The Third Day - Part 7
"And now he's lost you too," Imogen said quietly. "He loves you, you know." Hermione sighed and looked back at Imogen, who was fiddling with a button on her cardigan. Hermione knew this conversation was coming, knew from the moment Imogen had fallen through the fireplace in the infirmary with Viktor close at her heels.
"Viktor doesn't love me, Imogen" she said gently. "He loves the memory of a 15-year-old girl in the happy time before the war. I'm not that girl any more. And he knows I love Harry. You saw-you heard what Viktor said."
Imogen frowned, deepening the crease between her eyebrows, but then a slight smile fluttered across her face. "You
know we used an old Floo connection that Sir Isaac Newton built almost three hundred years ago?"
"Really?"
"Yes. Down in the cellars of Trinity College, behind an old wardrobe-all walled up now, behind the oddest tessellation of ceramic tiles I've ever seen. Definitely an aperiodic tiling-I tried to analyze it but there wasn't time. Perhaps Viktor could take me back there?" Her eyes blazed with fierce intensity. Hermione smiled: Imogen had found a new project-whether it was Viktor or the metaphysics of the magical world-or both-- remained to be seen.
"I'm sure he'd be happy to. But what happened next?" Hermione asked impatiently.
"Oh yes. Right. Viktor opened the wall by tapping on the tiles in a seemingly random sequence that I couldn't quite follow, the wall vanished and the fireplace appeared, and he sent me off to Hogwarts."
Five minutes later the two young women were soaking in a mountain of bubbles, facing each other on either side of the enormous Prefects' Bath.
Hermione laid back her head and let the water envelop her, warm her. She drifted, deeper and deeper until she was completely submerged, her hair billowing around her like a golden brown nimbus. Not just the grime and the cold but the cares of the last year washed away. She melted into the water, dissolving, boneless, renewed, transformed.
Suddenly she heard a shrill giggle. Moaning Myrtle had discovered Imogen and was darting in jagged circles around her, just out of reach. Hermione pushed herself quickly to the surface, afraid that Imogen would be terrified. Instead, she was looking at Myrtle intently, fascinated, trying repeatedly to touch the transparent ghost.
"Your young men are wondering where you are," Myrtle said, with an exaggerated wink. "You'd best hurry up."
"Myrtle, where have you been?" Hermione asked sternly. "You didn't go to the boys' showers, did you? You know girls aren't allowed there."
Myrtle just giggled--and winked again. She soared to the ceiling, dove into the bath a hair's breadth away from Imogen's outstretched hands, and disappeared down the drain.
"Shall we go, Hermione? Since they're waiting…."
"Yes, let's. I'm all toasty warm now. I feel so much better."
Hermione had stored her trunk at Hogwarts at the end of Sixth Year; with her parents in Australia the school had become
her only home. She rummaged quickly through the contents and soon had a large selection of somewhat musty clothes
strewn all over the floor.
"These are pretty," she said, holding out a sky blue jumper and a pair of jeans. "I think the jeans will
fit you, though they might be a bit long."
"Thanks. I can roll them up. Jeans would be best for flying I think."
"Oooh," Hermione said, pulling a purple blouse wrapped in white tissue paper from the bottom of the trunk. "I forgot I had this. It was a present from Professor McGonagall, Christmas Sixth Year. I never wore it-when would I wear a silk blouse? What do you think?" Hermione asked, holding the lustrous garment against her chest.
"It's beautiful, Hermione. I love the pearl buttons-look at all the colours they reflect. Wear it with those white trousers-you know, the ones you were always afraid to wear in case they got dirty. It's a day to celebrate, right? And let me brush your hair, like I used to when you were little."
"Oh dear," Hermione sighed. "You may need to use some Sleakeasy's to get it to behave. There must be some somewhere."
In the Gryffindor Common Room Harry and Viktor were waiting impatiently. They had scrubbed away the muck and mire from their adventures of the night before. Clean shaven, hair combed-Victor's was tied back with a dark green ribbon-they were almost unrecognizable from the mud-stained warriors who had fought at Malfoy Manor.
Viktor was pacing around the room, examining each item in turn: the chessmen, the Gobstones, the ornate tapestries-the lion, the lady, and the unicorn. He nervously twisted his signet ring.
"Imogen wants to learn everything-immediately," he said. "I think I will teach her flying first. She will be a natural flyer," he added confidently. Harry was dubious-Hermione had never taken to flying-but he smiled encouragingly.
"It is a good day," Viktor continued. "Sunny, little wind. After breakfast, I think."
As much as Harry loved to fly, the only thing he wanted right now was to be with Hermione-alone. He tried to replay in his mind all their moments together in the infirmary. But that wasn't enough, wasn't nearly enough. He needed Hermione here, with him. He wanted them to make new memories together. His eyes never left the stairs to the girls' dorm, but he heard her voice before he saw her, as she finally came into view on the circular staircase.
Soft curls framed her face-in the end no untangling potion had been needed. As she made the final turn down the narrow stairs, a shaft of light burnished her hair a brilliant gold.
Harry drank in a vision of Hermione that he had glimpsed only once before, at the Yule Ball. He reached for her and drew her gently into his arms. "Hi," he whispered into her ear. "You look wonderful. I should have put on dress robes or something." He was wearing old jeans and the dark red shirt Hermione had given him years ago, which he had enlarged to fit.
"The shirt. It still fits!" Hermione said.
"It fits, yeah," Harry replied. "I just…um…Engorgio'd it a bit."
Imogen was still standing on the lowest step of the staircase. Her bushy hair had refused to submit to Hermione's efforts to tame it, but her blue eyes were bright, shining, and the crease between her eyebrows was barely visible. She looked past Harry and Hermione to Viktor and smiled. Viktor returned her gaze with an awestruck expression. Hermione tugged Harry aside so Viktor could approach her sister. Imogen extended her hand. He took it, bowed, and brushed his lips lightly over the back of her fingers. "Good morning," was all he could manage.
Harry could feel his stomach grumbling. "Great. Fantastic. Breakfast anyone? I'm starving. Let's show Viktor and Imogen the kitchens."
Author note: I know I know it's short. But I'm a stage now where I need some feedback to get me to soldier on and finish! Hint. Hint.
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