5.
THE YEAR OF THE MINISTRY GALA
December 10th, 2005.
Hermione was not drunk.
Not completely drunk anyway, she wasn't about to pass out in a gutter or anything, but she may have been slurring just a little bit and was perhaps being a little more flirty than she usually would be.
Still.
On one side of her, stood Ron, arm around her waist, holding a bottle of butterbeer and talking amicably with his older brother Percy and Percy's new wife Audrey. Hermione had grown to cultivate a grudging sort of respect for Percy, he did his job well, but she could not stand his wife, no matter how hard she tried to get along with the woman. Audrey was a mousy, snippy woman who practiced gossip like an art form. She was the sort of person who would pepper Hermione with questions about her clients continuously; no matter how many times Hermione told the annoying cow she couldn't break her client's confidence. It would always get to the point where she'd have to actually walk away, just to avoid more questions.
On her other side was Harry, who was quietly trying to sooth a near hysterical and heavily pregnant Ginny. Unfortunately for him and everyone who knew her, Ginny didn't really suit pregnancy all that well. She was prone to taking every little thing completely out of proportion, crying at the drop of a hat and immediately assuming that anything anyone ever said to her was a personal attack. Hermione greatly admired Harry's seemingly endless reservoir of patience. If Ginny was having some sort of totally mad outburst, Harry was more often than not, at her side trying to talk her down. Tonight was no different.
With such fascinating and good natured company on both sides, it was a wonder Hermione wasn't passed out in a gutter.
But she did sort of love coming to these things. Every year, the Ministry put together a huge do for Christmas. The already grand atrium in the Ministry was converted into an even grander ballroom, giving the Hogwarts Christmas feast a definite run for its money. Tables and chairs, decadently heaving under various lavish dishes, gold cutlery and pearlescent white fabric lined the walls, while a monolithic chandelier lit by real fairies hung from the ceiling. A roseate glow bathed the cavernous space, candles rising up the walls and floating through the air. At one end the traditional fountain shone a luminescent and magical blue while at the other a tasteful wizarding jazz band led everyone in a dance.
It was known only as The Gala and absolutely everyone who worked at the Ministry came. The atrium was full to bursting with quite literally hundreds of witches and wizards from various departments and their partners, girlfriends, boyfriends, husbands and wives. From where she was standing, Hermione could see Arthur and Molly Weasley doing the twist in the very middle of the dance floor; Isobel, Bo and Cho Chang sitting on the bench surrounding the fountain, all looking like a fifteen year olds wet dream in their luxurious satin gowns; Draco and Blaise drifting from one group of giggling females to the next on the opposite side of the room; and Kingsley and McGonagall chatting good naturedly at one of the tables by the stage.
It was the one time of year when Hermione had no problem wearing heels and a nice dress. That night, she was sporting a thigh length black lace dress; open at the back, with a high lace collar. Ron had insinuated that it made her look too severe, but she loved it. She thought it suited her perfectly.
"But how do you know she didn't mean it like that, Harry?!" hissed Ginny from Hermione's left.
"Because she's a hundred years old Ginny! She can barely see!" Harry's pained voice replied.
"She's such a bitch."
"Only yesterday I was saying to Kingsley how the new extensions on Azkaban would affect the budget." Percy was saying snootily on Hermione's other side.
"I wonder how the prisoners feel about it." dithered his wife with a sidelong look at Hermione.
"Mmm, yeah." Ron responded vaguely.
At that moment, Hermione noticed Blaise and Draco passing near their group. Well, not exactly near, they were still on the other side of the room, but they were close enough.
"I think I see Blaise!" she said, somewhat madly and, without waiting for any kind of response, virtually threw herself across the dance floor in his direction.
"Hi!" she said brightly, approaching the pair who were leering laddishly at a group of women from the Administrative Registration department. "Sorry. Don't mean to be a cock block, but I can't listen to Audrey speak any longer… Or Ginny for that matter."
Blaise grinned knowingly. "Entirely understandable." he threw an arm about Hermione's shoulders and she noticed the group of girls turn sullen.
"Where's Narcissa tonight?" she asked Draco.
"Home at the Manor." he responded with a shrug, his eyes still scanning the room like a bird of prey. "She's refurbishing the library."
"Well, let her know if she needs help, she can always owl me."
Draco flashed her a wry smile, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. You'll never escape. For some reason work commitments don't really qualify as more important than finding the right shade of puce."
Hermione chuckled and took a sip of her wine. "I'm a lawyer Draco. I can convince her that sky blue is the right shade of puce."
He and Blaise laughed.
It gave her a funny warm sort of feeling to hear them laughing at her jokes. She felt as if she'd been so morose lately, so cut off from everyone because of work. She felt guilty in a way, because they were always doing things, the rest of the tovarasi, always organising dinners and trips and parties, but for some reason, even though they all worked in jobs as equally demanding as Hermione's, she never had the time they did. It was her obsession, she supposed, and she'd always been like that. In all the time Hermione had been at Hogwarts, not one person had ever failed to pass their exams, but of course, she was the only one always in the library. Why? She would never know. That was just how she was wired in the end. She had to be the best.
