Hello? Anybody still there?
Well. I'm back, after an extended absence. (You are not allowed to get too loud with your protests: I told you guys this is not the story I'm focusing on at the moment. Plus I'm on vacation.)
To make a long story short, on Wednesday I saw the final Harry Potter movie, in 3-D. And, in French. That was an... let's call it an experience. I got to see two of my favorite and two of my liked characters die. And then I had to see Hermione and Ron kiss. And then I got to see them all grown up and married with two kids: one named Hugo.
I felt a need to make things right in my head. And here you go: Chapter 3!
Enjoy. (And forgive me for the liberties I took with the doorman. I was having fun with him.)
Hermione took a quick shower to wash away both the smell of the party and the memories of the evening. She slipped into her bed, and set an alarm for eight the next morning. She had a job interview / tea with Minerva tomorrow morning...
Sleep took hold of her the moment her head hit the pillow. But for Hermione, sleep wasn't the problem. The problem was the dreams.
Bellatrix's face staring down at her, eyes wild with fury."TELL ME!"
Hermione groaned. "Yet another demand for the origins of the sword. Not very original, are you?" Her weak laugh choked, then turned into screams of pain.
As she writhed on the floor of Malfoy Manor, screams ripped from her throat by the Torture Curse, Hermione smiled inwardly. Harry and Ron were safe. That was all that mattered.
The Curse stopped, and Bella's face reappeared. "Where is Potter?"
Hermione spit at Bellatrix, some part of her mind worrying that she was spitting more blood than saliva. "I don't know. Must be all that dirty blood in my veins."
Bellatrix just wiped the bloody saliva off her face, and looked at it with disgust. "You will pay for tainting me with your mudblood, you filthy bitch. Cruico!"
The pain started again and all Hermione could think was that Harry and Ron were safe and that was all that mattered...
Hermione bolted awake, the echos of her screams ringing in her ears and clogging her throat. Her heart was beating madly and her breathing was hard. She could feel painful shocks going through her body, an almost daily reminder of the horrors of the Cruciatus.
"Damn," she cursed. "And I thought being home would stop the dreams." She rose, looking at the bed in disgust. She had flung the covers off herself in her sleep, and the pillow was stained with blood.
Hermione put her fingers to her face, wincing when she touched her cheek. She must have bitten herself. "Why me?" she muttered. "Of all the perfectly lovely Death Eaters in the world, why was Bellatrix Lestrange the one who got to torture me?" She sighed and pulled her hair into a messy bun, frowning at the pain in her arms.
As she walked to the connecting bathroom, Hermione ran a hand through her now tangled curls. She splashed water on her face, gasping at the coldness. "Merlin, that's cold." She looked in the mirror and winced. The person staring back at her had a pale face, red-rimmed eyes, and wild hair. "Not only does she drive me crazy enough to start talking to myself," Hermione said tiredly, "But she also makes me lose my beauty sleep."
A quick Tempus showed that it was nearing six in the morning, meaning that Hermione had not even gotten three hours of sleep. And she had tea with Minerva at ten. Lovely.
Seeming as it was too early to shower and dress, Hermione just padded out of her bathroom and into the kitchen, making herself a cup of coffee. Putting a slice of bread in the toaster, she set her table for one and was soon eating a nice, simple breakfast.
As always, when she was eating alone and sometimes when she wasn't, Hermione was reading while she ate. This time it was the thick tome Harry had seen the night before, titled, Dark Curses and Their Long-Term Effects on the Physical and Mental Health of Wizards and Witches.
"As for the Cruciatus Curse, little is known about the symptoms that remain long after the curse was cast. This mainly because of the rarity of both people willing to cast this spell, and the people who survive a heavy dose of the spell. For those held under the curse for a few seconds, tremors and cramps are common, but years later all that remains in the painful memory. For around two minutes, acute shaking and-" Hermione stopped reading aloud, taking a bite of toast and chewing.
"For those subjected to more than one hour's worth of the Cruciatus, madness is assured. For those with weaker minds, the decline of mental health is immediate. For the strong, or those subjected to the curse in various doses totaling more than one hour, the ghost pains and the aftershocks will soon be severe enough to cause a break in the physical health that research shows will lead to a break of mental health as well." Hermione took a sip of coffee and sighed. "Lovely. Research shows I'm going mad."
