Hermione's days seemed to muddle together in an uncomfortable monotony with her new job at the Ministry. She would wake early, much earlier than anyone in the house, and make herself tea to try to stave off the sleepiness that seemed to constantly follow her. She hadn't slept through the night in weeks. Then, she would get ready methodically, putting her hair up into a bun, as it was the only way to really deal with the unruly curls, and pulling on her light blue robes. Floo to the Ministry. Make up excuses for hippogriffs over the London Eye or a sudden spotting of unicorns in the Scottish Highlands. Ignore Edmund. She'd come home exhausted, with barely enough energy to carry on a conversation with Ron or Harry or Ginny before eating dinner and sleeping again.
Hermione had always fancied herself as someone who enjoyed routine, but this wasn't routine. It was torture.
She was exceptionally grateful for the days that broke up the tedium- the days Harry and Ron had to go into the Ministry for an early meeting and floo in with her, the days she would find Ginny seated at the kitchen table to see her off- though they were few and far between.
This made saying goodbye to her friends all the much harder once the first week of September rolled around. Ginny was first, a tearful goodbye at King's Cross that was difficult to watch. Harry and the Weasleys carried an anxiety for her that seemed palpable. Still, Hermione reasoned, she would be seeing Ginny weekly after her tutoring with McGonagall started, so this was not a true goodbye.
Harry and Ron were gone four days later. It was a Saturday, but Hermione opted to floo to the Ministry with them to see them off. They were met with the sight of a dozen or so future aurors milling around the Atrium, each with a rucksack, ready for their instructions. Hermione was grateful that, in this circle at least, she and her friends didn't seem to raise many eyebrows. She hugged Harry tightly and gave Ron a quick kiss, made them both promise to write under threat of death, and then flooed home when the boys went to join the others.
And then Hermione was alone.
She had elected to stay at the Burrow, though she now had enough money to rent her own flat. Ron believed she was waiting for him to be done with auror training so they could start a life together in London. She didn't know how to tell him that she was actually just scared of being completely alone with her thoughts.
It was this first week of September, also, that Edmund spoke to her again. She had dodged questions from Winnie as she came into the office, a daily occurrence that was already starting to grate at her nerves, and sat down at her desk glumly. She was staring at a photo of her and her parents from her childhood and attempting to will herself to start her work when his head peeked over their cubicle divider.
"Ms. Granger," he said formally, and she turned to face him. He looked at her apprehensively. "We've been given an assignment Mr. Prott would like us to collaborate on. He came in before your arrival to brief me."
"Oh?" Hermione said, picking up her quill and some parchment to take notes. "What's the case?"
"It seems a wizard on the coast had been illegally breeding Bavarian Erklings in his spare time and the lot of them escaped last week. The department was only notified this morning, and well—" he paused, actually looking a bit pained. "—the situation has been handled now, but the Erklings managed to capture and, er, devour about a dozen muggle children from different towns."
Hermione's quill stilled over her parchment.
"A dozen?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"A dozen," Edmund replied, his voice sympathetic for the moment.
"And we're to come up with some kind of excuse for that?"
Edmund fell back into his usual business-like tone. "Yes, Ms. Granger, that is our job."
She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm well aware of the duties of our job, Edmund, but you must agree that this type of situation is particularly abhorrent."
"Well, I would have handled it myself but this is a big case and Mr. Prott didn't trust my experience as a half-blood raised in the wizarding world. He said you'd have better insight into a truly muggle way of explaining the situation."
Hermione sighed. "Yes, I suppose so. What's your initial proposal?"
"I thought we could blame it on some kind of animal."
"An animal that lures children out of their homes isn't very believable unless they're from a fairytale."
Edmund scoffed at her. "Fairies don't have tails, Ms. Granger."
"I—" Hermione started, but then thought better of it. "You're quite right, Edmund. Now, let's think of something more believable—"
They worked together on the case all morning, each offering a semi-plausible explanation only to have the other shoot it down for one reason or another. Hermione was beginning to get frustrated as they inched closer to lunch time, her hair starting to work its way out of the tight knot on her head.