Ron was such a blessing though. He seemed to be entirely aware of her limitations and short comings. He worked his life around them, didn't rely on her to always be there and was totally fine when she was late home. He did, of course, express concern over how that would look if they had children, but that was a while in the future yet.
On the whole, their relationship was going quite well. It was quiet, comfortable. Sure, they fought sometimes and those fights reminded her so heavily of the ones they used to have at Hogwarts that it made her head spin. But it didn't happen often, or not often enough to be worried about any way. For the most part, they rubbed along together, in their own separate lives, quite well. She was happy with him, Ron was easy. Ron was a gentleman.
Ron was so lovely.
Hermione found herself staring across the ball room at her partner, making doe eyes at him, a dopey smile adorning her face. Eventually, he looked up at her and gave her a confused but loving smile. She couldn't blame him really; she wasn't the most affectionate person in the world.
"You look all blissed out, Hermione." said Blaise.
"Just thinking." she responded with a contented sigh.
"Bout what?" he asked, clearly trying to prod her into conversation. He looked bored.
"Oh, you know… Ron. I'm so grateful to him. Doesn't matter how obnoxious or emotionally distant I am, he just takes it in his stride. How many guys would be like that?" she answered, her eyes misting just a little, her words not in the least bit slurred at all.
Blaise giggled. "You're so drunk."
"Am not!" she replied indignantly, swatting his arm, "I'm not! I don't look drunk do I Draco?"
Draco didn't smile. In fact, he didn't even look at her. "Even if you were, I don't think I'd have noticed."
And with that rather cutting remark, he strode away.
"The fuck was that about?" Hermione demanded of Blaise.
He grinned, "Duh. He's jealous."
"Hah! Yeah right." Hermione chuckled and watched as Draco made his way over to the drinks table, took up two flutes of champagne, before striding purposefully across to where Isobel, Bo and Cho were sitting by the fountain. Draco immediately handed the second flute to Cho, whose glass was sitting empty beside her. He smiled winningly, glanced back at Hermione and Blaise for only the merest of seconds before beginning to talk animatedly to the woman.
Hermione rolled her eyes at Blaise who laughed as he downed his drink.
"If I didn't love him so much, I'd think that was pretty pathetic." he said dryly.
"Ditto." Hermione responded with a grin.
This was the reason her friendship with Draco was still so strained. Sure, they'd gotten marginally closer since Hermione was so familiar with Narcissa now, but there was still a massive, frightening gap between them. And it was mostly because of these inexplicable little tantrums he had. Hermione found it hard to like someone so passive aggressive. But, that was just him. They didn't need to be close, not in her mind anyway. She'd learnt not to pine for Draco's friendship. It had been a long and painful lesson, but she'd learnt it. And now, his bitchy little tantrums only made her laugh, only bringing up the tiniest resentment, one that was squashed easily.
At that moment, a hand landed on her arm, breaking her away from her own thoughts. Hermione turned around and looked up at someone she had not set eyes upon in many years.
"Ebony?" she spluttered.
"Hey!" said the younger girl brightly, jumping to wrap her arms around Hermione's shoulders.
"Oh my god! I haven't seen you in years! You look fantastic!" Hermione cried happily.
And the younger woman really did. She'd grown into her long legs and now stood a couple of inches taller than Hermione, dark hair falling around her olive skinned shoulders. She had large brown eyes that shone with open emotion and pert little bow shaped lips. She'd become an incredibly beautiful woman. Almost heart achingly so, to the point that Hermione felt self conscious even standing next to her.
"Thanks! So do you!" Ebony replied, "I was hoping to see you here actually, I've heard so much about what you've been doing, I'm surprised we haven't run into each other sooner!"
"Are you working at the Ministry?" asked Hermione eagerly.
Ebony rolled her eyes, "Yes. I wasn't going to come tonight but I was hoping to do a bit of sucking up to my boss. He seems intent to keep refusing me my promotion."
"What department? I might be able to help you out."
"Department of Mysteries."
Hermione balked, "Oh, my… That's incredible! There are not many people smart enough to become an Unspeakable so soon out of Hogwarts! How long have you been working here?"
"Only a year or so. They're keeping me in the Hall of Prophecies though, which is kind of dull work. I mean, it's all just dusting shelves and cataloguing the new arrivals, that sort of thing. I want to work with the Veil or in the Time Room." Ebony's large eyes lit up at the thought making Hermione smile. It was always nice to see someone so passionate about their job.
Hermione nodded, "I'll see what I can do. I don't know Edgar well, but I'm on good terms with Kingsley so…"
Ebony looked jubilant. "You will?! Oh that would be fantastic! Thanks Hermione! Well… Now I can start actually enjoying myself. Someone get me a drink!" she giggled jokingly.
Blaise suddenly appeared beside Hermione with a full flute of champagne in his hand.
"Here." was all he said, handing Ebony the glass.
"Oh!" Hermione cried, noticing him, "Sorry! Blaise, this is Ebony Laurence, she was in her third year when we left Hogwarts. Ebony this is Blaise, he works in… in… Blaise, are you alright?" she frowned.
Blaise had gone quite pale and was staring at Ebony as if he'd never set eyes on a woman before. It took him a moment to realise Hermione was speaking to him.
