In a Rabbit Run
“Here I am in a rabbit run, here I am in a valley of pine, waiting for you to find me. I could pretend I’m speaking to everyone —assume a middle distance and transcend myself—but I’m talking to you and you know it. ” - The Long and Short of It, Richard Siken
Hermione blinked repeatedly as her eyes struggled to adjust to the flashing lights of cameras clicking in her direction.
She exhaled a deep breath, then ran for it, lifting her dress so she didn’t step on the hem as she rushed towards the building’s doors where her friends waited for her.
“They’re crazy out there!” exclaimed Hermione.
“You know how it is,” shrugged Harry, intertwining his fingers through Ginny’s as they stepped into the hall. “At least there won’t be as many in the actual party. I’m pretty sure only The Daily Prophet 's photographers are allowed inside.”
“That doesn’t make me feel much better,” said Hermione, following them. “Do you know how many letters I’ve sent Padma just this past year? I’m sick of complaining about all the lies in those bloody articles of hers. At least we knew Rita Skeeter was out to get us. Padma is supposed to be our friend.”
“It’s just harmless gossip, Hermione,” said Ginny, chuckling at Hermione’s exasperation. “That’s pretty much her job description nowadays.”
“That doesn’t mean we should just take it,” said Hermione, her arm brushing against Ron’s as they made their way down the corridor leading to the ballroom. “Serious journalism is a real thing, you know? In fact, The Serpent Wire is doing a better job of it than-”
“Ah, no,” interrupted Harry, “this is a party. No complaining here, Hermione. This is supposed to be about free drinks and free food. We’ve all agreed!”
“Cheers to that, mate,” said Ron.
“Okay, I’ll stop,” grumbled Hermione. She glanced at Ron. “I hope you bought a Sobering Potion. Merlin knows you still haven't learned how to hold your liquor.”
“Excuse me, Hermione? I’m a drinking champ, I'm a freaking pro,” said Ron, voice high in feigned offense.
“Last year’s Christmas Party suggests otherwise,” said Ginny, turning to shoot him a teasing smirk, “you almost broke your leg dancing on those levitated tables. But I’m happy to wake up tomorrow with a fun headline to read, so don’t let that memory stop you.”
“Your total lack of trust in my drinking abilities actually wounds me, ” said Ron, pressing a hand to his chest. “It seriously does.”
“Sorry, mate,” said Harry, “there’s no defending you on this.”
“Don’t worry too much, brother,” said Ginny, “there’s no better place to injury yourself while drunk than in a party full of Healers.” Hermione chuckled as she listened to them bicker, feeling light when they finally reached the ballroom’s entrance.
Every witch and wizard in the place was dressed to the nines. Couples clustered around small tables scattered across the parquet floor, illuminated by a dazzling chandelier and hundreds of floating candles. The walls were covered in lavish velvet banners which displayed messages about St. Mungo’s legacy and images of important moments in the hospital's history. In the far corner was a small stage, on which a sole musician played the harp. The music was muffled by the sound of loud conversation echoing all over the room.
As they walked down the large Victorian staircase, they were greeted by people eager to congratulate Harry on his promotion, most of whom Hermione recognized from former Ministry functions. Her neck and face felt impossibly hot; she wished she had worn her hair down to hide the flush in her cheeks. Ron stuck by her side, but unlike Hermione, he seemed to bask in the attention, swaggering his way through clusters of people while holding aloft a glass of champagne he had grabbed from a passing tray.
“Do you want one?” asked Ron, turning to her and taking a sip.
“Not yet,” she shook her head, “we’ve just gotten here.”
“Live a little, Hermione,” he said, throwing his head back as he drowned the rest of the champagne in one large gulp. Hermione suppressed a grimace.
Hermione turned to see an older woman approaching them. She smirked when Ron started coughing in surprise, patting him lightly on the back before turning to face the stranger.
“Hello, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley,” said the woman, offering them her hand, “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced before. I’m Karina Goldfinch, and I’m part of the St. Mungo’s board of directors.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Karina,” said Hermione, shaking her hand. She subtly nudged Ron with her elbow, who grunted the woman a hello, his face still red.
As Karina began asking about her work at the MRC, Hermione squared her shoulders and amped up her smile, mentally reminding herself what was public knowledge and what she could say that wouldn’t earn her a meeting with Hughman next week. I wish Cartwell was here, she thought, she’d know the best talking points about the MRC.
