Manhattan

Chapter Four

Hermione huffs a sigh as she drops down heavily onto her bed. She's sure that she will never feel comfortable with Draco sodding Malfoy being in her flat– even if he is here to 'protect' her.

Hermione is reluctant to admit it, but Malfoy's wards are good– better than good, actually. It frustrates her to no end that she never finds anything that needs changing when Malfoy sets her wards for the week. It also frustrates her to no end that Malfoy even does it to begin with, but she supposes that it is part of his job. In fact, she'd probably be grateful for Auror-level wards on her flat if they came from literally any other wizard than Draco Malfoy.

Hermione hates that she's been reduced to hiding from someone whom she used to consider a friend– hiding in an entirely different country, even more so– but Ron is an entirely different person when he drinks. Harry was right– she had to save herself, and she refuses to feel guilty for that any longer.

Hermione knows that her injuries that night had been an accident, but whether by accident or not, Ron had hurt her– both physically and mentally. He's no longer the man she once loved, and eventually she had had to come to terms with that. Every day gets a little bit easier, but Hermione knows that, even still, she's not quite whole yet.

Hermione reaches over to her bedside table and picks up the current novel she's reading and opens it. She attempts to focus on the story in front of her, rather than the blonde wizard whom she knows is traipsing about her flat just a few yards away, although, she admittedly finds this task difficult.

Hermione abandons her book after a few unsuccessful minutes and flops back onto her back against her mattress. She stares up at her bedroom ceiling as if it somehow holds all of the answers. She wishes she could just blame Harry for Malfoy being in her flat, but she supposes that it's partially her own fault. She's the one who ran into Malfoy in the street and the one who told Harry about it in the first place.

Hermione stands abruptly from her bed and tip-toes over to her bedroom door, pressing her ear against it. She hears Malfoy casting his wards, his voice slowly growing closer as he wards her hallway and then her office. His voice is different than she remembers from school– from the War. It's deeper, but still slightly nasally– sharp.

Even still, it's Draco sodding Malfoy's voice in her flat. It still makes her skin crawl.

Hermione hears a tapping at her kitchen window. She approaches her window and opens it, allowing the owl flying just outside to find perch on her window sill. She recognizes the owl quickly– it belongs to the Ministry.

"You poor thing, you must have been flying for ages," Hermione coos, accepting the large, document envelope from the bird's claw and petting its head gently. "Stay as long as you like."

Hermione offers the owl a handful of treats from a jar on her counter, which the animal devours before she opens her mail. She tips the large envelope, and from it slides several smaller, letter sized envelopes. Hermione recognizes the writing on the envelopes as being either from her various contacts at the Ministry– one from Kingsley, one from the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and one from the Department of Magical Transportation, Percy Weasley, although that one is addressed to Harry and looks to have been previously opened– and some from her friends; one from Ginny, one from Neville, and the last from George Weasley.

Hermione opens the one from Minister Shacklebolt first. She reads through it once, sighing in frustration when she realizes that it's just a regurgitation of the same information Kingsley sends her every fortnight when Harry packs up her letters. I hope you're well, Hermione, but unfortunately, there's still not much we can do with the information that we have. Take care., essentially.

Next, she opens the letter from Ginny.

I miss you, 'Mione.

Harry obviously can't tell me where you are, but I hope you're somewhere warm and safe. I imagine you in Mexico, or on an island somewhere, relaxing on the beach with your nose in a book. It's what gets me through most days.

According to my pregnancy book, the baby is currently the size of a papaya. Harry and I have decided that even if you're not here for the birth, we're naming you the godmother. There's no one I would trust more with my child than you.

I still don't know if you want me to tell you what's going on with Ron, seeing as you can't respond to these letters, but– well, we're still trying. Harry doesn't want me near Ron because of the pregnancy, but I have to try. He's still my brother. I'm considering tying him up and leaving him on the steps of St. Mungo's with a note pinned to his shirt that reads: 'My name is Ronald Bilius Weasley and I am voluntarily committing myself to alcohol abuse treatment.' Do you think they'd believe it?

No, I don't think so either.

I want you to come home, 'Mione, but I know that it's not safe yet. Harry tells me that they've added another layer of protection for you though. He couldn't tell me what that means, but I imagine you will know what this refers to. I was actually glad to hear that it's not just Harry looking out for you now.

I know you can take care of yourself, 'Mione, but I'm just grateful to know that you don't have to. Whatever, or whoever, this 'extra layer' is, thank it for me.

I love you. I miss you. I hope to see you soon.

GW-P.

Hermione feels one single tear slip down her cheek. She loves hearing from her friends, but it also reminds her of all of the things she's lost since leaving Ron.

