CHAPTER 2
Draco, wearing shorts, sat on his bed with an acoustic guitar. Paris shimmered with a kaleidoscope of colors outside the panoramic window, with no stars visible in the night sky. The Eiffel Tower was illuminated. He set the guitar aside, got up, stepped onto the private balcony, placed a cigarette in his mouth, and lit it.
Draco leaned against the fence, gazing at the city. The dragon constellation tattoo on his chest glowed dimly. He inhaled the bitter smoke and exhaled a gray cloud into the night. Today, he felt particularly melancholic. Often, he didn't sleep at all, spending his nights writing songs or mindlessly playing the guitar until his fingers were numb. He didn't like Paris, but he welcomed any chance to leave London. He had an urge to escape his past, his family, and the Manor. Especially the Manor - the biggest source of nightmares. After Lucius went to Azkaban for good, Draco moved in with Theo and Blaise into a ritzy flat in the wizarding part of Notting Hill. Narcissa spent most of her time at the family villa on Lake Como in Italy. Come to think of it, Draco hadn't seen his parents in months. Whatever was happening in his heart found an outlet in music. Otherwise, Draco kept his distance from people, except for his three closest friends, all of whom were sound asleep in the penthouse.
But even with them around, Draco was alone. After the war, he felt deeply betrayed. His relationship with Lucius was strained, and despite Narcissa's multiple requests, Draco rarely visited his father in prison. Why would he? Lucius's idiocy had tainted everything: their family name, Draco's happy childhood memories, the Manor, and the love they once shared. It was one of the multiple reasons for Draco's unhappiness. At times, he felt as empty as the house he grew up in. Draco non-verbally vanished the finished cigarette and took a deep breath. His arms were covered in goosebumps; it was hard to ignore the chilly air any longer. He went back to his room and lay down on the bed with his arms crossed behind his head. The ceiling was enchanted with faintly shimmering clusters of stars.
The narcissus flower tattoo on his right inner bicep shed a lone petal that dispersed into hundreds of dark drops and disappeared from Draco's skin. A thin black snake slithered its way to the flower, crawled into the heart of it, curled up into a spiral, and fell asleep. But Draco couldn't. When night took over, Draco's head filled with unpleasant memories, horrible visions, and fears. He often dreamed of a giant, slippery, limbless reptile devouring people, its bloated body full of familiar faces, until it was Draco's turn to be gobbled up. He would wake up in a cold sweat, unable to close his eyes again. The truth was, he was scared. All the time. What if another murderous maniac was planning to become the next Dark Lord at this very moment? What would he do? Draco found solace in the simple fact that he was a coward. He wouldn't fight; it was laughable to even imagine it. He'd run away. Very far. Or kill himself, breaking his mother's heart forever. He hated everything that had happened; he felt defiled, his home was defiled. The Dark Lord took everything, and Draco couldn't forgive him for that. Lucius fucked up everything, and Draco couldn't forgive him for that. Draco still felt powerless and pathetic and couldn't forgive himself for that. No matter how big he tried to be, he still felt small and unimportant. What if everything is snatched from him again? What's the point of doing what he loves if someone has the power to take it away? Every cell in his body was filled with anxiety. Draco scowled.
"I am dust," he whispered.
A shooting star darted from one side of the ceiling to the other. Draco grimaced at it and turned on his side. What a joke - to make a wish on an artificial shooting star. Since he became famous, many things have felt that way: the love he was offered, the looks he received, the questions he was asked, and the sex he got. A fake. All of it.
Someone knocked at the door.
"Fuck off," he said to the door.
Theo walked in and wordlessly climbed Draco's bed. He was wearing blue silky pajama pants.
"I can't sleep."
"It'd be like that."
They exchanged stubborn looks.
"Song."
Draco rolled his eyes.
"Please."
Draco's expression twisted in annoyance.
"Please!"
"Get out of my bed, Nott."
Theo and Draco locked eyes in a silent contest, until the Bob Dylan wannabe scoffed and turned away, covering himself with a blanket.
Draco loudly exhaled in irritation, and for some time they remained silent.
Then Draco sat down on the bed and grabbed the guitar. His fingers lightly brushed the strings and a melodious sound filled the room. Draco played quietly, gently touching the instrument, and soon enough Theo closed his eyes, his body relaxed. Draco continued to play and stared into the distance with eyes full of unspoken dismay.
Warning: this part contains a description of sexual harassment. Read at your own advice.
