt like ages. This led them to turn a corner without thinking, where they were greeted with the sight of Fred and George's shop, or what was left of it.
"Oh," Hermione squeaked, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the street. An old wizard with a tall, pointy hat behind her almost crashed into her and scoffed indignantly. "Sorry," she muttered, not taking her eyes off the building in front of her.
"Oh Merlin, Hermione, it's awful," Ginny whispered.
The shop was in ruin. It was evident the twins had attempted to protect it as much as they could prior to going into hiding. There were a few wooden boards hanging off the tops of the large glass windows, and a few scattered on the street in front of the building, as if they had been blown off by some kind of explosion. The glass was entirely broken, and inside Hermione could see most of the shelves were empty. Dark graffiti was splayed across every brick of the building, with horrendous phrases like 'Mudblood lovers,' 'Blood traitors,' and 'The Dark Lord will find you' scrawled in awful handwriting. There were even a few spots with what looked like magical graffiti, shimmering red lines that seemed to cut into the stone.
"They- He's been completely robbed," Hermione said, stumbling over her words. Her eyes scanned the building, top to bottom. "The flat, though. It looks untouched..."
"Not many people knew they lived there," Ginny shook her head and Hermione could have sworn she saw her jaw twitch. "But George didn't get robbed, luckily. Once you, Ron and Harry broke into the ministry he and F-Fred knew it was just a matter of time. When they went to Muriel's they brought almost their entire stock with them for Owl Orders."
"Well that's... a silver lining, I suppose," Hermione said, but she couldn't swallow the lump in her throat well enough to say it with any conviction.
"I suppose," Ginny echoed. They both stood there in silence for a moment, taking in the building. Eventually, Ginny stared back down the street and whispered, "Let's go home, I'm not quite feeling up to butterbeer anymore."
The ministry requested Hermione start her position just four days later, on August 10th. She had been waiting for her starting confirmation for over a month, so when a rather perky owl swooped in through the open sitting room window and dropped a letter from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures into her lap, she let out a little squeak and almost dropped Magicke of the Minde onto Ron's head, who was sitting on the floor beside her place on the sofa.
"Oi, are you alright?" he asked. He looked up, his face concerned, from his game of exploding snap with Ginny.
"Oh, sorry, sorry! I'm quite alright!" Hermione said, smiling, as she tore into the letter.
"It's not another interview request, is it?" Harry asked warily, pulling a hand through his unruly hair. He was laid out on the floor by the siblings, playing with the Weasley practice snitch by letting it fly just a few feet in front of him and then snatching it.
"No, it's from the DRCMC," Hermione said, scanning the letter in her hands. "They want me to start Monday! And they've assigned me to an office. The... Office of Misinformation?" She looked at the Weasleys. "I didn't know there was such a thing. What could that possibly mean?"
Ron and Ginny both shrugged. "Haven't done a lot of research into all the ministry departments, have I?" Ron said. "Dad'll probably know, you can ask him when he gets home."
Hermione nodded, then read the letter a second and third time to make sure she didn't miss anything.
"You'll be home for dinners, right?" Ginny asked, looking up from the game to give Hermione a hard stare. "I told mum I just wanted a nice family dinner for my birthday Tuesday and you better be there."
"Yes, it looks like they'll have me starting at seven in the morning."
"Good," Ginny said, satisfied, then under her breath she said, "Now if only we could get George to attend."
Hermione and Ron both gave her a sad sort of look, but Harry seemed not to hear.
"The Department of Misinformation," he said, rapidly pulling himself into a sitting position as the snitch had suddenly caught a bit of speed he hadn't been expecting. He managed to pinch a wing between his fingers. "Wonder what they'll have you doing."
"Well I guess we'll find out," Hermione said, shrugging and turning back to her book.
"Essentially, it's the team that controls the narrative when something goes really wrong between the muggle and wizarding worlds," Mr. Weasley explained that night, the group well into their second helpings of beef wellington. "Specifically in regards to magical creatures, mind you. I hadn't thought of it, but it makes sense that they're trying to refill the office. With You-Know-Who in power, they probably sacked the lot of them."
