Unspoken

Hermione groaned and stretched her neck as far to the right as she could. Sitting hunched over a desk reading stacks of budgeting reports was unbearable no matter how comfortable her chair was. She rubbed her shoulders vigorously and sighed.

For all that Granger had put way too many hours into this job, Hermione was ready to admit that her predecessor was probably one of if not the most brilliant woman she would never get the chance to meet. The only way she had been able to keep up with her work for the last five days was by heavily relying on the organization of information in this office and in her planner. She was only putting in the same hours because she was spending about a third of those hours cross referencing information and pouring over indexes.

Surely by now someone should have noticed that Hermione Granger was not operating as efficiently as the previous weeks and months? Thank Merlin that genius had carried over and that she was able to quickly recall what she read after a few times. No one came by to complain about her work other than her now daily bombardment by Secretary Painswick - who had been somewhat mollified by a gorgeous arrangement of Heathcliff roses his wife had received.

The auror that had been assigned to the Hall of Prophecy matter was not someone Granger had previously interacted with so she was in the clear in that area. For a moment, she had worried Harry might take on the case but an Auror Jefferies had shown up on Wednesday afternoon, apologizing that Harry was on another assignment. Jefferies had given her a rundown on the spellwork he would be performing to try to suss out what had led to the explosion, and also told her that he’d be questioning the Unspeakables over the upcoming week. The Keeper of the Hall of Prophecies was still in a coma at St. Mungo’s, but he was the top priority to be interviewed once he awoke.

If he awoke.

She’d signed off on all the scrollwork the auror had brought for the investigation and returned to her regular tasks for the most part. Now it was Friday and it was almost time to meet up with Harry in the lobby for the dreaded Friday night drinks. 

The purple planner on the desk sat fat and full of information. She’d spent her last three days worth of appallingly short mealtimes rifling through the chapters on Harry, Ron, and Ginny… and the Second Wizarding World… And it was her eventual conclusion that there had simply been too much to fully comprehend what Granger had gone through with her friends. 

Hermione drummed her fingers over the cover of the planner, took a deep breath before packing all her things in the little ugly beaded purse, and went down to meet Harry. 

The hero of the wizarding world had changed out of what she now knew to be his Auror’s uniform and was in decidedly casual muggle clothing. She winced inwardly that she hadn’t thought to change out of the pinstripe wool skirt and black jacket she had donned today for the quarterly meeting of the Minister’s cabinet; she had been Painswick’s stand-in, again apparently. 

But Harry said nothing as he enveloped her in his signature hug, warm and welcoming. His grin stretched from ear to ear as they walked together towards a particular Floo that was connected directly to a pub called the Leaky Cauldron. 

“Ginny, Ron, and Lavender are holding a table for us, Gin sent ahead a patronus just a little while ago,” he said as they queued.

“Sounds great, Harry.”

Hermione smiled back at him, reminding herself to just go with the flow. The most important thing she could do was act natural. If she could keep track of fifty different ongoing grants, she could keep track of another face. 

Said faces waved cheerily from a corner of the pub as Hermione and Harry emerged from the flames into a crowded, two story lounge. The din of folks ordering meals, laughing over drinks, and talking about their work weeks filled her ears as they navigated between the tightly packed tables. Many of the patrons turned and greeted Harry, shaking his hand or patting him on the arm.

She kept the smile from earlier plastered on her face when she found one of his admirers turn and shake her with excitement by the elbow. Her hair bobbed as she nodded her head in greeting, horrified as to whether she was supposed to know this person, but Harry grabbed her by the other elbow and told the table, “She’s ours tonight!”

They arrived at a worn velvet booth holding two redheads and a witch their age with highly stylized blond curls cascading over her shoulders. This third member of the group, whom she took to be Lavender, hesitated slightly before saying hello. Ron was sitting back next to her, an arm wrapped behind her shoulders. Ginny sat across from Ron and Harry pulled Hermione down next to him as he slid in alongside his fiance. 

“You actually made it!” said the ginger witch with a laugh, “I refused to believe Harry when he said you had promised to come to drinks.”

“And it isn’t drinks until you’ve had more than one,” Harry told Hermione, sliding a bottle over to her and taking one of his own from the middle of the table. “To friends!”

“Here, here!” 