The Slytherins roamed Place Cachèe, boredom etched on their faces, caffeinated drinks in hand, and expensive shops around. Wizarding Paris was different. French witches and warlocks excelled in fashion; outdated robes and pointy hats were a thing of the past. Petite cafés offered iced coffee and a new morning cocktail called "mimosa" - essentially champagne mixed with citrus juice, alongside an endless variety of macaron desserts and chocolate goods of unmatched quality. The streets of Place Cachèe bustled with performers and artists: wherever the eye could see, something was happening. Pansy wore a white tank top paired with a black leather ensemble of a skirt, high-knee boots, and a jacket adorned with safety pins. Next to her, Blaise wore a similar outfit with onyx studs in his ears. Draco opted for simplicity: a black shirt, black trousers, a thick silver chain around his neck, and dragon-hide boots. But Theo... Well, he couldn't go outside looking basic; he was born to shine and would die shining. A thin chain connected his lip piercing to his earring, an ungodly amount of pearls adorned his neck, he wore signature Vivienne Westwood rings, green tartan trousers, red platform boots, a ripped shirt, and a red leather jacket - people looked at him admiringly, and Theo loved it.
"We must go to Bonnetvolant," said Blaise to his friends.
He was the tallest in the group. They passed by a large poster with their photo from one of the countless photoshoots they had done in the past year, advertising the upcoming show.
"I'd rather we go back to the penthouse," groused Draco.
"Draco, don't be an arse," Pansy shot him a tortured look, the expression of someone who had been enduring 'Draco being an arse' behavior for years.
"People are staring," insisted Draco.
"Yes, that's because you're famous," Pansy rolled her eyes and sucked on an iced latte from a plastic cup she carried.
But he was right; people were staring.
"I want to go to Bonnetvolant too. Is that the hat store? The ancient one, right?" Theo chimed in.
"Yeah, I need a beanie and their autumn-winter 99 collection just hit the stores."
"Oh, I need a beret," added Pansy.
Draco noticed an approaching group of fans and his mood instantly went from a little displeased to foul; he hated unwanted attention. Suddenly, the Slytherins were surrounded by people, and their number grew exponentially.
"Draco, puis-je avoir un autographe?"
"Teddy, pouvons-nous prendre une photo avec vous?"
"Draco, tu es beau!"
"Draco, veux-tu m'épouser?"
"Blaise, je veux avoir tes bébés."
Pansy was rudely shoved aside as journalists appeared out of nowhere, snapping pictures and blinding Draco, Theo, and Blaise with their flashing cameras. One fangirl even took off her shirt, standing there in her bra, trying to get Draco's autograph on her chest. The situation quickly turned chaotic, with the band completely overwhelmed by increasingly wild fans. Theo attempted to pull Draco closer, but the crowd grew too dense too quickly. Draco found himself signing anything shoved in his face, clearly in a state of light panic. Another fan girl kissed his cheek, and Draco wiped it off squeamishly. Surrounded by people chattering in French, Draco felt completely at a loss of words, nervously smiling in response. Years of French lessons disappeared from his head; all his thoughts were about how to get out of this situation. A girl around his age pointed at her camera and asked something. Draco nodded, standing beside her to pose for a picture. She turned the camera to face them, then grasped his chin, turned his head and kissed him passionately on the lips while pressing the shutter. A flashbulb went off. Draco angrily pushed her away, clearly disgusted.
"What the fuck," he yelled at her.
She shrugged, smiled, and disappeared into the crowd. Draco felt liquid rage running through his veins and reached for his wand, when suddenly a spell exploded above their heads. Pansy Parkinson stood there, her wand pointed skyward, absolutely furious.
"Listen up, you bitches!" Her voice ripped through the air, amplified by a "Sonorus" spell. "Get out of the way or I'll blast your stupid faces off, compris?"
Nothing happened; people continued to harass the band. But Pansy wasn't joking now, was she? With the next spell, she did, in fact, blow up the cobblestone very close to the crowd. People screamed in surprise.
"I said MOVE," she yelled at them.
And people obeyed. Using the momentum, Pansy briskly walked to Draco and immediately apparated; Theo and Blaise did so a second later.
Once in the penthouse, Draco went straight to the bathroom and locked himself in. Pansy looked at him with guilt. He was so angry. Draco stood in front of the mirror, gripping the sink so tightly his knuckles whitened, his lips contorted in disgust. Violated. Forced. How dare she? Some stupid, ugly girl pressed her dirty mouth against his— who gave her permission? He wanted to find that witch and cast a killing curse right at her face. He turned on the sink and splashed his face with cold water. Then he brushed his teeth. Twice.
The mood in the drawing room was somber. All three were silent, listening attentively for any signs of Draco having a furious mental breakdown in the bathroom.
"I'm sorry," said Pansy.
"It's not your fault people lack an understanding of personal space," said Blaise crossly.
"Yeah, I don't think it was you who grabbed my dick a couple minutes ago," Theo added angrily.
