Disclaimer: This is all for fun, I do not claim ownership of the characters or anything recognized from the work of JK Rowling. I am only borrowing them.
Warning: Mature themes, subject to change: mild violence, strong language, substance use or abuse, scenes of a sexual nature as well as general innuendo smattered throughout, adult themes including but not limited to death and disease both mental and physical.
[A/N] Thank you so much for the reviews, views, follows, and adds to your favorites. Those notifications are the fuel for this story as my semester begins to heat up again at university. Also, not dead! I cannot promise weekly updates or anything because honestly I'm doing to write my papers for school first. I do have to give a shout out to duj because her reviews are priceless to me. In the meantime I'll be reblogging pretty things on tumblr - same username if you're interested in connecting there!
Those of you that know me or have the same level of obsession with detail that I do have noticed that the dates referenced are actually the right weekdays matching with the dates. I've also attempted to match true weather conditions...it was actually a balmy end of July in Scotland per climate reports that I've repeatedly referenced. That said, if you see any glaring inconsistencies please let me know!
Playlist: Death Cab for Cutie – You Are a Tourist | The Strokes - Reptilia | Hans Zimmer - Jack Sparrow | Cypress Hill - When the Ship Goes Down
Sunday July 31st, 2005 | 5:17 pm | Dursley Flat, London
Sunlight into the guest room was muted by the curtains drawn tightly over the windows. It was just as well as Hermione still couldn't shake the migraine she had woken up with after the warding. The sheets were crisp and clean around her, the texture thankfully not abrasive as she could feel they were not brand new. It was odd how strong the scent around her seemed just because it was a different brand of detergent or fabric softener than what she used on her own clothes and bed sheets. Then again, she had started to brew her own cleaners once the symptoms had started in full force and her skin became more sensitive.
In order to further block out the light of the evening sun she had her face firmly planted into a pillow and rested on her stomach. With an arm on either side of her head propping it up, the pillow also worked as a barrier to the sounds coming from the kitchenette down the hall. All around her prostrate form her hair weaved in and out of bed sheets, pillows and especially itself to create a massive vine-like arrangement of keratin. Absently, her right hand, the one that was not preoccupied with grasping her wand beneath the pillow, twisted a lock of hair around her index finger.
There were many things that Hermione had heard her hair compared to.
Primary school started the years of short-cropped hair for the simple reason it was easier for her and her mother to manage. Practicality was always Helen Granger's strong suit. When it had been that short, the sun was able to reach more angles of each strand, brightening it to a caramel rather than coffee tone. Alice bands were a common accessory to keep the curls away from her face as she read and studied but they fueled the taunts of the other children as the bands pushed the hair even higher around her face.
As she got older and her peers began to notice more superficial traits, the occasional blunt or cruel comment on her appearance escalated. It was common for her to come home with a pencil stuck here or a bit of gum there. Children could be cruel but thankfully the bullies in Year 3 weren't all that creative. "Bin-head" was not the best epithet but as they continued to stick trash inside of her mop of tight curls the name stuck like the gum that was often ensnared within her hair. The mop steadily was shorn down to what could only be described as a pixie-cut. Bin-head was not the best, but it was the first nickname her hair had garnered.
After the third time in a week she came home with a knot of rubbish in her hair at an angle she would not have noticed alone, her father took her aside to tenderly brush out the bits of plastic and discarded half-eaten candy. Her seven year old mind couldn't apply the same logic to this problem that she did everything else in her life. The behavior didn't make sense. With her father's hands gently working out the knots and snarls, so similar to his own hair in length and texture, his soft voice explained it to her. It was also the only time she had cried over it all.
"My darling, you are so brave and so clever. I never want you to hide that no matter what others say. The other children don't understand why someone gets to be beautiful, smart, brave, and happy."
With a sniff, her younger self had said, "But none of them like me, they just like shoving things into my hair and calling me a bin-head."
Richard Granger grasped the last bit of rubbish from behind his daughter's ear. Hermione could hear him suppress a sigh. "What others think of you is not nearly as important as what you think of yourself, my little lioness. Bullies do what they do to feel better about themselves because they do not like something about their life that has nothing to do with you. Do you like yourself?"
