The next morning saw Hermione deeply irritable, joints aching, head feeling like she'd slept in a bench vice instead of her bed, and she was oddly itchy. It was not a surface itch, like a midge bite, but deeper like the prickling at the back of your neck when someone is staring at you. It distracted her all through a boiling shower, while she tried to slowly stretch her muscles and roll her joints into submitting to the idea of motion. The discomfort didn't ease when she made her coffee—and her lower back felt as if the itching and joint pain had somehow joined forces—to the overall effect of her spine feeling as though someone had poured petrol on it and lit a match. She kept a cane in the house for bad days like this, but was generally loath to use it. Not today.
She used it to hobble into the parlor and decided to ignore her swollen, angry fingers while writing her Grann a letter. Grann knew that Hermione had been working on a way to stop the land binding, so it was time to share the results.
Hermione used the letter to express some of her insecurities from yesterday, knowing that Grann would either ease her mind, or give her some advice to use in the future. It would likely take a day for any post owl to get there, and it had been months since she'd sent a letter instead of a Patronus. Perhaps it was time she get an owl of her own instead of continuing to pay for the underfed international post owls. She wanted to know where Malfoy had gotten Hera, so on a whim, she produced her otter, and sent it off.
...
Blaise woke to an eerie blue light and what felt like tingly energy, like static from carpets, but less annoying, nuzzling between him and Draco in bed. He felt himself peeling his eyes open and assessing the light in the room. It was morning, early even, but not ungodly. He identified the static sensation as Granger's bright blue otter, nudging at his and Draco's shoulders, rolling over and over itself as if swimming underwater. When he sat up and shook Draco awake, the beast appeared to climb out of water, shake itself off, and then smiled as Granger's voice resonated from its body with little additional pulses of light,
"Malfoy, if you're free today, I'd like to meet. I need your help selecting an owl as excellent as Hera. Blaise is welcome to come, if he's still lounging about your house like Don Juan."
Blaise started laughing. If only she knew where exactly he'd been lounging.
...
Draco's brain finally kicked on at Blaise's laughter, and it warmed him a bit to know that he was right about her nagging and Blaise being amused by it. Sunday morning was not exactly his favorite time or day to leave the house, as Diagon Alley would be swamped, but perhaps in Granger's company, it wouldn't be so bad. He stood to pen her a response, then dressed, knowing Blaise was staring.
...
They were meeting at the Leaky in ten minutes, precisely at eleven, and Hermione found she was a little nervous about so public an interaction with them. It made the itch from the land binding intensify, and she stubbornly ignored the urge to scratch at herself. She was equally bothered by the way some of the patrons were staring at face, then her cane, then back again. She fought the urge to shout at them. She'd wanted to leave it at home, but her lower back and hip joints were still protesting movement, and she didn't trust herself to not occasionally buckle under the pain.
The Muggle doctor she'd seen had been perplexed by a twenty-two year old woman testing positive for rheumatism, and he'd suggested either pain-management drugs, steroids, or an immunosuppressant. Healers at St. Mungos has suggested constant small doses of pain potion, which was just as addictive as Muggle opioids. Nothing worked, and she didn't want to be an addict, so she grinned and bore the pain. She hissed through her teeth on the inhale as she shifted the cane in her hand, and thusly, her body weight on her hips. She hoped this would be a quick shopping venture.
...
Draco's eyes honed in on her cane immediately as they walked through the door of the Leaky. She was grimacing and avoiding motion. He turned to Blaise for a moment, then cast a significant glance back at the cane. Other patrons of the pub were staring at it as well, he bit his tongue to not snarl at them about their rudeness—this woman contributed to the current safety and happiness of everyone in this wretched place—the least they could do was not judge her for the damages saving them all had cost her. Blaise's upper lip rose in a snarl when he looked around the room, and he approached her.
"Ms. Granger, shall we?" She laughed, chuckling through her response,
"Blaise, you're not usually one for formality, that's Malfoy's job!"
Draco shook his head and smirked at their depricating humor, but gestured that they should lead the way into Diagon Alley. He resolutely ignored the quiet hum of gossip that the War Herione was in the company of an ex-Death Eater and his serpentine friend. He wanted to see her move, as she'd clearly understated the severity of her rheumatism.
...
Blaise pulled her hand into the loop of his left elbow and discreetly attempted to take as much of her weight as possible. She had naturally switched her cane to her free hand, and seemed to be putting less effort into taking steps now that she didn't have to lean on it for every step. She had narrowed her eyes for a moment as they turned the corner down the street from Eeylops—as she'd likely just figured out what he was doing—but he ignored it. He talked about her hair instead.
"Granger, we really must do something about this owl nest you call hair." Her shoulders rose a fraction of an inch and her response was somewhat gritted through her teeth,
"And just what would you know about my hair Blaise Zabini?" He felt himself reach up to his own hair, Draco chuckling to his right,
"Actually Granger, Blaise is quite vain about his hair. He spends more time and money on it than I do on mine."
"Just because you have cornsilk that's easily managed! You have no idea how to take care of African hair! You suggested I use your shampoo once when I ran out!" Blaise let his face pinch up into the quintessential picture of disgust, but Granger just looked between the two of them, then back at Blaise,
"What's wrong with regular shampoo?" Blaise stopped short from his next step, his hand to his heart as if wounded.
"Granger have you been using whatever Muggle concotion your mother used?"