"What?!"
"No! They didn't?! I'm so sorry, Theo!" Pansy looked genuinely upset.
"What a fucking shitshow." Theo spat and clapped his hands twice.
A house-elf appeared in the room.
"Alcohol. A lot. Now," barked Theo.
The house-elf nodded and apparated with a loud pop.
"I think this asks for something stronger than alcohol," Blaise glanced at Pansy.
She sighed and went to her room.
"Draco is livid," he added.
"Wouldn't you be? I think I saw some idiot kiss him," Theo plopped on the sofa and buried his face in a plush pillow.
"Really? Oh it's even worse than I thought. Do you think somebody could have touched him inappropriately? Aside from the kiss, I mean."
"Don't remind me," muffled Theo.
"I'm sorry, mate, it's crazy to me that people can do things like that. I'm sorry they did this to you."
Theo lifted his head and saw Blaise's concerned face. Theo was upset, but thankful for the support.
The liquor cabinet chimed. Blaise went to open it: it was filled with expensive bottles of wine, cognac, firewhisky, champagne, and even absinthe. Blaise chose a bottle of firewhisky, grabbed four tumblers, and poured a generous amount of amber liquid. He then enchanted the tumblers, ensuring each went to the person it was intended for. Pansy walked into the room with a Chanel bag and a tumbler in her hand.
Draco finally opened the bathroom door, grabbed the hanging tumbler, and wordlessly sat down on the sofa. Theo repositioned himself and sat next to Draco.
The Slytherins then looked at each other and simultaneously drained their glasses. The firewhisky burned their throats in the most pleasant way.
"Thank you, Pans," said Draco stiffly.
"I should've listened to you," she said to him.
"It's not your fault. Don't even…"
"I know! But I should've listened to you."
He accepted her unspoken apologies, waved his wand, and the firewhisky bottle flew around, refreshing their drinks.
"I can't believe you bombarded the cobblestone," said Blaise in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Pansy snickered.
"I know, I was surprised myself, but I got so mad at them!" Pansy smiled and opened her Chanel bag.
"You're a badass, Parkinson," Theo said with admiration, then bumped Draco's shoulder with his head. "Are you alright?"
"If I find that bitch, she's dead," he muttered. "To Pans," he said louder and lifted his glass. Theo and Blaise followed.
Pansy smiled warmly at them, and they drank.
"Why, thank you."
She took a bunch of joints with colorful filters from her bag, and put them on the coffee table.
"Thank Merlin," Blaise sat down next to Theo and picked up a joint with a lilac filter, putting it in his mouth.
Theo lit it up with his signature Vivienne Westwood lighter, and in a moment, a thick cloud of purple smoke filled up the space. Blaise started coughing violently and passed the joint to Draco.
"What the hell is that?" Blaise wheezed through tears.
"Nev called it 'Summer of Haze'," she said proudly.
Draco took a drag and instantly started coughing as well, and so did Theo.
"S'insane," whispered the blond.
Pansy took the joint from Theo, put it in her mouth, and inhaled deeply. She let out a big purple cloud and giggled.
"Eh, pretty mild compared to the usual," she chuckled, flashing all 32 of her teeth.
"If this is what Longbottom smokes daily, I'm not sure how he hasn't turned into a plant himself," mumbled Blaise.
"Which plant?" Asked Draco.
"Mimlus Moblatonia? Munmus Mbla… that stupid thing he was running around with in 5th year."
"You mean Memlis Monbla… What am I even trying to say?" said Theo, lost in his thoughts.
"Was that a cactus?" asked Draco.
"A victim of dragon pox, more likely," added Theo.
"It's Mimbulus Mibletonia," said Pansy, flexing her knowledge.
"Dating a gardener does wonders to your intelligence, Parkinson, can't wait to hear your expert opinion on the most nutritious dung brand this season," snickered Draco.
"Shut up," she laughed.
The Slytherins finally relaxed. Pansy sat on the floor between Blaise and Theo, resting her head on the sofa.
"I still want that damn beret. We should hit the muggle stores next," she said, looking at Theo.
"Not today," Theo whispered. He couldn't feel his legs and wasn't sure if he would ever be sober again.
Blaise was playing with Pansy's dark, razor-sharp bangs, sweeping her hair from side to side.
"What do they call them here?" asked Draco.
"Non-Magiques," said Blaise with a bad French accent.
They laughed.
"I fucking hate Paris," muttered Draco.
"We'll be back home soon," Pansy said, looking at him.
"I fucking hate home even more."
"What about New York?"
"I think I hate the whole fucking world."
His friends laughed.
"Pansy, come to New York with us," offered Theo.
