Suddenly Flames Everywhere
"Love always wakes the dragon and suddenly flames everywhere. I can tell already you think I’m the dragon, that would be so like me, but I’m not. I’m not the dragon. I’m not the princess either." Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crosses Out, Richard Siken
_
“Granger.”
Hermione didn’t turn around.
She kept fiddling with the chairs, trying to control the fluttering feeling in her stomach. The tips of her shoes scraped against the floor as she moved in quick and short strides.
“Granger, I know you can hear me.”
She blew a stray curl away from her face and mumbled a reducio towards the last chair.
“Ah, for fucks sake,” he muttered. “Talk to me, Granger, please. ”
Hermione turned around and placed her hands on her hips in a defensive posture. She was afraid of what she would say once she opened her mouth, and that the intensity of her emotions would expose her in a way that she wasn’t ready for.
“Why are you ignoring me, Granger?”
She opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, trying to come up with something to say that wouldn’t reveal the depth of her feelings. She couldn’t think of anything. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m bloody serious,” said Malfoy, growing steadily aggravated. “I wasted an entire night trying to talk you off a ledge and now you’re back to ignoring me?”
“Oh, please, Malfoy,” said Hermione with gritted teeth. “You’re not my bloody savior, I don’t owe you anything.”
Malfoy sighed and rubbed a hand up and down his face. “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”
“You think throwing the other night in my face is going to help your case?” said Hermione, a pitch too high.
“I don’t even know what case I’m supposed to be making,” he hissed. “And I didn’t mean to throw anything in your face.”
Hermione tapped her foot against the floor and considered him. Malfoy was holding himself stiffly, but the look on his face was more pleading than angry. Hermione felt some of her anger melt away as she watched him struggle.
“You really don’t know what I’m mad about?” she asked.
“I really don’t,” said Malfoy, voice full of frustration.
“You’re dating Daphne Greengrass,” said Hermione, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice. Malfoy’s eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me, Malfoy?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak, Hermione held out a hand to silence him. “You don’t owe me anything, but you could’ve said something the other night, it’s not fair to her--”
“I’m going to cut you off right there--”
“No, let me speak,” she insisted. “We kissed, Malfoy. And I’m not comfortable that we went behind someone’s back like that, if I had known--”
“Granger,” said Malfoy, stepping closer to her. Hermione leaned away.
“You should have stopped it, what’s wrong with you? I don’t know Daphne personally, and I know perfectly well that you and I are nothing more than acquaintances, but it’s not fair to me that I participated in your cheating without my knowledge--”
“Aw, Granger,” he said. “You got it all wrong.”
Hermione’s eyes widened in anger. “How did I get it wrong? There’s no way that smooching me when you have a girlfriend is right.” Malfoy was poorly disguising a smirk. Hermione felt the anger hit her full speed again, and her heart was threatening to explode out of her chest.
“You’re laughing at me?” said Hermione in a dangerous voice.
“ No, I’m not,” he said quickly. “It’s just a funny word. Listen--”
“I’m talking about something serious and you’re worried about my choice in words?”
“You haven’t let me get a word in since this conversation started!” exclaimed Malfoy. “Will you let me bloody speak before you go around accusing me of shite?”
“Fine,” she said sharply. “You have ten seconds to explain yourself.”
“That’s actually impossible, but okay,” said Malfoy, nodding. “Since this seems to be getting your wand in a knot and I don’t like making my life harder than it has to be, I will tell you that--”
“You’re stalling.”
“I’m not,” he insisted. “Granger, I’m trying to tell you that I’m not dating Daphne Greengrass.”
“You’re lying.”
“Why did you agree to listen to me if you’re not going to believe what I say?” he groaned. “You read that bloody article Patil wrote, didn’t you? Everyone knows it’s just gossip.”
“Oh, spare me,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. “ The Daily Prophet wasn’t the only newspaper that reported it.”
“You asked for an explanation but apparently you don’t actually want one,” he said. “You can’t pick and choose what you’re going to hear.”
