A/N: Hey, guys-sorry for the delay in the update. Between school and Homestuck, (otherwise known as the most time-consuming webcomic in eternity) I hardly had any time to write…
Hope you enjoy this. And I know the buildup is taking forever-trust me, I can't wait to introduce Bellatrix either. :)
Got her in a flat in London…
Hermione stares at the Daily Prophet without reading a word. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Harry and Ron whizzing by on their broomsticks, tossing the apple they're using as a Quaffle back and forth. Ginny's laugh-full-throated and sweet-sounds from out of view. Though she hates Quidditch, Hermione can't help but wish to join them.
Charmed, I promise…
Summersby's a more than decent wizard, she knows-but when it comes to a witch like Bellatrix, you have to wonder…
She's going stir crazy in there…
A stir crazy Bellatrix Lestrange sounds like the stuff of Hermione's nightmares.
How could I help?
Is it just her, or does her own voice sound stupider in her imagination?
She sets down her quill-she meant to take notes-and rubs at her eyes vigorously, like it can sort out her thoughts. She knows what she should do; she always does. She should send him an owl with a firm but kind no, and then tell Harry, or Ginny, or an adult-
(God, what is she thinking? She is an adult, for Merlin's sake.)
She still hasn't told them-not the whole story. She
She tips back in her chair, lifting her gaze to wear the wall meets the ceiling. There's a crack in there that used to scare her half to death when she stayed here as a teen. Anything could crawl out of there. Anything at all.
Now she's more than used to it.
The thing that really gets Hermione about this-the thing that really bugs her-is that her life has just begun to calm down. School's done, the war's over, she's got a nice, calm job at the Ministry. She's got Harry, and Ron, and Ginny, and there's no fighting or deaths to complicate things or get between them. She's got the Burrow to come to during the summers, with its Quidditch games and late walks in the woods. For the first time in what feels like forever, everything's under control.
And then Summersby just had to come in and ruin everything.
Hermione knows this. She knows this, and she's properly angry about it-she's feeling all the right feelings…
But.
But.
Ethnan Summersby was just so...so kind. So gentle with her, so understanding. And commanding. And assuring…
It's kind of hard not to trust someone like that.
Outside, Ginny's busy pummeling Ron with the shaft of her broomstick, while Fleur squeals in the background.
Hermione glances at the clock. Twelve. Maybe she does deserve a break…
"'Mione!" He tilts the shaft of his broom towards the ground, landing with a soft thump.
"Hey, Ron." She smiles a little and tugs her scarf snug around her throat. "Just wanted to see how you were doing."
"You've got good timing." Harry lands next to his friend, trainers scuffing the half-frozen ground; it's only August, but already the air has a definite nip to it. "We were just about to head in for lunch."
"Ah." Hermione hides a smile as Ginny and Fleur approach, bloodied and the latter looking quite sour. "Good game?"
"Fantastic," Ginny says with an ear-to-ear grin. "Absolutely brilliant-wonderful practice."
"I'm glad." And she means it. Ginny's been worried about her Quidditch skills ever since summer started-getting rusty and all that. Which is utter rubbish, of course, but she wouldn't listen to a word of reassurance. Maybe this will set her at ease.
As they head in, broomsticks propped up against the Weasley's garden shed, Fleur falls into step next to Hermione. "Eet was horrible," she hisses, like she was asked for her opinion. "Utter chaos-je jure, try and make me do that again and I'll-"
Mrs. Weasley steps out of the Burrow's back door at that exact moment, ending Fleur's rant and saving Hermione from what was shaping up to be a very interesting lesson in French.
"I've got lunch on the stove, you can help yourselves-oh, Hermione!" The redheaded woman looks surprised but pleased to see the younger girl, and Hermione's stomach sinks as she smiles back. "Haven't seen you all morning-you've been working, I expect?"
"Yeah-just a bit...bogged down at the office." Her stomach twists into a million unpleasant knots. Out of all the people to lie to…
Ron's mother frowns. "You've been working quite hard recently, haven't you?"
She knows the tone in Mrs. Weasley's voice, and she waves it away with a still hand."Oh, don't worry about me. I'm doing just fine-just a bit busy, is all."
The older woman still looks doubtful, but Ron's calling from the kitchen, and she contents herself with a stern squeeze of Hermione's hand before stepping back into the house.
