DISCLAIMER: I own nothing but this twisted so-called "plot".
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Percy and Mr. Weasley met Hermione outside the lifts in the British Ministry of Magic. It was quite late in the evening – nearing nine – and she was quite surprised to see them.
"We've been working overtime this whole month, trying to get things back in order," Mr. Weasley explained as they walked towards the atrium, "Every time we think we've got things on track, something else goes wrong."
Percy added, "Just two days ago, a group of snatchers that had gotten away, waylaid a muggle bus in Briton. Nobody was hurt," he hastened to assure Hermione at her gasp, "But we had a lot of obliviating to do. Not to mention, more trials – thought we were done with those – and now we know about at least a dozen nooks all over the country where more fugitives are hiding. Poor Aurors are getting run ragged. Well, here we are. Ahem – The Burrow."
She'd barely just stepped out of the blazing green flames, and the world narrowed down to a squeal, a hug, and bright red hair.
"Hello, Ginny," she laughed and hugged her back.
"Herms!" she cried, "You're back."
With a scowl, Hermione pretended to turn back towards the fireplace. "And I'm leaving again."
"Oh come now," Ginny grinned and began dragging her towards the kitchen, "No herms no foul."
They were all there in the kitchen, waiting to greet her with smiles and a table laden with food. But George wasn't among them.
"So lovely to see you again," Mrs. Weasley cooed, shoving her onto a chair and pouring her a glass of pumpkin juice.
Hermione hummed a reply, and beamed when the occupant in the chair next to her nudged her with his shoulder.
"Alright, Hermione?"
"Not bad. You?"
Harry smiled, "Not bad. How'd it go then? Your letters were surprisingly brief - almost disturbingly so. I was expecting the usual thirty feet long parchment full of every little thought you –"
"Oh shut up," she laughed, "I'm not that bad."
She spooned some carrots onto her plate and Harry peered at her. "You didn't answer my question. How'd it go?"
"It..." she sighed, "It went fine. They have their memories back, but they're going to stay put in Australia... for now. I'll visit them again in Christmas. They told me to tell you hello. Um, Charlie, could you pass me the gravy, please?"
Harry didn't push her further, and they all ate, listening to Mr. Weasley talk about his day at work. It was only after pudding had been dished around that Hermione risked a peek at Ron. She choked on an inhale when she realised that he was already looking right at her. Tentatively, she turned the corners of her mouth upwards... and he jerked his head. It was a nod, she was certain.
After everything she'd been through with her parents, Hermione recognised that every little gesture, every little acknowledgement counted.
Under the light of a single taper, she ended up telling Ginny every detail of her stay in Australia. They were quiet for a long time afterwards, each lying in their respective beds, watching the candlelight cast moving liquid shadows on the ceiling of Ginny's room.
"How have you been sleeping?" Hermione asked by and by.
"Much better," Ginny replied with a sigh, "I used to need to fly for hours to tire myself... or have Harry really brutally, unforgivingly pound me into a mattress. Really savage like, I mean –"
"Please stop."
"Oh, shove off." From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ginny turn her head and smirk. "Tell me something, you went and got completely pissed on a beach, with two stray blokes around, and you didn't shag either of them?"
"No Ginny, I didn't."
"Why not?"
"Ginny!"
"But isn't that your thing? Experience something traumatic, and then find the closest pri–"
"I will suffocate you with your silly Harpies cushion and feel no remorse."
Ginny giggled.
"I went running," Hermione muttered as she flipped over to lie on her stomach, "On the beach. Every day."
"Nice," Ginny muttered around a yawn. She was obviously close to nodding off, and Hermione, who was still running on Australia time, was wide awake.
"George still hasn't left his room?"
Ginny didn't reply and they didn't speak anymore that night. For a long time after the other girl had fallen asleep, Hermione lay in bed and read The Ballad of Reading Gaol; Wilde's heart rending lament rang across eras to knock the breath out of her.
And when the first hints of dawn seeped into the sky, she put her book away, slipped on her trainers, and walked out into the early morning.
She ran around the orchard, until the ease of it frustrated her. So she ran up hills, trying to recreate the strain of running through sand. She ran for... some stretch of time... she still hadn't mended or replaced her watch.
When the sky had turned hazy gold, she sat atop a hillock – her hillock – and scanned her surroundings dazedly. She felt so dislocated and jarred – less than a day ago, her life was eternal frothy waves and sand, a tidy tiled patio, a telly, mum and dad and a faltering reconciliation...
But suddenly she was here: Trees and hills and scummy ponds, broken people and broken systems; brokenness that was a part of her and that she was a part of. She'd have to set aside her peace of mind and start a separate course of healing here, in this world.
Her world? They were both hers, weren't they? Or were they just territories that she'd appropriated by accident and a twist of fate? The feeling of homelessness was a sick punch in the gut, and she missed her parents so terribly, it hurt.
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
A month from now she'd be back at Hogwarts. The rapidity and brusqueness of things made her whole body sway. Hermione blinked, and it lasted longer than necessary. Her head began swimming with that familiar, welcomed lethargy that physical exertion bestowed upon her. Somehow, she willed herself to get up and trudge back to the Burrow.
Harry's eighteenth birthday was a sober event. Of course, Mrs. Weasley, bless her soul, did the very best she could to try and make it special. There was a cake that was smothered in chocolate frosting, and there was a lavish spread of delicacies, including two plates full of Harry's favourite treacle tart.
But Hermione was sure that they were all remembering Harry's last birthday, when Fred and George had insisted on decorating the garden with balloons and lights. When Tonks had hand-fed Lupin cake, and he had looked drained beyond measure.
