Chapter 5: From Harry to Hermione, February 11, 2012
When she had heard that Louise had contracted Wizard pneumonia, she was more than happy to cover for one of her best friends, even if it was the graveyard shift. Of course, that Friday had been one of two days that week she was not scheduled to work at the London Wizarding Hospital, but that meant nothing to her. Hermione was Hermione- and she had always been the same since the day she was born. The basis of Hermione lay in her utter loyalty to her friends.
So, even though she was exhausted from the previous five days of drudgery, she donned her uniform and trudged her way to the London Wizarding Hospital. After a quick spell to put aside her weariness until the shift would mercifully be over, Hermione walked through the doors of the hospital with a cheerful smile on her face. As usual, the night guards smiled back at the doctor who clocked in more hours than any other employee.
Everything came off as routine to her; she had traced and retraced those steps to the doctors' offices of the hospital so many times over the years that she could probably make it to her office half-asleep and blindfolded. She passed by many of her co-workers, all working on their own cases. She paused to talk to the ones she knew closely, exchanging pleasantries and inconsequential nothings. By the time she reached her office, her mind was at rest, and she was ready to go on her rounds.
She walked to the desk, reviewed the patients that still needed special attention, and reviewed the treatment that the patients had been given while she had been away. She sighed. No matter how much time and effort she put into her work, she was not able to magically heal every person that was placed in her care. Despite the best spells, potions and charms that could be given to the ill, three of Hermione's patients had shown a negative reaction to the treatment that had been given over the week. The treatments had all been treatments that Hermione herself had proscribed. All of these treatments had been considered standard in The Book of Healing VII: Ridiculously Advanced Stuff, but none of the patients had reacted as the book had foretold. It was as if the writers of the book had randomly thrown darts at a board to chart out the results: nothing made sense to her. It was driving her mad.
She pushed open the door to room TK421, the first of her many scheduled stops that night. She quickly recalled the information she knew about this particular patient: he was a Quidditch umpire who had been injured by curses thrown at a Wasps-Cannons game that Hermione had forgotten to watch to support her friend, Ron. Christopher Ignatius Durang looked to be in as bad of a condition as he had been in last night. His eyes were wide open; he seemed to be unaware of the fact that it was close to midnight.
"Hello, Mr. Durang. How are you feeling tonight?" Hermione asked in what she referred to as her 'Novocain voice.'
"Hi doc. My leg's still twitching a bit, but I think I'm getting better." His eyes followed her as she moved across the room and to the bedside, where his medical condition was still being dutifully logged by the Vigilance Charm. He watched as she pressed a slim finger to a button on the side of the bed, and as she read the display that he could not see.
"Well," Hermione said, smiling, "It looks like the latest infections in your wounds are finally disappearing. You're reacting favorably to the potions! If you continue your recovery at this rate, we'll be able to heal your wounds tomorrow, and you could be out of here by next Wednesday!" She tapped the button again, and the display shut down with a click. Chris smiled, his eyes growing even wider at the great news. He had perfect faith in the abilities of the lovely doctor, and the high-spirited words that she had just given him raised his hopes immensely.
Hermione stepped out of the hospital room, smiling widely. Despite the cheerful words she had given to Mr. Durang, she had been sincerely worried for her patient. Since he had been admitted to the hospital, things had truly looked dire for his future. She leaned against the wall in the corridor, closed her eyes, and gave thanks to whatever gods there were for saving her patient.
When she opened her eyes again, the radiant and perky face of Nurse Mary filled her vision. Hermione realized who she was immediately; she was rather notorious among the staff for flirting with the handsome patients. She was grinning mischievously, something that she was known to do a lot of the time: but she was young, and Hermione remembered wistfully the days when she herself had been 22. Thoughts of her happy relationship with her best friend arose, but she forced herself to push them aside-after all, such thoughts always took too long to process.
Hermione smiled, ignoring her weariness along with any distracting thoughts. "Hello, Mary. How are you today?" She gestured in the direction of the patient room she had just vacated. "Room TK421. Why aren't you at your post?"
Mary replied quickly, her happy, cheery voice filling the corridor. "Well," she said with a slight blush, "I was just down checking on Mr. Tibbs. Is there something wrong? Is everything okay?" She asked, sounding a bit worried; she knew she had been spending too much time recently with the roguish Auror down on level 5.
Hermione nodded. "No need to hurry, Mary. Everything seems to be fine." She said. She took a deep breath of relief. "I feel great today. In fact, I feel as if a great load has been taken off of my shoulders. That's one thing I don't have to worry about any more."
