"Then we have an arrangement," Minerva took to stand next to the open doors leading into the Great Hall, "I will pick you up after breakfast tomorrow morning."
Hermione nodded, then asked, "You aren't coming, McGonagall?" Indicating the breakfast table with a tilt of her head.
"No, not today. The elves will have set something for me on my office table, do say hello to Mr Krum for me."
Hermione wished her Professor an enjoyable meal and turned to walk inside the Great Hall. Harry was already there, sitting a bit further away from the others.
"Where is Hagrid?" She asked as she sat down opposite him.
"He is giving Grawp more of his medicine, said I better go ahead before breakfast is cold."
Frowning at the answer, Hermione murmured, "I do hope he will come."
"He will, I threatened we would bring breakfast to him otherwise."
The Muggle-born smiled at hearing that and nodded her approval, then started to gather some food on her plate. They ate in silence for a while, half-heartedly listening to the conversation of others at the table.
Though before long Hermione's thoughts were not with the conversations around her, but rather with what had been happening in her own life. And with her visit to Ollivander fresh in her memory, she soon wondered how long it would take for him to contact her. How does he gather his materials? Does a wandmaker have stashes of materials in their home? Or do they only go outside to search for materials when some kind of sign, one that only a wandmaker knows how to look for, appears? Perhaps a sparkle in their morning coffee? Though even if wandmakers usually have stashes, it is more likely that Ollivander has none, with the recent events. Then does he need a week to gather everything? Two? And how long does it take to make a wand? Probably a few-
It was then that the post arrived, successfully breaking Hermione's train of thoughts. Harry too looked interrupted from his own thoughts. Besides an elderly owl who delivered the Daily Prophet, there was a strong-looking Eagle Owl who landed with finesse right next to Hermione's full goblet. The elderly owl glared at the young one who preened besides it.
"No Howlers," commented Harry with relief as he gave both birds a few slices of meat whilst Hermione concerned herself with what was delivered, not listening to him. The newspaper laid mostly forgotten next to her plate, it was the letter which held her attention. It looked like the sender had forgotten to place any charms on it, the paper and ink had weathered during the long distances the owl had clearly flown. Despite this, most of the words were still legible and it made the Muggle-born brighten up so much that Harry leaned over the table to get a look whilst he asked, "What does it say?"
"It's from Charlie!" Hermione whispered excitedly, "He has arranged that Hagrid can stay with the Dragon Keepers for a few days. Charlie will take Hagrid with him right after the ceremony. He will finally see Norberta in her natural habitat. Hagrid can go to Romania!"
"That's fantastic," Harry said in surprise, looking from the letter to Hermione and to the Eagle Owl, surprise giving way to mirth. He reached out to stroke the breast feathers of the owl, who fluffed themselves up even more, proud at their accomplishment. The older owl had gone the moment they had gotten their treat. "I can't wait to tell Hagrid."
"Tell me what?" Asked the half-Giant, who had somehow managed to enter the Great Hall unnoticed by the two Gryffindors, as he sat down and looked curiously from one to the other. The bench creaked slightly under his weight.
Unlike earlier that morning Harry's beaming smile at Hagrid was genuine, convinced that this trip would do Hagrid immensely good, "You will be going with Charlie after the medal ceremony, to see Norberta again!"
"I will- wait- I- what?!" Hagrid's shock was obvious in his features and voice. Then in the softest whisper Hermione had ever heard from Hagrid, he repeated Harry's words, "I will see Norberta again?" His tears at this realisation came as no surprise to Harry and Hermione. But he smiled through his tears and Hermione felt hope for her tall friend's mental state blossom inside her.
Abigail walked through the empty corridor, looking at the equally empty cells; all but one. In her hands, she held her tea but she had no desire to finish the beverage and banished the cup back to her office. A moment later she came to a halt before Bellatrix' cell. Which was shockingly empty. She became rigid at the sight. "Crockwell," she barked out.
"Yes, Healer Smith?" said the Auror in question as he marched towards her, coming to a halt at a respectable distance.
Calmly she said, "Explain to me why Lestrange is out of her cell."
"Deputy Macmillan walked in over an hour ago, he took Mrs Lestrange to be interrogated under influence. Said you knew of it."
"Did he now?" Abigail was not surprised at hearing that, though it was a bit earlier than expected, "Thank you, you can go back to your post."
While the Auror walked away Abigail touched the bars, they created an entrance for her by sliding with a rumble to the side. She stepped through and sat down to wait on the single chair in the cell. The Mind Healer took paper and quill and wrote some of her thoughts down. It was not long before Abigail heard footsteps enter the otherwise silent corridor. A tall, muscular man came into view who held a chain in both his hands. He was obviously fuming; he glared, his muscles and body taught with anger, yet he did not do anything rash. Not once did he pull at the chains, he made sure that Lestrange had the opportunity to walk on her own two feet and at her own pace. Though her steps were more like stumbles than anything else; weak and fragile. Nowhere near as precise and dangerous as Bellatrix was known to be. And yet she still managed to look somewhat arrogant, despite the obvious exhaustion rimming her eyes and her sickly coloured skin. But besides this and the blood dripping from her nose down her chin, there was little to be impressed by.
"Welcome back, Lestrange," she said neutrally, "want to refresh yourself before I take a look at you?"
Bellatrix ignored her as she stumbled inside her cell, the bars grinding back to their original place behind her, the chain now dangling between them with the tall man still standing in the corridor.
"I take it that she didn't budge?" Abigail asked, looking at him questioningly.
The tall man snorted, affronted by the mere suggestion, "No, of course not."
Another male voice sounded, his voice becoming louder as he neared the cell, making no effort to mask his annoyance, "Well, excuse me for trying the generally successful tactic on the unsuspecting or weak target. For all we had known, Lestrange could have been both. "
"This woman is a sociopathic murderer, if there is one thing she is not, it's 'unsuspecting'," tall-man seethed through his gritted teeth as he rounded on the spot to glare daggers at the other man.
Who, unsurprisingly, did not flinch, instead he glared right back. His response came readily, calmly, "You don't know until you have tried. Besides we did get her to exercise her ability to keep from talking whilst under the pressure of both Veritaserum and your stoic gla-"
"Stop your nonsense," growled tall-man, interrupting him, "stop wasting my time!"
"What is so wrong about trying? It would not be the first time it had proven to be enough to break a skilled person's mind."
"Why did you not want me there, Macmillan?" Abigail asked neutrally, hoping to keep the argument from escalating. All the while, she started to undo the shackles on Bellatrix' wrists and neck.
Macmillan broke off his glare to look at her, "The war may be over but bureaucratic bullshit still continues, you should know better than to believe otherwise."
"Don't assume I believe anything," she retorted, "answer me instead."
He shrugged whilst he started to write something on a form, "Gawain did not want you there, obviously, the less the better."
Tall-man made a choking noise, grabbed the paper, shoved the chain he had been holding into Macmillan's hands and marched out of the corridor. Macmillan sighed and looked worriedly after his colleague, but did not say or do anything else.
Abigail did not look up from loosening the last shackle, "Be more careful with him, you aren't helping Richard if you keep acting like this."
Now she got Macmillan's glare directed at her, "Mind your own business, Healer. We are not your patients."
She straightened and narrowed her eyes at him, "Indeed, you are not, but Richard is my friend and if you keep at it like this you will drive him off his rockers."
"Shut it, Smith, you don't know about the overwork he has been doing. He won't listen to a word I say about it! At this rate, he will work himself to death. So I would not mind him 'off his rockers' as long as he still draws breath." Macmillan sighed and pinged the bridge of his nose, his shoulders sagging slightly, "Any minute I can get that brute to do anything other than burrowing himself into searching for leads, I consider a personal victory."
Abigail still looked at him, not impressed; though she was biased, she had never liked Macmillan and the feeling was mutual. However, at seeing his genuine distress about the situation she kept the sharp reply from leaving her lips. Instead, she said, "Be on your way then and keep an eye on him."
Macmillan sniffed disdainfully and as he walked in the same direction as Richard had gone he said over his shoulder, "We will continue to interrogate Lestrange, at differing hours, under influence, you know the drill."
The Mind Healer did not respond, instead, she focussed absentmindedly on her patient. Now that Bellatrix' lied on her cot, the exhaustion was plain to see. Despite this, she had been able to keep from talking, to keep control over her mind and body. Abigail wondered if this woman's mind would ever break and when it did, what kind of effect it would have on her person. Lestrange was already a psychiatric patient, years of Azkaban had made sure of that, she was this meek only because of her drugged-up state.
"Sit up, Lestrange," she said, "I need to check your health."
The dark witch kept her eyes closed and did not comply, her breath came slowly and steadily. She was fast asleep.
Harry and Hermione walked out of the greenhouse in the direction of the castle. They had just tended to the plants they had gotten from the tunnels and had helped Pomona a bit with other plant-related tasks. Lunch would be served soon, they were both hungry. Though Hermione looked forward to going to the library afterwards, she was lagging behind on her reading material and she was still not certain her theory about Bellatrix' escape to be true.
"So, what did Minerva want to talk with you about?" Harry asked suddenly.
She sighed, the subject was not really an easy one, "It was about my home. The investigation is over, they found some leads, though believe them to be false but they will follow them nonetheless. I am free to make a visit, though it had to be soon. Because the Muggle investigation can be withheld only for so long. And Minerva is adamant about accompanying me since the Auror department can't spare any of their personnel."
He turned his head to look at her and said resolutely, "I will be coming with."
"Harry, don't be absurd-"
"No, I am not. I will be coming along, end of discussion."
Hermione frowned at his tone, "Only if you won't go down the tunnels without me and Viktor."
This shut Harry up for a second, though a smile replaced the momentary surprise, "Deal."
In a way, it was ridiculous that they had to argue about this, they had gone through a war together, for Merlin's sake. And yet... It almost felt like they were back in their First Year, when the dangers of a Second Wizarding War had not been hanging as prominently above their heads as it had the last few years. From his expression, Hermione saw that he too noticed the weirdness of the situation. A sparkle glittered in his eyes and a second later he laughed out loud, soon followed by Hermione.
When they regained themselves Harry bumped his shoulder against hers playfully. This made him notice her attire and what he saw made a frown replace his smile, "Hermione..."
"I know," she said quickly and averted her eyes, looking at the grass and up the hill towards the castle, "I know, Harry."
"Do you?" He muttered as he touched her elbow and grasped the fabric of her sweater to tug gently at it, making her halt in her steps. "You are wearing Fleur's sweater all the time, you need to talk to her."
The Muggle-born looked back at him, her eyes explaining the reluctance she felt, the fear of being rejected, of truly losing a precious friendship that already seemed to be lost.
He saw it, he recognized it, and yet he continued to urge her. With his body language he told her, it will be alright.
You don't know that, she gestured with a tensing of her shoulders and the flick of a hand.
"I don't," he conceded, "But if you let it be like this, nothing is going to change."
"Harry, drop it," Hermione sighed, "last I heard, she and William were in France, and I am not going across countries to have a conversation with her."
He looked at her, his frown still there, he was clearly puzzled by something.
Even though it was Harry who looked at her like this, it unnerved her. "What?" She snapped.
Harry was not intimidated, "It's just..." He hesitated for a moment, "Don't get me wrong, I don't mean this nastily, but you... You always knew exactly what I or Ron were doing wrong or not understanding in regards to girls. When Cho was crying during our first kiss, for example, I had no bloody clue what was going on. And now you are the same, or seem so, anyway. What is the difference, what has changed?"
Hermione's eyebrows rose at hearing that, after a few seconds she said, "I suppose... I... Fleur... She seems..." She shook her head and started to walk again, deciding they would make a detour to the lake. Ducks quacked and flew away as the duo neared the shore. This was the first time she really made herself think about it, albeit being forced to do so. What had kept her from contacting the quarter Veela? "It's just... During our days at the Cottage... My friendship with Fleur came so naturally, it grew into a close friendship so quickly... Then suddenly something weird happened, I don't even really know what, and we went away to go after the Horcruxes that same day and... and... it has been weird and awkward ever since."
Harry was quiet, this was not new to him, he had watched it all happen and had heard about the weird moment between Fleur and Hermione in the garden. Carefully choosing his words, he said, "So... you know what went wrong... And yet you won't have a conversation with her about it?"
Now she frowned too, annoyance started to gnaw at her, but she knew he was right to point this flaw out. Her reasoning for what had gone wrong was not an excuse for not reaching out to the quarter Veela. Her shoulders sagged, the frown still in place, "You just can't let it go, can you?"
"I'm sorry, love, I just... I worry about you."
"You don't have to, Harry, I am alright."
"You say that and I believe you, but I just can't help but notice how you have changed the last few months."
She looked at him then, a bit surprised that he felt the need to talk about something that seemed so logical - so obvious - to her. But she took him seriously, always would, and answered him, "We all have. You, for one, seem less afraid of sharing your thoughts on feelings or, in this case, on confronting me on mine. That's what war does with people."
"I think that it is just you rubbing off on me," he said with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood with a joke, "finally, after all these years."
"'Ha-ha,'" the Muggle-born said sarcastically, "I take my words back, you are still a teenage boy who knows nothing about women."
He chuckled lightly but said nothing else, he gazed over the lake's surface. There was a sadness evident in the way he carried himself. She could not put her finger on the reason - there were far too many possibilities - but Hermione knew something bothered him. Without hesitation, she took his hand in hers. Harry gave it a squeeze, though his eyes did not waver from the scenery of the lake. Hermione watched him and felt gratitude wash away the earlier annoyance she had felt for Harry's prying, he was, after all, her dearest friend. He, of all people, was allowed to meddle in her personal affairs. No matter how painful they could be.
For a while, they walked hand in hand, unbothered by the silence whilst the sun warmed their skin whenever there were no clouds to hide it from view. Harry was the first to break their comfortable bubble, "How has Luna been? She has not been around for a while."
She hummed her agreement, "I got a letter from her, three days ago, her father is not doing well, hasn't been for a while. So they decided to stay at an inn, close to her mother's grave."
"Ah," was all Harry had to say upon hearing that news.
"And the Weasleys? How are you and Ginny?"
"It's been really nice to be with her again. I am going there tomorrow, after our visit to your... to the remains of your home."
Hermione did not respond; suddenly, the feeling of suffocating unease jumped her, constricted her throat. Sometimes the realisation that her house had been burned down, penetrated her shield, the walls she had erected to protect herself. Death Eaters had gone after her parents, only to be disappointed and set flame to it all. But the fact that her parents were sought after...
