Ten months or so later
They went by quickly for Hermione, and agonisingly slowly for Draco.
Hermione threw herself into studying for her A levels, supported, of course, by her devoted tutors and social worker. She still lived in the safe house.
The two detectives visited her at home (with Gerry present) and gave her an update on the investigation, which was basically: sod all.
"The DNA was our best bet, to be frank," said Detective Constable Schiller, helping herself to another piece of Gerry's glorious Battenburg cake before her grouchy male detective colleague polished the lot off. "But the two offenders aren't in our database. And unfortunately…" she paused to frown at Detective Sergeant Putney, who finished his cup of tea with a most unnecessary slurp – "unless, or until, they pop up on the database by way of getting arrested for something else, we just don't know where to look for them."
"So, your case is cold, basically," DS Putney said baldly.
Hermione glanced at Gerry, who was glaring daggers at the horrid man. She wasn't sure how to feel about the possibility of the people who ruined her body and had a good go at ruining her mind getting away scot-free. But more importantly, was she safe?
"Does that mean I have to move out of this house?" she asked nervously.
"Not at all," Schiller said reassuringly. "The offenders are still at large, see, so we need to make sure you're safe. There are clients on Protective Persons' books that have been there for decades, some of them, for a range of reasons."
That was a relief. Hermione liked the house now, with its psychedelic décor and temperamental window sashes. The street was quiet, and she'd gotten to know some of the neighbours. Despite its dodgy look, it was well-heated, and, to be honest, it was the only home she knew.
When Hermione studied, the rest of the world passed her by. All that mattered were the goals she set herself, the assignments the tutors set her, and the enjoyment she got from absorbing knowledge from all topics into her young and spongy mind. Her tutors were looking into university scholarships for her, having never come across an online student who was so good across every subject.
But occasionally, her household would run out of food, and she'd have to traipse to the bus stop and head into town to stock up.
It was on one of these afternoons when Hermione was turning into her street, clutching various recyclable grocery bags when she was almost flattened by a rusty old van whose engine and exhaust combined to produce a noise so loud it could have easily been heard in Ireland. Leaping for safety, she noted there wasn't an ounce of acknowledgement or apology from the driver. Only an enormous vape cloud spilled from the driver's half-open window; then he was away.
Frowning, Hermione checked that none of her bags had split open, paving the way for produce such as oranges and potatoes to bounce merrily down the street. Luckily, everything was still ship-shape and secure, and she continued on her way.
She was one door away from home when out of the blue, someone shouted out a particularly vile swearword. Given that she and the swearer were the only two people in the street at this time, she assumed this foul-mouthed wretch was swearing at her. Consequently, she gasped and took an enormous step towards the safety of her castle, just next door.
Except -
"I'm so sorry! I wasn't swearing at you."
She didn't really want to be polite back, but since it seems the swearer was going to be her neighbour, it would be best to let bygones be bygones and start again. "Quite all right," she murmured, her eyes travelling over the clutter of cardboard boxes and motorbike in the neighbour's tiny front garden to the swearer himself.
He was younger than she expected; about her age, possibly. He was taller than her, and slim; nowhere near as slim as she, though. He had fair blonde hair and chameleon eyes; grey or blue depending on what the sun felt like doing. He wore black jeans and an unzipped leather jacket with a grey t shirt underneath. He was probably what most girls her age would consider to be drop-dead gorgeous. Was he the type of bloke that she found attractive? She didn't know.
Meanwhile, the young man had stopped dead still in the middle of picking up a box of household items, instead preferring to dedicate his mind to staring at Hermione.
Finally. In the flesh. After watching her for so long – then being yeeted into a corner of industrial Rochester where he learned how to be a motorbike courier and how to stop thinking like a wizard and be a Muggle – a human – instead.
She looked so delicate. Her wrists and collarbones poked out of her clothes. Her short pixie haircut clearly showed what Hermione had been hiding beneath her bushy hair at school – huge Bambi eyes, delicate cheekbones and very kissable lips. She looked both solid and ethereal.
The memory of the last time Draco Malfoy touched Hermione Granger assaulted him, and he reared back, dropping the box he was holding onto his foot. He swore again, but under his breath, this time.
He'd dreaded meeting her, to be honest.
What if Hermione recognised him immediately? She'd scream the street down and have the rozzers chase him down and throw him in prison.
Or even worse, he'd had to go back there. To the Afterlife. After only a few precious months of living again.
But it seemed, judging from the polite half-smile on her face, that she didn't remember him at all.
Fucking YES!
He smiled his patented panty-dropping smile and hobbled over to her, hand outstretched. "Very sorry," he said again. "Draco Malfoy, new street resident. I assumed my boss was going to help me move my gear in, not drop the whole lot over the gate and do a runner. Hence my swearing."
Hermione smiled. "Henri Miller. Your new neighbour, as it turns out." She shook his hand gently, as if she wasn't sure what to expect. She nodded to the next front door. "I live there."
Draco blinked. Henri? That was going to take time to get used to. After calling her Granger for so many years.
Also, kudos to Dumbledore and his management cronies for managing to blag him a house right next door to Granger! Henri. Shit. He wondered if they were watching right now. Probably. Getting plastered on mojitos and Sexes on the Beach.
Blech. What a thought.
"Does your boss drive a rather loud and rusty van?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah, he does. Why's that?"
"He seems to think that footpaths are for vehicles and not pedestrians."
Draco rubbed the bridge of his nose. "He's a menace to society. But he gave me a job when I didn't have anything else, so I should watch my p's and q's." Then he winked. "But you don't need to."
Hermione smiled, and Draco was transfixed. She'd never smiled around him before. Ever. But gods above... it lit up her face. He wondered if he could get her to laugh. He had no doubt it would be worth it.
"Would you like some help moving in?" she asked. "I just need a few minutes to put my groceries away and then I can come back, if you want."
"That would be grand... if I'm not stopping you from doing anything else."
"Not at all." Gerry was always on at Hermione to take more breaks from studying. And to try and make new friends. Well, here she was, doing both! Gerry and her therapist would be thrilled.
Just as Hermione turned away, the sun glinted off Draco's hair and she paused.
A little golden ball hovered over Potter's palm. Its tiny wings shimmered with almost unseen movement, like a hummingbird's wings. People cheering and shouting...
"Are you okay?" Draco asked in concern. "You seemed to go into a trance of sorts."
Shit. Already she was acting crazy in front of the new neighbour. "Ah, yeah, I'm fine, thanks," she replied, stepping away. "I was just reminded of something out of the blue, you know?"
"Sure," he replied. "See you in a few, then?"
"Will do."
As Hermione mechanically put her groceries away, she tried to make sense of that crazy vision of the golden ball with wings. Seriously, that can't be a memory. There's no technology available that can make a ball do that.
Should she write it in her notebook?
Nah. It obviously can't be a memory.
But then, what was it?
And why was Potter there?
She grabbed her house key and headed outside. It can wait.