"It's ridiculous," she said. She leaned back in her chair and covered her face with her hands. "It's like the only possible explanation for this is a bloody serial killer."
She sat up suddenly, startling Edmund.
"A serial killer! That's it!" she exclaimed, earning her a look over the cubicle from the other two misinformation officers. She smiled apologetically, then looked to Edmund, excitement beating in her chest. "We can blame it on a regional serial killer. They've all been taken in similar ways and had similar injuries when their bodies were found."
Edmund appraised her for a second, then said, "Well, Ms. Granger. I think you may have done it."
Hermione's chest soared and she grinned in response, jotting a few things down on her parchment. "I'll draft the memo. Also," she gave Edmund a meaningful look. "I'd prefer if you'd call me Hermione, Edmund. We are somewhat equals here."
He sniffed. "Not when I have six months of seniority on you."
She fought back an eye roll but decided it was better not to reply. She finished drafting the memo, passing it to him over the cubicle wall. "Here, see if that's to your satisfaction, then."
He read it quickly then nodded to her. "This will do. I'll start working on finding a muggle to blame for the murders."
He tapped the parchment with his wand and it folded upon itself and went whizzing out the door. Hermione's excitement seemed to go with it.
"A muggle to blame?"
"Yes," Edmund said, looking at her. "Without a proper scapegoat the region will remain in panic and the muggles may start to ask questions. It's standard practice when the method of misinformation allows for it."
"That seems quite unfair, placing a muggle in prison for a crime they didn't commit."
"Well it's that or modify the memories of a dozen muggle families to forget they had children at all. The ministry has determined the latter is much more cruel."
Hermione winced. "Right."
"Don't you worry, I'll take care of the report and you can just sign off on it at the end of the day."
Hermione didn't have it in her to argue any more, she just nodded.
"I'll leave you to it, then."
The rest of the day dragged by slowly. Hermione caught herself staring at the photo of her parents more than usual, taking in their smiling faces. By the time she worked through her caseload for the day, the artificial sky in the room's window was already showing sunset. With her last memo being sent out the door, she gathered her things and made her way to the lift, completely ignoring Winnie and her attempts at conversation as she sped through the reception area.
On a whim, it was not the Burrow she decided to floo too once she reached the fireplaces. Instead, she grabbed a fistful of the floo powder and clearly yelled out "Diagon Alley."
The Leaky Cauldron was packed full when she arrived; various witches and wizards were gathered about, trying to get their after-work drinks. Tom didn't even notice the flare of the fireplace.
Hermione found she was grateful for the gathered crowd, as she was able to make it through and out of the pub without much fuss. Once outside, she headed straight for The Apothecary, tucked just a few storefronts away.
A bell chimed above the door as Hermione stepped in, and the old shopkeeper looked up from the barrel of porcupine quills he was dusting.
"Good timing, miss, I was just about to close up shop."
Hermione gave him a small smile. "I'm grateful I caught you. I was just looking for a dreamless sleep draught, do you have any in stock?"
The shopkeeper frowned, shaking his head a bit. "'Fraid not, miss, sold out of our stock early this morning. I can set you up with the ingredients for it, though."
Hermione nodded. "That'll have to do, then, thank you."
After a few minutes, during which there was precious little small talk between the two, she had a paper bag filled with ingredients and was being waved out the door and back onto the street.
The sun had finished dipping below the horizon during her time in the shop, the street lanterns providing a rosy glow to the alley. There weren't many patrons around and stores were closing quickly. Hermione set off toward the pub at a brisk pace, her robes billowing behind her. She was not fond of public places after dark these days.
"Oi! Granger!"
She stopped mid-step and turned towards the voice.
"George?"
