Meteorites

January 2004

“I’m so over you!” Hermione shouted. “I can’t… I just can’t do this anymore.”

“What do you mean?! This?! US!?”, Ron shouted back to her, getting redder and redder in his face. 

She stood in the kitchen clutching at the mug in her hand. The winter sun streaming in through the window over the sink. Crisp. Sharp. Cold. That’s how she needed to be. That’s how this felt. That’s how his betrayal felt. Crisp. Sharp. Cold. Her hands started to shake. Like they always did when she felt her anxiety rising. She looked across the counter at the vase in the corner. Lilies. Prairie lilies. They were from her birthday. She had charmed them then to stay fresh. That was months ago. 

September. Now it was January. Fuck. How did she get here. How did it get to this place with Ron. 

****

They moved to Canada years ago. He’d been picked up by the Meteorites, after 2 years of waiting for the Cannons. They took it as a sign. A new millennium. A new country. A fresh start. No dark wizards to fight. Hermione was quickly taken on at the Canadian Ministry in Toronto in their Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. It was easy to commute from Saskatchewan to the Ministry in Toronto. They were very flexible with her in office hours. To be honest she was in the field most of the time working closely with some of the countries magizoologists, mostly with Rolf Scamander.  She was moving up, progressing quickly through the department. It was a hard adjustment from England. From all her friends there, but it was necessary. There were too many horrible memories. She wanted to be able to walk through the streets without people staring. Without the press hounding her at every corner of when her and Ron would get married.

But mostly she wanted to breath. 

She wanted the nightmares to stop. 

That’s why she agreed to go.

To Saskatchewan. 

Land of the Living Skies.

That’s what they call it here. And they weren’t lying. There was beauty in the sky everyday, every season. Hermione loved the thunderstorms the best. You could see them rolling in from kilometres away. The sudden drop in temperature. The winds, they would start as a tickle on the back of your neck, and then building up momentum they would feel like they could topple you over. The way the sky would erupt with lightning. The glow of the clouds, and the veins of light stretching across the sky. Ron worried that this might be a trigger for her, but it was the opposite. It was calming, refreshing. Like the sky was opening and washing away all the darkness. There would be nights where she would lay in the grass and let the rain wash over her. The only thing to compete with the summer thunderstorms were the winter nights she would lay out and watch the stars. She would trace the constellations, count the shooting stars, and attempt to deduce the slight difference in colours from the minuscule flecks of light that sparkled across the inky black. 

They bought a small farm house not too far from the city. Nothing but open fields and open skies on all sides.

She stepped out onto the back porch that first night and felt like she could finally breath.

He was wrapping his arms around her before she even realized he stepped out of the house. 

“I’ve got a good feeling about this ‘Mione” he whispered into her neck. “This will be good for us. Together.”

She took a deep breath. Taking it all in. The view. His arms around her. His words. He didn’t seem to need a verbal response but his mouth was on her neck. Wet, hot kisses up and down her neck. Nibbles on her earlobe. 

She closed her eyes thinking.  Yes. Yes. This will be good. This will be good. It has to be. 

They stood on the porch for a few more minutes before Ron led her upstairs to the bedroom. 

****

“YES!” She finally shouted “This. Us. I can’t anymore.”

“You don’t even want to try anymore?!” He shouted back.

“I have been trying. For months. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to get you to see me. To listen. I’ve worn the sexy knickers. I push for the date nights we both never have time for. I’ve adjusted my work schedule time and time again. I’ve put you first every time. I’ve been to three mind healers Ron. Three!” She was shouting again. “I have TRIED. I made the time. Even when I was exhausted I. Made. The. Time.”

He rolled his eyes at this. “Oh c’mon” He walked over to the counter and put his hands down close to hers. 

“No, no. I can’t.” She whispered. Hermione attempted to settle herself but she could feel the tears coming through.

“ ‘Mione. C’mon. I’m sure you can get a transfer to the Ministry,” he pleaded. 

“No, I’m not going!” She yelled. 

“Bloody hell ‘Mione. It’s the Cannons! It’s my career!” He bellowed throwing his hands in the air. 