Hermione sipped from her bottle, enjoying the warm fizzing taste of sweet butterscotch as it frothed on her tongue. She raised an eyebrow as all four of Granger’s friends turned to look at her expectantly.

“Well?” said Ginny after a moment.

“Well, what?”

Everyone groaned and Ron actually rolled his eyes meaningfully at Lavender. 

“Come on, ‘Mione, it’s been months,” said Granger’s ex-boyfriend. “You really gonna go with, ‘I can’t talk about work’ again when we haven’t seen you since July?”

“I really can’t talk about work, Ron.” she protested lightly, glad for the easy excuse out of that conversation starter. 

“Typical.” he grumbled and took a long swig from his bottle.

Ginny leaned around Harry, who lightly kissed her forehead as she said, “Okay, then, what about outside of work?”

“There is no ‘outside of work,’ Ginny. The Department of Mysteries has too many charms for someone like Hermione.” joked Harry; Hermione was bemused to see acknowledging nods all around.

“No workplace romance, even?” asked Gin, side-eyeing her friend. “I thought that maybe, given how long it's been since we heard from you, there might be a special someone keeping you away.”

At these words, Lavender sat up a little straighter and Ron cut a sharp look at the dark haired witch across the booth.

The sudden interested in her supposed love life caused her to go dumb for a moment, her brown eyes wide like a deer staring down the Night Bus. Granger might have had a love life once upon a time but Hermione hadn’t bothered taking time in the week to consider that aspect of her life. So why is there a flash of a white lab coat in the back of her mind when she had been asked the question?

“There is someone!” crowed Ginny. 

Harry was all astonishment, but the expression on Ron’s face went a little dark, and Lavender looked like a cat who got into the cream. Hermione gave a silent shake of her head and tried to hide behind her bottle of butterbeer, but it was too late. 

“Workplace dalliance, huh?” purred Lavender, leaning her elbows onto the table. Her tone was not at all friendly. “Do tell, Hermione.”

“Back off, Lavender.” snapped Ginny.

“Oy, Gin-”

The redheaded witch pointed at her brother with a warning finger. “Nuh uh - this is drinks out with friends, not fodder for Lavender’s gossip column in Witch Weekly, Ron. That quill of hers stays at her office, do you understand?” 

“You were the one who asked!” snarled Ron.

“And I’m right here, Ginevra. Really, Ron is not my keeper.” Lavender noted, peering at her nails as though no longer interested in the topic. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

Hermione noticed as Harry slipped his hand onto Ginny’s wrist under the table. Ron was no longer sitting back and his ears had flushed a shade of maroon. She had no idea what to make of the group dynamics but as she stared at the antagonistic couple across the table from her, she frowned slightly at Granger’s ex-boyfriend.

- - - - - - -

Ronald Bilius Weasley

Birthday: March 1, 1980

Favorite Color: Orange

Favorite Food: Bacon Butty

Job: Partner with his brother George Weasley at Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes (joke shop)

See Notation for ‘Weasley is Our King’

After Harry, Ron is my oldest friend. For many years, it was just the three of us since that fateful day in the bathroom with the troll. Ronald comes from a large, pureblood family with lots of older, accomplished brothers and a little sister with a temper even hotter than his. I say this upfront because you cannot separate Ron from the rest of his family when you consider his role in my life. The Weasleys adopted me almost as much as they did Harry, having me out at the Burrow during school holidays and sending me gifts. Despite my lack of attendance at Christmas dinner last year, I still received a navy blue sweater from his mum with the customary “H” on the front. It speaks to Ron’s strength of character that in spite of having to share everything he owned with so many siblings, he has never begrudged the attention his parents give to Harry and myself. 

However, a lot of dealing with Ron is managing his insecurities due to trying to find his place in such a large family. Every now and then I question if we would have ever become friends with one another if not for Harry. Ron and I acted almost as foils to one another in terms of that friendship. I used to think of Ron and I as the brawn and the brain - not that I ever mentioned it to him because he would have absolutely taken it the wrong way. We unconsciously struggled to be first with Harry, constantly making quips at the other's expense and more than once Harry was forced to choose a side in our arguments. There was never a time when it was Ron and I against Harry. Harry was always the heart of our group, even as it grew past our trio. 

