A/N : I own nothing but this so-called plot
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The magical block at Knightsbridge was too expensive. The two room accommodations at Puddlemere were too small. The charming St. Alban's flat that she had been eyeing, was on a street that looked every bit as seedy as Knockturn alley.
A string of days full of disappointment.
But she had put them aside for the moment. It was Ginny's birthday.
Hermione was sitting alone by the scummy pond at the Burrow, with a package wrapped in shiny gold paper on her lap, containing Adidas athletic wear. The wizarding world had yet to come up with something that matched the comfort of lycra.
The sky was threatening rain. It was just as well that the celebrations would be limited and indoors. Indoors was where she was supposed to be, too.
She heard the grass rustling behind her, and Ron's shadow, followed by Ron himself, appeared next to her. He loosened his tie as he sat down with a tired grunt.
"Everyone's arrived?" she asked.
"Everyone 'xept Charlie, but he should be here soon." he replied, "And Percy's running a bit late. An army of firecrabs ran amok on level four. They needed Aurors to help as well, but Harry and I legged it out of there."
Ron leaned back on his arms and closed his eyes.
"Long day?" she ventured. He looked shattered.
"Same old. Oh, by the way, I have to go to Bath next week, for a couple of days."
"What for?"
"A sting, of sorts. Some manky, fraudster metamorphagus is going about selling vials of bicorn piss, claiming it's Felix Felicis."
"Good grief."
"Yeah."
"A sting sounds like fun, though," she said smilingly, "Will you wear a disguise? Could it be the return of Dragomir Despard?"
"No, sadly," Ron chuckled, "I'm going as back up. Just have to hang around nearby, in case the wanker tries to make a run for it."
"EVERYBODY IN THE KITCHEN, PLEASE!"
Mrs. Weasley's voice, amplified by a sonorous charm, ripped across the landscape's delicate peace. Ron offered her his hand to help her up, and they walked to the Burrow slowly, both allusively recognising that there was, potentially, an evening full of awfulness ahead.
When they reached the kitchen, Harry and Ginny were just coming down the stairs. They were holding hands and both their eyes were red. While Harry stiffly went to take his seat, Ginny gave Hermione a sharp, forlorn, but meaningful nod.
He didn't drink that evening – not a drop. He refused when Charlie offered him a goblet of the Romanian red that he had brought, raising a glass of water at the toast.
When they returned to Grimmauld place, he asked Hermione for a bit of her ("Harry, it isn't a –") sleeping draught. He carried the mug to his room and closed the door.
Dankworth that the gall to show her an old Georgian mansion at Fitzrovia, that had been split up into separate quarters. It had once belonged to a Welsh warlock, who'd departed without an heir, leaving his home to be seized by the Ministery and palmed off to some property developer. Subsequently, it had been given the appearance of a plain plastered wall with a padlocked wooden door for muggles... but the interiors were fabulous.
He took her to the top most suite on the fourth floor, showing her the incredible view from her would-be living room. She looked down at the district in all its glory; streets where Shaw, Rimbaud, and Woolf would have walked, the pubs that Dylan Thomas and Orwell would have frequented, the square abound which Sickert and Whistler might have wandered –
"This is a bit over your budget, Ms. Granger."
"By a lot?" she sighed.
"A little over a hundred galleon."
"Mr. Dankworth!"
"That isn't acceptable?"
"Of course, it isn't! Why would you even bring me here?"
"I thought you might like it."
He smiled his unctuous smile. Hermione stalked out of her would-never-be living room.
XXX
The Barnton magical settlement was quaint and bucolic; very green and full of old buildings. Dankworth guided her down a row of shops, to a lane flanked with dainty stone cottages.
"Here it is, number eight," he said
A small old woman, stooped and wrinkly, stood by the cottage door with a bunch of keys in her hand.
"Mrs. Geary," Dankworth greeted with a bow.
With an inexplicably downturned mouth, Mrs. Geary unlocked the door.
The cottage was dingy and smelt musty: That was Hermione's first impression. But then Dreary Geary lit the gas lamps and the interior came into view. The main area had a large stone fireplace, and six chintz armchairs. The windows were covered with checked curtains. Everything was covered with dust.
The kitchen was a smaller version of the kitchen at Grimmauld place. A tiny loo tucked under the narrow staircase was the size of a public toilet cubical.
Mrs. Geary led them upstairs. There was a huge damp spot on the ceiling above the landing. On one side there was a storage room, and on the other, a bedroom. The bedroom had a massive four poster bed that ate up eighty percent of the space, and had an attached bathroom that was full of cobwebs. Hermione pulled back the curtains and saw that the bedroom faced the neighbouring cottage.
The place was far from ideal, but... it was fixable, with a good measure of magic.
Suddenly, a sort of muffled scuttling noise from the ceiling startled her, and she looked up in puzzlement.
"There's rats," Mrs. Geary stated.
"In the ceiling?!" Hermione sputtered.
"Aye. Rats."
"Can't you get rid of them?"
Mrs. Geary snickered. "You try it."
The tour ended in the large back garden. It was unkempt and overrun with scraggly shrubs, and bound by a low stone wall. Beyond it was an endless stretch of verdancy, with a hint of the River Weaver in the distance. Nothing remotely stimulating for miles; maybe she could get chickens, like Mrs. Weasley.
"Well, Ms. Granger?" Dankworth came up next to her with his hands behind his back, "It's sizeable, fully furnished, and well within your budget."
