The reality set in fully. The horrible and indescribable solidity of Draco's death sunk in, filling up the hallow spaces inside her bodily cavities and in her bones. There was no future with them together. Of any kind. The holiday visits ended and so had her family, and in a way, her life. It was fitting she died in the river. Almost symbolic.
Her voice liquid-y yet raspy, she said, "You were my happiness, Draco. Whether I wanted it or not."
The words silenced him for minutes that felt like hours. Eventually, Draco managed to respond. "It's unfair we left so many problems unsettled. I fear, even now, they cannot be resolved. Not only am I dead where I can't properly fight for you, but soon you will go back to Salem with your insistence of never returning."
Hermione looked to the floor and watched the flames reflection dance on the marble flooring. "And you'll be here. At least…at least Alex will have you here when he comes back. He'll like that very much."
He bristled and turned to face her, arms and shoulders hanging loosely in defeat. "Hermione, you know I love you more than I should, and you know I love Scorpius more than anything. And you were right; I never did want a portrait done of myself. In a way, it's like having a type of horocrux, tying a part of me down to this realm and bringing artificial comfort to those who mourn me."
Pressing herself into the cushion of the couch, Hermione frowned, not liking where Draco was taking this. He couldn't possibly be thinking about…about that! He mustn't! What about his parents? What about Alex?
"No," she hoarsely whispered in denial.
"I don't belong here, Hermione, and you know that."
"Damn you!" she yelled and climbed to her feet and balling her hands into fists. "You bastard! How dare you rip yourself away? What about Alex? You are the one thing he is going to want the most when he returns to England! What about him? This will destroy him, Draco! You can't leave! It's all you've ever done to him is leave! The least you could do is-"
"You know I'm right!" Draco harshly growled. "You know that I despise it here, and it's not right for me to stay!"
"I know, but Alex doesn't. This will break his heart. He'll never forgive you," she told him.
"In time, he will understand, Hermione. Of course he'll be angry with me. He may even hate me for a while, but he's a boy. When he's older, he'll know why I left."
Hugging herself, Hermione's skin prickled with goose-bumps, and she wondered when the warmth of the fire stopped mattering. Finally becoming aware of how cold her bare feet felt, she shivered while continuing to weep helplessly. She couldn't stop him from leaving his portrait. Even if she froze him inside his frames, he could vacate his painted body whenever he chose.
"I hate you," she seethed and saw his worried features soften.
"No, you don't. Not even a little. Although there were times I could've sworn you were going to strangle me in my sleep. Yet, I always nodded off because I knew you loved me more than you despised me."
His attempt at humor did little in soothing her. The rawness of her emotions was making her aware with how cold Lucius' office actually was. Her toes were icy, and her nose was damp and wet. Tilting her head up to see Draco's portrait, she whispered, "I wish you could hold me."
"Hermione," he hummed affectionately and smiled down at her, and she could've sworn she felt a caress down her spine. "I've loved you for so long. Longer than I think I know. I am grateful you are Scorpius' mother. He will be everything I failed to be in life because of you. You have made him strong. You have made him respectful. You love him unconditionally despite my misgivings in the past, but, darling, you must be with him always. When he returns to collect his inheritance, your presence will ground him when my parents try to elevate him."
Hermione pondered his cautionary words and wondered if she could ever summon up the courage to live in England again when Salem was safe and far away from nightmares. Very few good things happened here, Alex's conception being one of them. The war, however, tainted everything. Many people she deeply cared about died here. People who had years left to live. Eventually, even Draco passed. Another young soul unfairly taken away from her.
"I can't make that promise, but I have time to change my mind," she said and jumped when hearing the clock on the opposite wall ding loudly, announcing a new hour. In less than three hours, she'd be home in Salem and since her arrival, she had wanted to return. Yet, a part of her wanted to stay a little longer, merely to stay in Draco's presence and speak more about everything and nothing. In their son's younger years when they were together, so much time was spent making love and fighting and not nearly enough time talking-all catching up to them in the cruelest form. She had never thought that her and Draco's relationship lacked communication. They were painfully honest with each other for the most part, but those conversations always ended two ways: angry sex or one of them stomping out of the room. Nothing was ever really resolved.
In a matter of seconds, a horrible memory from many Christmases ago streamed through mind, the imagery so fresh it made her queasy. Yes, she and Draco were never good and solving their problems, but foolishly ignoring them. They believed the sooner the predicament passed them, the faster things could get back to normal, meaning spending the majority of their precious time in bed.
"I suppose I will see you again in an hour or so with Scorpius, but this is our ultimate goodbye, isn't it?"
Swallowing thickly, Hermione pressed her lips together and nodded followed by a strangled, "I guess so."
"I love you," he told her.