They were out in the garden, anticipating an influx of expected and unexpected guests. Hagrid came by, his massive boots leaving craters across the lawn where earlier, the afternoon's shower had softened the soil, and wrapped Harry up in one of his near-fatal hugs. He looked very mawkish. Professor McGonagall showed up as well, and when Hermione smiled at her, all she got was a slightly frosty nod in return.
("Oooh," Theo breathed into her ear, "Bad move, turning down head girl.")
Neville, Dean, and Seamus apparated in together, and while Hermione rushed to congratulate Neville on his newly acquired designation, she saw Dean and Seamus pounding Theo on the back with easy camaraderie.
Right. They had bonded on Malfoy's birthday. She wondered if he might show up as well...
Ha, she shook her head at herself.
When dinner had been done with, they moved into the living room so that Harry could open his presents.
Hagrid stepped outside briefly, and returned with a cage... inside which was an owl. White and brown – and rather small and fluffy – with beautiful, large amber eyes, it hooted softy when Harry stroked the top of its head in awe.
"Thank you," he said to Hagrid arduously, his eyes suspiciously bright.
Hagrid bashfully scratched the back of his head, "Thought it was righ' that I be the one ter... yeh know," he muttered roughly.
("You should name it Hermione," Theo suggested.
"Jesus, yes!" Dean exclaimed, "It kind of does look like –"
Hermione's withering glare shut him down.)
Harry was overcome again, when he saw the present Ginny and Hermione had pooled their resources to buy. He gazed enraptured at the brand new broom in his hands, and then lifted his head to gape at them.
"I know it's no Firebolt," Hermione began, but her words petered out when Harry walked over and hugged her tightly. He pulled Ginny out of her seat, and uncaring about the fact that her entire family was in attendance, he set her down on his lap.
McGonagall had bought him a series of books about Aurors. The Weasleys had all chipped in to buy him a set of half a dozen sleek robes in various colours. Luna had made him a painting of Dobby surrounded by decorous wreaths of pastel-coloured flowers.
Harry let out a short shaky laugh, and because Hermione knew him so well, she could see his slight irritation as not being able to completely reign in his emotions. Ginny kissed his temple, right then, and he nearly came undone.
That was when the boys – Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Theo – handed over their gift: A bloody crate full of firewhiskey and a Honeydukes hamper. Mrs. Weasley and McGonagall's identical looks of disapproval had them all sniggering, and so the tension ebbed away. Percy brought out another package, ("From Minister Shacklebolt; he's sorry he couldn't make it,") which contained a dragon-hide wand-holster.
Eventually, one of the bottles in the crate was opened, and they all drank to Harry's health. Hagrid, Mrs. Weasley, and Bill all claimed to want to make a toast, but Harry shook his head.
"No. Please. This... this is enough. More than enough," he sighed and stared into his glass, "I know, alright? I know. Thank you... all of you."
A cosy, brilliant lull set in. McGonagall left very soon after, and then Luna, (who had to get back to give her father his potions,) and Theo. Bill and Fleur left, Hagrid left.
Hermione settled deep into a sofa, slowly sipped her drink and looked around the room, smiling to herself. Harry was playing exploding snap with Neville, Dean, and Seamus, Ginny still on his lap, cheering him on. Percy and Mr. Weasley were deep in conversation, the latter had his wife's feet on his lap and he gently massaged the soles. Charlie had cracked open a window to smoke, and he stared pensively into the night.
Hermione started when the sofa creaked and started again when she saw who'd taken a seat next to her.
"Ron," she gasped softly.
He cleared his throat. "Hey."
"Hi."
He looked horribly uncomfortable, almost like he regretted making the overture, but Hermione was too dazed and delighted to care. He had come to her.
"Amazing isn't it," she murmured.
"What?" he asked with a frown.
Hermione gestured towards the rowdy group gathered around the coffee table. "It's Harry's eighteenth birthday."
Ron blinked, and Hermione watched as his mouth curled into a small smile. "Yeah," he agreed, "It's bloody amazing."
It was nearly midnight when the last of their guests got ready to leave. Seamus stood up and stretched and yawned in an obnoxiously loud manner.
"Aright then, mate," Dean said to Harry, "We'll see you around."
But just as they got to the door, the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs made every single one of them freeze. In one collective motion, they all turned around –
"George!" Mrs. Weasley sob-cried.
Nobody else seemed to be able to manage a word.
"Yeah," George muttered. His voice was raspy from lack of use. "Happy birthday, Harry."
"Th–thanks."
"Could you all come out to the garden for a bit?" he asked and walked out without waiting for their affirmation.
Hermione exchanged a startled glance with Ginny as they all hastened to follow.
Once outside, George set a small box on the ground, took about ten steps back, and then set it aflame with his wand.
All of a sudden, the world was alit! Tiny explosions sounded one after the other and sparkling, dazzling colours bloomed across the inky sky. Patented Weasley fireworks: beautiful, spectacular, in every imaginable colour, forming stars, and planets, and spinning wheels, and exotic birds with twinkling plumes. It was a majestic show... staggering in fact... and while its audience remained captivated, George slipped away and returned to his prison.
Hermione was alone in Ginny's room that night, since her roommate had gone off to give her boyfriend a special, private birthday present.
Still not acclimatised to BST, she plodded about the space moodily, too foggy-headed to put her mind to a book. She pulled Bellatrix's wand out of her pocket and conjured her patronus to keep her company. The little otter bounded around the room, and for a while Hermione contemplated giving chase to tire herself out... but shit; who had the energy for that.
