Chapter 22
The wind bit through Hermione’s jacket as she stood, frozen, in front of the house. The windchimes on the veranda, usually pleasant, were a cacophony of clangs and dings that set Hermione’s teeth on edge. She reached with a shaking hand to turn the knob on her bracelet, dampening the sound. It did nothing about the sound of her heart rapidly thumping against her ribcage.
Next to her under Harry’s invisibility cloak, Draco held out a hand. She took it, squeezing hard and trying desperately to focus on the shape, the warmth, and not the fact that this was it.
That morning, Hermione and Draco had flooed directly to the ministry to meet Harry and Ron – Hermione’s trunk carried along as some quiet symbol of hope. Hermione had come up with the plan. Harry and Ron had provided the resources. They would also be carrying it out. Draco had volunteered to do the actual spellwork, not quite trusting the other two not to trip over their own wands. Harry and Ron had refused point-blank, still not trusting Draco as far as they could throw him. Although at least they had tried to be subtle about it, citing their ‘nearly fully qualified auror’ status as their reasoning.
So instead, Draco sat next to her, watching her friends like a hawk as they walked past the small, tidy garden and rapped on the door to Wendall and Monica Wilkins’ house. In the crate they carried sat two cans of Hermione’s Essence, subtly charmed with compulsion spells.
Hermione’s breath caught as her father opened the door, still in his slippers.
“Hello, sir! We’re doing a donation drive for Dentists Without Borders. Would you be interested in a sugar-free cavity protection drink for two dollars?”
Her father’s face lit up. “Astounding! Monica, come look at this! And can you bring my wallet?” Then ‘Wendall’ spent a whole two minutes shooting rapid fire questions at Harry and Ron about how exactly it protected you from cavities and the details of the organisation and if it would be ok if they could donate a bit more for such a good cause. Hermione was overwhelmed with relief that it wasn’t her doing this part. Harry and Ron lied and joked their way through the interaction as if it was just a regular day for them and soon, her mother was in the doorway, handing the boys a twenty dollar note and taking the two cans from the crate.
Cheerfully, the four waved each other off and then the door was shut. Hermione felt faint. Soon, Harry and Ron were ducking into the bushes where Hermione and Draco were hiding and disillusioning themselves heavily.
“You alright, Hermione?” Ron asked. Hermione was, in fact, stressed beyond words, her brain reduced to roaring static circling around what if what if what if. What if the potion didn’t work? What if it hurt her parents? How could she forgive herself if they got hurt? What if-
“She isn’t. She’ll want to get a closer look. Give us the layout, Potter,” said Draco.
To Harry’s credit, he managed to stay professional in the face of Draco’s tone. Eventually, they manoeuvred their way through to the backyard and hunkered down behind a loveseat on the deck. They had a view of the kitchen here through a large, open bay window, and Hermione’s parents sat at a small table, already sipping at their ‘cavity protection drinks’ and making quizzical faces at the taste.
Wordlessly, Ron handed Harry and Hermione extendable ears. Hermione gave him a look that she hoped he would understand as ‘do not fucking test me right now Ronald Weasley’ and held out her hand for another. He obliged, and she passed it to Draco.
“-doesn’t have that stevia aftertaste, does it?”
“No, no… it does say stevia on the back, though. Erythritol, too. Interesting… It’s quite thick, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said her mother, taking another sip. “It’s very… does it remind you of something, dear?”
Hermione was still, bound up and shaking with the energy of keeping her panic contained.
“Hmm… apple juice, maybe?”
“No no not like that, like- like something we had ages ago, somewhere else…”
Hermione’s heart beat a frantic rhythm in her throat, her hand a desperate vice around Draco’s as she watched the conversation unfold, her parents becoming increasingly perplexed as they drained the contents of their cans. Until-
Her mother gasped, sudden and panicked. “Hermione! That’s what it reminds me of! Good god where’s Hermione? When was the last time we heard from her?”
Hermione let out a choked sob, the breath she’d been holding coming out all at once as she dashed out from under the cloak and ran towards her mother, tears finally unleashed.
Both her parents’ eyes widened in panic as they all but jumped out of their chairs to open the door for Hermione. As she crashed into her mother, she latched onto her like koala, sobbing unceasingly into her shoulder.
“What’s wrong, dear? Why are you crying?” asked her mother as her father floundered about, mumbling something about making tea.
“It’s a long story, Mrs Granger, but we’ll get to it,” said Ron, disillusioned and still wearing his ‘Dentists Without Boarders’ jumper.