"What?" he asked vaguely, eyes dragging away from Ebony's face and landing on Hermione's, moving at a glacial pace, "Oh… Yeah. Um. I'm fine… I just, uh, noticed someone. Over there. Should probably…" his voice trailed off as he walked away from them.
Hermione stared at his retreating back in confusion. She'd never seen Blaise behave with anything other than an air of cocky arrogance around women. Ebony looked both perplexed and on the verge of laughter.
"So that was Blaise." Hermione said after a moment. "How have you been anyway, outside of work I mean?"
Ebony shrugged. "Eh… You know. Continuing to exist."
The younger woman suddenly looked slightly saddened and Hermione, who recognised the signs, said, "Nasty breakup?"
"How did you know?" said Ebony with a confused smile.
"I've seen that look in the mirror far too many times."
Ebony nodded sagely, "Who was yours?"
"Draco." answered Hermione without hesitation. She had nothing to hide.
"I thought so. You two were together at Hogwarts weren't you?"
"Yep. Lasted just under a year."
Ebony looked empathetic, "You don't have to tell me if it's too personal but what happened? You seemed really happy together from what I remember…"
Hermione shrugged, deciding to be vague because she did not want to pollute Draco's reputation in any way. "I don't think Draco's really figured himself out quite yet. He, uh, had trouble showing his loyalty."
"Ah. I think I know what you're talking about." Ebony responded with a shrewd look.
"How?" asked Hermione, nonplussed. As far as she knew, what had taken place with Harry and Voldemort's wand was not widely known. In fact, the Ministry had worked rather hard to keep it entirely secret.
"There isn't much that the Department of Mysteries doesn't know to be honest." Ebony answered matter-of-factly, "There's always been a lot of interest in the connections between Harry and Tom Riddle. Obviously I can't say how deep that goes or whether or not those connections have been investigated thoroughly but there are records down there that are pretty detailed, we know more than I think the wizarding public would be comfortable with. The Minister shares a lot with us."
Hermione connected the dots of what Ebony was trying to say, even though she couldn't outright say it. Essentially, it sounded like Kingsley had told the Department of Mysteries everything that had taken place and Ebony had simply read all about it years later.
"Well… yes. It had to do with those events. But that was years ago. Who was your messy breakup then?" she asked, taking a sip of champagne.
"You remember Noah?"
Hermione took a moment to think. "Wasn't he the one who made fun of you all the time?"
Ebony chuckled cynically, "Yep. He and I sort of got together in seventh year but… we broke up about a year ago. He said I was too serious."
Hermione nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry to hear that. It gets easier. I promise."
The younger woman waved a dismissive hand through the air. "Oh, I know. I'm being melodramatic really. It's just that… since he left my life has been work and that's pretty much it. It's like I lost the ability to do anything else."
Hermione was rather touched by the Ebony's openness. She was so used to her work environment where people worked hard to hide their feelings that it was refreshing to talk to someone outside her friendship circle who was so easy going. She felt for the girl. "Well you should come and hang out with us sometime. The tovarasi. Remember that? From school?"
Ebony looked excited, "Yeah! Who wouldn't! You guys were like… the coolest! It's awesome that you still hang out!"
Hermione chuckled and shrugged, "It's hard not to, to be honest. We all work together or live together or are related to each other. We're all too tangled in each other's lives to do anything else now. I can introduce you if you'd like."
Ebony looked self conscious, but Hermione did not wait for a response. She knew somehow, exactly the sort of life Ebony would have been living, one where her only company was the books she so desperately clung to and the memories of a love that'd spurned her. If Hermione could do anything to make that existence easier, she'd do it in a heartbeat. She linked her arm through Ebony's and steered her across the room towards Ron, Harry and Ginny.
"Susan, Eli, Padma and Juliet don't work at the Ministry so they're not here. But you'll meet them soon enough." Hermione told her as the two of them approached the group. Harry looked up and gave them a relieved smile. "Hey guys, this is Ebony. She was at Hogwarts during our final year. Ebony, this is Ron, Harry and Ginny."
"Hi Ebony!" said Ron immediately taking her hand before Harry did the same.
"I think I remember you!" Ginny put in, flashing her glowing, pregnant, slightly manic smile. "You used to study in the library with Hermione all the time, right?"
Ebony nodded, grinning, "I did. I love your dress by the way!"
Ginny looked down self consciously, "Yeah I guess it would be nice… On someone several sizes smaller…"
"Well, I think you're pulling it off." said Ebony appreciatively. Something about the look that sprang onto Ginny's face then made Hermione a little frightened.
"Anyway!" she boomed madly before Ginny could take any offence to the entirely polite comment, "I'm just doing the rounds. Going to introduce her to the others. Bye!"
She steered Ebony away as the younger girl waved happily over her shoulder at the group.
"It's best not to speak to Ginny right now. She's not in the most stable of mindsets." Hermione said with a wry grin.
"How long has she got to go?"
"About a month and a half. It's only been really bad for about four weeks or so but… Yeah. I feel for her. I feel for Harry."
Ebony shrugged, "She's just scared. My sister just had a baby too and she was pretty bad in the last couple of months. At the time, she totally couldn't see it but afterwards she told me she was just terrified."
"Hmm." Hermione responded, frowning and feeling slightly guilty, "I've never really thought about it like that. I guess I find it easy to judge because I think the idea of having a child just fucking insane… but yeah it would be pretty scary if it happened. I should cut her some slack."
