1
Hermione
The crisp night air filled Hermione's lungs as her feet fell firmly on the cobblestone street, just outside of Hogsmeade village. The wind rustled through the trees on either side of her as the silhouette of an owl passed overhead, hooting softly. Wasting no time, she started to walk up the road towards the clutter of dimly lit buildings as she gathered her senses.
Past The Three Broomsticks and then a left at Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop, and up a winding alley road to a cluster of pine trees just a bit off to the right, she recalled. There, she would find a small cottage tucked neatly away from the heavy foot traffic that Hogsmeade regularly saw, already safeguarding her belongings and Crookshanks, her bandy-legged cat.
Her walk was purposeful and quick. Two years of Auror training and several more years of fighting dark wizards and any number of other foul beasts had wisened her to never linger in any one place long, especially after dark.
"Constant vigilance," she muttered aloud to herself, smiling slightly.
Her thick, curly hair blew up around her shoulders as she moved, carrying a scent of honeysuckle and lavender. Though the days still carried bright, warm sunshine, the nights were beginning to feel crisp and cool. She wore a fine, black turtleneck under a deep, red cloak, but a slight chill crept its way across her chest and face as the draft of night air moved over her. Pulling her hair forward so that it covered her neck on both sides, Hermione adjusted her cloak as she strode up a small, stone-paved hill flanked with iron gates that she knew all too well.
Hogsmeade was in full view, and she couldn't help but smile more broadly.
It was like a trip into the past. How many times had she, Harry, and Ron, walked past these very shops, arm in arm and eager to spend all of their pocket money on the wondrous items that lined the windows down this very street? Or even just relaxed at one of the pubs-happy to be out of the castle and talk about nothing, or anything?
The nostalgia washed over her as she continued, careful to take in the familiar details of each building and partnering it with a happy memory of when she was younger. When she did things with purpose and pride, when she was able to do anything she set her mind to, when she felt loved and needed.
She thought she had problems then.
Her smile faded almost instantly, and she scolded herself for allowing her intrusive thoughts to taint her memories.
Problems are problems are problems, she said to herself. You can handle any problems, no matter where they occur, no matter who causes them, no matter what they are. You have handled much worse things.
Of course, not everything in life was so easily comparable. She had been through more than most at a very young age, and came out the better for it, or so she had always thought. What was constantly fighting for her life and plotting the takedown of dark wizards to a little bit of heartbreak? To a panicked desire to run away from everything and everyone she had always loved? To suddenly slamming the door shut on her career because she couldn't stand to look at Ron Weasley for another second, not after everything she had done?
Well, she thought, as she made her way towards The Three Broomsticks, you can't really expect to not think about those things here. You grew up here, and so did they. Her chest felt heavy as she tried to take a deep breath. Just try and start over.
Start over.
She felt nauseated every time her mind brought that phrase to the surface. It was what Ginny had told her, anyway, two days after she had followed Hermione to muggle London and found her on Westminster Bridge sobbing uncontrollably after fleeing what was unbeknownst to her ahead of time, her own engagement party.
Looking back, every minor detail of that night seemed a blur of images and words that she couldn't seem to piece together no matter how hard she tried-insignificant in comparison to the crushing weight of fear and anxiety she had felt plaguing every nerve in her body.
One figure of a man down on one knee. One flash of shining silver. One collective round of applause. One overwhelming emotion of dread.
The world itself was spinning out of control, and if she didn't leave right away, she was sure to be thrown off.
And so she ran, and then disapparated.
She didn't know what drove her to the bridge. Perhaps she wasn't paying attention and happened to simply find herself somewhere. Perhaps she subconsciously wanted to be somewhere precarious, where she could do something reckless. The mind makes impulsive choices when faced with fear.
She had leaned against the bridge wall, taking deep, calming breaths and stared without really seeing, working to get her crying under control.
The minutes passed and the lights from the city blurred as her tears clouded her vision. A few people passed her, but quickly diverted their eyes, unwilling to approach someone who, for all they knew, wasn't altogether sane.
Well, she sure felt crazy.
