But it seems that Hermione isn't going to get the chance to ask Draco Malfoy anything.
She waited those two days after Paris without contacting him. Hell, she waited a full week after Paris, and then six days more. She gave him his space and his time. But nothing happened. No Pleaides with a smartly-worded note. No Maevy, insisting that Miss do something with her hair. No Floo-call.
Nothing.
Now, almost two weeks later, Hermione sits at home with a book. Alone, as per her usual Saturday nights before Draco. But not perfectly content, as per usual. Not content at all.
She's just reread the same sentence for the third time, still not focusing on the words, when the Weasleys' geriatric owl flaps in through her open window. Errol moves with the creaky pace of a senior citizen, landing precariously at the edge of Hermione's sofa. He sneezes – at least, she thinks it's a sneeze – and tosses her a scroll as somewhat of an afterthought. Before Hermione can properly unroll the scroll, Errol closes his eyes and falls into what she hopes is a nap and not a coma.
On the parchment, Ginny's pretty handwriting asks:
Anything yet?
Ginny must be visiting her parents, if she's using Errol instead of Harry's new barn owl. And Harry must have told Ginny what Hermione shared with him last night, via Floo-call: that Draco Malfoy is officially absentee.
Hermione sighs, gnaws at her bottom lip, and then Accio's her EverInk. All she writes back on Ginny's parchment is:
Zip. Zilch. Zero.
She could tell Ginny not to worry. Or, if Hermione wants to be really honest, she could explain to Ginny how her heart feels like it might break into two. Which is silly, really, because she and Draco haven't even kissed. He doesn't owe her anything, and she doesn't owe him. And yet….
And yet….
Hermione leaves her note as it is and rolls it back up for Errol, who miraculously revives when she waves a treat under his nose.
"Back to the Burrow, old boy. Please."
Errol takes his sweet time chewing the treat and mulling over her request, before he ascends unevenly into the air. Once he's left, Hermione does not wish that Pleiades' huge wingspan and orange eyes would take Errol's place. She does not.
Instead, Hermione returns to her book. She makes it six pages before she realizes that another two hours have passed and she can't recall a single word of what she's read. If someone issued an exam on this book right now, she'd fail miserably. Hermione groans, just about ready to throw the book across the room in frustration, when her Floo whooshes loudly.
Her head whips toward the sound. Then her heart stutters, in both disappointment and surprise.
"Ginny and Theo? And…Luna?"
The three of them stand side-by-side-by-side on her hearth, wearing identical expressions of glum empathy. Well, Ginny and Theo look sad. Luna looks about as grim as that permanently angelic face of hers will allow.
"What are you doing here?" Hermione asks them.
For as spacey as Luna acts, she's also keenly observant; it's one of the things Hermione loves most about her. Luna knows exactly whom Hermione means by "you," and so she smiles apologetically.
"Ginny Floo-called me tonight. She thought I might have some insight about your predicament. Although I must admit, I find it all rather romantic." Luna pauses, tilts her head to one side, and studies Hermione in a hauntingly owlish manner. "Do you mind horribly, that we're here?"
Hermione regards the three of them, asking herself that very question. Then she exhales through pursed lips.
"Not at all, actually. It's kind of relief to have someone – three someone's – to work through this mess with me. I talked to Ron the other week, but he's not the person I want to discuss Draco with, obviously. "
"That's an understatement," Ginny says with a light laugh.
Hermione smiles wanly, and then narrows her eyes at her guests. "Theo, are you sure you're comfortable being a part of this conversation? Draco is one of your close friends."
Theo shrugs as he exits the fireplace. "You may not realize it, Hermione, but you've become one of my close friends, too. And I've been broken-up with a few times. When Ginny owled me tonight, I decided to come over right away."
"Oh, Merlin," Hermione moans. Her hand flutters to her mouth and she slumps back into her sofa. "Is that what's happening to me? Am I…am I being broken-up with? For the second time in a year?"