She had been rather unsympathetic towards Ginny in the last few weeks. Now, she thought maybe she'd been too hard on her.
At that moment, the two women approached the fountain where Isobel, Bo, Blaise, Cho and Draco were all sitting, talking animatedly.
Hermione was amused to see Blaise seize up as soon as he saw them approaching, though she could not fathom why. She was more interested in this though than the reasons behind the glare shot at her by Draco. He did that sometimes. She'd ceased to care.
"Hello darling!" said Isobel, beaming, before she looked to Ebony, "You've brought an Unspeakable!"
"I have!" Hermione responded, not surprised that Isobel knew who Ebony was. Isobel knew everybody. "Guys, this is Ebony Laurence. Ebony, this is Draco, Isobel, her partner Bo, Cho Chang and you've already met Blaise."
"I wouldn't really call that a meeting. I'm not sure monosyllabic grunting really counts as communication, what do you think Blaise?" said Ebony, grinning impishly.
"Um…" said Blaise.
Hermione laughed.
"So you work in the Department of Mysteries?" asked Draco with a winning smile, clearly thinking he could step up where Blaise would not.
"I do." Ebony replied shortly.
"And is that… interesting work?" Draco asked, moving to stand a little closer to her. He was such an obvious flirt, like he'd never really learnt to do it properly.
Ebony assumed an expression of disinterested boredom. "If I told you that, I'd have to kill you."
The group laughed. More at Draco's forced smile than anything else. Hermione wondered though why the younger woman was being so cold with him. Draco was clearly trying to charm her and she quite obviously wanted him to know she was entirely uninterested. Then, Hermione realised. Ebony was a Gryffindor. This was loyalty. They had, after all, only just finished having a conversation about it. Hermione felt a huge wave of affection for Ebony roll through her heart. She had to restrain herself from hugging the girl then and there.
"It's a wonder you can maintain an authentic tan when you're down in the dark so much." Cho said snootily then, clearly jealous that Draco's attention had wandered off her.
Hermione caught Isobel rolling her eyes.
"Well we are let out of our cages sometimes," Ebony replied casually, then adopted a look of wounded bravery, "But most of the time we just have to make do with… pale skin."
Hermione patted her on the arm comfortingly. Ebony nodded her appreciation. Isobel and Bo roared with laughter. Cho looked satisfyingly pissed off.
"Personally, I don't think women with pale skin are really all that good looking." said Cho bitchily.
Hermione couldn't help smiling. She wasn't entirely sure what Cho was actually trying to do as Ebony had relatively dark skin, making her point sort of mute but she seemed determined to insult the younger woman.
But Ebony seemed even more determined not to be insulted and even Draco cracked a smile at what the dark haired witch said in response.
"If I agreed with you, we'd both be wrong."
That undid Hermione entirely and she had to turn away to compose herself.
"I think it's time for a dance." said Bo when she'd regained her composure, grasping Isobel's hand and pulling her to her feet.
Draco immediately pulled Cho to his side with an air of defiance and Hermione began scanning the room for Ron.
She was just about to go looking for him when she noticed Blaise staring at his shoes and Ebony wearing a look of smug pleasure as her eyes rested on him.
"Blaise!" Hermione cried wildly, "Ebony doesn't have a partner. You should dance with her. Consider it an act of charity." she added, with a wink at Ebony.
He looked up, "Would you… do you…?"
Ebony rolled her eyes and moved forward, taking his hand and dragging him out onto the dance floor.
Hermione watched them go, grinning. Blaise looked like Christmas had come early and for just the briefest of moments, it was almost as if Hermione could see all the magic that filled the room, as if she'd taken the Goddess's Poison. She could almost see the thick green tendril winding its way up Blaise and Ebony's spines, leading from their skin and into the other person. She could almost see their connection being forged.
Someone appeared at Hermione side then, making her jump, and she looked up into the dark eyes of the Minister.
"Evening Kingsley." she said brightly, bumping him with her shoulder familiarly.
"Having a good time, Hermione?" he asked.
She shrugged, "Can't complain. Not a bad night on the whole."
"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." he muttered but, she noted, his tone was somewhat darker than hers.
"Is everything alright?"
He frowned. "I'm not sure if this is the right time to speak with you about this but there have been… some developments with the inquiry you so fervently insisted I make last year. I'm sure you remember."
"Oh, I do." she responded. In her mind, it had taken far too long for them to find anything and despite Kingsley's constant assurance that something was being done; it hadn't stopped her peppering him with owls every week.
He looked down at her seriously, "It is of the utmost importance that you do not repeat what I am about to tell you to anyone until the information has been released by the Ministry."
"You have my word." she responded, suddenly feeling quite sober.
The Minister nodded sternly, "We have apprehended an Auror that we know to be connected to Narcissa Black's case. It seems she was in cahoots with Lucius and managed to strongarm a few of her colleagues into her schemes. I do not know her motivations behind this as she has not been properly questioned but from what I can gather already, she seemed to feel she had some claim to Draco and wanted to punish him for… for being a blood traitor."
Hermione felt a crawling sensation up her spine; she leant in closer to Kingsley, "You wouldn't happen to be talking about Max Watson, would you?"