Soon Hermione was surrounded by a small group of people listening to her with avid attention, nodding at all the right intervals and inquiring further about her life when she fell silent. She nervously tugged at her dress, trying to filter what was safe to risk having plastered in The Daily Prophet the next morning.
“I insisted to my family that we had to contribute to rebuilding the school,” said an Auror that she vaguely recognized from the DMLE. “We’ve also donated quite a few exclusive editions from our personal library. I’ve heard you have quite a passion for books, isn’t that right?”
“Oh yes, I love books,” said Hermione, throwing a subtle glance towards where Ron had previously stood.
She wasn’t surprised to see he had fled their conversation. About thirty feet away, he had gathered his own crowd, made up of young women who nodded at everything he said while he downed champagne and ate an horrying amount of hors d'oeuvres. It’s like he’s still fifteen years old, she thought.
“Most of the books we donated were from our extensive collection on Herbology. The Headmistress was so grateful,” the Auror prattled on. “I still own some rare texts on many subjects, if you’d be interested-”
“That’s incredible,” said Hermione, struggling to pay attention. She noticed Harry and Ginny across the ballroom, hands intertwined as they chatted with the Minister of Magic and a clean-cut Gawain Robards. “Your generosity definitely made all the difference at getting Hogwarts back in shape as quickly as we did.”
She was relieved when Ron finally returned to her side, greeting the group politely before whispering in her ear, “Harry is waving at us, we should head over there, yeah?”
Hermione nodded, then turned to the group. “I’m sorry. I have to go now, but I am sure we’ll catch up later!” She gave them an apologetic smile as she excused herself.
Ron pressed a hand to the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd as they dodged people’s attempts at catching their attention. She stepped away from his lingering hand as soon as they reached Harry.
“Minister,” greeted Hermione, nodding at Shacklebolt. “Robards. Long time no see.”
“Miss Granger, it’s been a while,” said Shacklebolt, grinning at her. “We were just talking about the work you’ve been doing at the MRC. We greatly appreciate your efforts.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she flushed, waving a hand. “I’m glad to be able to help.”
“Don’t be humble, Miss Granger,” said Robards, tilting his head to the side. “We just bumped into Hughman, he raves about you every time we speak.”
“The director is very generous with his compliments,” said Hermione, itching to change the subject. It’s not like I’m having actual success over there, she thought grimly. “Harry is the one who’s making waves, we’re all so happy about his new position. I’m sure you’re proud to be his mentor.”
“Like I’ve told everyone who’s asked,” Robards pointed his glass of champagne towards Harry, “there is no one better suited for the job.”
Hermione watched as Ginny grinned in delight, squeezing Harry’s arm. His face flushed in a mixture of bashfulness and pride.
“I wonder what you’re planning to do now that you’ve stepped down?” asked Hermione, unable to control her tongue. She smiled tightly when Harry nudged her with his foot.
“Oh, this and that. You’ll know in due time,” said Robards. Before Hermione could press for more information, he snapped his head towards The Daily Prophet ’s photographer, waving his hand to call him over. “We should take a photo to celebrate this moment, right, Kingsley?”
“Of course,” the Minister agreed, “it’s been a while since we’ve had every member of The Golden Trio in the same place.”
“Maybe we should visit the MRC more,” said Robards, arching a brow at Hermione, “or perhaps Miss Granger is finally ready to accept an offer to work in a more pivotal Ministry department?”
Hermione was spared from having to respond by the arrival of the photographer, who seemed both thrilled and nervous to be in their presence.
“Could you all stand side to side?” he prompted eagerly, taking a few steps back as he raised his camera. Robards and Shacklebolt moved to stand on either side of Harry and Ron. Hermione was squeezed between Ginny and Ron, the latter throwing his arm over her shoulder. She fought the urge to close her eyes as the photographer snapped photos in a quick succession, making sure to smile as brightly as she could.
She let her smile drop when Shacklebolt finally waved the photographer off. He nodded before scurrying away with his camera.
“What is that Death Eater scum doing here?” suddenly hissed Ron.
Hermione turned to look in the direction he was staring, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Malfoy’s tall figure. She watched him walk down the stairs with a slender brunette Hermione recognized as Daphne Greengrass.
“Is he even allowed to be here?” said Ron.
“He’s probably Daphne’s guest,” said Hermione. She watched Malfoy bend his head down to whisper something in her ear. Daphne glanced up at him with lips twisted in a delicate smile. Hermione felt her cheeks burn.
“After everything the ferret’s done, he should be rotting in Azkaban, not walking around like he owns the place,” complained Ron, staring at them as hard as Hermione. “I don’t know who sends out invitations for these things, but they need to start sorting a blacklist or something--” continued Ron as Hermione barely listened. She hid her audible intake of breath when Malfoy’s head snapped in their direction. When his eyes locked on hers, she felt a shiver down her spine.
“Oi, is he bloody looking at us?”
“Of course he is, Ronald ,” snapped Hermione, forcing herself to look away. “Maybe stop giving him so much attention.”
“Why am I suddenly ‘Ronald?’” he said in a hurt voice. “What the bloody hell did I do now?”
“Nothing, Ron, I’m sorry,” she said, then turned her body towards him, trying to ignore Malfoy’s lingering gaze. “How about we take a walk around? I think I saw Hestia Jones somewhere, we should greet her.”
“Oh, yeah, I haven’t seen Hestia since her wedding last year,” nodded Ron. “Let’s go, then. And you’re right, we should just pretend Malfoy’s not here.”
Hermione sighed in relief and followed Ron. When he offered her a glass of champagne, this time she accepted, taking a large sip. She hoped the alcohol would numb her enough to make the rest of the night pass quickly.
_
Draco leaned against a stone pillar, arms crossed, and admired the balcony’s view of the navy blue sky. He’d surreptitiously cast a Silencing Charm on the balcony doors, which provided a much needed refuge from the noise of the ballroom. After barely an hour at this party, he was already itching to be anywhere else.
Having grown up as a Malfoy, this type of function wasn’t a novelty to him. In fact, it wasn’t even the most extravagant event he had attended. But he wasn’t used to being so openly scrutinized. Draco didn’t mind some attention, but he was getting tired of pretending not to notice the glares thrown in his direction.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” uttered a familiar voice. Draco turned around in time to catch Granger’s retreating form. “I didn’t realize you were out here.”
“You can stay,” said Draco, the words spilling out of his mouth before his mind could catch up.
Granger hesitated. Somehow Draco knew she wasn’t going to leave. He had noticed her several times throughout the evening -- it was a strange feeling, to instinctively know when she was looking at him. When he chased her stare, Granger snapped her eyes away as if shocked she’d gotten caught.
He purposely didn’t think too hard about what it meant.
“You needed an escape too?” asked Granger, stepping further onto the balcony. She moved to stand by his side, leaning her elbows over the golden railing.
“I didn’t need to escape anything, Granger,” he huffed. “Watching you and Potter get your arses kissed was getting hard, though, so I came out for some fresh air.”
“You didn't have to look at us if it was bothering you so much,” she snapped.
“Oh, please,” he rolled his eyes, “this might as well be a Golden Trio party. You’re getting more attention than the actual healers we’re supposed to be celebrating.” To his surprise, her shoulders sagged.
“It was getting too much,” she admitted grudgingly. “Sometimes people really have no sense.”
Draco watched her from the corner of his eye. Granger did look kind of rattled. Otherwise, she was as put together as he had ever seen her. Her usually wild curls were pinned in a braided updo, giving Draco an open view of her flushed skin and shining lips. He couldn’t even begin to sort out what he thought of her, when she looked like this.
“Why are you staring at me?” asked Granger, shooting him a suspicious look. “Is there something on my face? I told Ginny I didn’t want to put on so much makeup.”
“There's nothing on your face, Granger. Calm down,” he said.
She didn’t say anything immediately, choosing instead to look at the sky. Draco had stepped away from the pillar, and now stood with his side pressed against the railing, his body turned to face her. He noticed how the moon seemed to form a halo behind her head. He kept having to drag his eyes back to her face, instead of lingering on the distracting curve of her neck.
She cleared her throat before looking at him again. “Harry is a weird case. I think that as much as he craves attention, he’s uncomfortable with it. It’s actually kind of funny watching him in crowds like this. He acts so awkward, but it doesn’t really seem to drain his energy.”
“Why are you telling me this?” he said. “Potter being an attention-seeker is not new information.”