She thought back to how gaunt and wan George had looked, and juxtaposed it with Harry's overwhelmed countenance while going through his gifts. She remembered Ron's reluctant smile, and Neville's broad glowing one. The affection in Ginny's eyes as she looked at Harry... the gentleness with which Mr. Weasley touched his wife...
She was almost too aware of the moment Bellatrix's wand slipped through her fingers. The silvery light in the room vanished, and abruptly, she was asleep.
On a bright and warm Saturday afternoon, Hermione and Ginny decided to go to Diagon Alley to get their books for school. It was the first clear day they had seen after four days of relentless rain. Hermione was really looking forward to seeing Diagon Alley restored to its former splendour: The way it had looked under Voldemort's regime was an image she was quite ready to expunge from her mind.
Feeling bizarrely optimistic, she slipped into the pretty, sleeveless purple blouse that mum had bought for her as a "gift for the birthday I'd missed," and hopped down to the kitchen for breakfast, where Ginny, Harry, Percy, and the Weasley-parents were already seated.
"Ron's sleeping in again?" Hermione asked Harry. It turned out that their ceasefire had been temporary: Ron had gone right back to avoiding her after Harry's birthday.
"Of course," Harry chuckled, "Says he needs to sleep all he can before Auror training starts."
"Are you coming with us to Diagon?"
"Yes he is," Ginny replied for him.
Eyebrows raised, Harry shrugged. "Apparently I am. But I will be wearing the cloak."
Hermione smiled at his expression and the smell wafting from her cup of earl grey. "I'm going to see Theo's new place after we're done shopping. Would you like to come as well?"
"Yes," said Ginny.
"No," said Harry.
"Um," Hermione continued as she spread butter on her toast, "There is a chance that Malfoy will be there, too."
"Okay," said Ginny.
"I'm not going," said Harry.
"You are," Ginny assured him with a patronising pat on the back of his hand.
And that was that.
xxx
Flourish and Bolts was packed with students and parents, teeming with witches and wizards young and old, swarming with all manner of magical folk... and Hermione thought her heart might burst. She stood immobilized by the door, gawking and breathing it all in, and Ginny had to drag her inside.
"You were blocking the way! Damn, Hermione... I know books get you all flustered, but –"
"It's not just the books," Hermione shot her a glare, "It's everything. All this... I mean..."
"I know what you mean." She squeezed the elbow she'd been using to tow her around.
With her booklist in hand, Hermione strolled among the towering shelves. She was Mary Lennox in her secret garden. She was Wordsworth among his daffodils. She was Holly Golightly at Tiffany's.
At one point, she paused to help a hapless looking muggleborn and his parents.
"Are you a muggleborn, too?" the little boy asked shyly.
"Yes," she replied, "Yes, I am."
xxx
All the seedy, unsavoury shops had been re-replaced by their original edifices. They ambled down the alley in companionable silence. Ollivander's shop had the gleam of a place freshly renovated. Florean Fortescue's seemed to be in the process of being mended.
"I wonder who's going to run it now," Ginny mused.
Neither of them looked at the shop with the bright orange and purple facade, all barred and boarded.
Stares and whispers followed them all around. The crowd parted for them. "It's Hermione Granger!" she heard often enough to make her dislike her own name. Some people even pointed. She couldn't imagine the chaos that would've descended had Harry not been invisible.
"I hate this," she grumbled.
Ginny suppressed a smile, and she heard Harry's snigger. It sounded horribly smug.
"So where is their damned flat?" Harry muttered in her ear after they'd reached the other end of the alley. Gringotts loomed before them, betraying no evidence that not too long ago a great, big dragon had burst out of it.
"Huh?"
"Nott's place, Hermione," Harry repeated impatiently, "Where is it?"
"Right." She tore her eyes away from the imposing building. "Er... Luna said she'd meet us here and – Oh! There she is. Luna. Here... Luna! Hello!"
Dressed in the skirt Theo had bought for her and with a wreath of daisies on her head, Luna looked like a prime oddity amongst the crowd swelling around her.
"Hullo, Hermione," she said pleasantly, "Hullo, Ginny. Hullo, Harry."
An incorporeal "What?!" caused a nearby group of kids to jump and scatter.
"How did you..." Ginny hissed, "How did you know Harry was here?"
"I sensed him," Luna stated casually, "Harry has a very forceful presence. Come on then."
Luna led them down a small path between two shops, past a row of workshops to a small park, opposite which was a multi-storied building made of polished grey sandstone and dotted with tall arched windows.
"Posh," Ginny sniffed.
"Well, what did you expect?" Harry's disembodied voice said scathingly, "Just the sort of place prodigal pureblood would put up."
They walked through a lobby – all shiny marble and potted plants – and into a glass lift that took them up and up...
Hermione was not prepared for the sight that greeted her when she walked into flat number seventy-two.
She didn't notice the furniture, she didn't cast her eye about to take in the fixtures, the colour of the walls or the paintings on them; all she could do was stare at Theo and Malfoy in the centre of a vast sitting room, poised in duelling stance and snarling at each other.
"What the hell is going on?" Ginny exclaimed.
"Hermione!" Theo raced towards her, "Thank Merlin. Help me! How do you undo a permanent sticking charm?"
"Um – wha–?"
"Tell me!"
She blinked. "A finite ought to do it?"
"THAT DIDN'T WORK!" Theo bellowed. In the background, Malfoy barked a laugh.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"Um... what incantation did you use to stick... whatever it is you've stuck?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know.