"It won't do, Mr. Dankworth."
"No?" he smiled smarmily.
"It won't do at all."
There was another party at the Burrow, on the afternoon of the fourteenth of August – a proper farewell party. There were even more people than there had been at Harry's birthday.
Earlier that morning, when Seamus had shown up with his loaded coffer, Ginny had announced that it was to be an alcohol-free affair.
A ripple of outrage was set off, while Harry rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.
"Why?" Seamus demanded.
"Because I don't want to drink."
"Since when–" George began.
"I have to fly for hours tomorrow."
"Then you don't drink!" Seamus said.
"If I don't drink, nobody drinks."
There was such a quintessentially brazen, Ginny-like flair to that final statement, that all arguments were quelled. No further questions, m'lud. Grumbling, Seamus had disapparated with his bounty.
The lack of alcohol, ultimately, didn't dampen the volume of the gathering in the least. The moment the likes of Dean, Angelina, and Demelza arrived, a game of quidditch was kicked off. Hermione ended up sitting and watching with Percy, who droned on about the wonders of working at the Ministry under Kingsley, and how sure he was that Hermione was going to love it.
She nodded along and thought about Neville; about how she wouldn't be seeing him at get-togethers anymore, keeping her company while everyone flew. She imagined him standing in a greenhouse the size of a Georgian mansion, breathless with wonder.
The game ended, and Mrs. Weasley came out with floating trays full of pumpkin juice, orange squash, and lemonade. That was when more people began arriving.
A very grumpy Seamus slouched over to sit by Hermione.
"I'd concocted a drink specially for you, y'know?"
"Oh?" she smiled.
"Yeah. Inspired by the flavours of that spiced rum."
"Sounds good."
"It was bleeding grand."
"I'll come by your pub, alright?"
"You better," he grumbled.
Dean joined them, and he socked Seamus on the shoulder, good naturedly. Then he told Hermione he was getting ready to begin his term at Slade, and that he'd found a fantastic shared accommodation on Blandford Street.
Hermione pictured him standing in a studio the size of a Georgian mansion. She made an excuse about wanting lemonade, and walked away from there.
She did actually get a glass of lemonade, a weak, lacklustre beverage when compared to what dad made, and she went off to the far wall at the darker edge of the garden. She hopped up on it and had herself a wonderful vantage point from which to observe the party.
She sought out Harry first, and he looked radiant, post-flying. His usually untidy hair was catastrophic. He drank orange squash, and kept one hand firmly on Ginny's knee. She was well-near cuddling his arm as she laughed at George and Lee putting on a skit about Filch and Pince. A little behind them, Ron was red in the face, looking like he didn't know what to do with himself, while a girl from Ginny's year batted her eyelashes at him, clearly on the pull.
The kitchen door opened again, and trays bearing a full spread for afternoon tea floated out and settled on the table. Finally, Mr. And Mrs. Weasley came out to join in the merriment, with the former carrying the Etch-A-Sketch. Hermione shifted deeper into the shadows.
Her stomach was rumbling with the need to eat, but she didn't move – she just didn't want to. If they wanted her there, they would have to seek her out.
She turned to look at her favourite hillock looming in the distance, and considered moving to sit up there. Maybe she could construct a tin shack on it and call that her home. She could feed the chickens every morning, with Mrs. Weasley. She could get married to Percy, and die of boredom and ague at the age of twenty-five.
"Are you skulking or sulking or both?"
A grin broke out across her face before she had even turned. Of course, he'd be the one to come to her. She felt considerably better.
"Neither," she replied.
Theo and Luna settled on the wall as well. They'd brought her a cup of tea and a plate of jam biscuits and cucumber finger sandwiches for them to share. Hermione's eyes flickered towards the crowd, wondering if –
She spotted his bright hair at once. Draco was eyeing the feast on the table, while Seamus clapped him on the back in a friendly greeting.
"You're late," Hermione informed Theo and Luna, and then she sighed at the taste of her perfectly prepared tea.
"We were celebrating," Theo said happily, "Guess who won the Scamander grant!"
"Oh my gosh!" Hermione reached out and squeezed Luna around the shoulders, "That's brilliant. Congratulations!"
"Thank you," she smiled widely, "I'm so very excited. I have my first meeting with the board on Monday."
Hermione beamed at her, even as a prickle of something toxic threatened to taint her sincerity.
And speaking of toxic, prickly things... Draco broke away from the party and began to walk towards them. Hermione couldn't do a single thing besides watching him approach in his thin, V-necked jumper. Serpentine steam from his teacup curled and swayed like the giant python, Kaa, performing a hypnotising dance.
Trussst in me...
"Why are you lurking in the shadows?" he asked coolly, the moment he was close enough.
"Hermione's feeling a bit sullen," Theo responded.
"I am not–"
"When is she not?"
She glowered as he snatched up a biscuit and bit into it obnoxiously. He ate far too often in her presence, and it was another form of derision, she was sure of it. It was all about drawing attention to his over-smart mouth; like he was saying, see, Granger, I will chew on sweet things and spew bitter things. And also, occasionally, funny and clever things. And sometimes, a tiny crumb will catch on my lower lip and I will, quick as a flash, lick if off.
"Our friend Dankworth isn't rising to the occasion," Theo explained.
Hermione glanced back at her hillock. Her future home, and place of death. A gravestone on top of it would look very solemn and dramatic.
"Is that so? Or is it that she's simply far too pernickety?"
Here lies Hermione Granger. This little piggy cried, "Ennui".
"Yesterday he showed me a place that had rats in the ceiling," she said, giving him a sore stare.
Draco shrugged. "He thinks that's the sort of place you'd live."
"Or he's a louse."
"Not at all. He's canny and agreeable."
"Of course, you'd think that," she said somewhat uppishly, "He's basically you, thirty years from now."
"Come again?"
He'd finished his biscuit. Did he have crumbs on his fingers? Would he lick them?
"That's how you'll be, at fifty. Balding. Paunchy. A swindler."
His lips twitched. "But with distinct eyes, surely."
Here lies Hermione Granger. Draco did it. Arrest him.
"And he's not a swindler," Draco added, "You only have to pay him if he finds you a place."
"He's swindling me of my time and peace of mind," she sniffed, "He's a rapacious middleman who–"
"You asked for his services."
Draco waved his wand behind him and conjured a high back leather armchair, and sat. So needlessly over the top. He drained his teacup and set it down.
"I didn't expect him to be this useless!" she exclaimed, "And how difficult of a job could it possibly be? Find me a decent, liveable flat somewhere in England, Mr. Dankworth. That's all. I'm not asking him to bring me a Nundu's pelt."
"Go find your own flat then, if it's so simple," he smirked.
"I think I'll do exactly that," she said, "It'll serve him right for being part of a scummy, indefensible industry–"
"Doesn't he deserve to earn a living?"
Draco was tracing the edge of his chair's armrest with his index finger. Slow, mindless, soothing strokes.
"Um. Ahem. He does, of course. But nobody made him pick an occupation that requires no talent; save for an exceptional drive to avoid doing any actual work!"
"You don't' know that. You don't know what his circumstances are. Maybe he was forced into it. And here you are, begrudging him an honest livelihood."
"Right. Circumstances drove him to become an upmarket estate agent."
"Yes."
"And seriously... an honest livelihood?"
"Absolutely."
"Balderdash."
"Granger, you're so classist."
Hermione's mouth fell open and she nearly tumbled off the wall. She gaped at him like she'd never gaped before.
And he grinned.
"What?!" she quavered.
He shrugged one shoulder, still grinning.
"You. Just called me. Classist."
He raised his eyebrows and nodded.
"While attempting to defend an ardent purveyor of private property ownership."
"A helpless cog in a detestable machine, you mean," he amended with delight.
"Classist. I'm classist."
"Eminently."
"You. You – born in an ancestral mansion – You... old money, luxury flat owning, house-elf exploiting, silver spoon licking arse."
He was shaking with mellow laughter.
"You know," she ground out, forcibly collecting herself, "You even smile exactly like Dankworth. Very smug and oily."
"Oh, come on now, Granger," he drawled with one final chuckle. Then he looked up at her with his head tilted downwards. "That's blatantly untrue."
It was untrue. Obviously, it was. Even with a hint of smugness in his smile, it was not oily in the least. It was provocative. It was mischievous. It was heady. It fit his face perfectly, it adorned his features wonderfully. It was...
She couldn't stop staring.
"What in Merlin's fucking name is going on, Hermione?"
She jumped out of her skin, and looked over the back of Draco's chair to see Ron advancing towards them. He stopped next to the chair and eyed Draco balefully.
Hermione looked to her right: There was a full plate and a cold cup of tea next to her. Theo and Luna were gone. The air was thick with the sound of conversation and laughter.
"Yes, Ron?" she mumbled, feeling her ears heat up.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, looking indignantly between her and Draco.
"Just chatting..."
Draco couldn't even be bothered to look at Ron. He summoned the plate and helped himself to another biscuit.
"Right." Ron's complexion was puce. "Ginny's wondering where you are."
Hermione slid off the wall and walked, with slightly wobbly legs, back towards the party. She could hear Ron following her.
"There you are!" Ginny cheered and bounded over with a grin. "I thought you'd left and I was going to send a howler!"
"No way I'd just leave."
"We're going for another round of quidditch," Ginny said, "What can I do to convince you to join in?"
"Absolutely nothing. I will sit in the sidelines and admire you"
Ginny peered over Hermione's shoulder and then stepped to the side, raising her hand.
"Malfoy! Want to play?"
Hermione didn't turn around, not even after Ginny nodded in farewell and raced towards her broom. But when Draco walked by her, she murmured under her breath, "Please don't antagonise Harry."
He stopped briefly, rolled his eyes, handed her the plate of finger sandwiches, (the biscuits were all missing,) and carried on. She followed.
"I'm serious, Draco. Please–"
"I have no interest in ruining Ginny's farewell party, all right? Put a sock in it."
He was the most unbelievable, maddening person she'd ever known. There was no concept of an even keel when he was involved. She watched him walk to where the brooms were stacked, bypassing Harry without a look or comment. He raked his hair back and stuck his hand out, commanding his broom to rise.
Hermione's stomach vibrated with pangs of hunger. She bit into a sandwich and meandered towards the table, looking for someone she'd like to sit with.
Nestled at one end, in one chair, were Theo and Luna, feeding each other scones and clotted cream. Hermione fell into the seat in front of them and nabbed a second sandwich.
Theo grinned and said, "Try the egg and cress ones. They're delish."
"Mrs. Weasley makes excellent food," Luna seconded, spooning some rhubarb compote onto their plate.
"It's bloody six in the evening, yet tea time is carrying on and on. How are we expected to have supper after this?"