He was standing in the middle of the street a few feet from her, his hand raised in greeting. He leaned down, and only then did Hermione notice Angelina Johnson standing in front of him, apparently mid-conversation. He said something to her then gave her a quick clasp on the shoulder before moving toward Hermione, a small smile on his face.
"Granger, how lucky you are to be graced with my presence."
"I'm graced with your presence every night, George, though you are still avoiding your family six days a week."
He stopped in front of her and ran a hand through his hair, allowing her a swift glance at the hole on the side of his head.
"You must admit, though," he said. "Six days is an improvement over seven."
She let out a small laugh. "I suppose you're right."
She started back down the alley toward the Leaky Cauldron, her pace much slower now, and he fell into step beside her. "You headed home?" he asked.
"I am," she said, readjusting the bag of potions ingredients in her hands. "I must say, George, I'm surprised to see you out."
"Well, you're not the only one," he said, holding out an arm. "Here, let me help."
She hesitated but gave him the bag. "Thanks."
He shrugged. "Wouldn't be Molly Weasley's son if I let you carry that by yourself."
"I guess that's true." She paused for a beat. "So, why are you in Diagon Alley this evening?"
"Ah," he said, grimacing a bit. "To be frank, Granger, sometimes I'll come down here and reflect on my failings as a brother and a businessman." He was watching her carefully again, and when she took a breath to reply he shook his head and cut her off. "But that's all I'm ready to talk about. So, what about you? What brings you to this fine shopping alley after a long day's work?"
Hermione considered pushing the subject but thought better of it. She would take the small victory in his confession.
"I'm reflecting on my own failings as well, I suppose. I've been trying rather hard to get through my evenings without a dreamless sleep draught and, well," she gestured to the bag in his hands, "I couldn't take it anymore."
"And to think this is the witch that's been telling me I can't do everything on my own."
She glared at him, but he didn't flinch. His eyes held the twinkle of something mischievous, his eyebrow cocked. She snorted, though perhaps only out of the surprise in seeing his eyes so lively.
"Well, yes, but this is a potion I'm using for help, not a person. It's quite a different scenario."
"Speaking of potions and assistance," he said smoothly, opening the door to the Leaky Cauldron with his free hand. Hermione was surprised to find that they had already arrived, but she stepped through the doorway. "I was going to find you tonight to see if you'd help me with that WonderWitch potion I was attempting the other week. Though if you'd rather make your draught and sleep—"
"No, I'd love to help!" Hermione said quickly, holding the door open for him to step through. A grin lit up his face. "I'll need to let the draught steep for at least an hour anyway, I can help you while it's sitting."
"Brilliant."
"So you and Fred made this up in a week?"
"Sure, it was quite simple once we isolated the ingredients of Amortentia and broke them down to their most basic functions in the potion."
Hermione had hastily thrown together her potion in the Weasley kitchen once the pair arrived back at the Burrow, leaving it to steep on the stove as a final step before she beelined up to George's room, two plates of roast chicken in hand courtesy of Mrs. Weasley's foresight. They had both gobbled down their portions before getting to work on the potion; George had already pulled out the ingredients they would need from wherever he was keeping the remainder of his Weasley's Wheezes supplies. They were about a third of the way done, Hermione guessed, judging by the amount of ingredients still strewn across the table George had set up against the wall again, his bed pushed to the side.
"We just added a bit of flowerhead to help bind together the longevity, and some gurdyroot to make sure the drinker wasn't under the influence of any other love potions. The most complicated part was changing the wandwork, but Fred was always good at guessing at that sort of thing once we had a vision," he continued, working his wand in clockwise circles over the surface of the cauldron. Hermione had squatted down to get a good look at the fire they had conjured beneath it, her wand ready to enlarge or shrink the flames as necessary. According to George, keeping the temperature consistent at this step was of the utmost importance.
"And what does this do again, exactly?" she asked.
"It's a spin on the old love potion, made to help the more shy witches and wizards among us." George's voice had taken on a salesman's pitch, almost as if on accident, and Hermione couldn't keep herself from smiling a bit at it. "It'll make the drinker attracted to their most compatible match. Helps take away some of the pressure of starting a new relationship."