"Oh, Draco." She pointed her wand at the flames, reducing them back to glowing embers. She then stood on her tiptoes, using the mantle for support, and reached up to brush her fingers against the bottom frame of his portrait. "I love you. I love you so much, and I'm going to miss you."
"Is that everything?" Hermione asked her sulking son as he zipped up the last zipper of his suit case. It was perched at the edge of the bed next to his mother's travelling set.
"Yeah," he answered begrudgingly.
"All right then." She blew out a long puff of hair and Charmed the luggage to shrink, disposing them into her travelling cloak. "Let's go say goodbye to your grandparents and your father's portrait."
Grabbing his hand, she pulled his lagging body through the Manor and to the main floor. When they arrived to Lucius' office, the double-doors were open revealing two scowling individuals and a stoic-faced portrait. Narcissa sat at the sofa, eyes reddened and glistened from unshed tears and mouth pinched from disapproval. As for her husband, Lucius was leaning against his the front part of his desk holding a glass of brandy. Unlike his wife, he was not emotionally upset, but his thinning line of a mouth and cold grey ice were anything but pleasant.
Alex squirmed in her grip and decided it was an opportune time to scream, "I don't want to go!"
"Alex," she chided firmly.
"He's clearly upset with the situation, Miss Granger." Narcissa circled the couch to stand in front of her and Alex. Her demeanor was one of poise, but her cupped hands in front of her ribcage shook with pent-up anger. "Would it be terribly inconvenient to stay until Christmas? It's less than two weeks away."
"Please, Mom. Please, please, please," begged her son, wrapping his free arm around her middle and resting his head, peering up earnestly.
"I've made my decision."
"Draco," Narcissa called to her son, gently touching a hand to the side of her face. "You know Miss Granger better than anyone in the room. If you can persuade her to stay with my grandson who you deprived from me for years, I would be ever so grateful."
A painted, dark blond brow arched at the request. "Mother, as much as it pains me to see you so unhappy, I will agree that I do know Miss Granger better than anyone in the room or possible the entire planet. Unfortunately, however, I am presently without the means to persuade her to do anything."
"What do you need?" Lucius asked and Draco smirked lewdly.
"My body, Father. Miss Granger was ever so fond of it. With it, I sometimes-"
"Draco!" Hermione and Narcissa screeched in unison.
"Not in front of the boy, son."
Confused, Alex gazed up at his father and innocently asked, "What are you talking about, Daddy?"
"Draco, don't you even think-" Hermione started, a heated flush crawling up her neck and crimsoning her cheeks.
"Your mother and I never did discuss how you came into the world, did we?"
"Sweetheart, this isn't the time," Narcissa forced out between a pained smile.
"Actually, this sounds informative. Continue, son," encouraged Lucius with a flick of his fingers.
"There we were, your mother and I, on the dining table in my flat-"
"You say another word, and I will light that bloody canvas on fire!" Hermione threatened.
"Promise? Now where was I? Oh, yes, the dining room table."
"That couldn't have been comfortable," alleged Lucius while stroking his chin pensively, and both women stared at him, gaping in alarm.
"I was born on a table?" Alex frowned. "No, Mommy said I was born at the hospital. There's even a picture of us. Remember, Daddy?"
"You have a picture?" squeaked Narcissa and stabbed Hermione with a glare. "I want to see that. In fact, I want to see every picture ever done of him."
"You can see those pictures when you rip them out of my cold, dead hands."
"I remember, son. You caused your mum all kinds of trouble."
"Let's negotiate, Miss Granger. I think it's only practical, even fair, to send us a few photographs of the boy," pitched Lucius and started forward into the argument.
"Fair?" hissed Hermione.
"Lucius, not now. I fear you will only worsen the situation."
"Darling…"
Scowling at the bickering grownups, Alex wrenched his hand out of his mother's loosened grasp, the woman too emerged in the argument to notice him sneak off towards his father's portrait. Upon reaching the stonework of the fireplace, he gazed up at his father and smiled shyly before pointedly placing his hands on the left side leg-pillar and crawling up to the mantle. His father's brows arched in mild surprise at the boy's sticky trick.
"You've learned to control it. I'm pleased, Scorpius," his father drawled as the young child situated himself safely and comfortably in a cross-legged position on the mantle's spacious shelf.
Alex beamed at his father's praise and timidly traced the golden whorls on the frame. "I practiced while Mom was...asleep. I was going to show her when she woke up, but I wasn't able to. I thought it was a good idea to show you." He shrugged his small shoulders and gnawed on his bottom lip.
"I'm very glad you showed me. Learning to control your magic is a very important step for a wizard and a very prideful moment for the parents."
Grinning bashfully, the boy then stared longingly at his father, his small swell of happiness diminishing at remembering he would soon be returning to Salem. He really didn't want to go back quite yet and was aware that eventually his mother and he would have to return, but now? What about the Christmas party? Mr. Zabini described all the fun activities and delicious desserts that would be there: dancing and chocolate fountains.