"I don't know." The poignant and reflective question made her wrinkle her nose and knit her brows together in thought.
"Don't think about it. Feel it. Do you like yourself?"
Some of the tension left her face and shoulders as Hermione closed her eyes. Leaning closer she wrapped both of her arms around the one of her father's that still held the wide-toothed comb. Reflexively he stroked her short and fluffy curls as she used the silence of the room to quiet her thoughts. That rhythmic action soothed her for a few moments before she leapt away from his arm as quickly as if a bolt of lightning struck her. A bright and very toothy grin lit her face as she faced her father and began bouncing on the bed next to him excitedly.
"Yes, Papa!" she beamed up at him. "Yes. I do rather like myself. I am smart, and I am clever and…I like that about me."
With an indulgent smile, Richard wiped the last remnants of her tears from her cheeks and kissed her forehead. "Exactly, your mum and I love you dearly and want you to love yourself just as fiercely."
The short hair continued on throughout the next year of primary but after that conversation with her father she never went home with rubbish in her hair again. Children attempted to, but continuously failed. One incident had her parents called in to speak to the schoolmistress about an accusation that Hermione had made one boy get stuck in a tree in the yard behind the school. Richard had taken a second glance at the name of the boy that was accusing his daughter but did not voice his comment that the boy had been reported by Hermione repeatedly as a bully. He knew for a fact that the Baines boy hadn't seen the inside of this office yet.
The schoolmaster straightened the papers on her desk again unnecessarily. "Do either of you have any questions before we begin?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Helen as she cleared her throat. "How is your daughter these days? I haven't seen Victoria at the practice recently."
Richard stifled a cough before it could turn into a laughing fit.
"I'd heard she had married. Could you remind me of her new last name so I might look up her address to send my congratulations? I'm sure I heard it was Baines."
By this point the Headmistress's cheeks were aflame and the carefully stacked papers were reshuffled into disarray. After a few more moments of muttering from the schoolmistress, and a handful of diplomatic words from Helen Granger, Hermione was officially removed from the school she had been bullied at for several years. Conflict of interest was a funny thing.
Hermione did not mind in the slightest the change of schools in the middle of the fall term. The new school, that the increase in business at the practice afforded them, matched her precociousness. Over dinner the night before her first day the family had a similar conversation to the one Hermione and her father had about not being afraid to be what and who you are. Her parents loved her dearly and did not want her to feel as isolated as she had for her first few years.
As he tucked his daughter into bed, Richard gave her a quick peck on the forehead, ruffled her now finger length curls as he whispered, "Goodnight, my lioness."
The next morning, the short mop of curls had sprouted into a length that rioted down her back and made her mother nearly drop her morning teacup in shock. Hermione had walked down the stairs and into the kitchen to give her mother the customary hug from behind before hugging her father around his shoulders as he sat at the kitchen table.
Barely containing his alarm, her father lowered his newspaper and asked the question her mother could not as she gaped openly at her daughter, "Hermione, have you done something…different with your hair?"
"Yes, Papa," she said straightforwardly. After a few sips of orange juice she began to perk up past single syllable answers. Both parents were glad for the moment to adjust as well. "I thought I might like to try having long hair. I decided when I was brushing my hair I'd like to try it right away for my first day."
The incident was chalked up by her parents as one more thing that was explained after McGonagall paid them an unexpected visit on a Saturday afternoon two summers later. By the time Hermione had been informed she was a witch and that she was welcome to attend a boarding school in Scotland with other children just like her, it was as if the times she had been called Frizzhead or Hairmione were long behind her. Gone were the days of Suck-Up Snaggletooth and just plain Know-It-All. She would be going to a school with children just like her.
Hermione released the lock of hair from her restless grip and pulled herself from her musings before she lost herself in thoughts of the past; thoughts about those years in primary school and the moments not understanding why she made things happen when she got upset. Though she could not see it she could feel it spring back into place. Her instincts at eight had been correct on the length of her hair. Keeping it well past her shoulders created enough weight to create a mass that resembled something closer to a wall of vines than an unmanaged hedge.