Harry squeezed her hand again, he looked at her worriedly, "Let's go inside, it's lunchtime."
The way back was silent, but this time it was charged; fear had gotten into her, it's teeth buried deeply into her flesh.
When they walked through the double doors of the Great Hall Hermione let go of Harry's hand and said softly, "I will be in the library, I am not hungry."
"Wait, I will be coming along, I want to look some stuff up as well," Harry said and quickly took an apple and banana from the fruit bowl on the table.
It was a lie and they both knew it, but the Muggle-born was grateful for his company, knew she would only worry about his safety when separated, in her current state of mind. And knew that he too would only worry about her, though more about her mental state than her safety. Or maybe both.
Together they walked into the library and seated themselves in their favourite reading corner. Hermione took all the books from out of her shoulder bag and continued where she had left last time. Meanwhile, Harry had taken several books from the shelves, one on Herbology and another on the History of Quidditch, and began reading them, at times taking a bite from his fruit.
Hours went by in which the only noises were their breathing, the turning of pages and the scribbling of a quill on parchment. It was just like all of the hours they had spent here through their years at Hogwarts. And ever so slowly, in the comforts of what she had always loved to do, Hermione relaxed again. The fear for her parents' well being stayed, that was not so simply shaken off, but at least the direness of the situation simmered down. Because no matter what she would do - sitting and waiting for morning to come or running straight away to what had once been her home - the destruction had already happened. It was a fact she could not change. And her parents and Crookshanks were in Australia, safer than in Britain so long as she did not lead any Death Eaters to them.
Outside dusk had fallen and at some point during the day, a house-Elf had stealthily awakened a fire inside the nearest fireplace, neither Harry nor Hermione had been aware of it at the time. Though they were grateful, for it crackled pleasantly and heated their little corner.
"I think I got it!" Said Hermione excitedly and slammed her book closed for good measure, eying the sleeping figure next to her.
Harry, who was brutally awakened from dozing off with his head on his arms, started to stretch and righten himself as he looked at her expectantly. "What exactly?" Then the sleep lifted from his mind and it clicked, "How? How did she survive the Killing Curse?"
"She did not, if I am correct she was never even in contact with it," Hermione said, picking up the parchment she had been taking notes on from the very start of her research and pointing to a section at the top of the paper. "At first I believed the energy of the Curse to be the source for escape, to trigger a charm or enchantment or something alike. Overgo a principle with another and you have a blind spot, simply put. However-"
"You are talking too quickly, skipping stuff," he grumbled, interrupting her. With his hands he rubbed his face roughly, getting rid of the last bits of sleep, and asked, "could you start over, please?"
"You're right, sorry," the Muggle-born said as she proffered Harry her notes. Which he accepted and took a quick look at, afterwards gazing back at her expectantly.
"What made me look into this- you were battling Voldemort, or was about to, so you didn't see- but maybe you have heard it by now-" she shook her head to stop her rambling and started anew, "so Lestrange... Upon being hit by the Killing Curse, she disintegrated into ashes. After thinking it over a few times, it struck me as odd. Never has any of our Dark Arts teachers mentioned anything about ashes or the body of someone disappearing after being hit by the Killing Curse. So I gathered whatever book I could find on the topic and started my research. As I kept reading my suspicions were affirmed, one does not simply become ashes after being hit. Unless they have dabbled into the making of Horcruxes. It's possible that Lestrange, too, has sliced her soul into parts, but I just... I don't... I wanted to know if there were any other alternatives. Just to be sure... After all, we didn't know she was in the tunnels. And I just..." she trailed off, unsure of what to say. She bit on her lower lip, momentarily lost in her thoughts, I just had to know, there was this unease...
Harry nodded, believed he understood what it was she was struggling with and reached out to lay a hand on one of her knees, "I get it, I am here."
Hermione took a deep breath and began to explain, "At first, I thought it to be solely the energy of the Killing Curse Molly had shot, that Lestrange had been able to use this, warp this into a different spell or make it trigger an escape route. Some kind of Portkey, one which needs an extra boost of sorts. But most of the books did not specify if it was at all possible to do this or not. And the few books who did, all denied the ability to divert the meaning of the curse into something less destructive. Saying as the power of the caster's hatred to be too prominent for the making of a neutral - let alone a positive - spell. The only logical solution to that would be to recast the energy into another dark spell. Which would be an impressive feat of itself and theoretically possible... But doing so at au moment du suprême is incredibly risky, it has never been practised successfully, for obvious reasons.
"Therefore another mechanism would be needed to guarantee success. And that is how I came to think of dark rituals, through some of the darker Herbology topics.
"It is considered a myth, even among skilled practitioners of the Dark Arts, at least it is said so in this book -" she pointed at a crimson cover in the pile of books with poisonous green letters on the spine, "- but Voldemort loved myths and using them - re-creating them - to show just how powerful a wizard he was. The making of Horcruxes, the diadem of Ravenclaw, the Elder Wand. So, if what I have found is to be true, we can even add successful transportation using 'Quartsdium' to the list of Voldemort's achievements... That man... Harry, he was such a powerful wizard, it's outrageous." She did not feel the admiration she had felt for the invisible web of spellcasting Bellatrix had left behind in the tunnels of Gringotts, there was a disgusted tone to her words. All she could see before her mind's eye was the starved man who had lunged for her whilst she had been disguised as Bellatrix, begging to know what had happened to his children.
"If only he had used it for the good," said her companion bitterly, a dark look sparked in his eyes.
She nodded, almost absentmindedly, whilst she stared into the flames of the fire and added, "I have to find out how it was made possible... It's highly dangerous, incredibly so, the rate of Spilching is so much higher than with Apparation. The few times Quartsdium was experimented with, tried out on people sentenced to death, those people would appear on the right spot, but with all of their vital organs missing... Which is among the reasons why it is considered a myth, why Quartsdium is not believed to be possible. We know too little of it to be sure that this has ever been done successfully, there are only the handful of essays that confirm it to be possible to this day. Saying that given the right amount of energy... but what if there is more missing? What if there are more spells or enchantments needed than we are aware of?"
Harry still had a frown on his face, his gaze having transferred back to the parchment in his hands, reading the words on them. They were silent for a few minutes, as he took it all in. Hermione, too, was occupied with her own thoughts, going through the whole of her research. Reliving the rollercoaster of feelings she had undergone at first, whilst merely suspecting Bellatrix to still be alive and keeping this theory to herself; fear, shock, nervousness and unease. And once she knew Lestrange was actually alive and captured, sheer determination had taken over. She had to find out what had been the method of escape.
"How did you figure out to look into Herbology? Why not Transfiguration? Or Potions?" Harry suddenly asked and looked at her, the dark frown replaced by puzzlement.
"McGonagall gave me a hint a few days ago. At first, I looked only for explanations in the Dark Arts, but she told me to look into Herbology as well. To broaden my search. And I know that Dark Arts and Herbology combined make for herbal rituals, which is why I knew I had to specify my Herbology books on these kinds of magic and spellcasting."
"So Minerva already knew about the method of escape?"
"Yes, I believe she did."
They were silent again, but not for long. Harry sighed, shook his head lightly and eyed his watch, "If we are quick we can still grab some dinner."
Hermione did not want to go, despite the hunger that gnawed at her insides, she wanted to continue with her research; to write it all down, every detail, and reference her sources. To read the books she had yet to touch, her research was not truly completed yet. But instead of saying so, she nodded, grabbed her shoulder bag and summoned the books, ink, quill and her notes into it. Ready to follow Harry to the Great Hall.