“And it’s my career! I have worked hard to get where I am here. I can’t. I can’t go back there. You knew. You knew I didn’t want to move back there. Yet you went ahead. Not only considering but you have already accepted the position. You’ve signed a three year contract!” She walked past him and to her desk by the front window. She paused as she looked at the photos on the desk. Her and Ron. Ron and Harry. The three of them. The whole Weasley clan. Her and Gin. She sniffed as she fought back the tears.

Another breath. 

She opened the top right drawer and pulled out two lumpy pieces of cloth. 

Another breath.

Closing the drawer she turned and went back to the kitchen. Here she placed the two pieces of lumpy navy cloth on the counter. 

“Here”

“What’s this?” Ron seemed hesitant.

“Portkeys. I had Yolande fix them up for me before the Christmas break...” She started to explain.

“Why do I need a port key ‘Mione?!” He shouted.

“This one,” pointing to a simple muggle pen with a sniff, “ will take you back to England… The other can bring you back in a week…” 

“England? A week? What the hell? Are you kicking me out? Seriously?!” Ron was getting irate at this point. Inching ever closer to Hermione. 

She instinctively took a step back. Hand grazing the wooden countertops. “Yes. I need time alone. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore.” She looked down at the counter, at the portkeys. In this moment she let out the breath that she didn’t even know she was holding. “I will.. I will pack some of your things.  You can pick it up in a week. I’ll be at Sarah’s for a few days.” Slowly she lifts her head and a final tear rolls down her cheek. “They were supposed to be a surprise. For us both to use. But I think you should go. Alone.”

Ron makes a small movement as if he was going to wipe it from her face but he hesitates. Looking into her eyes he knows its done. The shame and the guilt rising. He was the one who broke this. Them. Her. With a sigh of defeat he nods, and moves to grab the portkey’s. “I am sorry ‘Mione. I just.. I..” He can’t finish the sentence. He knows she wouldn’t listen even if he tried. 

And that was it. That was the end.

Hermione went to stay at her friend Sarah’s place for a few days after packing up Ron’s belongings. She picked up a field work assignment in the Yukon aiding in a survey of the dragon sanctuary near Dawson City at the time of Ron’s return. Hermione had managed to get an additional portkey set up for Ron to send him back to England that she had left with his belongings. 

When she stepped into the farm house that was now just hers, she felt like she could finally breathe. 

****

January 2005

It was late in the afternoon when Hermione landed via portkey on the back porch. The sun was almost set in the prairie sky painting across the horizon. The air was chill and crisp. The last of the days sun sparkling on the ice crusted snow like a blanket of diamonds. She steadied herself for a moment looking out to the frosty fields to the back of the property. She always needed time after portkey use, it always makes her nauseous. 

It wasn’t until she heard a clatter from inside the farmhouse, that she was pulled from her small reverie. She instantly pulled her wand as she turned around. There were noises coming from the kitchen. Hermione slowly placed her bag down near her feet and crossed the porch to the back door. She steadied herself with a grounding breath and slammed the door wide with a bang and wand raised. Stepping into the dimly lit kitchen she shouted out a stupefy to the tall figure near the large wooden table in the centre of the room. He fell with a thud and a clatter to the floor. The lid of her tea kettle rolling to her feet.

She then heard the sound of quick feet pounding down her staircase, and in a moment a tall, bespeckled man with the most unruly hair appeared in front of her.

“Ahhh shit, sorry ‘Mione. Didn’t you get my owl?”

Harry. Fucking. Potter.

“No. I did not get your owl Harry. One. I’ve been in the field for the past five days with Rolf. And two, owl post is extremely unreliable across the Atlantic. I keep telling you this. You need to floo call or send me an email. I still haven’t gotten your wedding invitation by the by.”

“Oh actually, I found that on the front porch when I got here. Well… most of it.” Harry held up what was once a thick crimson envelope. It was in fairly decent condition considering it had been sent out almost three years ago. Only the bottom left corner was missing, slightly soggy and it had an off putting brown tinge to the card stock. 

“Are you being serious right now?” Hermione stared at him with wide eyes, her wand still pointed at him.

“No, I’m Harry,” he flashed her a cheeky grin that Sirius would have been proud of.

