New Hires Always Work on the Holidays!
6:10 pm October 31st, 1999
“Oh, come on, Harry! Not you too, Ron!” Hermione complained smacking her Butterbeer against the pub table. “You can’t miss G.A.G. again!”
“I’m not going to come at all if you keep calling it GAG, Hermione.” Ron rolled his eyes at Harry.
Harry grinned at both of them, regretfully pushing his half empty Butterbear towards Hermione—so she knew it really was work calling them away at six pm on a Halloween Sunday! And right when she’d finally dragged them into her favorite new pub, Cross Keys and Crumpets!
Hermione normally loved owls. But around Harry and Ron, an owl tended to be associated with a hasty parting, and tonight was no exception.
Outside, the world was in a deep fog. The weather so gray and thick you could barely see across the street. Lamps muffled, and houses dim outlines in the swirling vapor.
But inside Hermione’s pub, everything gleamed warm and welcoming. The old wooden booths divot gouged but polished. Rich red wallpaper, shadowy corners, and magicked bright sunny window seats. The pub had a seat for every mood. The old skeletal keys decorating the walls were cross. Often shouting out insults. And the crumpets were the best thing on the menu—unless you were drunk. And then the All-Day Breakfast would mop up the alcohol well enough.
The disappointment ate threw her like Acromantula venom gobbling up her excitement. It wasn’t easy scheduling time to see friends while working two full-time jobs. And she had managed to clear her whole night—all for ten minutes of Ron and Harry’s time and half a pint of Butterbeer.
The boys had grown closer, training as Aurors while Hermione went back to school for her N.E.W.T.s.
Hermione had been the one to schedule out time to meet last year too. Until late January when Ron got near disemboweled and drowned by an Inferi trap a Death Eater on the run had set up.
Ron came away a hero, with some handsome scars down his right arm. He’d also fallen in love with the witch who nursed him back to health in St. Mungos. Daphne Greengrass of all people, while she was interning. And using Hermione’s own Get Well basket of comforts—as she’d discovered one disastrous evening.
Ginny had been furious for Hermione, but it was her own fault. She knew Ron, and she’d still suggested they pause their relationship so she could focus on her N.E.W.T.s and him, his Auror training. And everyone knew pausing a relationship was as good as ending it amicably. Letting time soothe out the festering hurt over months instead of drowning in it for days.
Ever the overachiever, Hermione had managed to do both.
It’s not as though he’d cheated. It’s just that Hermione had been so busy, she’d never even entertained the idea of being with anyone else last year.
In fact, these days she didn’t want to feel much of anything. Not with how little progress she’d made in researching and recovering her parent’s memories. And every year that passed with them living their new lives and looking at her as some strange and slightly eccentric new acquaintance felt like a rusty nail worming in her heart, carving out new worries—that she’d gone too far, Obliviated too much.
Which made keeping even busier entirely the sensible thing to do.
And sweet Harry was just dying while Hermione and Ron figured out this new dynamic. Hermione was grateful they had. Being friends with Ron was easy. He’d always had a lightness to him. A warm, comforting hug of a person, he was. And she missed that. Daphne had been the one to bring that sunny personality back out in Ron. So it was good that it happened.
But Hermione still missed them. The three of them. And they were leaving after just a hug and a preamble of conversation.
“There’s nothing wrong with Group Activities & Games but your own dirty minds.” Hermione cleared her throat, feeling rough with emotion.
“Gag me,” a copper key behind Hermione’s head grumbled.
“Gag them all,” the purple key behind Ron agreed.
“You really have to work?” Hermione leaned forward to grip both boy’s hands. “Do you think you’ll be back tonight? Is it dangerous?”
“Merlin, Hermione.” Ron rolled his eyes. “It’s probably just some underage magic. And we’ll be buried in the paperwork. You should just go ahead of us to Group Activities & Games. Knowing you, half our class will be there,” Ron snickered.
Harry nodded encouragingly. “I’ll be there later, if I can.”
But Hermione could see the hesitancy in his posture. Even Harry didn’t think he’d show up for G.A.G tonight.
“Oh, and before I go—” Ron shoved Harry’s Butterbeer back towards him, raising his glass for a toast. “I’ve been meaning to tell you both.” Ron turned almost as red as his hair. And Harry glanced at Hermione worriedly enough she thought he must already know what this was about.
“I’m getting married!” Ron downed the rest of his Butterbeer. Gasping at the end as if he were the one in shock.
“Someone said yes to you?” The copper key on the wall asked doubtfully.