“What? You- Granger? Why does that- What did you do to my daughter?”
“She’s fine, Mrs Wilkins, she just needs to sit down somewhere quiet,” said Draco, handing the invisibility cloak to Harry.
It took a while to convince ‘Mr and Mrs Wilkins’ that none of Hermione’s companions were the source of her distress and/or dangerous criminals, but eventually the six of them were gathered in the loungeroom, steaming cups of tea on the coffee table.
Draco, who her parents seemed to trust the most on account of him not having sold them any strange drinks, had managed to explain the situation as vaguely as was reasonable. Whenever Harry or Ron tried to interrupt, he would snap at them about the delicate nature of memory and how they were not to try to force anything to come back before the mind was ready.
“How do we know we can trust you?” asked Hermione’s father, standing with his arms crossed in a corner. “You show up, dose us with some strange ‘potion’, sneak into our backyard and suddenly we remember the daughter we’d supposedly forgotten about for reasons that you refuse to tell us.”
Draco smiled. “I can see where she gets some of her brains from. I can’t tell you anything directly, but if you need proof that Hermione really is your daughter, she can give it to you. Just please wait until she’s calmed down. It’s been a tough couple of years.”
Hermione – who was still sobbing intermittently into her mother’s shoulder – was beyond grateful that she wouldn’t have to say any words for a while.
Twenty minutes later – both of Hermione’s parents complaining of headaches and in desperate need of a nap – it was decided that Harry and Ron would leave. Draco would stay in case of complications in the magic, which even Harry and Ron couldn’t disagree with given the state Hermione was in.
In fact, with the emotional toll the day had taken, none seemed to have the energy to hate each other overly much. Harry had even clasped Draco’s hand firmly, looking intensely into his eyes before making him promise that he would take care of her. Ron stood menacingly to the side, but made no complaints. That last bit of reassurance – that maybe, maybe they would all be united by this hellish experience – was enough to send her into a deep and instant sleep.
***
Over the next few weeks, Mr and Mrs Wilkins slowly but surely returned to Mr and Mrs Granger. The amount of sleep required was enormous, and tears were an almost daily occurrence. Both had to call in to work and explain that they were seriously ill, and Draco contacted the Australian Ministry to arrange fake doctor’s notes.
“Hermione…” it would go, “That boy with the black hair and glasses… that was Harry, wasn’t it? You went to that boarding school in Scotland together.”
Hermione would nod and ask what else her mother remembered until the memories ran out and she had to go lie in bed in the dark, overwhelmed and confused.
It got easier when the memories of magic came back, harder when her parents remembered that there had been a magical war going on. But at least here, Hermione was finally able to give her parents an explanation for why they were feeling pieces of their lives slip into place in the space between thoughts. For why they’d forgotten their daughter, their home, their own names.
One particularly difficult conversation occurred when Hermione’s father looked at Draco over breakfast one morning and suddenly exclaimed, “You! You’re that boy who bullied my daughter for being a mug- a muggy- for having normal parents! Weren’t your parents the Dark Eaters that wanted to kill us?”
Draco went very still. Hermione, who’d been expecting this, sprang to action.
“Ok, yes this is Malfoy. Yes, he bullied me. Yes, he was a Death Eater at one point but it’s complicated.”
“Wait,” her mother cut in, “You’re saying he was a Death Eater?” she was looking at Draco with a mixture of suspicion and outright fear.
“Yes, key word being was. That potion you had to drink to remember me – he made that. I failed when I tried to restore your memories the normal way and he was the only one who would help me. Without him, you wouldn’t remember anything at all. Please understand. He’s changed. In fact,” Hermione said, recalling a very convenient memory she’d seen of him hexing Dolohov in the back, “I wouldn’t be here without him.” She left out the part where he probably wouldn’t be here without her either. Wars were complicated like that.
Her parents glanced suspiciously at an icy, statuesque Draco. The same person who’d been staying in their guest room as their daughter’s boyfriend for weeks now. The same person who’d poured the tea that morning. Just yesterday, her mother had told her she’d done well finding someone who was so polite and intelligent.
“Have you ever killed anyone?” her father asked.
A dark look came over Draco’s eyes, but he shook his head.
“Have you ever hurt Hermione?”
Draco looked down at his plate. “Not since my… enlightenment.”
“I’m telling you, Dad, he’s different now. Everything’s different. He has a N.E.W.T. in Muggle Studies.”
“I don’t see what amphibians have to do with him being a criminal.”