Theo quickly crouches at Hermione's side. "No, I don't think you are. I really don't. But what upsets you more? That it might be a break-up, or that Draco's the one doing it?"
She opens her mouth, wanting to say Break-up, Break-up, Break-up. Instead, she sighs, confesses the truth in her head, and then confesses it aloud.
"Because it's Draco," she admits. "I know it sounds absurd, and I know we don't fit together on paper. But I'm crazy about him. And I think he's crazy about me. And…and why the hell is he doing this?"
"The three of us have already discussed it," Ginny says as she steps out of the fireplace with Luna. "And we don't have much to offer on that score. Except for these, of course."
From behind her back, Ginny pulls out two objects. In one hand, she holds a carton of chocolate-cherry ice cream from the reopened Fortescue's. In the other, a jug of cheap, red wine from Merlin knows where.
"The ice cream was my idea," Luna chimes. "Like in all those Muggle romance films we watched? They eat ice cream when they're sad about love, right? Muggles do?"
Hermione just ponders the choices before her. Then she taps each item with her index fingers. "Both?"
"Atta girl," Ginny says approvingly.
In a few minutes, the four of them have settled into Hermione's living room, wineglasses on her coffee table and heaping bowls of ice cream in their hands. While they eat, Hermione fills them in on what happened in Paris. Ginny, of course, has already heard the other side of the story: the one where Ron attempted to defend Hermione's honor, while Draco twirled his imaginary mustache like a villain in an old horror movie.
Hermione provides a less biased version, as well as a summary of her recent talk with Ron. Afterward, Ginny sighs and drops her empty bowl onto the table.
"My brother," she says, picking up a wineglass, "can be a real twat."
Theo practically chokes on his ice cream. "Damn, Red. You're a bit cold-blooded, aren't you?"
Ginny grins. "Are you calling me a lizard, Nott?"
"More like a snake. As in, 'If it hisses and slithers, it might be a—'"
"Slytherin?" Luna offers, and Theo barks out a surprised laugh. Ginny, however, doesn't laugh. Instead, she fixes Theo with a pointed look.
"Speaking of snakes, why do you think our favorite blond wizard is giving Hermione the silent treatment?"
Theo sets down his bowl, and his eyes flick back and forth among the three witches staring at him.
"Maybe he's just having a really dramatic, Malfoy-sized fit?" he suggests.
Ginny chuckles darkly. "After six full years at Hogwarts together, Hermione's probably more than accustomed to those. So you think that's it? Is Malfoy just throwing a fit about not getting his way in Paris?"
"Possibly," Hermione says. "But Draco doesn't really seem like that kid anymore, you know? The one who threw epic tantrums? Honestly, he hasn't seemed like that kid in years. Not since after he…he…."
"Took the Mark?" Theo finishes gently, and Hermione nods. Theo makes a small, thoughtful hum. "You know, Hermione, you might be on to something there. All that 'my father this, my father that' crap ended a long time ago. I mean, he's still dramatic—"
"And angsty," Hermione adds.
"Don't forget brooding," Ginny says. "Very brooding. And tall. And handsome. In that snakey, Death Eatery, hot-in-Quidditch-pants way I'm not supposed to find attractive…."
Ginny's gaze grows a little dreamy as she trails off. Hermione can't help a tiny laugh – the first she's had in over a week.
"Um, Gin? Could we focus here?"
Ginny blinks repeatedly and then shakes her head, loose red hair spilling over the shoulders of her Harpies jumper. "Sorry. I got…ah…distracted?"
"By Draco's Quidditch pants?" Luna asks.
"She wouldn't be the first," Theo says, and Hermione's three guests dissolve into laughter. Theo winks at Hermione, and amusement bubbles up inside her like champagne. It feels so good – so much better than her own brooding – that she laughs, too.
She hadn't realized it until now, but she needed tonight. Very badly. Despite Ron, and herself, and freaking Draco, tonight's odd little conference (among an even odder group of friends) has actually made her heart feel about two stone lighter.