"I'm not sure. I don't want to leave Longbottom alone with his plants for too long," Pansy took another hit from the joint and passed it to Blaise.
"Fuck Longbottom, come with us," Draco said, looking at her. "Be our bodyguard. We need someone to Bombarda annoying human beings."
They laughed even harder.
"I'm sure you can handle it yourself," she said.
"He can't, he's a good Death Eater," added Blaise, snickering.
"I'm reformed," said Draco, and his friends burst into laughter.
"Alright, alright. New York it is," Pansy said, looking at her three most favorite people with affection.
A squadron of colorful paper planes zoomed into the Auror department. Harry intercepted one in mid-air with a trained seeker reflex.
"Hm? Who the hell is Alaric Selwyn?" asked Harry, examining the new Ministry-issued pamphlet for the upcoming Wizengamot member election.
"An old pureblood git. Look at this list, most of the running candidates this year are pureblood elitists that had ties with Death Eaters or are relatives with Death Eaters… Tremblay, Tripe, Yaxley Jr? MacDougal sounds familiar… Hm," Ron frowned.
"Wait, Wizengamot members are voted in?"
"Oh, right. You wouldn't know, would you? Every 2 years we vote for Wizengamot members and every 4 years we vote for a Minister of Magic. Now, Shacklebolt was elected 2 years ago, when the war was over, but that year we did not vote for the Wizengamot members, only the minister. We have 2 main parties, Wizes and Mages, which are essentially progressives and conservatives. Wizards for Magical Equality and the Protectors of Magical Heritage, respectively. Shacklebolt is a Wiz, by the way, just like Fudge. There are other parties, but I'm not sure if they ever were elected before. Ask Hermione, she probably knows." Ron crumpled the pamphlet and tossed it into a paper bin under his desk.
"Are you a progressive?"
"Yes, but economically I prefer the Mages. It's because purebloods pay fewer taxes and get lots of benefits. It's not exactly fair, and I will vote for Wizes anyway. But when Bagnold was the Minister, we had the most money. She's a Mage. I mean, sure, she helped send some Death Eaters to Azkaban, but now that I think of it, she is quite shady."
"Do you think she could've had ties with Voldemort?" Harry sounded surprised.
"She's not a Death Eater like Thicknesse, but until Voldemort's downfall, it wasn't on her agenda to prosecute his followers. Crouch did all the dirty work, and she didn't even lift a finger, right? She didn't do anything to protect Muggle-borns either."
"I don't really know anything about politics, in general."
"It's alright, mate. You live, you learn," Ron smiled at him.
"Who are you going to vote for this year?" Harry glanced at the list of candidates, and the only familiar name he caught was Amelia Bones.
"Mmm, probably Imelda Stokke, she's a Wiz. Then Bones, of course. Marchbanks is coming back from her resignation, she's also a Wiz. And for my last vote, I have no idea. Everybody else on the list isn't trustworthy. I'd recommend you vote for the same people."
"Isn't Shacklebolt in the Wizengamot as well? Can't we vote for him?"
"No, he is a Minister; his Wizengamot position is unassailable. Plus, he is the Chief Warlock as well, and his voice holds more power in final decisions, unless there is significant opposition. But it's good that the Minister is a Wiz."
"Potter, Weasley," barked a voice from behind them.
"Sir?" Both men turned to face Henry Blackthorn, the head of the Auror department.
Henry Blackthorn, a strong, tall man in his early 50s, looked like he meant business. Unlike many young men of the new millennium, Henry always wore traditional Auror robes.
"Did you see the list?" Blackthorn gave them a serious look from under his wild, bushy brows.
Ron nodded.
"Do you know what it means, son?"
"Sir?" asked Harry.
"It means that we have a rat infestation in the Ministry," said Ron calmly.
"S'right. Potter, I want you to watch your back." He gave Harry another intense look and then added, "You too, Weasley. Nobody likes blood traitors."
And with that, Blackthorn left and locked himself in his office.
Ron and Harry exchanged a knowing look.
"If there is another Voldemort, I'd rather leave the country," Harry suddenly looked 10 years older than he actually was.
"It'll be alright, mate. No bald maniacs this time. I have a gut feeling," said Ron reassuringly.
"My gut feeling tells me it's lunch time." Harry stood up and stretched his back. "Are you coming?"
"No, I don't want Mione to… you know. It's fine, just go."
"She's pretty busy, she probably won't even be there. C'mon, get up."
He patted Ron's back and a minute later both men left the Auror department.
But she was there. And the second she saw Ron, she did the most un-Gryffindor thing in the world and briskly left the cafeteria. Ron scoffed.
"Reckon she'll ever speak to me again?" he muttered.
