Chapter 1
Hermione sighed resignedly as she left the Apparition point that had led her from the Ministry to Muggle London. It had been an exhausting, and worse, unfulfilling day of paperwork and irate clients in the Department of Magical Creatures. Eight years in the Ministry, and even longer in the magical world, and she was still bemused by wizards’ insistence in using parchment and quills for a behemoth of a bureaucracy. There wasn’t a lot from the Muggle world that Hermione would have wizards adopt, but computers were certainly one of them. At the very least then, she wouldn’t have to trudge home every day with ink stains on her hands, looking like she had lost a fight with a giant squid.
She knew it was time for a new job, but she didn’t have a clue what kind of work to look for. A fact that was made worse when she reflected on the fact that her friends had settled in quite nicely into careers that were married to their passions. Harry had pursued Auror training, and was frequently lauded as a prodigy in the field. And Ron had managed to develop quite a fanbase through his Quidditch career. They were both kept so busy with their respective lives that Hermione barely heard from them. Occasionally, she sent an owl extending an invite to grab drinks, but was usually met with profuse apologies and explanations of how busy they both were. Hermione understood this, but it was a constant disappointment, and almost embarrassment, to be rejected each time she reached out.
Her path home was through a quiet neighborhood that connected to her own. The street was buffeted by quaint brick Georgian townhomes and dotted with elegant lamp posts that, for now, were rendered useless by the afternoon sun. Unsurprisingly, London had seen steady rain for three days. Also unsurprisingly, the limited charm of the rain had faded by the end of the first day. But, Hermione had to admit she enjoyed the deep, languid stretch the world seemed to take after a spot of bad weather lifted. Trees blossoming with quickly drying pink flowers lined the sides of the street, and under these Hermione meandered. This was an important time of day to her. Where she steeped in the quiet sensation of becoming anonymous to the world.
That was something Ron hadn’t understood when Hermione told him she would be moving to Muggle London after she secured her job at the Ministry.
“But, ‘Mione!”, he had said, “You’re a war hero! You could probably have rent for free near Diagon Alley if you play your cards right”.
Hermione scoffed at the memory. It was almost funny that after almost eight years of friendship, Ron didn’t realize that the fame and glory he had been describing was her worst nightmare. Of the ‘Golden Trio’, as they had been dubbed, Ron had acclimated to the post war spotlight most quickly. But, Hermione couldn’t say she blamed him. As the best mate of Harry Potter, he had always felt overshadowed to some degree. This only added to the keen lack of attention he felt as the youngest son of a loving, but large, family. His upbringing could not have been more different from Hermione’s as an only child.
Muggle London was both home to Hermione, and a foreign land. Here, she felt linked to her parents, who were still off in Australia after the reversal of their memory charms failed miserably. They had been her tether to the world from which she came, and now they were gone. Well, that wasn’t right. They were living, and they were happy, which is more than what they would have been had they stayed in England while Voldemort reigned.
Still, a heavy fog lived at the borders of Hermione’s mind, always threatening to creep in and smother her in its stifling embrace. On days it succeeded, she curled up on her couch, hugged her mother’s crocheted blanket, sobbed, and just waited for the fog to recede. She constantly reminded herself that the decision to erase the memories of their child from her parents’ minds really only wounded her. It was the price she paid so that her parents could live a normal life, far removed from any mention of magic, witches, or their unknown daughter.
Her somber musings were interrupted by her arrival at a crosswalk. The street was mostly free of cars, and Hermione was the only pedestrian. She tapped her thigh to the rhythm of the crosswalk counter as she waited. Her stiff black work pants and white blouse felt borderline suffocating in the heat. It was an unusually warm day for London, and Hermione prepared to cast a discreet cooling charm over herself until she felt another presence appear over her shoulder.
Hermione felt her throat catch with the panic of having almost done magic in the presence of a Muggle. Discreetly, she peeked a glance at the other person waiting at the crosswalk. To her dismay, the woman next to her was already staring in her direction. Hermione smiled disingenuously at the newcomer before turning away.