A silent Tempus told her that she had another fifteen minutes until the angle of the sunlight through the north facing window would not shine directly on her face in a way that would cause her more discomfort. There were naproxen capsules in Dudley's cabinet with her name written all over them. Typically she would simply summon them from her place on the bed but even the Tempus charm was a risky move to make before she had a chance to truly assess her well-being.
Before that quarter hour estimate had elapsed and just as she was about to doze back off into sleep, a loud thud from the next room startled her enough for her head to shoot up and her wand arm to swing towards the noise. Just as her eyes focused in the dark room she was nearly blinded by the silver form of a raven bursting through the closed door and landing on the headboard above her.
"Bloody hell, what is that?"
Dudley looked more than a bit ruffled by the small apparition that had obviously flown through his living room before making a beeline for Hermione.
"It's a Patronus, Dudley," Hermione said very quietly. She needed those naproxen capsules.
"I've got Aleve for you…" he started, the unsaid but I don't want to come nearer to that thing was plain in his uncertain tone.
"It won't hurt you, but I might if you don't bring me that glass and those pills immediately."
The curiosity of whose Patronus this was ate away at her patience while she waited for the medication to kick in. There were a few pain relieving potions within her bag but the Healing trained portion of her brain told her sternly to not take anything else yet. She had taken her medical records with her, tearing the parchment from the wall before leaving St. Mungo's, but had not had a chance to read them over yet to check what she had already consumed. Naproxen had no known negative interaction with the ingredients of common pain potions so she had no qualms about taking the two blue capsules Dudley placed in her palm.
When he didn't move to leave from her bedside, his eyes still glued to the raven apparition that had started cleaning its smoky feathers, she cleared her throat.
"Promise, Dudley. The raven is not going to hurt me; it probably has a message for my ears only."
"I remember Harry's Patronus from that summer when…when the Dementors attacked us. I didn't know they took other shapes besides deer."
"A stag, actually," Hermione automatically corrected. Allowing him a few more moments of observation before shooing him away she made a note to show him her Patronus in case she ever had to send him a missive this way. Then again, it would be breaking at least a dozen secrecy laws if she cast it in front of him and she really didn't want to go through the trouble of another Ministry hearing over magic performed in front of Muggles. If they would just pass the law allowing Muggles who had already been inducted into the fold partially like Dudley Dursley more leniency her personal and professional life would become much simpler.
Her bitter thoughts against the Ministry and their pigheadedness and overall meddling were interrupted by the door shutting behind Dudley as he left the room.
Gingerly she sat up further in the bed and watched as the raven moved from its perch above her to land gracefully on her upraised knees. Even though her skin was covered by a thick layer of sheets and duvet then the pajama pants beneath, she could still feel the warm and calm feeling emanating from her contact with the Patronus. The level of comfort she felt told her whose waif-like familiar this was before the beak opened to deliver its message.
"We've viewed your memory of the warding, Hermione. It's using you to fuel itself. I want to see if the rune has changed. Let me know where I can meet you, I don't think I can cast this again today. Iuramentum docebit."
Draco. If the use of her given name hadn't given it away, despite the way he had disguised his voice, the mention of their Hippocratic Oath would have. Neither of them signed their names on the letters they sent as they both sat their Masteries, he in Wiltshire and she in Moscow, just in case the owls were intercepted. The Latin phrase of 'the oath will guide' was his signature while hers were always signed with Iuramentum deducet or 'the oath will lead'. Old habits from the war still lingered.
She could still recite the entire oath in its many forms, even the original that invoked the powers and guidance of the Grecian gods Apollo, Aesculapius, Hygeia, and Pancea. Healers in the wizarding world had a very similar version to the one that doctors implemented.
Silently she thanked Circe that she had already completed all of her final coursework before the warding ceremony and only needed to submit more records of her professional experience towards her diploma. Compared to the wizarding process of becoming a Healer, training to earn her doctorate was swamped in paperwork and timetables.
