Chapter Sixteen
She woke up alone again. Once, even just a few days earlier, Hermione was used to it, but after going to bed two nights in a row with Fenrir, she didn't like it. After leaving him alone in the greenhouse after their kiss, she never expected to be able to fall asleep until he was right beside her again. Rarely had she been so worried about a person she cared about following such a difficult and emotional conversation. Fenrir didn't seem like the type to want to hurt himself when he was that upset. He seemed more the type to ignore and avoid.
When she climbed back into his bed, she allowed her mind to analyze and dissect all they talked about in his greenhouse. It was tempting to focus only on the kiss that made her brain go fuzzy, but she knew that wasn't what was most important. Selfishly she was glad she took the chance to kiss him when she did. There might not be another opportunity. If he pushed her away like she assumed he would try, she would have to content herself with the memory of what it felt like.
Fenrir was a broken man in many ways. Though it was temping to try to put the pieces back together again, Hermione knew that was only a fantasy of cheesy romance novels and sappy movies designed to make the viewers cry. Reality didn't work that way. No one could fix another person no matter how fervent their desire and iron their will. It would all be up to Fenrir to reconcile his present with his past to grant him a future where he could truly be happy. If he would rather run away to avoid his issues, she certainly couldn't help him.
Discovering the secrets of what was done to him in the past was really all she could do. She hoped there would be enough evidence to prove to him he wasn't still the monster he used to be. Everything changed about him after the war when he nearly died. Could whatever it was that his body was so addicted to that it almost killed him during withdrawal be the answer? She wouldn't give up no matter how many people warned her she was being foolish or dead-ends she hit. If the Ministry was responsible for ruining his life just as they were responsible for so many dead werewolves, she would find out.
His side of the bed felt warm. At least he hadn't lied when he told her he would join her in bed again. She'd been so certain that was a lie, even if he'd only just told her how he couldn't stand liars. Chilled through even with the heavy blankets, Hermione knew he hadn't tried to snuggle up behind her when he returned. His body gave off an extraordinary amount of heat she thought she could get used to in the freezing winter months. The heat of the summer would likely be something else entirely but in that moment, she wasn't even sure she could hope for another night in his cozy home, let alone months.
Friday mornings usually gave her a small measure of joy. As much fulfillment as Hermione found in her very important job, she couldn't deny how much she enjoyed the decadence of being able to sleep in. It was one of the few pleasure she allowed herself in an otherwise disciplined and responsible existence. Usually she was able to pop out of bed on Friday mornings with excitement about the day ahead. That week she wasn't even sure she was glad it was Friday or not. All she saw before her was a day filled with questions she couldn't answer and an uncertainty about whether Fenrir would even want her to come back.
Breakfast waited for her on the kitchen table under a warming charm. There was no sign of Fenrir. She assumed he was back inside the greenhouse. That seemed to be the place he felt most comfortable, where he could hide. As much as she wanted to go back inside to talk to him, she thought it was best to give him his space for the time being. He may have still been processing their kiss. She knew she was. How she was going to make it through the day without thinking about it could be a challenge.
It was something of a relief to be able to temporarily escape to the Ministry. Even though she felt no closer to solving the mystery of 'Operation Moonlight', sitting around Fenrir's house waiting for him to talk to her would only drive her mad. Keeping her mind busy with work might even help.
When she entered her office, Robert was already seated at his desk. Either he was getting into the habit of coming to work earlier or she was losing track of time in her mornings. His greeting wasn't terribly friendly nor was it cold. She couldn't figure the man out. Nothing had been the same between them since the morning he found Fenrir in her house. Always one to keep his thoughts to himself unless Hermione dragged them out, she knew it would be nearly impossible to ever get his full perspective on the recent changes between them. It was likely they could never go back to how it used to be for reasons she didn't understand.