Her head, heavy and clouded. Thoughts which did not make sense, she did not register them. Though she knew it was because of the food. Poisoned, drugged. Still, she ate, knowing they would drug her anyway. No matter if she stopped eating or not.
But more than that basic understanding - that the fog in her head was not from illness - she did not understand. Only when invaded - her mental privacy, people trying to make her talk through a truth potion and Legillimency - did the fog lift. Somewhat. It would lift enough for instinct and honed skills to kick in. Make them angry. A cackle bubbled inside her at hearing their frustration, at knowing it was there, but it would not come. A cough instead, shudders all over her body. Weak. Her Lord would be ashamed. But he would get her out, he had to, she was his most loyal follower.
There was something though, a feeling, a knowledge. Yet she could not recollect it, it made her sleep uneasy, exhausting her all the more, despite the drugs in her system.
A steady rhythm of footsteps announced Minerva's coming. Harry was the first to turn towards the Headmistress to wish her a good morning and explain his and Viktor's reasoning to tag along. All the while, Hermione quickly finished telling Viktor about her findings. Last night, during dinner until just before getting her sleeping draught from Pomfrey, she had told him the redlining of her discovery and she had used this hour and a half to go into the details of her research. Not exercising that morning had given her the time she needed for it and also granted their bodies a bit of rest.
"That's amazing," said Viktor quietly after she had finished, a proud smile adorned his lips as he gazed at her. Hermione wanted to ask jokingly if he meant Lestrange's achievements or her own, but kept herself from saying anything as Harry and Minerva came to stand with them.
"- always welcome," was all which Hermione caught from Minerva's response to Harry, then the older woman nodded towards the other two and said, "Let's make our way to the gates, our Portkey lies there."
The four of them walked over Hogwarts' grounds, Hagrid waved at them from his garden and the group waved back. Seeing him prompted Hermione to tell Minerva about the trip she had organised with Charlie.
"Hagrid came to me, he told me about it," Minerva nodded, looking forward again as they continued to walk. "I made arrangements with Gawain to sent some people to help with Grawp's cave, we need that place to be ready and safe for Grawp to stay during Hagrid's absence."
"When will that take place, Professor?" Asked Harry.
"They will arrive tomorrow, it was quite a struggle to make the arrangements, but they will arrive here at 11 o'clock. And before you ask, Mr Potter," Minerva said with a look at Harry, "ask Flitwick if you can join them. He will lead the party together with Hagrid. I cannot accompany the team, there are other matters I will be occupied with."
"Like the tunnels?" He asked almost neutrally, though hope was still present in his voice. Then he quickly added, "Professor."
Hermione frowned at Harry, trying to convey to him that he was acting like his Third-Year-self, but he ignored her.
The Headmistress was not impressed by his need for answers and, without missing a beat, said, "Mr Potter, as I said before, I cannot breach certain rules. You want answers, I understand that, but you will have to wait nonetheless." They had arrived at the gates and with a wave of her hand, Minerva made them open. Not a squeak was heard from the hinges. "Our Portkey stands at our left, behind the oak tree."
Viktor was the first to reach it and picked up the partially burned wood. He looked at Hermione questionably, "It's from your house?"
"It's from one of my father's study chairs," she said softly as she came to stand next to her lover, recognizing the intricate carvings adorning the wood. The fact that her home had been burned down came closer than ever before and all the more real. She had to blink several times before her sight was no longer blurry.
A gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder, "I am sorry, Miss Granger, I had to pick something which truly belonged there, as you know."
She nodded, "I do, Professor."
"Good. I suspect we won't be walking into an ambush," Minerva said to them all whilst she pointedly put her hand on the carved wood Viktor held, "but, suffice to say, do keep your wands at the ready. Also, the place is warded, so Muggle's who pass by will not see us."
When Harry and Hermione had followed her example and gripped the wood as well, the Professor voiced the trigger-word. In a flash, accompanied by the unpleasant feeling of the hook behind the navel, they travelled across the country.
As they landed within the dark and burned remains of her home, Hermione felt sick. Not only because of their means of travel but from what she saw around her and the nerves that had settled inside her. For she knew that McGonagall had questions about the whereabouts of her parents, why the Grangers had not been there at the time of the break-in and had yet to turn up in the Ministry's search.
Around them, the walls were mostly still standing, though blackened and with cracks. As they walked through the house Hermione noticed how there were a few bits and pieces of furniture left, though all were burnt like the carved wood that had served as a Portkey. But there had been few furniture left behind in the first place, she knew, for she had made sure her parents would take everything important with them.
The Muggle-born was vaguely aware that Minerva told about the findings of the wizarding investigators and explained what the Muggle forensics would be made to believe in a few days' time. That it was not magical fire which had set it all aflame, but that it was truly the gas explosion they had suspected it to be from the start.
The Professor continued to tell about the perpetrators, which are believed to be Death Eaters, yet the number of people was still a mystery. Though one had gotten caught in the Fiend Fire, their remains were currently studied in the Ministry. That they believed to know the identity within 24 hours. And that the Department of Mysteries had begun to aid the Aurors in their investigation.
However, though being the slightest bit aware that it was told, all this news fell on deaf ears; Hermione was unresponsive. Her mind was elsewhere, with the 'what if's' and the realization that she was truly homeless now. And far worse: there were killers after her parents. Through her parents, they would get to her, and through her, they would get to Harry. It had been the whole reason for Obliviating them. And still, to be confronted with this sight...
"Hermione," Minerva's brogue was slightly audible, "are you alright? Come here, have a seat." With a single tap of her wand on a piece of wood, Minerva conjured bits and pieces into a cough. And reached out for her student, to guide the stunned woman.
When she sat down, Hermione looked up at her mentor, blinked and said, "I am sorry, Professor, I- I didn't listen to what you said."
"That's quite alright, I should not have waited to tell you here, of all places. But it has been hectic at Hogwarts, I simply forgot..."
Viktor and Harry were with them in the same room. The latter stood at a hole in one of the outer walls, where a window had once been, looking out over the street. All the while, Viktor quietly walked around, studying the remains of his lover's house, a place he had never been before. In a way, he too felt like something was taken from him, the opportunity to see where Hermione had grown up. Now he regretted that he had always asked her to come to Bulgaria in the summers. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, angry at himself.
Minerva continued to speak as she sat down at the other side of the cough, giving Hermione some space, "I will tell you everything you want to know, another time. But there is one thing I do have to ask you... The Ministry planned to send you several documents to read through and answer, but after a word they refrained. However, they still need to know what happened..."
Of course, the Muggle-born knew exactly what McGonagall meant and needed not to hear the words to start her tale. Her sight became blurry once more, but no matter how much she blinked, Hermione could not dispel the tears. They streamed down her cheeks as she told her Professor everything she had done to ensure their safety before the start of the Horcrux hunt. Minerva listened silently, her expression was stern, but as time passed her eyes softened ever so slightly.
She did not promise to help Hermione to find a cure for the Obliviated minds of her parents, she did not say it would be alright, nor did McGonagall shush her when the tears became too much. Instead, Minerva held Hermione as she broke down into sobs, she rocked her gently in her arms. Stroking brown curls out of Hermione's face as the young woman lost her bearings.
