Chapter 11

July 12th 1999

Reflection

The following Sunday, Hermione awoke as she usually did post-nightmare, covered in sweat and tangled in her sheets. She groaned as she calmed her racing heart, forcing herself to stretch and move her body, wincing as her bones cracked and her muscles protested. It had been two days since her evening in Fred's company and she had fallen directly back into her depression once she had arrived home to her cold and empty flat. Being away from the place where she had all of her nightmares, the place she had spent so much time alone, had been illuminating and as soon as she had returned a small part of her had wished to return. However, she also knew that there was a distinct possibility that her evening had been a one off, a brief slice of normality in her other monotonous and sad existence. She didn't want to face the likely reality that it was a fluke, something that would not be repeated. She instead chose to cling to the remaining warmth that she retained in her memories and continue on as usual. By Sunday morning, though, these feelings had all but left her. Driven away by loneliness and the nightmares that she felt would haunt her for the rest of her life.

Hermione hated the weekends. The two days that she wasn't working were mostly spent trying to ignore the heavy weight of misery that seemed able to hit her harder without the distraction of her work and she felt her loneliness tenfold when she woke up with nowhere to be and no one to talk to. Aside from the words that she absent-mindedly said to herself during those days, she didn't utter a single sound and it caused her voice to sound alien even to herself come Monday mornings. She sighed, resigning herself to a day of silence as she dragged herself out of bed and placed her feet on the floor, glancing at the clock. It was 10:30, but then she hadn't sought out her bed until almost daybreak so she wasn't surprised she had slept until so late in the day. This was the tactic she usually used during the weekends: avoid sleep for as long as possible during the night and wake up as late as possible in order to make the lonely weekend days feel shorter. Did it work? No, not even a little bit. But she continued to try.

She remained perched on the edge of her bed for a while, simply letting her mind wander in a way that she rarely allowed it to do. In the past, if her mind had been allowed to wander of its own accord it would have taken her directly to thoughts of her parents or Ron, of mistakes she had made or things she could have done differently, but this time her mind went straight back to the evening she had spent with Fred. While, yes, she knew that their semi-relaxed evening could have been a one off that would never be repeated, it was near enough impossible not to hope that it might happen again that Friday. Hope was something she had not felt in such a long time and, though she knew that it may be inadvisable, she allowed herself to think about the possibility of some happy moments spent with another human being. It might be nice to have friends again, she reckoned, but then a small voice in her mind sneered at the thought and she sighed as she felt the hope wash away, leaving her feeling empty once more.

She felt a pang of hunger in her gut and groaned, rubbing her stomach. Since she had cooked and eaten at Fred's on Friday, her appetite seemed to have been sparked and she found herself not quite fancying the same old crackers that she had been using to sustain her for so long, but she also found that she couldn't quite bring herself to leave her flat in order to get anything else. The thought of getting dressed in her worn clothes, leaving her flat and going to the supermarket left her feeling far more anxiety than she had felt when preparing to go to Fred's for dinner and, she supposed, this was down to the number of people. The more people she had to face, the more judgement she expected and the more she avoided those situations if at all possible. Not in need of a shower as she wasn't going anywhere, Hermione dragged herself into the kitchen and pulled the fridge open to get herself a glass of water, hoping it would ease her hunger and maintain her ability to hole herself up in her solitude. She was pleased to find that the pang left her, quelled by the cold water, at least for the moment. She crossed to the bookshelf in the living room and scanned the many spines in front of her before pulling out an old, worn copy of one of her favourite Muggle books, The Lord of the Flies.

Hugging the book to her chest, she sighed as she turned and looked around the empty, soulless room. She was about to sit down at the desk as she usually did when she thought better of it, instead crossing to the window and opening it slightly to let in the breeze before perching herself on the small window seat below it. She had intended to lose herself in the book, knowing that she could because she had done so many times before, but as she perched on the wooden window seat she found her attention drawn elsewhere as she turned her eyes to the street below. She could see couples and families aplenty as they rushed to and from Covent Garden, the nearby theatres and the Transport Museum and she was glad, once again, that she had picked a flat somewhere that had such importance to her but also helped her maintain her muggle connections. Tottenham Court Road, where she had spent many happy evenings with her parents attending the theatre, was just a short walk away and she was also close enough to the Leaky Cauldron that, if the urge ever struck her, she could walk there within ten minutes. Not that it ever had struck her. Rather than reading her book, she spent the hours of the afternoon watching the comings and goings below her, giving each person their own little backstory and wondering what kind of home they went would return to at the end of their weekend outings. She wondered whether they too were hiding themselves from the world, showing a mask to everyone who saw them. The book remained closed on her lap as the daylight turned to night and she watched the people get more drunk, more clumsy, before she pushed herself to her feet and turned away from the window, replaced her book on the shelf and dragged herself to bed for yet another terrible night's sleep.

