Chapter 7: "Past present"
A cloud of smoke blurred the images of the people packing the sidewalk towards Covent Garden Market, stepping to the rhythm of a silent song. Hermione stubbed her cigarette on the ashtray and leaned over the handrail, observing the crowd. The Olympics had brought ten times the amount of people London usually held in summer, and the streets had become an obstacle race. They were also a security concern. Every time England hosted any kind of sports event - the last one had been the Champions League at Wembley the year prior - it threw the MI5 and the MI7 into a frenzy. Terrorist attacks, underground networks, prostitution rings and magically enhanced performance drugs. Anything was possible, and security alerts were issued every five minutes. The agencies put everyone they had to work and even outsourced agents from the United States or Interpol.
Yet, Hermione had not been called back.
She knew she was not ready for field operations. Her shoulder still felt tender every time she put the bra strap in place. Under any other circumstance, this wouldn't have been a problem. She would have been put on paperwork duty, or at least in the control room. But not this time.
She and Mycroft had not talked since the fight. He had not called, and Hermione had done the same. It had been Anthea who had sent her a get well message, saying to take as much time as needed to recover. Hermione recognised the double meaning behind those words. Don't come back unless you acknowledge your mistake.
Hermione hadn't done it yet. Instead, she had been spending her plenty of free time between the leather armchair at Baker street and the chaise longue in Sirius' terrace, soaking up the sun while trying to ignore him talking on the phone, giving orders she was not allowed to know. She would enjoy a takeaway with John, go on weekend trips with Mary, and she had found an exciting chat partner in Molly Hooper. However, the persistent thought of something being out of place would not leave her. The reason Mycroft had the position he had was because of his ability to strip a situation of any kind of human values and deciding upon the bare facts. He was pragmatic, ruthless, and had saved countless lives. But no matter how much Mycroft tried to make his outburst about her, Hermione found it very hard to believe Mycroft would not even acknowledge his brother's death. And there was the mystery of the missing flowers. Molly was too thoughtful to have forgotten Sherlock's death.
Lost in thought as she was, Hermione did not hear Sirius approaching until his hand touched her shoulder, gently travelling up and down her upper back in a soothing gesture.
"Ready for lunch?"
Hermione nodded, her eyes watching as a young couple took their crying son from the ground.
"He'll come around."
An involuntary sigh made past her lips and gave a half shrug.
"We'll see."
September came and went with no communication from Mycroft, and gave way to a cold October. Mrs Hudson had the fireplaces cleaned, and Hermione and John had started to lit them in the evenings, filling the place with the smell of fire and the cracking sound of logs.
One Sunday afternoon, Hermione sat in what had become her armchair, with a mug of tea, warming her hands. Sirius, with a saucer and a cup in his hands, was inspecting the skull on the mantle. It was the first time he visited Baker Street, despite the fact Hermione had been living there for more than eight months.
"So, where's our dear doctor?" Asked him, sitting in John's chair.
"Out with mates. And by mates I mean Mary, I don't know why he thinks she wouldn't tell me," said Hermione.
"Does he…?"
"Mary will do it when she is ready." Hermione's tone left no room for replicas. Sirius brought the delicate teacup to his lips, his manners impeccable. No wonder Mycroft and he were always welcome at Buckingham Palace.
"You know, my birthday is coming up," said Sirius. "I thought we could spend it together."
"Does Harry have an assignment?" Sirius shook his head, and Hermione frowned. "I don't understand. You always spend your birthday with him. I'm normally the one managing your hungover the day after."
"Well, I thought that now they know that you and I have a... close relationship, maybe we could...Spend it together?"
"Spend it together as in..."
"Harry, his family, you and I. I have rented a cabin near Winchester. Big enough for all of us, for all the weekend."
Hermione sighed and set her cup on the table. "I'm not sure this is a good idea, Sirius."
"Hermione, I just... I want to have my family together for my birthday." He kneeled in front of her, and took her right hand between his, pressing a tender kiss on top of it. "As far as I am concerned, I have two children. They don't talk to each other, but my birthday is never complete without you. Now that they know the truth, I just want to be with my two kids missing none of them."
Hermione looked at him. There was so much longing in his eyes. She thought it was only fair. He had spent so many years alone; he had lost so many people, that he now just wanted to be with them.
She had a déjà vu at that moment. In front of her wasn't Lieutenant Sirius Black from MI7, wearing a custom made suit and Italian leather shoes, but prisoner PZ390. Her heart ached for the man that had spent so much time without a family, and that had chosen to have two different lives just to shield her from pain. It was her turn to make some sacrifices.