"And talking to yourself is the first sign, Hermione," a familiar voice responded. "Morning."
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "Good morning. But how did you know I would be up this early?" She stood and pulled Harry into a hug.
"Because you can't sleep without nightmares," Harry responded. "Neither can I. So I just waited until the sun came up and Apparated over here." He buried his head in her curls, breathing in the scent that was Hermione.
She looked up at him, still in his arms. "Thanks." She could feel his heartbeat. Their chests were pressed together and she was looking at those green eyes and he bent down toward her-
"No problem." It was said in a quiet murmur, lips barely moving. Hermione took a quick breath, and kissed him on the cheek before moving out of his arms. His eyes- they told her he wanted to kiss her and she could not let that happen.
"But thank you anyway, Harry. But now I need to get ready for the day. You are welcome to stay of course, but-" He cut of her babbling with a finger over her lips.
"Okay. I'll wait. Go get ready." She flashed him a quick smile and was gone in another moment.
Dear Gods. He had almost kissed her. Her. Hermione Granger. His best friend, after all those years. The only other living person he knew that was going through the same thing he was. What had he been thinking?
That she was beautiful and finally unattached and right there looking up at me with those never-ending eyes of hers.
But he could not keep thinking that way. She was not his, and he was certain she did not want him. There was that other man she had talked about the night before. The one who was unavailable after the war. And who she had been talking to at the party lat night.
George Weasley was busy consoling Angelina after the war. The had officially announced their relationship and the same time he and Ginny had gotten back together. The time for mourning had passed, and the time for joyous celebration had begun. And Hermione had run to him in the middle of the night, calm and clear on the outside but distressed to anyone who actually knew her. (Or had an emotional range greater than a teaspoon.) She had told him that she needed to get away. He had helped her, and two days later, the Wizarding world was reeling in shock at the loss of one of their War Heroes.
And as soon as she comes back, who does George flirt with? Hermione. Angelina was a thing of the past, as was Verity, at least for George. (She was now dating another member of the Weasley family- Ron. But that was not expected to last very long now that Hermione was back.) And they had been flirting at the party.
George was like a brother to him, a side effect of staying with the Weasley's at every possible holiday. The fact that he had broken up with his little sister didn't faze him a bit. None of the Weasley's were very upset about it, except Ginny herself.
God, that had been a nightmare. But they were on much better terms now. Much better. Not aware of his actions, Harry lifted a hand and rubbed the side of his head where he had a small scar. From a toaster. The one Ginny had thrown at his head.
He had gone to Hermione that night. She had healed his head, and told him to lay low for a few days and avoid Ginny for the next few weeks. Unsurprisingly, her advice had worked perfectly. That was one of the best times he could remember, when Hermione was gone.
~o0o~o0o~
Harry looked down at the piece of paper in his hand, then at the tall apartment building. He couldn't believe that this was where Hermione was living. He checked the address on more time, then walked inside, earning a very annoyed look from the doorman.
"Can I help you, sir?" The man's voice reminded him of Professor Snape. Harry shivered a bit at both the memory of the man who had loved his mother and the New Yorker who was glaring at him.
"I'm here to see a Miss Lily Black." The man raised one eyebrow.
"That is not possible." He sneered, another similarity to the Potions professor.
"What?" Harry sputtered. He was well aware how he looked, in jeans and a button down shirt with blood dripping down his head. "I need to see Lily."
The man sneered at him again. "I told you that is not possible. Ms. Black does not take unexpected visitors."
Harry glared at the man. "I'm her best friend. And I need her help."
"I am afraid I cannot do anything. You will just have to wait until morning." The man replied.
"If Her- Lily finds out that you didn't let me in she will move out by the end of the week." Harry said flatly. "I would call her just in case."
The man seemed to consider this, then sneered again. "I will ask her. But if you're lying then I will call the police for harassment. Name?"
Harry was really starting to consider wiping the smirk of the man's face. "Harry Potter."