The look he gave her then was surprised and suspicious. "How did you know this?"
"I've had run ins with her before. So she's been arrested?"
Kingsley nodded. "Earlier this afternoon. I am… bothered that this crime could be committed right under my nose. I'm sorry I was so harsh with you when you brought this matter forward. I should have listened."
Hermione smiled kindly, "It's alright, I understand. You didn't want to believe it."
"No, I didn't. And that is not the way the Minister of Magic is supposed to behave. Nonetheless she will be punished for her crimes. Consorting with Death Eaters is not something I will take lightly."
"I'm glad to hear it." said Hermione appreciatively.
"Yes… well, I'll let you get back to it. I just thought you'd like to know."
"Thank you Kingsley."
With a stiff nod, the Minister walked away, leaving Hermione with a tingling sense of triumph. She'd never really forgiven Watson for the things she'd said and to know that her bigotry was finally being brought out into the light lifted Hermione's spirits. With that woman behind bars, they were one step closer to healing the breach the pureblood fanaticists had wrought on the wizarding world.
Hermione, downed her glass of champagne in one and decided that now, more than ever, she needed a dance. She went to find Ron.
He was exactly where she'd left him, standing with Harry, Ginny, Percy and Audrey, looking slightly bored.
"Come and have a dance." she said, tugging on his hand.
Ron smiled and twirled her. "I can't say no to you. Even when you're pissed."
"I am not pissed!" Hermione insisted as they walked out onto the dance floor and began bopping along beside Isobel and Bo. She wanted to tell him the real reason behind her good spirits but knew that it was important she remain silent on the subject. Let them think she was drunk. That was fine with her for now.
"Hermione! Can you do the twist?" called Isobel. Hermione immediately gleefully complied. "See? You're pissed!"
Hermione cackled. Perhaps she was. But only a little bit.
Ron apparated them both home at two o'clock in the morning.
When they arrived, the freezing wind whipped Hermione's hair about her face, the scent of the country air filling her nostrils, such a contrast from the smoggy smell of London.
The house loomed white in the valley below them, surrounded by hills and paddocks, not unlike the Burrow. Of course, in the end, Hermione had won the argument as to what kind of place they'd get. Their new home was built in the fourteenth century.
There was a certain wild look to the country around it and to the house itself. It reminded her of Hogwarts even though it was not a castle, nor were its walls exposed stone. Still, it had that ancient feeling, magic woven deep into its foundations.
It was three stories high with a low, rock wall surrounding the small but quaint garden. Inside was almost medieval in its structure, many wooden beams across the high ceilings, stone floors, long, tall windows, wrought iron chandeliers and large fire places could be found in every room.
Even Ron liked it. He said it was cosy. Together, it seemed they'd managed to bring a piece of Hogwarts into their own home. It even had a dining hall, though nowhere near as large as the great hall.
Ron and Hermione made their way down the grassy hill, giggling and stumbling slightly. The night air was freezing against her skin, but Hermione felt unaffected, happy as she was.
"Did you see Blaise tonight? He's so in love." she giggled into Ron's shoulder.
"I never thought I'd see him act like that. He's worse than I was."
She chuckled, "Oh, no. I don't think that's possible."
"Hey, come on. I wasn't that bad." said Ron with a grin.
Hermione gave him a level look before he burst out laughing.
They reached the great oaken door of the house and Ron shouldered his way through it, dropping his keys in the bowl that sat on the hall stand. Hermione moved past him, up the hall and into the kitchen to set the kettle on.
As she busied herself making tea, Ron appeared behind her, hands on her waist.
"You looked beautiful tonight." he said lowly.
"I'll take that as a compliment despite the past tense." she giggled in response.
She shivered then, as his lips began peppering the back of her neck with kisses, making the hair on her arms stand up.
"We haven't christened the kitchen yet, Hermione." he said huskily. She loved it when he said her name like that, like it was a something sweet on his tongue, like it tasted good.
She turned around in his arms, not bothering to respond. There was that need again, the need to kiss him, to feel the softness of his lips and tongue against hers. And there was intent in that kiss. Tea would have to wait.
Before Ron could push her up onto the bench and wrap her legs around his hips, Hermione dropped down to her knees, her fingers fumbling on the buttons of his dress robes. She did this because she was still feeling that same giddy feeling of gratitude for him. She wanted to praise him, worship him like he deserved.
His cock was warm on her tongue, his hand tangled in her hair as it fell from its clasp. She knew so well exactly how he liked it now that the process came naturally to her. He liked it wet, liked to see the saliva actually dripping from her open mouth. He liked her to use her hands to follow her lips up and down his shaft. He liked heavy suction and when she lightly grazed his skin with her teeth. He didn't like deep throat. Which was good because she didn't either.
All of these things Hermione did then, occasionally moaning when his cock hit the back of her throat, just so he could feel the vibrations of her voice.
What she loved most about giving him head though, was the fact that he spoke to her. It wasn't dirty talk, never that, he just praised her. He'd tell her he loved her, that she was beautiful, a goddess, he needed her, couldn't live without her and he was going to come…
Hermione swiftly moved her mouth off him and stood up. This time, she allowed him to lift her onto the kitchen bench, hiking her dress up around her hips and pulling her underwear off.