Mary nodded sympathetically. "I know what you mean. The pressure, knowing that all those people would jump over you if you mess up… I don't think I could handle it. How long have you been holding it to yourself?"
Hermione nodded, leaning her head back to look at the ceiling. "It's not too easy to have my job, you know. I've had this burden almost since I started to help him. He was so broken then; he needed almost my full attention to make sure he could survive. And now- I know he can." She murmured the last words under her breath, so Mary could only hear a snippet of the sentence.
Mary apparently got the gist of the sentence, for she grinned rather widely. "I bet. When did you start seeing him?"
Hermione shrugged and looked at her, raising an eyebrow at her odd question. "When he first came here, of course. That was, oh, three we-"
Mary cut her off, her eyes wide with excitement. "He came here? To this hospital? Wow! I thought you went looking for him at his house or something! Wow! How romantic of him!"
Hermione frowned. Romantic? What the-? She thought, completely bewildered. She reached out and grabbed Mary's wrist gently. She spoke slowly, enunciating each word, as if speaking to a wayward child. "I've been talking about the recovery of Mr. Durang, the man in this room you were supposed to be checking." She paused. "What have you been talking about, Mary?"
Mary's eyes widened in surprise, and she raised her hand to cover her mouth in embarrassment. "Oh, oh- oh my god!" She exclaimed loudly, starting to blush. "Oh- I'm so sorry-I mean, I-that is, I have so much to do- paperwork to fill out, you know how that is-oh, thank you for talking-I mean, it was my pleasure-I mean-" she babbled. She twisted her wrist slightly, and tried to hurry past Hermione without any sort of explanation.
"No, wait!" Hermione cried out, trying to prevent the young nurse from leaving without giving an explanation, but it was to no use. Mary slipped from her grip, as if she had cast a Liquidize spell to aid her escape. Hermione watched as Mary practically ran in to Mr. Durang's room in a flurry of long hair.
What was all that about? Hermione wondered; she could feel a small sense of foreboding settling in the bottom of her stomach. She sighed. She wondered briefly how she had survived those critical years as a flighty young woman. It seemed to her now that nobody at such a young age could be given any sort of responsibility to handle.
She thought of returning to Mr. Durang's room and demanding an explanation from Mary; of indulging in the freedom that no longer existed for her, of losing her cool in front of the patient and the nurse and anyone else that wanted to see. She had nothing to hide, after all. She was Doctor Hermione Granger, and she no doubt merited a yelling spree once in a while.
The thoughts passed through her mind in an instant, and were gone as quickly as they had come. She shook her head, chuckling slightly at her foolish thoughts, and started to walk down the corridor towards her other patients' rooms. After all, she was no longer as stubborn or hotheaded as she had been in her late teens. She was now a full-grown woman, a woman who had learned to be as patient as possible over the years. And anyways, the outburst by the young nurse was probably a remnant of a rumor passed around the water cooler that Hermione had not had a chance to hear.
She had a busy night, making sure all her patients were sleeping and in a stable condition; by the end of the hour, she had completely forgotten the incident.
By the time she clocked out of the hospital at seven AM, the sun was already rising and the inhabitants of London had begun to stir about their everyday business. Of course, all this activity went unnoticed by the tired doctor, who had had to handle too many crises that night. As she walked towards the lobby, where the hospital Wizard Junction stood, Hermione could feel her eyes closing without her consent. The charm she had cast earlier had finally begun to wear off. She struggled against her tiredness to walk without a stagger. She stumbled slightly when she reached the station, and caught herself almost instantly.
Her lapse in control did not go unnoticed, however. Steve, one of the technicians always around to aid problematic Apparations, walked towards Hermione, a worried look on his face. He held out a hand in front of her, a hand Hermione gratefully took. She closed her eyes, gathering strength, despite her aversion to show her weaknesses in front of others. Steve waited patiently until Hermione released his hand on her own accord.
"Are you okay, ma'am?" Steve asked, the concern evident in his voice.
Hermione smiled graciously. "Yes, thank you, Steve. I'll be fine once I get my bearings. I'll be out of your hair in a moment."
Steve nodded, but it was obvious to Hermione that he didn't believe her. But, respecting her wishes, he stepped back to give her room (though he looked ready to step forward at any provocation).
After a moment, Hermione nodded and smiled at Steve. "Thank you for your concern. Have a good day." With that, Hermione concentrated on the image of her living room, and focused her power to transport her there. With a tingling feeling overtaking her skin, Hermione started to disappear to her apartment.