“Magic in public, Granger? Tut tut”, the woman droned in a strangely familiar voice.
Hermione whipped her head sharply to the side, and was met by the stare of a very attractive dark haired woman. Her eyes were dark, and framed by long lashes that had been decorated precisely with mascara. Something was familiar about them, but Hermione couldn’t place it. She got the feeling that last time she had seen these eyes, they had worn a more hostile expression.
Suddenly, Hermione was hit with a jolt of recognition.
It was Pansy Parkinson.
Once she got over the initial shock of seeing her old school rival, she allowed her eyes to trail over the other details of her appearance.
Pansy looked...good.
The eight years that had passed since they graduated Hogwarts had been kind to the former Slytherin. Her hair was neatly styled in a black bob, and she sported a jean jacket. It was a surprisingly Muggle look for a witch who came from a self proclaimed “pureblood” family.
What was most attention grabbing was the look on Pansy’s face. Hermione had grown so used to seeing a sneer on the Slytherin’s face that it had been branded into her memory. In fact, she had used to privately giggle to herself at the absurd contortions Pansy’s lips managed to form as she snarled at Hermione in the corridors of Hogwarts. Now, those same lips were softly curled into a smile. A twinkle appeared in her eyes as she took in, what Hermione was sure, was a shocked visage on her own face.
No wonder she hadn’t recognized her.
The rapid beeping of the crosswalk buzzer interrupted their quiet standoff. With a wink directed at Hermione, Pansy Parkinson stepped off the curb and sauntered away, into the heart of Muggle London.
Wordlessly, Hermione followed. She made no effort to catch up to the other woman, just watched with uncertainty as Pansy all but strutted down the sidewalk looking completely at ease in this world that was surely foreign to her.
It occurred to Hermione that she had probably come off rather rude by not replying to Pansy. And she was beginning to feel a keen sense of embarrassment about accidentally trailing her on a Muggle sidewalk of all places. What on Earth was she doing here anyway? Last she had heard, Parkinson had been pursuing journalism, and secured an internship with the Daily Prophet. Hermione had been certain that Pansy was comfortably chumming it up with Rita Skeeter, and gave no more thought to it. But, that wasn’t a job that would have brought her to MUGGLE London of all places. Hermione continued to ponder this mystery, while resisting the urge to fixate on Pansy’s figure still striding in front of her.
They were approaching Hermione’s neighborhood, and Hermione fully expected Pansy to turn off onto a side street, taking her to a more bustling, commercial area downtown. But, to her surprise, Pansy halted in front of a handsome brownstone building that looked a lot like her own. Hermione’s heart sank when she spotted Phil, her neglected philodendron, hanging in a basket by the front door, and realized that it WAS her building.
Refusing to be cowed by Pansy’s presence, and ravenously curious as to why she was here, Hermione squared her shoulders and marched on to meet her.
“Not much of a green thumb, Granger?”, Pansy asked when Hermione came to stand beside her.
Taken aback by the question, Hermione quickly forgot what she had planned to say, and bit out a startled “What?”
“Your plant?”, Pansy queried with false politeness.
“Phil?”, Hermione asked.
“Who?”
“Phil, that’s his name. He’s a philodendron. They’re meant to be very difficult to kill, and of course, I’ve almost managed to anyway”, Hermione babbled.
Dear GOD. She wanted to rip the loose thread that was hanging off her blazer and promptly use it to sew her overeager lips shut. Then, she would scamper up her steps to the safety of her flat, taking Phil with her, before tossing him out her back window so that she could truly forget this encounter had ever happened.
Pansy quirked her lips into a smile, “You always did like to do things the hard way, Granger”.
“I don’t know that I’ve always had a choice”, Hermione said.
A look of abashment flitted across Pansy’s face, interrupting her cool confidence. It was a small moment, but it was enough to comfort Hermione with the fact that she wasn’t the only one out of her element here.