"I didn't!" Theo wailed.
"Oh. Only the caster can undo a permanent sticking charm."
Theo gnashed his teeth and spun around. "Undo it, you fucker," he howled at Malfoy.
"First undo the one you put on that lamp!" Malfoy retorted bitingly.
"No!"
"Then the wallpaper fucking stays!"
Hermione's quickly glanced at the walls – a tasteful, innocuous cream –
"Draco, I swear –"
"Bugger off! You asked for it!"
"Remove. It. Now."
"Not a chance!" Malfoy growled through his teeth.
"It's my bedroom, arsehole!"
"And this is my drawing room –"
"Our drawing room! Shared space! And I say the lamp stays!"
"Then so does the wallpaper!"
They were back in combat mode, knees bent and wands trained on each other.
"How the fuck am I supposed to sleep in a room like that?" Theo demanded, shooting a hex at Malfoy.
Nimbly, Malfoy deflected it. "Do you think I care? Sleep here then. Next to your ghastly, tacky lamp!"
"Glittering purple snakeskin, Draco! Seriously?!"
The moment Theo uttered those words, Hermione knew she was a lost cause. She felt it in the pit of her stomach, and then it burst out of her, small and breathy, but unmistakably... a giggle.
She slapped a hand on her mouth but it was too late. Both the combatants turned to look at her. Theo had a hilariously scandalised – borderline hurt – look on his face, while Malfoy just arched his brows. One lock of his hair fell right down the middle of his forehead like a plum line, bringing to prominence the ridiculous symmetry of his features.
From somewhere behind her, Hermione heard Harry rasp, "Glittering... purple... snakeskin," at which Theo boomed, "Can you bloody well believe it? He's even covered the ceiling! It's seizure-inducing!"
"Excellent!" Malfoy snapped, "I hope you have a sodding seizure the next time you and Lovegood are trying to bring the building down with your loud rutt–"
"We are young, enthusiastic lovers! Just because you aren't getting any –"
"SILENCING CHARMS!" Malfoy roared, "Silencing charms, you boneheaded bellend!"
"Ahh! That's never going to happen now! And you want me to sleep here in this room? Fine. I'll sleep here. I'll sleep here with Luna. All over your precious velvet upholstery!"
"I'll kill you! I'll drag you down to the middle of Diagon Alley and publicly behead you –"
"FIX MY ROOM!"
"NO!"
"I THINK!" Luna burst out in a volume so unlike her norm that everybody reeled, "I think that snakeskin will be a very intriguing texture to feel against my back; much more so than velvet."
And Hermione was off again, giggling insanely into her hand. Ginny was faring no better.
"Dear god," Harry groaned.
Theo looked flabbergasted, his mouth hanging half open. But the best part of it all was, without a doubt, the expression on Malfoy's face.
George made an appearance on Ginny's birthday as well. He'd been calm and taciturn all through dinner, and handed Ginny a special deluxe Skiving Snackbox, which he claimed she'd absolutely need now that she was planning to go back to school.
He retired back to his room not long after that.
"It's good, isn't it?" Hermione asked later, when it was just the two of them in Ginny's room, "That he's making things again?"
"I hope so," Ginny replied as she twirled before her mirror in a brand new white sundress.
Then three days later when Charlie was leaving for Romania and Mrs. Weasley was beside herself with emotion, George came down again and tossed a smart turquoise blue vest at his departing brother.
"Fireproof, dust-repellent, and will loudly announce when you're feeling hot and bothered. You know. Like that."
"Gosh, thanks," Charlie drawled. He may have been trying to sound dry and sarcastic, but his grin let him down.
The day-long rain had simmered to a pleasant pitter-patter, so Hermione stowed away her big blue brolly. She was trudging alone through wet and grey London. Against the darkly monotonous city landscape full of muted silhouettes and shadowy figures, streetlamps and headlights and windows glowed like radioactive elements. The cacophony of water drizzling against the pavement, of cars and busses whizzing across the road, of blazing horns, of random, endless conversations made the air even denser.
It swept her up and carried her away... as cities often do.
There was a group of four young people in front of her, dressed in a lot of denim, and sharing a cigarette. Their bubbling laughter got drowned out by a passing double-decker, and... Hermione fell in love with the sound of its motor: The guttural purr it made, the way its wheels crunched the wet gravel underneath.
"Fuck off, ya tosser!"
The boys in front got into a playfight, and the girls laughed and rolled their eyes.
"Chavs!"
"Honestly!"
Hermione stopped at the corner of the street, stepped niftily into a telephone kiosk, and listened to the sound of her breaths in the jarring peace within. Then she made a call.
Ring-ring... Ring-ring... Ring-ring... Ring–
"Hello?"
"Hello, mum."
They couldn't talk for long, but it was wonderful nonetheless. Hermione stepped back out into the world feeling less remote.
For once she was glad it was raining.
Diagon Alley was crowded like mad at four in the afternoon and Hermione was grateful for having a reason to keep her hood up. Nobody could spot her hair, (twice as large thanks to the humidity,) and recognise her.
As she made her way down the cobbled street, she noted that Fortescue's had reopened. There was a swarm outside, and above it floated a charmed harmonica playing a whimsical tune.
She took the same route she'd as the last time – first to Gringotts, and down the side alley. When she knocked on the door to Theo and Malfoy's flat, it opened of its own accord.
"Welcome Hermione," the door... er, said, "Theodore is in the second bedroom and expecting you."
