AUTHOR'S NOTE: So... A rude, offending, pathetically aimed jibe at my Nationality is NOT what I look forward to in the reviews. Dear guest reviewer, I'm not going to stoop as low as you and bad-mouth you back because of your comment, but - obviously - I'd request you to keep your sorry arse AWAY from my stories, in future. PS. I'm Indian, yes, proudly so. You don't know HALF about the customs, the cultures that maks up my country! I'm no one to destroy your filthy, stinking dreamland by telling you the TRUTH about females (INCLUDING ME) of my country, but I'd just like to remind you, here, that pathetic women, lacking in self-respect, are not the same as females who are in love with men, and are SO shocked - broken - at the first sign of betrayal by them that they are not really left lucid enough to sort out the exact REACTION the love of their lives deserve.

Just saying. Grow up. Liberate your filthy, fucking head!

Here's a note of thanks to MLeighW, dear, who probably saw this awfully out of place review - among some other over-zealous warnings about Hermione turning out pathetic - and PMed me a bit of consolation out of her heart's goodness. Honestly, it's not THAT difficult to be unbiased; being human is easier than leading herds of misanthropes.

4: I Was Loving Being Nowhere

Hermione's brow furrows, left hand stirs, she's not quite asleep, she decides – but her head feels really heavy, and there are voices – loud voices – echoing in retrospect and she cannot figure out how to open her eyes, because her eyelids are so damn heavy, that –

"Hermione!"

Hermione immediately recognizes Ginny's distinct voice from among the chaos that's happening – in her head? She doesn't know. Ginny's voice, however, encourages her and she blearily tears her eyelids apart, blinking rapidly as light suddenly fills her vision, and squints at –

Ginny and Molly? In their nightwear, and looking bedraggled, no less?

Tilting her head to the other side, she sees a white overcoat, and spectacles, and –

A Muggle doctor.

Her head spins for one, two – five seconds, before the reality of her life crashes down on her, and not just her eyelids, but her heart feels heavy. She lets out a breath, which can account for a sigh, and lets her eyes fall shut.

"Miss Granger?"

She winces at the alien voice, then recalls the presence of the Muggle doctor, and realizes the importance his summons holds. "I'm here," she murmurs, eliciting an exaggerated sigh and a groan from the women seated on the other side of her bed.

"Very good, Miss Granger," the voice – the doctor – says, and she feels a hand grip her shoulder. "I've given the details of your medical prescription to your mother and sister, here. You're going to be as fit as fiddle, in no time."

If only you knew, doctor, if only you knew.

Then she hears shuffling – probably the doctor seeing himself out – and some, before a door shuts at some distance, and finally, "Hermione," Ginny's little voice intones.

She blinks her eyes open, then. "Hey."

Molly chortles a laugh out. "Oh, thank Merlin, my child!" she exclaims, rising from her seat, and grabbing Hermione's left hand to plant a kiss over its back. "I'll be in the kitchen – preparing soup."

Hermione feels the corners of her lips tugging into a smile before her eyes travel back to the younger witch settled on the bed, next to her, still clutching at her shoulder. "What happened, 'Mione?"

But Hermione pays lesser mind to her. She's more caught up in examining the room she is in. It isn't hers, for one. Nor does it belong to the rebuilt, resurrected version of the Burrow Hermione has come to know quite well. The walls are completely bare, painted in a really pale bubblegum pink. There's no furniture about the empty place, at all, leave for a side-table and two chairs – placed on either side of the double-bed she's laying in – and a little bookshelf in the corner which is, to her immense surprise, totally empty. She frowns.

Ginny, possibly understanding her confusion, squeezes at Hermione's shoulder. The brunette's gaze snaps back up to meet Ginny's, her eyes questioning. "This is one of the many little places Dad's purchased. Out of his curiosity about the differences – or, rather, shortcomings – of a house designed for Muggles." Ginny shrugs, giving the other girl a little, shy smile. "You know how captivated he's always been with everything Muggle."