“Hermione,” said her mother, “Are you sure about this?” Her mother stared straight into her eyes and Hermione, for once, found them easy to meet.
“Yes.” She held the woman’s clear blue gaze, chin up. A moment later, her mother sighed. “Well, that’s that then, dear. If Hermione says he’s changed, that’s good enough for me.”
Her father grumbled indistinctly, but turned back to his toast.
Later, when she and Hermione were sitting on the coach – House Hunters playing quietly in the background – her mother noticed her fiddling with her bracelet.
“I thought you didn’t like jewellery, dear. Did I forget that as well?”
“No, I…” Suddenly it dawned on Hermione that this was the time for a very difficult conversation. “It’s magical. It blocks out sound if I turn it.”
“Oh! That’s nice, like noise cancelling headphones?”
“Yeah it… helps with my autism.”
Her mother paused for a second, cocking her head. “You don’t have autism, honey. Who told you that?”
“I was diagnosed, Mum. I probably shouldn’t be telling you if you don’t remember, but-”
“Oh no I do remember that. We took you to get some papers proving you were gifted and that old quack said you were autistic. It doesn’t matter, your teachers all knew the truth-”
“Mum,” Hermione said, quiet and firm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“That you were gifted? We did, didn’t we?”
“No, that I was autistic.”
“You weren’t autistic.”
“Mum.” She couldn’t meet her mother’s eyes anymore, and she felt her mind closing around the words that she needed to get out, keeping them inside. “I am.” Something in Hermione’s tone silenced her. At least for a moment. But something shifted.
“What makes you think you’re autistic?”
“Do you not remember my meltdowns yet?”
“Well… you weren’t exactly an easy child. You had your tantrums – like every child does.”
“I never had any friends.”
“Yes, because you were so clever. You always got along better with adults. It’s normal for gifted children to struggle with friendships. I mean, I was the same and I’m certainly not autistic. And then you went off to Hogwarts and you had Harry and Ron and it was fine.”
Hermione shook her head. It hadn’t been fine, but her brain was running out of words now, the tunnel between her mind and mouth getting narrower and tighter. She fought to keep it open.
“Mum… it wasn’t-” And then she failed. The words stopped, her mouth clamping up and tension building in her muscles. A stinging wetness sprung up behind her eyes, but she could make no sound.
Her mother noticed something was off immediately and made to hug her. Hermione jerked away, the solid form of her too hot and too close.
“Hermione, dear, what’s wrong?” Her mother asked as the tears finally started to escape. Hermione could only shake her head, wishing her mother would leave her alone to calm down.
Thankfully, it was her mother, who had dealt with a crying Hermione countless times. And so she went to make tea. By the time she’d returned with the two steaming mugs, Hermione had composed herself a bit.
“Why do you think it’s so terrible?” she asked, voice coming out small and scratchy.
“This autism thing?” Hermione nodded. “Well, they were trying to tell me something was wrong with you. There’s never been anything wrong with you. You were always different, yes. But you learnt to make friends eventually, and you stopped having those tantrums whenever you didn’t get your way. I didn’t want some old nobody telling you that there were things in life that you wouldn’t be able to do. I didn’t want anyone or anything holding you back. That’s why we let you go off to that school to learn God knows what and didn’t unenroll you immediately when you were petrified by some giant snake. I’ve always known you’d fly high, and I didn’t want any limiting beliefs clipping your wings.”
Hermione’s face screwed up as she tried to hold back her sobs. How could her mother have tried so hard but be still been so wrong?
“Besides, you’re just like me. And your father. We’ve always been a bit odd, and that’s ok. Not everyone’s going to understand that but as you get older, you find your people. I mean, look at your father’s shark tooth collection, and how he refuses to go to bed until all the creams in the bathroom are lined up properly – some people would say that’s autistic, but he has a well-paying job and a family and he’s perfectly fine.”
Hermione resisted the urge to shove her face into a nearby cushion. How did her mother not understand? How? But telling her that not only was her daughter autistic, but there was a good chance she was as well was a bit too much to manage at the moment. Instead, she trudged through the tar of her mind to safer ground.
“You know Einstein was autistic, right? He had a job and a family.”
Her mother paused. “He was?”
Hermione nodded. “And Newton. And Tesla.”
“Well how do they know that?”
“Retroactive behavioural analysis, I suppose. Experts have weighed in on it. It’s quite certain.”
Hermione’s mother seemed to be turning the information over in her mind. Comparing her daughter to the common representation of a screaming, developmentally struggling autistic child was clearly too much for her, but – due to good old parental bias – Einstein might be within the realm of possibility.