Hermione thanked the plain panel of dark wood and strolled down the long hallway. She was able to inspect the place this time, and she admired the elegant damask wallpaper and the intermittent, contrasting panels. She passed by the living room door, the dining room door opposite it, a bathroom, and sliding glass doors opening to a small terrace.
At the end of the hallway were two closed doors and one that was slightly ajar, around which Hermione peeked and –
"What on earth are you doing!?"
"Decorating," Theo replied flippantly.
What that explanation didn't quite indicate was the fact that he was covering every conceivable surface in the room with large pink, orange, red, and yellow butterflies.
"Theo," Hermione breathed in horror, "Have you lost your mind?"
"Nope," he stated decisively as he placed a red butterfly on top of a bedpost, "He had it coming."
"Are you using perman–"
"–ent sticking charms? But of course."
Malfoy's room looked like a little girl's dream. ...A not completely sane little girl. His bookshelves and his carpet were covered. His stylish mahogany desk was covered. His beautiful grand piano was covered. His comfortable looking settee was covered. Hermione Granger was standing in Draco Malfoy's bedroom, and that actually wasn't the most absurd part of the situation.
She groaned loudly, and Theo blinked up at her from where he was working by the bed. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong? He'll murder you."
"Nah," he scoffed, planting butterflies across the headboard.
"This is so stupid." She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"It'll force him to fix my walls. I think it's brilliant."
"You're so stupid."
He placed a pink butterfly on Malfoy's bedside lamp and sniffed. "I am not."
"What if he walks in right now?"
"He won't," Theo said confidently, admiring the yellow-orange-pink-yellow-orange-pink sequence he had arranged on Malfoy's side table, "He's visiting Narcissa, and he's meeting your Gryffindor lads for drinks at the Leaky, after. He isn't going to see this till late at night." He paused to grin wickedly. "And he'll be drunk off his arse."
"It was nice knowing you," Hermione muttered weakly.
"Have you so little faith in me? Ouch."
"You'll be saying a lot worse than ouch soon enough."
"Pshaw." Theo waved away her concerns merrily. "Come here and tell me if this spot needs more pink."
"I will have absolutely nothing to do with this madne–"
"Yes, more pink. Definitely more pink. There can never be enough pink."
By the third week of August, the rain had intensified. Watching it thunder and pour from inside the burrow while drinking rich hot chocolate was an agreeable way to pass some time. Hermione was alone in the kitchen, and she'd dragged a chair to the open door so she could bask in the fresh petrichor.
"Have you seen Ginny and Harry?"
"Hmm?" Hermione looked over her shoulder at Mrs. Weasley.
"Ginny and Harry. Would you happen to know where they are? I asked Ron and he didn't know."
Ginny and Harry were locked up in Charlie's now vacant room. "I haven't seen them."
"Oh," Mrs. Weasley wrung her hands. There was so much grey in her hair that hadn't been there before.
"Will you sit with me?" Hermione enquired, "And would you like some cocoa?"
"I–" she blinked, "I – yes – thank you, dear. That sounds lovely."
Once they were settled Mrs. Weasley asked to hear about the details about her trip to Australia. Hermione painted a pretty picture: A watercolour beach landscape, with a laughing woman and man with wild hair. It resonated oddly well with the rain and fresh greenery outside, and swirled sweetly through the decadent beverages they sipped on. Mrs. Weasley smiled as Hermione spoke and crinkles formed at the corners of her faraway eyes.
xxx
The absolute second the rain stopped a different kind of thundering erupted. Harry, Ron, and Ginny stomped down the stairs and into the kitchen.
"Well, there you are!" Mrs. Weasley belted.
"No time to talk, mum!" Ginny sang, "We're going to play quidditch."
They were gone as suddenly and as boisterously as they'd arrived.
"Are you going to join them?"
"Certainly not!" Hermione proclaimed, "More cocoa?"
And so they sat with freshly topped mugs, making empty conversation.
Wet soil squelched under the weight of every step she took. The bottoms of her trainers were caked with mud. And she felt good.
Up three hills and back down; she'd had a good run that evening. She pulled her hair out of its ponytail and shook it free. A long shower was the need of the hour. She rolled her neck anticipating the satisfaction of feeling warm water on her skin.
But when she stepped into the Burrow all her plans turned to dust. Mrs. Weasley was sitting at the kitchen table crying, and Ginny was curled into her side. Ron was pacing by the fireplace, looking ill. Instantly, Hermione was gripped by an appalling, all-consuming terror that rooted her feet to the ground. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly around heavy and escalated breaths.
Harry walked around the table and murmured into her ear, "It's George. He's gone."
"What?!" she hissed, her heart juddered to a stop.
"When Mrs. Weasley went to give him tea, his door was open and he wasn't there. That was over an hour ago."
"Oh god. But... the clock..."
"Just says he's travelling." Harry inhaled deeply, his face carefully blank as it usually got when he was highly stressed, "Mr. Weasley and Percy went to the Ministry to get a search party together. Bill's scouting Diagon. There's nothing else we can do."
"Has anyone spoken to Lee or Angelina?"
"Yeah. They don't know anything. But they're looking around too."
Hermione gnawed at her lip as her eyes flickered back to Mrs. Weasley and Ginny. "Can't the Ministry track him somehow? They must –"
"I dunno," Harry muttered.
Just then, the fireplace let out a loud whoosh, and Charlie burst into the room.
"Just got dad's owl! Have you found him?" he exclaimed.
"No," Ron replied hoarsely, as Mrs Weasley's wails redoubled.
"Shit," Charlie spat, and marched over to kneel on the floor by his mother.
The next time the fireplace glowed green, it was Bill. He didn't say a word; simply shook his head gravely.
For twenty minutes they all existed there, not speaking, stewing in anxiety until Ron exploded: "Fuck this. This is mad, just sitting here. Let's go and look for him!"
"The Aurors are on it, Ron," Bill said with forced calm.
"I don't care! We can't just –"
The fireplace roared to life. And it was George.
A high-pitched, unearthly wail tore out of Mrs. Weasley's throat. "YOU!" she shrieked, "You – where – oh, you!"
"Are you alright?" Bill asked urgently, rushing towards him.
The remaining five merely stared at him with amazement. He stared back, blinking owlishly from beneath his hood.
"I'm fine?" he replied tilting his head.
"Where were you?" Ginny demanded angrily, "You don't come out of your room for months – and then you disappear, just like that, without saying a word!"
"Er, sorry?"
"SORRY!" At least four different voices echoed the word with incredulous anger.
"Are you insane?" Ron sputtered, "You just went off and –"
"I went to the shop. Our... my... shop."
"No you didn't," Bill snapped, "I checked."
George shrugged. "We must have missed each other. I was there. You can check with Verity if you'd like."
"Who's – what – damn it," Bill growled, "I'd better go tell Kingsley to call off the Aurors."
He stalked off and flooed away.
"What?" George asked the room at large that was eyeing him closely.
"What'd you go to the shop for?" Charles posed carefully.
"Well, it's high time I got it going again, yeah?"
"Oh," Ginny gasped softly, and she was the only one who was able to muster a reaction. Hermione could see George seizing up, uncomfortable under such strong scrutiny.
"Yeah, alright then," he garbled, "If that's all..."
He pulled back his hood and Mrs. Weasley screamed.
"George! Georgie! Oh, but what is that?!"
That was what stood in place of the once gaping hole at the side of George's head. That was a prosthetic ear of some kind. That was a bright and gleaming gold.
"Holy shite!" Ron cried.
"I like it," George muttered stonily. The light from the candle on the kitchen table lit the shell of his new ear in the most dazzling way.
"Oh dear," Mrs. Weasley moaned with dismay, "Let me take you to Mungo's. They'll fix you a nice, very real looking one and –"
"No, thank you."
"George, please –"
"I like it," he ground out.
Charlie guffawed, "You know what? So do I."
"Honestly, Charlie, it's not –"
"George Weasley," Ginny said with pomp, "Roguish buccaneer. Forget having a gold earring, he has a gold ear."
Mrs. Weasley's mouth thinned with disapproval, but Hermione found herself speaking before she could stop herself.
"There was a Danish astronomer called Tycho who lost his nose in a duel, and he replaced it with a solid gold one. I believe he was very popular amongst the lady folk."
As George's eyes flitted across the room's occupants, a slow smile spread across his face. "And I'll bet this chap Tycho wasn't half as good looking as I am."
"Oh, of course not," Hermione beamed back.
A few minutes later, when George's ear was catching the light of the setting sun, Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Percy returned. The first let his head fall into his hands, the second said, "Cool," and the third walked into a chair.
xxx
A little while later after they'd all eaten, Hermione and Harry went out for a walk around the garden, so that the Weasleys may have some time to themselves. George's sudden decision to get back among the living had given his entire family a new lease on life.
"Not exactly sudden though, is it?" Harry said, "He'd been locked in his room for so long... he must have gone through things. Worked it out."
"All on his own?"
Harry simply shrugged... but then he was used to pushing through hard times by himself. George had never been alone; not since the day he was born.
They strolled around the house, and to the nearest pond where patches of reflected sky poked through a thick layer of moss. There were so many clouds hanging above them... surely it was bound to rain again soon.
"Training's going to start next week," said Harry.
"Are you looking forward to it?"
"Yes. Oh fuck, yes. Just sitting around has been... you know." He made a face and turned his eyes heavenwards.
"I know," Hermione agreed.
"I've been thinking," he hedged, "That I want to move out of here. I can't keep expecting the Weasley's to put me up."
"They want you here," she chided, "You know that. You're family."
He sighed and looked at her. His hands went to perform their habitual tic of rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I know. But I want my own place. I mean, I have my own place. I think it's time that I –"
"Oh my god, Grimmauld Place!"
"Er, yes, I–"
"We have to go there!" Hermione gazed at him with wide-eyed consternation.
"Yes, that's what I'm –"
"No – Harry – it's Phineas Nigellus! He's still in my bag!"
His mouth and eyes rounded in slow motion, and then he was in hysterics.
"It's not that funny!" Hermione cried.
"It is! It's – it's – been a year!" Harry wheezed, "He's been trapped in your bag for a whole sodding year!"
Hermione huffed, "Well it's not like he doesn't have other portraits he can visit!"
"Not in his precious ancestral home he doesn't!" Harry sagged forward, pressing his palms against his ribs, "God, he must be so furious."
"Yes, well," Hermione began, but she was interrupted by the appearance of a vast, gleaming patronus in the shape of a manta ray.
It spoke in the voice of Theo: "Help me. Quickly. Wards in the living room are down; apparate right in. Please, please, hurry."
Harry whispered something in shock, and Hermione didn't bother saying anything back. She grabbed his wrist and spun on the spot.
xxx
When they appeared inside the large drawing room, they found Malfoy sitting in an armchair, legs stretched out and loosely crossed at the ankles, ostensibly reading. He didn't look up at all, even though their arrival had been a loud one, and merely said, "He's in his room."
And then one corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk.