The man pressed a button, and soon Hermione's voice was heard. "Yes?"
"I apologize for bothering you, Ms. Black, but there is a man here who is demanding to see you. Do you want me send him away?" He sent a malicious look at Harry, who just smirked at him.
"Well, who is it? I need to know who it is before I send them away. For all I know it could be by best friend."
"I doubt it, Ms. Black. He is dripping blood all over the floor."
"Then it is probably one of my friends. Who is it?" The last three words were given in the tone Harry usually associated with the time Hermione was a prefect.
"He says his name is Harry Potter, Ms. Black."
"Can you ask him a question for me? Ask him to complete the sentence: Ron has the emotional range of a_. I need to make sure he is who he says he is."
The doorman was obviously confused by this. "Well?" he asked Harry.
"A teaspoon." Harry said with a fond smile.
"He says a teaspoon, Ms. Black."
"Well? What are you waiting for? Send him right up."
The door man looked at Harry with distaste. "Ms. Black resides on the top two floors. Have a nice evening."
Harry gave the annoying man a sarcastic grin and a jaunty wave before stepping into the elevator. The moment he knocked on Hermione's door it was thrown open and he was being squeezed to death by a petite woman in a very short red robe. Very. Short.
"Harry! I'm so happy to see you, I didn't know you would be in New York- Merlin and Morgana what happened to your face?"
Harry grinned and pressed a kiss to the top of Hermione's curly hair. "Nice to see you too, love. And, uh, Ginny threw a toaster at me. The one Arthur gave her for Christmas last year."
Hermione just shook her head and let him into her place, smirking slightly as he gasped. "Wow, 'Mione. Nice."
"I know," she said, leading him into her kitchen. "Take a seat. I need to grab my wand."
Harry took the opportunity to look around her kitchen, admiring the state of the art equipment. Hermione didn't take long, returning with a small brown bottle Harry recognized and her wand. She used several cleaning spells before applying the ditany. "There you go," she said with a smile. "You should only have a small scar. I'd use it to make her feel guilty."
Harry winced. "I was the one who decided it was time for us to go our separate ways. Ginny didn't take it too well."
"I got that from the impression the toaster left in your forehead," Hermione quipped. "I suppose you need another title to go with the new scar."
Harry grinned against his will. "The Man-Who-Broke-Up-With-A-Weasley?" he recommended.
"No," Hermione said with an answering grin. "I prefer the Boy-Who-Almost-Was-Decapitated-By-A-Toaster."
"More of a mouthful," Harry remarked. "But I like it"
Hermione stood and kissed the top of his head. "Me too. Tea?"
"Sure. Hermione?" Harry turned to watch her prepare the tea the Muggle way, as if she had completely forgotten the wand she had tucked into a pocket of her robe.
"Yes?" She started the water. "Earl Grey?"
"Of course." Harry was silent for a few moments. "Any advice on how to handle the Red-haired Fury?"
Hermione stopped moving, and held stock still. "What kind of relationship do you want with her now?"
"A purely platonic one," Harry replied firmly. "I don't see her as a sister because that would be incestuous, considering how long we've been together."
Hermione's face broke into a brilliant smile. Harry looked at her in amazement, well aware that it was this beauty that had given her the amazing apartment (if it wasn't too large to be called that) and the bursting bank account.
"Well, give her some time. And by that I mean lay way low. Under all sorts of Weasley radar. Ron's prolly gonna try and rip your balls off and Mrs. Weasley will want your head. After giving them time to adjust, try and talk things over with Ginny. I trust you didn't get far before the Amazing Flying Toaster?" Hermione said thoughtfully.
"Not far at all," Harry admitted. "It went like this: 'Ginny, I don't think we are working anymore.' 'What do you mean by that?' 'I mean that I think we would be happier as friends, not a couple.' 'Are you breaking up with me?' 'Yes.' 'OWWW!' 'GET OUT! GET OUT! COME BACK WHEN YOU ARE READY TO APOLOGIZE!"
Hermione winced. "Okay. Definitely stay under the radar." The tea was done quickly, and Hermione poured two cups, adding lemon to both and sugar to one, which she handed to Harry.