“Just admit that you’re a cheating, lying bastard,” said Hermione. “And this?” She waved a finger between them. “Whatever this thing is, it’s not going to ever happen again.”
There it is , she thought. Malfoy having a girlfriend was -- in the sort of twisted way that turned her stomach -- the perfect solution to the mess they were creating.
“This is a waste of time, Malfoy,” said Hermione. “We’ve talked, so now I’m going to leave.”
Malfoy shook his head in frustration, but when he turned to her again, there was a determined expression on his face. “I’m telling you that I’m not dating Daphne, Granger.”
“Okay, you’re not,” said Hermione in a placating tone. “And I have a meeting with Cartwell I need to get to, so I’ll see you at the next meeting.”
Malfoy walked towards her in two short steps, closing the distance between them. He bent his head down and pinned her gaze to his. Hermione gulped audibly.
“Why don’t you want to believe me, Granger? It might shock you, but I’ve never actually lied to you before.”
“It’s not that ,” insisted Hermione, but her words sounded weak to her own ears.
“It is. I’m being upfront with you, but you’re not hearing what I say,” said Malfoy, voice suddenly low. Hermione held in a breath as he took another step closer. “Why are you so closed off all of sudden? The other night we--”
“Why do you want me to believe you so badly?” interrupted Hermione, cutting him off before he could say something that she wouldn’t be able to ignore. Don’t you see that I’m giving the both of us an out?
It wasn’t that hard to believe him, but doing so would mean they couldn’t just tie a pretty bow on whatever happened. They’d have to face it, whatever it was, and the idea made Hermione completely terrified.
But as she took in the way he looked at her, with his head bent towards her and a spark in his eyes, Hermione thought that maybe he heard what she wasn’t saying.
He was just choosing to ignore it.
Instead of answering, Malfoy said, “Daphne has a problem and I’m helping her with it.”
“What problem would require you to date her, Malfoy?” said Hermione, sounding skeptical.
“It’s a private matter,” said Malfoy. Hermione narrowed her eyes until he continued. “There are some things in pureblood culture that you don’t necessarily understand, Granger.”
“Then explain them to me.”
Malfoy didn’t reply immediately. He straightened up, putting some distance between as he seemed to debate the matter over in his head.
Hermione looked over his shoulder to the solarium’s door. He noticed the direction of her gaze, then rushed to say. “I’m only telling you this because I know you’ll keep it between us,” said Malfoy, then took a deep breath. “Daphne is gay and I’m pretending to date her so her parents get off her back,” he said quickly.
“What?” gasped Hermione. “Why would her parents care about that?”
Malfoy sighed, “Pureblood culture, like I literally just said.”
“So you’re not just racists, you’re homophobes too? What a shocker,” said Hermione angrily. Malfoy shifted uncomfortably, and Hermonione begrudgingly added, “but you’re a good friend for helping her out.”
“You’re not going to go on a rant about how she should be brave and stand up for herself?”
“I’m not a lesbian with homophobic parents, Malfoy. What place do I have to say anything on the matter? It’d be incredibly insensitive of me to pretend I know what she’s going through.”
“Yes, I guess,” he shrugged, then stepped closer to her. “Do you believe me now?”
“That’s not the point,” said Hermione, averting the gaze.
“What are you on about, Granger?” said Malfoy, his voice amused as he closed in on her. “That’s exactly the point, or do you think I just go around telling my friends’ secrets for no reason?”
“What are you doing?” asked Hermione, fighting her instinct to move away. Her mind was yelling for her to run as quick as she could.
Maybe it was the Gryffindor in her, or maybe it was a side of her that had been deeply buried, but Hermione couldn’t ignore how much she wanted to stay put and see what Malfoy would do.
“Do you believe me now?” he repeated, the timber of his voice lower than usual. He took another step. “ Hermione ?”
The way his voice curled when he said her name was enough to make Hermione take a step of her own. Malfoy was so close that she could smell him, and Hermione was trying but failing to keep her eyes pinned to his.