"Yes, but why does that matter?"
"Merlin, woman! No wonder it's so out of control all the time! How did your father not say anything?!"
"He used something herbal on his hair that my mother hated, and he said he couldn't help with my hair because it's different for girls."
"It is not that different. That's it, we're getting you an owl, and I'm taking you to see Angelina." He nodded, it was his last word. He hadn't been kidding when he'd said he'd fix her hair. It hand't just been a statement of vanity, though, it was a matter of her feeling the same pride and beauty that he'd seen in the other girls at Hogwarts that had known what they were doing with their natural hair. It was likely that Granger had never been shown how. Draco clearly knew that was his final word on the matter, because he interjected,
"Well, then since Blaise is insisting, I suppose we'd better make the trip to Eeylops as quick as possible. I'll do the talking at first—the owner likes to hide his best stock—and then you can make your final choice Granger."
...
Watching Malfoy pull his features into his 'snob' face as they entered the menagerie made Hermione realize that she hadn't seen it in ages. Not since his trial, and even then it had been restrained behind fear. Seeing it again after four years was as disturbing as it was objectively easy that he could change his whole demeanor at will. It made her a little jealous—she was unlikely to ever escape her bookworm moniker—and it made her wonder what he was like when he was truly just being himself.
She didn't have to worry about Blaise not being himself—that seemed to be his entire raison d'être—particularly if he managed to make other peiople either laugh or squirm depending on his feelings towards them. He reminded her a bit of Baron Samdi with his lazy elegant dress, his flirtation, his seeming tactlessness, his constant need for coffee or firewhiskey. She let her brain drift off while leaning on her cane again, gently stroking a small barn owl perched near her and paying attention to the sensation of its ridged but silky feathers under her fingertips. It was the only thing she could enjoy about days when she was in this much physical pain—her senses were heightened towards all things tactile—and she allowed her eyes to follow her hypersensitive fingers past everything she touched.
Malfoy and Blaise were suddenly approaching her again, Malfoy was speaking, so she shook her head a little in an attempt to focus her eyes on his mouth, and therefore, her ears on his words,
"...ready for you in the backroom, Granger."
"Pardon?"
"Follow us. He's finally agreed to let you see the superior birds."
She nodded and followed tentatively, easing off one foot, then to her cane and the other foot, then back again. Malfoy was looking at her with that speculative Healer face again, observational and impassive. She decided she didn't like it.
...
Watching her shift herself into motion with slow sliding motions reminded him of a sloth. It was painful to watch—he was convinved that if he listened hard enough he might actually hear her bones creaking—and he couldn't stop himself from asking the tactless question he'd been avoiding all morning,
"How often are you in this much pain, Granger?"
Her face was tight when she answered him, partially from containing what appeared to be a grimace, and partially because she clearly didn't care for the inquiry,
"Not often. I keep the cane in the house just in case, but this is the first time I've had to use it in about three months. If you must know." He nodded, but declined to comment further. He knew the treatment options were limited in the long run, in both the Muggle and the wizarding worlds of medicine. Blaise was tapping a foot impatiently, but appeared to be holding in any other outward sign of his desire to change the subject, get her an owl, and get her to his favorite salon. Draco offered her his arm in an attempt to speed things along and keep Blaise from having some kind of apoplectic fit from having to wait, but at that moment Blaise seemed to have enough.
He picked her up. She made that 'eep' noise of surprise again as Blaise swung her across his chest bridal style, and eyed her cane with contempt until Draco got the hint and took it from her fingers a moment later.
...
It had taken entirely too long for his liking to talk the owner into submission—and to the benefit of a war heroine no less—but this man was always obsessed with breeding his birds for show, not for sale. He hated giving up prime breeders.
Blaise cringed to watch her begin moving, and he felt a tight ache bloom in his chest to see her put her chin up and attempt dignity under Draco's questioning. He tapped his toe—anything to ease his own tension—but it wasn't enough. She was heavier than he'd been expecting, but her skin radiated warmth across his body as he lifted and carried her into the back room. That nervous mouse noise she made was flatly adorable.
"Oh for Merlin's sake, Granger, come on. I will have you burrowed into a salon chair in no time, being pampered, and off your feet, but we have to get through this first."
...
Draco watched her eyes flitting about the perches in the back room of the menagerie once Blaise had set her down again. She seemed to be assessing each bird, not just for breed or temperment, but also looking for some singular personality trait that he couldn't identify from watching her watch the owls. It may have felt like a small eternity, but it was no more than two minutes later that she chose,
"That one, what's his name?" The owner cringed momentarily, he'd clearly been hanging on to this particular male,
"He doesn't have one yet, he's a recent acquisition. He's not even full grown yet." Draco interjected,
"That is not even an owl, it's a harpy eagle."
"I know, Malfoy, and he's lovely. He'll look even better when all his black feathers grow in and he hits 5 kilos—very stately indeed—and he'll be comfortable visiting Grann since it's just northeast of his natural range." Blaise had picked up a thick perch, a dragonhide glove, and a very large travel cage,
"Great, excellent. Can we go now?"
Granger laughed as she paid, completely ignoring the fact that that the shop owner looked near to tears the whole time. She also didn't know that Draco and Blaise had already told the owner they'd pay for one-third of whatever bird she picked, and they'd each already given him IOUs to be taken and cashed at Gringotts.