The fluorescent lights over Hermione's head blinded her as she blinked awake from her sleeping roll on the floor. Sometime after the bottle was finished and smashed to bits, she had enough wits about her to summon the cot from her bag and eventually drop onto it before promptly passing out. Her mouth felt as if she'd been sucking on cotton. Water. She needed water.
On unsteady feet, she fumbled her way toward what she hoped would be a bathroom. She was lucky enough to find one on her fourth, rather noisy attempt. After gulping down mouthfuls from the tap, she splashed her face, water cooling the flush in her cheeks as it dripped down her throat and past the collar of her shirt. Too pained to move, Hermione leaned against the sink and rested her forehead against the cold porcelain.
"Well, I know a hangover when I see it," Ron remarked, half in shock from his place leaning against the doorway.
She met his eyes in the mirror, her gaze morphing to a grimace when the lights blinded her again. A rolling wave of nausea hit, sending the room spinning again.
"Quiet." Her voice was tight, yet soft. Even the gentle reverberation off the walls sent a pulse through her head.
"I'll get Harry," Ron suggested, far gentler than she expected, and let her be, flipping the light back off before he went.
In the dark blissful silence, Hermione took her time questioning the decisions that led her to this strange precipice with Ronald. Honestly, she had been thinking about it since the previous day. Harry had been right; she did feel far more tense with Ron there. The first few weeks with Harry had been easy, much easier than she'd expected them to be. But she didn't feel the same with Ron. Every step was on eggshells, and it irked her. Perhaps it had to do with the Horcrux Hunt or maybe it ran deeper and further back, but she did know her head hurt far too much to decipher this type of self-therapy diagnosis.
After thirty seconds of wallowing and cursing that bottle of Merlin's Reserves, she shoved away from the sink and slumped against a wall in the hallway, sliding until she sat on the dirt-covered floor. The cold concrete wall was surprisingly comfortable, cooling her overheated body.
"So you are still human," Ron muttered, returning with a vial and glass of water. When she refused to take either, he added, "Hangover potion. Not sure how old it may be, but it was at the bottom of my pack."
Beyond her pride at that point, she took the vial and downed it in a single gulp. The cooling effect of the potion spread through her slowly like a cube of ice over her back, moving through each limb. As the headache ebbed, Hermione could hear Harry's footfall down the hall. Out of the fire, into the frying pan.
Before Harry could begin his lecture, a blaring noise pierced the air, originating from Hermione's pocket. Hermione groaned as she fished it out. It was far too early for any kind of emergency, and she was entirely too hungover still to deal with it.
"That was quick," she grumbled into the receiver as she turned the phone on speaker.
"Well, Sarah seems to have vanished," Kingsley said, the line slightly garbled from the poor signal in the building.
"It's just one thing after another today," she complained to herself and held the glass of water to her throbbing forehead. "What do you mean she vanished ?"
"She was here this morning, and then she was gone. Missed her eleven o'clock meeting."
Ron marvelled at hearing Kingsley's voice come from the small silver rectangle before recovering to ask the obvious question. "What happened between this morning and eleven then?"
"I don't know," Kingsley sighed, sounding every bit as exhausted as he had during the war. Harry could practically see him sitting behind his deck, rubbing roughly at tired eyes. "She came into my office around half past eight, and no one seems to have seen her since. I have her team sequestered-"
"What was she in your office for?" Hermione demanded as she checked her watch to find it past noon. Sarah had a solid three-and-a-half head start.
"Preparing for this damn meeting. When she came in, I was still skimming The Prophet so she offered to come back before the meeting."
Hermione ran down the list of possibilities as quickly as her throbbing head allowed. If it were about the meeting, Sarah simply wouldn't have bothered coming into the office. Clearly something between arriving at work and the meeting tipped her off. Judging by the quiet way she seemed to have left, there had been no altercation or revelation of her true intentions. That only left…
"I need you to open the paper just as you had it," Hermione instructed. "Turn it over and tell me what you see."
"I don't recall exactly what page, but I know it was somewhere about the second fold." The sound of rummaging papers transferred through the line. "Let's see. Coverage for a benefit for the new niffler sanctuary. Announcement for the upcoming weddings this weekend." A pause came from the line before Kingsley cleared his throat and continued. "Um, Harry seems to have made an appearance. Photograph of him with a blonde woman. Prophet is speculating she may be a new love interest."