Hermione hums in fascination. Arthur had bought a house? She hadn't known. "And what, pray tell, am I doing here?"

Ginny's entire demeanor slinks from smiles and blushes to gravity and frowns. "We received an urgent floo-call from Draco" – Hermione freezes at his name, but Ginny doesn't notice – "back at the Burrow, about how he needed to send you in, urgently. We're lucky Angelina was up – what with Fred being fussy and all – and was present in the living room to receive it. Because, the next minute, your unconscious form had been transported through.

"And, man, were you unconscious!" She lets out a whoosh of breath, horror sparkling in her hazel eyes. "Mum tried every possible reviving spell, 'Mione, every. Damn. One. But you just wouldn't –" She breaks off, blinking, and Hermione suspected it was tears. "Dad suggested getting you down to some Muggle abode and calling for a Muggle Healer – "

"Doctor," Hermione corrects, automatically.

" – and thank Merlin we did, Hermione! He detected something called low flow of blood" – she grimaces –"and Godric knows what else!"

Hermione smiles a crooked smile. "It's low blood-pressure, Gin."

Ginny nods, frowning into space. "Right. And, then he gave you the – uh – injection?" she tries, waiting for Hermione to nod her approval. "Yeah, and handed us a list of Muggle potions. Or whatever they're called."

Hermione nods, shrugging a shoulder. "Low blood-pressure's a pretty common occurrence for me, Gin. I – "

"It is?" Ginny cuts her with a concerned frown, sounding surprised. "Then why did Draco not know how to deal with it? And where is he even at?"

Hermione's throat closes up. "I –" She stops, swallowing repeatedly, as her vision blurs.

"Oh, Merlin, Hermione, what the hell has happened?!" Ginny gasps out, hurriedly waving her wand and locking them up in a bubble of silence.

Then her hold loosens, and Hermione is a mess in her redhead, best girl-friend's arms.

Hermione smiled at Harry's appreciative hum as he took a sip from the tea she'd concocted them both.

He grinned at her, keeping his cup aside. "I still don't get it, you know? That lame advice of taking milk in my tea. I mean" - he raised his voice at Hermione's derisive snort - "have you ever taken a squeeze of lemon in yours?"

Hermione scowled. "You do understand the point behind advices, Harry, don't you?" she hissed, actually offended. "Ginny and I prefer milk - that's us! You can simply shake your head and tell us that you don't like that idea, you know? You don't have to keep that particular conversation as a memoir, in your heart, and bring it up every time we have - "

She was cut by the shrill sound of her doorbell echoing about her flat. Harry gave her a confused glance. "You were expecting someone?"

Hermione blinked, shaking her head without thinking twice. She never invited people home - she was never expecting guests.

"Well, maybe it's some neighbor," Harry suggested with a shrug, nonchalant, as he took another sip from his tea.

Hermione got up with a conflicted head. Despite the magical neighborhood, she'd never really interacted with the people in her apartment, and certainly not due to the lack in efforts on their end, too. They did know exactly who Hermione Granger was, after all.

Briefly thinking of the impression her shabby, oversized T-shirt - which was a worn out Quidditch jersey, actually, that she'd snuck off of Ron's collection - and messy French twist and bare feet with manicure-less nails would cast upon her guest, Hermione made her way out of the sitting room she was sharing with Harry, and down the living room that had nothing but a frumpy, plush rug strewn before the fireplace that connected her with the Floo connection.

Finally coming to a pause in the foyer, she took a breath and ran her palm down the front of her Chudley Cannons jumper. Then, without bothering with a revealing charm - because the people, here, were almost always under a conspicuity spell, hence the magical spy-eye replacement didn't quite work well with them - she wrenched the door open, and -

Froze.

A very irritated seeming Draco Malfoy stood across her threshold, picking invisible pieces of lint off his dark grey dress robes, in a gesture of obvious disdain towards the surrounding he was in. Then his eyes fell over her, his gaze journeying from her head of tousled hair, down to her bare feet - jumping past her wide open eyes, without contact - and he gulped, and -

His expressions morphed into something quite unreadable.