“C-congratulations! Ron!” Hermione gaped, hands flailing. Tears swam in her eyes, but at least she was smiling fit to crack her skull open. “When! Where? How did you propose? Why didn’t you let me help?!”
Ron and Harry were laughing as she sputtered.
“Complete nutters these kids,” a silver key rattled on the wall. “Does she think she’s a bird, do you think she’ll manage to flap away?”
“Astoria wanted to plan it all,” Ron ducked his head blushing. “And I would have asked, you know I would,” Ron gulped.
Harry smiled and sipped at his Butterbeer.
“Well?” Hermione laughed wiping tears from her cheeks. “How did you ask? What happened?”
Ron rubbed his face. “Merlin! I really could have used the whole night to tell you about it.”
“Right, you have to go?” Hermione smiled weakly.
“I promise, I will give you the whole story soon, even if I have to write it out by hand.” Ron squeezed her in a tight hug. “Miss you, Mione.”
Hermione nodded quickly and then gave Harry’s hand a quick squeeze.
“Well, another time then,” she felt her heart coal over as her two best friends ran out into the fog without her.
Theo to the Rescue
Hermione glanced around the pub again, alone but comfortable in the warm booth. Perhaps this really wasn’t a place to share with Ron and Harry.
They hadn’t laughed once at the ridiculous skeletal keys grumblings. Hadn’t even seemed to hear them. Hermione rather wished she couldn’t hear them either as she dabbed her eyes on her pumpkin orange jumper with its embroidered leafy green H on the chest. When one roomed with a Weasley, there always seemed to be a jumper for every season.
“Lonely spinster,” the silver key sniped, “think she’ll keep crying all night?”
To which the heavy purple painted key replied, “She’s going to need more than three Butterbeers for a proper cry.”
“Hey, hey, witch, I don’t suppose you could cry somewhere else? It’s a Holiday for some people,” the copper key piled on.
Really, the keys had been much more amusing the last time she’d been in. She had discovered the place alone. Maybe it was meant to be a new space in her life and an opportunity for new things.
Merlin, what a pathetic night. She hadn’t invited most of their class to a Halloween G.A.G. party. She hadn’t invited anyone but Ron and Harry. Decorated her and Ginny’s flat with Muggle streamers, party plates, pumpkin pasties, and a punch-bubbling cauldron. She’d prepared games and washed blankets and pillowcases in case the boys passed out on her couch.
She couldn’t bear to go back to the flat alone with its empty party.
She could spend all night in this whimsical pub, and no one would be the wiser if she did choose to be pathetic, drink herself sick, and go home at a reasonable nine-thirty to clean up the flat and be in bed before eleven pm. Thank Merlin Ginny would be partying with the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch team all night and probably not regain consciousness till three in the afternoon tomorrow.
A sharp rattle and pecking at the moon dimmed window above her booth distracted Hermione from her morose thoughts. A sandy owl cocked its head at her expectantly before extending a downy foot with a scroll.
Hermione unlatched the window, fished a treat from her fraying, beaded, purple purse—but the bird had already flown away when she looked up.
Frowning, Hermione unrolled the scroll.
“Begin thy quest by red fire’s light,
Within a room where lions reside.
Courage and bravery light this night,
The next clue is waiting, where embers tend to hide.”
Intrigued, Hermione felt much more herself as she studied the puzzle.
A scavenger hunt? But who had sent it to her? It wasn’t particularly complicated as clues went. Obviously, the next clue was in the Gryffindor Commons room by the fireplace. Probably on the mantle.
But it was the thought that counted. Who among her friends would be so thoughtful? It couldn’t have been Luna. That witch would never write up a rhyme for Hermione without need of an astrological map and access to a library.
Neville perhaps? Though he had a girlfriend, and this wasn’t the sort of thing you made for just anyone.
Theo? Hermione dismissed the idea. He was far too lazy.
Glancing around the bar, Hermione squinted. But there was nobody here she knew. That’s part of why she’d been so excited to share it with Harry and Ron. It was someplace entirely new. A place to make memories instead of reminiscing on old ones.
Could Ron and Harry have made up the scavenger hunt? But the owl wasn’t one of theirs . . .
She supposed she’d just have to follow the clues. Alone. Hermione’s heart sputtered. What was she doing? She was a Gryffindor! Courage and bravery.
Forget going alone. Hermione scribbled out a letter and tossed it in the Pub’s Floo with a little sprinkle of Floo dust and a whisper. Theo’s house elf would notice the Floo’s use, and get Theo her message as usual.
That settled, Hermione went to the bar for a round of drinks.
Ten minutes later, Theodore Nott staggered into Cross Sticks and Crumpets vanishing soot from his best cloak.