"Is it freaky the way you know exactly how I like tea?" Harry asked, suddenly.
Hermione thought for a moment, and shook her head. "I don't think so. We have been friends for almost nine years."
"Right." Harry sipped his tea, then blurted out the question that had been on the tip of his tongue all night. "When are you coming back?" He knew it was hypocritical. He was the one telling all the newspapers to get off her case. But he needed to ask.
"I- I don't know," Hermione said softly. "I like my life the way it is now. I'm not hounded. I'm free to do what I want. People recognize me for being in a add rather than for killing Death Eaters and bringing about the fall of Voldemort."
"But I miss you, Hermione. We miss you," Harry pleaded. "We all love you. Ron misses you like crazy. Ginny used to cry because she misses her 'sister.' Teddy misses you. When he doesn't look like Remus or I, he changes his face to look like you. Have you seen him with curly hair, Hermione? You were practically his mum for three months."
Hermione closed her eyes, gripping her tea cup tightly as if it was all too much. "But- I- I can't. I haven't finished finding myself yet."
Harry bowed his head in defeat. "I'd better get going. With the time difference and all..."
"Yeah." Hermione looked sad now, haunted. It was another thing that had made her famous, Harry mused. They just loved the way she could cry on command. Or look like she just lost someone important to her.
They both stood, Harry finishing his tea, and Hermione walking him to the door.
"See you soon, Harry?" she asked, almost like she was begging forgiveness.
Harry groaned inwardly. She thought he was mad at her because she didn't want to return yet. He pulled her into a hug, and pressed his face into her hair. "Of course, Hermione. When is your next shoot in Europe?"
"Next week. Paris. I'll be staying at my flat there." She returned the hug gratefully. "Good luck with Ginny."
Harry squeezed her tightly one last time, then released her and stepped out. "See you in Paris." He winked.
"I'll be the one in white," Hermione said solemnly. "Promise. This one is all about angels and demons. And guess who has to be the angel?"
Harry chuckled. "Only you would complain about being an angel, Hermione. Not enough good literature on them?"
Hermione grinned. "At least I know demons are real."
Harry laughed, then checked his watch. "Thanks, 'Mione. Gotta go."
"Bye," she said quietly, watching him run to the elevator. "See you in Paris."
~o0o~o0o~
Harry was jolted out of his musings by the reappearance of Hermione. "I have tea with Minerva," she explained hastily. "And a mysterious surprise guest. I'll see you soon?"
"Of course," Harry replied easily. "I'm taking you out for dinner tonight."
Hermione smirked. "Where?"
"At the Flaming Phoenix. Hottest place for Wizarding London right now. I've been waiting for your return to sample it."
"See you at the Flaming Phoenix, then." Hermione said. "What time?"
"I will be picking you up at six," Harry said, putting on an air of importance. "I made the reservations already."
He walked with her to the door, holding it open as she stepped through, then leaning against the wall as she locked up.
'Well I guess I have to go then. Be here at six, then." She hugged him, then stepped into the elevator.
"Give my regards to our favorite Headmistress," Harry called as the door closed. She knew he would prefer to take the stairs, Harry mused. That was so Hermione.
And so, shaking his head, he started down the stairs.
~o0o~o0o~
"Hermione!" Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts and Esteemed Transfiguration Master, exclaimed. "It is so good to see you again!"
Hermione allowed herself to be pulled into a hug by her favorite teacher. "It is great to see you again, too, Minerva. I've missed our discussions."
"And my lovely company," McGonagall said dryly.
"That too," Hermione agreed. "You do have such a way with people." They both laughed, and Hermione was invited inside her mentor's personal chambers.
"So how have you been, Hermione?" the Headmistress asked. "All I've heard has been from Potter and the Daily Prophet. And I hardly got a chance to see you at yesterday's party."
"I've been doing alright," Hermione said softly. "Not as good as I would have liked, but alright. And you?"
Minerva smiled sadly, her age showing on her face. "I'm fine, my dear. But I'm not young anymore."
Hermione laughed bitterly, throwing her head back in an imitation of mirth. "In years at least."