"So I'll be... covering up for the Ministry?" Hermione asked. Her eyebrows knit together.
"Essentially."
"Hmm," Hermione replied, chewing her food thoughtfully. "That's... interesting."
"They probably chose you for the department because you're a muggle-born, dear. They like having folks with a bit more knowledge about the muggle world in the office," Mrs. Weasley said.
"I'm just interested to know if they considered any of my other qualifications," she said simply, shaking her head. "No matter, I'm sure it'll be quite the adventure."
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley nodded and Ron gave her an encouraging smile. Ginny, though, scoffed.
"Quite an adventure. You're bloody brilliant and they're regulating you to damage control for idiots."
"Well, guess there's not much for me to do besides be positive, Gin."
Ginny just shrugged noncommittally, though there was still a bit of anger in her eyes.
When dinner was cleaned up, Mrs. Weasley handed Hermione George's plate and a cup of pumpkin juice, patting her on the shoulder. "Let him know he's welcome down here if he wants, will you?"
Hermione gave her a tight smile, then headed up the stairs.
She had stopped knocking weeks ago. It seemed redundant, at some point, and she had grown tired of waiting for him to drag himself off his bed or out of his chair to let her in. He didn't complain when she let herself in the first time, and she had done it ever since. Tonight, she pushed open the door with her hip, her eyes firmly on the cup of juice, trying not to let it spill as she walked into George's room.
"Beef wellington," she said, looking up once she was sure everything was balanced. She was shocked to find the room looking quite different. He had pushed his bed and the desk off to the side and conjured a long table. A number of strange-looking vials were strewn about the surface, and in the middle sat a cauldron, half-full and smoking. George was staring intently at the contents, which were bright red and bubbling. The entire room smelled strange, like gunpowder and sea salt.
"Thought I'd try my hand at making something," he said by way of explanation, not looking up or even really blinking. "Thought a WonderWitch potion might be good, safe. We invented them as a laugh, only took us a few weeks. Nothing like the Snackboxes or the Whizz-Bangs." He snatched up his wand from beside the cauldron and jabbed at it, vanishing the offending liquid. The smell toned down significantly. "'Course, I forgot it requires two people to stir to make it correctly. Should have been a rosy pink by now, but all it gave me was that red goo."
He seemed to be talking to himself more than Hermione at this point, so she crossed the room to place his dinner and the cup on the empty desk while he collapsed against his chair, his face now turned towards the ceiling. She pulled her own wand out of her pocket and waved it toward the table. The vials and the cauldron neatly tucked themselves into a corner. She wasn't sure if George had his own organization system for the ingredients, but he could sort that out himself later. She summoned the plate and the pumpkin juice, setting it in front of him, and then hopped onto the far end of the table, gesturing at the plate.
"Beef wellington," she repeated. "Ginny helped make it but it's still rather good."
George looked at her for a moment, his gaze hard, and Hermione would have bet galleons that he was hoping to will her away with his desire to be alone. Unfortunately for him, she was rather stubborn when she wanted to be, and she was aware of how good her short visits were for him.
He had gained back a significant amount of weight, his face rounding out to some form of its former glory, though he was sporting a fair amount of scruff that he had not allowed previously. His eyes were less sunken, the bags nearly gone. She gestured to the plate again and he sighed, clearly giving up as he picked up the utensils and began cutting into the meat.
"Why didn't you ask for help?" she asked simply. She pulled her bare feet up onto the table and leaned her head onto her knees to watch him.
George had taken to watching her often in the past few weeks, she had noticed. She assumed it was his way of protecting himself, keeping himself safe. He would watch for her reactions, her laugh, his eyes searching for any indication of her mood as they talked. She had found it disconcerting at first, but then she started returning the favor, if almost on instinct. It wasn't a wary sort of analysis, the way she had seen Ron and Ginny and the other Weasley's watch him in the days following the battle and the funeral. No, her gaze was much more curious.
George took the time to chew his food carefully and swallow before replying, "Didn't want to."
She hummed. He took another bite.
"Could I?" she asked suddenly, and he looked at her with a curious expression. "Help you, I mean. I did get an O in potions fifth year, you know."