Mostly, though, he hated leaving his dad's portrait. His mother told him this was only a partial segment of the real man, but it was enough for Alex. It was all he had left of him that was real. The Christmas, Easter, and birthday toys would be outgrown. His awesome dragon sheets residing on his bed back in Salem would eventually tatter. And soon enough, things would go back to the way there were minus the anticipated holidays. His mom would start pretending again Dad didn't exist, only this time there would be no reminder. True, somewhere his mother boxed away all old photographs of their family before the move into the house, but the blond man in those pictures didn't talk.
"Why so melancholy, son? Don't you miss Salem? All your friends are there."
"Yeah, I miss it, but I want to stay here with you, Daddy."
"Ah, and I'd love your company. Between you and me, your grandfather isn't much of a conversationalist. In the last twenty years, his people skills have really," his father whistled and made a thumbs-down gesture, "disappeared. Nonetheless, I think your mum needs a break. If you hadn't noticed, she and your grandparents don't get along too well. Don't be too hard on her, Scorpius. This trip was difficult for her and you."
Seeing the truth in his father's words, Alex sulked. "I guess. But if only we could stay until Christmas at least. Grandmother is having a party. She has one every year, and Mr. Zabini says their wicked!"
His dad chuckled throatily. "I imagine because of the plethora of free alcohol and the abundance of lovely ladies. Unless you're not hounding for a nasty headache the following morning, my mother's parties are rather flat. When I was in my younger years, I had to make my own fun by spiking the adults' punch with Giggling Potion."
Alex's mouth popped open in awe at his father's ingeniousness. Situating himself more comfortably, he cupped his cheeks and propped his elbows on his knees. "What else did you do?"
"I want that picture!"
"Absolutely not!"
"I will pay you to give me that picture. Lucius, do something!"
"I partially regret in saying I even saw the damned thing. Not only am I being verbally punished for such an act, I vividly remember Miss Granger having me arrested after I merely bloody touched it."
Narcissa sucked in sharply and bristled, glaring daggers at her husband and his utter uselessness. Stiffly, she turned her head back to Hermione and wondered for the nth time what in Morgana's name her son ever saw in her. Draco wasn't shallow enough to be entranced by a pretty face. This young woman was nothing short of hostile and selfish and controlling. Everything Astoria Greengrass was not, according to the grapevine, thus, reminding Narcissa to make a respectful and dutiful impression on the young lady at the Christmas party when they would meet for only the second time.
Composing herself, Narcissa brushed the invisible wrinkles out of her royal purple robes and summoned a promising idea that would possibly benefit both parties. "Let us not fight this morning. If we continue this, you shall be late for your portkey. I've come up with a compromise, a proposition, if you will."
Miss Granger pursed her lips and squint her eyes speculatively. "No."
"You haven't even heard what I had to say."
"I'll manage to survive without."
"Miss Granger, honestly. If there's a thread of decency-"
"Perhaps I left it on your drawing-room floor. I apologize. Let me go fetch it."
"Stop acting childish. It's beneath you. Now here is my proposal," Narcissa started and ignored Hermione's huff of impatience. "I want photographs of Alex ranging from birth to present day. In exchange…I will send photographs of Draco from his younger years up until recently. I highly suspect your son would love that, and though you may be distasteful and uncommonly cruel, I doubt you are cold enough to deny him such a gift." Hermione gaped at the older woman, slitting her eyes in loathing at the well-played proposition. "And another thing. My offer expires in one minute, so I suggest you consider your answer fast."
For twenty seconds, the younger witch struggled visibly before loosening her shoulders and softening her eyes in defeat. "Fine."
"Brilliant maneuver, Cissa," Lucius piped proudly and shot a triumphant look at Hermione. "You didn't need my help after all."
"Hush, Lucius," his wife hissed and then in a normal, overly sweet tone she asked Hermione, "When shall I expect the first set of photographs?"
The woman's faced hardened once more, brows pressing together aggressively. "In a week or so," she grumbled.
"Lovely. Upon next week I shall prepare a parcel of Draco's old pictures and send them your way in due time. Furthermore, I will not send a single photograph until I receive one of the boy. This arrangement may not seem like much, but to Alex, you know it will mean a great deal."
Flicking her narrowed vision from a smirking Lucius to a self-pleased Narcissa, Hermione's patience broke. Clenching her hands into fists, she jerked her head down to tell Alex it was time to leave only to find his absence. Frowning, she pinned her gaze on the mantle and sighed when seeing her son speaking quietly with his father's portrait.
"Alex, sweetheart, it's time to go," she announced lovingly, walking over to the mantle. Holding up her arms, he reluctantly slithered down into them with a forlorn pout. "How did you get up there anyway?"
"Do we really have to leave?" he asked jadedly.