Minerva responded with another sad smile. "You and your friends haven't been young since you were eleven. Is my feeble brain failing me, or do I remember something about a girl's bathroom and troll boogies on a wand?"
Hermione laughed, a real laugh this time. "You're still as sharp as ever Minerva."
"Good," The Headmistress replied. "I have made no plans to resign as of yet."
"That's a relief," Hermione said. "I know no other that would be good for the job."
McGonagall smirked. "Thank you, my dear. But I have been grooming Neville Longbottom for the position. He will make a fine Headmaster."
Hermione gasped. "I saw him just this morning and he didn't say anything! Why didn't he mention it at the party?"
Minerva shrugged. "Probably because he has no clue. Neville always was one of those completely dense Gryffindors when it came to anything other than Herbology. You were the exception to the rule, Hermione."
"You are starting to sound eerily like Professor Snape," Hermione mentioned, eyes alight with humorous delight.
McGongall just chuckled. "We did work together for more than thirty years," she said thoughtfully. "I guess he did rub off on me. Once you finally notice it, you do realize that for the most part, our house is known for bravery. However, for the most part, we just run in to giant disasters with no plan, and get so god-damn lucky that it is called bravery," The last part of her little speech had turned more rant-like, causing Hermione to raise one eyebrow.
"Are you Snape Polyjucied as Minerva, or have you been thinking about my years at Hogwarts?" Hermione questioned.
Minerva groaned. "You caught me. I thought it might be a good idea to look back fondly on the time you spent under my care. I ended up craving a Firewhiskey before I got to your fifth year."
Hermione shook her head. "I would have thought you would have at least made it to the end of sixth year before needing a drink. However, I will concede that thinking of Umbridge would make anyone want to drown their sorrows in alcohol."
McGonagall shivered visibly. "That woman was a nightmare. I am glad that there is no more Ministry interference in Hogwarts."
Hermione scowled. "Fat lot of bloody duffers, they are. I wouldn't be surprised if they had changed at all in the years I was gone. I can't believe I once wanted to work for them."
Minerva stiffened slightly. "Well, that was something I wanted to talk to you about." Hermione knew the Headmistress well enough to see that she was hiding something. But what? Surely-
"What is it, Minerva?" Hermione asked, growing worried.
"I invited you here not so ask you to teach at Hogwarts, but to ask you if you would consider taking a job at the Ministry as an Unspeakable," said the Headmistress firmly, all traces of reluctance disappearing. "A good friend of mine is in charge of the Department of Mysteries. He had his eye on you since your third year, when I asked him for your Time Turner. He requested that I see how amiable you are to the idea before you meet him."
Hermione was shocked. Beyond shocked. Her eyebrows were lost somewhere in the air above her head and her usually far too active mind was shut down for a moment or two. But then it started again and the questions reared their oddly-shaped heads.
"An Unspeakable?" she sputtered. "Me? But I'm just your average insufferable know-it-all with a trouble-magnet for a best friend and a lot of that god-damned luck that looks like bravery."
Minerva looked at Hermione, with a gaze that seemed to look straight into Hermione's soul. "My dear," she said fondly and with a hint of exasperation, "You have a horribly mangled view of yourself."
Hermione snorted. "The only thing I can think of that would make me useful to the Department of Mysteries is my prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse and my connections with Muggle and Wizarding society in most of Europe and some of the United States."
"Right in one, Miss Granger," said a deep voice, accompanied by the sound of Minerva's door closing. "Good morning, Minerva."
Kudos and a dedication to you if you can guess who the mystery voice is. And it may not be a man. Just warning you.
Give me your feedback or your opinion of the last Harry Potter movie. It would be appreciated. Greatly. And if you really need to, you can bug me about TWoT. As soon as I get my hands on my computer tomorrow, I will start writing that one.
Review, please. It is my only way of gauging interest and what I am doing right or wrong. Thank you to all the reviewers from Chapter Two.
*** One review hit a soft and fuzzy spot within me. dadscooking left me a review that made me feel humbled and awed by the number of people who read what I write and the appreciation they have for me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for such a kind and thought-provoking review.***