Jesus. How had she ended up getting so involved in this ridiculous, childish prank-war they had going? She groaned, bracing herself to see something undoubtedly preposterous, and set off down the hallway. Harry followed. "What is happening?"
"I don't have the energy or the words to explain it," Hermione grumbled.
So she'd prepared herself, right? She'd been ready for anything. Oh, but not this: She opened the door to Theo's room, and a gush of air left her lungs to the tune of, "holy fuck."
His room was thick with shimmering silver spangled ropes. They fell from the ceiling to the floor like vines; there had to be at least sixty, and they clashed hideously with the glittery, scaly paper covering his walls. Theo was in the centre of the room, tangled up in a bunch of them, suspended a few feet above the floor. His arms were pulled taut and away from him, so despite having his wand in his hand, it was pointing stupidly towards the ceiling. His legs, in contrast, were curled and pressed against his stomach in a way that could not possibly be comfortable.
"Help. Me." he croaked.
"Damn," Harry breathed, and he ran his fingers down one rope –
"POTTER NOOOooooo!"
In an instant, there were ten more ropes around them.
"You twat!" Theo growled, "They've got the Lestrange vault curse thing on them!"
"Well you could've mentioned that!" Harry spat and backed out of the room.
"As you can see, I'm a bit..."
"Caught up?"
"Oh, hardy har, Hermione. GET ME OUT OF THESE, WILL YOU, PLEASE."
Hermione sighed for the enth time and slipped out Bellatrix's wand and cast a repelling charm on herself. It was effective – the twinkling ropes didn't touch her and she managed to get to Theo to cast the same charm on him. He slipped through the silvery snarl.
"Oh, look," Hermione grinned, "I've un-Nott-ed you."
He glowered, "Do I look like I'm in the mood for – Argh! I'm in the mood to skin a fucking blond wankstain. DRACO!"
He flew out of the room like a vengeful demon, and the iridescent ropes went berserk, first swinging away from him... then swinging back into place... then swinging away again when Hermione ran after him.
Back in the living room, Theo (red-faced, furious,) and Malfoy (completely aloof,) were facing off.
"Too far, Draco!"
"I don't see how it was any worse than the butterflies."
("Butterflies?" Harry asked in an undertone. Hermione rolled her eyes.)
"I was stuck! They fucking grabbed me!"
"Ah yes..." Malfoy looked down his nose at Theo, "How did you escape?" His eyes did the quickest of darts towards Hermione.
"Bugger off! If you think you're going to get away with this –"
"Sure, sure," Malfoy drawled, "I think you should be more concerned about the fact that you can't enter your room anymore."
"Ha! Unfortunately, you git, you didn't make those things immune to repelling charms, and –"
Malfoy frowned softly, "Didn't I?"
"...No! And just you wait, you piece of shit, I'm going to – Hey! Draco? Where are you – Oi. NO! COME BACK HERE... DON'T YOU DARE... DRACO... DRACO...!"
Left alone, Hermione and Harry listened to the slow fade of thundering footsteps and yelling.
With utmost tiredness, Harry whimpered. "Are we going to –"
"Leave?" Hermione completed, "Yes."
"Oh thank fu–"
He disapparated.
On a damp and drizzly Sunday morning, Hermione, Harry, Ginny, and Bill apparated to 12, Grimmauld Place. Staring at its scuffed, black front door, Hermione had a sudden flashback of the awful panic she'd felt when she'd accidentally brought a small army of Death Eater's here.
...The fingers gripping her robes... Harry's hand in hers, slick with sweat... having to cast the quickest of spells... she remembered the dense forest... Ron writhing on the floor, his blood everywhere...
She shuddered.
Ron had refused to go along with them when they'd asked. "No thanks," he'd grunted coldly, his eyes fixed on Hermione. It could be said that the time after they'd escaped from the Ministry was when the fissure in their relationship had started to grow. The locket-horcrux, Ron's burgeoning resentment, the way he'd abandoned them –
But that was all over now. They were here to launch a new chapter in Harry's life. She took a deep breath and shoved away old memories as Bill pushed open the door.
"Stand back, all of you," he instructed, "Mad-Eye's curses are painfully complex; this will take a while.
So while Bill got rid of the tongue-tying curse and dust-bunny Dumbledore, the three of them sat on the steps and watched puddles form.
How scared they'd been when they were taking shelter here! Apparating under the invisibility cloak, peeking out from behind curtains at this very view: Watching Death Eaters standing by the fence that was now covered in ivy.
Hermione looked at Harry from the corner of her eye and wondered what he was thinking about.
"All done!" Bill called from inside.
They stepped in cautiously; Hermione's heart was trouncing in her chest as her mind assaulted her with visuals: A hurt and angry Lupin storming away after his row with Harry... Fred and George being chastised by their mother for doing magic all over the place... Tonks with a pig's snout at the dinner table... Sirius, lounging broodily in a poufy, moth-eaten chair... Snape stalking down the halls with arms full of parchments and secrets.
She registered Ginny's soft, "wow!" before she had the presence of mind to understand what they were looking at. But when she did, her wonder was much like her friend's. The bleak old house was positively gleaming. Gone was the overpowering stale, musty, dusty smell – the air had a hint of lemon and pine. The gas lamps were all lit, and the crystal chandelier above glittered like diamonds made of fire. The grimy curtain that used to cover Walburga Black's portrait had been replaced with royal blue silk.
"Blimey!" Harry intoned.
"Master has returned!"
They looked at the door leading to the dining room, and there was Kreacher, wrapped in a perfectly pressed linen sheet.
"Kreacher, the place looks amazing!" Hermione gushed, smiling toothily at the elf that regarded her sourly.
