Hermione turned on the "Open" sign of her bookshop and closed the door once Albert had followed her inside. It was her first day back at work since Malfoy had uprooted her life. She was grateful to be back in the peaceful bookshop where she could make a living from her passion.
At first it had been difficult to find her bearings and habits again, but she finally managed to do so. Walking back to the village, greeting the shopkeepers as she passed, chatting with the butcher, opening her bookshop… She felt good there.
It was a good way to escape from home and stop herself from brooding over recent events. Her customers always took the time to chat with her, otherwise she spent the day tidying the shop, ordering books or reading for her own pleasure.
It had been a quiet day. She didn't have to worry about anything.
On her way home, she started back into her old routines. She went to the grocer, the butcher–where she stayed longer than the others, as she had done that morning–and the greengrocer to replenish her supplies. She took the opportunity to ask the latter for advice on how to look after her vegetable garden.
She was well acquainted with all of the village shopkeepers. She was used to seeing them, smiling at them, and communicating with them. They weren't her friends and she didn't see them outside her daily tasks, but she was comfortable with them.
She didn't have to think about how to talk to them, what to say, or how she would approach things. It was natural. She knew them, they knew her, and it was fine.
She only interacted with the rest of the inhabitants when they visited her in the bookshop. It was rare for new customers to show up, since most of them were regulars, but when they did, Hermione managed to remain professional and calm. Strangely enough, her anxieties didn't bother her when she was working. She was in a peaceful cocoon.
She could talk for hours about all genres of books with her customers, giving them advice and promising to order whatever they wanted.
Because of the village's location, orders were always a little slow to arrive, but it usually took no more than two weeks for her to receive the books.
According to the invoice for her last purchase, the next books would arrive within a day, as would her daily mail. When she had moved to France, Hermione had made every effort to have her Muggle bills and other letters arrive at her bookshop rather than at home. She hated the idea of anyone visiting her.
She knew Julien, the young postman and the mayor's son, as well as she knew anyone else in the small village. He was just two years older than Hermione and lived in the upper part of the village, just by the church. But despite not being friends he always found a way to bring a little joy to her day with his good humour and funny remarks.
The only thing she found hard to bear about him was the overdose of cologne he applied daily. It was so much that Hermione sometimes wondered if he carried a bottle around with him to reapply several times during the day.
The heady scent of men's cologne wafted up to her nose as soon as he introduced himself to her. It had a way of making her dizzy and although he was good company, when he stood too close to her, Hermione couldn't wait for him to go away.
She hadn't worn perfume since the year of the Horcrux hunt. She always reminded her friends not to wear it around her either. It was a request she was unwilling to compromise on. It had taken her a while to realise that this was a result of one of her war traumas.
With perfect clarity she remembered the evening when snatchers had approached their camp. The moment when one of them had smelled her perfume despite the magical barriers. She had been terrified.
She remembered feeling her heart beat so fast that she thought it would burst. She had almost fainted from her anxiety. Later, in the silence of the night, when she had been sure that Ron and Harry were asleep, she had burst into tears.
Since then she had thrown away all her bottles of perfume and never bought another. She felt like she was on the verge of a panic attack every time a strong synthetic smell hit her.
She was content with deodorant, which at times could be too strong at times. But mostly that was more than enough.
What she liked about her bookshop was precisely the absence of any smell that could remind her of any perfume. In fact, only the scent of old wood, new books and sometimes rain reigned there. It was just what was needed.
Sometimes she even spent long minutes sniffing the books she received. It was a good way to relax. It brought back a lot of good memories such as the day her mother took her to a bookshop for the first time. That was the memory she used to create her patronus. At least, when she used to be able to.
So, when she arrived at her shop every morning, at exactly seven thirty, she would quickly close the door behind her, so as not to risk letting the slightest smell of the shop escape. She wanted to keep it inside to enjoy it all day.
She would then sit behind the counter, set up her cash register, and pull one of the books from her personal stash to start reading.
Then her day could really start.
oOo
Blaise emerged from the fireplace in his flat with a tired sigh. He had had a very long day at the Ministry.
As well as remaining Theodore and Draco's lawyer, he had volunteered to take on two other former Death Eaters: Gregory Goyle and Marcus Flint. He wasn't particularly close to them–after all, he'd never played Quidditch and Goyle had spent his school days glued to Draco's arse–but taking on their case would help him in his fight.
He was doing his best to prove that the law–although advantageous to some–was still very unequal. He collected testimonies from all around him, reviewed the articles governing the incarceration of criminals in Azkaban with precision, made requests for visits from his clients and sent letters to the Minister several times a week, hoping to obtain appointments with him.
All in all, he never stopped working.
