Hermione's footsteps echoed against the cobblestones as she left Gringotts, the late hour lending an eerie stillness to Diagon Alley. It was just after 11 p.m. on New Year's Eve, and the chill in the air bit sharply at her skin, a stark reminder of the season. She wrapped her cloak tighter around herself, the weight of her long day pressing heavily on her shoulders. The distant sound of Muggle celebrations floated faintly through the night, contrasting with the quiet streets of the wizarding world. She was just about to reach the Apparition spot when she caught sight of a figure in the distance.
"Kingsley!" she called out, her eyes lighting up as she recognized him.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, his tall frame and commanding presence unmistakable even from a distance, walked towards her with a warm smile. As he reached her, he pulled her into a friendly hug. "Merry Christmas!" he said, though the holiday had passed.
Hermione laughed softly. "Merry Christmas to you too, Kingsley. It's a bit late for that, though."
Kingsley chuckled, stepping back and looking slightly embarrassed. "Well, I'm a bit behind. I wanted to wish you well before the year ends."
Curious, Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Have you finally asked your crush out?"
Kingsley's cheeks turned a shade of red. He shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. "I tried, but… I ended up talking shop instead of dinner."
Hermione grinned, unable to hide her amusement. "Talking shop, huh? Well, that's a great way to ruin a romantic moment."
Kingsley's eyes sparkled with mischief as he returned the tease. "And what about you? How's it going with Frank? You seemed quite chummy in the Longbottoms' garden the other day."
Hermione felt her face flush. "Oh, it's nothing," she said quickly, though her mind flashed back to their kiss and the accidental touches they'd shared. She looked away, trying to hide her feelings.
Kingsley noticed her reaction and didn't push further. "Alright, I won't pry. But I do have an invitation for you."
Hermione's curiosity was piqued. "An invitation?"
"Yes, to my New Year's party," Kingsley said with a grin. "It's actually being held on New Year's Day. I have to work tonight, so we're trying something new this year."
Hermione laughed softly. "That sounds like an interesting idea. I'll see if I can make it."
Kingsley nodded and gave her a friendly wave. "I'll be looking forward to it."
As she returned to the manor, exhaustion seeped into her bones. The quiet of the manor was a stark contrast to the busy hum of Gringotts, amplifying the solitude she felt.
The hallway was dimly lit, the shadows of the evening stretching long across the polished floors. As she approached the living room, the soft crackle of the fire and the rhythmic hum of the house seemed almost too loud in the silence.
Frank was seated in the middle of the room, the only light coming from the flickering fire casting eerie shadows across his face. His glass of amber liquid reflected the firelight, and his eyes, red-rimmed and glassy, told a story of sorrow that words could not fully convey. The sight of him alone and in such a state tugged at Hermione's heartstrings, each beat a painful reminder of her own emotional turmoil.
"Frank," Hermione said softly, her voice trembling as she stepped into the room. "Are you okay?"
Frank's head lifted slowly, his gaze unfocused and bleary. The raw, unguarded pain in his eyes was almost too much to bear.
"Come on, Hermione," he said, his voice rough. "Have a drink with me."
Hermione hesitated, her mind flashing back to their last encounter with alcohol—the kiss that had left them both bewildered and unsettled.
"I don't think that's a good idea," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.
"I need you, please," he said, his voice cracking. "Just... stay with me."
Seeing the vulnerability in his eyes, Hermione sighed and sank into the chair beside him
She took the glass he offered, her fingers brushing against his in a way that sent a shiver through her. She took a sip, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through her, mingling with the tension that hung between them.
They sat together in the dim light, the fire casting flickering shadows around them. The room felt oddly intimate, the alcohol blurring the edges of their pain. Hermione could feel Frank's sorrow radiating from him, and it only deepened her own sense of connection and discomfort.
"What's... what's got you drinking like this?" Hermione asked, her words coming out in a slow, deliberate manner. Her mind was fuzzy, but she was determined to understand.
Frank stared into his glass, his eyes misty. "It's... been a rough year," he murmured. "I miss her so much. I don't know how to... move on, you know?"
Hermione's heart ached for him, and she reached out, her hand finding his arm with a gentle, but unsteady touch. "You don't have to do it alone," she said softly. "We're all here for you. Even if it's just... sitting with you."