It didn’t take too long for her to lose that fight -- she glanced down at his lips and her mind fogged. She wanted to push herself into her tiptoes and pull him closer.
This is going to be a problem , she decided, It’s going to be a really big problem .
“Yes, I do,” said Hermione, her voice sounding far away. “Why are you so close?”
Malfoy closed the gap between them and gently, almost tenderly, pressed their lips together. His hand reached behind her to pull her towards him. Hermione sighed into his mouth, her lashes fluttering. Malfoy tilted her chin back just so -- just enough to make it easier to slide his tongue against hers.
She opened her mouth, drawing his robes into her fists, as if he was the only thing keeping her from floating away. Malfoy kissed Hermione long and hard, his tongue brushing against hers urgently, making her belly burn with desire. Her legs shook, and she pressed herself closer to him, their bodies touching through the fabric of their clothes.
Malfoy kissed her as if trying to prove something -- to himself, to her, maybe to them both. Hermione’s mind was blank, her senses unable to process anything but the feel of him.
When Malfoy finally pulled away, as carefully as he had done the first time they kissed, Hermione looked at him openly, unable to hide her wonder.
“That’s why I was so close,” said Malfoy. The raspiness of his voice sent shivers down her spine.
Hermione bit her lower lip, then pushed herself up, her body sliding against his as she pressed her lips against him once again. “Do you know what you’re doing, Malfoy?”
“Do you?” asked Malfoy, his arm circling around her so he could hold her firmly against him. It was so strange how right it felt, to be that close to him.
“I have no idea,” admitted Hermione.
Both of their bodies vibrated with the force of Malfoy’s chuckle.
“Good,” he said. “That makes two of us.”
_
Hermione knocked twice on Cartwell’s door, catching herself in the reflection of the glass window in the opposite wall. Hermione’s cheeks were flushed, and her lips slightly swollen, but she didn’t think she looked too flustered.
Merlin, what am I doing? Hermione asked herself. She didn’t want to ruin the nice feeling running that lingered on her skin.
“Hermione?” said Cartwell.
Hermione turned around and smiled. It had been over two weeks since the last time she had spoken to Cartwell. The healer was busy running the other programs in the MRC, so Hermione usually just left her reports on her desk so she could read them on her own time.
“It’s been a while,” said Hermione, stepping through the open door.
“Yes, yes,” said Cartwell, circling around to her desk as Hermione sat down in the armchair in front of it. “Things are always busy here. It’s good. I love having so much work to do, but sometimes I feel like things are just piling up.”
“Are you still having trouble getting new volunteers?” asked Hermione, frowning as she took in the large, dark circles under Cartwell’s eyes. Though her hair was put together and her plain dark robes didn’t have a wrinkle on them, she still looked exhausted.
“I wouldn’t have trouble if the Ministry weren’t slowly draining our resources away. One thing is to serve unpaid hours, but we need to provide the bare minimum to the volunteers or they aren’t going to stay, and I can’t blame them for it,” ranted Cartwell. The words spilled out of her mouth like she’d kept them in for too long. “You did a great job at the St. Mungo’s ball, by the way. We got a large donation by a rich Auror. What was his name? Wait, let me find it. The Gringotts’ transfer receipt is somewhere in my drawer.”
“Oh, no need,” said Hermione, waving her hand. “I know who it is.”
“Well,” said Cartwell, stopping fiddling through her drawer to look up at Hermione. “Was he a friend of yours?”
“Not really,” said Hermione, her cheeks warming in discomfort. “I don’t know him well.”
“Ah,” Cartwell nodded knowingly. “An admirer, then.”
“I guess,” shrugged Hermione. “You were saying the Ministry is cutting the MRC’s financing?”
“Slowly but surely,” said Cartwell with a sigh. “And they always have the perfect excuse. This time, they said that we can release our PTSD patients, since their recovery reports have been good. I told them that the treatment is long-term and it’s dangerous to cut it back so abruptly--”
“Mental illness has a high rate of recurrence, especially PTSD,” said Hermione.