“Cute. Really cute. What are you doing here Harry? And who is on my kitchen floor?”  She took her wand off of Harry and pointed it to the gentleman currently unconscious, sprawled near the stove. 

“I did explain it all in my letter…” Harry brings his hand up to run through his dark locks.

“That I did not receive.” She counters. 

“That’s Malfoy. I’m escorting him on his assignment with the ministry.” Harry slowly takes a few steps forward while explaining. 

Hermione in shock takes her eyes off of Harry to stare at the man, no Draco Malfoy, laying on her floor. In an instant, her wand flys out of her hand. Her eyes darting back to Harry. Of course, of course he used an expelliarmus. “Harry, you brought Draco Malfoy to my home?!” She whispered yelled at him. 

“Why are you whispering? You knocked him out cold.” Harry whisper yells back at her.

“Why are you?! Now, give me back my wand Harry.”

“Not until I know you wont hurt me.”

“I must not tell lies,”

“Wow, Hermione, that’s a low blow. Really?” 

Hermione gave him a simple shrug. She walked around the large dining table to pick up the kettle from near Malfoy’s feet. While she was there she gave him a light kick to his dragonhide loafers with a small smile on her face. Rummaging in her cupboard for some chamomile tea she turned back to Harry, “So why are you escorting Malfoy? And why are you at my house?”

“Well, he’s dealing with the Quidditch World Cup that is happening next year. Something or other, and with the whole Death Eater thing, the ministry thought he might need an Auror escort for the first few visits.”

Hermione’s hands stilled at the stove, “I’m sorry, first FEW visits? How many visits are there supposed to be?”

“Erm, perhaps we should just wake up Malfoy and he can explain the details”

“But why are you both here? Why aren’t you staying in Toronto? Surely the ministry can put you up in a nice hotel there?”

“Hermione, I rarely get to see you anymore. It’s been a while since you’ve been back to London. You’re my family, my sister. I miss you ‘Mione.” 

She steps on the middle of Draco’s back to walk over to Harry, “I miss you too Harry.” She grabs him round the middle and gives a hard squeeze. “I promise I’ll be around more this year. I’m up for a promotion soon. So less field work, but more flexibility. I can’t miss seeing the next generation of Potters.”

“Sure, sure. Well you know we should probably wake him up soon,” Harry said to her, while gesturing to the man laying on the floor. 

“Fine.” She grabbed her wand from Harry’s hand and muttered a quick rennervate.  

With a low grown Draco pulled himself into a sitting position and rubbed his back. “What the hell? I feel like I’ve been trampled by an erumpent.”

“Malfoy, be nice.” Harry warns him as he crosses the room to help him to his feet. 

“I am being nice Potter.”

“Alright, this is lovely and all but I’ve just spent a week in the Okanagan dealing with an astronomical bowtruckle population. I just wanted to come home, have a cup of tea, a bath, and a glass of wine. Please, please, go away.” 

Draco finally acknowledges the woman in the room, Hermione Granger. He is in Hermione Granger’s kitchen. She is not the same girl he remembers from school. No, that girl was bright, shinning, hopeful. Truly golden. This woman, she is sharp, crisp, a bit cheeky, and fucking fit. With a quick glance he can tell that she is exhausted, probably not properly bathed in days. Her curls gathered on the top of her head in a messy heap, her robes fitted, but rumpled. Then the exasperated look at having two unannounced guests in her home. 

“Granger.” Malfoy gives her a quick nod.

Hermione glances over at Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy is standing in her kitchen. It’s been several years since she has seen this man. Perhaps not since the trials and even then it was only in passing. Having given testimony for leniency for several of her fellow students that were labeled as sympathizers or in Malfoy’s case, a marked Death Eater. 

With a heavy sigh, Hermione walks over to the pantry by the back door and grabs a bottle of red wine. “I’m going to take a bath. Harry, you know where the spare lines are. There is the spare room, and a pull out sofa in the library. Oh and order me a pizza from that place that I like.”

With a final assessing glance at Draco, and a wave of her wand she summons her bag that was left outside and makes her way up the stairs. 

Harry makes his way to the table in the centre of Hermione’s kitchen and claps Draco on the back. “Well, I think that went rather well. Don’t you, Malfoy?”

****