There was no preamble, he pushed into her with a low groan, his fingers digging into her ass, breath hot on her face as his forehead came to rest on hers. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling at his body until it was flush against hers, their hearts beating against one another.
He fucked her hard, like he always did, a hand pressed squarely on her diaphragm, pushing her back against the tiled wall so that he could penetrate her more deeply.
The sound of his bare skin slapping against hers, his groans, her moans, their breathing filled the kitchen.
Soon, he came, and Hermione was moved as she always was by the absolute helplessness he displayed in the moment. She could have done anything to him then and he would have been powerless. She loved that she got to have that part of Ron, who was always so strong and dependable and calm to everyone else. She got have the beautifully wounded animal inside.
Then, he went down on her. It didn't take her long to join him in the post orgasm haze. Giddy grins were exchanged. After that, he made them tea and took her to bed.
His head nestled into the crook of her arm and chest as she read case notes for work on Monday. He slept.
December 11th, 2005.
Her head hurt. Doubly so because it was Sunday. Why did that happen? Why did hangovers always feel worse on Sundays than they did on Saturdays? Damn Ron and his immunity. He'd jumped out of bed earlier that morning glowing, ranting about swaying birds and singing trees. He was probably still drunk.
The bright winter sunlight in Diagon Alley pierced her retinas brutally as she walked down the street from the Leaky Cauldron. Everyone around her looked so damn happy and really, she was contented too in a sickly, deranged sort of way.
She almost groaned at the sight of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes as it loomed at the end of the street. Why did the shop have to be so fucking bright and colourful? It sold hangover cures for fucks sake, was George actively trying to drive away his customers? She would almost have preferred to brave her acidic head ache than continue staring at it. But nonetheless, that was her destination and she pushed towards it, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the cobblestones.
When she walked inside, it was packed with Hogwarts students, home for the holidays and their vaguely disapproving parents. The cacophonous noise made Hermione want to throw up.
She found George behind the counter next to Juliet, both of them furiously smiling, serving customer after customer. There was something off about the space that hung between them. Hermione had visited them at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes many times before and she was sure that feeling hadn't been there.
When George caught sight of her, he rounded the bench and picked her up in a crippling bear hug.
"How was last night?" he asked, far too loudly, looking manically jubilant.
Hermione could only grunt in response.
"I suppose you'll be wanting some of our patented hangover cure then?" she nodded and he turned back towards the counter, bellowing, "Hey Jules! Could you mind the shop for a mo?"
"Sure!" Juliet replied brightly, with that same manic expression. What was going on?
George took Hermione by the arm and led her into the back room, she followed dazedly. He seized a small vial off one of the shelves and, strangely, then led her through the back door with no explanation as to why.
She was confused.
"Where're we going, George?" she moaned as he set off back up Diagon Alley, her stumbling along behind him.
"I fancy a walk." he responded simply.
She wanted to scream at him. Did she really look in the mood for a walk?!
His hand remained firmly on her arm as they made their way up the street and when they reached the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron, George wordlessly turned her into darkness.
When she opened her eyes, the light was even brighter than that of Diagon Alley, if that were possible. Once she'd adjusted to it though, her head pounding, she found that George had brought her to the seaside.
"Here." he handed her the vial and Hermione took it, frantically flicking off the cork and pouring the entire thing down her throat. Instantly, a soothing cool spread through her limbs and into her head. The aching in her muscles, her pounding head, the foul turning of her stomach slowly subsided. She felt slightly lightheaded with her new sense of vigour and health and was almost glad for the surroundings. She felt a rush of wellbeing and wondered, not for the first time, whether George added cheering charms to the hangover cure or if it was just her relief at not feeling so awful anymore. Either way, she felt cheerful.
"Better?" asked George.
"Much." she responded gratefully, "But why am I suddenly standing on a beach in the middle of winter?"
George shrugged. "I needed to get out of the shop, you were the perfect excuse."
She noted then that the madly jubilant aura that had hung around him only minutes earlier seemed gone. This worried her.
"Are you alright George?" she asked, laying a hand on his arm.
His face looked strained, like he wanted to say something but was having an incredibly hard time forming the words. After a moment, in which he looked at Hermione desperately, hopping a little on the spot, he found his voice and barked, "I slept with Juliet!"
"You what?!" she demanded, her voice shrill.
His eyes closed and a look of disgust crossed his face. "I know. I know how fucked it is. It was late… she was closing up the shop and then she just started talking about him… the way she says his name, like it's a prayer every single fucking time!" George's voice was broken.
Hermione wanted to put her hands over her ears. She wanted to tell him she didn't want to hear anymore. How could George do that? How could he act like everything was fine? Act the way he always acted and then suddenly switch? How did he hide his authentic self so well?
Finally he opened his eyes and looked out over the ocean. "I gave her half the business because I thought that's what he would have wanted and… and I mean the way she works, the way her mind works, it's not like she doesn't deserve it but now… I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like I'm only chasing after girls my brothers have wanted before me! First you, then Juliet… And now I'm dating Angelina Johnson and they went to the Yule ball together!" he gave a cynical laugh, as if he was repulsed by himself.
"George… I… I don't think…" she had no idea what to say, no clue how to make him feel any better. The worst part was seeing how much he really hated himself, it was written so plainly all over his face.