“Exactly. The goal is to get everyone functional, but there’s bumps in every road. I don’t like signing them off the second they start showing signs of improvement. But with the Ministry it’s not like I have much choice.”
“It makes no sense for them to do that,” said Hermione, growing steadily aggravated. “What’s the point of the center if we’re just going to do the bare minimum? You know, Minister Shacklebolt and Hughman recently gave an interview about those recovery rates you just mentioned--”
“I saw it,” said Cartwell, sounding exasperated. “I talked to Hughman about fighting the cuts, but I don’t think he’s eager to make a stand. Don’t tell this to anyone, but--”
“Of course not,” reassured Hermione.
“Well, I just feel like the Ministry is using the MRC for publicity. I respect Hughman as a professional, but I can’t stand to watch him bow his head and nod when the Ministry makes our programs infeasible. It’s been bothering me for a while.”
“Why would Hughman accept the cuts?” asked Hermione. “You told me before that he cares deeply about the center.”
“I thought so too, but lately? I’m just not that sure,” said Cartwell, looking absent-minded. “I know that people have ambitions, but--”
“It’s disappointing,” said Hermione, her mind drifting to the mess her friendship with Harry had become. “I know all about it.”
“We are doing our job by trying, at least,” said Cartwell. Then her voice perked up.“Which brings me to the reason for our meeting. It’s been awhile since you took over the rehab program, so let’s talk about how that’s progressing.”
Hermione hesitated, feeling embarrassed that Malfoy’s face was the first thing that flashed to her mind. She smiled tightly at Cartwell, but was overtaken by images of the knowing twinkle in Malfoy’s eyes right before he kissed her--
And how he looked slightly dazzled when their lips parted. It gave her a certain type of rush, how he couldn’t hide his desire.
“Hermione?”
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I was just deciding where to start.”
“You can start with your general impressions. I read your reports, of course, and they’re very detailed, but I’d like to hear from you personally.”
“I think it’d be good to begin by saying that you were right,” admitted Hermione. “I was way too aggressive at first. They were very responsive, but--”
“That’s more than what I got.”
"But they were defensive,” continued Hermione. “They directed their energy at fighting me. They were constantly angry at everything I said, and it didn’t help. I thought that if I gave them the hard, cold facts, it’d contradict their beliefs and they’d see things more clearly. But it didn’t go as I expected.”
Cartwell nodded knowingly, then stood up, walking to her teapot and mumbling a warming charm before filling two cups. “I’m not surprised. That’s what would work for you, so your instinct was to use it as a strategy. But not everybody is swayed by logic, especially when you’re talking about that sort of deeply-ingrained belief. It’s more of an emotional matter.”
“I see that now,” said Hermione. She took the cup Cartwell offered her, waiting for the healer to sit down again before continuing. “I read so much about Muggle social psychology before conducting the meeting, you know? Foucault says that power isn’t a structure, but something that moves everywhere and that everyone utilizes. So I thought that showing them the power behind each of their misconceived thoughts would make them empathize with its dangers. But maybe I went about it the wrong way.”
“I don’t know who that Foucault man is, but that train of thought isn’t exactly wrong,” said Cartwell. “But in this case, it’s less about power and more about fear.”
“I think that too,” said Hermione, thinking of Nott leaving Hogwarts to let Death Eaters into his dead father’s house, and Bulstrode gathering information because her parents told her it was the right thing to do.
Hermione continued. “I changed strategies. I tried to understand them, to get them to talk about pureblood culture and what they’ve been taught. Today’s meeting I gave them headlines of war events. I tried to get them to remember what they were doing when each event happened, so they’d reconnect to those feelings of fear and humanize it.”
“Did it work?” said Cartwell, looking interested.
“I think so,” said Hermione. “I think I’ve been getting through Nott for a while now. He’s a talker, and he’s not shy about sharing what he thinks. Malfoy is like that too, but he’s more argumentative, which is not a bad thing.”