"Not likely to forget that, Granger." He smiled slightly. "Maybe another night, I think I've exhausted my energies with this attempt."
She nodded, and noted the tone of his voice. It wasn't dismissive or flippant, not angry or sad. He seemed to genuinely believe he may reach out to her another night to ask for help. It was the most receptive he had been to an offer like that since he agreed to her bringing him dinner each night.
"Well, you know where to find me," she said, returning his smile with her own before changing the subject. "You know, Ginny's birthday is Tuesday."
George nodded, stabbing a carrot with a little more force than necessary.
"She said she'd like if you were there to celebrate."
"A party? If you think I'm going to attend a-"
"It's just a family dinner," Hermione interrupted. "A family dinner with Bill and Fleur."
George closed his mouth then looked back down at his food.
"I'll think about it."
Hermione nodded. At least she had tried.
"Alright, and do let me know if you'd like to attempt the WonderWitch potion again." Without waiting for a response, she shoved herself off the desk and left the room.
The atrium of the Ministry had changed a great deal with the installation of Kingsley Shacklebolt as Minister. The "Magic is Might" statue had been promptly vanished from the center and the Minister had decided to fill it, for the time being, with an indoor garden space that put the Hogwarts greenhouses to shame. The fireplaces were back to public ministry employee use, the toilets in Whitehall closed, and the large propaganda posters had been replaced with banners proclaiming victory over Voldemort.
What Hermione noticed most, however, as she had with Diagon Alley, was the spirit of the place. The floor boomed with the echoes of laughter and conversation as witches and wizards made their way through the space, each headed to their own destination despite the early hour. Hermione took a few steps away from the fireplace she had arrived through, taking a moment to take it all in.
"Is that Hermione Granger?"
She heard the whisper come from her left and it took a large amount of self-control to keep herself from turning her head toward the sound. Instead, she steeled her shoulders and took off for the lifts.
The fourth level of the ministry was strange in its familiarity. She was deposited by the lift into a circular room, too similar to the one on the ninth floor for Hermione's tastes. However, while it shared a structure with the Department of Mysteries, the decorating choices were starkly different. This hall reminded her much more of her parent's old dental practice in London, with beige walls and hardwood flooring. A circular rug sat in the center with the Department's sigil woven into it. Each door was wooden, with a worn brass handle and a small gold plaque on the top. Hermione moved toward the closest door on her left and found that it read 'BEAST DIVISION' in neat typeface. She checked the next, which was labeled 'BEING DIVISION.' She kept around the circular hall, reading each door individually until she happened upon the entrance to the Office of Misinformation at the very end. She was grateful, too, as the lift pinged to announce its arrival and two wizards stepped off, both deep in conversation. She hurried into the office before she was noticed, not wanting to be seen not knowing her way around.
"Hello," a witch said brightly as Hermione entered the room. She was young, probably only 4 or 5 years out of Hogwarts, and was sitting at a desk between two doors. This seemed to be a receiving area, Hermione noted, as there were chairs lining the wall closest to her. "Welcome to the Office of Misinformation. We handle the explanation of all creature-related calamities in the muggle world. How can I help you today?"
"Hello," Hermione said, giving her a smile. "I'm Hermione Granger—" she pretended not to notice the little yelp the woman gave at the mention of her name, "—and I was told to report here today for my first day."
"Ah, yes," the witch replied with forced politeness before grabbing a piece of parchment on her desk and scribbling something on it. She pulled out a wand from beneath her light blue robes- the standard for the department- and tapped the parchment. It folded itself into an airplane shape and zoomed out the door. "Mr. Prott is currently in a meeting with the Pest Advisory Board, seems we had a nasty Puffskein infestation to cover up in Wales this morning. He should be back momentarily." She gestured at the chairs on the wall. "You can take a seat, Ms. Granger, if you wish."
Hermione took a seat and pulled Magicke of the Minde out of her handbag along with a self-inking quill and some scrap parchment. She had quickly retired the beaded purse from her camping misadventures with the boys, but she had taken to placing an Undetectable Extension Charm on all of her bags. It was just too useful.
She got about half a sentence in, referencing her notes on Old English words often, before she was interrupted by a small cough. She looked up to find the receptionist witch staring at her.