“How’d you know this was my home, Parkinson?”, Hermione asked, “You surely didn’t think, ‘sad, wilting houseplant, must be Granger’s’”.
“Of course not, I simply felt that I should learn a bit about my neighbors before I moved in”, Pansy replied smoothly, before flitting up the steps to the building.
“Neigh-not the flat below mine?”, Hermione said.
Pansy turned to face her from her higher position on the steps, “I mean, there’s only two flats in this building, right?”
Hermione nodded.
“Then that’s the one!”, Pansy smiled.
Inexplicably, Hermione felt anger rising in her chest at Pansy’s flippantness. Did she have no inkling of how strange it was for her to know that her school bully would be living right beneath her?
“You knew I lived here?”, she asked tightly.
Pansy rolled her eyes, “Your landlord told me that someone named Hermione lived in the building. When I detected a magical signature on the building, it didn’t take much to put two and two together”.
“Why are you in Muggle London?”, Hermione asked.
“That’s going to remain my business, Granger”, Pansy replied smoothly.
“And you just happened to choose my building. Of all the flats in London”, Hermione said flatly.
“Ahh I see, so the only reason I could have moved here was to bother you specifically?”, Pansy said.
Hermione crossed her arms defiantly, and climbed two steps up to match Pansy’s level.
“I’m waiting for another reasonable explanation”, she sniffed.
Pansy looked at her with amusement, but a slight mocking tone laced her next words.
“This is exactly why I didn’t like you and your “Golden Trio” in school. I have never met a group of people more inclined to believe that the world revolves around them. It’s almost remarkable, really”, she said.
Hermione scoffed, “Well that’s a lovely deflection from the fact that you were more than eager to turn all of us over to Voldemort”.
“If you’re talking about that moment in the Great Hall-”.
“I am, actually”.
“Then I think we ought to be rehashing decade old history over a drink”.
Hermione paused, her acerbic reply stopped in her throat by Pansy’s sudden invitation.
Pansy continued, “Of course my flat is a mess right now, full of boxes and the like, but I broke out the alcohol last night, the important part, you know? And I could use some advice on how to decorate, I think we have the same flat layout-”
Hermione meant to say no. In fact, she was ninety nine percent sure that that would be the word leaving her mouth as she opened it to speak. Instead, she heard herself say….
“Sure”.
“Great”, Pansy replied, clearly uncertain about how to proceed next.
An awkward pause settled over the pair. Hermione quietly berated herself for letting the manners ingrained in her since birth overtake her much more sensible instinct to make some excuse to refuse Pansy. Or, maybe it was her curiosity about the woman that was at fault. Either way, she would have a story to tell Harry and Ginny over drinks tomorrow.
“Er, shall we then?”, Hermione said, gesturing to the front door.
“Yes”, Pansy said while practically scurrying up the remaining stairs to the glass paned front door. She quickly rifled through her purse and pulled out a grey key fob, before pressing it against its corresponding place on the door frame. She frowned when the door did not sound to signal its opening.
“Ugh. Of course, I’m landed with a broken key!”, she proclaimed, a tad dramatically in Hermione’s opinion.
“You have to match the circular parts up”, Hermione sighed.
“I did!”
“Here, let me see”, Hermione stepped up to Pansy’s side to take the key from her. Their hands brushed momentarily, and she was surprised at how warm and pleasant the other woman’s hands were.
Well, what were you expecting, Hermione? Snake skin?
Hermione let out a breath of amusement at the thought, which unfortunately, Pansy interpreted as being directed towards her.
“Alright then, Granger have your laugh. I have to admit I’m still getting used to Muggle technology”, Pansy huffed.
Hermione gave a wry smile, “It changes so often that I think everyone is constantly changing with it. I was happy with a simple key and lock”.
As Hermione opened the door, she barely heard Pansy’s quiet reply.
“Constantly changing. Theme of this past decade”.