“It’s because you remind me of him, in that way.” She chuckled at his affronted expression. “I just meant that you both naturally catch people’s attention. But instead of acting awkward, you just strut around as if everyone should be looking at you.”
“That’s not a lie. I can safely say that, unlike Potter, I provide people with a breathtaking view.” He gave a casual shrug. Granger sighed in exasperation, and he had to bite back the smile threatening to surface.
"I don’t know how you fit anywhere with a head as big as yours.”
“So original, Granger,” he snickered. “I could turn that into a dirty joke, but I know you’re a lady.”
“You won’t do it because you know I’ll punch you in the face,” said Granger.
“So Muggle of you to threaten to punch me instead of hexing me.”
Granger feigned a sweet smile. “Hexing you would be a waste of my magic, Malfoy. And you know for a fact I have a mean hook.”
“You have a what?”
“It's boxing slang, it means my punch will hurt you,” she said. Draco leaned closer to her, smirking when she flushed. She turned her head away from him, but didn’t step back. “Anyway, there’s something I want to tell you.”
“Oh?” He looked at her with both apprehension and anticipation.
“I did some research about the London Eye,” said Granger. She skimmed her fingers along the railing, looking almost shy.
“The wheel ferry?” asked Draco, confused at her change of subject.
“The ferris wheel, ” she corrected. “So, it’s made of steel, right?”
“Am I about to get a lesson?”
“ So,” she went on, ignoring him, “there are two tapered legs at the base of the structure, and it has cables that keep the frame from tilting towards the River Thames.”
“That’s how they keep the thing upright?” he said curiously.
“Pretty much,” she agreed. “Those cables are buried in a concrete foundation that’s, like, about thirty-three meters deep.”
“And you researched that?” asked Draco.
“I just found these little tidbits. Apparently the London Eye is different from other wheels because it has enclosed capsules instead of the usual gondolas. And it’s only supported on one side, so people are basically hanging over the river while it turns.”
“That’s interesting,” said Draco.
“ I know ,” Granger nodded enthusiastically, “you seemed curious about it. Of course I’d have to study it way more to understand the mechanics, but I figured that might answer some of your questions.”
Granger’s pretty, Draco thought suddenly. When the realization hit him, he straightened up where he stood. He felt the urge to leave the room and never face Granger again.
It was the look in her eyes that kept him in place -- like it was completely normal to spend time researching something she wasn’t particularly interested in, just because Draco showed a fleeting curiosity in it. He could bet she didn’t even realize how completely disconcerting that was.
At last he said, “You really are a swot, aren’t you, Granger?” when the silence dragged for too long, aware of how lame and weak it sounded.
Granger just snickered. “That’s my cross to bear. Just like being a total narcissistic snob is yours.”
“Ah, so we’re back at the insults? That didn’t take long.”
“You started it,” she exclaimed.
“I just stated facts,” he said smugly, “and you can’t even deny it, swottiness is just a part of your personality. You should learn to embrace it.”
“You didn’t deny you’re narcissistic either.”
“Ah, how did you put it?” He clicked his tongue,.“My cross to bear, apparently.”
This time, when Granger smiled at him, her eyes turned into half-moons, crinkled at the corners. He had never seen her smile so openly. I should leave, he urged himself more forcefully. But she didn’t, so he didn’t, either.
“Why are you really here, Malfoy?” asked Granger after several moments. “Shouldn’t you be escorting Daphne Greengrass around the room?"
“Daphne doesn’t need me to escort her anywhere,” he smirked. “She can survive without me for a while. Couldn’t say the same for Weasel. He was glued to you the entire evening. He’s probably self-combusting right now, thinking someone kidnapped you.”
“Don’t start,” said Granger, her smile dropping. “Ron is my friend.”
“So you can talk about my friends but I can’t talk about yours?”
“I wasn’t insulting her. I just asked you a question.”
“Is there any other way to talk about Weasel? I certainly don’t know it,” he said, watching in amusement as she chewed at her lower lip, trying to appear annoyed. “But to answer your question, just like I told you before, I wanted to get a breather. That doesn’t explain why you ’re here.”
“Well,” Granger hesitated, “I guess the same, it got kind of stifling in there. And this Auror kept stopping me to brag about how many galleons he donated to Hogwarts. I don’t know what he was trying to accomplish.” He was trying to impress you so he could get into your pants, thought Draco.