Hermione tried not to stare. Theo had grown into himself in an alarmingly nice way this past year. Too bad he was as lazy as he was brilliant.
A wide, indolent smirk greeted her and Hermione impatiently waved him over.
“Where did you find this place?” Theo accused, peering suspiciously at all the skeletal keys on the wall as they rattled.
The silver key piped up, “Where did you find all these Wizards? Let’s hope you manage to keep this one around longer than a minute.”
Theo gaped and then laughed half aghast.
That was precisely the expression she’d been hoping and expecting from at least Harry! Hermione huffed to herself and passed Theo one of the three Firewhiskys she’d prepared.
“Oh look, another tosser’s arrived to make her cry again,” the purple key complained.
“She’ll sob off the table’s resin at the rate she’s going tonight,” the silver agreed.
“You’ve been crying?” Theo flopped into the booth, blowing on the shot till green flames licked his lips.
Hermione sniffed dismissively, “happy tears, tears of joy, actually.” She waved the subject aside.
“That right?” Nott threw back the shot.
“Yes, actually. It’s not important. I asked you here—”
“Summoned more like it. Imperious witch, you are.” Theo reached out and pinched her nose. His other hand snagged another Firewhisky from between her hands. That was fine, she’d gotten them for him, to soften him up to the idea of traipsing around all night on a silly hunt.
Hermione gave him a frosty glare, “would you like to be included in my treasure hunt or not?”
“Treasure?” Nott perked up.
“Treasure hunter, no wonder she has holes in her jumper,” the copper key snickered.
“Well, I assume there will be a prize at the end.” Hermione smoothed out the little parchment with its riddle. “Seeing as someone bothered to owl me a scavenger hunt.”
“Salazar knows I’ve nothing better to do,” Theo scooted around the booth and slung an arm, heavy with lean muscles across her shoulders, “what’s this then?” He groaned, laying his chin on her shoulder. “Mione, are you dragging me to Hogwarts on Halloween?”
“At least this tosser is attempting to flirt,” the purple key snorted.
“I thought you had nothing better to do?” Hermione smiled.
“I’m avoiding a stuffy party.”
“That’s very irresponsible of you. I hope you at least didn’t R.S.V.P. that you’d attend . . . of course you did.”
“Naaaag!” The keys bounced against the wall chanting. “Nag, nag, nag,”
Hermione scowled sternly at the keys.
“They won’t notice I’m gone,” Theo grumbled, twisting a finger in her curls.
For a few weeks at Hogwarts, after Theo had approached her with an advanced Time Magic project, Hermione had been concerned that Theo liked her. He was such a tactile wizard. But she’d worked out soon enough that the poor Slytherin was mad for Luna Lovegood. And he flirted outrageously with everyone but Luna.
He wasn’t open in his admiration. But Hermione noticed they always managed to sit somewhere with a view of the Ravenclaw. And Theo was always checking out books he never read, just to put his name beneath the Ravenclaw’s on the checkout list. But of course he did it after, so Luna would never see his name beside hers.
“Why don’t you ask her out?” Hermione had found herself demanding one evening in the library when Theo was contemplating Luna as the witch chased invisible Nargles through the shadows of the Restricted Section.
“She’s too brilliant for me, Mione. I haven’t figured out a way to trap her yet,” Theo narrowed his eyes as Luna fluttered between pools of moonlight.
“You shouldn’t be trapping anyone into a date, Theo. All you have to do is invite her. She’s a very friendly witch. Unless she’s dating someone—”
“She isn’t, not seriously, anyways.”
“Then she’ll say yes,” Hermione rolled her eyes.
Theo had just smiled tolerantly at Hermione. “Gryffindors,” he’d chuckled and petted her head with so much condescension and pity Hermione was left speechless.
To her knowledge, Theo still hadn’t asked the witch out. Hermione slid the last Firewhisky into his waiting hand. He shot it back, leaned his head on the booth’s cushioned headrest, and closed his eyes with a sigh.
“Very well,” he tugged her curl, “consider me reasonably drunk enough to accompany you on this farce of a hunt, Granger.” Theo opened one eye to squint at her, “You, however, are entirely too sober. Fortunately for both of us, I come prepared.” He drew a bottle of Caramel Apple Champagne from each sleeve of his robe. “A bottle for me, a bottle for me . . . Oh,” Theo frowned and patted down his chest, then reached into his sleeve once more withdrawing yet a third, “and a bottle for you.”
Hermione threw her head back laughing.
“Get out!” The keys rattled. “No bringing your own drinks to a pub. Out, out, out!”