"Was your purpose in telling Harry I could be found outside yesterday an attempt to get Fenrir noticed? Because I can hardly imagine a better person to have accidentally stumble upon a fugitive long believed to be dead than the Head of the Auror office who has also had past dealings with him during the war."
Annoyed, even angry, Robert threw his quill down on his desk. When he looked Hermione directly in the eye, she was almost afraid. Was he a danger? Rarely had she seen him upset. Each time she had, she wished she hadn't.
"If I wanted to turn Fen into the Ministry, I would've done it a long time ago before I considered him a friend. It would've been easy and no one would've gotten hurt. When Auror Potter came in here last night, all I said to him was you'd just left. If I thought for one second saying so would've put you or Fen or even Auror Potter in danger, I wouldn't have said it."
She believed him. There was nothing for him to gain by lying. Sensing she wasn't about to continue the argument, Robert's tense shoulders relaxed. The anger she'd seen on his face melted into a weary disappointment. She hated she'd even thought it was possible he would betray them.
"I'm sorry, Robert. It was wrong of me to accuse you of that. Will you forgive me?"
He tried to wave off her apology, but then accepted it after a few seconds. Appearing more embarrassed than anything else, he picked his quill up to resume his work. Hermione blamed her obsessive curiosity for not dropping the subject then and there.
"Why didn't you turn him in years ago when you found out he was still alive? No one would blame you after what he did to you."
Though still annoyed as both his heavy sigh and his facial expression revealed, the anger was gone from his eyes. In its place was only sadness. Gently this time, Robert laid his quill back down.
"Do you remember a few weeks ago when you asked me if a monster could ever stop being a monster and I asked you if you'd ever really known a monster?"
"Of course, I do. I was confused about Fenrir because he'd just saved my life and then he bought me quills."
She smiled when she remembered how utterly confused she'd been by the werewolf leaving violet quills on her kitchen table after he helped put her house back in order. It had been such a kind gesture to buy the quills after she had to run out of the shop without her wallet.
"Two days after You-Know-Who was killed and everyone was celebrating the end of the war, there was a knock on my door. It was woman I barely knew. Her name is Chiara Lobosca. When she was a kid…"
"Fenrir bit her."
He sighed again.
"Yes. Did he tell you about her?"
"Only that she hates him, but brews Wolfsbane for him. He said he doesn't hate her, but I know he regrets what happened."
"Yes, well, their relationship is even more complicated than mine with him, if you can imagine it. But long story short, she asked for my help. I didn't have any reason to say no. I'd already lost my job and I was about to be thrown out of my flat because I had no money. With everything I owned basically in my pockets, I let her take me to Scotland.
"She found Fen after the battle. Somehow he'd managed to crawl into the Forbidden Forest. We're not animals mind you, but we do have some primal instincts that come with being a werewolf. She tracked him. He was raving like a lunatic one second and then comatose the next. We were both surprised he wasn't dead. It wasn't safe to leave him in the Forest, but she couldn't move him alone. She needed help."
As fascinated as she was by hearing more about what happened to Fenrir after the war, she couldn't help but notice how little Robert was actually saying. There was a wealth of information he was keeping to himself. Hermione had dozens of questions. Out of fear that he would shut her out again if she became a nuisance, she sat quietly while he continued his story.
"I met Chiara when I was in St. Mungo's after I'd been bitten. Someone told her there was a new werewolf and she wanted to tell me I wasn't alone. She was the one who invited me to transform in Scotland. I didn't know it at the time that we were actually on Fen's land. No one else knew except for her. Maybe she thought we would've all been horrified and refused to go back if we knew. But that's not important. She specifically wanted me to help her bring Fen back to his house."
"Why?"
"Because she knew I was the only other werewolf who wasn't afraid of him and wanted to see him dead as much as she did."
There was a bite in his words that sent a chill up her spine. Each time she thought she really knew her assistant, Robert surprised her. It was possible she would never really know him like she wanted.
"I know this is all confusing. Trust me, I do. Chiara and I dragged Fen back to his house so we could kill him. Obviously, that's not what happened."