The Weasley house was busy when Fred arrived via floo on the Sunday following their dinner and he smiled at the welcome, much needed distraction from his lonesome pondering. Ever since Hermione had left his flat on Friday, she had been on his mind and he had spent many hours over-analysing every part of their interaction; trying to decipher the minute details of her reactions to his actions, trying to decide whether he had acted correctly and if her any of her smiles had been truly genuine. In the moment he had felt that they were, but the more he thought about it the more he had wound himself up and now he wasn't quite so sure about anything any more. He had been relieved that it had not been a disaster, well not a complete one at any rate. Sure, she had found him covered in flour and he hadn't had the forward thinking to add vegetables to his dinner choice, but she hadn't run away screaming and he supposed that was at least a good sign. As he walked away from the fireplace and before he even had a chance to open his mouth and greet anyone, he was greeted by a very concerned looking Ginny, closely followed by Neville as she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the back door and into the garden. Looking around to make sure they hadn't been followed and noone was around, she turned to Fred and raised her eyebrow.

"Well?" She asked and he snorted, smirking at her.

"Yes thanks, you?" He retorted and Ginny elbowed her boyfriend in the ribs as he laughed, glaring at him quickly before turning back to Fred.

"Don't play games with me, Fred," she snarled, though he was relieved to note that there was no real malice in her eyes as she spoke, "how did it go?"

"Merlin," Fred gasped dramatically, turning to look at Neville with wide eyes, "is she always this-"

"Violent? Yes." Neville chuckled, ducking easily when Ginny moved to slap him around the back of the head and Fred laughed, giving Neville an apologetic look.

"Fred!" Ginny hissed and he was amused to see her face reddening as he wound her up, but he sighed and gestured for her to continue, "how was she? Did she show up? Was she okay? What did you eat? Did you-"

"Gin! One question at a time, please!" Fred laughed, rolling his eyes as he marvelled at the incredible speed with which his sister threw questions at him, "I'll tell you that when she arrived, my entire kitchen was covered in flour, me included."

"How?" Neville snorted, eyebrows furrowed at the thought.

"I got a bit overzealous with the bag," He muttered, wincing when both Nev and Ginny burst out laughing at the mental image, "it made her laugh though, so it could have been worse."

"That's good," Ginny affirmed, nodding, "how was dinner?"

Fred spent the next ten minutes going over every detail of the previous Friday evening, giving them a blow by blow account of everything he had sad and done, everything she had said and done in return and even went into great detail about the moments of silence. He described how it had felt far more comfortable between the two of them than he had expected, but he could also tell that there were times when Hermione second guessed herself and when he felt he might have gotten a little too confident and impeded a little too much into her personal space. Ginny slapped his arm when he described the ease he felt when Hermione was rifling through his kitchen cupboards, offended that when she did the same thing he had threatened to charm her hair green. When he was finished, the couple in front of him gave each other a look that he didn't understand but caused them both to smile strangely, before turning back to him.

"Did she agree to come back this Friday?" Neville asked and Fred nodded, smiling softly himself.

"Yeah, I'm gonna keep doing it every Friday," Fred affirmed, smiling softly himself as he turned to Ginny, "can we go back inside now? I'm hungry."

Without waiting for a response, he clapped Neville on the shoulder and pushed his way through them, making his way back into the Burrow. Ginny sighed as he left, shaking her head as she wrapped her arm around Neville and smiled up at him when he automatically draped his arm around her shoulders in return.

"He's clueless." She said bluntly, her eyes twinkling knowingly and Neville kissed her on the top of the head as he nodded.

"Absolutely." He agreed, a slight chuckle in his voice.