There were times in the last eleven years Hermione wished she had made different choices in her life. When the War was over and eighth year started with an 'I'm bored and can't sleep well' and ended with a 'Do I have enough time to smoke this in girl's loo during the breaks of N.E.W.T.s?'
To this day, the reason Theodore Nott was in the girl's lavatory at three o' clock in the morning was still a mystery to Hermione. But that winter night Hermione finally managed to let exhaustion consume her and lull her into a three-hour sleep. It took that long for her to have a nightmare where she awoke in a cold sweat and a racing heart with her wand in hand. Having calmed her racing blood that begged for a battle, she made way to the loo and was surprised to find the Slytherin sitting in the middle of the room flicking the last of bit of his fag before tossing it behind him without a care.
"Don't do that! You'll burn the place down!"
He said nothing, did nothing but light another with a wave of his fingertip and puffed like she had said nothing, like she was not there.
"Excuse me!" she had shrilled and marched over to him and pointed a finger down at him. "Stop that this instant!"
"You look lovely," he drawled, sarcasm richly coating his tone while his eyes traveled from her fluffy bunny slippers to the wildness of her hair. And no, he was not checking her out. In fact, the once-over was so asexual, Hermione blushed anyway for not being pretty enough because having a boy actually take the time to see her and soak her in, only to have him actually see nothing, was a bit saddening. Lowering her pointed finger, she wondered why she was not the one on the bathroom floor when clearly it was where she belonged.
Seconds passed and Nott looked elsewhere, like the tiled floors and the lion's mouth faucets were that much more interesting than the human being residing next to him.
She should have left, marched back to her dormitory to try to go back to sleep. Instead, she stayed and watched the boy finish his cigarette, flicking the butt over his shoulder to join the previous one.
"Those will kill you. You need to stop."
"Want one," Nott offered while holding the case up to her face. They were not encased in a carton like most Muggles carry their habit but in a cigarette case made of silver with engraved snakes and flames.
"I don't smoke."
"You look like you need one."
"Everyone looks like they need one, but they don't get one because they're smart."
"Are they?"
"Never mind."
"You especially look like you need one." Theo had waved his case up towards her face, and Hermione frowned down on him.
"I will not succumb to peer-pressure."
Theodore smoked one last cigarette before hitting his flask, offering her a swig. This, she did partake of and had let the firewhiskey scald her throat and chest and tummy. Following ten or so sips, he offered another fag and she accepted and the morning came as did a habit.
The school year ended, and Hermione graduated with high marks and an engagement ring from Ronald Weasley to which she gave back a week later with a 'You don't want me, and I'm leaving.'
Australia was her destination. Finding Mum and Dad had been top priority and with an excellent Tracking Spell, she found them…living separately and with different people. She remembered seeing the house where the spell had taken her, wondering why the spell tugged her instincts in another direction when she knew she was where she was supposed to be.
A car pulled up in front of the garage and her father stepped out of the car with a rounded-stomach woman Hermione did not recognize.
Having seen enough, she followed the tugging and found Mum in a little chapel on the outskirts of Sydney exchanging vows with a clean cut, middle-aged man.
They did not know her, her parents. How could they when she took their memories from them? And maybe she could have fixed it all. Waved her wand and gave them back and have her parents again, but as Hermione stood across the street from a hospital where her father had ushered that rounded woman, she decided not to.
Leaving Australia had been emotionally difficult, but she would only be torturing herself if she stayed, so she hopped on a plane back to the London airport where she remained for four hours. Simply, she could have left, found some discreet place, and Disapparated anywhere. Yet, she wandered aimlessly from terminal to terminal, wondering where she should go. It took one hour of the four to decide and another three for a flight to be available.
Bulgaria had been expectedly chilly, and Viktor was delighted upon her visit which had extended into a two-year stay by his side where she did nothing but be his girlfriend and bed-warmer. And don't get Hermione wrong. She had fun doing both, but the relationship lost its sizzle, and Viktor admitted to have fallen in love with another witch.
Not entirely heartbroken but a little down, Hermione fetched a portkey to Magical Paris where she found a job at a tiny bookshop and rented the small flat located above the business. The owner of the shop was incredibly nice, incredibly cute, and had wandering hands, and couldn't speak a word of English. The first time Pierre grabbed her bum she was stooping over to pick up some discarded books after closing time. She jolted in surprise and said nothing, knowing she should be peeved, but it was kind of nice knowing a cute boy thought her desirable.