George tapped her on the shoulder to let her know the wandwork was done. She stood up, taking a look at the contents of the cauldron curiously. It was a pleasant lilac color.
"That is quite ingenious," she said quietly, almost to herself. She looked up and found George watching her carefully again. "So, er, what's next?"
He broke their eye contact to scan the table, finally picking up a bright red egg encased in what looked to be a cooling charm. "We add the Ashwinder egg. This is where it went really bad last time. I need you to be stirring the potion already when I add it in, then I'll join you with the second motion. You'll stop after a full minute."
Hermione nodded, grabbing one of the metal rods laying next to the cauldron. She placed it into the potion and started stirring it at a steady pace, scooting closer to George to get a good angle on it. He grabbed the second rod then dropped the egg in, quickly joining Hermione in stirring the potion, his movements going in a straight side-to-side motion across the center of the cauldron.
At first, the potion turned the bright red color Hermione had walked in on last time, and the air grew with the same smell, firecrackers and sea salt. Eventually, though, with more stirring, the potion started to lighten, turning into a pleasant dusty pink. The smell began to mellow out, too, the scent of freshly mown grass adding to the mix, creating a strangely pleasant summer bonfire type of aroma.
After approximately 60 seconds, Hermione removed her own stirring rod from the potion and let George take over. He continued to stir until the bubbles completely dissipated and the surface turned into a shiny, glass-like texture. Only then did he stop stirring, placing the metal rod back on the table.
"It smells so good," Hermione commented, looking up at him. "Where is that coming from? The egg?"
"Not exactly," he said, shrugging. "It's supposed to smell like the person you're most compatible with. Fred smells- well," he sighed. "Smelled. Fred smelled the leather of a quaffle and this perfume Angelina liked to wear."
"That's fascinating." Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned over, breathing in the potion deeply again. The aroma was certainly different from what she remembered coming from the cauldron during Slughorn's amortentia lesson. "This seems quite powerful, have you never thought of taking it yourself? I can't imagine a single person that wouldn't appreciate a little help when figuring out compatibility."
"Well, that's just it isn't it? It's just about compatibility." He grabbed a fistful of dried rose petals from the table and threw them into the cauldron. Strangely, the ingredient only served to intensify the scent emitting from the potion. "It doesn't factor in any of the things that make dating fun- the spark, the passion, the unpredictability." He gave her a little eyebrow wiggle. "That's why I said we made it for the blokes and ladies that are a little more shy, or unsure of themselves. That way they can go after someone knowing they'll at least get on alright."
"Huh, I guess I've never thought of it that way," Hermione said, conceding.
"Anyway, I think I have it sorted from here. Thank you, Granger, you've been a huge help." George was pulling some more ingredients from vials and Hermione realized she had just been standing and staring at the potion, her hand still on his back. She withdrew it quickly.
"Oh, of course!" she said, glancing at the clock he kept on his bedside table and stifling a yawn. "I need to sleep pretty desperately if I'm to be of any use at the Ministry tomorrow, anyway..." She trailed off, and when he looked up from his fiddling she held his eyes. "Thank you for letting me help out."
"Right, don't let it go to your head, Granger," he said. "It's not like I could ask my mum to help me brew a love potion."
She laughed at that, causing George to smile. "I would have paid quite a few galleons to see Molly Weasley help you with this."
"Luckily, I'm not as broke and desperate as I once was, otherwise I may have held you to that." He turned and smiled, jerking his head toward the door. "Now, shove off and get some sleep. You don't want my mum worrying about your health next."
Hermione laughed again and nodded, making her way out the door and back to Ron's room upstairs.
The library was more crowded than Hermione had ever seen it. Like every student that had ever walked the Hogwarts halls had squeezed themselves into the stacks, filling every space. She couldn't move, couldn't walk, couldn't even breathe without touching a shoulder or a back. She needed... something. She needed something from the restricted section, but she couldn't push her way through the bodies well enough to get there. She pulled on the shoulder of the person in front of her.