"Yes?" she asked, trying to mask the wary in her voice.
"I'm sorry, Ms. Granger," the witch replied, her deep skin blushing. "I just... I have to say, it really is an honor to know you'll be working in our little office."
Hermione smiled politely. "Thank you," she checked the witch's name plate placed on the desk, "Winnie, is it?" The witch nodded. "Thank you, Winnie, but truthfully, I'm not all that exciting."
Winnie looked at her like she had suddenly grown a second head, or perhaps as if she had been transfigured into a duck. "Not that exciting? I remember them talking about you when I was still at Hogwarts! Harry Potter's best friend, the smartest witch of our age and a muggleborn to boot." Her eyes went wide. "You were a legend even before this last year, Ms. Granger, even in your fourth year your name made it to the Hufflepuff house."
"You can call me Hermione, and I'm sure that had much more to do with that awful Rita Skeeter than anything I did myself," Hermione said bitterly. When she saw Winnie open her mouth to reply, she cut her off. "Truly, Winnie, thank you. I appreciate the praise, but I don't think I'm quite that special. I'm just trying to work, same as you."
"But—"
Luckily, Hermione was saved from further conversation with the opening of the door. In stepped a tall wizard who looked to be in his mid-30s. Hermione's first impression of him was he was too perfect- from the expertly-slicked hair on his head all the way down to the bottom of his light blue robes, which were tailored to just barely skim the ground as he walked. He smiled at Winnie for a second then turned his attention to Hermione. His entire being reminded her of Lockhart prior to his accident in Slytherin's Chamber, right down to the way his smile seemed unnaturally white.
"Hermione Granger," he said, reaching out a hand toward her. She shoved her things back into her handbag and stood, taking the hand to shake. "A pleasure to meet you. We've heard so much, of course. I'm sure Winnie has shared our gratitude that you'll be working with our office."
He glanced at Winnie, who had turned a deep purple shade. She nodded her head quickly.
"She has been most kind, Mr. Prott," Hermione said smoothly, drawing his attention back to her. His grin never faltered.
"Well, I hope you'll be a good addition to our team here. I just took over the office a few weeks ago, the previous head was—" he paused and winked at her, "sympathetic to the other cause."
Hermione's lips ticked down into a frown, but he moved on quickly, leading them to the door on the right of Winnie's desk.
"No matter, though, I'm happy to be bringing the Office of Misinformation back to its former glory. No more terrified muggles, and no more acceptance of breaches of the Statute of Secrecy on my watch."
Hermione just nodded and followed him as he led her into a decently-sized room with six cubicles in the center. On the outer walls were various posters of different magical creatures, from harpies to hippogriffs to house-elves, each with a crude drawing and a bit of information, as well as their classification level. Three of the six desks were occupied by wizards, their cubicle walls decorated with photos and drawings and other knick knacks. Each empty desk seemed to come with a filing cabinet, a bin, a tray for what Hermione assumed was memos, a stack of parchment, and a quill. The room was mostly quiet, with the two wizards at the desk closest to the door whispering in hushed tones.
"Team," Mr. Prott said grandly as Hermione shut the door behind her. "This is Hermione Granger, it's her first day and I expect you to help her with anything she needs."
The three men looked up and took her in. Hermione caught one of them staring at her chest, and she glared at him until he stopped, turning back around rather unabashedly. That wasn't going to be pleasant to deal with. Another seemed surprised to see her, his eyes widening at the mention of her name, and she prayed he wouldn't turn out to be another 'fan' of her and her friends. The last, though, just regarded her with a calm indifference.
Mr. Prott brought her to the desk next to the last man, gesturing to it.
"This will be your desk, and this will be your partner, Eddie Hawthorn." Eddie had already gone back to reading the parchment on his desk, not really paying her any mind. "Eddie will show you your assignments today. You will get a joint caseload and it will be up to the two of you to determine how to break it up. Some of the cases will likely require more creativity than others, and that's where I expect you to work together." Mr. Prott placed a hand on Eddie's shoulder, and Hermione watched him cringe slightly at it. "Mr. Hawthorn, I expect you will show Ms. Granger everything she needs to know to be successful here."