"Hermione, oh my god. What is happening? Are you okay?" The voice sent another wave of anxiety through her. Of course she had gone after her.
Ginny's concern was panicky. "Why did you leave? Has something happened?" She placed her hands on Hermione's shoulders, searching her eyes.
So many questions that Hermione couldn't answer. She looked back at Ginny, guilt adding to the mix of tumultuous emotions that encased her chest. Slowly, she sank down the wall, sitting on the cool stone of the bridge.
Ginny looked around, seeming to search for the right question to ask.
"Did something happen at work?"
Hermione almost laughed. Swallowing and taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, more tears leaking out and falling straight off her cheeks. She couldn't-she didn't want to say a single thing. She thought she might throw up.
"Okay," Ginny had said, gathering herself together and sliding down the wall next to Hermione. Several more minutes passed with only the sound of Hermione's deep, steadying breaths.
"Okay", Ginny said again, "what do you need?"
Dread filled Hermione because she didn't know. Mechanically, she said the only thing that her brain allowed her to-the thing that made the most sense.
"I need to get back to Ron and apologize," she had said, her voice sounding distant. "I shouldn't have left."
Several more minutes passed in silence, then-
"I guess that was the wrong question, then," Ginny said, slowly, "I should have asked, '"What do you want?"'
And it was like someone had turned the sound back on at that moment. Hermione looked up at her and stared, the question permeating every corner of her brain and heart.
What do I want?
She couldn't remember the last time anyone had even bothered to ask her that, including herself. She had stared into Ginny's eyes, despicable thoughts and emotions welling up inside of her as they fought to get out, to answer one simple question.
What do I want?
It was exactly what she needed to hear. She had to say it, before the world as she knew it came apart at the seams. Before-
"I want to leave!" she shouted suddenly, almost forcefully.
Ginny said nothing, but gave her a sad smile.
Hermione had started to laugh through her tears, though nothing was remotely funny.
"Shocks you, doesn't it?" She had stood up then, spreading her arms wide and spinning. "Not me, right? Not Hermione! Not the ordained know-it-all, question-all, solve-it all! Surely not!"
Her laugh was mocking, almost defiant. Ginny continued to say nothing, though her sad smile morphed into wide-eyed concern.
Hermione got down on her knees by Ginny, putting her face just inches from hers.
"I don't want," Hermione said quietly, her voice quivering, "to go back to Ron, or to that Ministry office, or to that farm house in Ottery St. Catchpole, or to that wedding rehearsal. I don't want another person to want one more goddamn thing from me. I want to leave."
Her gaze never wavered from Ginny's as she spilled it all out, every negative all-consuming thought that had taken up place in her heart since she didn't even know when. Maybe since the day she said yes. She let it out and she cried, and Ginny held her as she finished, her head light and her throat raw.
She barely remembered returning home, only that she passed out on her bed, completely exhausted and unwilling to face one more thought.
The days that followed were brutal. Ron had begged, he had pleaded, he had insisted that something was wrong with her-that she needed a break from work, that everything was perfect and that it didn't make sense for her to feel this way. She was fine, he was fine, everything was completely fine. What difference did marriage make, really? They could wait, and he could ask her again once she let herself relax. And there were so many people-she was probably just nervous, and he probably could have foreseen that, but family and friends are important, after all.
His reassurances almost convinced her. Almost. But she knew how he liked to make her believe things that weren't reality, knew how he could be almost condescending when she ever voiced her feelings, her troubles, her thoughts. If he said she was fine, then surely- she was fine.
But deep down, she knew this time it was different. Running away-it was so against every part of who she was, who she had always been, that it scared her how quickly she had reacted and fled. And she knew she would be outright lying to herself if she said that the world was not beginning to right itself the farther away she was.
She received an owl on the day she packed her things, intending to head to her parents' house until she could figure out a plan. A large, tawny owl landed on the windowsill in her and Ron's bedroom. Ron had not been home all night-not that she had slept in there anyways.
Opening the window, she saw a small scroll tied to the leg of the owl, a deep, purple ribbon wrapped neatly around it. She carefully untied the scroll, and the owl took off with a soft woosh of wings almost at once.