An endless outdoor tea party, served at six o'clock, (but time's throwing a wobbler and won't move, so it's always six o'clock.) Sat together on one chair, Theo and Luna would, collectively, make a fine Mad Hatter.
She skimmed her gaze down the partially-occupied table, catching a few eyes and smiling.
"Where did you both run off to?" she asked the Mad Hatter, pouring herself a fresh, hot cup of tea.
Theo turned into the Cheshire cat.
"We didn't want to get in the way," he said
"I have often seen a Theo without a grin, but never a grin without a Theo," she muttered under her breath, feeling her ears turn hot once more.
He laughed incredulously. "What?"
"Nothing."
He could fade out of existence now. Him and his grin.
"How long before you noticed we'd gone?"
"I've been looking for you for quite some time."
"Suuuuuure," he drawled, "Must've been really hard to spot us in such a wide, open space."
"Hermione," Luna sang, "I think if I speak candidly, you'll get angry. So, I won't say anything."
"Much obliged," she gritted out through her teeth.
"But you should know..." she gave her a serene, beatific smile, "I've something important to say."
Hermione blinked in astonishment. They had to be doing this deliberately. She waited for Luna to start smoking a hookah, and to ask what size Hermione would like to be. And Hermione would answer –
Three inches is such a wretched height to be.
She took a giant gulp of tea two wash down a bout of hysterical laughter. This was turning out to be every bit as unhinged as a party with alcohol.
XXX
The evening ended with another fireworks display. In the finale, an entirely female quidditch team made up of dark green and gold lights, danced a strange, airborne version of the cancan, across the sky.
People amassed around Ginny to say goodbye, and Hermione, Harry, and Ron helped Mrs. Weasley clear the table. A long series of cracks from people disapparating made it seem like they'd been hit by a sudden, violent thunderstorm.
Hermione paused her undertaking every so often to wave, or call out a bye, cheerio. She told Seamus that yes, she definitely will be stopping by his pub soon. She squeezed Theo's arm, and congratulated Luna once again. She gave Draco a small smile, to which he responded with a nod and a chary sort of look that said, that isn't nearly as amiable as you think it is.
When all had been done and dusted, and everyone was back in the living room, there was a general agreement that supper wasn't necessary, though Ron did sneak into the kitchen and return with some leftovers for himself. Mrs. Weasley made cocoa, and they passed the hours nattering.
Hermione and Harry decided to stay the night. Once the spare bed had been set up in Ginny's room, Hermione lay down and felt a surge of downheartedness. So much time she'd spent in that room; so much time at Hogwarts, seeing Ginny every day.
"You'll visit often, won't you?" she asked.
Ginny dimmed the lamps, and under the cover of gloom replied, "I'll try."
"Okay."
"There's always the floo. Hopefully we can have a chat at least once a week."
They talked in the dark for some time, till it was late enough and they were sure that her parents were fast asleep. Then Ginny slipped out, and, a few minutes later, Ron came in.
It was very unsettling to have him there. Even with the substantial space between the two beds, even though it was too dim to really see his face.
"Harry seemed well today," she said, just for the sake of saying something.
To fill the space with something other than discomfiture.
"Yeah," Ron grunted. He lay on his back and looking up at the ceiling.
"Ginny got through to him."
"Let's see."
"...Okay. Er, goodnight, Ron."
She closed her eyes and began to recite You are old, Father William, in her head.
"The last time we were alone in this room, you rejected me."
He said it plainly, in passing. Like pointing out an interestingly shaped shadow. Hermione opened her eyes and stared at the silhouette of his profile.
"It's alright. I'm alright now. What were you chatting about, with Malfoy?"
She swallowed thickly. "About the estate agent, and how I'm having no luck finding a place to stay."
"You could just stay with us, like you already are."
"I told you already, Ron. I need my own space."
"Yeah," he said bitterly, "Too bad it's such a small house, eh?"
"Um..."
"Tell me one more thing," he asked, once again in a plain tone.
"Yes?"
"Why did you have to chat in that dim little corner?"
"It wasn't – I didn't mean to – Ron, I was just there, thinking... and then Theo and Luna came by and –"
"Fine," he cut in, "G'night Hermione. Sleep well."
He turned his back to her.
After breakfast that morning, Mrs. Weasley wouldn't let go of Ginny's hand.
"My friend Owena will be expecting you at Swansea," she said tearfully, "Please stop by and eat something."
"I will, mum. I've told you I will."
"I'm going to miss you so very much," she wailed operatically.
"Won't really get a chance to if you don't let go of her hand, mum," said George.
Determination oozed from every inch of her, as she shouldered her rucksack and mounted her broom. With one final, sparkling grin, Ginny kicked off.
They watched her till she was just a speck in the sky... and then not even that.
One by one, they went back inside, till only Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, and Harry remained. One hadn't stopped snivelling and the other stood phlegmatically, with his hands in his pockets. Hermione vacillated for a moment, before finally turning towards the house.
XXX
She had no way of foretelling that a simple question – "I'm sure Ginny has left her room in an awful mess; could you please help me sort through it, dear?" – would end up eating away her entire day.
Because Ginny's room wasn't messy. Mrs. Weasley was just looking for an excuse to be there and look at Ginny's things and reminisce. For a woman whose identity rested so heavily on her maternity, sitting in an empty nest was brutal.