"Why? I'm sorry, I know I should ask something more substantial than that, but I can't think of anything better than just why?"
"Oh, I suggested we just end him right there in the Forbidden Forest. I wanted to kill him and let the wild animals dispose of his remains, but Chiara said that was too easy for him. If we killed him when he was out of it, he wouldn't even know or care it was us. It was very important to her that he know she was the one who killed him."
Revenge could make even a wise man foolish. It wasn't usually rational when someone relied entirely on their emotions. Poor decisions were usually made. There was a very valid reason why the saying 'revenge is a dish best served cold' made sense. When enough time passed that a wronged person could calm down and think their next steps through logically and with less emotion, the results were often better.
"So you both took him home to nurse him back to health just so you could kill him later?"
"Well… yeah, that was the plan. Have you ever nursed someone back to health who was on the brink of death?"
Hermione shook her head. She hoped she never would have to. It sounded awful.
"It's hard to keep thinking of a person who was weak and covered in their own filth as a monster. Fen used to haunt my dreams. Hearing him scream out for his mummy in his delirium made him just a little more human for me. I didn't have a job or even a place to live anymore, so I was the one who was there all the time. I got to see a more human side of him. After a few weeks when we no longer thought he was going to die, I actually started to like the bastard. He's very funny. When he stopped hallucinating and started to be able to hold real conversations, I saw a side to him I didn't expect. He wasn't a monster any longer."
"What did Chiara think? Did she still want to kill him?"
Robert sighed.
"She'd kill him today if she thought she'd get away with it. Like I said before, it's complicated between them."
Hermione's overactive imagination began to turn. What was the full past between them? Was she an ex-lover? Had they been in love before? Love and hate were often two sides of the same coin. Passion was passion, good or bad. A dozen questions popped in her mind she wanted to ask Fenrir. Would he answer?
"But even she noticed a change in him. She knew him when he was a monster. I didn't. Not really. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time when we met. I kept her from killing him. It wasn't for another few years before I considered him a friend, but when he was himself again, I refused to help Chiara kill him. She claims she's given up on trying again, but sometimes I wonder. Let's just say that if he ever disappears or shows up dead, I know who I'm going to suspect first."
"I certainly hope it never comes to that."
"So do I. The change I saw in him… I wonder if your theory about the serum isn't correct. There was something in his body that made him so sick and he wasn't the same afterwards. I won't lie that I'm not comfortable with Thicknesse's warnings and I hated knowing you were going into the Archives alone, but I want answers too."
The reminder that her list of names of involved Ministry officials was gone discouraged Hermione all over again. Another thorough search of her desk yielded no sign of its existence. It was gone. There was only one place she knew she could get it back.
Pius was only just able to hide his irritated groan when she walked back inside the Ministry Archives a few minutes later. Hermione was undeterred. Walking straight up to the wizard, she asked to be shown the file in the Restricted Section again.
"Do you have a permission form granting you access to the restricted file?"
"No, not any longer."
"Then I'm sorry, but I can't help you, Miss Granger. You don't have the necessary form."
"Because I gave it to you."
"I'm sorry, but if you want to see the file again, you will need to get the required permission form again."
She didn't understand why he was being so difficult. In all of the years they'd worked in the Ministry together, Pius had never been so rude and unhelpful. What was the wizard's problem? He was a mess of contradictions. Even when he warned her to stay away and drop the subject of 'Operation Moonlight', he still left the Archives unlocked to give her a chance to look on her own. Did he really want to help her or was he just trying to make her miserable? It seemed ridiculous that he would force her to go back to the Minister for Magic himself to get another form when he already knew she'd been given permission.
"Is everything all right, Miss Granger? Is there something I could help you with?"
Never had Hermione been thankful for Edgar Bletchley's sudden appearance. Though he always tried to remain professional in her presence, she got the impression he wasn't a big fan of Pius. Always looking for the opportunity to gain a little bit more influence with those he believed had it, she didn't think he would deny her request.