On Saturday, 3th of November, Hermione took her mother's old Benz and drove on the M3, a large double coffee in the cupholder. She had not slept, thinking about how many things could go wrong. How was she going to spend 48 hours with people she had not spoken with for 18 years? Would they yell at each other? Would they berate her for her stunt at the Ball? Would they ignore her? She was abruptly taken out of her daydreams when her GPS she had forgotten entirely to charm beeped and lose signal; the screen turning on and off until it finally went black. Not even 10 minutes after, she stopped the car in front of a large country house, next to Sirius' car. Picking up her bag, she climbed the few steps that led to the open main door, hearing noises of pots, and voices and steps creaking over the old wooden floors. She followed them to the kitchen. The room was full of people dressed in what wizards called 'casual attire'. Hermione felt out of place, with her leggings, trainers and an oversized jumper. Harry and Sirius were next to the cookers, with a redheaded girl no older than four years old tucking from his trousers while Ginny sat with Lavender and a bunch of magazines on the table. Ron, Neville and George were levitating several birthday decorations, while Mrs Weasley was moving her wand in different directions, several dishes being made at the same time. No one paid attention to her or seemed to see her until a small kid stumbled into Hermione's legs.
"Sorry, Miss." Hermione looked down to a painfully identical version of Harry should have been when he was six years old. Everyone was silent.
"Albus, I've told you thousands of times not to run inside." Said Ginny, standing up.
Hermione kneeled and looked straight into his green eyes, making him recoil a little.
"Don't worry about it. But you should obey your Mum, you could get hurt."
"Yes, Miss."
"I'm Hermione." She stretched her hand, which he promptly took, shaking it exaggeratedly, like any four years old.
"Her/ny?"
"No Al, you are saying it wrong. Is Her/mi/ny." Another voice came from behind, a young redheaded girl holding a doll.
"You can call me Minnie," said Hermione, ignoring the glares she was receiving. "That's what I used to call myself when I was little. Like Minnie Mouse."
"Who's Minnie Mouse?"
"No one." Lavender took the hand of the older girl and ushered the kids to the next room. "Go play with the rest. Come on."
"Honey," Sirius wiped his hand on a tea towel and came to her. "I'll show you your room."
Hermione left her bag in her room and put on a tight smile, listening to Sirius chatting. She could do this. Sirius deserved this. She came back downstairs, and everyone had vacated the kitchen, the food almost finished. She took a book and went outside. As she was about to start reading, her phone chirped.
"Hi, Mary."
"Hello love, how's it going?" The other woman talked in a hushed voice.
"Well, no one has screamed yet, and we are all still alive. Why are you speaking like that?"
"No reason. How's Sirius?"
"Delighted. Mary, is that the shower?"
"Maybe." In the background, the shower stopped, and Hermione heard someone calling Mary, loudly saying they would wait for her in bed.
"Oh, my God. Since when? Why haven't you told me?" Laughed Hermione.
"First time, I swear. I have plenty of things to tell you about three-continents-Watson."
"Ugh, no. Keep it. I have to live with him." Hermione saw Sirius coming out of the house, telling her the dinner was ready. "I'll leave you to it."
"I'll have fun for the both of us."
Hermione hung up and followed Sirius inside. Everyone was already sitting around the table. Hermione took the chair next to Sirius, directly in front of Harry. Places of honour, Hermione noticed. Sirius raised his glass and then everyone started eating. Only the noises were those of cutlery against the plates and the children's voices.
"So, what are you working on at the joke shop, George?" Asked Sirius.
"Well, we are trying to expand. We are on speaking terms with the owners of Honeydukes. I mean, they are getting old, and their children do not want to continue the family business."
"Bloody morons, if you ask me," said Ron. "Honeydukes is very profitable, they always have a steady influx of customers."
"Well, I guess that's good for us. We will probably separate comestibles and pure joke articles if we get a good deal."
"What happened with your shoulder, Hermione?" Luna asked, surprising everyone. Hermione's jumper had slipped past her shoulder, and the scar from where the bullet had entered her body was peaking out.
"I got shot a couple of months ago. It comes with the territory, I guess."
"Sirius never told us exactly what it is you do for a living." Neville followed his wife's cue. Hermione moved around in her chair.
"She's a secret service agent," Sirius answered for her. "She works for the British Government, magical division."
"The famous MI7," said Harry. "Sirius has always been very secretive with whom he works with."