“What an absolute git,” said Draco, “my father always told me that witches don’t like when you talk about your wealth.”
“The same father who bought the entire Slytherin quidditch team brand new brooms in our second year?” said Granger, letting out an unlady-like snort. “Who are you kidding?”
“Pay attention, Granger. I said you shouldn’t talk about your wealth.” He nudged her hand that was gripping the railing. “It’s way more effective to show it.”
“That’s rubbish,” she said, rolling her eyes, “but so like you that I can’t even pretend to be surprised.”
Before Draco could come up with a response, they were interrupted by the sound of the balcony door opening.
“Draco, I’ve been looking for you for ages!” exclaimed Daphne, not noticing he wasn’t alone. Draco stepped away from Granger and cleared his throat. Daphne faltered, struggling to register what she was seeing.
“Sorry, Daph. I didn’t realize I’ve been away for so long,” said Draco.
“Oh,” muttered Daphne, “I didn’t see you there, Granger. Am I interrupting--”
“Of course not,” said Granger, smiling flatly. The way it contrasted with the genuine smile she had offered him earlier made Draco shift in discomfort. “Malfoy and I just bumped into each other, that’s all.”
“I can come back in a bit--” started Daphne.
“Don’t be daft, Daphne,” snapped Draco, “Like Granger said, we just bumped into each other. I was about to go back to the party, anyway.”
“Oh, you can stay here, I’m going. Ron is probably looking for me, or something,” said Granger, rushing towards the door before Draco could utter a word. “I guess I'll see you both around.”
She didn’t spare him another glance as she left the balcony. Daphne watched with a frown as Granger closed the door behind her, then turned to look at Draco. She didn’t say anything at first. Draco sighed and stepped away from the railing.
“Get that look off your face--”
“What look?” she said, smoothing her expression, “I didn’t have any look.”
“Daphne--”
“I mean, why would I have a look?” continued Daphne. “You left me alone, saying you were going out for a fag. For a couple of minutes, that’s what you said. Then two minutes turned into thirty, and I find you canoodling with--”
“Canoodling?” he hissed. “We weren’t even close. And how old are you, again?”
“Oh, you weren’t canoodling?”
“Hardly,” huffed Draco, “we were merely having a conversation, not that I have to explain myself to you, Daphne. I’m just pretending to be your boyfriend.”
“Oh, get over yourself,” she chuckled. “Granger’s more attractive to me than you are. I’m not bloody jealous. I’m just saying that’s rather stupid of you--”
“You’re sounding exactly like Theo right now.”
“Theo would never let you live this down and you know it,” said Daphne. “Salazar knows I’m not in a position to judge, but you were looking awfully cozy--”
“Because there is nothing to judge, Daphne,” snapped Draco, feeling the momentary semblance of peace slip away.
“But,” she insisted, “think really hard about what you’re doing. A Greengrass being attracted to women would be excused as teenage passing fancy near the absolute scandal of a Malfoy being attracted to a Muggleborn.”
“You’re reading too much into something you barely saw,” said Draco, fed up with the conversation. “Come on, let’s go back inside.”
“You don’t have to be such a git, Draco. I’m trying to give you some friendly advice.”
“And I told you there’s no need,” he said through gritted teeth.
He walked over to the balcony door and opened it, letting the noise of the ballroom invade the balcony. “Are you ready to go or do you want to annoy me some more?”
“No need to fret, I’m not telling anyone your little secret.” She patted his chest softly. Draco rubbed his face, forcing down the urge to snap at her. He sighed loudly and smoothed his face into a neutral expression. Without speaking, he held out his arm to Daphne. She grinned and grabbed his elbow.
They stepped into the ballroom together. The St. Mungo’s chairman was walking up to the stage, and people were moving closer. Daphne and Draco followed the crowd slowly, making sure to stay a couple of steps behind the main cluster of people.
When the chairman started to speak, Draco bent down to whisper in Daphne’s ear. “My life is not up to discussion, are we clear?” he said.
Daphne just raised a hand to pat his chest again, as if placating an errant child.
They didn’t speak of it again. But as they watched Healers give speech after boring speech, Draco made sure to not let his eyes drift to Granger, not even when he felt her gaze burn on his skin.