"Mal - uh, Draco," she hissed, tossing a glance over her shoulder to ensure that her best friend hadn't followed her, "what the hell are you doing here?"

Malfoy blinked, and that unreadable look was gone - replaced by the scowl Hermione was quite well familiar with. "I'm here to discuss stuff, Granger," he drawled, producing a stack of papers - parchments, really - that she well recognised as the drafts they'd both made during their last meeting.

Hermione rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest - and not quite liking the way Draco's eyes traced the propping up that happened with her breasts - she squinted -

"Hermione? Who is it?" Harry's voice rang through the foyer, jolting Hermione out of the meaningless banter she was about to get indulged in.

Meanwhile, her companion's eyes narrowed. "Potter?" He gave a pointed look of disgust to her bare legs. "Did I interrupt some intimate, alone time - "

"I - i - it's a neighbor, Harry!" Hermione yelled over the blond fool's rambles. "Gimme a minute!"

Malfoy had opened his mouth, again, but Hermione grabbed the front of his robes in her fist and pulled him in. Then, pushing him against the wall of her foyer - next to the moving picture of herself and Kingsley Shacklebolt from the day she'd received her current job - and not missing the irony of it - Hermione leant up on her tiptoes.

"Listen here," she whispered, belatedly noticing the way his grey - so grey - eyes widened, "Harry's home, and he doesn't know about the backdoor job I'm handling at your father's firm. And I really intend to keep it that way, Malfoy."

She'd paused to gauge his reaction, and not give him the room to speak, but - the prat - he did. "Yeah?" he whispered back, his warm, apple-scented breath fanning all over her face. "And why is that? You know, there can be a contract written down, where you'd be forbidden to hide that you're working with us, right?"

Hermione just stared - and stared. Because his eyes were so wide, and so grey and - beautiful, and his breath was so warm and smelling - tasting, even - so much like green apples, that she had to briefly wonder if he ate anything other than that blasted fruit, and even the heat from his body was penetrating her personal space from where she was leaning over him, and - was his face closing in on her? - and she didn't even want to blink, let alone speak, because -

"'Mione, what - Hermione?!"

Hermione jumped away from a red-faced Malfoy with a very undignified squawk. Her fingers twisted into the hem of her mid-thigh-length T-shirt as she looked at a flabbergasted, gaping Harry Potter from under her lashes.

"Malfoy?!" Harry exclaimed, the pitch of his voice rivalling Hermione's own squawk.

"Potter," Malfoy mumbled while - Hermione watched from corner of her eye - straightening the front of his robes which had crumpled under her grip. "Apologies for the intrusion, I was here, merely, to extract the copies of - eh - enlighten him, Granger?"

"What? Me?" Hermione bleated, wide eyes looking between her best friend and... the git of the century. Then she swallowed, clearing her throat. Then she tried, "The application form I'd filled out for the job?" she asked Harry, making vague gestures towards her photograph with the Minister of Magic. "M - Malfoy was here to extract the copies of… that."

Harry's brows shot off his forehead. "What even…" He trailed off, shaking his head, before his eyes found Malfoy. "Why on earth?"

"Private reasons," Malfoy said, brushing Harry off with a nonchalant flick of his pale wrist. "That is, actually, the reason why this crazy hag was trying to - ah - molest me, right now."

Hermione blinked at the two males while Harry's eyes kept on narrowing in skepticism; Malfoy's condescending smirk remained adamant.

Finally, Harry looked at her with a sigh. "I'll get going, then, 'Mione," he muttered, pulling her info a brief hug. "Malfoy." Giving the blond a stiff nod and impossibly judgemental eyes, Harry slid past Hermione, towards the door.

Malfoy tapped on his shoulder as Harry brushed past him, though, so much to Hermione's surprise that she had to suppress a gasp of horror.