"I'm afraid so, love." She bent down slightly to place his feet on the floor and spared a last look at Draco and vaguely asked in a thick voice, "When?"
"Soon," he whispered, his words soft enough for only her ears.
Clearing her swelling throat, she smiled widely up at him and pressed a kiss into her fingers, blowing him a kiss. "I'm going to miss you, Draco Malfoy," she said quietly enough so that only Alex could hear.
"Me, too, Daddy," he added hastily. "But I'm going to come back and see you someday. I'll be bigger then."
Smiling ruefully, Draco replied and shared a knowing look with his former lover, "I eagerly await."
Once Alex bid farewell to his grandparents, leaving behind a sobbing Narcissa and an emotionless Lucius, Hermione departed from the office with a lead-heavy heart. She didn't regret leaving Malfoy Manor. On the contrary, she was very pleased with the situation. Yet, leaving Draco crippled her soul. This was truly the end for them.
And, Merlin, it hurt!
When finally arriving to the Main Hall's Floo, she knelt to Alex's level and brushed the invisible lint from his shoulders and then cupped his disheartened face. "I'm sorry we can't stay longer. I know how badly you want to stay because of your father's portrait. A part of me wants to stay because of it, as well, but attaching yourself to something like that will only lead to disappointment. The portrait will always fall short of the real thing."
"But there is no real thing, Mommy," Alex wept.
"Yes, there is," she countered, placing a hand over his heart. "It's right here. He's right here as long as you allow him to be."
The boy lunged at her, burying his face into her neck and sobbing bodily. He clung to her until the point of exhaustion, mirroring his mother's. She, too, cried freely but not in hysterics. She was much too tired.
His weeping soon subsided, and she gave him a squeeze before wiping the wetness from his pinked cheeks. "We have to stop at Blaise's to gather the rest of our belongings, and then we will be on our way to the UPA."
A few minutes before seven o'clock, they arrived in the darkened sitting room of Blaise's flat. The stylish, expensive room was devoid of life, and Hermione wondered if he was home. She hadn't seen him after their disastrous shopping trip at Diagon Alley and half-hoped and half-agonized in giving him a goodbye and decided to pointedly avoid his bedroom door.
Creeping through the apartment, they made their way to the room Hermione had briefly slept in and saw her two travel bags perched patiently on the edge of the bed. Slinging one of her shoulder, she minimized the other and stuffed it into her cloak pocket.
"Did you leave anything here?" she asked Alex
"No, but can I say goodbye to Mr. Snape and Mr. Zabini's dad? There just in the next room."
Alarmed at the question, Hermione remembered before the accident when her son said he spoke with Severus Snape in the neighboring room. She also remembered forbidding Alex in speaking with him again. Folding her arms, she eyed her son inquiringly. "Didn't I tell you not to speak with him?"
Her son lowered his head in shame and nodded. "Yes, but when you were away, I couldn't sleep sometimes, and Mr. Snape was nice enough to talk with me."
Hermione patted him on the head and relented."Just a quick goodbye, all right, Button?"
"Okay." He dashed from the bedroom and into the next room with his mother slowly following behind. She closed the door behind her and poked her head into the one her son was occupying. Instantly, her gaze met the one of her former Potions and DADA professor, and his undying aloofness sent a discomforting chill through her body.
"Professor," she acknowledge politely with a considerate bow of her head.
"Miss Granger," he responded blankly.
"I pray you've been keeping Alex good company in my absence."
"On the contrary, it has been young Scorpius keeping me company."
Hermione's grip on the side of the door tightened at Snape's casual use of her son's first name. How dare that bastard even think he had the right to such a privilege? Fuming, she checked for defiance on Alex's face but only saw acceptance of the formal intimacy.
"I have to leave now, but I wanted to say goodbye," said Alex.
Snape tilted his chin, a small but pleased smirk tilting his thin lips. "Goodbye, young man. I expect you to take your studies with continual vigilance. Your father had one of the greatest minds I ever taught. You have a serious biological advantage from those you call peers. I suggest you take it."
"Yes, sir," the boy said in a small voice. "Shall I say goodbye to Mr. Zabini?"
"No, let the old fool sleep." Snape sneered at the slumbering, attractive, dark-skinned man next to him. Alex wasn't sure why Mr. Snape called him an old fool when he couldn't have been older than thirty.
"Are you ready?" Hermione asked her son, glancing at her watch with a cringe.
"Yes," her son replied and left the room.
About to close the door, she heard a, "Miss Granger?"
Cursing, she slipped her face back into the office and forced an expectant smile. "Yes, Professor?"