The second time Pierre grabbed her bum she was ready and whirled around and grabbed his. Needless to say he and Hermione did not leave the bookshop that night. Their relationship had been more physical than anything and probably was categorized in a 'friends with benefits' kind of deal. He taught her French, and she taught him English. He taught her how to smoke like a true Parisian, and she taught him how to make a proper cup of black coffee. Their togetherness lasted for six months. About then, Pierre began talking of going back to school, and Hermione fully supported him. Even when he decided to the sell the shop for tuition.
Whilst browsing for a new flat and deciding whether to stay in Paris or go somewhere else, Hermione thought of her own educational future. When she had graduated from Hogwarts, she had felt done. The War and eighth year drained her of her passion to be the best student. Oh, she was still the smartest, most brilliant person she knew, and libraries were still orgasmic, but wandering off to Uni had sounded awful after Hogwarts.
Being twenty-two and watching a good, sexy friend wanting to change his future, Hermione had begun to think about hers and had considered moving back to the Muggle World, catching some midnight train to London, and applying to college. And she was going to do just that but Pierre's younger sister badgered Hermione into coming with her and some friends to a club for a going away party.
She had met Dmitri at the bar when ordering her drink. She went to pay the bartender when the boy's hand shot out with a handful of chiquet coins. Looking back, Hermione could only hold just a smidgen of self-respect for herself for not going home with Dmitri that night. Nevertheless, he had persuaded her to stay just a few days longer in Paris, and for him, she ended up staying another two months.
Dmitri had charmed her, was sweet, but incredibly vague about his Russian upbringing. Nevertheless, Hermione had been young, adventurous, and knew the infatuation would end soon, so she had better soak it up good and proper. She moved into his spacious flat where he gave her a room with a view, and little by little, Dmitri began to show his true colors. A month in a half into their two month fling, Hermione had begun to wonder if he even really liked her. He would say sweet things and then snap at her in broken English, and then say apologetically sweet-nothings in her ear. Sometimes, she would catch him staring at her like he wanted nothing more than to strangle her.
The fling ended when he tried to kill her.
She had gotten off of work and was minding her own business when entering the flat. The entire area was dark, and Hermione unsheathed her wand to give light but was interrupted from being tackled to the floor by a painful force of invisibility connecting to her chest and spreading everywhere else.
The pain was excruciating and familiar, and Hermione was unsure how long she suffered the Cruciatus Curse by the door. It felt like years until the boiling lava in her veins reached her brain, and numbness settled within her. She remembered waking up to a white ceiling with florescent lighting. Whipping her eyes around and straining to move her sore muscles, her eyes fell on someone she had not seen in three years.
"Harry," she hoarsely whispered, discovering it hurt to speak. It was like she had swallowed an entire collection of sharp instruments.
"Hermione," Harry greeted with a pained smile. He was sitting in a chair beside her and took her hand in his. Her eyes fell to their joined fingers, and she noticed a ring on his left hand. Closing her eyes, she sighed heavily, more than a bit saddened about having missed his and Ginny's wedding. However, those matters of the heart and mind would have to wait.
"What happened?"
She watched as he raked a hand through his hair and exhaled loudly with a dry, mirthless chuckle. "Where the bloody hell have you been, Hermione?" She furrowed her brow at his choice of words and opened her mouth to respond, but he proceeded to speak. "Everyone's been worried about you. Molly has become a nuisance with her fussing. You disappeared for over two years. I half-wondered if you died."
"Of course I hadn't." Hermione's frowned deepened, and she took back her hand, so she could pull herself up into a sitting position.
"Then where have you been?"
"Around," Hermione answered vaguely, seeing a cup of water on the table beside her and grabbing it for a drink.
"Don't be like that. I'm your best friend." He reached over brushed a stray curl away from her face, and Hermione caved.
"I've been…trying to find myself, I guess you could say."
"How's that going for you?"
She smiled tiredly, her hands gesturing at her surroundings. "Obviously not well. What happened?"
"What can you tell me about Dmitri Vanko?"
"Not much," Hermione admitted abashedly. "We were together, I guess you could say, but we were roommates more than anything. Especially these past few weeks. It was him that did this, wasn't it?"
"Yes. And his last name is not Vanko. In fact, I've tried to find him for the past three months. He bolted the night before his trial at the Wizengamot. Hermione, do you have any idea how lucky you are that I found him when I did?"
"Who is he?" Hermione asked.
"Anton Dolohov's son."
She covered her mouth to stifle and gasp. "How could I be so stupid? The signs were there…"
Harry squeezed her shoulder comfortingly, but she read the way he was looking at her. He was wondering the same thing. Really, she used to be brilliant. She definitely was not smartest person she knew anymore.
"Come home, Hermione," he whispered to her. "Come home and grow up."