“But they wouldn’t have been like… what was his name? Aaron? Do you remember that boy in your class? He was autistic. And you never got violent like he did.”
“It’s a spectrum, Mum. And it tends to present differently in girls. We internalise it more.”
A beat of silence.
“Mum… this is important. You believed me about Draco. Why can’t you believe me about this, too? Do you think I haven’t done all the research on it that I can? And I was diagnosed by a clinical neuropsychologist. With a PhD. If you told someone that they needed a wisdom tooth out and they refused because they were convinced it was just a cavity well… who knows the most about teeth in that situation?”
Her mother seemed to be flagging here. She was hardly the type to argue with PhDs without very good reason.
“Besides, even if it’s not true, it’s helped me so much. This thing,” she held up her bracelet, “has made me so much less angry at everyone. And now I know I have sensory issues I can explain to people why I don’t like being touched or hugged all the time.”
“You shouldn’t have to explain yourself for that, dear. There’s nothing wrong with not wanting people to touch you.”
“It is when people think it means you hate them. And now I now why I sometimes miss the point of what people are saying or say the completely wrong thing. It’s not because I’m cold and have no empathy for other people, it’s because I’m autistic. And no,” Hermione said, holding up a hand to shush her mother, who’d opened her mouth, “it’s not an excuse and it doesn’t mean I can’t ever understand what people are saying to me, it helps me understand better because I’m at least aware now of what I tend to miss. It’s helped me, Mum. It would have helped me a lot if I’d known sooner.”
Her mother sighed, knowing Hermione well enough to see this was a losing battle. “Alright. If you want to be autistic, you can be autistic. What matters is that you’re my daughter and I love you and I’m so glad I’ve got you back.”
Hermione smiled, finally giving in and letting her mother hug her. It wasn’t perfect. But it was a start.
***
Dear Hermione,
Draco wrote to me about your parents. I know you’re probably too busy/overwhelmed to reply but THANK MERLIN it went well! I’m so happy for you! It’s good to know that enduring Draco’s company all year paid off.
Speaking of my favourite (Ex-)Death Eater, you NEED to provide me with all the stories of his muggle machine mishaps when we see each other again. He told me about the dishwasher ‘filling the entire kitchen with suds for no reason’ but I’ve got a sneaking suspicion he left out some juicy, embarrassing details.
I’ve been writing to Padma (and Sue but she’s not replying for reasons which will soon become clear) and Sue’s not doing great. Her parents didn’t react well to the whole gay thing, as expected, so she’s staying with Padma’s family who are lovely from what I’ve heard. Still, poor girl. And Padma’s trying not to let it show but I think her sister’s starting to get on her impeccable nerves (you would know first hand all about Pavarti, right?).
Anyway, I’ve invited our favourite gays over for the summer and I suppose this is my official invite to you, too. I’ve got loads of room here (you know, evil pureblood money and all that), so I was thinking you could all come stay for a few weeks in August? Let me know if you can’t bear to be parted from Blondie, though, because I’ll probably have to ask for special permission to let him in the house (evil Death Eater stuff and all that, blah blah blah).
The family’s doing well! Astoria’s going to be going back to school next year and everything. She’s trying to be blasé about it but she’s secretly super excited. She’ll change her mind after about twenty minutes in McGonagall’s N.E.W.T. class, though, you’ll see.
Again, super happy for you! Reply when you can!
Your friend,
Daphne
***
After a very hectic few weeks organising the Grangers’ move back to England in November, Hermione did in fact take up Daphne’s offer. If she was being completely honest, it was a good excuse to ignore Harry and Ron’s pleas to come and stay at the Burrow or Grimmauld Place, where Draco’s presence might be tolerated at best, and cause more violent confrontations at worst.
To Hermione’s surprise, Sue was as bright a light as ever by the time she arrived. She took great delight in the Greengrass’ massive grounds and – even during the holidays – continued her insane morning routine of dawn wakeups and exercise.
“It’s not really the holidays, Hermione,” Sue had said when she voiced her astonishment at this. “We don’t have those anymore. We’re adults now – we need to be thinking about careers. All the major teams will be holding tryouts in a few weeks, hoping to snap up the best Hogwarts leavers. If I don’t get through in this round I’ll be leftover goods, so I need to…” As always, Hermione zoned out when the Quidditch jargon got too technical. But she nodded and smiled in encouragement anyway. She was just happy Sue seemed so full of hope after such a massive fall out with her family. It was hard for Hermione to comprehend, having only just started to let herself think about the future again now that she had the solid ground of her family back under her feet.