Dropping her a smirk over his shoulder, and mouthing an inconspicuous 'later', Malfoy looked down at the green-eyed, spectacled wizard. "I'll come with you."

Hermione felt that she could, actually, die in that very moment, without a worry.

Hermione nurses the warm cup of tea between her cold hands – she doesn't know if they're ever going to be warm again – as her gaze follows the jovially jumping, now brunet kid around her room. She'd respectfully shifted to her own flat, earlier, in the morning, yes. There was only so much she could lean upon a haggard and sleep-deprived Ginny Weasley.

"Think about it, Hermione darling, please."

Hermione shuts her eyes, nodding blankly at Andromeda Tonks' umpteenth repetition of the same request. "I will, 'Dromeda. I'll think about it."

She hears a sigh and footsteps, then the door to her room opens. She waits for it to shut before opening her eyes – and jumping in surprise. Teddy is lingering near her bedpost, wide, black eyes trained upon her.

"What is it, Teddy?" Hermione coos, smiling down at the child.

Teddy frowns and walks backwards up to the door. Hermione's eyebrows hike up with interest. "Granny Cissa is good woman, Minnie," Teddy mumbles, then, looking at Hermione with the same innocent look in his eyes. "And she tells me she loves me. You love me, too. You should not hate her, Minnie."

Hermione's eyes water at the kid's words, but before she can respond, he has already opened door, with a prominent blush on his cheeks, and rushed away from her. Voices float in through the gap Teddy's left between the door and jamb.

"...she might not believe me, right now, 'Dromeda, I know she may not. And for good reason. But I still want to see her. Have a word – apologize to her. My son's lost his head – I haven't. And – "

"You think I don't know that, Cissa? She's promised me she'd think about. Give her time. I know that girl; she's going to see reason, very soon. Hermione is nothing if not good in judging – "

"Hermione!"

Hermione looks up from her nails, startled, as the Black sisters' conversation is cut off by a new presence slipping into her bedroom and shutting the door. She takes in the brightly shining, concerned brown eyes and gives Padma Patil a shaky smile.

"Hey, Padma."

"What – " The ex-Ravenclaw sputters, standing foolishly near the door for a moment, before she rushes over to envelop Hermione in an overwhelming hug. "What happened, Hermione?" Padma mumbles in Hermione's hair.

Hermione sighs, circling her own arms around the other witch and clutching them together over Padma's long, black hair that cascade over her back down to her waist. "I and Draco broke up," she chokes out, clearing her throat as a really familiar knot of emotions begins to form in it.

"Oh, Krishna," Padma breathes out, pulling away and searching Hermione's face with wide eyes. "Broke up? As in – what? – separated?" she asks, desperately, incredulously.

"Yes, that," Hermione whispers, looking past Padma's shoulder at the intricately designed drapes hanging over the windows of her room – drapes that Draco'd selected for her, "separated."

Padma lets out an agonized moan. "Oh, I'm such a terrible friend, 'Mione, I'm sorry!" she squeaks, taking Hermione by surprise. "You shouldn't be thinking about any of this – and I'm playing twenty questions with you!"

Hermione's lips tilt up in a tremulous smile. "You're a fine friend, Padma Patil, don't judge."

Padma grins widely at that, albeit a little too forcefully. Then her eyes light up for real, and she takes Hermione's hands in her own. "Boss is going to go bonkers over your absence from the preparations of that seminar happening coming Wednesday!" she exclaims, mischief spread all over her face.

Hermione rolls her eyes, letting out a small huff of laughter. "Yeah? Well, something good out of my tragedy, then. But, hey, don't call him boss, please, Padma. That, right there, builds up an image of some charming, sexy billionaire guy wooing his female employees, and – some – some really explicit office sex." Hermione wrinkles her nose in distaste, and Padma cackles aloud.