"No, Edgar. Everything is not all right, but I'm sure Mr. Thicknesse is simply doing his job and following the rules. I was in here just a few days ago reviewing a file in the Restricted Section. Kingsley gave me permission directly. There was a part I wished to get clarification on, but I no longer have the form the Minister gave me."
Edgar opened a drawer behind the counter to dig through a stack of parchment. Pius didn't even try to hide he was furious that she went over his head to his supervisor. When Edgar held up the form Kingsley gave her earlier in the week, Hermione couldn't stop the triumphant smile she shot in his annoyed direction.
"There's no need to bother the Minister again. Not when I have the proof right here. Come with me, Miss Granger. I'll pull the file for you myself."
Worried that Pius might be reprimanded after she left the Archives, Hermione's guilt got the better of her. While she watched Edgar move across the Restricted Section to the file she needed, she knew she had to say something in his defense.
"I hope I wasn't being too much of a bother, Edgar. It really wasn't Pius' fault. He was correct. I didn't have the right form."
"Nonsense. Pius is a stickler for the rules. He wasn't always that way, mind you, but since the war he's been very careful to not step out of line. I can respect his need to stick to the rules, but you and I both know exceptions can always be made."
Edgar's face fell when he opened the drawer and began looking for the file. Each second that ticked by with him looking over each file, his cheeks grew redder.
"It's not here. That's very strange."
Her stomach churned. Why did everything go wrong? Was it possible that the same person who stole the list of names, because she was convinced more than ever that it had been a deliberate theft, also removed the file from the Restricted Section? It should've remained inside the cold, sterile room at all times.
"I'm very sorry. I don't have any explanation for this. There must have been some kind of mix-up. Maybe the file wasn't returned to its correct place."
She didn't believe that was the case at all, but didn't want to let Edgar know she thought the file's absence was more sinister than a simple misfiling. As he walked her back to the front of the Archives, he promised he would keep looking for the missing file. Each step she took towards the door she felt eyes on her. A glance over her shoulder confirmed Pius was staring. She was certain she'd never seen him look at her with such frustration and anger.
It was a relief to get back to the safety of her office. Only when she sat down in her chair did she fully experience the frustration of another dead-end. A less tenacious person would've given up already. As tempted as she was, she knew she couldn't. Be it fate or destiny or just sheer dumb luck, the mystery had fallen into her lap. Like it or not, she would keep digging.
"Robert, have you noticed anyone odd lurking around our office recently?"
Her assistant's brow furrowed as he absorbed her question. Almost at once she wished she hadn't asked. If she was trying to be calm and to draw any further attention to the issue, she was failing. Certainly he seemed confused. Because of the location of their office, no one just accidentally wandered there. The only people who ever came by were the ones who did so with a purpose and plan in mind.
"'Lurking'? No, I don't think so. What's going on?"
"Never mind. I may just be losing my mind. Nothing to worry about."
She tried to brush it all of as a joke, but he wasn't dumb enough to fall for it. To his credit, however, Robert didn't push. He just looked back down at the report he was working on and began scratching away with his quill. Deciding that keeping her mind occupied with other thoughts was all that would save her from actually going mad, Hermione did the same.
By midday, she could no longer ignore the questions racing through her mind nor the grumbling in her stomach. Though breakfast had been delicious as it always was, she hadn't had much of an appetite when she realized Fenrir wouldn't be joining her. Mostly she just pushed the food around her plate until it was time to go.
"I'm starving. Want to come with me to the canteen? My treat."
Robert almost never turned down an opportunity for food, especially if it was free. Quite lean, he always looked as if it had been a long time since he had a hot meal. She knew it was just his deceptive high metabolism. He rarely, if ever, skipped a meal.
"Yes, please. If I have to read one more word, I'm going to fall asleep. Have these reports always been this boring or am I just anxious for the weekend?"