Mr. Prott left her then with one last dazzling smile. A small part of her brain thanked Merlin that she was no longer twelve years old.
Once he was gone, Hermione settled down at her desk. Mr. Weasley had explained that she would likely get somewhat of a space for herself, so she had come prepared with a few things that would make the desk feel less dreary— a photo of her, Ron and Harry from their third year, captured by the late Colin Creevey; a parchment with some flower pressings she and Ginny had done over the summer; the last letter her parents had sent her at Hogwarts. She placed them all up on the walls of the cubicle using a sticking charm, making a mental note to bring some more things the next day, then turned to her partner.
"Eddie Hawthorn, was it?" she asked, offering her hand. "It's lovely to meet you."
"I prefer Edmund," he said plainly, not looking up from his desk. Hermione frowned. "And I'm sure it is." He looked up now, regarding Hermione's hand with a cold gaze and choosing to ignore it. She pulled it back to her side. "I'm not here to make friends, Ms. Granger. I know your reputation well, and I hope you're as studious and hard-working as they say, because I frankly prefer to work alone. I hope we only need to collaborate on the most dire of tasks." He looked at the pile of parchment on his desk and grabbed approximately half of it. "Here are half of our cases. You'll find the reports rather self-explanatory. We're to come up with a reasonable explanation that a muggle would have no problem believing, write the memo, then send it off to the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. You do know the charm for the memos, correct?"
He looked at Hermione expectantly, and she nodded. Mr. Weasley had shown her the day before.
"Splendid. Once they've approved the excuse, you'll be expected to create documentation to help corroborate your story and send those documents along with the story to the Minister's office via a full report where they will be distributed to the Muggle Prime Minister." He gave her a tight uptick of his lips, which she guessed you could call a smile. "I look forward to our interactions remaining this brief."
He turned back to his desk.
Hermione sat for a moment in her chair, arranging her desk in a way she found useful. She placed the reports she had been handed in the tray on her desk and pulled her self-inking quill out of her bag, preferring it to the ministry-provided alternative. She examined her filing cabinet and found it already contained a few folders, each marked with a different type of magical creature. She assumed this is where her finished cases would go.
Once she was situated, she started in on her first report. It seemed an easy enough solution, a dozen or so nifflers had been spotted by a group of muggle teenagers inside of one of their homes. The boy's mother was apparently a collector of gold jewelry, and the nifflers had been having a field day in her drawers and cabinets.
"Looks like a party got a little too wild," Hermione muttered, scratching down her most plausible explanation- the teenagers were under the influence and seeing things. She tapped the parchment with her wand and watched it fold itself and fly out the door.
She put the niffler report aside as she waited for a reply and pulled the next one, stifling a yawn with her hand. Edmund glared at her over their shared wall.
"Could you keep it down, please?" he asked; his voice brisk.
It was going to be a long week.
"So he won't speak to you at all?" Ron asked, waving his wand and setting a knife to chop up some potatoes. It was Tuesday and Mrs. Weasley had recruited them to help with Ginny's birthday dinner. Harry had disappeared with Ginny about an hour ago, claiming he was going to help her with her flying before dinner.
"Not a word," she said as she peeled some carrots by hand into the large sink. "It's only my second day and he said I was 'too disruptive.' Me, Ron! Disruptive!"
Ron snorted and shook his head.
"This Edmund guy seems like a real prat. Want me to fight him for you?"
Hermione gave him a stern look. "Is that really your answer to everything, Ron? Fighting?"
Ron shrugged and Hermione rolled her eyes, each of them going back to their respective tasks. Ron whistled cherrily.
Hermione finished peeling the carrots quickly and got to chopping them, yawning loudly as she transferred them onto a cutting board. Her nightmares had gone rogue again the night before. Bellatrix had turned into Ron in the middle of her torture, and he had finished the job, complete with the Cruciatus curse. The real Ron hadn't been able to get her to calm down for hours.
Between that and the truly mind-numbing cases she had dealt with in silence at the Ministry, it was a wonder Hermione was still standing.