George's eyes turned to her then, full of desperation, "The whole time while we… we were doing it, she was looking at me and I just knew she was seeing him, not me. Just like you were seeing Ron. I'm always someone else."
Hermione shook her head fervently, "I can assure you George, I was not seeing Ron. Do you really think I'm that sick? And I don't think Juliet would be like that either, she's better than that. You two have worked together for almost five years now; don't you think she would have started seeing you as your own person at some point?"
But George seemed past consolation. He looked quite mad. His hands flew up, his arms wrapping around his head and he sat heavily down on the sand, his head between his knees. She could hear his sobs in her bones.
This was something new to her, this grief. George, she felt, would have been the one person she knew who felt the worst effects of the war. Almost six years on now and almost everyone had reached some semblance of normalcy, had rebuilt their lives to some degree. But not George, he'd started rebuilding the moment the battle was over, but he'd never recovered. Not like the rest of them had.
And she didn't know if he ever would.
Hermione sat down next to him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, leaning her head against his.
This was all she could do. She couldn't say anything to make it better; all she could do was hug him. And she hoped desperately that that alone might help, even just a little.
He continued to cry, those awful, ugly great heaving sobs that tore at every muscle. She knew what that crying was like. It was the only way she could sympathise with him really. She knew the kind of emotions that pushed out those kinds of tears.
She couldn't understand why he'd chosen to speak to her, maybe it was because she'd just come along at the right time, maybe it was because she alone knew that they'd been together, or maybe he just thought she'd understand. But she didn't. She didn't know what to do for him. If anything she wished there were some sort of spell or potion that she could give him to make it all go away. Maybe he could be a heroin addict. Then he wouldn't have to feel anything but euphoria. She knew how fucked it was but she almost suggested it, just so she'd never have to be there doing that again.
Her and George had shared something once. And no matter how fleeting, it had sealed a kind of bond between them. It hurt her when he was in pain. She'd do anything to stop it.
"George…" she said after a while, without really knowing what to say if not her honest opinion, "I think… I think you should take some time to figure out what you really want. Think about it like this, if you have no feelings for Juliet, if what you did was purely an animal response to the fact that she's a beautiful woman, then that's fine. It's ok. Really. I mean, it's just sex, isn't it? And if she was seeing Fred in you, then you've given her a gift, haven't you? In some way… If, on the other hand, she was seeing you, then that's more complicated." she took a deep breath, "And you and I… Well… I don't regret it. I did it because I was attracted to you and you were there and I was in pain. I wanted to feel something. You made me feel something. Just… what is it that you want? Really?"
He seemed to think about all this for a moment, a frown creasing his brow as his hands sifted through the sand between his knees.
"I want a life. I want someone to love me." he said brokenly after a minute.
She didn't know what to say to that except, "George… People do love you. Perhaps even Juliet. You don't know, do you? Perhaps you should endeavour to find out."
George nodded sagely, wiping his wet face on his sleeve before digging in his pockets for something. A second later, he produced a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. Without a word, he pulled out two, put them both in his mouth, lit them and handed one to Hermione.
She took it and immediately transferred it to her mouth. She'd never smoked before, never been that kind of rebellious teenager, but right then, she felt an irresistible pull towards the forbidden. That conversation had rocked her so much, brought up so many old feelings that she'd do just about anything to put them all back in the box in her mind where they belonged. Nicotine wasn't heroin. But it was certainly something.
And it was sort of nice, once the initial bout of coughing subsided. She'd thought it would hurt more, taste worse, but that wasn't the case. She understood entirely why people could be addicted and she kind of thought she might be too, even after only a few drags.
"You're right." said George suddenly. "You're always right, Hermione."
"Have you ever thought about seeing a mind healer?" she asked then, taking another drag of the smoke.
George grimaced, "I don't know, maybe. I guess I've thought about it but I don't know if it'll help."
"Well… look at me. Remember what I was liked just after I left the Burrow?"
He gave her a watery grin, "Of course. You were a mess."
"And I'd still be a mess if I hadn't started seeing Maya. I think I'd lose myself entirely if she wasn't in my life." Hermione looked thoughtfully out at the sea, rolling the cigarette between her fingers, "It's funny really, when you think about it, we're taught in school how to control our magic, how to be good at it, but we're never taught how to be a good person. We're just expected to figure that out, aren't we? They'll spend seven years straight teaching you how to turn a rat into a teacup, but not how to live your life. So I guess that's what mind healers do. They teach you how to be good to yourself and good to others. They teach you how to be with pain and happiness. And it works."
"You're selling it pretty well." said George honestly.
"Will you think about it?"
He gave her a long look before saying, "Yeah, alright."
And that was that. They finished their cigarettes, hugged, and apparated back to their separate destinations, George to the shop and Hermione to her home.
Ron wasn't there when she got back and a cursory glance out the back window of the kitchen told her he, Draco, Blaise, Harry, Eli and Dean we playing a match of quidditch up on the hill. She'd go up and watch them soon as she could see a couple of people sitting nearby on a rug that would probably have been some of the girls.
But for right then, she needed to sit and have a cup of tea. She needed to think.