"Both, I'm sure. Have big plans? A date with a certain witch in the Improper Use of Magic office again?"
It was only meant as an innocent tease, but as soon as she saw his clenched jaw, Hermione wished she hadn't said anything at all. Robert followed her out in the corridor without answering. How was it possible that she kept saying the wrong thing and insulting sensitive werewolf feelings? She didn't even try to keep from rolling her eyes when he wasn't looking. They were in the lift before he sighed and apologized.
"No, I don't have any big plans or any plans at all. I'm sorry, Hermione. Miss Desford and I will not be seeing each other again."
She tried to be sympathetic, but she couldn't deny he could be infuriating and frustrating. Perhaps it was best that for the time being, they keep their relationship solely on a professional level. His love-life wasn't any more her business than hers was his. Clearly Fenrir had been correct when he told her Robert always seemed to attract the wrong sort of witch. She felt badly for him, especially since she knew he was a much better person than he was given credit for.
"No, I'm sorry, Robert. It's none of my business. I shouldn't have asked."
"It's all right. I know I'm too sensitive. Always have been." He sighed. "Turns out Miss Desford is the sort to read every single trashy werewolf romance novel she can find. I turned out to be a big disappointment. Reality usually is."
"Oh no, Robert. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have teased you."
He offered a smile as he tried to wave away her apology. It helped assuage her guilt just a little bit. She wouldn't have said anything if she'd known his relationship with the witch soured so badly and so swiftly.
"It's fine. It's my own fault really. I never pick the right ones. Should've taken Chiara's advice. She's always told me I should only date werewolves. No one else understands what our lives are like, she says. Only one problem with that…"
"What?"
"There's only one werewolf I've ever been interested in and unfortunately, the feelings haven't been reciprocated."
The opening of the lift's doors to admit a couple of officials from another Level cut off the remainder of that conversation. Hermione found his vague answer both annoying and intriguing. Was it someone she knew? Deciding that she'd meddled too much already and he had a right to his privacy, she wasn't going to press him for more details. His unrequited love for another werewolf was his private business even if she was dying to know who it was.
Everyone else in the Ministry, it seemed, had the same idea. The canteen was busier than usual. When they pressed through the crowd to pick out their meals, finding an empty seat was difficult. She was about to give up and suggest they take their lunch back to their office when she heard her name called out across the room.
Harry stood up at his table to wave them over. A couple of seats were open. Glad to see her friend and relieved they had a place to sit, Hermione smiled and crossed the busy room. It was only when she set her tray down on the table that she realized she'd made a mistake.
"Iain and I were just talking about you."
Gesturing to the auror across from him, Harry sat back down. Only because she felt trapped and that it would be rude to run, Hermione sat down next to her ex-boyfriend. Harry directed Robert to take the empty seat next to his. As always, unobservant Harry Potter didn't notice the tension coming from the other side of the table.
"You were? What about?"
Her words were sharper than she intended when she turned in Iain's direction. It was possible they would never return to a place where it wasn't awkward between them. Something about the auror in recent days set her teeth on edge.
"I was just letting Auror Potter know that everything has been taken care of in regards to the problem you had earlier this week."
"Oh, thank you."
As much as she wanted details, she knew it wasn't the time to ask. Robert didn't know about the attack and they all wanted to keep it that way. She would just need to stop by Harry's office soon to find out more.
"Yes, it turned out to be a little more complicated than we expected, but Kingsley was able to smooth it over."
Hermione was disappointed to hear from Harry that Kingsley had to get involved. Of course she knew the Minister would be sympathetic and concerned, but she wished he didn't have to know about it at all. Perhaps that was too much to ask. She did have a dead Muggle in her bedroom after all.
Lunch was almost as miserable and uncomfortable as her breakfast alone had been that morning. Next time she invited Robert to lunch, they were going to leave the Ministry. Once the vague announcement was made about her problem, Harry changed the subject to something adorable Albus had just learned to do. She wasn't really listening. The wizard often spoke at length about his children. She loved them, but one could only listen to so many stories about toilet training and new spoken words that weren't really words at all before losing all patience.