My own friendship with Ron, separate from that of our friendship with Harry, comes with a whole host of issues, not least of which is our ill-fated attempt at a romantic relationship post the War. I am a little ashamed to admit that I pined after Ron for a couple of years. I admired him for his loyalty to his family and to Harry. I loved his freckles and his jokes. But he ignored me in favor of girls with more alluring features and less academic interests so I kept my crush to myself. I suspect Harry wasn’t quite as clueless to my predicament as our redheaded friend, but he never interfered, which I appreciated. When he dated Lavender Brown in sixth year, I set a flock of birds on him, I was so hurt.

But after the war, after everything we had been through to look for the Horcruxes and everyone we lost, we got together. It was a relationship of convenience, that person who was just there at the right time. Our romance was bright and hot and overwhelming in such a way that it was never going to be sustainable without driving one another into madness or depression. I have never understood his passion for Quidditch and he never cared to listen to my thoughts on magical theory and law. He rarely looks past the first answer, magical or otherwise, when dealing with a problem. 

And like a dying sun, we allowed it to drag on for years after the flames had already died and all that was left was the glowing embers of a struggling friendship. The last year dragged on merely due to a determination to make it work for appearances’ sake rather than any amorous affection we had for one another. It was mostly amicable I like to think, but I know he felt our failure as a couple was in large part due to my long hours at work rather than our innate incompatibility…

- - - - - - -

Several seconds passed with the siblings glaring at one another over the table until Harry quipped, “We got your wedding reply on Tuesday, ‘Mione, so thanks for sending that in.”

Ginny turned at her end of the bench, her finger now waving at Hermione. “Don’t you dare think for a second that you are getting out of hair and makeup and morning-of duties. We chose not to have a bridal party, but you are getting ready with me.” Her brown eyes narrowed at Hermione. “You owe me.”

“I will be there.” she promised, chuckling to cover up her nerves. 

“And I have one more dress fitting before the wedding. You have to come to that , too.”

Hermione glanced at Harry, whose expression told her that he knew where his loyalties lay, so she gave her a second promise with a request to send her the time and date at work so she could have her assistant add it to the calendar. Lavender asked if she could come along as well and Ginny sighed, agreeding so long as no cameras were involved and no descriptions of the dress were published. Her compromise seemed to mollify Ron and the group fell into their more regular topics of discussion.

She added where she could to the conversation but mostly just listened and made appropriate noises. Ginny struck Hermione just as friendly and open as her fiancé and that immediately made her warm to the witch. Lavender, on the other hand, was painfully vapid. She could see why Ron and Granger had never lasted, if this was the type of woman who could keep him happy. But the redhead was funny and warm and she had to admit that Granger had good taste in thinking his freckles were endearing.

Talk turned to a recent Quidditch match and Hermione found herself struggling to stay engaged. She could recall the rules of the game but had no interest in whether or not the new Beater for the Chudley Cannons had a better batting average then some player for the Banchory Bangers. Merlin have mercy, she did try. But her mind kept wandering back to some of the project proposals she had read that day and wondering if the auror assigned to the Hall of Prophecies had found anything of interest yet.

“Need a new drink?” asked Harry as Ginny rolled her eyes at Lavender’s assertion that the new Beater was in danger of losing his good looks to a Bludger and what a shame that was going to be. 

“Er, yeah, you?” Hermione asked back, embarrassed that she wasn’t putting in more effort to be present.

“Yeah, let me out and I’ll get us another round.”

She quickly held up a hand and scooted off her place on the bench. “No, no, it’s on me. Bribe for all the nights I’ve missed.” Surprising herself, Hermione even winked and felt another surge of guilt as Harry laughed at her. 

She quickly wove her way up to the bar, trying not to dwell on the uneasy feeling of being out with people who deserved to have Granger at the table and not some facsimile of a friend. The round-faced witch at the bar seemed to know her, or Granger at least, and told her to give her a minute to wrestle up the regular order.

As Hermione waited, she started as a familiar voice called out next to her, “Abbott, another round of Firewhiskey, if you please.”

“Sure thing, Malfoy.” said the barwitch with a nod.

He was there, lounging by the counter next to her, dressed in a black sweater that was rolled up to his elbows. Hermione felt her breath catch a little in her throat. His outfit was black the entire way down to his shoes including a glossy belt that pulled his crisply pressed trousers to his waist. 

Malfoy smirked as he caught her looking and leaned into whisper, “Work drinks?”

“What? No.” she said, confused. “Just… just drinks. With friends.”