Padma, in stark contrast to Sue, seemed content to let the future take her where it may. “I mean, I just don’t feel that spark that Sue feels about Quidditch with anything yet. I’m hoping it miraculously finds me before the end of the summer but if not, I’ll have my girlfriend’s humungous Quidditch salary to rely on in a year or so, so there’s no big rush.”
Sue had scoffed at this and called Padma much too confident in her flying abilities. Daphne had called her a natural strategist, and suggested international piracy as a potential calling. Inevitably, Hermione’s future plans were brought up.
They were all sitting at a table under an ancient looking willow tree, the drooping leaves and the smell of damp earth creating a refuge from the sun where they sipped at their iced teas. They had received their N.E.W.T.s a few days ago. Hermione had received an O in everything except for Defence, where Nettle had – probably begrudgingly – awarded her an E. Draco’s grades had been similar, with his only E’s in Arithmancy and Muggle Studies. To their great surprise, Slughorn had written almost immediately afterwards to accept Draco’s Mastery application. Draco had come to Greengrass House – where he was allowed to visit but not stay for the sake of ‘propriety’ – to give her the news in person, grinning from ear to ear.
“He actually accepted! I’m going to be a potions master! Merlin! I’m going to have a job!”
Hermione had jumped up and down like a kid at the news. “What did you think you were going to do when you left school? Become a bum on the street?”
“No, actually, I assumed I was going to rot away managing my estate and kicking poor house elves to remain in the good graces of my allies. I’d never really considered having a job until this year. It seems much more exciting.”
He had asked her then about her offer from the Ministry. She had had no answer. Draco had convinced her to at least sign the non-disclosure agreement so she could find out more details. They had arrived yesterday, and her head was still whirling with them.
“Well… I’ve had one job offer,” she said.
“What? Already?” Sue asked.
“I knew it! Which department was it?” said Daphne.
“That’s exciting. Where did you apply?” asked Padma.
“Well,” Hermione said, praying this didn’t come across as arrogant. “I didn’t really apply. They just sort of sent it to me. I only got the details yesterday. I’m not allowed to tell you, though. I had to sign a non-disclosure agreement.”
Sue and Padma gaped at her while Daphne whistled. “Wow, Department of Mysteries, huh? It’s not too unusual for them to scout someone every few years. I mean, it’s difficult to get job applicants on positions you can’t speak about. Can you really not tell us anything, though?”
“I really can’t. The papers were heavily charmed. I don’t know what would happen to me, but it wouldn’t be good.” Hermione’s mind wandered back to the angry red SNEAK Marietta Edgecombe had carried on her face for years.
“Do you at least know if you’re going to accept?” Sue asked, on the literal edge of her seat.
“I don’t know. From what I’ve read it sounds like an amazing opportunity. The only issue is that I wouldn’t be able to talk about it with anyone. I know I’m good at keeping secrets – Merlin knows I did enough of that with Harry and Ron, but it’s just… it takes a toll, you know?”
Sue sat back, nodding sagely.
“Yeah, Raj was worried about that, too, when he became an Unspeakable. But he said that because everyone’s in the same boat, they all sort of band together and that it’s very tight knit.”
“Wait? Your cousin’s an Unspeakable?” Daphne asked.
“Yep,” Padma said, “He applied a few years ago. He’s not allowed to talk about what he actually does or what anyone else does but he can tell us that he’s happy, that he likes his colleagues, and that he makes more money than all the Chudley Canons combined.”
“Wait…” Hermione said, “Raj is the cousin you told me about, right?” The autistic one.
Padma nodded. “Yep. You should write to him! Obviously there’ll be things he can’t say but it’ll be good to talk about what it’s generally like to work there. I know he struggled a lot with the traditional office setup – partially because of all the noise and office politics – but so far he’s doing great in the DoM. No clue what he does, though. It’s so frustrating…”
“Maybe you should apply, Padma,” Daphne suggested, taking a long sip of her iced tea.
Padma looked like she’d been bonked on the head. “You’re right! Even if they don’t let me in, I’d at least know something about what’s going on.”
Hermione beamed. “You should! I can’t say anything but it’s so interesting. And if they’re scouting like this, surely they need more recruits.”
“Or,” Daphne said, “They’ve been coveting the famous Hermione Granger for years and are frothing at the mouth now that you’ve graduated.”