"We kept adding room after room to this house... but it was scarcely enough. All those maddening children living on top of each other, creating a ruckus. And now just Arthur, Percy, and I remain... and so many empty rooms," she'd said at one point.
They finally left the room late in the afternoon, after which Mrs. Weasley said that since Hermione would be returning later for dinner anyway, she might as well hang around.
When at last, it was evening and they were all settled around the table eating, Hermione felt Ginny's absence keenly. She obviously wasn't the only one.
Three of them returned to Grimmauld Place drained and douce. Ron went up to his room to pack for his trip, and Hermione shot into hers to indulge in the long shower she'd been craving all day.
After she had finished, she filled a mug with her sleeping brew and went to find Harry.
He was in the drawing room, on the sofa, gulping down firewhiskey. She gasped rather loudly, in anguish, and he loured at her with displeasure.
"Not going to let you dope me tonight."
She was frozen at the doorway, unable to move or say anything... Panicked, wondering why the hell she'd thought things would end tidily, grasping for the right way to react. His face crumpled.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, "I'm sorry, alright? But Hermione... please go away."
She didn't move.
"Go, please," he begged, "Can't stand you looking at me like that. Please."
So, she left, stiffly. In the hallway, she found Ron sitting on the stairs. He shook his head and made a gesture of hopelessness, looking tired beyond measure.
Had the last thirty-six hours not happened, Hermione would have sat right next to him and put her head on his shoulder. But, as it was, she sat on the opposite end of the step, and vanished the blasted mug from her hands.
There was nothing for her to do the next day: No tasks, no appointments, nothing. Ron had left for Bath, Harry was at work, Theo was at the shop, Luna was at her meeting.
She read and re-read her law folder, and stood in front of the mirror, interviewing herself. She read and re-read Padma's letter, trying and failing to formulise ways in which to bring it up with Harry, without bolloxing it up.
It could have been a day ripe for a vexing, utterly consuming interaction with Draco. She slumped on the loveseat and couldn't come up with anything else she really wanted to do.
At night, Harry let her sit with him. He drank just two glasses, while they carried on a wooden conversation about his day and her day, and speculated about Ron's day and Ginny's day.
People were gawking at her as she stomped down Diagon Alley, and she couldn't give a flying fuck. She was simmering with outrage and irritation and if anyone dared to speak to her, she'd snap.
Cutting through the scant, mid-week population, she spotted Theo standing outside the menagerie window, watching a baby niffler play with silver foil. She didn't bother with pleasantries; she simply caught his arm, (ignoring his muffled, alarmed Oi,) and dragged him into Finnigan's.
Even the pub was agreeably uncrowded, with a little over a dozen patrons spread around. From a stool at the bar, Seamus' beckoned to them, beaming.
"Chuffing good to finally see you here, Hermione. Ay, Vassilios," he addressed the dark, reed thin man behind the bar, "Fix the lady a sunset grog. And for our man...?"
He looked questioningly at Theo.
"Ale"
"You heard him. On with it, Vassilios." He stood up and winked at Hermione, "Don't be scared, it's not very strong. Won't get you locked. Now, I have some business to attend to–"
He walked around the bar, the shelves behind slid open, and he disappeared inside.
Once they'd paid for and collected their drinks, Theo led Hermione to a table in front of Dean's mural, where Draco was already seated. He looked surprised to see her, but nodded austerely, regardless. He had a glass of some clear spirit in front of him.
"Where's Luna?" she asked, taking a seat next to a leprechaun's boot.
"Berlin," Theo replied, "For five days. Scamander sent her for a seminar on Research Methodology and Magizoology and... something else. But tell me, how was the Bankside flat?"
"No good," she grumbled acidly.
"Oh no! What was the matter?"
She sipped the grog before she answered. It tasted like ginger, cinnamon, vanilla, and molasses, and it was divine.
"It comes with a dear House-Elf named Tisley, and I'm not allowed to set her free."
Theo pulled a face of commiseration. Draco was amused.
"He's doing this deliberately," she groused, "Riling me up–"
"No, he isn't," Draco piped up.
"Why are you so far up that man's arse?" she spat. His brow jumped in surprise. "It's definitely deliberate."
"No, Granger. He's just existing and doing his job. It takes close to nothing to rile you up."
"Oh, hark who's talking. One just has to breathe the wrong way to set you off."
"You both are stupidly easy to aggravate," Theo cut in.
He was smirking cattily with foam on his upper lip. Not the right way to be while Hermione was feeling belligerent.
"Being around you has frayed our nerves," she said waspishly.
His smirk dropped. "Excuse me?"
"Yes. That's why Draco's so much worse, he's been around you longer–"
"Granger's worse because she had a short temper to begin with," Draco revised, "But it's true. Your company has left us constantly on edge."
"Look what you've done, Theo."
He was looking between the two of them, slack jawed.
"You ate every morsel my mother sent me, at Hogwarts," Draco drawled.
"Same," Hermione nodded.
"You rant endlessly. You rain down a torrent of rubbish and there's nowhere to run."
"You drag on tired jokes so far beyond the point they stop being funny, that it could be considered torture."
Draco asked her, "How often has he derailed you from an important task?"
"Hard to keep count," she told him.
"What the fuck is happening here?" Theo spluttered.
Before things could go any further, Seamus was at their table.
"What's the verdict?" he asked, tilting his head towards her glass.
"I love it."
"Bang on."
"A perfect blend of sweet and spice."
Seamus put one hand on their table and leaned, wagging his eyebrows at her.