"Pans'?" he called out. He took off his coat and laid it on the sofa.
"I'm in the bathroom," she replied in a voice muffled by the distance.
He took off his shoes and suit jacket, before joining her. He was surprised that she was already home, since she had told him that morning that she would be visiting Draco later in the day.
He didn't comment on that, though. He knew that she would tell him about it herself. Besides, knowing her, she might just give him an annoyed look if he didn't let her talk about it on her own. He had learned that over the years.
She was facing the bathroom mirror when he entered. She had just come out of the shower and was wrapped in a large towel, her hair soaked and her face free of make-up.
While he was more of a morning shower kind of guy, she always showered in the evening. A little routine they'd had since they moved in.
He sneaked behind her and put his arms around her waist until he placed his hands on her stomach. He rested his chin on the top of her head and met her green eyes through the mirror. He was a good fifteen centimetres taller than her.
"Good evening, dear husband," she joked, leaning against him.
"Good evening, dear wife," he replied, lowering his head to rest his lips on her neck. "Good day?"
"Exhausting," she sighed, closing her eyes at the touch of his mouth on her skin. "Selling the shop back is proving more difficult than I thought."
Pansy had just recently decided to give up her job. With Theo and Draco back and the state that Draco had returned to–not to mention Granger's–Pansy had radically changed her outlook on her future.
A need for change and usefulness had swelled in her heart and she had confessed to her husband, when she returned from France, that she no longer wanted her life to be about selling clothes.
She explained her reasons to him in detail, as if she felt the need to justify this sudden change.
She had presented him with her project: to set up a foundation to accompany the prisoners released from Azkaban. The idea was to accompany them so that they could return to a normal life and leave behind their past as prisoners and criminals. To do this, she would organise prestigious events, even auctions of expensive clothes that she would create herself. After all, over the years she had built up quite a reputation in wizarding high society.
The only thing that worried her was the part of the foundation that required volunteering. She had no experience, of course, having done only one year of fashion studies after the war. She knew nothing about social work and psychology, nor about organising such a project. But as Blaise had told her, the most important thing was her motivation, and in that respect, there was no doubt that Pansy was an expert.
So she had started to find out, spending all her free time doing research and going to the ministry for advice. She had also discussed it a lot with Blaise, talking about the legal side of the matter, especially regarding the laws governing the return to the active life of former prisoners.
After having managed to roughly establish the limits of her foundation and the time it would take before she could officially launch it, she had turned her attention to the resale of her shop.
She had never needed to work, choosing this job simply out of a need for occupation. So giving it up wasn't a problem. After both her parents died during the war, she had inherited enough money to last a lifetime or more.
Blaise too had a more than comfortable financial situation, allowing them both to opt for the professional future they wanted.
"Still no answer from the Prophet?" Blaise inquired, still kissing her lightly.
The thing was, it wasn't that simple. Pansy had sent an owl to the wizarding newspaper to ask for an advert for the sale of her shop to be placed in it.
"None. I'm beginning to wonder if I'll have to go to headquarters to get them to move their arse," she grumbled.
"Wait another week, darling. Give yourself some more time to think about it."
He immediately saw her frown at his last remark. She turned in his arms, staring into his eyes.
"Blaise, you're aware that I'm not going to change my mind, right? I thought I'd told you enough."
He sighed, realising where this conversation was going to lead them again.
"I didn't say otherwise, Pans'. I'm just worried that you're rushing into things. You have time to deal with all this, you– "
"Time? Wasn't it you who kept telling the Wizengamot members that the law couldn't wait? That the prisoners couldn't wait and that they'd suffered enough?"
"This is different, you know that."
"No, I don't. How is it different?" she asked, clearly annoyed, as she walked away from him and out of the room.
He followed her to the room.
"Released prisoners don't have time to wait to be taken care of. The more time passes, the more they suffer and sink. I thought you realised that when you saw Draco's condition!"
"Draco is an exception, don't be foolish!" he exclaimed, raising his voice in turn.
"An exception? An exception?! Have you seen Theo's condition, Blaise? Did you ever once hear him make fun of Potter, be sarcastic, or even just laugh?"
Blaise fell silent, his jaw clenched. He looked away with a sigh.
"You know as well as I do that this can't wait. And I'm not going to stand by and do nothing when I have the chance to do something! You, of all people, should be able to understand that!"
He walked to the bedroom window with his back to his wife. He didn't like being wrong and being told off like that. But if he had to be honest, Pansy was absolutely right.
There was a long silence in the room, disturbed only by the rustling of fabric as Pansy got dressed. Blaise dropped his forehead against the cold glass of the window and closed his eyes.