“He’s very--” hesitated Cartwell, considering her words. “Defensive, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” said Hermione. But he’s getting better , she thought. “Parkinson is angry all the time. I think part of it is that she doesn’t like me, but today I got to see another side of her. I don't know what went down personally, but her family was deeply affected by the war. You’d think that would make her resent pureblood politics and culture, but she’s holding tightly to them instead.”
“You’re getting more out of her than I did,” said Cartwell. “Maybe it’s good that she doesn’t like you. She’s opening up because she wants to fight you. I remember her being very apathetic when I conducted the meetings.”
“I remember,” said Hermione. “There’s Bulstrode as well. She’s a straight-up follower. Even if I talk her through her prejudices, her friends’ and family’s opinions will always hold more weight.”
“You might get through her eventually,” said Cartwell, trying to sound encouraging. “How about Rookwood?”
Hermione hesitated. She knew it was way past time to talk to Cartwell about it -- there was no point in procrastinating it any longer. Rookwood’s behavior in that day’s meeting had shown her he was already convinced there would be no repercussions to his actions.
She still felt apprehensive. Hermione had a good relationship with Cartwell, one that she wasn’t looking forward to souring. The Rookwood debacle hadn’t been the first thing she had kept from her, and when Hermione’s mind drifted to Malfoy, she also knew that it wouldn’t be the last.
“Rookwood--” started Hermione, trying to figure the best way to put it. “He can be very aggressive. To be honest with you, Edina, I don’t know how he isn’t in Azkaban.”
“That’s a very serious statement, Hermione,” said Cartwell, looking concerned. “He didn’t talk a lot when I worked with them. I had one-on-one’s with him that didn’t amount to much, but he was always perfectly polite.”
“Because you’re a pureblood,” said Hermione. Her voice dropped an octave, the words almost dragging themselves out of her mouth. “I represent everything that he despises. And if he acts like he does towards me, a muggleborn in an authority position, I’m certain he’d act much worse towards other muggleborns.”
“Did he do something?”
Hermione tapped her foot against the carpet, wringing her hands. “He got aggressive in a meeting,” she said. She averted her gaze, focusing on the teacup in front of her. “It wasn’t physical, so it was worse, in a way. He said a lot of things. About--” She gulped. “About how the Death Eaters used to torture muggle-borns, about how they’d love to do it to me. I can’t--”
Hermione stopped, closing her eyes. When she opened them, Cartwell was staring at her with shock plastered on her face. She had paled, and her mouth was agape.
“There was more, but you get the gist of it,” said Hermione. “I got a panic attack, so I ended the meeting early. Since then I’ve continued the meetings normally.”
Cartwell pressed a hand over her mouth. She sat in silence for a few seconds; Hermione thought she looked like she was trying to gather her thoughts. “Hermione,” she finally muttered. “If I knew that would happen, I would’ve never allowed him to be in that room with you. Like I said, when I worked with him, he behaved very differently.”
“I know, and I don’t blame you,” said Hermione, feeling guilty when she saw the genuine concern on Cartwell’s face. “And we knew it was a possibility, considering his background. I can usually handle it, I don’t know why he got to me--”
“What he did was completely barbaric,” said Cartwell in a firm voice. “I don’t want to hear you blame yourself for reacting, Hermione. Any person would.”
“I know but--” started Hermione. She sighed. “This actually happened over three weeks ago,” she said. She watched Cartwell’s face twist in confusion. “I didn’t tell you right away because I was still processing things, but I should’ve told you once I felt better, and I didn’t.”
“Okay,” said Cartwell, her lips flattening. “Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know,” said Hermione, shame clinging to her. “Part of me didn’t want to remember it because I was ashamed that I let it happen, and then time had passed and it felt like it was still getting bigger in my head.”
“Hermione,” sighed Cartwell. “I understand that was a traumatic situation, and I respect you for admitting how you felt. But--”
“Before you say anything, there’s something else I need to tell you,” said Hermione in a rush, eager to let out as much as possible. “We've been having the meetings at the solarium on the second floor. For a month now. It wasn’t planned, it’s just that the other room seemed so stifling, almost like a classroom, and then I thought of the solarium and we just went there. They seem to like it better--”
“And you didn’t tell me?” interrupted Cartwell, eyebrows lifting high. “Hermione, you should’ve informed me immediately.”
