Chapter 2
There was something sticky and rough on her face. Hermione groaned irritably, pulling her hand out of her cocoon of warmth and comfort to rub her eyes. God, why was her face so itchy and painful? Her head throbbed with pain and another groan escaped her lips. Had she gotten drunk last night? She couldn’t recall joining the rest of her team for after-work drinks. She’d wanted to get home early and prepare a dinner for Ron because he’d been complaining about never seeing her –
Ron.
Ron was cheating on her.
Pain clawed its way up her throat, escaping as a half-laugh, half-sob. Ron was fucking cheating on her. Memories of last night washed over her.
Singing to music as she prepared a dinner for two in their shared kitchen. The food getting cold as the hours ticked by on the clock. Changing into pyjamas and picking up a book on centaur traditions as she waited for Ron to come home. Hearing the Floo roar as Ron stumbled through the fireplace, wrapped up in the arms of a dark-haired woman. Watching clothes slipping off bodies as the two made their way to the bedroom. Her eyes stinging as she grabbed a fistful of powder and stepped into green flames. Collapsing on Harry’s kitchen floor in tears.
They hadn’t even realised Hermione was in the kitchen with them. Ron probably didn’t even know that Hermione had witnessed his affair. What a fucking bastard.
Hermione swung her legs off the bed, wincing as her bare feet touched the cold floorboards. God, she hadn’t even brought any clothes with her when she had decided to burst in, unannounced, to Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror hanging over the wardrobe of Regulus’s old room. God, she looked awful. Dried streaks of tears, red eyes, a puffy face. She seriously needed to clean up.
***
Ten minutes later, Hermione emerged into the kitchen, her face now clean and (a little) less puffy. She pointed her wand at the fireplace, sighing as the warmth of the magical flames washed over her. She had just started taking out some of the ingredients for a breakfast when a loud crack echoed behind her.
“Miss Granger is here!” a voice croaked. Startled, Hermione dropped the butter and eggs in her arms onto the counter and whipped around, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw a house elf beaming up at her.
“Hello, Kreacher.” Kreacher hummed happily as he reached for the ingredients Hermione had taken out.
“Kreacher is very pleased to see Miss Granger in Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. But Miss Granger should allow Kreacher to make breakfast! Miss Granger is a guest of my master.” He gave her a stern look, Regulus’ locket gleaming over the white tea-towel he wore as a toga.
Hermione sighed. “I understand that, Kreacher. But your weekends are supposed to be your holidays off from Hogwarts, you shouldn’t have to then come home and work for Harry!” In spite of her words, Hermione was already settling onto the kitchen table, watching Kreacher melt butter in a pan and toast thick slices of bread.
“Master Harry already works on the weekdays. Kreacher is happy to help him and Mistress Parvati when he can. Kreacher is getting paid and has sick days because master is very kind to him.” Hermione smiled at the reminder of the law she had spent two years getting passed. All those late nights and tears were worth it so that house elves could receive a salary and time off from serving their families.
“Well, Mistress Parvati is definitely happy cooking for herself, too, Kreacher, so don’t worry too much about us.” Parvati slid into the seat beside Hermione. “Between you and me, Kreacher is brilliant at British food but hasn’t quite gotten the hang of Indian cooking,” she whispered theatrically into Hermione’s ear. Hermione giggled as Kreacher beamed a toothy grin at the two of them before turning back to the stove where he was flipping sausages in a pan.
Parvati gripped Hermione’s hand, her tone turning serious. “How are you?”
Hermione turned away from Parvati’s worried dark eyes, her eyes suddenly stinging. “Fine.”
“You’re not.” Hermione spluttered, about to protest. “– and that’s fine. You don’t need to be fine. This is a big change and even you, Miss Brightest Witch of Her Age, are allowed to feel upset about it.
Hermione felt a flush rising to her cheeks at the nickname. Even after saving the wizarding world, she had no idea how to handle praise. “Well, I can’t spend too long feeling sorry for myself. I have to head back to work on Monday and there’s that charity ball on Thursday that we’re attending. Oh. God, Parvati!” The witch leapt to her feet, wringing her hands.
Parvati sighed, casting a quick aguamenti and handing a glass of water to the brunette. “What’s wrong now?”
Hermione gulped down the water, dropping the glass back onto the table with a thud. “You know what Ron is like. He’ll never turn down the opportunity to be the centre of attention. If I go to the charity ball, I’ll have to see him. Lord, I haven’t even thought about what I’m going to do next! I can’t just go back to the flat and pretend nothing has happened. Or maybe I can? What do I even do?”
“You can start by having breakfast.” Harry swept into the kitchen, dropping a kiss on Parvati’s cheek and then shaking his head, letting his wet hair flick water over both witches. The girls shrieked, a shout of laughter escaping Hermione. “No one makes good decisions on an empty stomach, and you’re no exception.”
Hermione’s giggling gave way to a sigh. “I suppose you’re right. Thank you, Kreacher.” She smiled at the house elf as he placed a large English breakfast in front of her.
Kreacher beamed again, pressing a fork into her hand. “Miss Granger is to not think until breakfast is over,” he commanded sternly.
“I second that,” Parvati toasted the elf, winking at Hermione. “Why bother wasting brain cells on an idiot redhead anyway? I know he needs a donation of them but he doesn’t really deserve them.” Harry snorted, shoving a mouthful of eggs into his mouth to hide his smirk.
“Hermione!” The fireplace burned green, a red-headed man stumbling out, covered in soot. Blue eyes stared straight into hers and Hermione felt her stomach lurch. “Where have you been?”