He continued rattling off various headlines, but the photo was the damning evidence Sarah had seen, and judging by the way he rushed past it, Kingsley realized it wasn't good. Harry's eyes met hers before her head fell back against the wall with a loud and painful thud. A curse slipped off her lips, and she wished there was a bit more of that whiskey left for this disaster.
" The Prophet just decimated my cover story with that photo. Clearly, she knows Harry's history, and seeing me with him spooked her. She'll be in the wind now. Probably back in the States by tomorrow."
"Hang on," Kingsley stopped her. They caught you in your glamours?"
"It had to've been at Draco's flat yesterday," Harry offered unnecessarily. Of course, it was because of that damned meeting.
"So this isn't my fault?" Ron asked, unhelpful but hopeful.
"No, Ronald," she gritted out. "It would appear not."
"I'll reign The Prophet in," Kingsley offered, a quill scratching near the receiver as he began drafting the memo. "Make sure nothing like this slips through again."
"Bit late for that," she huffed. "Damage is already done. I've gone from escapee to an active rebel, at the least. No way I'll ever be able to infiltrate them now."
"Hermione, there're still some things the papers don't need to get their hands on." Harry pointedly looked at her left arm before meeting her eyes again. The last thing the Wizarding World needed was for the Dark Mark to return, especially on the arm of a woman running around with the Boy Who Lived. Ron watched their silent conversation curiously but held his tongue, basking in the victory that he wasn't to blame for this latest disaster.
"Do what you must," she acquiesced to Kingsley. "Though I wouldn't expect to see Sarah again, but sequestering her staff was a good call. Loyalties may have shifted." Turning back to the boys, she told them, "We'll need to move again ASAP."
"We have plenty of safe houses," Kingsley offered. "I can set you up with one of your choosing nearly anywhere in the world."
Hermione tapped her nails against the floor thoughtfully, weighing each option before finally asking, "How about Poland?"
Harry temporarily lost his balance where he leaned against a doorframe. The country Sarah told them precisely not to go to; however, even he had to admit there likely wasn't another avenue of information at the moment. Poland, they knew, would at least be a step in the right direction.
Despite knowing that, Harry's stomach dropped when the minister's voice responded, "Several."
"Anything actually secure?" Her tone was tense and haughty, clearly regaining her strength and resolve thanks to the potion. The incompetence of hiring a spy sat at the front of her mind.
"My personal one," Kingsley told her in his cool, diplomatic manner, unfazed by her directness. "Only myself and my security detail know about it."
"How fast can we be there?"
"Shouldn't take long. I can have a portkey within the hour.
"The London Eye, do you know it?"
"Of course I do."
"We'll meet you there then. Quarter till three, get in line for the ticket office. Don't look for us, I'll find you." Without another word, she ended the call.
"Are you sure about Poland, Hermione?" Harry asked as he slid down the wall next to her.
"It's the only information we have," she sighed and leaned her head against the wall, already exhausted. "And now that Sarah knows she's burned, she'll be looking to get that base cut off as quickly as possible."
"Do you know where in Poland?"
"No," Eyes still shut, she reached for the cell phone beside her and handed it over to Harry. "Call Kingsley back and see if he can collect all magic sightings in the surrounding Muggle communities in the last four years. And loop Arthur in. Any big uses of Muggle artefacts in the last four years, even if that means postponing the meeting a few hours."
With a last worried look at her, Harry took the phone and hit redial as he hurried back toward the office he and Ron used for sleeping quarters the night before. Grateful for the quiet, Hermione sat against her wall, taking deep breaths to recenter herself; however, the feeling of eyes on her forced her from the meditation to find Ron staring openly at her.
"What?" she snapped.
He shrugged and muttered what she thought might have been, "Still human," before shuffling after Harry and leaving her blessedly alone.
The Queen's Walk was flooded with tourists as it tended to despite the bitterly cold wind sweeping off the Thames. A pair of children rushed past, shoving and shouting while their tired mother apologized and ran after them.
"There he is," Harry whispered, nudging Hermione towards a man towards the back of the line. In a plain brown coat, the minister blended in remarkably well with the tourists gawking at the height of the Eye.
With quick steps, she took the lead and charged straight toward Kingsley. The boys took a position at the back of the line as instructed while Hermione stepped in next to Kingsley. To his credit, the man barely moved as she appeared silently beside him. An old rucksack sat slung over one shoulder and smoothly slipped to the ground between them. Before Kingsley let the strap go, Hermione took it and pulled it firmly over her own shoulder. Harry would have missed the entire exchange had he not been watching her so intently.