"She'll get over it soon. I hope," said Harry, trying to sound confident.
"I tried to explain my decision to her. I do love her. A lot. I wasn't lying." Ron grabbed two trays and handed one to Harry.
"I think she knows that too, give her more credit, she just happens to be the most brilliant person in the whole entire world."
They stood in line for food.
"Yes, but relationships, emotions… It's not a textbook. She has to feel it but she thinks it."
"Do you fancy someone? Be honest." Harry gave him the look.
"No! I'd tell you if I did. I love Hermione, but I'm not in love with her. I can't help it. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, mate. It's alright," said Harry after a pause.
Ron grabbed two platters with salad and steak for both of them, and the Gryffindors went to look for a table.
Padma Patil sat in courtroom #7, listening attentively. As a scribe, her responsibility was to document verbatim transcription of every event in the next hour. However, she couldn't focus. The Minister of Magic was present as well, although it seemed this case shouldn't have been so important. In front of the respectful 50 members of the Wizengamot sat Dolores Umbridge in black and white prison robes - even after a year in Azkaban, she resembled a toad, but a deflated one.
"Do you confirm that your name is Dolores Umbridge?" Shacklebolt began the hearing.
"Yes."
"Do you confirm that your wand is 8 inches, with a core of dragon heartstring and made of birch?"
"Yes."
"What are the characteristics of the unregistered wand that was confiscated from you during the arrest?"
"6 inches, dragon heartstring, thorn."
"That's correct." He continued, "Do you confirm that you are currently serving a life sentence in Azkaban for heinous crimes against Muggle-born wizards and witches, in which 4 people have tragically died?" The Minister pronounced every word with such precision as if he were trying to nail them into her brain.
"Yes," she said without hesitation.
"And yet we have received your leniency letter. Do you not agree with your sentence?"
"I acknowledge that there were indeed incidents, and I understand the gravity of the situation. But I assure you, I did not harm those esteemed wizards and witches," Dolores gave a tiny smile to Kingsley.
Padma shamelessly stared at Dolores in awe: the audacity of sitting there and pretending she was innocent shocked the girl. She scowled and continued writing.
"Directly," added the Minister with disdain.
"My loyalties always lay with the Ministry and the British Wizarding community. All I ever did was for the greater good of our kind."
"There is no need for this spectacle, Dolores."
"My accolades speak for themselves, Minister, respectfully."
The members of Wizengamot were whispering incoherently to each other.
"I've built a brilliant career serving in this very building, even in this very room. My accomplishments were and still are for the Ministry. The traditions that our community is so prone to forget are what forged us: our past, present, and future rely on our ways…"
"Blood purity ideology is not a tradition, Dolores, it's bigotry. I'm sure you're familiar with the term."
"I'm asking for forgiveness, Minister, from you, the esteemed members of Wizengamot - my ex-colleagues, and from the Muggle-born community," she said heartily, "during my time in Azkaban, I've reevaluated my deeds and come to realize the wrongs I've caused to people, and I'm begging you to let me fix it. I'm of no use in Azkaban, and I do not need to remind people of what I am capable of. I was born to serve my kind and I want to continue to do so. If the Ministry doesn't find it appropriate to shorten my sentence, at least allow me to work. Let me do something, no matter how small," she pleaded, looking into the eyes of the wizards and witches in cherry robes.
Kingsley was irritated, Padma could tell right away. A deep frown covered his face, his fingers nervously tapping the pedestal he was sitting at.
The courtroom fell silent, but the Wizengamot members were passing a piece of parchment from one to another and pressing it with their stamps.
Dolores Umbridge froze, anticipating the verdict. Kingsley gave her an unfriendly look and then watched the parchment move in his direction. When it finally landed in his hands, he paused, reading its contents intently. Padma waited to pick up the parchment as soon as he was done, but instead, he put it down.
"As the Minister of Magic and Chief Warlock, I exercise my authority to call for an additional hearing regarding Dolores Umbridge's request for leniency. This meeting is adjourned," Kingsley announced, raising his hammer to signal the end of the meeting with a single strike.
"Hem, hem."
Kingsley ignored Umbridge as he got up and prepared to leave the courtroom.
"Excuse me, Minister, you haven't told us what is in the parchment," she said carefully.
"Ministry officials must not tell lies, Dolores. One would think it's common knowledge." He sounded dead calm and yet he gave a nasty look to Mafalda Hopkirk, who was visibly uncomfortable in her cherry robes that seemed too big hanging on her timid body. "Miss Patil, the parchment." With that, he nodded and left the courtroom.
Padma gathered every ounce of power not to crack into a satisfied grin. She climbed the stairs to the pedestal and picked up the parchment. The tongue-tying spell worked immediately, preventing her from ever speaking about what she had heard or seen in courtroom #7 today.