The late professor's spindly fingers formed a pyramid as he said, "I'm not sure how you and Draco ever managed to produce offspring and, frankly, I don't care for the details. What does intrigue me is the boy himself. He is what my godson had the potential in becoming but was, unfortunately, polluted on the way to adulthood. Draco's life may have formed quite differently if certain things had not come to pass. It's often an intoxicating power being a parent. Being the central adult in a child's life is potent. You are Scorpius' primary example. Do not lead him astray in a way that could compromise his future happiness."
The portrait of Severus Snape was lucky Hermione was on a time-crunch. If she had even a handful of extra minutes, she'd figuratively and literally tear a hole in that canvas. That bastard had no right in giving her parenting pointers. He had no children of his own and spouted off to her like she was going to cause problems for her son in the future. Unlikely! She was taking him away from the risk of being miserable.
"You know, Professor, I never liked you, either," she said snootily and closed the door.
Alex was waiting in front of the fireplace, and she grabbed his hand and sprinkled some Floo powder into the hearth. "Let's go home."
Breathing in the herbal fragrance of his tea, Lucius let the ledge of the teacup touch his lips. The hot liquid was about to touch his tongue when his wife stampeded through the doors of the dining room. Startled, the tea spilled down his front and dampened his priceless robes.
"Cissa, at least wait until after my breakfast," he bemoaned and patted the stain with his napkin before grabbing his wand and Charming the mess clean.
His wife's hands came up in front of her and then waved in different directions. "I'm not letting her take him. We are going to the UPA right now and forcing them to stay. Get your cloak, darling, before we miss them."
"I can't. I have much to do this morning."
"I can see that." Narcissa glared at the untouched and unopened Daily Prophet. Befuddled, she cocked her head to the side and planted her hands on her hips. "Are you truly that ambivalent of our grandson's departure? I believed you were rather taken with him."
Taking a bite of his crumpet and swallowing, Lucius dabbed his lips and then remarked, "Oh, I am. He is most certainly worthy of the Malfoy name."
"Then fight for him!"
"Fighting is beneath me, my sweet wife. It's beneath us. We should never participate in such primitive actions for what is already ours. A mistake, as you well know, I made once."
Blood roaring in her veins, Narcissa marched up to her husband's desk and flatly pressed her hands into the solid mahogany. "This is our family, Lucius. I can't believe you let that woman walk out of here and take our grandson halfway across the world."
Smirking, Lucius flipped the page of the Daily Prophet and skimmed the articles. "I doubt she'll get that far."
"This is preposterous! I have it! I know I do!" Hermione screeched, burying her arms into her travelling satchel. The women across the counter pursed her lips bemusedly, and Hermione blushed in embarrassment when realizing the line of people building up behind her. "I'm so sorry," she mouthed at them. They whispered amongst themselves and pointed at her. She could've sworn she heard her name passing between them.
"Miss Granger, you are more than welcome to step out of line to search for your visa."
"No, no, no. I have it here, I'm sure of it," she said with a tad of helplessness.
UPAs across the world had a policy of checking wands in at the entrance for safety-assurance and purposes. If she had hers, she'd simply accio her visa out of her handbag and shove it under the attendant's nose. But, blast! Where was the damned thing? She wasn't daft enough to not put it back in her wallet upon arrival to England. She wasn't the type of person to let impatience get the best of her and stuff it into some unknown cranny of her purse or trouser pockets. There wasn't an explanation why she couldn't find her visa. She had to have it to get into England, so it wasn't at home.
Staring up at the clock from behind the attendant, she groaned and reluctantly stepped aside. She and Alex were going to miss their portkey. It was a fact and nothing could change that. Grouchily, she pressed her back against the neighboring wall, dodging her son's confused expression. If she was prepared, she could've sent a long-distance Floo call to Luna and made arrangements for Alex to get to Salem as she stayed behind for an hour or so. The next portkey to Salem wasn't leaving for another hour.
"It's not here," she muttered and violently pushed the bag to the floor, a few rumbled pieces of paper and her small amounts of medicated potions spilling out.
"Mom?" her son asked.
"I don't have my visa, Alex. I don't know where it is but without it, I can't get back home."
"Are we staying?" he squeaked, his eyes lighting up happily.
"Don't be silly. Of course not. This is only a minor setback, but we need to go to the Department of Immigration."
"Should we call grandmother and grandfather and tell them?"
"What? No."
"How about Mr. Zabini?"
"We don't need to call anybody. Getting a visa will only take a few minutes."
"Oh," her son said dejectedly and she grabbed his hand and her travel bag, toting both through the crowded vicinity of the United Kingdom's heavily packed UPA lobby. After rounding a corner and weaving through people in a crowded walkway, he piped up, "Do I need a visa?"
"No, you're a citizen. Mummy is…well…she decided applying for dual-citizenship could wait. Now where is that office? Ah, up there. Oh…Oh, dear."
Alex's mother slowed when seeing the long line of witches and wizards filing in and out of the small office. Many of them were grumpy and shouting obscenities at each other and at the clerks, waving their fists in the air. A few of them had overfilled coin purses and were trying to get the clerk's attention.