With a start, her eyes widened as her concentration faltered and she felt the magic she had gathered begin to pull her in two-she could feel her arm start to separate from the rest of her body in an intense surge of pain that spread throughout her entire body. Before she could cry out in pain, an external force flooded her body and seemed to sooth all her burning muscles. The hospital, which had remained in her sight, swept away from her eyes with a bright flash.
And just like that, the crisis was over. Hermione appeared in the living room of her two-story house, her chest heaving with exertion and sweat running down her face. She was surprised to find herself shaking. She blindly groped her way to a couch and collapsed onto it like a marionette with its strings cut off.
She couldn't stop herself: she had never come so close to splinching before in her life. She had always prided herself in always knowing the limits of her abilities. But tonight, the endless shifts all in a row had finally gotten to her. And, to add to the cosmic joke of all jokes, she now had a shift at the Muggle hospital to take care of.
Without further ado, she put her head to one of the pillows left on the couch and closed her eyes, her shoulders tight with tension. She didn't notice, but she was still shaking when she finally drifted off to sleep.
A sudden jarring noise from outside jerked Hermione awake, her body drenched with sweat from a dream she could not remember. She rubbed her eyes and opened them slightly, staring at the Muggle clock that hung over her television. It was nearly 2 PM, which meant that she was right on schedule. She slowly trudged her way upstairs and into the shower she desperately needed. She disrobed with her eyes still welded shut with sleep, and turned the shower knob furthest it could go to the left.
She waited a bit for the water to get hot, and then slipped in and closed the glass door behind her. She stepped to the middle of the roomy booth and let the soothing water wash over her body. She spent an extraordinarily long time in the shower, getting her mental state ready for the grueling task at hand.
Hermione stepped out of the bathroom after toweling off, and it was as if the shower had thrown a switch in Hermione. Her movements were now brisk and businesslike, a complete 180 degrees from the tired shuffling before. Though the blinds were firmly closed, keeping the midday sun out of the room, she had no trouble finding the clothes to wear. She was back inside the bathroom in ten minutes, getting ready for the day swiftly. It seemed a bit louder outside than normal, but she gave it no thought and continued to dress.
She grabbed the lab coat from her closet and threw it on quickly; she was now ready. She opened the medicine cabinet and drew out the Time-Turner that she had grown dependent on over the years. She put the gold chain around her neck; her fingers closed the clasp behind her neck with ease of years of repetition.
Hermione brought the hourglass up close next to her mouth and said in a clear voice, "Marsden's Wizarding Junction." She turned the hourglass over three times, and her house dissolved from her eyes.
She no longer really felt the sensations anymore; it was as if her body had grown accustomed to falling backwards and no longer responded to it. She felt slightly nauseated but when the world came into focus again, she was back to normal. Without a pause she slipped her Time-Turner underneath her blouse and checked her watch. A satisfied smile grew on her face and she started to walk out of the room.
It was now 6:50 AM. The smile stayed on her face as she waved jauntily to the wizard technicians manning the Junction. She still had it as she walked through the doors of the hospital, focusing her mind to the work at hand.
After all, it was such a pleasure to be on schedule.
Work at the Royal Marsden Hospital was not as stressing as her work at the London Wizarding Hospital for many reasons. The chief reason was that at the Marsden she didn't have patients under her care. In the Muggle world she was a researcher, laboring in the constant pursuit of that one 'magic pill' that would solve humankind's problems. Her work in the Marsden Hospital harkened back to her beloved school days with many a happy hour spent in the library looking up just one more arcane reference. The pace of the Royal Marsden was slower and more professional than the frantic pace of the Wizarding Hospital. Most of her work involved chemicals and experiments on animals than actual humans. (She had involved herself in treatment of cancer patients in her earlier days with the hospital but stopped after only a few months. The fruitless battles to contain the diseases had broken her heart and very nearly destroyed her health.)
She worked closely with eight other doctors every day on her current project, a rather ambitious project to attempt to find a cure for lung cancer. They jokingly called themselves the "Fellowship of the Ringer's," as their current approach to the cure incorporated certain anomalies related to Ringer's Lactate, a simple electrolyte solution. Being the only non-Muggle in the group, Hermione had been amused greatly that she had been christened Gandalf.
It was slow and quiet that day; only three other doctors had come in that day, so the morning meeting (which took on average 3 hours) passed by twice as quickly. For the rest of the shift Hermione experimented with gusto, relishing the fact that she had the rest of the day free to do whatever she wanted. The only thing that came to mind was a nice warm bath and a good eight hours of sleep.
Hermione had been in the middle of cleaning up her workstation when the phone suddenly rang. She picked it up absent-mindedly, and said "Hello, Dr. Granger speaking," while putting away a Petri dish. A very familiar voice came from the other end.