"There's a sock in the very front pocket." He spoke through tight lips, continuing to face forward instead of turning toward her. "The activation spell is-"
"I know how to activate a delayed portkey." Her own voice was even and calm, but she wrung her hands around the strap anxiously. It was an incantation seared into her very soul. One that still echoed in her nightmares. With a sharp shake of her head, Hermione refocused on the task at hand. "Were you able to get the reports?"
"Yes. From what I can see, the heaviest concentration of incidents appears to be in and around Pomerania. They're all in the bag."
With a mumbled thanks, she began to sidestep out of the line, but Kingsley grabbed her wrist and met her eye when she turned on him.
"Good luck," he told her with hope, sincerity, and intense worry swirling into two words.
"Enjoy your ride," she replied with a curt nod, acknowledging his good wishes. A nod from Kingsley and he released her wrist allowing her to step away from the line.
Hermione wandered through the crowds, making her way into Jubele Garden and wandering the path until she found a bench in the shadow of a large tree. While her reasons had been to prevent suspicion, she was glad for a moment to breathe. Thinking of that incantation caused an unexpected flare of misery to spike through her.
Desperate for any distraction, her eyes landed on the park just across the pathway. Innocent laughter pierced through the brittle air. It took her back to a warm summer day in that very park, running between the playground and her parents' blanket spread under the shade of the large tree. She had begged her parents for an hour straight to take her on the Eye then cried when she realized how high it actually went. To cheer her up, her father immediately bought ice cream for all of them while her mother dried her tears. It was just before her eleventh birthday. Before the Wizarding world ever touched her. Before she knew why books floated to her. Before a world that never wanted her drug her in and beat her down.
"So when do we leave?" Ron's question broke through her reverie as a chill cut of reality through the warm memory.
After removing the sock, Hermione secured the bag across her body. It was a thick, wool sock, the fabric of which was rough and irritating against her hand. No wonder it had been used for a portkey rather than an item of comfort. "No time like the present. Last call to stay."
She looked between the pair of them, gaze penetrating as though she would be able to read their intentions from a look alone. Gallant as ever, Harry pinched the heel of the sock, unwavering in his dedication. Ron looked to Harry, then back at the sock before tightening his white knuckle grip around the strap on his back and pinching the toe.
" Egtun Portus ," Hermione whispered into the wind before a firm tug pulled behind each of their navels. In a flash, the trio disappeared from the busy streets of London to reappear in a back garden, presumably somewhere in the lowlands of Poland. A gentle breeze blew the scent of grassy fields over them, a refreshing change from the inner city odours.
"Best place so far," Ron said cheerily and moved toward the door with a renewed bounce in his step.
It would be the third place they slept at in as many days, and Harry couldn't find it in himself to disagree. It was certainly the best of the three, and he was determined to get inside before Hermione could change her mind and whisk them off to another decrepit building.
Constructed with sturdy stone, the cottage looked as if it could withstand a hit easily if necessary. The bright-coloured deco painted on the stone helped it blend in with the surrounding cottages sprinkled throughout the hillside. Even Hermione couldn't find a fault with its additional security and space to spread out. The vibrant colours adorning the interior seared into Hermione's already throbbing eyes, the effects of the portkey undoing all the progress the hangover cure had made. After taking a moment to recollect herself, Hermione set the reports from Kingsley's bag to levitate towards a large table, maps springing to life on the wall next to her.
"Food first," Harry insisted. Hermione's face turned a distinct green at the thought of food, so he added, "Just a cheese toastie at least. None of us have eaten all day."
With a dismissive wave of her hand, Hermione settled into her work, finding comfort in the familiarity. Careful flicks of her wrist sent conjured pins into locations she found particularly interesting. A pattern started to emerge by the time she'd finished a dozen reports.
"Are we gonna talk about why you were hungover this morning?" Harry tried when he heard her rifling in the refrigerator for a drink.
"Nope."
The closing door punctuated her statement, and she returned to the next room.
"Good talk," he muttered to the pan, flipping the toastie over.
The smell of food drew Ron from the back of the house quickly, and he greedily piled his plate full with an enthusiastic thanks to Harry. The safe house was nothing if not fully stocked with everything and anything they may need.
As promised, Harry slid a simple cheese toastie next to Hermione's elbow and was satisfied when she took a small bite. He hid a smile between the slices of his own. Grateful for the peace, they each ate in silence, only interrupted by the occasional sound of a pin landing on the map. By the fourth, Harry finally gave in to his curiosity.
"Anything catching your eye?"