He was desperate for a drink but had promised himself to stop drinking after Draco's wedding. He didn't want to risk falling into alcohol. That would be far too easy.
His wife's words still echoed in his head as he realised how hurtful his reaction had been to her. She had been working hard – , to move her project forward. He should have supported her rather than questioned her.
As he was about to turn around to apologise, she suddenly put her arms around his stomach and rested her forehead against his back.
"I hate when we fight," she admitted in a trembling voice.
He closed his eyes in remorse. He hated it too.
He turned without moving away from her and hugged her tightly. She let out a few sobs, muffled by his clothes. He clenched his jaw, not wishing to let his emotions spill over into them.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, his face buried in her still damp hair. "I shouldn't have questioned your will. I won't do it again, I swear. I promised to stand by you in every ordeal, remember?"
She nodded slowly, wrapping her arms around him a little tighter.
"I love you, Pansy Maria Zabini."
"I love you too," she sobbed in response, before lifting her head so he could kiss her tenderly.
oOo
"Hermione,
I'm sorry for contacting you so late, after all the events of the last few weeks. I wish I could have been there with you through all of it, and that you were there with me too.
How are you doing? How are you dealing with all these changes? Are you still going to work at the bookshop?
I wish I could ask you all these questions in person, but with Theo's recent return, I prefer to stay by his side to take care of him. I hope you can understand that.
You remember I renovated Nott Manor? Well, Theo loves it, so much so that I wonder if he'll ever want to leave it! He told me he doesn't recognise the building, so good were the renovations.
The room I chose for us is huge, enough to accommodate a whole regiment! Just next door, there is a large bathroom with a bathtub. It's wide enough for both of us to get in.
Didn't I tell you about the attic? This was Theo's grandfather's workshop and he already spends all his days there. He draws so well… I think I fall in love with him again every time I see him. He has already covered all the walls of the workshop with his drawings and paintings. I choose one of them every day to store secretly in my office.
Because I have my own office! It's not far from our room and is almost the size of it. I don't spend a lot of time there, since I'm concentrating on Theo, but I try to go there every day.
Well, I've decided to resign from the Auror's Office for now. I have no desire to go to Britain anymore, except to visit the Weasleys, or to check that Kreacher is still alive.
Satine is great, by the way. She cooks all the meals for us and cleans the manor to perfection. She's very nice and Theo has told me several stories about her from his childhood. Apparently, she has been living with the Notts for about thirty years, she's still young.
She even suggested restoring the small Quidditch pitch behind the manor. I agreed straight away. I miss flying a bit, it's been years since I've been on a broom.
Getting back to my job, I don't plan to look for another one for the moment. I'm going to stay with Theo until he gets better. I don't need money and neither does he, so we'll be fine.
I never thought I would ever be able to say I'm happy. I'm married to the man I love, I live in a beautiful house, I'm not short of money and I'm living the life I've always wanted. I think that after all these years I have earned it. At least that's what Theo tells me every night.
Maybe one day we'll go on a trip together, like Astoria and Ginny do. I would like him to show me the countries he went to when he was young. I would also like to go to the United States. I've heard about it all my youth, in books, at school and on Dursley television. I dream about it. Theo says I'll be disappointed if I go, that it's not as incredible as people make out, but I'd rather keep the image I have of it for now. It's nothing more than a childhood dream after all.
I wish Theo could go back to Britain one day. Although there are very few good memories there, I'd like to take him to the house where I grew up. I think my aunt and uncle have moved back there. Maybe I could introduce them to Theo? I'm not sure they'll be very open-minded about our relationship, but their opinion is probably the last thing on earth I care about. I just want Theo to know about my old life, as shabby as it is.
I have so many plans with him. We have our whole lives ahead of us, everything we need to be happy. I've even suggested we adopt a cat. Something to keep us company and keep us busy when it rains. I've always dreamed of having one. Theo wants a grey one, I'd like a black one, or a spotted one. We'll see when the time comes, but I hope to win this little…"
Hermione stopped reading abruptly. There were tears in her eyes.
The letter went on and on for several pages and she didn't need to dwell on it to know that Harry was still talking about himself and his perfect, beautiful life.
A mixture of anger and jealousy swelled in her chest.
The part of the letter where he was interested in her was only a few lines long. For the rest, he just talked about himself. She was sure that underlying all the "I's" and "Theo's" written on the parchment would amount to underlining half the letter.
She rolled the scrolls into a ball and threw them violently into the fireplace. She didn't need this. She didn't want to read about how perfect other people's lives were compared to her own.
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched the paper burn in the flames of the hearth.
And that's it! See you on Tuesday 12/06 for the next chapter!
Thanks to Acciobraincells, habon and kreimal for their support.
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