"I will pay fifty galleons if you help me next," one witch yelled, shaking her money at one of the clerks—a young man who looked eighteen. He had spots and was sweating profusely and clearly wanted to Disapparate on the spot and never look back.
"I need to get out of the country immediately! My daughter is having a baby in Dubai! My first grandchild!" shouted a fifty-something year old man who waved his cane threateningly. "If I miss it, then I'm suing!"
Whimpering disgruntledly, Alex peered up at his mom's conflicted face. "Please don't make us wait in that."
She sighed and ran a hand over his hair. "I'm sorry, Button. We don't have a choice. If you want, I can arrange that you travel with a chaperone and have Aunt Luna pick you up from the UPA back home."
The offer sounded tempting, but he didn't want to leave his mom. He squeezed his mother's hand and rested his head in the crook of her waist. Patting his cheek, she said, "Well, if you're sure."
By the time his mom reached the front desk, both were harried and in need of the loo. Hermione couldn't leave her son unattended in line, being under twelve and all, and she couldn't trust he'd find the lavatory without getting lost or worse, snatched from a loony person off their meds.
"I really, really, really have to go." Alex fought the urge to grab himself. He hadn't done such a thing since he was three, but by golly, humiliation wasn't something he worried about that moment. Even his mom smarting his bum in front of everyone didn't even faze him.
"I know," she mumbled as the person in front of them proceeded into the back of the office, leaving them to the nervous clerk.
"How may I help you, Miss?" he asked tiredly.
"I need a copy of my visa. I believe you have one."
The clerk, whose badge said Stuart, dove under counter. "Name?" they heard him inquire.
"Granger, Hermione."
The man's head rose up enough, so Alex could only see his bespectacled eyes. "Are you really?"
"Please, sir," his mother begged, pointedly slamming the palm of her hand on the counter top. "My visa."
Stuart leapt to his feet and grabbed her hand, shaking it enthusiastically. "Holy Merlin and his merry band of trolls! Oh, Miss Granger, it's such an honor! You have no idea how…oh! May I just say that you are so much better looking in person?! I have a poster of you in my room. It's of when you received your First Class Order of Merlin. That golden little number you wore…" The young man visibly shivered and then bristled as if he'd been hit with a Stunner. He then proceeded to fall over with a thunk.
"Oh, my Gods, he fainted," said the other clerk. Much to the dismay of her patrons, she hopped off her stool and bustled over and began waving her hand in front of his slackened face. "His nerves must've gotten to him again." Leaving him there, she stood and asked Hermione, "What was he helping with you with?"
Messaging her abused hand, Hermione shifted her gaze about, ensuring no one noticed Stuart's announcement. The people behind her were giving her weird, questioning looks, but she was almost positive they didn't speak English.
"You have a First Class Order of Merlin? Why?" Alex asked.
"Not now," she hissed at him and replied to the clerk's inquiry. "I need a copy of my visa. You should have it."
"Last name?" The woman plunged from view.
"Granger."
"Granger?" she said slowly and lifted a bulging box full of files onto the counter with much difficulty. Fluttering through the folders, she asked, "First name?"
"Hermione."
The woman's searching fingers stopped, and Hermione was pinned with an affronted stare.
"Right…" the woman said hesitantly while pulling out a folder and flipping it open. "I'm going to need some verification."
"That, I do have." Hermione gave the woman her Apparation identification. The woman studied it critically, her focus going from the card to the open folder to Hermione in several sequences.
Finally, the woman closed the folder and said, "I'm going to have to send you to Patrick Owens in the back. He'll help you reissue a new one."
"I don't need a new one. I need a copy," Hermione annunciated impatiently.
"Here's the thing, Miss Granger," the clerk clipped haughtily. "Your visa is no longer valid."
"What?!"
"Go see Mister Owens. He will help." The clerk pointed behind her and then exclaimed, "Next!"
Hermione and Alex were escorted to Patrick Owens' office by a security guard. The small room was cramped with skewed boxes of files and behind the desk was a small, round man with round, thick glasses and thinning hair. She and her son sat in the two uncomfortable chairs across from him, both a bit relieved in taking some pressure from their feet.
The folder in the man's hands closed shut. "Don't mind me. I'm simply going through your file here."
"You have two files on me?" Hermione asked incredulously.
"We have several, actually, but don't go thinking too highly of yourself. Every English citizen who has ever travelled by portkey is given the same treatment. So what can I do for you?"
"I'm trying to get back to the States. I have misplaced my visa during my stay here."
"That's unfortunate," he said unsympathetically.
"Yes, so I'd like a copy-"
"Didn't Sherry tell you it's not valid anymore?"