Hermione’s cheeks pinked. Sue did her the favour of drawing everyone’s attention by declaring that the DoM wouldn’t know what hit them when the less famous but even more brilliant Padma Patil joined their ranks.
And so within a week, Hermione found herself in the bowels of the Ministry, undergoing a set of stringent, vigorous tests and interviews. Within a fortnight, she was signing along a heavily charmed dotted line.
Draco was waiting for her in the opulent Ministry foyer like he’d said he would be. He was wearing muggle clothes that were visible underneath his light cloak, and Hermione felt stupidly warm and fuzzy over it. After much deliberation, they’d decided to rent a modest London flat within walking distance of the Ministry. Just two more days, and she’d be able to sleep in the same bed as him again. As much as she’d enjoyed her time with Daphne, it was getting logistically awkward.
It her musings, it took her a second to notice the two people standing with him at the fountain. Harry and Ron. Shit.
Despite her fears, Harry at least looked cheerful, waving his arm in broad sweeps above his head. Ron and Draco looked visibly strained, having to stand so close to each other, but both gave her a smile when she reached them.
One by one, she pulled them each into a hug, thanking them for their congratulations and declarations of their faith in her. She gave Draco a look that she hoped meant, ‘are you okay?’ It must have translated well, because he nodded almost imperceptibly, taking her hand and squeezing it. People were looking, but they’d accepted that, for a while, people would be looking. After months of secrecy, Hermione had finally put her foot down. With her new job, she didn’t want to be keeping any more secrets than strictly necessary. What would come would come. They could handle it.
“It’ll be great to have you around again, Hermione,” said Ron.
“Yeah, it’s been ages since we’ve even had lunch together,” said Harry.
“Unless you count brunch, of course,” Hermione said, colder than she’d meant to, with her hand still in Draco’s.
Harry and Ron glanced at each other in a way that was familiar to everyone in their trio. It was the ‘we’ve been planning without you’ look. Hermione rolled her shoulders back, steeling herself for another onslaught of ‘but he’s a Death Eater’. It never came.
“We’ve been talking,” Harry said, confirming her suspicions, “and we’ve talked to Mal- Draco a bit too,” Harry looked like the name tasted bad in his mouth, “and… well. He’s been useful this year.”
“Not like his old, smarmy self,” said Ron. “According to Ginny at least,” he added on quickly, lest he be caught saying something good about Draco of his own accord.
“And, well… if you’re sure about all this…” Harry gestured vaguely at Draco, refusing to look directly at either of them. “We’re thinking we should maybe actually talk to him a bit.”
“Know your enemy and all that,” said Ron, but with his characteristic, easy smile. He’s joking, Hermione, she told herself, it’s a joke.
“Yeah…” said Harry. “And maybe erm…” the rest of Harry’s sentence trailed off indistinguishably.
“What was that, Harry?” Draco said in a clear, clipped tone. Hermione actually jumped when she heard the name. What had happened between those three?
“I said, Draco, that perhaps we should er… apologise.” It was still quiet, but there.
“No need Pot- Harry. Consider my lack of retribution as an expression of gratitude for…” Here, it was Draco who trailed off. “For keeping me out of Azkaban. Thanks… for that…”
“Well, you didn’t sell us to the Death Eaters when you could have, so… y’know…” said Ron. “Let’s just call it even. But if you hurt a single hair on Hermione’s head-”
“As we’ve established, W- Ronald, that will not be happening.” All three of them stared each other down, Hermione on the outskirts of some distinct social shift that she didn’t quite understand, but was absolutely not going to complain about.
“Well, now that’s settled,” said Ron, clapping his hands. “I’m starved. And we’ve got to start showing you all the good restaurants around here, Hermione. Don’t expect you’re gonna be able to skip dinner to keep working on your mysteries down there, we will come drag you out for pizza.”
And so all four of them made their way to Ron’s favourite Italian place to celebrate, all blending well enough into muggle London. Hermione barely noticed her surroundings, too fascinated by the way that Harry, Ron and Draco were so clearly making an effort. The conversation was stilted at first, but after Draco caught himself laughing a one of Ron’s jokes, the air lightened a bit, and Hermione sat straighter, began to smile real smiles.
As she leaned back in her chair with a belly full of greasy chips and laughter, she got the feeling that the world had finally settled. Hermione felt at home in her own head, grounded in something solid, real and kind. She wasn’t falling through her own life anymore, no longer prey to the winds. She had found solid earth, and from here could look up into the infinite stars, exploring every wonder she could imagine. For the first time in a long time, she was excited to see what the future held.