About 30 red stamps clustered in the lower part of the document - votes for the approval of Umbridge's request. Padma skeptically raised her eyebrow.
Seeing Ron Weasley wasn't on Hermione's to-do list for the day. She wasn't avoiding him, of course; she was just in a hurry—house-elves wouldn't save themselves. Despite it being the truth, Hermione still felt upset when she saw him. It wasn't fair that only she should have moved on, especially since Ron had done so a while ago, hadn't he? He seemed fine. Was it because he cheated on her? Now that the thought popped into her mind, she couldn't shake it off. She wanted to interrogate Harry. Or maybe spike Ron's drink with veritaserum and then obliviate him after she had all the answers. Could it be Lavender again? But they barely greeted each other that evening at the "Lav Potion."
That evening… Hermione remembered what he looked like when he said he loved her. Now it was hard to trust his words. How could he love her if he broke up with her right after saying that? Coward. And a liar… And an arse… Ugh. Hermione was pissed. If she finds out that he cheated on her, she will cut off his bollocks and hang them above her bed as a trophy.
Deep in her thoughts, Hermione didn't notice when she had arrived at a certain red-bricked building - Purge and Dowse, Ltd. Finding the window she needed, she stepped through it and entered the ground floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. As usual, the hospital was busy. Hermione walked to the reception desk where a plump blonde witch with long braids sat, searching through some files, completely ignoring Hermione's presence.
"Excuse me," Hermione said politely.
No reaction. A minute passed.
Hermione narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, channeling her inner McGonagall.
"EXCUSE ME!"
The witch was startled and dropped the files, scattering them on the floor.
"Yes? What?" She looked at Hermione and deemed her too healthy to be so demanding of attention.
With the expression of the most bothered person in the whole entire world, she stood up without breaking eye contact with Hermione, then bent down to gather the files, still trying to stare into Hermione's soul.
"Is there a specific ward for the treatment of magical beings?"
"Can't you read?"
What? Did she really say that? Hermione was so shocked, she blinked.
"I, obviously, am very much capable of reading, thank you."
"If you were, you would see that there is no such ward. It's a hospital, missy; I don't have time to answer silly questions."
Hermione was contemplating jinxing the life out of the Unwelcome Witch.
"I'm working at the Ministry of Magic and…"
The blonde sneered.
"Everybody works at the Ministry, sweetheart."
"AND I'M DOING RESEARCH ON HOUSE-ELVES, AND I NEED HEALERS OR SCIENTISTS OR ANYONE WHO CAN HELP ME LEARN MORE ABOUT HOUSE-ELVES' BRAIN ANATOMY. AND DON'T CALL ME A SWEETHEART!" Hermione yelled unexpectedly, even to herself.
The witch looked at her with the face of someone who had dealt with much worse.
"You'd better go to St. Mungo's Academy then; here, everyone is treated equally with humans if they're classified as beings."
"Where is the academy?"
The witch wrote the address and instructions on a piece of parchment and gave it to Hermione.
"Thank you," blurted the most annoyed witch of her age and left the building.
The academy was in another part of London, and Hermione decided to use public transport instead of apparating. She actually missed being a Muggle.
She opted for the Tube and headed to the closest station. Anticipating doing something so normal, Hermione's mood brightened. She stood on the escalator and glanced around, admiring the design.
When she approached the turnstile, she realized she didn't have any money - normal money, not a dime.
For some reason, it stung. It was impossible to explain why she felt so harshly about being a Muggle-born in the wizarding world. She always felt forced to choose a side, yet every time she did, someone would remind her she didn't belong to the side she had chosen. The side that chose her, not like Hermione asked to be a witch. She didn't have Muggle money because the last time she had to use it was ages ago. Meanwhile, people complained that she was in the way. And that stung too.
"Confundus," she whispered to the turnstile and went through.
The train arrived in no time. Hermione found herself a nice seat, pulled out "Steppenwolf" by Herman Hesse from her black cross-body bag, and dissociated from the world.
Hermione found herself in front of an abandoned factory building. She felt the magic surrounding the place - the air was thicker and charged with power. She didn't even need the instructions to find the hidden portal. Standing before the broken door, Hermione put her hand on the doorknob and whispered "Sapere Aude". The lock clicked, the door creaked open, and Hermione took a step into a different world.
And what a world it was! Hermione found herself at the heart of a vast green field, where cobblestone paths radiated leading to several buildings. The main and the biggest campus of St. Mungo's Academy was ancient, its stone withered and yellowed from time. The other buildings looked slightly more modern and surrounded the field. There were many students around, wearing academic navy blue robes. Suddenly, Hermione felt a wave of emotion. She could have been among these people, wearing these robes, hurrying to the next class… What would she major in? What faculties did they even have? She had so many questions! But for some reason, this too felt like a lost opportunity.