Robert was the first to excuse himself from the table when he was done. Claiming he needed to send an owl to his grandmother for her birthday, Hermione suspected he was only being polite. She wished she could go with him. The moment her assistant was gone, Harry stopped in the middle of his story and lowered his voice so they wouldn't be overheard at another table.
"Your house is secure now. Kingsley added the security wards back himself."
"I really wish you hadn't told Kingsley."
"Sorry. We had to. Iain's contact wouldn't help without it. He needed assurances I didn't have the authority to offer."
She should've known it wouldn't be so easy. Soon she would need to go back to Kingsley's office for another chat. He was sure to have questions.
"Are you going to be staying with Clark long? I liked him. He seemed like an all right chap."
Uncomfortable with where the topic of conversation was going, Iain stood and made his own excuses to leave. Hermione might've felt badly about him feeling the need to run off if she wasn't so relieved. The rest of her lunch break passed quickly in a series of questions Harry had about Fenrir that she tried to answer as carefully and truthfully as possible. It was a further relief when they each had to return to their respective offices.
Robert hadn't returned from his errand when she entered their empty office. Thankful for a quiet moment alone where she could take a breath, Hermione lowered herself into her chair with a deep sigh. She was ready for the day to end. It had been an exhausting week to say the least. Thoughts of soaking again in Fenrir's bathtub made her smile. That's exactly how she wanted to start her weekend. Maybe she'd get lucky and he'd join her.
A small rolled up parchment in the middle of her desk caught her eye as she leaned back in her chair to allow her mind to wander down dangerous and delicious paths. She was certain it hadn't been there when she left for lunch. Who would come all that way to her office just to deliver a message? Most of their memos were the purple interdepartmental memos fashioned into paper airplanes. Her debauched fantasies could wait.
All the message said was the name 'Lyall Lupin' and an address somewhere in Glamorgan. The handwriting wasn't familiar. Likely it was printed using a spell. After reading it she was even more curious who delivered the scroll. Was it really Lyall's address? She didn't think anyone would send her on a wild goose chase or worse, straight into danger, but she couldn't be certain. Was she brave enough to try?
"What's that?"
Robert's voice startled Hermione enough that she jumped. She tried to laugh it off, but she didn't think he was fooled. No longer willing to trust anything left in her desk to remain there, she slipped the scroll into the pocket of her robes.
"Nothing interesting, sadly. You caught me daydreaming."
Her thoughts never traveled far from the mysterious message with the address for the rest of the day. How she was able to get any work done was something of a miracle. Could Lyall be the key to uncovering all of the secrets she'd been desperate to find? She thought that it was worth a shot at least to try. Maybe it would be another dead-end, but at least she would know. The sitting around waiting for ideas was as maddening as an adult as it was when she was a teenager freezing inside a tent during the horcrux hunt.
Fenrir waited for her outside the building again, but in a less conspicuous place. Instead of engaging her in conversation as he'd done the night before, the moment she was close enough, he reached for her hand to Apparate her home. It saddened her that he didn't keep hold of it when their feet landed outside the front door. Though by all appearances he was friendly, there was a barrier between them that hadn't been there before. His smiles weren't as truthful as she wanted them to be.
Dinner used to be the highlight of her evenings with him. She hoped that one day soon it would return to being just so. The tension that plagued their meal was enough to make her want to cry. How could she have screwed everything up so much just by kissing him? Especially when she knew he wanted to kiss her every bit as much as she did? All she could think about as they sat at the kitchen table was the kiss. How wonderful it felt. How much she wanted to do it over and over again. How frustrated she was that he walked away from her. How tempting it was to climb over the table, knock the plates to the floor, and kiss him all over again. It was hard to keep up with his attempts at making conversation because her mind was so far away.
When she was certain that Fenrir wasn't going to bring up the kiss or try to recreate the moment after dinner, Hermione announced she would be taking another bath. She listened for any cheeky remarks he might make under his breath as she left the room, but they never came. The same jars from the night before waited for her on the side of the bathtub. Even when he was hardly speaking to her he was thoughtful. Instead of finding relief in the bathtub, she found nothing but frustration. What was it about her that attracted such infuriating men? Would she ever find one that didn't make her want to constantly pull her own hair out?
In an echo of the night before, Fenrir was already in bed when she emerged from the bathroom. Exhausted and knowing that they weren't going to address the giant elephant in the room, Hermione gave up. Her eyelids already felt heavy from the glass of wine from dinner, the length of the week that would never end, and whatever intoxicating mixture of oils she poured in her bathwater. Though he didn't have his back to her when she climbed in next to him, he didn't speak, didn't even wish her a good night. For yet another moment in her life, she wished she had the ability to read minds. Maybe then she might understand him.
In hindsight she shouldn't have been surprised when he snuggled up behind her again to wrap his strong arms around her body, but she was. They were going to have to have a serious discussion soon about what it was that was happening between them. She wouldn't continue the way they were going for much longer. It was too maddening to contemplate. But, she didn't want to disrupt the moment. Not when she was so comfortable in his arms that she felt certain she could sleep safely there for days. Besides, that was more a conversation that was suited for daytime hours when the sun was out. The nighttime was for…
She didn't care. If he wasn't going to speak to her, she wasn't going to either. Turning over in his arms, Hermione kissed the frustrating man for a second time. Unlike the first time when he was shocked and unsure, Fenrir immediately kissed her back. Even without saying so out loud she knew that his thoughts hadn't moved far from the kiss in his greenhouse the night before either. No longer as hesitant, there was a confidence in his kiss that she adored. The moment his hands rested on her back and pulled her tightly against him, she thought she was going to melt right there. His hands were fire.
Not moving past a heated kiss and almost polite hands on her back, she could tell he was holding back. What was the problem? Her old insecurities came rushing back to the service. Was she not enough for him? Was that why he ran from her the night before? Determined that she wasn't going to let it happen again, she reached behind her to grab one of his hands in hers. Some of his confidence began to wane. Slowing down his kiss, he stopped completely when she placed his large hand over her right breast. The thin fabric of her nightgown left nothing to the imagination. It may as well have not even been on. Expecting him to kiss her harder or rip the gown off completely, she was shocked when he pulled his hand back as if he'd been burned.
He didn't say anything. Not when he took his hands off of her completely nor when he climbed out of the bed. Not even when he all but ran out of the bedroom. She couldn't remember the last time she felt so humiliated. Maybe she never had. Desperately trying not to cry, Hermione pulled the covers over her head. Hiding from the world seemed the safest option in the moment.
She didn't expect to fall asleep. Part of her thought that would never happen again. She feared every time she closed her eyes she would remember that horrible moment when he ran for the second time. What was wrong with her? When she woke up in the middle of the night in an empty bed, she'd had enough. Why was she continuing to torture herself if he didn't want her? She no longer needed him to keep her protected.
With her beaded bag in the pocket of her cloak and an angry Crookshanks tucked under her arm, Hermione stepped out into the snow. She deserved better than what he was offering. If her home was devoid of any dead Muggles and safely warded once more by a dear, old friend, she could think of no reason not to return.
It felt eerie stepping back inside her house. Ignoring the disturbing thought that it no longer felt as warm and welcoming as it used to, she locked the door and warded it further for good measure. The Muggle might be dead, but he was hardly the only threat left in the hateful world. When she climbed to the top of the stairs, she couldn't push open the door to her bedroom. Not yet. The memories of just a few nights earlier were choking.
The pillow in the spare bedroom still smelled like him. Even in her dreams she would be damned to think of nothing else but the feel of his lips pressed against hers.