The weight that was not truly a weight had long disappeared from her knees. Without the light of the Patronus in the room it seemed a great deal darker than it had before Draco's message had arrived.
Gingerly, she slid her legs out from between the sheets to place her feet on the carpeted floor of Dudley's guest room. There were still a few irregular tremors in her muscles as she placed her weight on her legs but it was no longer an ache thanks to the naproxen. Her stomach grumbled loudly even as a wave of nausea rolled from her stomach up through her throat, making her gag. Hermione used the walls of the hallway to keep her balance as she walked over to use the loo then join the future Mrs. Dursley in her kitchenette.
"At least you don't look like utter shite anymore. How are you feeling?" Clare didn't even pause in her preparation of what looked like chocolate dipped strawberries. The box on the counter next to her held a collection of white, milk, and dark chocolate covered fruit. The label on the lid near Hermione read Happy Birthday Harry in Clare's neat print.
"I've felt better, but that bath and some rest definitely helped. Thank you for that."
Clare waved the hand that was not filled with fruit at Hermione distractedly. "It's the least I could do. Fucking Prophet reporters need to leave well enough alone. Your life is not for everyone else's entertainment."
"If only everyone in the wizarding world thought the way you do," said Hermione as she began preparing a pot of tea for her hosts. The action was calming, just like brewing was. "I have the utmost sympathy for Elizabeth and her family after dealing with the publicity since the war."
"Her Majesty surely has never known any different. You at least get some normalcy now and again. You can get that here anytime."
The last of the fruit was cooling on wax paper on the counter and the water was not yet boiling. In the silence that remained Hermione could feel the walls of her Occlumency begin to shift; and as soon as she recognized that it was happening, she realized the walls had been eroding since she had woken in St. Mungo's that morning. Her breathing quickened slightly as heat rose in her cheeks from the effort she was making to piece them back together.
The walls of the dam were falling; she was trying to use sand to patch the holes.
All of it…all of the last few weeks was about to pull the rug out from under her and she wouldn't be able to stand or breathe and make it stop make it stop MAKE IT STOP!
"Hermione! Hermione, listen to me, breathe! Deep breaths in through your nose! That's it. Now out slowly through your mouth. Again."
The blood rushing in her ears made everything sound as if she were underwater, unfocused, but the shrill whistle of the teakettle on the stove cut through the fog like a knife. Her palms were held firmly over her ears and her hands were shaking. Around her face her hair created a curtain where it had escaped her top knot.
Somehow, she had gone from leaning casually against the kitchen counter to lying on her side on the floor. From the way her throat hurt, she must have been screaming.
Warm hands were gently holding her wrists and coaxing her to relax them enough to relieve the pressure from her ears. Her vision was strangely focused even as her other senses were dulled. Clare stayed in her eyesight as Dudley maneuvered around them to take the kettle off the boil.
She could see the shine of the steel teakettle, the red-checkered dishcloth hanging from the oven door, Clare's brown eyes watching her intently, Dudley's trainers set neatly by the front door, and the clock above the stove that read twenty minutes to six. Five things she could see.
Clare's warm hands were still on her face though not as firmly, the linoleum beneath her was smooth and cool, the scratch of the tag on the back of the sweater was between her shoulder blades, and there was a slight breeze from the floor vent of the flat ruffling her hair. Four things she could feel.
The teakettle wasn't whistling nearly as loudly anymore, Clare's heartbeat from her wrists was in Hermione's ear, and the evening traffic was beginning to pick up outside several stories below. Three things she could hear.
Chocolate still permeated the air from the cooling confectionaries above her and Dudley had opened a jar of tea leaves. Something a bit minty? Two things she could smell.
"Here," said Clare as she brought a piece of chocolate to her lips. Hermione slowly sat up and opened her mouth. "It's medicinal chocolate, Harry left some for us a few months ago."
One thing she could taste.
"Can you stand by yourself?" Dudley asked from above. He held a single mug in his hands that was steaming and letting off a sharp minty aroma.