But all the laughter stops short when Luna abrupty frowns. Hard.
"Luna?" Hermione asks. "What's wrong?"
The blonde witch keeps frowning as she does that owl-tilt thing with her head again. "Oh, I've just had the most interesting thought."
Hermione, Ginny, and Theo wait for an explanation, but none comes. Luna just continues to ponder the mysteries of the universe in her strange, silent way. Finally, Ginny sighs in exasperation.
"Luna? Your thought?"
Luna laughs breezily. "Oh, sorry! I had the thought, and then I started thinking about wrackspurts. Then I wondered how wrackspurts might affect panic attacks. Could they make them worse, possibly? It's an intriguing idea that I'd like to test out on—"
"Panic attacks?" Hermione interrupts. "You know about panic attacks?"
Luna nods. "Remember that Muggle healing book you gave me, when I was worried a Nargle-infestation might be affecting my dad's heart? Most helpful, that book. Who knew that all the salted cod my dad ate was raising his…blood prefer, was it?"
"Blood pressure," Hermione supplies, even though she's utterly confused.
"That's the phrase, thanks! Anyway, I read about panic attacks in a paragraph of that book. It addressed how a Muggle's mental state can physically paralyze them, even in the absence of other medical symptoms. And that had me wondering: does Draco Malfoy need a wrackspurt repellant? Do you think he would let me spray him with a few test-batches? He'd make a very interesting study."
Hermione lets out a low whistle in understanding. "You think Draco is panicking, don't you, Luna? About what Ron said."
"And maybe even about you," Theo muses. "I've never known the bloke to 'catch feelings,' if you get my drift. It certainly wouldn't be his style to show them, if he did. I mean, he's so pureblood, he probably still thinks revealing fear or love is tantamount to having food stains on his robes. But from all the changes I've seen in him, it's obvious that Draco feels something for you. Something big. In fact, I think he might actually—"
"Love her," Ginny breathes. She sees Hermione's shock and shrugs. "Or be close enough to it that he freaked the hell out and hid."
"Is that something he would do?" Luna asks. "Hide from love?"
"Yes." Theo and Hermione answer simultaneously, and then share cheerless smiles.
After that, the four of them fall silent. Hermione uses the quiet to mull over Theo and Ginny's theory. Is it possible that Draco isn't just upset about the things Ron said in Paris? Is it possible that he feels as deeply for her as she feels about him…and that it terrifies him?
If so, she can't blame him. The idea of being with Draco – kissing him, dating him, maybe even loving him – absolutely terrifies her, almost as much as it thrills her. But she's Hermione Granger, and she's never run from a challenge. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand….
Hermione takes a long look at the wineglass sitting closest to her on the coffee table. For some reason, she hasn't taken a single sip tonight, and she doubts she will. Something about it would feel like betrayal – like breaking an implicit promise to the man she…likes. Maybe more than likes.
Hermione sighs loudly. "What next, then?"
Ginny palms her glass and shrugs again. "Give him another week. Just a few more days to work things through that thick, wealthy skull of his."
"And after that?"
"After that?" Ginny exchanges a look with Theo and Luna and then grins wickedly. "After that, you have our permission to transfigure him back into a ferret."
So that's exactly what Hermione does (minus the ferret part). Instead of thinking about Draco – mooning over him, if she's honest about how she behaved during the two weeks prior to this one – she pours herself into her work.
Monday and Tuesday find Hermione buried to her elbows in statute books at the Ministry. Wednesday finds her drafting proposals so quickly and prolifically, her officemates would see smoke rising from her quill if they looked hard enough. On Thursday, she spends the entire day gathering signatures from her colleagues, peers, and former War buddies – so many, no legal tribunal in the world could ignore her proposal. At her request, Hagrid arrives at the Ministry on Friday evening after teaching his classes at Hogwarts. Hermione and the half-giant sprawl out in her office to prepare his testimony, late into that night and all day Saturday, too.