"Well…yes…but that's-"
Owens flipped open her file again and skimmed the first page. "It says here you were residing in the States on a Student Visa which you applied for eight years and eleven months ago. It expired four years and six months ago. You see, Miss Granger, I cannot simply make a copy of your former visa. Unless you got yourself another…"
"And I did," chirped Hermione readily. "I got an Employment Visa in June 2002. I have kept it current."
"Hmmm. I have no record. We'll have to send a request for a copy."
"And how long is that going to take?"
"It's the holidays, Miss."
"Meaning?"
"It means I haven't got a clue. It could be in a few days or even a week."
A mixture of irritation and intolerance welled up inside Hermione. This wasn't happening. Everything occurring in that particular moment was impossible. Had to be. She would never have carelessly extracted her visa and misplaced it somewhere else. That bit of parchment was her livelihood, allowing her to work in Salem and have a business. It kept her safe and away from her birthplace and in a place where Alex was away from danger. This was all utterly preposterous!
The moment called for frustrated tears but none came, so she let her face flush in rage. She stewed for a few seconds when something like a metaphorical bludger hit square in the face. Stilling, an epiphany washed over her, momentarily cleansing the displeasure from her body. Like she perceived moments before, she'd never misplace her visa.
Uncontrollable fury crawled inside Hermione, starting in the pit of her stomach, and blossoming fervently. How had she not realized the moment she couldn't find her visa? It was obvious why should couldn't find it. Someone had snatched it right out of her travelling bag.
"Alex." She looked her son in the eyes which widened at his mother's authoritative tone.
"What?" he near-whined defensively. Why was she staring at him accusingly? He glanced down at his lap to make sure he hadn't peed himself without knowing. It happened once before. He'd gone grocery shopping with his mom at a new store last year on the Fourth of July. Everyone and their kneazle were there, and he was separated from her within moments of their entrance. For breakfast, he guzzled two glasses of juice and all that liquid had hit his bladder at once. With the crowd and the loss of parental supervision, he squandered the isles for twenty minutes until he found his mom. By then, he unknowingly soiled his trousers. Chastisements hammered his ears but soon his weepy state of embarrassment softened her, and she took him home right away and gave him a bath and some ice cream and showered him with her perfect Mommy hugs and kisses.
Sighing in relief, he hadn't wet himself like a baby, but they hadn't left the office yet.
"Did you steal my visa?"
Alex frowned at the allegation and folded his little arms protectively. No, he had not! But come to think of it, it wasn't a bad idea. Never mind that, though, he hadn't taken her stupid visa! Who would take her visa anyway? Oh…probably a lot people actually.
He shook his head. "No."
"No? Are you sure?"
Even if he had, he wouldn't say he did. A familial crime like that called for capital punishment…and a lot of it. Alex had only been spanked on a two previous occasions. Looking back, they hadn't really hurt. The only thing wounded was his pride. Sure, his bum stung a tiny bit, but knowing how upset he made his mother was what caused his sobbing.
His dad once told him how he often fell short of his own father's expectations but pressed forward anyway. With mother, however, disappointing mother was a death sentence.
"There's a difference in getting into trouble, Scorpius, and getting into trouble with Mother. Your mother, in particular, is not one you want to get into hot water with. I suggest you strive for acceptable behavior around her if not anyone else," his father droned on that cool, damp Easter afternoon as they walked the streets of Salem.
"I'm sure," he responded. "I promise I didn't take it."
By the way his mother's features softened merely, Alex knew he was in the clear and relaxed.
"Do you know who did?"
Despite Alex's list of suspects fully capable of stealing his mother's visa, he hadn't a clue which one did it, and he wasn't about to go pointing fingers at the wrong person. "No," he answered truthfully. "Do you?"
His mother pursed her lips pensively and then gifted Mr. Owens a bitter smile. "I apologize for taking up your time. If you would please send in a request to the States for a copy of my visa, I would ever so appreciate it. Come, Alex." She offered her hand and the boy took it hesitantly. "I believe we both are in need of the loo."
"Will do, Miss Granger," Owens said and pushed a piece of parchment towards her direction. "I need you to feel this out. Just dotting some Is and crossing some Ts."
Alex peered at the tiny print taking up fifteen inches of parchment and his bladder quaked in fear. Tugging on his mother's cloak, he verbalized his concern. "I really need to go."
Exhaling solemnly, she asked Owens, "Is there a lavatory my son can use in the office." Belatedly, she added, "Please."
Owens interlaced his fingers and rested them on his paunchy belly. "Normally, we don't allow clients to use the facilities, but I'm not going to deny the son of Miss Hermione Granger and the late Draco Malfoy. The last thing this place needs is a lawsuit." He settled his watery, magnified eyes on Alex and pointed to the bustling hallway. "Up the hallway and it's the second door on the left. You can't miss it."