Pulling the ribbon carefully, she placed it on the bed as she unfurled the letter, which was short.
Defense Against the Dark Arts-
I hear you need a fresh start.
Lodgings ready & waiting.
September 1st.
-M.M.
"Start over."
Hermione had jumped. Ginny was standing in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself, staring at the note in Hermione's hands.
"I wrote to her," said Ginny, sadness etched in her voice. "Maybe you need this. And I don't know…maybe you'll come back…" her voice trailed away.
Hermione stared at her. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes but bit her lip hard to stop herself-she was exhausted.
Ginny let out a deep sigh. "And maybe you won't".
And maybe I won't, Hermione thought, as she came upon a knot of tall, thick pine trees shrouded in almost total darkness.
She pulled her wand out of the pocket of her traveling cloak.
"Lumos," she muttered. Her wand tip ignited as she moved a bit more quickly.
The sight of a small, dark cottage came into light. She could see candles lit inside, flickering light dancing through the window panes. A narrow and winding stone path led to a large wooden front door with vines of ivy and small orange flowers snaking their way along the exterior. Glancing around, she noticed another small cottage some 30 feet away, a bit further back into the woods but still visible due to the illuminated windows.
A crease formed in between Hermione's eyebrows. She wondered who lived there. Another teacher, surely. She wasn't sure who was still teaching at Hogwarts, having lost touch with most everyone due to the demanding nature of her job and, well, relationship.
Scowling, she walked briskly up the path to her new home, trying to feel calm and not at all like she had no idea if what she was doing was right, if not downright detrimental to her health.
A shining mahogany door greeted her as she made her way up three cobblestone steps. Gripping the brass doorknob, she turned it and pushed in the door.
A warm glow washed over her as she stepped across the threshold, and her breath caught. An assortment of candles and lanterns were spread throughout the room, illuminating wall to wall shelves full of books, stacked from ceiling to floor and in various arrays and piles. A deep, velvety blue loveseat and several small, dark tables sat adjacent from a large bay window to her right. Several plush cushions were spread underneath the window on a long bench, large enough to comfortably seat two people, with more books stacked in between. Plants both magical and not hung at various lengths from the ceiling, vines tumbling over the edges of ornately carved pots.
Her chest filled with warmth; the feeling foreign enough to make her light-headed. It was perfect.
Taking a deep breath, she tucked her wand in her back pocket and pulled her cross-body bag over her head, making to place it on the table closest to the door. A small, yellowing envelope, visibly tucked underneath a candle however, made her pause. She placed her bag to the side, reaching for the envelope.
Gently sliding it out, she ripped it open and pulled out a small piece of parchment.
Make yourself at home.
D.M. is next door should you need anything.
D.M.?
Hermione frowned, her attention immediately turning to the bay window. She racked her brains for someone she had known with those initials and could think of no one. She thought of the other cottage she had seen on her walk up and stepped over to the window to stare out across the dark forest.
Her eyes immediately locked onto the neighboring house; a large window identical to her own with the panes pushed open throwing shining light across the trees. The cottage was close enough that she could see that it too had bookshelves lining the walls, with a broomstick placed on two hooks above the tallest shelf. But that wasn't what made her heart stop.
Someone was staring at her through that open window- a tall, blonde figure with a dark green t-shirt and narrowed eyes. His hand was outstretched and holding a book of some sort, as though he were just about to place it somewhere and got distracted.
Apprehension and disgust creeping over her, Hermione stared defiantly back.
His hair was longer than she'd ever seen it, somewhat messy and choppy and reaching as far as his shoulders. Of course, it had been several years since the last time she had seen him in person. What, four-five years? She genuinely couldn't remember.
Draco Malfoy tossed the book he was holding out of sight as he moved closer to the open window. Running his hand through his hair as he walked, he came to stand to the side of the window, leaning his body against the wall and crossing his arms. He gazed over at her as though he suddenly found every detail of her cottage interesting.