Meaning he never told you he worked with me, thought Hermione.
"I've never understood why the MI7 is a separate entity. They deal with magic, after all," said Ginny.
"Well, technically, it's not only magic," spoke Hermione finally. "We mostly deal with wizards tampering with muggles or muggles working with wizards."
"We have a department for inadequate use of magic. I mean, we have the head right here." Ron gestures to his dad, who was too busy cutting his steak.
"As far as I remember, that department deals with teacups with teeth and magically flushing toilets." Said Hermione, dabbing her mouth clean with her napkin. "We deal with magically enhanced weapons, those sorts of things."
"Some people argue those sorts of things should still be our jurisdiction. And you know it, Sirius," said Harry.
"Personally, I think this compartmentalisation is beneficial for all of us."
"I don't know how the muggles have power in any of this, that's all." Ginny's opinion was welcomed with several head nods. "They have no idea about magic, so people like Hermione should be under our control, not theirs."
Hermione felt a lick of anger at the thought of being controlled by the Ministry again. "Well, you have no idea how the muggle world works, so that makes it our business."
"But they work with magic," pressed Ginny. "I think our aurors would do a great job, maybe even better than you."
"Why don't you ask your husband about the Hofstadter case?"
Hermione felt Sirius kicking her lightly in the leg. Harry turned to her.
"How do you know about that case?"
"Because it was us who had to deal with the consequences. I had barely started working for the MI7. Chief auror Robbards got custody because of a mere technicality." Hermione looked at Ginny. "Harry might remember it, he was already an auror. A drug called 'fairy dust' was taking over the streets in London. Everything Robbards had to take the case was that cocaine was mixed with an euphoria potion. And he took the case without knowing what London is like. By the time the MI7 was allowed to intervene, the drug was everywhere, several distributors and a network so thick it took years to dismantle."
"That's just one case," said Ron. "Everyone makes mistakes."
"Ronald, with all due respect that I am capable of, your knowledge of the muggle world is still in early 1900, at its best. When we were at Hogwarts, the most advanced contents of the muggle studies curriculum were that muggles had invented the telephone. The world has evolved quicker than you have. How will you deal with a beast black-market done through channels of the deep web and paid in coins? How are you going to intercept conversations done through burn phones? How will you chase someone around London if you don't know the tube map? How are you even going to go undercover when you don't know how to work a smartphone?"
Everyone shut, even the children. Hermione did not realise she had gradually raised her voice.
"Bittycoin? What's a bittycoin? Like a galleon?" Arthur asked.
"Nothing important Dad. Kids, go with Grampa Arthur to the kitchen for cake." Ginny's infamous temper was rising. Hermione could see it in the way the vein in her neck seemed to be beating. "You really think muggles are better than us, don't you?"
"Yes, I do, muggles are better than wizards."
The affirmation earned her a sonorous disapprobation across the table. Everyone was talking at the same time, but she held herself just as Mycroft had taught her: relaxed posture but hard eyes, chin up, evaluating the opponent as if you knew everything they could do. Y ou are better than them, darling , Mycroft seemed to whisper in her ear.
"How dare you?" Lavender's voice sounded high above the rest as she stood up. "You shouldn't be allowed to carry a wand. "
"Why, because I'm proud of my muggle inheritance? Because I chose to live like a muggle?"
"No one in their right mind would abandon magic," said Ron, coaxing his wife to sit back down.
Hermione straightened herself, looking for the first time directly in the blue eyes she had adored once upon a time "I did not abandon magic. I abandoned the magic world."
'I abandoned you.'
"Semantics, Hermione."
"No! Magic is a wonderful thing, it's part of me. But the magic world? You haven't progressed. You still write with quills, for God's sake! You have isolated yourself from the world, you rarely see anything outside your houses or work because you apparate everywhere. Your numbers are dwindling every day." She felt the tight knot in her heart, starting to get loose. The one that hid every disappointment, every regret, every opinion she had on the magic world. Like an eat-slugs spell, the words were creeping up her throat. "I've seen what the muggle world can offer. Why would I give up that for this nineteenth-century life? Muggles, in all our simplicity, and stupidity, and lack of magic, we have been able to travel to the moon, to cure cancer, to fly. I'm very proud of being magical, but I despise the magic world with every fibre of my being. Because you have nothing that could spark anyone's curiosity. You are all facade."
"If you despise us so much, how is it you are still working for us?" Asked Harry.
"Because someone needs to protect you from being discovered."
"We don't need you. We are wizards, a couple of muggles against us is nothing."