He did, nonetheless, spit out an acidic, "Thank you, miss," before turning back to Harry and bowing. "Kreacher has been waiting for Master Harry Potter for months. Rooms have been prepared for you, Master, and for your..." (He paused, possibly to remind himself that blood slurs were not nice,) "...Friends."
"Thanks, Kreacher!" Harry cheered, "This is great! Hey... you wouldn't happen to have any walnut cake lying around, would you?"
Hermione suppressed a growl at the sheer presumption, but of course Kreacher nodded and led them into the dining room.
xxx
"You do it."
"What?! Why?"
"Please, Harry!"
"You're the one who shoved him into your bag!"
"And you're the one who said it was brilliant of me to do so!"
"No, actually, I'm quite sure it was Ron who said that."
"Haaaarryyyyy!"
"Nope."
"I hate you."
"I'll do it!" Ginny snapped, yanking Hermione's bag away. She set it on the (fluffy, perfectly clean and carpeted,) floor, and as she rummaged about with her entire arm inside the bag, Hermione and Harry exchanged a sheepish look. "Ah! There it is!"
The framed canvas Ginny drew out was... empty.
"Well, that was anticlimactic," Harry muttered after they'd put it back up on the wall.
"I hope he returns in the middle of the night and pitches a fit."
"Well, I'll be sure to send you a howler so that you won't miss out."
Hermione stuck her tongue out at him.
"You know I will," Harry threatened, "And of course I'll ask my dear new owl Herms to –"
"If you don't change his name, Harry, I'll –"
"I think it's a hoot," Ginny trilled with a daft grin.
They climbed further up the stairs to explore the bedrooms, passing by those awful mounted House-Elf heads.
"Definitely getting rid of those," Harry grunted softly.
Harry was all packed up and ready to leave the Burrow early next day, when Ron descended with a trunk in tow, unceremoniously announcing that he was going to live with Harry.
"Auror trainees have mad work hours, it just makes sense... Oh come now, mum, please don't cry! Bloody hell, s'not like I'm moving to Tibet!"
Mrs. Weasley hadn't stopped crying since. To put that into perspective, it was now seven in the evening. Hermione and Ginny were the only ones in the house with her.
"For Godric's sake, they said they'll visit every weekend!" Ginny cried with exasperation as they sat to eat. Mrs. Weasley was diluting her stew with tears, and that was tragic as it was rather excellent stew.
"Oh, I know!" she blubbered, "I'm being silly. But once they start work, I just know I'll barely get to see them. Charlie's gone, Bill has his own life, you and Hermione are going off to Hogwarts... I'll just... I'm going to be alone... George has his shop... Arthur and Percy have the Ministry..."
"Oh mum," Ginny whispered, and flew around the table to her side, "I don't have to go –"
"Yes, you do!" Mrs. Weasley barked forcefully. She sniffed loudly and wiped her eyes. "You have to go finish your schooling, young lady. Don't go thinking I resent any one of you for having things to do! The only thing keeping me sane is seeing you move on with your lives! I want you to be happy and productive – all of you. Don't pay attention to this, dear... I'm an old woman now. Weak."
"You are the absolute farthest thing from weak!" Ginny sputtered, "If we're moving on, it's all thanks to the strength we draw from you!"
"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley broke into a fresh bout of tears.
Hermione twisted her napkin tightly between her fingers. She wanted so desperately to slip away, but there was no way to do so without making a ruckus and disturbing the moment. It reminded her so much of her talk with mum in her garden, and her conversation with dad on the jetty. It was so raw, so personal, and she felt like a shameless voyeur, sitting there and staring down at her lap.
How had the month already gone by?
Hermione was having one of those too-frequent bloody-hell-what-is-my-life, mind-boggling, demi-existential crises. Would the next year in school be about nothing but reminders of the final battle? Would she find herself eating toast in the Great Hall at the exact spot where someone's dead body had lain? Would she spend the entire time running away from ghosts of the past, fighting, grasping, and begging for some composure?
How would she be able to think about transfiguration in a room where blood might still linger in the dirt between the stones? Could she learn to perform brand new magic with a wand that had flayed her inside and out, and look at stars from a tower above which she couldn't not picture a terrible snake-tongued skull?
Her school books were in a pile by her open trunk, and it was the first time ever that she hadn't read them all before term had begun. She hadn't even flipped through them. She hadn't even cracked them open.
But she would. She'd devour them and absorb every word, and pour it all out onto her exam parchments. She'd talk about transfiguration, and perform brand new magic because that's what it was all about, wasn't it: The great, strenuous task of persevering, 'IN SPITE OF'. Overcoming, or whatever.
It got George back into the shop that he'd never be able to separate from memories of his twin, and it got Harry to move into the house where he'd lived as a miserable fugitive, and where his beloved godfather had lived as a miserable fugitive. A brave lot from Dumbledore's Army was going back to Hogwarts after suffering through unrelenting torture and trauma within those verysame walls.
Were they proving a point to the universe, or to themselves? Hermione didn't know. All she knew was that something was simmering inside her – an enormously confusing concoction of gristly, barbed fear and softer, lighter anticipation. She fell into a mad conflux of emotions.
This too shall pass?
–Can it get better –
–Will it get worse –
With palms pressed tightly against her eyes she let stars explode behind her lids and wondered if she'd actually really grown in this past year of dreadful chaos. It was true that she sometimes couldn't recognise herself... but was it growth?
All her growth was the conveying of a corpse of hope.
She dragged the corpse and packed it along with her books.