The brunette follows, ducking under the doorframe-she's grown since last summer. Inside the kitchen, the smell of fish and freshly baked bread wafts through the air. Harry and Ron lean against the tabletop; Ginny perches on the counter. Fleur's washing up at the sink, and to her left Mrs. Weasley's returned to the cutting board, slicing the sandwiches into triangles.
Hermione pulls out a chair and sinks into it. Harry takes a seat to her left, and gives Mrs. Weasley a quick smile as she hands him his lunch before leaning over. "What'd Summersby want?" he mutters out of the corner of his mouth-they haven't yet told any of the Weasleys about the man's idea.
Hermione shrugs, nibbling at the corner of her wheat-and-fish sandwich. "Just what he said in the letter. Old Death Eater-some German man." She doesn't have the heart to tell him about Bellatrix. Not yet. She needs to work this out in her own mind first.
Harry frowns. "Just what he said in the letter?"
"That's it." She lowers her voice as Ron takes a seat across from the two of them. "Look, I know you don't believe it, but that's what happened."
"And what'd you say?"
She shrugs. "I...I just told him I was really busy with work and all, and I didn't have time to do it."
"Don't have time to do what?" Ron takes a big bite of his sandwich, chewing with his mouth full. "Are 'oo 'inally standing up 'o your 'upervisor, 'Mione?"
"Oh, like you never work overtime." Hermione polishes off the last bite of her lunch, then stands up, pushing her chair back with a scratch of the legs. "Remember all those times you and Harry stayed up late chasing down dark wizards? At least what I do isn't dangerous."
Ron swallows his bite and frowns at her. "Least we didn't go back to school, for Merlin's sake."
Hermione says nothing, just carries her plate to the sink and sets it there. Though she reaches for a sponge, Mrs. Weasley stops her. "Oh, dear-no, no, you just sit right back down. I'll do this by magic, thanks."
Hermione tries to protest, but the older woman's already got the sponge hard at work with a wave of her wand.
"Hey, Hermione-" Ginny waves her over with one tanned hand. "Ron wants a rematch in gobstones. Says I cheated last time-which is total bunk, mind you-" she sends him a nasty glare- "Would you mind watching us, to make sure I don't 'cheat' this time?"
Her voice is dripping with sarcasm, and Hermione can't help but smile as Ron rolls his eyes. "She did, I swear-"
"Oh, you're just embarrassed I beat you."
"I'd love to referee-really-but I'm busy." She takes a step towards the stairs. "Besides, I don't know the first thing about gobstones."
"Then we'll teach you." Ginny makes big, begging brown eyes. "C'mon...Please…"
Foot already resting on the bottom step, Hermione hesitates.
Summersby can wait.
Hermione has never really been one for procrastinating, but it turns out she's quite good at it. A natural, really. Between what may just be the longest gobstones game in the history of long gobstones games, conversations with Ginny, and Ron's incredibly descriptive-and probably exaggerated-story of the time he and Harry killed a rogue werewolf in Scotland, she doesn't get back to work until around seven o' clock at night.
Muttering excuses about reading and paperwork, she slips away from dinner and up the stairs early. She makes sure to lock the door when she steps into her room-she doesn't want to worry Harry or any of the Weasleys-before sliding into the chair. She stares at the blank parchment for a few moments, still mulling over what to write, before picking up her quill and dunking it in ink.
Ethnan Summersby,
I'm incredibly honored that you think I'm fit for this job, but I'm afraid I won't be able to help you. I'm quite busy with work as is, and I'm not nearly skilled enough to control a witch like Lestrange.
I must admit I'm more than a little bit concerned about the nature of this project. Though I have to turn you down, don't hesitate to contact anyone else at the Ministry if you feel you need more help.
I do wish you luck, and hope that we can remain friends.
Sincerely,
Hermione J. Granger
She rolls it up and hands it off to the tiny pygmy owl she bought after getting her first job. Already her chest feels lighter. Yes, this is a problem, but it won't be nearly as hard to deal with as she first thought. In the morning she'll write to the Ministry, and tell Harry and Ron, and together they can figure this out. Lestrange won't be bothering anyone for long, and neither will Summersby.
Yes, she'll do that in the morning. But now is the time for sleep. For rest. God knows she's earned it.
She opens the window a crack, lets the owl glide out into the night, and then slips into bed. She'll deal with it tomorrow, yes. There's always tomorrow...