"I'd love to see what you little wands can do against an AK-47, Ronald. Muggles don't use fire and swords as weapons anymore."
"I think that is quite enough." Sirius raised his voice, and Hermione came to the world again. His eyes were hard. He looked at her, and she moved in her seat, ashamed. "Let's just have dinner in peace, all of you."
"You shouldn't have invited her, Sirius." Harry apparently would not back down without a fight.
"Harry, I've said...-"
"No Sirius, she left us, and now she comes as if nothing had happened, and calling us incompetent? That's how you want us to get to forgive you, Hermione?"
"Harry, that's enough!" Exclaimed Sirius.
"Forgive me?" Hermione was almost hyperventilating, she had risen from her seat, and had freed herself from Sirius' hand that had tried to avoid her from standing up. "That I abandoned you? You, Harry, out of everyone?"
The table went silent, looking between the former best friends, both staring at each other. The magic was revolving around probably the most powerful people in the room, angry.
"It was me who lost holidays with my parents because I wanted to make sure you were alright. It was me who was always at your beck and call, even after being left out. It was me who followed you into fucking hell and back, who almost died for you, who never left your side. I was fucking marked to keep you safe, I was tortured to keep you safe. I lied my life at your feet, and you still have the nerve of saying that I abandoned you? "
Sirius got up and tried to pry her away from the table, but she would not be moved, and her magic sent a slight shock to Sirius.
"Have you ever thought about how many things I left behind because of you? Do you know how it feels like your relatives that abused you deserved protection while they left my own parents to their own devices?"
Hermione felt a sob coming to her. She had kept this quiet ever since she went away. She had mulled those words over and over for years, crying herself to sleep out of pure anger, of pure heartbreak. She had imagined Harry's face in every dummy she had destroyed in her first year in the academy, Hermione had dreamt of standing before him and telling him how much she wished she had never met him. She had dreamt of this moment, and it was leaving a taste like bile in her mouth.
"And I never, never, asked anything in return. Because I was your friend, your fucking sister," she pointed at him while her voice broke. She gave a sigh, only to continue, stronger, commanding, cold. "Because I thought when the time came, you'd return the favour. But you didn't. You of all people weren't with me. You chose their side..." Hermione said, pointing to the Weasleys. "You chose this world, and you chose anger. And you never asked what I was feeling, or what I thought! You saw how everyone dismissed me, how everyone thought I was too broken. But you were supposed to know me. You were supposed to be the one to help me pick up my pieces as I had done with you. We were family. You abandoned me."
"That's hardly fair," Ginny stood in front of her husband, protecting him. "He died. We had just gone through a lot of losses. We were hurting."
"And I wasn't, Ginny?" Hermione approached her, fierce and daring, with hate in her eyes that made Harry take the redheaded one step back. "You lost a brother because of war. You don't know how sorry I was. We lost Remus, and Tonks and all of us cried for Teddy, and Colin, and everyone we buried. The difference is that you had each other. I was there, consoling you. Who was there for me? I fucking obliviated my parents. I lost everything during the war, and still, I stood beside you, I was there. But apparently, I wasn't allowed to grieve. Because your losses were more important than mine. Fred Weasley stands remembered every year as a hero. But no one remembers Jean and Halden Granger. Maybe it's because they were muggles, and apparently, we don't matter."
She turned around wiping furiously the angry tears that were running freely and left the dining room. She did not wait for them to say anything, she just entered her room and tried to calm her breath. She was trembling. Suddenly, a pair of arms snaked around her waist, and Sirius' voice reached her ears. Hermione clung to him and cried like she had not in years until sleep claimed her.
Hermione woke up the next morning with a stuffy nose and a headache. The house was in silence. She took a shower and changed into new clothes, packing her bag. She felt tired, as tired as if she had run a marathon. She thought about leaving the house without saying goodbye, but she had already said part of what she was holding inside. She might as well say it all and then forget about these people all over again.
Hermione entered the kitchen where everyone was sitting around the table, with food in front of their plates, but not eating. Sirius was the first to see her and gave a sad smile to her packed things. She cleared her throat and looked at Harry, who wore the same tired face she had seen in the mirror.
"There is something I want to tell you before I leave." She took a deep breath and held Harry's gaze. This was for him. "As much as I've tried, I cannot hate you. I should, but I can't. You were my life, my family. But I don't think I will ever be able to forgive you. You had the power of destroying me, and you did. You took care of everything before me because you thought I would be there. As always, Hermione Granger waiting for her turn to be repaired. You were comfortable knowing that I was the one person who would never go away, but I did because I was tired of being second best. And I don't regret it."