Their travel back to the castle went by in a haze. The Muggle-born was only vaguely aware of being brought to the nursery, where Pomfrey gave her a potion against the shock, after which she was made to lay down on her bed. She could not sleep, but the warmth of the blanket around her did comfort her. Harry and Viktor stayed around, talking about the happenings during the last few days; about the tunnels and the damaged doors to the Chamber of Secrets, about Bellatrix's capture and what had happened to the Death Eater since. They also wondered about the Goblins and when the moment would come that Harry and Hermione could go into their vaults without any problems. And if Kingsley even had the time on his hands to negotiate with the Goblins on their behalf. And what about Grimmauld Place, would it ever be safe enough to live there again?
Hermione mostly listened, only a few times did she pipe in with her own opinion. However, whenever Pomfrey was close by they would divert the subject to more neutral waters, like Hagrid's upcoming visit to Romania and how it would be to live and take care of dragons, or how Kreacher was doing, if he liked the temporary stay and work at Hogwarts.
Just before dinner, Pomfrey let them know it was alright for Hermione if she wanted to stretch her legs. The trio made their way through the corridor leisurely.
"In a few veeks, the halls vill be teeming vith students again," observed Viktor, "Strange, isn't it?"
"Yeah," breathed Harry, his hands in his pockets as he looked through an archway into the empty courtyard. "Yeah, really strange."
Viktor halted in his steps and cleared his throat, to garner the attention of both companions. Both Harry and Hermione halted to look at him.
"I vanted to vait till ve vere alone," he said, looking at Hermione, "but now is just as good a time. I didn't tell you, because I vanted it to be a surprise, but I have applied for several Quidditch teams, including the Montrose Magpies."
Hermione's surprised curiosity transformed into an incredulous smile, "And you got accepted." She did not even formulate it as a question.
Viktor grinned at them, but he had mostly eyes for her, "I did."
"Congratulations!" She beamed, reached out to wrap her arms around her lover's neck and kissed him, though not for long because she had the urge to clarify, "So you will be close by during our last year?"
"Yes, that's the plan," Viktor smiled, one arm around her waist as he looked from her to Harry, who was beaming as well.
"That's fantastic, you will be in a top-three team!" Said Harry excitedly and raised his hand for a high-five, "And! We can meet up every Hogsmeade weekend."
Viktor clapped Harry's hand with his own, "Exactly."
The clocktower announced the start of dinner and the three began to walk again.
"Any idea yet what position you will have in the team? Will you be their Seeker? And when will you start training with them?"
"Seeker," concurred Viktor, "but I have no idea about the schedule yet. They vill also help me find a place to stay, somewhere between here and Montrose."
"When are you going to sign the contract? For how long will you sign?" Asked Hermione.
"They vanted me to sign for five seasons, but I bargained to three. I vanted to be flexible after your exam year, but they would not give a contract for one season."
From there on Harry and Viktor continued to talk about Quidditch and what the future would hold for Viktor's career, which came as no surprise to the Muggle-born. She smiled whilst she listened to their voices, to their cadence, not the words they spoke. It was soothing to listen to them. Male voices could have an earthiness to them which a lot of female voices lacked. Those were more the airy kind of voices, which was not unpleasant, just different.
During dinner, she realized that Harry had yet to go to the Weasleys, he had not gone to them like he had said he would. She did not ask why, nor did she try to convince him to go. She was glad to have him here still. Despite the good news Viktor had just shared, she still felt like a frayed bundle of hopelessness and knew that if he had gone to the Weasleys that her worry about him would constantly gnaw at her conscience. She had to tackle these frequent irrational worries with her therapist soon.
As they ate Hermione noted that Minerva had still not returned, at least she was not present at the table. After accompanying the three to the nursery the Headmistress had gone straight to the Ministry. They knew it was partly to relay what Hermione had done for her parents' safety, but that should not take several hours. As she chewed on a piece of chicken she wondered what else kept the Professor there.
That night, both Viktor and Harry slept in the beds next to hers in the nursery.
Cold metal was clicked around her throat and wrists, restraining her movements. It drained her from the little energy she had, making her stumble behind. Another session of interrogation, she longed for it. The fog in her head which would lift ever so slightly, making her able to think beyond her simple needs such as food, water and peeing.
A cough rattled through her, shook her body. From far away she heard a male voice drily note something about blood. She wondered when they would start using painful tactics in their interrogation. Weaklings, all of them. I will show them, their games won't break me.
There was a certain listlessness which had come over her after they had returned from her burned home. Hermione felt like she barely had enough energy to continue with the routine she had created in the last three days; she would wake up early to exercise with Viktor, after which she would patrol the grounds with Hagrid and Harry, followed by a shower and breakfast. From there on she had a free schedule. However, when Harry asked if she wanted to tag along with him, Flitwick, Hagrid and the Auror team to secure Grawp's cafe, she declined. Saying that she wanted to take a look at Neville's birthday presents, while truthfully, she felt too weak. She was certain that she had way too little energy to battle with the will of Bellatrix' wand.
So while she smothered her worries about the group's safety she went to the greenhouse and took care of the plants. Though there was not much to do, she gave them some water and checked if the temperature was right. After which she went to the stadium to try to read and occasionally look up to watch Viktor practice. Unfortunately, it did not work. Besides the worries for Harry and the group, Hermione felt the absence of a certain person. She missed Luna. They had written each other letters, but it was different from being with someone. If only Luna would come back from her trip to her mother's grave.
Harry, Flitwick and Hagrid came back around dinner, looking dishevelled and tired. Hagrid's coat was slightly scorched at some ends and Harry's hair had not been this dishevelled since the Battle. Flitwick, on the other hand, was spotless, not a single drop of mud was on his clothing, nor a single hair was out of place. However, he was the most tired-looking of the three, with a grey-ish white complexion. Hermione offered him a Pepper-Up potion from her shoulder bag, but he declined with a tired smile and a pat on her hand.
"I will go to Madam Pomfrey later," he promised, "not to worry."
"Sir," said she, "what happened?"
"We ran into some trouble," he said with a sigh and began to fill his plate. "At first we made splendid headway, there was no obtrusion on our way there. But once we came closer to Grawp's cave things became more difficult..."
"It was them spiders," Hagrid added gruffly, though there was a crack in his voice, "Aragog's offspring yer see. I had ter try ter dissuade them, I had ter! But they wouldna listen..."
"Vhat happened?" Asked Viktor, indicating Hagrid's coat with a nod of his head, "Acromantula don't spit fire."
"The spiders had made their nest there. It was not as hor-" Harry stopped himself there, glancing at Hagrid before he continued, "as big as the nest I ran into the Second Year. There were not as many spiders, but it was still very... impressive.
"The scorches are from our magic, well from an Auror who had had enough of the escalating argument and started the battle and- well-"
"I tried ter step between them..." Hagrid said and slammed a fist on the table, "They were only hungry! If we had given them some meat-"
"Calm down, Rubeus, I know it's difficult, but it was them or us," said the Professor, doing his best to sound calm and understanding.
Whilst Hagrid and Flitwick tried to make each other see their point of view, Harry leaned forward over the table towards Hermione and Viktor and told more about their experiences, "After the spiders were dealt with we had to get rid of all the webs, it took us hours. That sticky stuff is horrible. But as we worked we found more and more bodies which were webbed. Mostly humans. And from looking at their clothing, we know they are likely to be escaped Snatchers and maybe even Death Eaters. Their bodies have been taken to the Department of Mysteries to be identified and examined. They will be given to the mortuary once that is done.