"Just like you, fine thing."
That drew an actual laugh out of her, so she decided to play along. She looked up at him from under her eyelashes and gave him a one-sided smile.
"You have an impeccable palate."
He laughed, and, as there was a cry of "Boss!" from the bar, left.
Hermione turned back to her companions and found them staring at her with raised brows. She shrugged and put her focus on the grog.
Predictably, Theo launched into a tremendous oration in defence of his character. Hands flailing and woebegone expression, he was in prime form with melodrama and righteousness rolling off his tongue. Hermione and Draco exchanged smirks and sat back with their respective drinks, letting him have his moment.
His twelve and a half minutes, it turned out.
His strong, punchy closing line was, "I'm hungry, let's go to Neil's," so they all dragged their chairs back and stood to leave.
As they moved towards the door, Theo barked, "What are you looking at?" to a group of men leering at him.
"You have foam all around your mouth," Draco said offhandedly.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Hermione, laughing, looked over her shoulder at them when a loud bang reverberated through the pub.
A well camouflaged door on the far wall had slammed open, and out tumbled Harry, in a worse state than she'd ever seen him. He teetered as he made his way across the floor, crashing into the back of an empty chair.
"By Godric, that's Harry Potter!" someone exclaimed.
Hermione rushed forward, and grabbed his forearms to help steady him.
"He'mione," he slurred, peering at her through his glasses, "Gone 'n done it today, haven't I?
"Let's get you home, Harry," she whispered as her eyes stung with tears.
"Kay," he mumbled.
Her hands slid into his, and she was all set to pull him towards the exit, when he suddenly stiffened.
"You," he growled.
He was looking daggers at Draco, who met his glare with acute indifference.
"Just fucking everywhere, aren't you?"
Draco said nothing.
"Couldn't snatch away my girlfriend, so now you're after my best friend?"
Draco's face twisted with extreme disgust.
That's when Harry lunged. Hermione was barely able to hold her ground, barely able to push him back, as he reached out with his hands as though meaning to strangle Draco. Draco's wand was out and levelled at Harry.
"Stay back," he snarled, menacingly.
"Stupefy!" Theo cried, and at once, Harry went limp, tumbling downwards and dragging Hermione with him.
Luckily, Theo – and Seamus, who had reappeared – grabbed them before they could hit the ground.
"Fuck!" Seamus squawked, "Fuck, fuck. I must have forgotten to lock the door. Fuck!"
He and Theo pulled Harry's arms over their shoulders and carried him towards the opening behind the bar. She stood for a moment, catching her breath. Draco pocketed his wand and, without a backward glance, stalked out into Diagon.
There was dead silence. Hermione squared her shoulders and went behind the bar. At the opening she turned.
There were, in total, fifteen people in the pub. She could see a restless whisper begin to take hold of them. With no hesitation whatsoever, she slipped into the shadows and raised her wand.
Once she was through, she stepped into the passageway. There was a narrow staircase on one side, and a few doors on the other, one of which was wide open, and emitting a stream of frantic oaths.
It was Seamus' office, with a desk, cabinet, quidditch posters, and a long sofa, on which they'd put Harry. Theo was standing quietly by a fireplace, while Seamus was pacing up and down the room, swearing.
"I'm so sorry," he bewailed when he saw Hermione, "I can't believe I left the door unlocked."
"What on earth do you mean?" she demanded, incensed, "You just lock him in a room and leave him to drink?"
"When Ron isn't there, yeah!"
"Are you insane?"
"What the hell else can I do?" he rumbled.
"Not enable him, maybe?!"
"Oh sure. So that he can go get fluthered at the Leaky? The Prophet would love that!"
"Hermione," Theo called gently, before she could respond, "I think we should get Potter to bed. Let him sleep this off."
"Fine," she muttered testily.
Once again, Theo and Seamus hauled him up, and they all stepped through the fireplace.
Grimmauld Place was lit up, as it would be on any given evening. Hermione directed the boys to Harry's room, passing by Kreacher who looked on with a complete lack of surprise.
They put him in bed, and she carefully removed his glasses and pulled the covers over him. He mumbled indistinctly and sighed.
"Thank you," she maffled stiffly, when they were back by the fireplace.
Seamus left first, keeping his eyes glued to the floor. Theo hugged her tightly, and then he left.
Alone, she stodgily sat herself on an armchair, and stared into space. Scenes from the past half hour flashed before her mind... quite at once, she burst into tears. She put her face in her hands and sobbed for what felt like an eternity. When she thought she might stop, mopping her cheeks with her sleeve, another fresh round of tears would erupt.
At the fourth refluence, from just outside the door, Kreacher said, "Miss."
"Yes?" she rasped thickly.
"Kreacher has prepared dinner. Please eat."
She wasn't even a little hungry, but it was the first instance of consideration he'd ever shown her. With a nod, she followed him into the kitchen and had a bowl of fish soup and bread.
For once, she let Kreacher clean up on his own. She went to her room and got ready for bed. Then she picked out her warmest cloak and trudged upstairs, back into Harry's room.
He was fast asleep. His eyelids were twitching mildly, and his snores were intermittently interrupted by incoherent mutterings; a bit like how he used to behave when suffering a Voldemort-related vision. She felt the need to cry all over again.
And she did, once she had settled on the large bench at the foot of his bed. and wrapped her cloak tightly around her body. Not the shattering sobs that had racked her before, but quiet, tormented tears. Was this rock bottom or was it going to get worse? How had Ron kept it together for so long?