“I didn’t think you’d mind,” started Hermione. She didn’t want to make excuses. This isn’t who I am, she thought. “And then I procrastinated on telling you just like I did with the Rookwood situation. I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”
Cartwell took a sip of her tea, studying Hermione over the rim of her cup. When she set the cup down on the desk, there was disappointment evident in her expression.
“I’m going to have to tell Hughman about both things,” said Cartwell. “As we agreed before, I’m not going to tell him about you taking over the meetings. But I’m sure you understand why I have to tell him about a member threatening a mind healer and us moving classes to the solarium, don’t you?”
Hermione was taken aback at her patronizing tone. Cartwell had never talked to her like that before.
“Of course I do.”
“Great,” said Cartwell. “I don’t want weekly reports from you anymore, Hermione. I want them after every meeting you hold. And we’re going to meet in person every other week. I’d do it weekly, but I really don’t have the time to spare.”
“I understand,” she said, looking down.
“The change in locations is very inconsequential, Hermione, I honestly can’t process why you’d choose to hide that from me,” said Cartwell firmly. Hermione felt like she was being chastised by McGonagall. “I have to file it in the system, of course, but I wouldn’t have minded. But about Rookwood, I understand where you’re coming from, but you need to come to me immediately if something like that happens again.”
“I’m sorry, I promise I’ll let you know immediately,” said Hermione, sounding genuinely sincere. The look on Cartwell’s face softened slightly.
“Handing the program over to you was a vote of confidence, I can and will take it over again if I feel like I can’t trust you, Hermione,” said Cartwell. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I do,” nodded Hermione. She was flushed with shame. “I’m truly sorry.”
“Now, the protocol about reporting something like that isn’t very clear. I’ll talk it over with Hughman, and I’m guessing he will contact the Wizengamot about it, since they’re the ones in charge of probation. I don't know if he’ll do it directly or through a liaison at the DMLE, but I’m going to speed things up so we can get a quick answer about the repercussions over Rookwood’s place in the program. I’ll have to think of an excuse to give Hughman about why I didn’t report this when it happened--”
“Tell him I begged you not to,” Hermione said quickly. “It’s mostly the truth, anyway. It was my decision.”
“He might call you up to his office to talk about it.”
“That makes sense,” said Hermione, even if she couldn’t picture Hughman scolding her.
“Okay, then that’s all, Hermione,” said Cartwell. “Remember what I told you, okay?”
“Of course,” nodded Hermione. She stood up slowly, then gathered her things. Before she turned towards the door, she faced the healer again. “I’m really sorry.”
Cartwell gave her a flat smile, then grabbed one of the parchments on top of her desk and turned around in her chair as she began to read it.
Hermione took it as the dismissal it was, so she headed to the door.
It wasn’t until she was halfway down the corridor that what Cartwell said sank in. If Hughman notified the DMLE, that meant Harry would know about Hermione's work in the program. Her stomach lurched. I need to be the one to tell him , thought Hermione, approaching the MRC’s Floo channel.
She knew with absolute certainty that his reaction wouldn’t be pleasant, but it would be worse if he found out through a third party.
As she stepped into their living room, Hermione immediately checked the clock. Harry wouldn’t be home for another two hours. She decided to talk to him as soon as he arrived -- waiting too long would make her lose her nerve.
Hermione absentmindedly went through her routine of feeding Crookshanks, showering the stress of her workday away and preparing a quick meal for supper. She didn’t eat much of her meatloaf; her nervousness made her nauseous enough to kill her appetite.
After cleaning the dishes, she settled in the living room’s couch, Malfoy’s book in her hand. She sat facing the fireplace, bracing herself for Harry’s arrival. She was sick of having this uncertainty hanging over them -- lying to him made her chest feel like it was filled with a sack of pebbles. By ten p.m, he still wasn’t home. She didn’t worry too much about it, as he had been staying later and later at the office since he took over as Head of Department.