"Hello Hermione," he said, his voice deep and full of concern, "it's Nelson."
Hermione stopped, her hand hanging in midair. She shook her head and forced away all the memories rushing through her. She nodded to herself. "Yes, Nelson, what is it? I thought you weren't coming to work today?"
"I'm not," he replied. "Hermione, I'm worried about you."
Hermione sniffed audibly. "Well, there's no need," she said, her voice unnaturally high, starting to speak faster, the way she still did whenever she was miffed. "I'm perfectly fine. So I'll just finish cleaning up here, and I'll see you at the morning meeting tomorrow, okay?" She took the phone away from her ear, and moved as to turn it off, when Nelson yelled "DON'T!"
Startled, Hermione actually placed the phone back to her ear. It was so out of character for Nelson to lose his cool like that… In fact, the only other time that he had ever lost his cool in front of her had been after he had learned of Hermione's…
"Hermione?" Nelson asked, his voice calm once again.
"Ye-yes?"
"Have you seen today's newspapers?"
"No, Nelson, I really haven't had time to sit about doing the crosswords." She replied sarcastically (although she did love doing them).
"I want you to check out today's tabloids. I think it's very important that…"
Hermione cut in, angry at his commanding tone and at his presumptions that she would be interested. "Dr. Spencer, I am a research scientist. Unless you have information pertaining to our current project, you are wasting my time. I'm not at all interested in what latest floozy has decided to 'bare her all' on page 3! Do you have any such information?" She asked acidly.
After all, the tabloids had to do with a certain celebrity every other week, and Hermione had no intention of hearing about Harry Potter's new floozy.
She heard Nelson sigh over the phone. "Don't be angry, Hermione, I'm trying to he-"
"No? Then good bye." She hung up the phone angrily and without a second glance left the room.
She met one of her other colleagues just outside her door; he had a small smile on his face. "Was that Strider, Gandalf?" Dr. Carl Erickson asked. Tall, handsome, blond: he would have been the poster-boy for Hitler's Aryan Empire. As it was, he was Jewish and rather resented the sentiment.
"Yes, it was. Do you find something funny, Boromir?" Hermione asked, the edge still evident in her voice. It wasn't that she was angry at his insinuations, but she was still riled at Nelson's audacity. And it wasn't really Carl's fault, Hermione knew; he didn't know the real circumstances behind their breakup. In fact, none of the Fellowship knew about what had transpired between Hermione and Nelson. They had rooted for them while the romance had bloomed; they had aided all Nelson's attempts to gain Hermione's affections. They had been as happy as the pair themselves when they announced their engagement: their puzzlement at the breakup had been as extreme, and still lingered.
What added to the problem was the explanation Hermione and Nelson had given the rest of the group for their breakup. Arthur had done a great job in obliterating Nelson's memories of Hermione's confession, but he had left it up to Hermione to make up a reason for the breakup. Rather than complicate things, Hermione had refused to talk further about it.
Naturally rumors ran rampant as to what actually caused the falling out. Lately the two most convincing theories were that either that Nelson could have done something completely insensitive and offended Hermione horribly, or Hermione could have been too afraid of the commitment to go through with the wedding plans. Most had known Nelson longer, since he had worked at the hospital for ten years before Hermione arrived, and they could not imagine he would do anything to hurt her to that extreme. The majority of the staff leaned toward Hermione breaking it off. Interestingly, only a few of the women thought Nelson was to blame. Now, everyone had made a bit of a game out of trying to get the two back together.
It was rather a bit of a bother to Hermione, at least: it seemed Nelson still held a small hope of getting back together (although in his mind, he was the one who broke the engagement off).
Carl shook his head. "No, nothing's funny at all, Hermione, nothing at all. I definitely think that there's nothing still going on between you and Nelson." Carl grinned roguishly and winked.
Hermione fumed silently, and walked past him without another word.
"Hey wait!" Carl called to her, right as she reached the elevator. "Hey, Gandalf, don't be mad! I was just trying to get your goat."
"Congratulations, you got my goat," Hermione snapped. "You can keep it and have it for a nice supper for all I care." And the elevator doors closed between them.
Though she gave the customary responses to fulfill etiquette on the way from the hospital, her mind was still on the presumptions of Nelson, the immaturity of Carl, and the idiocy of the entire male community. Muttering to herself under her breath, she reached the underground parking structure in record time. Reaching the car that managed to appear in her parking space every night, she got in quickly and left for the comfort of home. (She figured the car trick had to do with a nuance involving the Time Turner; she had researched the phenomenon for three days straight and had only found little.)
Even through her haze of anger, she drove under the speed limit.