"The Aurors think that the human escapees had been there first, hiding from the Auror patrols and the Centaurs in the Forest. And that the spiders arrived there later; perhaps ambushed them, or poisoned and webbed them in the middle of the night while they were asleep."
Hermione had difficulty eating the rest of her meal, she was not really afraid of spiders, but hearing how there had still been a group of Acromantula in the forest and which had actually eaten humans made her stomach slightly squeamish.
"So which wards have been put on Grawp's cavern to keep it safe?" She asked in order to divert the subject.
While they ate Harry listed the enchantments and spells they had cast and how they had walked back to Hagrid's cabin to get Grawp and bring him back to his own cave, which he had been thrilled by. He had even been toying with the spider carcasses when the group had started on their way back to the castle, leaving the Giant at his renewed home.
After dinner that evening the Muggle-born went to Minerva's office, hoping to meet her Professor to be able to ask after her visit to the Ministry and to tell her that she believed to have found out Bellatrix' manner of escape. But the gargoyle guarding the stairs to the office informed her that the Headmistress was not present.
The next day, as she was jogging with Viktor, Hermione realized what was causing her listlessness, it was the prospect of the medal ceremony which was due the next day, followed up with the small get-together at the Weasley's. She was nervous, extremely so. She dreaded the long day ahead, the large crowd which would be gathering in the Great Hall, the fact that she would have to receive a medal in front of all those people and cameras.
After the patrol with Harry and Hagrid, she decided to retreat into the library, wanting to be left alone. Here she browsed through the collection, picked out some books she knew she had to memorize for her N.E.W.T.s and began to read them in one of the darkest corners the library had to offer. She read the day away, only halting for a few minutes whenever her eyes felt too tired from focusing for too long. During one of those pauses, she was reminded of her own journal, in which she wrote her daily-doings for the next therapy session. She considered writing a summary of everything she had written, but the whole prospect of having to write and be productive was too much. She was just too tired, too listless.
When she returned to the Nursery in the evening Pomfrey asked her to come into her office, for they had to refresh the salve on Hermione's forearm.
The Muggle-born tried to focus on the lavender-scented water, to enjoy the scent it spread through the air. But the red liquid which was added to the darkening of the water every time Pomfrey squeezed out the sponge within it, only reminded her how little she understood of the curse on her arm.
Poppy seemed to see the change in her patient and said neutrally, "Tell me something about Bulgaria, dear, I've never been there. Is it worth a visit?"
It took her a moment to think about the question, to create an answer inside her head. And though she felt the pricking sensation on her forearm (while knowing that the real pain was still to come), Hermione began to talk about the towns Viktor had taken her to over the years, the nature surrounding his home village and the Quidditch stadium the village had erected after Viktor had made it to the professional league. Talking about Romania helped her refocus her attention. She still felt the pain and gasped for air whenever it truly hurt, but at least she had something to keep her ever so slightly distracted.
She was brought back to her cell, she knew that but had no idea how they navigated through the endless corridors, let alone which way was north or south. Everything was a blur. Her head throbbed. She felt sick.
Fresh blood and spittle gathered at the corners of her mouth. During the interrogation, she had bitten down on her own tongue to keep from talking. They had forced an unhealthy dose of Veratiserrum upon her. Yet her resolve had not faltered once, nor would it ever do so.
She did not make it to her cell, blackness overtook her vision.
Aurors had arrived the previous evening, to prepare the Great Hall and to patrol up and down the castle and its grounds. The men and women had been going out and about non-stop, like bees on a sunny day. Some looked tired and were to be released from their duty soon, but most were frowning or had a neutral expression whilst they kept an alert eye on their surroundings. None of them had any idea that Bellatrix was still very much alive, none of these gathered people did. Hermione was certain of it. Momentarily she wondered if Kingsley would ever make the news public, or maybe he would let her be killed and her body burned into real ashes. The Muggle-born felt uneasy at the idea.
Harry sat beside her, talking softly with Ron. Hermione had no interest in listening to their conversation, instead, she observed the inflow of people into the Great Hall. The trio had front row seats, together with the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, direct family members and other important people. She wanted to talk with Luna, who had just arrived with her father. But father and daughter were seated a few chairs away and the ceremony was about to begin. They would have to wait.
Viktor came back to sit at her other side, for he had been gone to the toilet. He laid his hand palm upwards on his thigh and wriggled his fingers.
She laid hers in his and entwined their fingers, "Sorry for my sweaty hand."
"It's going to be alright," he assured her, smiling slightly. "You are beautiful."
In the morning Hermione had decided to don her hair in braids, joining them at the back of her head with a black ribbon. Her clothing was less impressive though equally black, she had transfigured Fleur's bloodied sweater into a jacket and wore fancy trousers and shoes which she had bought for occasions like these.
"Thanks," she said, before she added teasingly, "You, on the other hand, look intimidating. Handsome, but intimidating."
Viktor wore his traditional Bulgarian wizarding robes, it accentuated his muscular build but the sharp contours and metal accents made it look more like a battle tunic. He showed a sheepish smile and shrugged, after which he changed the subject, "Have the Veasleys told how ve vill travel to their house to you? Are ve supposed to go on our own or did they create Portkeys for the occasion?"
"Ron mentioned something about a Portkey, yes, but I wasn't listening, to be honest. We won't be with many, so I think one Portkey will suffice. Have you seen-" She wanted to ask if he had seen the new Headmaster of Durmstrang yet, but a shushing in the crowd made silence descend.
Kingsley had stood up, his dark purple robes moved with every step and showed off the details sewn in the fabric. It reminded Hermione of an Art Nouveau art piece. He took to standing behind the owl lectern, straight shouldered and yet he was able to look relatively relaxed as if he was about to talk to a group of dear friends and not a whole nation. The only noise came from the cameras which clicked away, though the flashes which normally accompanied them had been disabled.
"Today, on June the 1st," began the Minister, "we have gathered here at Hogwarts to mourn and give thanks to the many people we have lost during the Battle of Hogwarts on May the 14th." As he spoke he held the tip of his wand against the side of his throat. Not to amplify his voice, as had been done during the Triwizard Tournament, but to broadcast his speech over the wizarding radio, for those who wanted to listen but could not attend the ceremony itself.
"The return of Voldemort was a few years ago, announced during the end of the Triwizard Tournament here at Hogwarts. From there on -"
Without realizing it Hermione already began to lose her focus, memories from those horrible minutes resurfaced. Moments wherein she had been forced to watch as Harry reappeared with a dead body in his arms, as cries had echoed when people started to recognize the body as Cedric Diggory. How she and Ron had tried to force their way to Harry but been unable to reach him. The months of distrust people had shown Harry when he said that Voldemort had returned, the rightful frustration Harry had felt because of this and the unfair lashing out he had done towards her and Ron at times.
Hermione stirred, blinked several times and focussed her thoughts in order to pay attention to Kingsley's speech.
"- the Final Battle in these halls. People, young and old, gave their lives during this battle, were taken from us.
"And let it be clear that people not only from the United Kingdom came to fight for and with us. From Bulgaria and France, they came; humans, Centaurs, House-Elves, a Giant, a werewolf and many more living beings came to our need. We were united, together we fought for one cause. And we won.