As she looked around, trying to decide where to go first, she was interrupted by a pair of human hands appearing in front of her, holding a sign that said "What are you looking for?". Hermione was intrigued and amused.
"I'm doing research on house-elf anatomy. Is there anybody who can help me with it?" she said, hoping that was how things worked here.
The sign disappeared in a puff of smoke, and the hands invited her to… hold them. Hermione took a step forward, unsure of what would happen next. But the moment she touched them, she found herself in the largest library she had ever seen in her life. Above a massive stone arch, she read the words etched into the surface: "Sapere Aude" realizing it was the Academy's motto, not just a password. "Dare to know" - the words once spoken by Horace, embraced by Kant and granted to the entire Enlightenment period. It was bigger than the Hogwarts library, it was bigger than the British Library! Was it bigger than The Great Library of Alexandria, she wondered? It was busy with students wandering, sitting at long desks buried in books and parchment, studying, learning. Silly as it seemed, she felt like Belle from "Beauty and The Beast," her soul singing with delight.
The pair of hands released her, and then a sign appeared in them, saying, "Welcome to the St. Mungo's Research Center and Library. Ask for Mr. Douglas for help."
"Where can I find Mr. Douglas?"
"Right here, young lady!"
A sophisticated man in his early forties greeted Hermione. He was wearing tasteful robes that suited him well, approaching her with a smile above his neat goatee.
"I am Gideon Douglas, the head of the library. How may I be of service today, Miss…?"
"Granger, sir. Hermione Granger. Pleasure to meet you!"
They shook hands.
"My, my! It is an honor to be visited by Hermione Granger herself. I hope Mr. Rosier didn't bother you too much?"
"I'm sorry, who?"
The pair of hands waved at her.
"Oh, Edgar, are you doing this again? You're way too old for this, my friend."
A charming laughter came from… Hermione looked, expecting to see a pair of hands, but instead, she found a shamelessly attractive wizard with soft brown hair and warm hazel eyes in the process of disillusionment. When he became fully visible, he looked at her with glee. He had no business being this tall, and the navy blue really complemented his eyes… Rosier? Where did Hermione hear that name?
"Hello, Ms. Granger," he addressed her with a velvety voice.
But Hermione… was a bit in awe. She blushed.
"Hi."
"Edgar, we've talked about the disillusionment spell. You're scaring people with this childishness," Gideon scolded him.
"Were you scared, Hermione Granger?" asked Edgar not even trying to hide his amusement.
She smiled at him, contemplating whether to answer, then turned to Mr. Douglas. "I need help with my research on house-elves. I'm mostly interested in their anatomy, but the more I know, the better, Mr. Douglas."
"Why, of course. We have a vast collection of works here; you've come to the right place, young lady. I would also highly recommend visiting the Anatomy Museum later; we have house-elf specimens of exquisite quality. Please, come this way. Mr. Rosier, will you join us, or do you have classes to attend to?"
"I'd love to accompany Ms. Granger if she doesn't mind."
Hermione blushed again. She definitely didn't expect to spend time with Edgar, but he seemed so nice, not to mention awfully attractive…
"Sure, please, come with us," she nervously smiled at him.
With no further ado, Mr. Douglas led the way upstairs until they reached the auditorium adorned with the inscription "Magical Beings" above its grand wooden doors.
"I'll leave you two to it; I have much business to attend to. Ms. Granger, it was a pleasure to meet you, and I wish you good luck in your endeavors. However, never forget that determination leads to the greatest results. But you're a Gryffindor, aren't you?" Mr. Douglas chuckled. "Mr. Rosier, I trust you to take good care of Ms. Granger. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to reach out; I will be in my office." With that, he turned on his heels and left them alone.
Hermione felt Edgar's eyes on her, and it gave her goosebumps. The good ones.
Edgar opened the doors to the auditorium and gestured for Hermione to enter. The space was expansive, filled with floor-to-ceiling windows that bathed every surface in sunlight. The study area felt cozy and serene, offering lots of space for both solitary study and group sessions. The auditorium was filled with long bookshelves adorned by thousands of books. Hermione imagined that if she were locked in here alone for the rest of her life, she would never manage to read all of them. Edgar watched her attentively.
"Do you like it?" he asked.
"I'm in love with it!" she exclaimed with passion.
They exchanged a friendly look, and then he put his palm between her shoulder blades and lightly pushed her forward. Hermione froze. In a good way.
"Come with me," he said, removing his hand.