Her anger had dissipated by the time she turned left onto Elm Park. What remained was merely a sad resignation to her fate; she knew it had been a horrible day and that her close encounter with Splinching during the night was a huge factor in her current state. She knew that she would have to recheck all the research she had done today in the library to make sure the information had not been tainted by her mood.
But that would be another day. For today, all she wanted to do was relax and sleep until it was time for her shift again.
As she drove closer to her house, she saw an abnormally large number of cars parked near the end of the street. Many were double-parked and even triple-parked, blocking the street entirely; it would have been impossible for Hermione to drive through them to get to her house.
With a frustrated growl that spoke of her misadventures earlier that day, she parked her car neatly on the side of the street right before the huge mass. She wasn't quite sure what all the fuss was about- it was probably just a neighbor having a huge party or some such- but she didn't care at the moment. She just wanted to go to sleep.
She popped out of her car and with a righteous air gathering around her she marched towards the clump of people standing next to the cars. But as she passed the many cars and vans that made up the blockade she noticed with a start that many of the vehicles had emblems on them. She paused mid-stride and stared, shocked, at them.
What is this? She wondered, shocked. The BBC, National Enquirer, Newsweek, Entertainment Weekly, The Times, the Brazilian News; these are all sorts of newspapers and TV stations from all over the world. What's all this about? She moved closer to the reporters, and suddenly stopped. There, hidden behind seven Muggle Aversion Enchantments each, were newsvans for the Wizarding Enquirer, the BWBC, Witch Weekly, and the Wizarding Times.
Hermione frowned, her mind racing. She was the only witch on her block, and for there to be both Wizarding and Muggle publications it had to do with either a huge event that had to do with both wizards and Muggles, or… it had to be about her. And since she hadn't heard anything earth-shattering happening around her neighborhood…
She turned and started to walk as fast as she could back to her car. However, before she even reached the furthest line of cars, she heard a man shout from behind her, "There she is! Quick!" She ignored it, and continued to walk out of the situation, but in a matter of seconds that was no longer an option.
She was surrounded by journalists, broadcasters, and news anchors instantly, all talking a thousand words a minute. Photographers began to shoot off as many pictures of her as possible, blinding Hermione with a million flashes; the clicks from the cameras going off filled her ears. People bustled to get closer to her, and it seemed that a loud obnoxious mob had suddenly situated itself around her. Even her neighbors, who had seemed to Hermione the most unobtrusive people in the world, opened windows and began to stare at the debacle.
What was even worse was the barrage of questions that seemed to assault her from every angle. Respectful yet forceful ones came from the more distinguished journalists, but bawdy, even downright rude questions were thrown at her from the trash writers. Everything from her former and current work to cure cancers to her turn-ons in bed was questioned loud and repeatedly.
"Stop!" Hermione yelled, trying to gain control over the situation, but no one seemed to hear or care. No one even paused in their questioning and microphones of all sorts (some were actual microphones, and some were Transfigured Quick-Quotes Quills) were thrust right in front of her.
Finally, as she felt the endless questioning begin to overwhelm her senses, she felt strong arms grab her from the back. A deep, manly voice refuted the journalists in a calm and commanding voice and gently guided her through the crowd. Hermione couldn't tell who it was, but at the moment, she didn't care. She felt a sense of comfort radiating from the warm body holding her, a sense she let envelop her. She leaned her head on the shoulder of the man, who pushed through the crowd and to her house.
She heard him murmur close to her ear "Keys, Hermione, we need to get in." Unresisting, Hermione dug into her purse and pulled out the keys; her hands shook and they dropped the keys three times before she managed to put the right key into the lock. He waited patiently, shielding her from the shouts and cameras of the press. She finally got the door open and she walked into her house angrily. Looking for something to vent her anger, she picked up that day's mail and threw it violently against the wall. It hit the wall without any satisfying sound and disappeared behind the sofa.
She bit her lip, knowing that if she let loose a cry, the paparazzi would hear and know that they were getting to her. She threw her jacket on the coat rack and walked into her living room. She plopped down on the couch and put her head in her hands, trying very hard to keep her emotions in check.
Footsteps grew closer and Hermione lifted her head, wiping the moisture away from her eyes before they could fall. She smiled weakly in the direction of her benefactor, who was coming into the kitchen. "Thank you for helping me, Ha-" Hermione stopped abruptly, stunned beyond words.
Nelson dropped her keys on the kitchen counter, and walked around to the couch where she sat. "No problem, Hermione. You know I'd do anything for you," he said quietly, and sat down next to her. "You know what this is all about, don't you?"