"Excuse me," she said, pulling hard enough that the person whirled around to face her.
It was Tonks.
Her face was pale white, her eyes dead and unseeing. She looked through Hermione, and Hermione screamed, shoving her body out of the way. She pulled on the shoulder of another person. Fred. Then another. Colin.
She kept grabbing shoulders only to find the dead. Lupin. Harry's parents. Sirius. Lavender. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest as she pulled and pulled her way through the sea of the fallen. She was terrified, her stomach churned. She was...
In a dream. She was in a dream. This was all an incredibly terrible nightmare, she realized, screwing her eyes shut and trying to will herself to wake, only to find that she couldn't. Her heart pounded faster, and suddenly the bodies that had been standing passively all began to move. They faced her in unison, their eyes staring now into her. She shut hers again, dropping immediately to the floor. She screamed.
"You thought you could survive me, mudblood?"
The eerie voice seemed to come from the cavernous ceiling of the library. It wasn't quite Voldemort's voice, but more a bastardization of it. She screamed again.
"You're nothing. Nothing."
She opened her eyes, hoping she would see the ceiling of Ron's room, but instead she was staring straight into the eyes of her friends, now corpses themselves.
"No, no, no, no!"
She thrashed around, until finally she could feel the blanket around her. Her limbs still kicked and swung until she could finally open her eyes again. She took in the dark room, filled with Ron's clutter, his Chudley Cannons poster staring down at her from the opposite wall.
She sat up in bed, kneading her eyes with the heels of her hands until she felt awake. It was dark out still, no hint of dawn in the square of pitch-black sky that she could see from the bedroom window. She couldn't have been asleep long, which means she must have made the potion incorrectly. Her stomach churned and lurched and she thought for a moment she might be sick, but the sensation passed.
She stood from the bed and left the room, heading down to the kitchen to fix herself a cup of tea. Hermione knew she wouldn't be getting back to sleep that night. The stairs squeaked predictably, and she prayed she wouldn't wake any of the sleeping Weasleys with the noise.
As she stepped out of the stairwell, she noticed a chill had taken over the living room. She peeked her head down the hall and saw the back door ajar, the wood swinging slightly in the outside air. Her tea plans forgotten, she tiptoed to the door and stuck her head out, only slightly surprised to find George sitting on the grass a few feet from the stoop, his shoulders shaking as if he was crying.
"Oh," she whispered in surprise, turning back around to scurry back the way she came.
"Hermione?"
She stilled her movements, turning back to find George's body turned, his head looking towards her figure in the doorway.
"I'm sorry," she said, grimacing. "I hadn't meant to- well, the door was- I'm—" She took a breath and jabbed her thumb behind her. "You probably want to be alone, I'll just go."
"No," he said, almost a little forcefully. "Rather, it's probably best if I'm not alone right now. Will you come sit with me?"
Hermione hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering over the doorknob as if she would turn around and leave George to his thoughts without another word. Of course, she knew she wouldn't do that.
"Yes, alright," she said, grasping the doorknob and pulling the door shut behind her as she entered the backyard. She came up next to him and sat down, leaving a foot or so of space between the two of them. "But, if I'm going to be out here in the cold you're going to have to talk about it."
"I guess that's a fair trade," he sighed, pulling a hand through his hair.
She took her wand out of her pajama pocket and conjured an orb of light to float between them, allowing her to see his face more clearly. He had clearly been crying a while; his eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and there were tear tracks on his cheeks. Their eyes met, and he quickly looked away.
He stared off toward the orchard, leaning back to rest his weight on his arms. Hermione crossed her legs and picked at her nails in her lap, waiting. They sat in silence for a few minutes. When he finally opened his mouth again, his voice was thick.
"I think I might be half a person, Granger. Like when he died he took part of me with him."