“I saw, Potter and lot.” He jerked a pointy chin in the direction of her booth. “But honestly witch, this is what you wore to drinks out?”

“I came straight from the office!” she protested, flushing and glancing around. Her work suit really did stand out in the crowd around the bar and not in the best way. Hermione felt like a stick in the mud with her wool skirt and her boring heels and her hair in a desperate, tangled knot at the nape of her neck. 

“Mmm, yes, I can see that.” he drawled, fiddling with an empty glass someone had left behind.

“Oh, fuck off.” she said, rolling her eyes and turning back to wait for her drinks.

Her epithet caught the wizard off guard but seconds later he was laughing wholeheartedly.

“Feisty tonight, Granger! I like it.” 

“What are you doing here?” she asked exasperated. Malfoy was being a douche again, for reasons unknown, and she was too tired for it.

“I, too, have friends, Granger, as unbelievable as it may be to you.” He indicated a table in the corner where two other wizards were sitting and talking in an animated discussion. “Nott and Zabini made me promise multiple rounds before returning my wand.”

“Mmm, Harry did roughly the same.” she muttered, wondering how long it took to get drinks for five people.

Malfoy leaned backwards onto the counter, elbows holding him up as he leaned a little closer to her. “Weasel King still with that shrill witch, what’s her name again?”

Hermione frowned at the derogatory nickname and glanced back at her table to see the blonde woman running her hand up and down Ron’s arm, her painted nails almost like talons. “Lavender.”

“Ah, yes, Brown. She must be a fantastic lay to be worth the downgrade from dating you.”

“Are you trying to compliment me, Malfoy?” she asked in disbelief.

“I’m saying that Weasley has piss poor taste in women.”

“Dating me was in poor taste?”

“That wasn’t what I said, Granger.” he frowned, standing straight again.

Hermione rapped the tips of her fingers on the countertop impatiently. “No, you said ‘piss poor taste,’ if you require that I quote you properly.”

“Granger-”

Abbott or whatever her name was - the barwitch - arrived at that moment in their space with both of their drink orders. Hermione immediately paid up and said, without looking at him, “Malfoy, it’s Friday and I’d like to get through a single day of this cockroach cluster of a week without your snark. Could you please sod off?” 

“Granger, I haven’t had nearly enough Firewhiskey to deal with you, so please excuse me.” 

Malfoy slapped some gold down, grabbed the glasses, and left the counter. She let out a sullen sigh and reached for her own tray.

“Hermione.” 

Harry had materialized right behind her shoulder, much to her surprise.

“Harry?” 

He smiled at her and said, “I came to see if you need help with the drinks.”

“I can just levitate them, you know.” she told him, wiggling her wand between her fingers. 

“Sure, sure. Wingardium Levi-O-sa .” 

There was a beat, and Hermione realized that Harry had to be referring to some sort of inside joke. She quickly gave a light laugh and he lowered his voice a notch, “Honestly I came to see if you needed a rescue.”

“What, from whom?”

She followed the line of his green eyes to the table Malfoy had just rejoined. Both of his companions took their drinks but the blond turned and raised his own glass of Firewhiskey towards her. Hermione rolled her eyes and found Harry staring at her strangely.

“What did he say, ‘Mione?”

“Nothing Harry. Just work.” Best not to mention the nasty remarks about Ron and his girlfriend.

Her friend’s eyebrows shot up into the messy fringe of his black hair. “You work with Malfoy? I thought he was a Healer.”

Ah, shit. 

“That’s classified, Harry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“You work with Malfoy. He’s an Unspeakable now?”

“Harry James Potter, drop it.” 

She didn’t know where the full name calling came from but it was sufficient to shut her friend up as they took the drinks back to their booth. Harry sat down again as Hermione passed around the drinks and realized with a small degree of disappointment that apparently her regular drink was just another butterbeer. While a booze-induced buzz probably wasn’t wise considering her situation, she was nearing the end of her ability to care about keeping up the Granger persona.

“What was Malfoy trying to ferret out of you?” asked Ron with a sneer as he took a sip from his glass of Firewhiskey. Lavender gave a tinkling laugh that sounded more malevolent than magical and even Ginny popped a grin at her brother at his remark.

“I’d rather not dwell on him.” said Hermione pointedly, but Ron was still glaring across the pub.

