An Anatomy of a World: Chapter 6
A/N: I do not own Harry Potter's universe or the movies based on the novels that I also do not own.
Sorry I've neglected this little fic-let.
With the N.E.W.T.s coming up on the first of February, Draco found himself beginning to suffer minor anxiety pains. Sure, he had about three months left to prepare, but he had never felt like his entire future depended on one week's worth of examinations.
Draco was not new to pressure: of the peer variety, the forces of evil sleeping two bedrooms over, recreational (quidditch games), but above all, familial pressure.
He was new to academic pressure, though. Draco had spent an inordinate amount of time on his Transfiguration grade out of pure love of the subject and his respect for its teacher, but he never struggled with the material. He aced every exam he ever sat, some with better results than others, but always his confidence brought him away with spectacular marks, excepting Charms in which they were merely "Acceptable."
So the thought that his entire future plans relied on this one week in early February brought sweat to his pale skin and a heavy rock to take up residence in his chest. Draco had only been fearful of failure once before in his young life, his infamous sixth year and the Dark Lord's suicide mission. His own life, as well as the lives of his parents, were at stake if he failed—an incomprehensible pressure. That pressure brought him to Myrtle's bathroom sobbing, and nightmares that still made their way into his psyche even to this day. Still, it was a very different sort of pressure to the type he was experiencing now.
His future depended on this—Minerva's future depended on this. She was counting on him and he couldn't let her down. If he clammed up on his N.E.W.T. and buggered it all up, she was out of her first choice teacher. Not only that, but he couldn't bear her disappointment if he got a T.
He would have to give up his magic and move to the North Pole if that circumstance occurred. The shame alone would kill him, nevermind the sub-zero temperatures.
So, while he felt this constant push—almost like a giant had taken him into its large hand and was squeezing the breath out of him—he tried to focus himself on preparation.
If he was prepared enough, he couldn't possibly fail. If he could recite terms and theories without even having to think about them, then his addled brain could function off autopilot if he happened to be overcome with nerves.
At least, that's what he was hoping for.
Hey, it always worked for Granger.
Verona, Italy
"Do we have to?"
She rolled her eyes. He had been complaining non-stop about her side trip to Verona. Harry got to choose the last four countries they visited, but she couldn't have just one week of her choice?
"Yes, Harry, we do." She said, matter-of-factly. "You can't possibly understand how dear this city is to my heart. I'll have you know that Romeo and Juliet is my second favorite Shakespearean play. I couldn't possibly not go see the city."
They were on their way to Juliet's famous balcony, and Hermione could barely contain her enthusiasm to Harry's dismay and confusion.
"All this for just your second favorite?" He asked wryly, poking a bit of fun at her pompous tone.
She accepted his barb with a roll of her eyes and a self-conscious smile. "I just really want to see some of these monuments. Even just being here, taking the city in, getting a feel for the energy—I feel like it puts the play in a completely new perspective." She said brightly. After a brief pause, she added with more excitement, "I'll have to re-read it again after we go!"
"Hermione, you just finished it because you knew we were coming here." Harry whined. "Now you want to read it again after we leave?"
He wouldn't understand. Harry was her brother in all but blood, but he could never understand certain things about her. Truthfully, she would never understand some things about him as well. Like Quidditch. She decided to diffuse the tension a bit with a joke.
"What can I say? It's a sickness."
He smiled, as she knew he would, and they went on.
They took the short walk down the lush Verona streets in silence. Hermione found herself reminiscing on how they had gotten to this point. Like they told Professor McGonagall those seven months ago, they began in Australia. It took a few weeks of searching for Wendell and Monica Wilkins before Harry had the bright idea of searching for them on the internet at the local library. His idea had merit, and Hermione was ashamed to admit she was a bit jealous that she hadn't thought of it—and Harry wouldn't let her forget it was his idea.
The next week they spent with Hermione's parents in tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Her parents didn't understand, couldn't understand. But they loved her, and while it would take years to recover their trust fully, they still loved her and practically shanghaied Harry and Hermione into staying with them for a few weeks while they explored Australia.
And explore they did, leaving no stone unturned. If they felt like seeing something, they did. If something "touristy" did not appeal to them, they skipped it. It was absolute freedom, and Harry and Hermione loved it.
The best part was staying in fancy hotels. Harry skimmed a bit of money off the top of his Black inheritance (after all, how many world tours would he ever take?) and they splurged. Living with Harry in a cramped tent for ten months and living with Harry in posh five star hotels were two very different enterprises, as Hermione came to find. But, they found a comfortable system—one modified from their time last year—and co-habitated in a way that only family can do.
After Australia, Harry decided he wanted to see China. Hermione wasn't quite sure, but she thought it had something to do with Cho Chang. Not that he had any feelings for her after all this time, but because her ancestry had always intrigued him. So they went to China.
After a month in China they crossed over the ocean to Japan. Japan by far was their favorite, and it showed in the amount of time they stayed there. Three months after setting foot in Tokyo, Harry and Hermione went off to Greece. Followed in quick succession by Turkey, Jordan, U.S.A., Mexico, and France. Finally, in France, Hermione decided it was her turn to choose a place. Harry acquiesced quietly and the next day they found themselves looking at a rotten old banana peel infused with enough port-key magic to take them to Verona.
Hermione smiled to herself. Things were going quite well. Ron was keeping his grieving family together, and she was keeping a shell-shocked Harry together. In her heart of hearts she realized she easily got the better deal out of the two. For one, Harry was dealing quite well. For another, Molly Weasley's hugs were notoriously harder when she was upset. And a Molly in mourning would make a Hermione-flavored pancake very quickly.
Hermione looked to her friend; he was walking down the pavement alongside her. No one stared at them in awe, no one bothered them for autographs, or to speak to them like they were old buddies. Harry had always hated his famous name, and here alone at the end of the world they could escape it for a time—until things started to die down a bit in England.
And things in England were starting to return to normal. Headmistress McGonagall had sent her an owl just the other day. She and the mysterious assistant were making a fair amount of progress. The kitchen was sorted out and they had plans for fixing the more intense of the damage. Unfortunately, the school would not open until September—making about sixteen months of hard labor for the Headmistress and her helper. She shook her head. The professor knew what she was doing. Just as she had a role in the war, she had a role in the after-math as well. Harry needed her more than McGonagall did, and Hermione knew her place.
Besides, she only had to wait ten months until she could return to Hogwarts for her final year. Boy, was she excited.