She finished Malfoy’s book, feeling an urge to grab a parchment and write to him about her thoughts. I’m going to need to get an owl if I want to communicate with him easily, thought Hermione, then she shook the idea away. I’m not going to get an owl just so I can talk to Malfoy, that’s daft.
Hermione chuckled under her breath as she imagined buying the saddest looking animal available and his revulsion when he saw it.
By the time the clock chirped that it was midnight, Hermione felt her eyes growing heavier. She dragged her legs up on the couch and mumbled accio to one of her pillows, pushing it against the arm of the couch and resting her head on it as she scribbled down her main points of contention about Malfoy's book. She’d owl it to him the next morning.
She fell asleep mulling over the rise in broom consumerism in Europe during the early 80’s and the easier way to goad Malfoy into arguing with her about it.
_
Hermione jumped awake when she heard Crookshanks hissing. She sighed, massaging her eyes with her fingers to clear away the traces of sleep. She noticed that a fluffy blanket had been haphazardly thrown over her. Harry’s home, then, she concluded, then glanced at the clock.
It was already past eight in the morning. Hermione heard her back crack when she stood up. I need to stop sleeping in uncomfortable places , she thought, her bones protesting in pain.
Crookshanks was still trying to get her attention, so Hermione set a Silencing charm in the living room and strutted towards the cans of cat food she kept in the cabinets. She scraped a healthy amount into his bowl, and patted his head when he rubbed his paw against her leg in gratitude.
She left it him purring contentedly and tip-toed towards Harry’s room, pressing an ear to the door to listen for any signs of movement. When she heard a low snore, Hermione sighed and walked to her room. He wouldn’t be awake for another hour.
Hermione made quick work of showering, brushing her teeth, and picking clothes for the day. She didn’t need to be at the MRC, but she was eager to owl Malfoy her notes. Without thinking much of it, she grabbed her copy of The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin and quickly wrapped it with the stray pieces of parchment.
She took the package with her to the living room, intending to eat something before heading to Diagon Alley. Hermione was finishing putting together a sandwich when an owl tapped on the kitchen window. She opened it and grabbed The Daily Prophet’s issue from the owl’s beak, tossing it a treat.
Before she started reading it, Hermione turned on the stove and set the water for her coffee to boil. Once she was done, she rested her back against a countertop and unfolded the paper with her usual trepidation. When she started reading the headline, her eyes widened as she took in the words.
The Wedding of the Ages!
By Padma Patil
Love is in the air, and you heard it here first.
Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley have officially announced their betrothal.
For years, this couple has been making us all envious of their written-in-the-stars love story. We all know the story: Weasley pined after Potter as soon as she saw his handsome scarred forehead for the first time, and while he was a bit slow on the uptake, he eventually realized the woman of his dreams had been by his side all along. They’re certainly living the romance most of us have only read in books.
A decade later, the recently-appointed Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE) and the Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies are the definition of a power-couple. In an exclusive interview for The Daily Prophet , Potter’s eyes dazzled as he declared that, “This is going to be the most important moment of my life. I’m ecstatic to start on this journey with the woman I love and who I want to build a family with.”
The bride had loving words to share as well, gushing that “I’ve been dreaming of this since I was a kid. It’s the definition of a dream come true. Harry is a man who I, and the entire Wizarding World, trust deeply, and I know this will be a celebrated moment by all.”
We can’t wait to see the magnificent event they’re going to throw next winter.
Hermione set the newspaper carefully on the countertop, smoothing the wrinkles she had left by squeezing it too tightly between her fingers. She turned off the stove, dumped the water down the drain, and carefully placed her uneaten sandwich inside the fridge.
In quick steps, Hermione grabbed Malfoy’s package from the dinner table. She stomped her away towards the fireplace, refusing to look in the direction of Harry’s room.
When she arrived at Diagon Alley, she marched down the busy streets with the package squeezed tightly to her chest.
By the time Hermione stood watching the owl fly away with her gift, she had shut down the buzzing in her mind, but the feeling of betrayal persisted.