Hermione scoffed, annoyed. Rolling her eyes, she reached over and yanked the deep, blue curtains closed, more aggressively than she had intended. The last thing in the world she wanted was any sort of interaction with Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater and professional bigot who lived to taunt and demean her for nearly a decade. The very thought made her hand twitch convulsively toward the wand in her pocket.
Yeah, right, she thought, jinx Malfoy into oblivion before I even start my new post officially. That bodes well.
But what was he doing here? Just casually living in Hogsmeade village? Surely he worked nearby, perhaps at one of the shops or pubs.
Unbelievable.
She plopped down on the window seat, crossing her arms across her chest and staring without really seeing, the warm glow that had filled her moments ago evaporating swiftly.
McGonagall had some nerve placing her next to Malfoy. Had surely gone mad when writing that she could go to him if she needed anything.
Ha. She snorted derisively. As if I would ever want or need anything from him. I'd sooner go back to Ron.
Immediately, her body tensed, the familiar sense of dread filling her gut at the mere thought. The farmhouse, the ministry, Ron hearing her but not listening to her, everyone needing her but not caring about her-
Abruptly, she jumped up from her seat, panic and anxiety sending her heart into near palpitations. She started to pace back and forth, unfastening and dropping her cloak to the floor and clumsily pulling her turtleneck off over her head, tossing it carelessly.
No, she told herself. No- you wouldn't prefer that. You don't want that at all. You're gone. You aren't going back.
Pulling her wand out of her back pocket, she tapped the top of her head, her hair quickly fastening itself up in a bushy pile. The panic made her hot and overwhelmed, the air turning thick and suffocating. A familiar feeling.
You're not going back.
You're not going back.
You'd rather be here.
Even with Malfoy.
And somehow, the knowledge that she would actually rather stay here next to Draco Malfoy than return to her life with Ron cleared the air and allowed her to breathe more steadily. After all- Malfoy had absolutely no power over her. No fear, no intimidation-he was nothing. Less than nothing. She wouldn't allow him to scare her away.
"Alright," she said aloud to herself. "This is fine. I can do this."
Just then, Crookshanks came trotting into the room from what appeared to be the kitchen, his bottlebrush tail held high in the air. He wrapped himself around her legs twice, purring deeply. Hermione bent down and scooped him up in her arms, resting her cheek against his head.
"Been exploring?" she asked him.
Hermione made her way through the rest of the cottage, which was small but extremely cozy. The kitchen was painted a deep, forest green, a dark wooden table pushed towards the corner with two chairs of different design. A short hallway led to a royal blue bathroom with an ornate, claw-footed bathtub accented with gold, and two bedrooms. The first was painted a misty gray and sported a large black desk and several more ceiling to floor bookshelves. The second was the same green as the kitchen, with an unnecessarily large 4-poster bed taking up most of the space. It was black, with a plush gray comforter and at least a dozen pillows piling up near the headboard. A long dresser stood adjacent from the bed, an expansive mirror covering the wall above it. Her trunks stood neatly in the corner.
She sat Crookshanks down and slid her wand back out of her pocket, walking over to place it on the nightstand table. She slid off her shoes and jeans and fell back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She was so, so tired.
As her eyes began to droop, her thoughts wandered through her anxieties and anticipations.
She didn't know what Ron was doing right now. Or what Harry and Luna were thinking about her. Or what Ginny had said to them.
She found that she didn't care.
She felt untouchable through the distance and only hoped they would stay away. She wanted this job and she wanted to be able to breathe without feeling suffocated. The cool air of the room fell over her bare skin and she took the deepest breath she could.
The image of Malfoy with his long hair and deep gaze came to the surface. It was beyond belief that he was here, living in the house next to hers. God, she hated him. But she wouldn't allow him to affect her, she was better than that. No longer a child he could get away with abusing or taunting. She'd kill him first.
He was sure to be an unavoidable consequence of her rash decision to flee, but that didn't mean she had to suffer under him. She would make sure she didn't let Draco Malfoy get within 10 feet of her if she could help it.
Satisfaction seeping in at the thought of cursing him into nothing through his open window, Hermione fell asleep.