Frank looked at her, his eyes searching hers for comfort. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to... push everyone away. Didn't want to seem... distant."
Hermione shook her head, her own emotions swirling. "It's okay," she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. "We're all here. We'll get through this together."
"Do you ever... feel like you're carrying someone's ghost with you?" Frank asked suddenly, his voice trembling. "Like they're still here, even though they're gone?"
Hermione shivered at his words, her thoughts swirling with the effects of the drink. "Sometimes," she admitted, her voice wavering. "Sometimes it feels like they're still with us, in our hearts. It's their memory, their presence that keeps them alive, even if only... in our minds."
Frank nodded slowly, tears sliding down his cheeks. "I think that's what I'm struggling with. Alice's ghost... it's everywhere. I can't escape it."
Hermione's heart twisted, and she moved closer, her hand resting on his arm in a gesture of shared grief. "You don't have to escape it," she said gently. "It's okay to remember her. But also... let yourself find moments of peace. You need to heal, too."
Frank's gaze softened, a mixture of sorrow and acceptance in his eyes. "Thank you, Hermione," he said quietly. "I don't know how I'd cope without you."
His gaze was fixed on her, filled with a deep, unspoken sadness. He seemed to wrestle with something inside himself, and then, with a trembling hand, he reached up and gently caressed her cheek. Hermione's heart almost stopped.
"Hermione," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Have you... have you forgiven me? For the hurt I caused you?"
Hermione blinked, confusion cutting through her drunken haze. Her voice was slurred as she asked, "Why—why are you asking me this?"
Frank's hand trembled slightly against her skin as he spoke, his words heavy with guilt. "Because... I can't sleep at night. I keep thinking back... to that night, in my anger. When I grabbed you by the throat... hauled you off your feet." His voice faltered, filled with self-loathing. "I remember the way you panicked, how you didn't fight back. The way... the way you slammed into the wall, head first. Blood... it dripped down your neck... and those tears, Hermione... I can't forget them."
Hermione sniffled, the memory of that night crashing over her like a wave, her heart tightening in her chest. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. Frank, seeing her distress, hurriedly cupped her face with both hands and moved closer, sinking to his knees in front of her.
"Shhh, please... don't cry, Hermione," he pleaded, his voice breaking as he wiped away her tears with his thumbs. "I'm so sorry. I've been dying inside with the guilt, every single day. I know... I know you didn't mean for any of it to happen. I know it wasn't your fault."
He bowed his head, his shoulders shaking with the weight of his words. "I know you're not responsible for Alice's death... I blamed you because... because I couldn't think straight. But the truth is... I blame Bellatrix. She's the one who killed my wife, not you. Never you."
Hermione swallowed hard, her throat tight with emotion. "Frank... I... I'm still... I'm still a bit afraid. Of your reaction. After what happened... the way you hexed me…"
Frank's heart broke at her confession. He reached out and pulled her into his arms, his embrace desperate and full of regret. "I swear, Hermione... I swear on everything... I would never, ever do that again. I'd rather die than hurt you like that again."
Hermione was so stunned by the raw emotion in his voice, by the way he clung to her, that she found herself frozen for a moment. She hadn't been hugged like this before, with such intensity, and it stirred something deep inside her—an aching loneliness that had been buried for so long. She felt the tears spill over again, but this time, she didn't hold back. Slowly, she wrapped her arms around him, succumbing to her own need for comfort.
When she hugged him back, Frank's grip on her tightened as if he feared she might slip away. He buried his face in her shoulder, his tears soaking into her shirt as he cried openly, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. "I'm so sorry," he whispered over and over, his voice thick with pain.
Hermione held him as tightly as she could, her own tears mingling with his. In that moment, all their pain, their guilt, and their grief merged together, creating a fragile bond between them. It wasn't forgiveness, not completely—but it was a step toward healing, and in the silence of the room, it felt like the beginning of something new.
A few moments later, Hermione pulled back and struggled to her feet. "Time to go to bed."
Frank grumbled and reached out to take her hand. "Don't wanna…"
"Come on," she mumbled, but she let him hold her hand.
As Hermione guided Frank upstairs, the distant sound of Muggle voices filled the night air. Outside, the world was alive with the excitement of the impending New Year. Their footsteps echoed softly in the quiet manor, a mix of alcohol and exhaustion making each step a little less certain. Hermione could feel the weight of the night settling into her bones, her mind foggy and her limbs heavy. She stumbled slightly on the stairs, the world tilting just a bit too far to the side. Frank's reflexes, though dulled by drink, were still sharp enough; his hand shot out to catch her, fingers wrapping firmly around her waist. His touch was warm, steadying her in a way that made her heart flutter despite herself.
"Careful," Frank mumbled, his voice low and thick with alcohol. He kept his hand on her waist, guiding her the rest of the way up the stairs.
They reached his room, and Hermione hesitated for a moment in the doorway, her eyes taking in the disarray of the space. It looked as tired and worn as she felt. She guided Frank towards the bed, her movements automatic despite her sluggishness. He sat down heavily, and she knelt beside him, her hands moving almost on their own as she started to untangle his shoes from his feet.
"You should at least brush your teeth," she muttered, her voice slurred with fatigue. The words felt strangely out of place, a remnant of routine in a moment that was anything but. Her fingers fumbled with the laces of his boots, and she managed to get them off after a few clumsy attempts.
Frank watched her with half-lidded eyes, his gaze following her every movement. She tugged the blanket over him, smoothing it out as best she could, though her hands were unsteady. He mumbled something incoherent, and she leaned in closer, her hair brushing his cheek as she tried to hear him.
"You should sleep," she whispered, her voice gentle, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile quiet of the room. She reached out to smooth a strand of hair from his forehead, her touch light and careful.
But Frank didn't seem to be paying attention to her words. His eyes were glassy but focused on her, a mix of emotions swimming just beneath the surface. The connection between them, fragile and uncertain, seemed to hum in the air around them.
His gaze, glassy and unfocused, gradually sharpened as he looked at her. There was an intensity in his eyes that Hermione hadn't seen before—a raw, unspoken emotion that made her heart skip a beat. She paused, momentarily caught in the weight of his stare, and something in the room seemed to shift, like the world had slowed down just for them.
She turned to leave, her movements slow and uncertain, but before she could take a step, Frank's hand shot out and gently grabbed hers. His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and rough, sending a jolt through her. She froze, her breath catching in her throat as he tugged her back toward him with a surprising strength. The sudden movement made her stumble, and before she knew it, she was falling onto the bed beside him, her body pressed against his.
The room seemed to spin slightly as she landed, the alcohol in her system making everything feel a little off-kilter. She could hear the distant sound of Muggles outside, their voices growing louder as they counted down to the New Year. The numbers echoed faintly through the window, mingling with the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth.
"Frank—" Hermione started, her voice barely above a whisper, but she didn't finish her sentence. The words seemed to dissolve on her tongue as she realized how close they were, her chest pressed against his. Frank's eyes, heavy-lidded and filled with something she couldn't quite place, searched her face as if looking for an answer to a question neither of them had asked.
The world outside the room seemed to fade away, the countdown distant, almost like a dream. Frank's hand slowly slid from her wrist up her arm, his touch light but deliberate, as if he was afraid she might disappear if he moved too quickly. His thumb brushed the curve of her shoulder before it traced its way to her neck, fingers grazing her skin with a feather-light touch that sent shivers down her spine.
She could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek as he leaned in closer, his other hand reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he was trying to memorize every detail of her face. Hermione's heart pounded in her chest, the rhythm matching the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the room. She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the moment, letting herself feel the quiet intimacy that had been building between them for weeks.
The countdown outside grew louder, the final seconds slipping away. Hermione could hear the excited shouts of the Muggles in the distance, but it all seemed so far away, like it was happening in another world entirely. Frank's hand lingered on her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin softly, his touch both tender and hesitant, as if he was holding back something deeper, something he wasn't ready to say.
Then, just as the countdown reached its peak, as the new year began to break through the silence, Frank leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.
The distant sound of fireworks crackled in the background, but Hermione hardly noticed. All she could focus on was the feel of Frank's lips against hers, the way his hands cradled her face, the way the world seemed to blur at the edges, leaving just the two of them, tangled together in the dark.