"You should have told me, Hermione."
"That's not the point, Harry. The point is that you should have been there when I had no voice." Harry's eyes watered, and unable to be there any longer, Hermione left the house. She threw her bag in the boot of her car when she heard Sirius' voice.
"I'm sorry for bringing you here. I should have known better, but I was just so excited about having you all together that I guess I wasn't thinking straight. Forgive me."
"There's nothing to forgive. I have put you in an awful position for the past years. I should have realised sooner how difficult this was for you."
"Don't. I am sorry, honey, I truly am."
Hermione took his face between her hands and kissed his cheek before giving him a hug.
"I love you, Dad."
"I love you too, my darling. More than anything in this world."
She made it to London around mid afternoon on Sunday. She saw John standing in front of the TV, where a handsome, curly-haired, blue-eyed man stood still, the image paused. A glass of bourbon in his hand.
"Hello, John."
He turned around, his eyes glistening but with a smile on his lips.
"Hi. I wasn't expecting you until much later."
"Change of plans. What is this?" She said, pointing to the TV.
"Lestrade came by, he found this and wanted me to have it. It's from last year's birthday, Sherlock sent it to me. This is the 'director's cut'."
Hermione stared at the image, her eyes trailing along with the detective's tailored suit, to his pianist long fingers and muscular hands. Nice to meet you finally, Mr Sherlock Holmes .
"Would you watch it with me? I don't feel like watching it alone."
Hermione nodded, and John played the video. The deep voice of the detective made her take a sharp intake of breath, and her eyes drank every movement he made. She heard John's chuckles distantly, but her attention was focused on the cadence of the perfect, posh accent of Sherlock Holmes. When the video ended, she was the first one to speak.
"He doesn't seem as heartless as everyone says he was."
"He wasn't."
"He was just socially stupid, then?"
"Probably, yes... "He finished the last of his drink. "You ok? What happened?"
"Do you remember one of those things I told you they were none of your business? "
"Yes?"
"Well, I had a confrontation today, with those things."
"Do those things have a name?" John filled the glass again, but this time he gave it to her. "And by the way, who says confrontation these days? They are not your archenemies or something, are they?"
Hermione smiled before taking a sip, coughing slightly. "Have you ever felt this feeling of seeing someone you care about but not being able to reach out, because they are no longer the people you remember?"
"People change. It is what it is, and what it is-"
"Shit."
"Indeed," he sat down and twiddled his thumbs, watching her sit across from him. "Now it feels almost unfair to tell you my news."
"No need, I heard you." Laughed Hermione.
"Oh, my God." John hid his face in his hands and poke his eyes between his fingers. "How much did you hear?"
"Not much, but Mary hasn't completely updated me, three continents Watson."
He groaned. "Did Mike tell you?"
"It was Mary, actually. Proud, aren't you? You tell everyone apparently..."
"Anyway," he got up, closing the conversation. "Mary will come over for dinner so I might as well tell Mrs Hudson."
"Tell me what? Oh, hello Hermione, I thought you were out?"
"Mrs Hudson, just the person I was looking for," said John. "Well, I've got the news."
"Oh God, is it serious? Is that why Hermione's back?"
"What?" Hermione looked to Mrs Hudson, whose eyes were rapidly tearing.
"No! No, I'm not ill. I'm dating someone."
"Oh, lovely!" Mrs Hudson giggled with delight. Clapping her hands, she walked towards John, smiling happily.
"Well I mean, we have been dancing around each other for a while," Hermione chuckled and coughed something that sounded like 'ages', while John smiled playfully" -but well, we have gone for it."
"Oh, so soon after Sherlock."
"Well, yes."
Hermione laughed again at John's face, who apparently was not aware of where the conversation was heading.
"What's his name?"
John let out a huge exasperated sigh. "It's a woman."
"A woman?" Hermione was making massive efforts not to laugh again when she looked at the confused face of the older woman.
"Yes, of course, it's a woman. You know her, it's Mary, Hermione's friend."
"You really have moved on, haven't you?"
"Mrs Hudson, how many times...? Sherlock was not my boyfriend."
Mrs Hudson went to the door giggling and turned to John, smiling. "Live and let live, that's my motto."
"Listen to me, I'm not gay!" John shouted after her, with Hermione laughing away, her stomach hurting.
"John, seriously, thank you. This was priceless, I wish I had recorded it for Mary."