She pressed her fists against her eyes until she saw stars.
He would have to talk to her tomorrow. She would make him. She would body-bind him if necessary.
She turned to her side, pulled her knees up, and curled up into a ball.
Draco's face, when Harry had accused him of pursuing her, had been the epitome of pure revulsion.
She woke up feeling warm; very warm.
It took some time to reorient herself after she'd opened her eyes, taking in the unfamiliar sight of Harry's empty, rumpled bed. She was still curled into a ball on the bench, but Harry's quilt was spread on top of her.
Uncurling her legs was hellaciously painful. They were so damn stiff. Her neck was stiff. Her vision swam when she stood up and pulled her spine straight. She wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and went downstairs.
Harry was gazing out the drawing room window, both hands cupped around a steaming cup of tea. It was scarcely past five in the morning. The world was tinted blue, and very quiet.
She padded across the room, to the armchair she usually favoured, and perched on its arm. For a while they both just looked outside at the empty street, and the still twinkling lamp posts.
"I'm glad it was you, last night," Harry croaked, "And not Ron."
She turned to him, but he didn't move.
"I've pushed him to the absolute limit. If he had been there... I think it might've been the last straw." He finally looked at her. "Thank you, Hermione. Thank you, and... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. So fucking sorry."
"Oh, Harry," she sighed.
"I know I have to stop. I know it every morning."
His eyes closed as he sucked in a long sip of tea.
"The paper's going to be brutal today, eh?" he said with a horribly empty, forced chuckle.
"I took care of that," she told him.
He frowned. "Threatened Rita again?"
"No," she said with a meaningful inflection, but he continued to look puzzled. "I'm very good at memory charms, remember?"
He recoiled, looking aghast.
"Hermione," he breathed, "There were so many people–"
"Only fifteen."
"Only?!"
She shrugged. He looked very bothered.
"I'm an Auror," he groaned.
"Are you going to turn me in?"
"Of course, not. But you broke the law!"
"Not for the first time."
"For me."
"Also not for the first time."
"Oh god," he groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.
A dustcart sped down the road. Birds woke up.
"Harry," she said earnestly, "I'm your four brothers and a sister, remember?"
His eyes snapped to her with a look of such utter devastation that she almost whimpered. He looked completely at sea, struggling with himself.
"You need to hold on to this feeling. This... knowing that you need to stop. Hold on to it, Harry, and I will help you."
"How?" he implored with a humourless laugh, "By shoving sleeping draughts down my throat?"
"I–"
"Because I tried that route, alright? Don't you think I did? Dreamless sleep messes me up. I'm groggy all day and it feels like death. Regular sleeping potions – yes, yours included – give me nightmares. Nightmares that I can't even wake up from."
"And what does alcohol do?" she asked in a small voice.
Harry scowled... but it felt like he was scowling not at her, but at himself.
"I feel light. Weightless. And when I sleep I..."
His mouth snapped shut and his face flushed. As much as she wanted to urge him to continue, she bit her tongue.
"I dream of my parents. And Sirius and Remus. The way they were brought back by the resurrection stone. They talk to me and it feels so real."
Hermione pinched her lips between her teeth, feeling her eyes well up.
"You can't imagine how hard I've been kicking myself for dropping it. Sometimes I want to crawl on my hands and knees through the entire Forbidden Forest till I find it."
"That stone drove Cadmus mad," she whispered.
"What, and I'm sane?"
She wanted to reach for him, hug him, but he was too agitated to risk that.
"I can't understand... anything," he rasped, "What am I doing, day after day? I'm the boy who lived for what."
This was far beyond anything she knew how to handle.
He dived back into his mug for a few solid sips; they both ignored that fact that the mug, and his hands, were trembling. Once it was empty, he put it down on a side table and tightly crossed his arms.
A Royal Mail van sped down the road.
"But then I think about Ginny," Harry sighed.
"On her birthday..."
"I tried, Hermione."
"I know you did."
Hermione ground her teeth together; she could not cry and have him feel guilty for it.
Harry reached for humour again, with another forced chuckle.
"I'm sure you have a hundred books and peer reviewed articles at the ready? Drawn out a full plan to get my life back on track?"
"No," she whispered.
"You don't have any ideas?"
"I have one."
"Are you going to tell me?"
"Only if you ask."
"Wow," he said with a heartbreakingly laboured grin, "What happened to you?"
She tried to smile back. She really did.
"I suppose I... grew up?"
The stiff, maniacal grin slowly melted off his face. He blinked rapidly and turned back to the window.
"And I suppose," he murmured, "I should, too."
Oh, he had been forced to grow up since the day he was born.
That was when she finally reached out and hugged him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed, and a tear managed to leak out of the corner of her eye. He put one arm around her back.
"Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"Tell me how you plan to help me."
"Not me, Harry. There's a healer at Mungo's. He got Parvati off calming draughts, and he's helping quite a lot of people, including Dennis Creevey. He's supposed to be very good, and very discreet. I can fix an appointment for you."
He pulled away and looked down at her, frowning deeply. Conflicted and uncomfortable.
"I'll think about it."
"Okay."
Milky yellow sunlight lit up the street.
Harry left for the Ministry and Hermione took the underground to Hampstead Heath. She ran on winding trails, cut through the grass, along the edge of ponds, and finally sat on Parliament hill. She strolled along the boundary walls of the Pergola, like she used to with mum and dad.