"I...yes. I can stand."
As she did, Dudley stepped back and Clare held a hand close to her arm but not quite touching. The mint tea soothed her still lingering nausea and the last remnants of her headache. The silence was deafening as the Dursleys watched her carefully.
"Who was the Patronus from?" asked Clare, breaking the white noise building in Hermione's ear.
"Draco," whispered Hermione. Her eyes were firmly on her cup of tea.
"Malfoy? Is he the one from the Derwent Designs accounts?" Dudley asked.
Hermione nodded. "He started that company while we were in France at the Institute. For months he was stuck at home with nothing to do but heal Professor Snape and...and he invented a few things."
Clare's eyes narrowed. "No one knows Malfoy owns it, do they?"
Hermione shook her head. She was used to Clare's uncanny perceptiveness by this point. "It's privately owned but no documentation available to British wizards will show his name. He doesn't even act as a CEO or owner, it's mostly handled by a few trusted employees on the continent, he got some of his friends from Hogwarts out years ago. Zabini. Nott. Parkinson, I think. Investors mostly but with their estates seized...Draco has done what he can with his Ministry pardon."
"Any reason why he hasn't been invited to dinner?" Clare teased gently. She reached into the freezer to hand Hermione a cold pack for her shoulder since she had spent the last few minutes massaging it gently.
"Ugh," blurted Hermione at the thought. "Oh, Merlin, no. Draco is perfectly wrapped up with his girlfriend Astoria and to be honest I see him the same way I see Harry or Ron."
She openly chuckled at the idea of Draco's face if he ever heard her say that.
Dudley shuffled his feet a bit. He hadn't had any of the cup of tea he poured for himself. His squirming got worse when Hermione brought her gaze to his and he set down his mug to keep from fidgeting with it.
"Hermione...you know I don't want to pry but earlier...that's not normal." Dudley slowly moved closer to Clare. "You're one of the strongest people I know, not to mention the smartest, and I'm honestly not sure how to say this but I'm worried about you. Have you ever truly stopped for a vacation or a rest since this thing, this Lawtus Mallyfickus started?"
"Lautiores Maleficus. And I've taken vacations," mumbled Hermione. "What do you think Prague was?"
Dudley barked out a sharp and nervous laugh. "That doesn't count, you went there for a conference! And don't tell me the extra day you stayed was spent sightseeing or relaxing."
"The point is," Clare said as she placed a quieting hand on Dudley's chest, "we're worried you're pushing yourself too hard. You're wearing yourself out."
It was Hermione's turn to shuffle nervously. This was uncomfortably reminiscent of the cornering Harry and the others had attempted but was also blessedly different.
"I promise," she said, looking up at them with as much calm as she could muster. "I'm fine. Once I get into the lab with Draco and Snape I'll be right in St. Mungo's if anything happens."
"That's not the point," Dudley said with a frown.
"Dudley!" snapped Hermione, regretting her tone instantly. Taking a deep breath she let it out, drained her cup of tea, and met Clare and Dudley's gazes.
"I have to do this. These...these symptoms won't just stop if I spend all day in my bed doing nothing so I...I have to do something, do you understand? I know it's getting worse. Draco knew it was getting worse. There's no real explanation for it and now because of the warding ceremony yesterday who knows what could be happening to me. I really appreciate your concern and all that you've done for me, truly, but you can't stop me on this."
Clare remained silent but held out her arm to Hermione to pull her into a fierce hug between her and Dudley's bodies. The ebony-skinned woman's slight height advantage allowed her to easily bend over to kiss Hermione's exposed and tear-streaked cheek lightly.
"We'll be here when you need a moment to slow down, love," Clare said.
Sunday July 31st, 2005 | 9:42 pm | Malfoy Lodge, Loch Lomond
Mist slowly rose from the lake below the balcony of the secluded mountain lodge overlooking the banks of Loch Lomond. Draco lounged on one of the couches in the fading light of the summer evening. With the entire day spent within a rather volatile Pensieve and forcing himself to cast a spell that had nearly made him faint from the effort, he knew he deserved the moment of respite.