A line of red shot from her wand to encircle a tight cluster of pins due west of their own blue dot. "Here. It's secluded, associated with a mysterious Muggle military base, and seems to be the center of several reports of magic exposure."
"Never known Poland for a lot of magic though," Ron spoke around his third cheese toastie. "Seems like a strange place for this, uh, whatever it is."
"That's precisely why it would be here," Hermione said while removing Harry's laptop from her bag. In seconds, the screen lit but with little use. The wifi spun hopelessly, in search of a signal that was too far away. Frustrated, she slammed it shut again. "Of course, it would be too much to ask this place to have any sort of internet signal."
"I found a few maps to the local town in the kitchen drawer. We can go into town tomorrow and find another one of those internet cafes," Harry suggested. He reached for her hand, hoping to soothe the agitation he felt from her only to be met with the rough wood as she stood to pace in front of the map.
"No time," she grumbled from behind her hand. This wasn't the place she would have picked. She would have had everything she needed had she not taken the safe haven extended to her. She wouldn't have taken it if she didn't have others to look out for. "We'll have to go in blind first thing in the morning. I'd like to go now, but with night already falling, it's too dangerous. We'll rest tonight and be in top form at daybreak."
"Best hide any alcohol then," Ron goaded with a smirk.
The air in the room tightened before the tension was broken by the slapping of files shutting while the map floated in front of Hermione. Papers and stacks reordered themselves and zoomed quickly down the hall. With a final glare, she stormed up the hallway, and just before the door to an office snapped shut, the words "It was just a joke" followed her inside.
Hot breath huffed through her nose as she let the intel organize itself around her. The stress of being out of control of her own hiding place was bad enough without compounding it with tomorrow's mission and Ronold's snide remarks. Too distracted to look at the papers just then, she dug through the drawers and cabinets, hoping for useful items. She also took the time to lay out everything George had passed along to repack her bag into something more suitable for a mission. As she just started rummaging through the desk drawers, a gentle knock came at the door, and Harry cracked it open enough to slip in and shut it behind him
"So. Poland," he offered in way of greeting and settled into a chair on the opposite side.
"Yup."
He gave a small hum as he watched her sort through the supplies laid out before her.
"Alright," she huffed, finally meeting his neutral gaze. "Out with it then."
"With what?"
She motioned wildly at him and shouted, "Whatever this is. Whatever you're about to lecture me for. Last night, I suppose."
"Should I be? I'm worried about you, Hermione."
"I'm fine," she huffed, returning her attention to the drawer.
"If you're looking for more alcohol, you won't find it here," he told her just to break the silence that was suffocating him. "I asked Kingsley when I called him about the intel."
She reemerged with a hand full of linen-bound objects he recognized as hidden, blank portkeys. Occasionally, he has use of a location-empty portkey for a fast getaway. With a smug smile, she shoved them into the front pocket of her bag that lay open out on the desk.
"As much as I'd love to filth whatever ridiculously expensive bottles Kingsley must use for diplomatic meetings, that's not what I'm looking for."
"What are you looking for, then?" The question startled him. It wasn't something he planned to ask, but once it was out, he didn't want to take it back. "And I don't mean the portkeys. What are you looking for in all of this?"
"An end," she signed in resignation. "I just want all of this to be fucking over. I want this fucking hell to be over and nothing more than a nightmare I can finally move on from. I want to disappear into the night and never have to worry about another damn thing again. No evil wizards, or plots to kill me. I want to stop ruining everyone's lives."
"Is that really what you think you've done? Ruined our lives?"
"You asked your question and you've gotten your answer. Now can I please get back to work?"
"Let me help-" he offered, moving to pick up a WWW product for inspection but dropping it when her harsh words hit him.
"I don't want help!" she shouted and slammed a set of extendable ears on the table. "You want to know what I want? I want to be alone right now so I can properly prepare for tomorrow. Not talk about feelings, not solve all the damage done to my soul. I just want to pack my go bag and try for some sleep. Now is that too much to ask?"
While the tirade wasn't comfortable, it was familiar. He knew this Hermione. The stress-induced explosion of words, her need to highly control every detail going into a dangerous situation, her need to be alone to focus. This was his Hermione.
"Okay. You're right," he admitted, causing her to blink in surprise. "Now's not the time, and I shouldn't have pushed you." With a small reassuring smile, Harry went to the door, only stopping to tell her, "Goodnight, Hermione."
Harry was nearly in the hall when she called back, "Goodnight, Harry. Sleep well. Tomorrow will be very… taxing."
He nodded his acknowledgement and went to claim a room for the night.