"Oh, goodie, that is so true!" Padma gasps between laughter. "And we really don't feel like exploring whether one Ricky Rogers is, really, involving in some Muggle, erotic, romance novel's kinky sex, do we?"

Hermione's face crumples at the mental image and she lets out a shudder that is not quite exaggerated. "Please," she moans, "no."

Padma grins, smugly, no doubt proud of having distracted Hermione from the sorrow she'd been self-indulging in. Hermione shakes her head to herself. Little does the black-head know that it ain't going anywhere from Hermione's head, anytime soon. It isn't a tragedy that's come up as an impassable obstacle in her life, no – this is a horror happened which is going to leave marks and shadows that are going to forever affect the path her life –

"Madam?" Padma clicks her fingers before Hermione's face, breaking the brunette's musing. "No wallowing, okay?"

Hermione smiles, tightly. "I'll try. Keep me engaged."

Padma grins at her, with teeth. "The venue's been changed. Of the seminar, I mean. It's gonna be taking place – guess where?" Padma squeals, excitement spilling from her voice. Hermione blinks at her, shaking her head in resignation. "India! India, Hermione, my India! I haven't been in, like, six years, and – oh, Merlin, Hermione, my Gramp's gonna be so thrilled to find me there on behalf of the British Ministry of Magic!"

Hermione chuckles, lowly, at the other witch's enthusiasm. Then she pauses. Her smile falls. "Wait, Padma – Is… I – I'm the representative of this seminar, ain't I?"

Padma's starlit face drops, too, as she looks at Hermione with a frown. "Are you – oh, Krishna, okay," she mumbles, nodding quickly. "I – I get it, yeah. You shouldn't be taking over such functions, Hermione; your brain needs some rest after the turmoil you've gone through. An evening of fake smiles and promotional, false gloating about our country's Ministry of Magic isn't – that's not what you need, right now!"

Hermione is really flustered at her friend's – and Department-mate's – concern. Then she shakes her head. "No, Padma – "

"I'll talk to Rogers. Yeah," Padma mumbles, almost to herself, as she twists her fingers in the ends of her long hair, "I'll – I'll make some excuse, and… and I'll ask him to postpone this one? Yes, that'd be good." She nods to herself before giving Hermione a wide, obviously forced smile. "I got your back 'Mione, don't – "

She blinks rapidly before holding Padma steady by her shoulders, effectively cutting the girl's rant. "Padma, Padma – look at me. See. Look. Do I look like a person that can possibly go down in panic attacks in the presence of fake smiles and appreciative talks about our Ministry? The Ministry we work for – the Ministry which provides for our expenses? No, Padma Patil, I'm better than that." She sniffs.

Padma still looks confused, agitated, and more than a little unsure "It's not that, Hermione, I have faith in you – I'm sure even Rogers does, actually – but there are going to be words around, in the air. Rumors. And no one is ever ready for – "

"I know, I know, fine," Hermione concedes, nodding. "I'm gonna stay away from the Ministry building – my office – for as long as my head needs. I'm going to go there, this evening, and collect the stuff – the research material – that I've collected for this Wednesday. I'll prepare myself at home. I can do it. I can do it Padma, and I will," she finishes, fiercely.

Padma looks at her with admiration filling her eyes. "I really don't roll that way Hermione, or I'd have kissed you, right now," she whispers, grinning as Hermione laughs, before crushing the ex-Gryffindor in another hug.

You people need to stop worrying. Hermione's not gonna take Draco back easily - if she does at all. She might not. I haven't exactly planned the end of this story, you see. And - more pressing, devastatingly horrifying matters are about to be brought to light. Worse things are about to happen.

Keep and eye on Caterina and Rogers for me. They don't look cute...

Here, I'm saying what I never have before - KINDLY REFRAIN FROM POSTING REVIEWS ON MY STORY IF YOU'RE OUT TO OFFEND. I'M GOING TO TURN OFF 'GUEST REVEWS' AT THE NEXT SIGHTING OF SOMETHING OFFENDING.

xo!

Aishwarya.