He and Severus had Apparated to his home to meet Astoria for a quick dinner before she left to visit her sister for the next week. Promises were whispered before she went through the Floo to explain exactly what was happening to cause his godfather to tear through their kitchen like a hurricane while making tea. It was a wonderful respite from previous years of distrust to have his girlfriend trust him without question or badgering.
It was a very calm evening compared to the last few weeks of absolute hell between meeting with the fucking pompous tossers in the Archives and the sub-level members of the Wizengamot. Every single act and motion had to be scrutinized to a truly ridiculous level in order to be implemented and moved forward. Draco had the sense to not try and grease palms in order to speed the process. His father's tactics would not be viewed kindly within the Ministry and though he loved Lucius dearly, and looked up to him even now, his father would agree trying to bribe would be social suicide.
"How do we know if she got the message?" Draco mumbled around the blanket he had cocooned himself into.
"The Patronus would have returned to us," Severus grumbled from near his feet. His long legs were stretched out in front of him as he ungracefully leaned into the armchair that matched the couch Draco was currently resting on. "How are you feeling?"
Very few people had ever heard the curmudgeonly man speak with true concern for their wellbeing. Draco recognized this but had never known different from his godfather.
"Honestly I still feel as though I'm back in third year with that bloody hippogriff's talons freshly cutting into me." Severus scoffed at his petulant tone. "I still stand by what I said before and that was a terrible first class for thirteen and fourteen year old children. Hogwarts is better off without the half-giant teaching those classes to the younger years."
"With the level of attendance increasing at such a rapid rate each year I would not be surprised to see some of the old traditions returning with split levels of classes. What I would not have given to relinquish the first through fourth years to someone with more forbearance to dunderheads."
It was Draco's turn to scoff. "You didn't like teaching at all, Severus, it didn't matter what year we were."
"That's incorrect, boy," was the returned sneer. A moment's pause followed as Severus finished his tea. "I loathed teaching incompetent and petulant brats. There is a reason I only took students with Outstandings on their O.W.L.s into the higher classes. Theory is not something I can even begin to breach in a class that contains ninnies that don't know the difference between rat and porcupine spleens on sight."
Draco mumbled his agreement, a small smirk on his lips. He was desperately trying to stay awake as long as possible to await Hermione's reply and the balmy air of Scotland was certainly helping keep his wits sharp but the pull of sleep was constantly itching at his eyes and consciousness.
"Draco, wake up," called Severus as he stood from the chair.
"Mmm...Hermione?" murmured Draco from within the blankets. It seemed as though his exhaustion was more powerful than his will. How annoying.
"Yes, now get up. She might have charmed it only to speak to you and I do not have the patience to wait for you to listen to it at your leisure."
Dragging the blanket more securely around his shoulders Draco sat up and watched as a faint silvery glow descended from the sky over the lodge's roof. He made a mental note that it had come from the southeast.
A small otter landed playfully on the armchair that Severus just vacated, almost as if it could truly feel the warmth his body heat had no doubt left behind. As expected it's small eyes turned to look directly at Draco as it spoke with Hermione's slightly disguised voice.
"A raven? I wouldn't have guessed. I am safe for now but reporters are already trying to contact me by my old Diagon Alley address. Meet me in the Derwent room tomorrow after five in the evening. I will not be able to cast this again in the near future. Iuramentum deducet."
As the otter faded away Severus turned to Draco for the deciphering her message required. Whatever he was hoping for it didn't come as Draco simply nodded and slumped down to sleep. With a sneer of irritation etched into his face Severus cast a lightening charm on his godson and carried him to his bed within the lodge. There was no doubt in his mind the witch was safe where she was until five the next day if Draco was able to sleep so soundly.
He knew he would not sleep nearly as soundly and resigned himself to retiring to the study at the end of the hallway to continue sipping at the Malfoy heir's stock of fine tea and whiskey as the night wore on, settling in to read and accept his insomnia over worrying about a wild haired witch.