Hermione didn't really know what it was about her conversation with George that had really rocked her. Maybe she just felt triggered by it. Whatever it was though, she felt as if she was looking down at her life from above now, seeing all the stains, all the smudges where she'd fucked up or gone through trauma dotting the landscape.
She'd told George he could always come to her if he needed to talk, but would that be enough? Would that really change anything?
She felt helpless, crippled and alone. She wanted one of her mum's hugs. She wanted… something else.
All at once, she felt as if the kitchen she was sitting in was totally foreign, like she'd never seen it before. She and Ron had actively participated in the building of that life, had hand chosen every person in it, personally picked out the colours and the feelings. They'd built it together. And yet, it still felt like a world she didn't belong to right then.
She was filled with a mad sort of yearning to be back at her flat in Diagon Alley with the blue tiles in the kitchen, the Persian rug on the floor, her four poster bed, her books, the omnipresent sounds of the streets below. She wanted to be lying under her doona, wondering if she could make it work with Draco, sitting on her couch teaching him how to eat Tim Tams, standing there in the mess left by the war where everything was shattered and broken but seemed so much more exciting, so much simpler.
What was her life now? Making money, she hated money, defending Death Eaters, hosting dinners, going to Ministry events, thinking about marriage and children. With Ron. Ron who was always so calm and strong and dependable, who saw the good in everything, who was just so fucking normal all the time.
What would he have said to George, she wondered? Would he have had a smoke with his broken brother? Would he have listened? Or would he have judged and walked away?
She used to be a little girl once, even though she never acted like it. Now she wasn't anything like that anymore. And the war hadn't taken that innocence away; the war had only strengthened her. She knew that now. No, this life was what had stolen her innocence. There was nothing innocent about making money or defending Death Eaters. Where had her morals gone?
When had she become the sort of person who could offer a suffering friend a simple 'owl me if you need me' kind of comfort?
Her mind was taking her down a very dark track. She could feel her thoughts poisoning each other, using that darkness to multiply. It would not do for her to sit in this.
After a few more moments, she got to her feet and set out a tea tray which she charmed to hang in the air in front of her. She then made her way out the back door and began to traipse up the hill towards the quidditch match.
Her hands shook but she ignored them.
Stretched out on a huge, tartan blanket, cocooned in a warming charm, Hermione found Luna, Padma, Ebony and Ginny who let out a cry of greeting at her approach.
"Fancy seeing you here!" she said to Ebony, forcing a smile up onto her face. She noted with amusement that the girl seemed to be wearing a pair of black tights and one of Blaise's shirts.
"I don't think you're that surprised." the younger woman replied with a wry grin.
Hermione giggled, "Maybe not. It's nice to see you've met Luna and Padma…"
She settled down on the blanket between Ebony and Ginny who let out a morose sigh and looked longingly up at the match. "I wish I could play or at least ride a broom…"
"Only a couple more months, Gin, and you'll be back out there." said Padma encouragingly.
"I know… But I mean, look at this!" she held her hand out, gesturing aggressively up at the match as she spoke, "Harry's completely lost his form, Draco looks like he's trying to imitate a fucking Hippogriff, and Blaise can't fly for shit! If I was up there, this match would have been over twenty minutes ago."
"Not everyone can be a professional quidditch player, Ginny." said Hermione with a grin.
"I'm going to make Harry lend me his firebolt." said the younger woman defiantly, heaving herself to her feet. Hermione, Luna, Padma and Ebony laughed as she strode purposefully out into the middle of the field and began hollering up at her husband.
The six players all paused their game when they noticed her and swept down to the ground, clearly thinking something was wrong. Harry looked pained when he realised what Ginny really wanted while the other boys roared with laughter.
Despite the jovial atmosphere, despite the warming charm, Hermione still felt a chill in her veins.
Rather than watching Harry make room on his broom so that he might take Ginny for a ride while the other boys circled nervously below them, Hermione found herself looking out over the rolling hills, her eyes getting lost in the grey sky.
Something felt off inside her, something was turning rotten. It all felt so fake. The laughter, the quidditch match, the smiles, the talking. It came so naturally to her, the act, but for some reason, she felt like it was slipping that day. She couldn't do it as well as usual.
She tried to ignore it for the rest of the day to no avail. All she wanted to do was go to bed, to be alone, to think alone. Though, this wasn't a luxury she could participate in. All those people had expectations of her, to be happy, to be bright, to be a good hostess. And she tried, she really did.
That night, she and Ron fought.
He told her she was too serious.
A/N Ok, so I have a stomach flu. I hate the world right now and I've spent the last three days staring at this fucking chapter. I'm not overly happy with it but I'm hoping that's just my pessimistic attitude polluting my view of it and it's actually a masterpiece lol. ANYWAY. I have a few questions to ask in this authors note.
Number one, who wants me to get George and Juliet together for the marriage and the baby making? I know, I know, he's supposed to be for Angelina but… but… poor Jules needs love too! What do we think? I could go either way…
Number two, I'm quite liking the idea of possibly having a banner for this story/Victim of the Fall. Would any of you lovely chickadees like to do one for me?
And number three, just out of curiosity I was wondering when you guys most read fanfiction? In what setting, I mean. For me it's late at night, in bed with a cup of tea and a cigarette. Let me know!
Xx
Desdemona