She hopped back on the tube and went to Charing Cross, entering Diagon through The Leaky Cauldron.
Fresh air and exercise: She had desperately been in need of them.
During her journey to Theo and Draco's flat, she had to tell herself that she, too, would find it very distasteful if someone accused her of going after a man she wasn't interested in. Harry, Ron, Theo... Dean, Neville, Seamus... ugh, Terry. She would, possibly, instinctively pull a face. It had nothing to do with them. It was just the idea of being with them in that way.
That was all. That's what had happened with Draco. It wasn't about her and it wasn't about her blood.
It couldn't be.
God, it fucking couldn't be.
Theo opened the door with wide eyes, mere seconds after she had knocked. She didn't know what her expression told him, but it compelled him to pull her into one of his most comforting embraces. She started to cry again. They stood in the hallway, like that, till she settled down.
He ushered her into the kitchen and made her a cup of tea.
"Can I interest you in a jacket potato? Another thing that old Neil does really well."
"Alright," she agreed.
He sat next to her and put a steaming plate and utensils in front of her.
"Thanks," she mumbled.
He smiled sadly and wiped the corner of her eye with his thumb.
"And Theo... Thank you. For yesterday. I don't know how I would have handled it without–"
"Shush," he said, pushing the plate closer towards her. "Eat."
She ate. And after she had eaten Theo put the kettle on for another round of tea.
He had just barely opened his mouth to speak when Draco came into the kitchen, the morning's Prophet rolled in his hand. He looked like he expected her to be there. Hermione averted her gaze.
"Granger," he said in terse greeting, and then turning to Theo asked, "Got the kettle on?"
"A cuppa for you as well?"
"Yeah, thanks."
He sat down and disappeared behind the paper, which Hermione was glad for.
The kettle whistled. Theo got up.
"How is Potter?" he asked as he prepared their tea.
Hermione just shook her head. He stopped to peer at her eyes, and he understood.
"Nothing about it in here," Draco said from behind the paper, "Funny, isn't it? There were a decent number of witnesses and not one blabbed."
He pulled the paper down and stared right at her. Hermione couldn't look at him for more than a second, but that was enough to tell her that he knew. Three cups of tea floated onto the table and Theo sat back down.
"Really," he asked, "No mention."
"No," Draco drawled.
Hermione stared down at her tea but she could feel him looking at her.
"You obliviated them all, didn't you?" Draco barked.
"Mother of Merlin, you didn't!" Theo gasped.
She simply shrugged.
Theo breathed out heavily. Hermione thought Draco might be sneering, but she couldn't look at him. She sipped her tea.
"He can do no wrong, can he?" Draco said scornfully, "Drunk off his arse, threatening assault... zero repercussions. But I suppose that makes sense. After all, nearly killing me got him nothing but a handful of detentions."
She sipped her tea and didn't look at him.
They all sipped their tea.
Hermione fixed her eyes on the edge of Draco's saucer and said, "Remember when you said we were in a bubble for a year, at Hogwarts?"
He took some time considering, before slowly enunciating the word, "Yes."
"You were so right. We – all of us – got time to heal. Together. We got a chance to reconnect with who we were before everything went to shit. Harry didn't get that. Harry's never had that chance. Things kept getting worse year by year... till he died, and was forced to kill. And after that..." she huffed. "He's thrown himself into the life of a functioning adult that he doesn't know how to be yet. It's not fair to judge him for that. It's not fair that he had the weight of the world on his shoulders as a child. It's bloody amazing that he's even–"
Oh god, she was about to cry again. In front of Draco Malfoy. Fuck no.
She stared down at her lap. No. Don't cry. Do NOT cry.
Frenetically, she reached out for her tea and downed it in one gulp. It went blistering down her oesophagus.
"I'll go now," she soughed.
She nodded vaguely at Draco's shoulder, kissed Theo on the cheek, and got the hell out of there.
Two days went by and Harry didn't touch upon their conversation again. But he did limit himself to two drinks a night.
When Saturday rolled around, he spent hours in the afternoon with his head stuck in the fireplace, talking to Ginny. He was still at it when Hermione left to see a terrifying hole in Luton.
She was spitting curses and imagining chucking Dankworth in Fiendfyre when she got back to Grimmauld place, early in the evening.
There was a bag carelessly discarded on the landing, which indicated that Ron was back. She burst into the drawing room, calling hullo, only to realise that she had definitely interrupted a very serious and loaded exchange between Harry and Ron.
"Oh, sorry!" she squeaked and took hasty steps back, but Harry, at once, called out to her to wait.
"C'mere," he said patting the space next to him on the sofa.
She settled and smiled at Ron, asking, "How was Bath?"
"Good," he replied, a strange gravity lingering in his tone, "We caught the piss-peddler."
"Well done."
An awkward silence descended for a bit, while Ron bounced his legs, Harry rubbed the back of his neck, and Hermione wrung her hands.
Finally, Harry spoke:
"Hermione... I've decided. Will you fix an appointment for me?"
Something exploded in her chest and air rushed out of her lungs. She was tearing up again but for a good reason, and her mouth pulled up into a broad smile.
"Yes. Of course. For when?"
"You know my schedule," he shrugged, "Any day will do, after five-thirty."
"Okay," she agreed breathlessly, "I'll do that."
"And one more thing..."
"Hm?"
"Will you – both of you – come with me to Godric's Hollow tomorrow? I want to visit my parents' graves."