Hermione nodded. Nelson sighed and pulled out of his jacket a bulging brown folder. "I don't think you really want to read all this… but as it is about you, I brought it anyway." He paused for a moment. "Is… is it true, Hermione?" He asked, his voice shaking slightly.
Silence was his answer.
"I know I broke it off with you. But did you really want out then? Have you been seeing this actor since-"
Hermione leapt to her feet, her eyes flashing with anger. "You daft, arrogant prick! You dare suggest that I'm a sort of… sort of…" -In her anger, the only insult she could think of was the term that Rita Skeeter had so long ago assigned to her- "scarlet woman? Some… whore who picks and chooses while playing the bloody field? You… you…"
Nelson blinked, puzzled at her outburst. "Calm down, Hermione, you know that's not what I was say-"
"That's exactly what you were saying!" Hermione screamed, her face flushed with anger. "Get the hell out of my house!"
Nelson stood up, hands held out as if to appease her. "Hermione, you shouldn't be alone right now… what you need is a friend to help you through this mess."
Hermione was staring daggers at him, ready to forget her stand against non-violence. When, as if on cue, her front door was opened to the cacophony of the press outside and a female voice yelling "no comment." They turned toward the disturbance, daring the unexpected visitor to intervene.
It was Ginny. "Hermione, I just heard on the radio-" she stopped short, seeing Nelson standing there with Hermione. She gave a thin smile to Nelson (it was apparent she hadn't forgotten anything about the night they had met), and walked towards Hermione. "Hello, I'm Virginia Weasley."
Nelson, struggling to keep his civility, nodded to her. "Hello, I'm-"
"-Leaving," Hermione finished, giving him a deadly glare. Nelson stopped and looked into Hermione's eyes for a long moment; he could find only anger and determination in them. He took a deep breath, coldly nodded to Hermione, and left the house. As soon as he left the room, Ginny engulfed Hermione in the tightest hug possible.
"Oh, honey, I just heard the rumors and came straight over. Are you all right?"
"I'm… it's really not been a good day," Hermione said with a self-pitying laugh.
Ginny nodded. "I know, Hermione. Molly's waiting back at the Burrow for you with a nice cup of tea and the tub's ready to be filled with some Hermione! No questions asked."
No questions asked, Hermione mused as Ginny flittered around her, gathering things she might need for her stay at the Burrow. I think I'd enjoy that. Ginny finished in an instant, and both of them Apparated away from the house surrounded by opportunistic journalists to a home filled with love and care.
Hermione drifted off to sleep almost immediately upon reaching the Burrow. No one could blame her. While she slept in Charlie's old room, the Weasley family gathered and discussed how best to help her in the situation. Fred and George immediately volunteered to blow up their joke shop in Hogsmeade to gather attention away from Hermione's situation. The suggestion was knocked down instantly, but no one else could think of anything to do.
Finally, they decided to stick to what they were best at doing: supporting Hermione with their love and care. Bill left to bring back cartloads of her favorite drinks, pumpkin juice and boodles and tonic (with two limes for each glass, he remembered); Fred and George left to their joke shop to grab Cheering Powder to sneak into the aforementioned drinks. The rest of the gathered Weasleys stayed at home to be around when Hermione needed them.
She woke up after thirteen hours of sleep, and the first thing she did was ask for a leave of absence from both her jobs for the period of one week. Both her superiors were aware of the unusual situation and granted her the request without question. That day, she lounged around the Burrow, helped de-gnome the garden, and laughed at all of Fred and George's antics.
Following Hermione's lead, they all avoided the topic of Harry Potter.
That evening, the Weasleys and Hermione were watching the Wizarding News on television when the subject of Harry Potter and Hermione came up. They watched without commenting as the history of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter unfolded in front of them. The story lasted a full fifteen minutes (which was highly irregular for a news program), starting with their first meeting over twenty years ago and leading to the recent articles published in practically every scandal sheet in existence.
"Mr. Harry Potter released a statement today through his agent, Mr. Neville Longbottom," said the news anchor. "And I quote, 'Miss Granger and I have had some romantic entanglements in the past and have recently begun to rebuild our friendship. Please respect our wishes and give us the privacy and space that any person deserves. Thank you.'" The news anchor, a popular one named Garcin, looked up from his notes to the camera once more and continued. "Harry Potter is currently in Australia filming his new movie, Wheel of Time: The Eye of the World, and was unavailable for comment."
The television clicked off, and the Weasley family watched in silence as Hermione left the room.
The week off had been the best idea Hermione could have ever taken. The Weasleys were the least pretentious people she knew, despite the success of some of its members; they were there to make her laugh, and keep her mind off her current woes.