“Has anyone told him that all black just reminds us about his Deatheater heritage?”

The hair on the back of her arms stood up as Hermione drank in what Ron had just said. She’d read enough of the planner now to know the term. 

Deatheater. Voldemort. The Second Wizarding War.

Her heart thudded in her ribcage with horror as she looked back over at Malfoy, chatting animatedly with his friends. Her sudden silence went unnoticed by the rest of the group because Harry was saying something about the wedding invitations and Malfoy and suddenly Ron burst out, “What do you mean, Malfoy will be at the wedding?!”

Ginny sighed and tutted. “Practically everyone will be at the wedding, Ron. I think the guest list is like 500 people at this point. He works at St. Mungo’s now, and his mother poured the entirety of one of their vaults into the reconstruction of the Janus Thickey Ward. It’s not like we seated him at the head table.”

“Is he bringing a date?” asked Lavender a little too smoothly to be trusted.

Ginny narrowed her eyes and then shook her head. “No, their reply confirmed for Malfoy and his mother only.”

“Shame. Would have made a good piece. He doesn’t go out quite a lot so I wonder what he’s up to other than work. He’s considered quite the catch these days, Dark Mark aside.” mentioned the writer.

Ron looked repulsed at the thought while Harry gave a none-too-subtle glance at internally distraught Hermione next to him.

The glance didn’t slide past their resident gossip who took the opportunity to ask, “And who is your plus one, Hermione?”

“No one.” answered Hermione, not enjoying that the conversation had come back around on her. 

“Really? No date to the biggest event in modern wizarding history? There’s no need to be in a relationship with someone. Just invite someone from work.” 

Harry choked on his butterbeer and Hermione shot him a warning stare. 

“No, Lav, really, she already replied and it was already sent on to the venue. Besides, she’s sitting with the rest of us. What poor schmuck would want to sit at a table at a wedding with a bunch of old friends with inside jokes that they can’t follow?” acknowledged Ginny.

Hermione nodded internally, sad for her poor schmuck self. 

Ron snorted and the group their faces to him. He was a little red-faced now from his Firewhiskey. The wizard gestured at Hermione and stated, without a hint of shame, “‘Mione doesn’t do dates or relationships. As long as she’s busier and smarter than everyone else, she doesn’t need anyone. Why else haven’t we seen her in months?”

There was dead silence at the table as Ron slowly realized what he had said. His ears were red again and he sputtered as he tried to backtrack but Hermione stood up from her seat and grabbed her bag.

“I’m really sorry you feel that way, Ronald.” she stated, fingers digging into the fabric of the purse. “Sorry to bail, Harry, but I just remembered that I needed to grab something before I headed home tonight. I’ll see you at the Ministry? Bye Gin, goodbye Lavender.”

Hermione didn’t look back as she flew out the door into Muggle London, blinking back tears as she walked down the street in the November evening air. 

Hecate and Holda, why was she so hurt by those words? She wasn’t Granger. She wasn’t the person who had spent the last year burdened with the knowledge that she was going to be erased and replaced, carefully shielding her loved ones from the painful truth she couldn’t escape. 

She hurt for Granger. Granger who was her past self and also someone a bit like a sister she had never met. Granger, who had poured her soul and her resources into making sure that Hermione was going to survive and thrive in a new and dangerous world. 

Hot tears were rolling down her cheeks and Hermione gave a hiccuping sob into the back of her hand as she stopped at a cross section. The walk signal blurred in her vision as it blinked red at her. With a jolt of fear, she realized she didn’t know where she was or even which direction she had turned when she had left the Leaky Cauldron. Dimly, she wondered if Granger had kept a copy of a London AZ street atlas in her purse. Muggles jostled her as the signal blipped that it was safe to cross. 

Backing up, Hermione ducked into a small alley where the lights had gone out, the shop at the corner already closed for the evening. She sniffed and glanced around, surreptitiously pulling out her wand, preparing to Apparate to her apartment. She hadn’t done it yet but she understood the theory and knew the wards were only set for her to go through. 

She spun on the spot.

And then spun again.

Hermione glanced down at her wand, and down the alley. She could feel her magic, feel it coursing through her wand and just… stopping. Like a loaded gun that couldn’t fire. The witch tried to Apparate again and felt her whole body squeeze. Granger’s brilliant brain supplied her with the only explanation.

Anti-Apparition field.