Her eyes blurred a bit as she let out another yawn, a shudder going up her spine. Her knife slipped from the movement, causing her to cut a large gash into her thumb. She yelped, and Ron looked up from the potatoes he was still supervising.
"Merlin, Hermione!" he said in surprise while she shoved her hand into the sink, running the water over it quickly. "You're a witch, you know."
"Thank you, Ronald," she said, more harshly than she intended. The pain and her exhaustion were getting the better of her. She grabbed her wand and muttered, "Episky," which caused the wound to close up on itself. There was a faint scar, but Hermione guessed that would be gone by the morning.
"I'm jus' saying. You could have just enchanted the knife."
"Sometimes I prefer to do things the muggle way, Ronald."
He held his hands up. "Alright, Hermione. Do them the muggle way then."
Hermione huffed and picked up the now-bloody carrot, throwing it into a bin by the door. She moved back to the counter to finish, but Ron had already cleaned the knife and ordered it to chop the carrots itself. His potatoes were done, and he threw them into the pot.
"Well it looks like you've got everything sorted in here," she said, heading for the kitchen door.
"Hermione-"
She was out of the room before Ron could fully reply. She took a few deep breaths and headed up the stairs to their room, shaking her head as she went. She needed to cool down and maybe take a nap before dinner.
She descended the stairs an hour later, rested and ready to apologize. She knew her outburst earlier probably wasn't fair to Ron. It wasn't his fault she was having a bad day, and it certainly wasn't his fault that his face was the last one she had to watch torture her. No, that was all thanks to her brain, which she was beginning to suspect may be completely addled.
The entire family, Bill, Fleur, and Percy (who had recently relocated to a flat in London) included, was already sitting around the table talking by the time she made it down and she quickly took her seat beside Ron in order to not delay the festivities any longer. Mrs. Weasley made a small speech about her baby girl finally becoming an adult, which would have felt completely incomplete without the few passive-aggressive remarks about that not meaning she could just go off and get married or anything, much to Harry's embarrassment and the rest of the table's delight.
Mrs. Weasley began serving out bowls of soup, then, with thick slices of bread to accompany it. As they passed the bowls around, Hermione turned to Ron.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "About earlier."
"S'Alright, Hermione. I know you're under stress."
"Still, that's no excuse. My behavior was completely uncalled—"
She cut off her own sentence as she saw the kitchen door swing open behind Ron's head. He looked at her curiously, but she just broke out into a grin as George entered the room sheepishly, a wrapped gift in his hand.
It took the room a moment to catch up. Harry was the second to notice, it seemed, and he pointed at the door with his own grin. Ginny, who had been talking to him, turned to look at where his finger was pointing and gasped, jumping out of her chair and flying into her brother's embrace in a flurry of red hair and limbs. George caught and held her, the ghost of a smile on his face. Hermione heard Mrs. Weasley choke back a sob.
"Happy birthday, Ginny," he said when she finally let him go.
"Took you long enough, you git," Ginny said, smiling at him brightly. George looked shocked for a second, then fell into a short, but genuine, laugh. The room seemed to lighten at the sound of it.
"Oh, have a seat dear," Mrs. Weasley said, finally bustling her way over to kiss her son on the cheek. "I'll grab another bowl."
George nodded and threw his present on top of the pile on the table, then took a seat next to Hermione. She grinned and elbowed him good-naturedly.
"Good to see you," she said, and Ron on her other side nodded his agreement. "Though, I'm a bit put off that I won't be able to lecture you tonight. I had a great one prepared."
George smirked a bit. "Save it, I'm sure I'll need it someday."
This drew a laugh from Hermione, which made George's smirk grow into a real smile. "I will, then."
Hermione turned back around, tucking into her soup, but when she looked up to the birthday girl she found Ginny eyeing her curiously. She cocked an eyebrow, but Ginny just shook her head and shrugged, not seeming to want to talk about it.
Hermione shrugged back and focused back on her meal. It seemed to be the first one she'd truly enjoyed in a while.
A/N: That's chapter 5, folks! Let me know what you think with a review! I hope I'm convincing you all of George and Hermione's growing friendship, as well as the cracks starting to show in her relationship with Ron. See you all next week!