Is he flirting or just being nice? Hermione felt her cheeks flush. She followed him until they arrived at the House-Elf section. The number of books suggested she would find more than dry information on ownership and a few pictures.
"You have a beautiful name, by the way."
She stopped mid-step, and he watched her reaction. She felt awkward.
"Um… Thank you, Edgar." Merlin, will she stop blushing today?
"We can sit here and read. Since you haven't registered as a visitor, I'll have to keep an eye on you, Hermione," he announced with yet another charming smile.
"What? Why didn't you tell me I had to register? Oh no! Where do I go? I hope I didn't break any rules," Hermione said, panic flashing across her face.
But Edgar just laughed.
"It's okay, I'll do it for you later. You're fine, as long as you're with me," his eyes sparked as he spoke.
That git, she thought. But she wasn't mad at him at all.
"So what are you doing here? I thought you were a student?" she asked.
"Yes, I major in Advanced Ancient Runes, and I'm also on the student council. Greeting visitors is part of my responsibilities. Usually, I leave it to someone else, but for some reason today I decided to say hi to a special guest," Edgar glanced at her.
"And then I walked in?"
"No, you are the special guest. After all, you're famous, Hermione Granger. The heroine of the War with perfect N.E.W.T scores, and Harry Potter's best friend, but the newspapers didn't mention the most important things."
"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked, curious.
He shrugged, a smile playing on his lips.
"You have an O for Ancient Runes?"
"Yes, it's one of my favorite subjects," she replied enthusiastically.
"After I graduate, I'm going to travel the world with archaeologists and translate. I've already made the necessary arrangements. Once I have the certificate in my hands, I'm leaving for Mexico."
"Are you graduating soon?"
"In a year. Why didn't you continue your education, if I may ask?"
"How do you…"
"You seem like someone who is starved for knowledge," he said suddenly, his tone serious.
"Oh."
She wasn't sure what to say. Hermione folded her arms across her chest and decided it was time to focus on her work.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."
"No, it's okay. You're right, I do miss being in a library and learning things… After Hogwarts, I decided it was better for me to have a job than to continue studying."
She would rather die than admit she had no idea there were magical universities. How could Hermione Granger not know about magical universities? But here she was. Nobody ever mentioned this information. She gave him another nervous smile and felt utterly pathetic.
"Maybe you're just too smart, Hermione," he reassured her.
"Thank you. Um… Shall we start?"
She didn't know how to react to his compliments. She hadn't even thought about Ron since meeting Edgar, and now that she remembered him, she didn't feel a thing. Years of love for Ron Weasley suddenly seemed as significant as a broken quill or something. The thought weirded her out. There was something about Edgar that didn't sit right with her, but she couldn't quite understand what.
"Your last name is Rosier, right?" she suddenly remembered.
"That is correct," he said, sounding a little defensive.
"Were you in Slytherin or perhaps Ravenclaw?"
"Neither. We moved back to London only after I graduated from Durmstrang. My family moved to Sweden when I was 7. If you're asking if Evan Rosier, the Death Eater, is my relative, then the answer is yes, he is my father's second cousin. But we have no affiliations with Death Eaters and certainly don't share their political views. Alright?" Edgar looked into her eyes and she couldn't read his emotions.
"I didn't mean to…"
"No need to apologize. I just want you to know that I'm not like them," he said, curling his lip. "The anatomy books are on your left."
Edgar walked to the bookshelf he had pointed out, and Hermione followed him. They stood there together, and he was a bit closer to her than she thought he should be. But for some reason, she didn't mind that.
"Oh, I think this one looks promising," she mumbled and pulled a huge ancient volume towards herself.
She hadn't expected it to be that heavy. Just as she almost dropped the book, Edgar swiftly caught her hands and the volume. Hermione glanced at him, finding herself locked in intense eye contact. Merlin, he was handsome. And too close. He smelled of an expensive cologne.
"Say, Hermione…" he said softly, "can I owl you sometime?"
Hermione's face went completely pink. Suddenly, she was very aware of the warmth of his hands on hers.
"S-sure," she squeaked.
Edgar smirked.
Hi! If you're reading this, I'm infinitely grateful to you. Thank you for supporting my work, much love 3
Wow! I didn't expect to write this much, but I'm happy how this chapter turned out. :)
And I've only barely touched the surface of the upcoming events…
Edgar Rosier is a charmer, I'm glad he introduced himself to me because personally, I'm totally into guys like him, haha.
Also kudos to Pansy, she is so much fun to write.
The next chapter is coming out soon. :)
Please don't hesitate to leave comments because your words motivate me so much!
Also, I'm waiting for the invitation from AO3 (which should come on June 25th) and I can't wait to post it there as well.