"As we all know there were three persons who were essential in the defeat of Voldemort. Please come forward: Harry James Potter, Hermione Jane Granger and Ronald Billius Weasley."
While they stood up and walked onto the podium everyone in the castle seemed to applaud them, it was like an endless thundering. People stood from their seats, giving the trio a standing ovation. But Hermione did not look at the masses. Instead, she focussed her eyes on the front row, where Viktor stood, clapping for her. And Luna who, though slightly overwhelmed with all the people, clapped too, as did Neville and Ginny. The latter who had her arm hooked around George's arm. He looked miserable, but he was here to honour his lost brother and he did so with dignity, his tears falling freely as he too clapped for the trio. And William and Fleur who stood beside them. Charlie, the Delacour family and Molly and Arthur too were close by. The Weasley matriarch was crying silently, letting the tears stream down her cheeks unattended, though her watery smile was filled with warmth. All the while, Arthur had one arm over her shoulders and looked proudly up at them. Minerva, though seated at the other side of the front row among Hogwarts' remaining Professors, was also someone Hermione searched for in the masses.
An assistant followed Kingsley around to get and hold open the boxes from which the Minister took the medals for each to hang around their necks. Thanking them for the services they had done for the country. First Harry, then Hermione and lastly Ronald. When the latter had received his medal, beaming the whole time, the trio was allowed to go back to their seats. The applause finally ceased. But not for long, for other people were invited up the stage to receive their medal. The crowd would applaud, but there came no more standing ovations.
It was strange, all those months hunting for Horcruxes had been so utterly lonesome. Until the radio broadcast of Fred and George, it had felt as if they had been all alone, battling against Voldemort. For the first time, they were able to see just how many people had risked their lives for 'the greater good' in some outstanding way or another. Hermione applauded them all, feeling immensely relieved that her part - no matter how passive it had been - was over and done with.
When all the medals had been received, Kingsley positioned himself behind the lectern once more and continued his speech, "We won. Since then we have been and will continue to celebrate this, but we won not without losing lives. From this day on funerals will be held daily, throughout the whole country. Rest assured that these will be guarded and warded. Today we have also come together to mourn the dead, to give them the honour they deserve. Because they are more than merely people lost to us, they had families and loved ones, they had plans for their futures. And the least we can do is to commemorate them today, to thank them."
For a few seconds, silence stretched after these words, but before long it was broken. For the sound of joined voices singing came from the open doors of the Great Hall. A choir of men and women walked inside, all dressed in the same black robes. Though the choir divided itself into two, one walked around the seated people at the left side of the hall whilst the other mirrored their movements on the right side. The group came together again as they walked up the podium from either side and took to standing behind Kingsley. They sang a few more songs of mourning, of which the last was accompanied by bagpipes.
Hermione looked over the heads of the choir into oblivion, listening absentmindedly to them.
The get-together was rather small, compared to other Weasley family parties she had attended, for which Hermione was grateful.
For one, Charlie and Hagrid had already gone shortly after the ceremony had ended less than two hours ago. The journey would take them the remainder of the day if not more Their ways of travel being a flight through the air. And if everything would go over smoothly, they would arrive in Romania at midnight. Though Hagrid's motorcycle had not looked like it could take much more riding.
Furthermore, McGonagall and Kingsley had declined the offer, as had Luna and her father, to Hermione's surprise and disappointment. The only other people invited who were not part of the Weasley family were Andromeda, Teddy, Harry, Viktor and herself.
Still, after the whole ceremony, she felt rather drained from the energy needed to be around others. However, she was here, so she made the best of it.
Despite herself, Hermione felt more and more relaxed given time. She used the same old trick, to participate passively simply by listening to the conversations around her, by smiling and nodding at the right times or ask a question concerning whatever the talker deemed interesting and then she could pretend to listen again. Time ticket on like this for most of the evening, until a noise at her left caught her attention.
Harry coughed, whilst stealthily bumping his elbow against her arm. Without giving anything away she turned to him and offered him her glass of water, "Here, take a sip." As she did this she kept a close eye on him, the elbow bump made her alert, she was certain he wanted to tell her something without words.
Still coughing, he took it and brought the glass to his lips, but not before giving her a pointed look which was followed by the slightest indication towards the house. Had she not been looking for a silent message she would have missed it. But she followed his instructions and saw how Fleur had excused herself and was walking towards the house. Hermione's heart sank at the realization of what Harry wanted her to do. No, what he would force her to do if she would not go herself. The Muggle-born excused herself as well, claiming to go refill the can.
She was mindful to keep her shoulders from sagging in defeat. With every step she took, dread seemed to grow heavier inside her. Doubt followed suit. Was she doing the right thing? Did it not seem suspicious to the others at the table? But what was there to be suspicious about anyway? She just wanted to - was forced to - have a heart to heart with Fleur. Under the guise of filling an empty can. But what if Fleur would laugh at her, make fun of her for thinking that they had a friendship in the first place? Maybe she should run away now she still could, Viktor would come with her and she could write Harry a long letter and explain-
With a deep intake of breath, Hermione closed the door behind her. She was already inside the house. A last glance at the table had shown her that everybody was still talking merrily, no one had watched her retreat with suspicion written on their face.
The Muggle-born let go of the door handle and wondered in which bathroom she would find Fleur, but first, she had to fill the water can. To keep up the pretence. She went into the kitchen, which was also exactly where she found the quarter Veela. Hermione could not hide the surprise at finding her culprit here, "err... Hi Fleur." She gave an awkward wave with her empty hand before she closed the kitchen door too.
The woman in question - who stood at the counter, filling her glass with a newly opened wine bottle - looked sideways at her. "Bonjour, 'Ermione," not a single sign of emotion was visible in her features, her voice neutral.
Hermione put the empty can on the table in the middle of the kitchen, to free her hand and nonverbally tell that this encounter was not at all planned. Even though it was, somewhat. And for a second she thought that she would actually just do that, fill the can and go back out. But she could not, that would doom any further attempts at reconciliation.
Fleur kept silent as she regarded the younger woman with a slight frown on her face. By now the bottle was back on the counter and she had turned her body to face Hermione, all the while she sipped her wine as she leaned with her hip against the edge of the table. Fleur's confidence oozed off of her.
"I came here to... to fill the water can," Hermione began hesitantly in French, "but that was just a guise to come and talk to you."
The quarter Veela raised one eyebrow at hearing this, but nothing else changed in her features. Despite the arrogance that oozed off of Fleur, Hermione had the feeling to be faced with a wall of ice. Emotionless. The woman she had gotten to know in Shell Cottage - warm, kind and funny - seemed in that moment to have gone forever.
Hermione tried again, "I wanted to- I would really- appreciate if-" she winced at her own fumbling for words, "Do you think we could talk for a bit?"
A nod came from the lady of ice and, lo and behold, she even put down her wine glass. "Of course, are we not doing that already?"
"It certainly doesn't feel like a conversation," said the Muggle-born drily, taking the bite from her words by forcing a sheepish smile on her lips.
The frown that appeared on Fleur's face broke through the icy exterior, for which Hermione was thankful, at least now she felt like she was actually connecting with the woman, albeit it being with an annoyed Fleur.
Though as the silence stretched, Hermione wished she could take back her words, apologetically she said, "I didn't say that to make you angry."
"You could have fooled me."