Arthur still worked at the Ministry of Magic and was only around mornings and nights, yet he always had a warm smile and a kind word for the honorary Weasley. Percy worked alongside his father, and while his intentions were clear, his pompous nature often made Hermione laugh. Ginny, working hard to write articles for the magazine Circe, had decided to do her work at home instead of at the office to stay with Hermione. Bill, still working for Gringotts, Apparated home every other day to talk to Hermione. Charlie came home from the Dragon Preserve in China to show his support. Fred and George had trustworthy personnel that operated their joke shop, and so they stayed around the Burrow to make Hermione laugh as much as possible. Even Ron came to the house as often as he could-which still wasn't too much time, considering his busy schedule.
After the delicious dinner Tuesday night, Hermione excused herself from the group and walked outside. Staring at the stars, she leaned against the front of the house deep in thought. Her contemplations were interrupted when the front door opened again and Ron came to join her. He leaned against the wall to her left and stared at the stars along with her.
"Hey you."
"Hey."
They were silent for a while and they stood, enjoying each other's presence. Ron shifted to look at her face; he stared at her, as if entranced by what he saw. Hermione turned and looked at him, eyebrow raised.
"What?"
His voice was quiet, more so than normal. "It's just… it's been a long time, you know. I can't remember the last time you, me and Harry just enjoyed our time together. I haven't felt this at peace since…"
"I know." Hermione nodded, and smiled. "I was just thinking of that time. May 19, 2002. We argued about-"
"-Whether it's courtesy or not for actors to sign autographs when they're out with family. I remember now." Ron gave a snort. "How ironic, huh?"
"Yes, fate seems to have a way of mocking us." There was a pause in their conversation where both of them looked out at the stars once more. This time it was Ron who broke the silence.
"How are you feeling?"
"Oh, you know, just on top of the world, that's all. I mean, the last time Harry and I broke up I felt so good that I feel like doing it again for kicks."
"You're not going to break up this time."
There was silence once more as she considered his answer. Suddenly, Hermione smiled.
"That's very sweet, Ron. It's rather out of character for you!"
"Yeah, I have my moments." Ron shrugged. "I only wish that life hadn't spread us apart so much. We've rarely talked these ten years."
Hermione nodded. "I know."
"You have the same look in your eyes."
"What are you talking about? What look?"
"The Look. You're in love again. With the same person, no less. How likely is that?"
Hermione stopped for a moment, stunned by his words. She quickly smiled and said, covering for her lapse, "Stop that, you're scaring me. Where's the insensitive Ron we all know and love?"
"He's probably out shacking up with some random girl somewhere. That's what you'd expect him to do, right?"
Hermione laughed. "What, are you going to try to deny it?"
"Deny it? Hell, it's half my reputation!"
They shared a laugh, and smiled at each other once again; they could feel the old friendship start to boom once more.
Hermione walked past Ron. She opened the door and smiled at her best friend. "Well, it's been just marvelous chewing the fat with you, but I better get inside and get some rest."
"Wait."
She stopped and looked at him expectantly. Ron looked Hermione straight in the eyes.
"Believe me when I say this: you're not going to break up this time, Hermione. I mean it."
Hermione leaned against the doorjamb. "I'd really like to believe that, Ron… but whenever I try to figure out if this is all worth it, I come to the same question: why wasn't Harry there for me when I needed him? I love him, I really do; but I have all this anger at him that I can't seem to get rid of." She trailed off, staring off into the wall. Then she shook her head, smiled embarrassedly, and murmured a "good night, Ron" as she walked inside.
Ron stayed outside for a little longer, contemplating on her words. Suddenly he shook his head, and smiling, returned to the living room.
On the seventh day, God rested from all that he had created.
On the seventh day of Hermione's rest, all hell broke loose in the Burrow.
It started out calmly enough. The Weasley clan and Hermione gathered bright and early to enjoy a good breakfast. In an event rarely seen, all nine Weasleys sat around the table eating and bantering across the table. George had snuck a Duck a la Weasley into Ron's food, making Ron quack and turn in circles for thirty seconds. The entire Weasley family (excepting Molly) burst out into laughter, and when Ron returned to normal he joined in.
All the antics were stopped, however, by a loud (but polite) knocking from the door. Everyone looked nervously about, trying to avoid the obvious. Because of the anti-paparazzi Charms placed by Bill (a rather new invention from the goblins), everyone knew it could only be one person at the door.
Hermione stood up, used a napkin to brush over her mouth, and quietly said, "I'll get that." She left the room quickly, with a glint in her eye that Ron used to refer to as her "warpath look".