On the morning of Sunday, April thirtieth, a grim-faced Hermione and Hagrid descend the five floors between her office and the Wizengamot chambers to attend the open-legislation hour the tribunal holds on the last day of every month. This hour was an idea put forth by Kingsley after the War, to ensure that all witches and wizards get a fair hearing whether or not they have an appointment – a concept inspired, in part, by the bureaucratic horrors Harry often had to endure in those chambers.
That evening, several hours after their hearing ends, Hermione and Hagrid join Harry, Ginny, Ron, and Headmistress McGonagall for dinner in Diagon Alley. The six of them celebrate the future implementation of the Giant Primary School Programme with many toasts – so many, Hagrid openly cries into his whisky and Hermione into her tea. The moment is so lovely, such a perfect culmination of her brief career at the Ministry, that she thinks her heart might burst from happiness.
But the following Monday morning, as Hermione listens to the tumult of congratulations and complaints at work, her heart begins to ache again. For three reasons, mostly.
First, because the implementation of this law will be an uphill battle, like so many other things involving civil liberties in the Wizarding world. Second, because she wants to cheer or cry into a glass of wine so badly she can taste it, but she refuses to go back on her unspoken promise. And third, because she wants to celebrate her victory and mourn the fact that today is May bloody first with the one person in the world she apparently can't.
Around the time she admits to reason number three, she also decides she's done enough waiting.
She arrives home Monday evening, already gearing herself up for what she plans to do. Preferably, she would face this battle in a couture dress, with great hair. But black storm clouds have started to gather outside, so practical clothing is a must. As quickly as she can, Hermione changes from her Ministry robes into jeans, a hoodie, and pretty – if practical – ballet flats. She twists her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck and jams about a thousand little pins into the mass, until it seems relatively stable. Then she strides purposefully to her fireplace.
With a scoop of Floo powder in her fist, she takes a deep breath, drops the powder, and calls out, "Malfoy Manor."
The green flames don't rise up to meet her. Instead, a weak, yellow light flickers, before extinguishing with a loud "pop." She frowns down at her shoes, where that strange light vanished.
Huh. Weird.
She tries again with a much larger amount of powder – enough that it puffs up in its own, grey cloud, before being swallowed by those bizarre flames. This time, the yellow lasts longer, and Hermione can almost make out the familiar swirl of incomprehensible Floo-images inside of it. But the images quickly disappear, right along with the yellow light.
Maybe my Floo is broken? she thinks, with a touch of panic. Maybe a spell has gone faulty?
To test the theory, Hermione drops another handful of powder and calls out for No. 12, Grimmauld Place. Green consumes her and, in seconds, she sees Harry and Ginny eating dinner together at Grimmauld's kitchen table.
Harry's eyebrows dart up in surprise. "Um…hi?"
"I'll explain later," Hermione says shakily, and she Floos home before her friends can ask any questions. Which is probably for the best, considering how fast her heart is beating.
It can't be true, she thinks. What she suspects just can't be true. She refuses to believe it.
So Hermione tries a third time, dropping more powder to her feet and calling out for the Manor. And for a third time, those sickly yellow flames gutter and die around her. It's only then that she admits to herself what has happened.
Her Floo isn't broken. It's been disconnected.
But not from her end. Only someone at Malfoy Manor could have performed the disconnection spell – incanted the right words, so that Hermione could no longer travel from her home to theirs.
And just as sure as Hermione knows that their connection has been severed, she also knows that Draco did this. Not his mother or father or even Maevy. Draco.
He severed the connection between himself and Hermione without so much as a goodbye.
Hurt jabs her gut so hard, she can't breathe. But soon, a completely different emotion replaces it.
Anger. Swift, powerful, unstoppable anger.
"So that's how you want to play it?" she whisper-snarls at her fireplace. "Then let's see how you handle this move."
And she Disapparates on the spot.