Hermione took a deep breath, "Please, Fleur, I am sorry for whatever I did wrong at Shell Cottage. Can't we go back to the friendship we had?"
This time two eyebrows went up, in an unimpressed manner, "Stop apologising, I don't want you to."
"Then what do you want?" Asked Hermione in an exaggerated way with her hands open, palms up. "What do I have to do to stop this?" And as she said this she indicated the space between them with her hands.
Fleur clucked her tongue, her frown deepened as she followed Hermione's hands with her eyes. Her voice was cold when she asked, "What exactly are you insinuating?"
"This!" Snapped Hermione, momentarily forgetting to speak in French, then she continued in a softer voice, as to not garner the attention from the people in the garden, "Exactly this. I have only to say 'hello' and you look down your nose at me for uttering the word in your direction. While all I want is to mend the bridge I unwittingly burned."
Fleur's voice was rising, her annoyance becoming more and more present, "You paint me like I am the villain, but I have tried multiple times during our stay in the camps to make things right between us."
Hermione too began to talk louder, "I know and I am sorry I snapped at you back then but I was having an argument with Harry and suddenly you were behind me and I just-"
At that moment the kitchen door opened, both women turned their heads at once to look at the intruder. Andromeda walked inside with a squeamish and mewling Teddy in one arm, whilst in the other, she held a fresh diaper and a box of cleaning tissues. Her intentions were clear to anyone. The new arrival looked from one to the other, before she clarified her entry, "Molly told me to go to the kitchen, saying that the bathroom would be too cramped, so I am afraid I will be trespassing on this delightful conversation for a bit." Her sarcasm was not lost to Fleur and Hermione.
Hermione stepped aside to make room for Andromeda and Teddy, quickly grabbing the water can from the table as well, but she did not say a word. Their interruption did little to lessen the tension that had been building up inside the kitchen all this time. She watched silently as the woman summoned a small blanket to spread itself over the table and gently laid her grandson on it. Andromeda hummed softly as she tended to the baby, the scent of his urine and faeces filled the room. The Muggle-born noticed how Teddy reached upward to try and grab some of the loose brown waves which had escaped Andromeda's hairdo. For a split-second, Hermione was reminded of ebony curls, dark eyes filled with hatred and a mad cackle. A shiver travelled down her spine, she blinked and tried to dispel the memories from her mind.
Fleur walked around the table and opened an upper window to enable fresh air to circulate through the kitchen. Also allowing the buzz of the gathering in the garden to reach them. Though she kept out of sight from the people outside, Fleur stayed in the last slivers of sunlight, reaching out her hand and summoning her wineglass into it.
The dirty diaper was thrown in the bin after which Andromeda took her time to gather her happily gurgling grandson in her arms. With a murmur, she banished the other stuff back to her bag in the hallway. Andromeda was at the door with her hand on the handle, not looking at either of the other women, when she spoke up again, her voice sincere and far from patronizing, "It saddens me to think that you two stand here, bickering over Merlin knows what, while you should be happy and merry to still be alive."
The door clicked shut behind the two. Leaving Hermione gripping the water can in a deadly grip and Fleur's frown back in place. That had struck a nerve. They both felt indignation at the condescending words, no matter that Andromeda meant well. They felt belittled. But it really hit them because they both knew it to be true, they knew bloody well that they should be forgiving and merry; they had been spared death, while Tonks and Remus had to die, leaving Teddy and Andromeda behind.
Mrs Tonks' words, though slightly condescending, made a difference. The tension which had filled the room since the beginning, charging their silences, seemed to have been undone. They could breathe more freely now. With a sigh, Hermione took the can, walked towards the sink and filled it with water before she put it back down on the counter. She looked one last time at the door where Andromeda had gone through, then turned her focus back to Fleur.
Fleur did not want any apologies. Hermione looked at her, saddened, she still wanted to mend things. Perhaps she just needed to be humiliatingly honest with the quarter Veela. With a deep sigh and wave of her hand, Hermione undid the charm on her clothing. What appeared was the bloodied sweater from Fleur. In a defeated voice, she said, "I have been tempting fate, believing you would find me in this at some point, but I guess that... we both just avoided each other too much..."
For the first time that evening, Hermione saw surprise glimmer in those dark blue eyes. "I wondered what had happened to it," Fleur mused softly, neglecting her wineglass on the table as she took a step closer. She narrowed her eyes as they went from blood spatter to blood spatter, calculating. "I thought that perhaps it had gotten lost."
"No," Hermione shook her head, not moving from her place, "I kept it, making myself believe you would not want a sweater adorned with old blood."
The quarter Veela looked up from the sweater into brown eyes. Her stare had such gravity to it that Hermione almost looked away, but she held her ground, though she felt a faint heat creep up her neck. Without realizing it herself, Hermione started fidgeting with the seams of the sweater. In a whisper, she repeated her earlier words, "I am sorry, Fleur."
"Non, don't be. Crimson brown doesn't suit my complexion, anyway, no matter if eet was my favourite sweater."
Hermione shook her head again, showing a small, hesitant smile in gratitude for the joke, "That is not what I was apologi-"
"I am aware, 'Ermione," Fleur said gently, interrupting her. She breathed deeply in and out before she continued, "Let's get this behind us, Mrs Tonks was right, we should be celebrating life, not stay bitter because of previous events."
The Muggle-born nodded, her smile becoming more sincere. Not a trace was left of the iciness she had witnessed in Fleur's features at the start of their discussion. Though her bearing had not changed, she stood proud still. However, Hermione reminded herself that Fleur had always been proud, during the Triwizard Tournament and during her stay at Shell Cottage, the difference being that she had accepted this during her stay and had looked past the arrogance. And she would do so again, she would reach for the other woman, to enjoy her humour and wit; to rebuild their friendship. With an earnestness audible in her voice, Hermione said, "Yes, please."
Silence settled once more between them, but this time it was not charged, they merely took a moment to process the acceptance and the willingness to recapture what had been lost. Laughter came from outside through the open window, Hermione could discern William's voice in between the others, he was the one telling the joke. Fleur looked out of the windows into the garden, the late afternoon light played with her silver-blond hair, giving it a fiery glow; almost like the Weasley's hair, though a paler version.
The kitchen door opened once more and Andromeda was - again - the one who walked in on them. By the look of her smile, Hermione suspected the older woman had come to check on them and was satisfied at what she saw. "So sorry," she said lightly, smiling kindly at the two young women. Then Andromeda reached into her dress pocket, took out Teddy's milk bottle and said drily, "Forgot his bottle on the kitchen table."
Hermione, who decided to play along with the lie, said, "Right, we were about to bring it to you."
"Oui," said Fleur whilst she took her glass and the wine bottle in her hands, "and let's not forget the reasons we came here for."
The three of them rejoined the gathering in the garden, all the while they conversed about Teddy's night routine of sleeping, waking up, crying and going back to sleep.
Fleur and Hermione did not talk for the rest of the evening. Though they had made up, there was a certain distance they could not cross in one night and that was okay. It was all a bit too raw. At least they no longer ignored each other. Whenever their eyes met they would smile or nod, acknowledging each other.
When the party broke up and everyone said their goodbyes, Fleur reached out to grasp Hermione's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, causing Hermione to smile warmly at her.
Tonight they had made the first step at reconciling, perhaps even two. The Muggle-born felt lighter as she walked over Hogwarts' grounds with Harry and Viktor like there was one less weight pressing down on her shoulders.
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