The hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley had always been one of the things that had attracted Hermione to the place. An aura of whimsy that the muggle world lacked had made the shrouded wizarding community a fun place to visit. Now nearly half the storefronts were boarded up. The owners either missing or too afraid to keep the doors open.
Where colorful advertisements used to hang in the windows to entice potential customers into the various shops, dark weathered wanted posters depicting the faces of the highest-ranking Death Eaters glared down and cast a constant reminder of the ever-present danger. There was no ringing laughter of hyperactive children running ahead of their parents or raucous shouts of greeting from one friend to another. There were no shopkeepers outside heckling passerbyers to buy their newest wares.
Foreboding had left no place untouched… Other than maybe, Weasley Wizard Wheezes. The twins had refused to cave to the pressure. Their store was a beam of sunshine in the dreary landscape. It took everything in Hermione not to walk through the doors and bask in the bright happy atmosphere within. To be hazed and playfully picked on like it was a normal summer day, but she knew that her appearance would draw even more unwanted attention to the two wizards who openly defied Voldemort.
Instead, she tucked her chin to her chest so the hood of her cloak obscured her well-known face from the view of a witch who hurried past the table she was situated at and half-listened to the nervous prattling next to her.
"House-elves is built for this, Miss. I is very happy to be helping." Winky gushed.
"I am glad to hear it," Hermione mumbled with a heavy sigh of annoyance. She had given up on the ignored reminders that the house elf's new charges were likely not to show.
"Yes, Winky is going to be very helpful. I be taking care of a family again, Miss." The elf's tiny head bobbed up and down with her insistence. Her usually glazed brown eyes were sharp as she surveyed the square for the hundredth time. "No more shame… No, no more shame for Winky's mother or grandmother or the grandmother before her... I is fixing it."
Her heart broke for the being who refused to hear her warnings. She regretted bringing her into it… Especially when the realization that they were not going to show caused the house-elf to break her short stint at sobriety.
He hesitated.
The fact did not soothe her aching middle. If anything, it gnawed at the edges of the cavernous wound. Infecting the entire monstrosity with doubt until she had no hope of ever healing from the damage to her psyche. How could she let go if he was going to do the right thing? How could she not when his intentions meant nothing and Dumbledore was still dead?
Hermione winced as the first pangs of a migraine erupted behind her eyes. "Winky…"
"Yes, Miss?"
"I think it might be time for you to return to Hogwarts…"
"No, we is waiting for your Beloved and his Mother, Miss." Winky shook her head so violently that her tiny blue hat fell off. She squeaked her dismay and scrambled to replace the deplorable gift that her former master had given to her upon her scandal of a retirement.
They had been waiting for hours at the spot they were supposed to Disapparate from…
"They are not coming."
The defeated tone of her voice did more than the repeated proclamation to get the house elf to believe her. Winky blinked her too-wide eyes a few times before she glared off into the distance. "Dobby is right! That Malfoy is a bad, bad, bad boy… He is needing more than a good house-elf."
Hermione might have laughed at the veiled threat if the pain had not spread so it pulsated at her temples, "Yes, he is… very bad indeed… So you see, it is better that they didn't show. You can go home."
"Home?" Winky worked on the word and how it applied to her and Hogwarts. Considering her contentious employment there it wasn't surprising that the house-elf would not think of the place as such, but she gave a quick smile. "I is going home to Dobby, Miss."
"Thank you for everything and take care," Hermione was hardly able to finish the farewell before the tiny creature disappeared with a loud crack that caused suspicious glances to be thrown in her wake.
In an attempt to seem as inconspicuous as possible; she reached over, grabbed the cup of tea that had gone cold ages ago, and took a sip of icy liquid. The taste made her want to spew but she swallowed and relaxed back into her seat, pretending it was just another overcast afternoon in the middle of London. And not the last chance he had to begin righting his wrongs…
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"How did it go?"
Soft and wary of the answer, the youngest Weasley's voice reached her ears seconds after she crossed into the boundaries of the protective charms that surrounded The Burrow. Hermione's legs gave out from under her.
She was safe.
Confident that Ginny and Mrs. Weasley would take care of her, she didn't fight the darkness that quickly followed.
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Later that night, when all the concerned pampering and carefully laid lies that covered for her twenty-four-hour absence had commenced, she laid next to the girl in bed. Wedged between her warm body and the wall, she had been strategically placed so she couldn't even go to the bathroom without a watchful eye counting the minutes.
She appreciated the concern but she hadn't had a single moment to process the day's events. There had been someone at her side since she had left her quarters in The Three Broomsticks and joined Winky. From the second she had opened her eyes and a cup of broth was shoved into her hands, either Ginny, Fleur, or Mrs. Weasley had been at her side. Concerned that her behavior was the start of another descent into more heinous thoughts… Or actions.
However, their understandable anxieties were not needed. She wasn't depressed. She was insatiably angry. If Hermione could, she would have gone and hexed the object of her ire until he was no longer recognizable as the Malfoy heir. That wasn't an option, so she laid there in the dark while Ginny slept and tried to distract herself.
Wendell and Monica should have landed in Australia around dinnertime that evening. Eager to start their new lives and oblivious to the fact that they had a secret daughter halfway across the world. She hoped she had done enough to keep them safe from her ex-fiance's unhinged boss.
Her reflection led her down a montage of the sweeter moments throughout their relationship. It wasn't the grand gestures of love that stuck out, which there were plenty of. The small things were what mattered. Spontaneous day trips that ended with frenzied nights were fun and all… But it was the way her father readied the kettle every night so her mother could have a cup right away in the morning or how she always kept track of his car keys because he had a habit of leaving them on counters when he paid on dates, that cemented their love.
The worshipful attention they paid to learn the other was awe-inspiring. And wholly unfair…
Her stomach flipped as she recognized that she was jealous of her own parents.
She had been robbed of her chance for that kind of bond. Snatched up in the middle of the night by his fellow monsters, the one person who she felt she could be that vulnerable with was gone. He had picked the darkness… and hesitated at the very end.
His final decision was interrupted, leaving her in a constant state of confused anger. The only respite was when sleep would overtake her. Fretful and broken by horrific nightmares, half the time she would awaken more exhausted than she was to begin with.
Hermione swallowed hard to stifle the tears that threatened to fall down her cheeks. She should have been able to breathe and concentrate on the task of finding and destroying the horcruxes. Not entrenched in the cycle of unending drama inside of her mind as she tried to reason with herself.
Draco Malfoy's hesitation meant nothing… and everything at the same time.
It was the same glimmer of hope that caused her to stay and fight rather than become another Wilkins. He might have chosen differently if given a few more minutes… and he might not have. She would never know. She would live whatever was left of her life wondering how things could have been. Whether it was days, years, or, miraculously, she made it to two-hundred. It would be there, nagging at her.
Ginny let out a soft groan and turned over so that she faced Hermione. Even in sleep, her eyebrows were furrowed. Worry was etched into her freckled features, revealing the level of struggle the witch kept hidden to stay light-hearted for those around her.
A fresh wave of guilt overwhelmed her and Hermione felt as the first tear paved a path across her face, tickling her skin, until it nestled in her hair.
Tomorrow she wouldn't be anywhere near as selfish…