He looked like he had built a wall around himself in those moments. That small moment of vulnerability had taken a lot out of him, it seemed. Hermione frowned a bit, scooching around so that she was facing him completely, her knees just grazing his hip.
"Fred dying took a lot from you, yes, but that doesn't mean you're not a full person in your own right, George."
He shook his head.
"Everyone expects me to be him. To make up for him being gone. Mum and Dad look like they want to cry every time they see me. Ron always seems like he's waiting for a laugh I can't give him. Ginny looks like her heart is breaking."
Hermione had heard this all before, in various forms, through their conversations over nightly dinner. She placed a hand on his shoulder.
"George, you know they don't expect anything from you. They're just healing, same as you."
"That doesn't explain Angelina," he muttered bitterly, his hand reaching down next to him to pull at the blades of grass.
"Angelina?"
He sighed.
"In Diagon Alley tonight. You saved me a bit with your timing, if I'm being honest. She caught me as I was coming out of the shop and got me stuck in a chat. She asked me to dinner next week." He grabbed a big clump of grass and threw it in front of him, into the dark. "It was innocent enough, I guess, but the way she was looking at me... like I was a life preserver and she was drowning. Like I was... him."
Hermione stayed quiet, waiting to see if he would elaborate further. When it was clear he wouldn't, she flipped her body around so that she was lying back on the grass, watching the stars above her. It was a clear night, and she could see quite a few constellations. After a moment, she waved her wand to extinguish the orb so she could see better.
"Sounds bloody awful, George," she said finally. "But you didn't magically lose yourself just because Angelina is clinging to you as her last memory of Fred. You're your own person. Witty and inventive and brilliant all on your own. You didn't need Fred for those things, he just helped compliment them."
He turned towards her with a small smirk. "You really think I'm brilliant?"
She rolled her eyes. "Deflecting will not help you."
"No," he agreed, flopping down beside her. "But I think I've exhausted my emotions for the night. So, are you going to tell me why you're out here at..." He checked his watch. "Two thirty in the morning?"
Hermione closed her eyes and groaned. It was late, and she knew she was going to have a rough go of it at work the next day.
"I was so distracted making the sleeping draught I must have made it incorrectly," she said, covering her face with her hands. "I don't know whether to be cross or embarrassed. I brewed this potion my first year!"
George laughed. "Didn't you put down Crabbe and Goyle with it?"
She nodded, still hiding in her hands. "I think I forgot to add the valerian root, so it didn't erase my dreams, just locked me into a hellscape that I couldn't get out of. It was awful."
"I can't imagine how terrifying that would be," he said, voice quiet. Hermione removed her hands from her eyes and turned to look at him. "You know, I have dreams too. Sometimes waking up is the worst part, though. At least in some of my dreams he's still alive."
She wasn't sure how to respond to that, so she didn't. She let it hang between them and turned her eyes back onto the sky as their silence grew, admiring the way the stars twinkled in the darkness. Then, it seemed to just be darkness.
"Hermione."
She woke up with a start, sitting up immediately to find George seated next to her, one arm thrown over his knees and the other still on her shoulder from where he had gently shaken her. The sky was brighter now, a light pink starting to color the horizon. It would be dawn soon.
"I guess we both fell asleep," he said. His hand fell away from her shoulder. "We should go inside, you'll have work soon."
Hermione nodded robotically, pushing off from the grass with a shudder. She slowly made her way back into the house, George following not far behind her. They trekked up the stairs in silence, and when they reached the landing with George's room, he paused at the door.
"G'night, Granger."
"Goodnight, George."
A/N: Chapter six has finally arrived! For my weekly readers, sorry for the wait. I went out of town this past weekend (in a COVID safe way, promise!) and I tried to get this finished before I left but it just wasn't in the cards for me. As always, leave me your thoughts, it makes my week! I've started on the next chapter already, I'm trying to get it finished by Sunday as per usual, but we will see. See you all soon xx