"Thank you!" And Alex was gone, his rapid departure causing a few sheets of loose parchment to flutter off the desk.
"I'll get those." Hermione bent over and collected the stray parchment and placed them back on the desk, a cavernous feeling of being stuck weighing down on her chest. It wasn't right accusing her son of stealing her visa because in no way would her eight year old think to do such a thing. Not that she doubted his intelligence, it was that she wasn't even sure if he knew what a visa was. Even if her son had, he didn't act on his own accord. Someone had to have placed the idea into his mind, and that could have been anyone. She highly suspected Lucius but Narcissa was just as capable. Merlin, even Blaise had the potential of pulling such an act. Her visa along with her travel bag dwelt at his flat for five weeks. Easily, and mostly likely unashamedly, he could have rifled through her things, saw her only way of getting out of the country, and stole her visa.
Picking up a quill, Hermione indecisively tapped the tip of it on the edge of the parchment. Would it be better filling out the request or hunting down her visa? Which was quicker? Perhaps she could stomp back over to Malfoy Manor accusing Lucius of stealing it but with what proof? He most certainly wasn't going to give it back to her. He'd use leverage—the visa for her and Alex's presence for the remainder of the holidays. Since, technically, she was victim of thievery, she could take this up with law enforcement, but that would be such a headache and result in the public knowing her difficulties and whereabouts. It was horrendous enough marching through the packed UPA and having the attendants know who she was.
"Oi, Miss Granger, smile for the Daily Prophet!" called a voice outside of the office.
Hermione turned her head towards the caller and was met with a blindingly bright flash of light which faded into firework-exploding spot. Eyes blurring, she blinked and saw with a man holding a large camera. He then tipped his fedora at her and smiled in satisfactory.
"Thank you!" he exclaimed and sprinted away.
A/N:Awesome! This fic has gotten over 500 reviews! It may not seem like much compared to some of the more popular fics on the site, but I'm so grateful and excited I got this many! *Blows kisses to all who helped with that*
I'll do a clean-sweep through the chapter again within the next day or so. Feel free to point out any mistakes. Until then, this is Chapter 49. Please Review! Also read the rest of this A/N. You may read something of good use.
Thank you to my readers, reviewers, followers, and those who have put this fic on their favorite list.
Thank you: long live marshmallows, Guest, Angelus Draco, kitcatscratch, Aya Diefair, Guest, Guest, hkmac, Analelle, and Guest for the reviews.
To Angelus Draco: I actually haven't decided if Lucius will find out about his granddaughter. I have thought about it, but I'm not sure how I can incorporate it into the story yet. I want it to be in the story just for the sake of writing his reaction like you said, but we will just have to see if these fingers can pull it off.
To kitcatscratch: You got Draco's and Astoria's relationship spot on. :) Also, the whole thing with Theodore, it's hard to say. I did write him as a person who fancies Hermione whose infatuation causes her more grief than gratitude. However, I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do with him ultimately. I have a rough outline, but that's all I can say. I know some of my reviewers are rooting for him to make Hermione happy in the end and others kind of rooting for Blaise, and some are just all, "I don't want Hermione to be happy without Draco." Hmmm. Maybe I should do a little poll, not that it would sway the fic's conclusion, but merely to satiate my interest.
To Aya Diefair: Sorry about those Cliff Hangers, but I gotta do them sometimes. Anyway, thank you for your comments. I like that you liked Portrait! Draco and agree that the painting does not have all that emotional baggage human Draco carried around and would not act the same or even speak the same.
To hkmac: I'm sticking through this story if it kills me. I won't let it go unfinished. It may take another year, and I may lose a lot of readers, but I can't care about that because this story is too long to abandon. I spent way too much time on it to fail. *Sigh* So I completely agree with you, and I'm glad you understood the reasoning by Lucius' motives to kill Buckbeak. The Prisoner of Azkaban doesn't really delve into the other side, and sometimes people don't really relate the Draco vs. Hippogriff incident to occurrences that happen every day in many neighborhoods. I also liked how you referenced Hemingway's Hill's Like White Elephants. It totally blows my mind when my reviewers liken a chapter or a situation to another person's story with a similar moral. Thanks a bunch!
I've gotten many comments on how my readers are discovering this story and zipping through it in a jiffy. :) Cool! I'm touched you guys think it's that good.
A Warning: I believe it will be in the next chapter, so I'm going to let you guys prepare yourself. A flashback will happen, and I think it will upset a lot of my readers. Brace yourself. Hold on to your snacks and hats because it's going to be...WTH!
Poll for Curiosity's Sake: How many think Hermione should end up with Theodore? How many think Hermione should end up with Blaise? How many think she should end up with no one because, despite what Draco said, this story is not about Hermione finding love again? (Note: Your opinion will not influence the outcome of this story. I apologize for my curiosity. She wants to know what the readers want just because).