Hermione opened the door and stood face to face with Harry Potter.
She felt no sympathy for him at all, but he didn't look to be in the best of conditions. His white dress shirt was rumpled, as if he had been sleeping in it for the last four days. His black pants had a lot of dirt and looked scuffed. The eyes behind his glasses were reddened, and obviously tired.
Harry Potter shook his head. "God, you're a sight for sore-"
"Save it," Hermione snapped. "What do you want? And give me one reason I shouldn't slam the door on your face."
Harry frowned. "Don't take that tone of voice with me, Hermione, don't you dare-"
"Why shouldn't I?" Hermione asked loudly. "Why should I be gentle with you when you abandoned me to those vultures? You let me be enveloped by those arseholes!"
"Abandoned?" Harry said angrily. "Abandoned? I did everything in my power to divert attention from you. I practically sold my soul, working all night to think up ways to keep you out of this. Neville and I-"
Hermione snorted rudely. "Oh, that's bloody great. You tried," Hermione said, sarcasm dripping from her tone. "You deserve a bloody prize, you do. A star next to your name and everything. Just wonderful."
Harry stepped forward. "I sent you the quickest express note possible, warning you that the situation was going to happen-"
Hermione frowned. "What note? I didn't get any note from you, and it's been seven days since the day I got ambushed by the press!"
Harry took a deep breath and leaned against the wall next to the door. "Close the door, the whole world doesn't need to hear this."
"That's the only intelligent thing you've said all day,"Hermione said, and closed the door firmly. She turned to Harry with her hands on his hips, a position males have known since the beginning of time to be 'danger.' "Tell me, Harry Potter, why the hell are you such an idiot?"
"Why don't you tell me why you think so?"
"Why haven't you contacted me before this?"
"I've been working with Muggles, Hermione, in Australia. It's not too easy to slip out for a quick Apparation whenever I bloody want, with their security cameras and all." Harry shifted his feet. "I would have given anything to have been able to be there when everything crashed around you. But I couldn't. That's the simplest way I can put it for you."
Hermione frowned. "Don't you understand? I needed you. And you weren't there. You didn't help me at all! Not even a bloody ring on the phone!"
"Don't you know that your phone lines have been busy since last Friday? I've tried a thousand times to get you on the phone, and nothing's worked. And I thought you'd understand after the letter I sent you!"
Hermione exploded. "One thing I never want you to do to me is lie, Harry James Potter! There was no letter, there is no letter, and there never was a letter! Don't try to cover up your mistakes and say it's the bloody post that's screwed up!"
Harry's eyes narrowed. "I. Sent. You. A. Bloody. Long. Letter. I explained everything that was happening!"
Hermione slapped him hard. "Hollywood's changed you, Harry. I thought deep inside you were still the sweet guy I used to know, but you… I still remember what you did to me ten years ago. You are a lying, manipulative bastard all bent up to get inside my knickers! Well, you're not going to find me pining away after the dream anymore!" Hermione turned, and ran up the stairs. A moment later, the door slam resonated in the house.
Harry stood in one place, fuming at her audacity. By the time Ron, Ginny and Molly reached him he was no longer angry; now only sadness filled him, sadness at having lost a connection he had tried for so long to reconnect.
Ginny smiled sadly. "You sent a letter."
Harry nodded slowly, closing his eyes. Ginny threw her arms around him and hugged him; he didn't respond. She leaned forward and whispered in Harry's ear, "Things will work out, Harry." She then headed up the stairs to Hermione's room.
Molly placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "Do you want to grab a bite to eat?"
Harry shook his head. In a hoarse voice, he replied, "I have to get back. But thanks, Molly." He walked to the front door and opened it slowly. As he left the house, Ron followed him and grabbed his shoulder and turned him around.
"Harry, I need to talk to you, and it's quite important."
Harry hesitated. "Now's not the best time, Ron-"
"Sod that!" Ron exclaimed. He continued in a much calmer voice, "Harry. Listen, and listen well. Look, don't lose hope. Hermione's just mad at the circumstances, not at you. You're the only thing she can lash out at about this whole affair. Once she's had time to think things over, I'm sure she'll come to her senses."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, my friend, but I don't think things will be that easy to fix." Harry said. He shook the hand of his former best friend, and walked to the curb. As he Apparated out of the country his thoughts were drawn to the last words Hermione had said to him; he could concentrate on nothing else for the next week.
Hermione watched from her window as he disappeared from sight with tears in her eyes.
End of the Chapter
A/N: Wow. Editing that took me quite a lot of time. Man, this chapter was really bad off before.
Review! Just a week left 'til Chapter 6 and the Epilogue!