Next, she picks up the opened letter from Percy. She scans it to find that it's an international portkey application, applied for by Harry– with a big red DECLINED stamp across the top. Percy's handwriting on the bottom of the form reads, 'Due to your inability to provide a location, we cannot approve an international portkey. The Ministry does not operate solely on faith. Provide a location next time, and your application may be approved.'

The date on the application is 19th September. Harry had wanted to visit for her birthday. Hermione smiles a watery smile.

Harry had taken a Muggle airplane to New York when he'd come to brief Malfoy, but he'd explained to her that it was too big a risk to repeat. He'd had to covertly confundo nearly every airport employee he came in contact with, and of course, Hermione would never want him to put himself at risk like that for her again.

Hermione sets the rest of the letters down, deciding to read the remainder later. The owl in her window hoots once before taking flight again. Hermione closes the window and locks it, double checking that Malfoy's ward is still in place before distracting herself by preparing her dinner.

After dinner, Hermione opens the letter from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hermione has continued to work remotely, via correspondence, in her post at the DRCMC– as much as she is able to, anyway. Fortunately, Hermione's job is to write legislation regarding creature rights and to submit her proposals to the Department Head, who then passes it on for deliberation– a job which she can do via correspondence.

Hermione reads over the letter and makes a few notes, setting the letter aside to respond in the next few days. She usually waits to respond to the DRCMC letters for a few days so she has all of her points prepared.

As Hermione sets her notes aside, she hears her mobile phone ding from across the room. Hermione frowns. There's only two people who have the number to her mobile, and hearing from either of them is generally not good news.

Hermione stands from her dining table and picks up her mobile from the arm of her sitting room sofa. She flicks open her mobile and groans audibly. On her screen flashes the ID: Cockroach.

Hermione opens the message.

Granger, I'll be out of the country on Friday evening and half of Saturday. I will have my mobile with me, as well as an emergency portkey back to Manhattan, so if you need me, call, and I'll be there.

Hermione rolls her eyes. She can understand that logically, Malfoy should notify her that he's leaving the country, just as she would have to do the same if she left the country– it's just weird.

Hermione responds with a quick: Okay.

She tosses the mobile onto the sofa cushion and hopes that it doesn't ring again.

Hermione doesn't often leave her flat– she's not strictly supposed to, per Harry's order. He'd probably be furious if he knew that Hermione was leaving her flat today, while her assigned Auror is out of the country– but she was starting to get a little stir crazy.

She figures that a quick pop down to the library can't hurt, and maybe a stop at a coffee shop to get a nicer cup than she can prepare for herself at home. She'll only be out for an hour or two– or maybe three, depending on the library's selection.

She walks the few blocks away from her flat and arrives at her closest library within just a few minutes. She suspects that Harry chose her flat specifically due to its proximity to a library, knowing that Hermione would need to get out of her house even occasionally. Hermione had been on her way to this library when she ran into Malfoy the first time.

Hermione moseys through the aisles of the library leisurely. She has mostly been reading novels, lately, in an effort to forget being cooped up in her flat, so she picks out a handful of novels and plays to read throughout the week. She also picks up a non-fiction book about different flowers native to the Northeast United States that she thinks looks interesting.

Hermione checks her books out and smiles at the elderly woman manning the library's front desk.

"Have a nice day, dear," the woman says, handing Hermione her books.

Hermione responds in kind, covertly tucks her books into her extendable beaded bag and heads off to her next destination– a coffee shop around the corner from her flat.

The bell on the door rings as Hermione steps inside and walks up toward the counter to place her order. Hermione takes her coffee and pays for it once it's finished, and rather than staying and drinking it there, she decides to take it home.

Hermione knows that she isn't supposed to be out, and she would really hate to have to call Malfoy, so she rounds the corner to her building quickly and heads upstairs to her flat. Once inside, she locks the deadbolt and the chain lock, just to be safe.

Hermione leans her back against her front door as she sips from her coffee.

Hermione can't help but feel frustrated that this is her life. Living in New York City should be exciting, and she should be able to explore the city and enjoy living in the city that never sleeps– but of course, she can't do that.

Hermione knows that she could defend herself if the need were to arise, but the point is that she shouldn't have to. She shouldn't have an ex-fiance that she has to hide from. She shouldn't have to allow her childhood bully to come to her rescue because she is genuinely afraid of Ronald Weasley. It's probably the most ass-backward thing she could've possibly imagined for her life, and if someone had asked her to say the most ridiculous and unexpected thing she could possibly have predicted for her life– she still wouldn't have said that.

Hi, friends! I decided to go ahead and upload on my regularly scheduled Tuesday because it came to my attention that this fic now has over FIFTY followers! That's incredible! Thank you all so much. I'm so incredibly blown away that more than fifty of you are interested in this story! Thank you all so much!

I don't think I have much to say about this chapter in terms of behind-the-scenes, but in any case, I hope that you enjoyed it! (:

Thank you so much for reading. It means the world. (: