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As if to serve as an exclamation point on an otherwise miserable day, torrential rainfall was in the forecast for today. The angry gray skies occasionally let out a brief rumble, as people made their way to and fro about their business.
Hermione watched them go by with a faint interest, much in the same way a child would observe an ant. For most, they were unaware of the tremendous change that had ripped the world apart, and had gone about their lives with innocence intact.
She had no such luxury. The scar on her neck itched, and she gently ran her finger over it, reliving the moments in which the cold steel etched the permanent mark there. The face of the woman who did it, though long dead and remains buried away, still appeared in her nightmares, which were too frequent to count.
Standing up and moving away from the window, she made her way to the kitchen and began to prepare herself a cup of tea. Though a year had passed since that fateful day, things just never seemed to be the same. Families, friendships and relationships had been upended, and people’s… impressions had changed.
Harry seemed the worst off of everyone. He’d lost scores of friends and family to the war, and had to become a de-facto Father of a Nation that had been shattered by what amounted to mass terrorism and psuedo-Nazism. There were times that Hermione had briefly thought Harry would break down and lose himself in the madness.
But he seemed to cope, and he did so by putting great distance between himself and all others in his life, spending his free time holed away at Potter Manor in Northern Ireland, away from England, and certainly away from Hogwarts.
She wasn’t sure what their relationship was or would be– they both seemed to be interested in the idea of being together, to bond over the loss of comrades.
However, Harry’s hesitation and eventual flightiness had made that all but impossible. Letters and phone calls promising the truth had worn her patience thin, and the last terse words exchanged left Hermione’s heart dripping with regret, as the silence on the other end and the sharp CLICK of the line had the same effect as a sharp knife through the heart.
But “This line has been disconnected” may as well have been salt in the wound.
Sighing to herself, she pulled her hair out of her eyes, and wiped her eyes free of the tears that threatened to well over. Realizing she had stopped in the middle of preparing her drink, she quickly finished up and sat down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. She could feel herself slipping away again.
She reached for a small canister on the table and popped it open.
A glass pipe designed with dragon scales and intricate glasswork was a gift from Ginny; who seemed to believe in stories that post-traumatic stress disorder could be managed with cannabis.
Trembling a bit at the invasive thoughts of the corpses, and the smell of burning flesh and dust, Hermione took a deep hit, and allowed the smoke to dance up towards the ceiling. She didn’t really enjoy the smell, but the numbing effect did wonders for her mental state.
A knock came on the door, and Hermione cleared the air of the acrid smoke, and popped a window open, allowing things to air out. Checking the peep hole, she sighed a breath of relief, it wasn’t the landlord or a rozzer. Opening the door, her one-time roommate, sometimes romantic partner, and best friend Allison grinned at her and held out a letter.
“Whazzat?” Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I dunno. Arrived at my place yesterday, addressed to you. I don’t think the person knows you’ve moved places. But it seemed important, so I thought I should maybe bring it to you.”
The letter was addressed to “Ms. Hermione Granger” and was scrawled in a beautiful green ink. The cursive was refined, yet seemed also to be very messy and was scrawled with speed. The return address was unmarked.
“Did this come in the post?” Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow, and Allison shook her head. “Doubt it. No return address, no postage–Royal Mail would’ve turned it out without a question. Is someone stalking you? An ex?”
“No, you’re… the only person I’ve been with, actually.” She said, staring at the letters. “This writing looks familiar.”
“Does it?”
“Yeah, I think. I dunno.” She looked at her friend and said, “Hey, thanks for bringing this to me. I appreciate it.”
They shared a brief hug, and Allison went on her way. Closing the door behind her, Hermione took the letter back to the kitchen counter and sliced it open with a knife. A small letter dropped from the envelope, and she read it carefully.
It was written on parchment, and with a quill. The green ink on the parchment was just as shiny as the envelope. The letter was concise, and simply asked that she come to the local pub that evening. Instead of a name at the bottom, all that was drawn was a familiar symbol that carried great weight.
A vertical line within a circle, within a triangle. The Deathly Hallows. Hermione stared at the symbol for a few moments, before folding the letter and placing it on the counter. Rubbing her temples, she sat down on the couch and took another hit.
That evening, she’d managed to wash herself for the first time in… close to four or five days, drag a brush through her hair, get into something that looked presentable, and kick down to the pub. She’d not told anybody about it, but was carrying her wand just in case she needed to make a quick escape.
The pub was rather busy for a Sunday night. A lot of these people had work in the morning, and yet they carried on in the evening like it was a Friday. Arriving at the pub, she walked up to the bar and the bartender seemed to recognize her.
Sitting down, she ordered a Jack and Coke, and the bartender provided. She tried to pay but the bartender waved her down and said it was on the house. Her face reddened at this, but she said nothing. After a few minutes, someone sat down to her right, and a gentle contralto spoke.
“I’d like a firewhiskey.”
Hermione sighed and downed her drink. After a few more minutes of liquor, her world was a little fuzzier. After some silence, the woman to her right spoke up.
“You look like you could use someone to talk to.”
Hermione glared at the woman. She felt rather envious at the barmy blathering idiots of the world. The time since the Battle had only hardened her sharp dislike for social convention and emotions.
“Bugger off.” Hermione said, looking away.
The girl raised her hand. “Hey, Jeremy? Can I get another round down here for me and the girl?”
Hermione glanced at her and the woman’s expression seemed serious. “Why’re you buying me a drink?”
“Because, like I said, you look like you could use someone to talk to.”
Hermione sighed and pulled her hair out of her face, and accepted the free drink. “Alright, fine. But I’m not sure there’s much I can tell you.”
The woman smiled and shrugged. “I dunno about that. I’m pretty clever you know. Almost got sorted into Slytherin.”
Hermione blinked and said, “You’re a witch?”
The woman nodded and said with a wink, “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
Hermione sighed and ran her finger along the rim of the glass. “‘sbeen a year since the Battle. I’m just a little depressed, is all. All my friends are off doing their own thing, and I’m stuck in my little apartment. I was gonna be something. Everybody was saying that Hermione Granger’s gonna be the Minister of Magic some day! These days, I can’t even get out of bed without havin’ a panic attack.”
The woman smiled sadly and nodded.
“I understand. I lost quite a few friends in the Battle myself, I didn’t think I’d ever feel better afterwards. Were it not for the drugs, along with some good coaching… well.” She shrugged.
Hermione laughed. “I guess we’re comrades in arms then. I guess I already introduced myself. I’m Hermione. What’s your name?”
“Kathryn. But you can just call me Kate.”
“Like the Empress of Russia, or the Starfleet Admiral?”
“Oh you’re quite clever, Miss Granger. The Starfleet Admiral. I’m a pretty big Voyager fan.”
“Likewise.” Hermione laughed. “What do you do these days, Kate?”
Kathryn shrugged. “My parents were pretty well-off, so these days I’m just trying to find what my passion is, and do it. That, and I’ve just been on a really big self-discovery mission. It’s been pretty grand. I’ve been touring Northern Ireland the last few months. Beautiful place.”
She took a drink of her firewhiskey.
Hermione nodded. “I’ve got a friend whose in Northern Ireland. Haven’t heard from him in months. I’m hopin’ he’s here tonight. I got a letter from someone, I think ’s him.” She showed the letter to Kathryn who appraised it quietly, before returning it to her.
“I don’t know, love.”
After a few hours, the woman finally spoke up. “I don’t think he’s coming, love. Would you like me to give you a ride? You can crash at my place until morning.”
Hermione rubbed her eyes and nodded. The woman settled both tabs (Hermione made a note in her stupor to pay her back in the morning if she remembered) and helped Hermione out of the bar. Before Hermione could even notice, the woman had pulled a wand out of her purse, the two had popped out of existence just as quick as they had arrived.
Arriving in a warm room, Hermione’s last flashes of consciousness were the woman helping her into a bed.
Morning came too quick, with the sun shining right in Hermione’s face. The hungover woman pulled the covers over her eyes in frustration, before the unfamiliar setting creeped in. Popping out of the covers, she looked around at the very well-decorated room that seemed… almost tailored to her?
A wall of books ranging from Tolstoy to Heinlein, as well as a large mahogany desk with what was the pinnacle of modern computing technology perched on it. She moved to get out of bed, and realized she was in the same rumpled sweater, skirt and stockings as the previous night.
Trudging out into the hallway, she heard the sound of food sizzling on the first floor.
Coming down the stairs, she saw the woman from last night standing over a skillet, preparing breakfast. Her blonde hair was done up in a ponytail, and she was humming along to something else. Clearing her throat at the entryway, the woman turned around and beamed with happiness.
Hermione noticed that the woman had a smattering of freckles, and very sharp emerald eyes.
“Morning!” She said with a smile. “I’ve got breakfast cooking. It’ll be ready soon, but you look like someone who could use coffee.” She proferred a cup of joe and two Tylenol, which Hermione accepted and downed quickly.
“We didn’t…?” Hermione asked and the woman, Kathryn, shook her head.
“No, no, we didn’t. I brought you here since I don’t quite know where you live. We apparated back from the pub.”
“Where are we?”
“My house. I told you I was well off.”
“Yeah, but this makes Malfoy Manor look like council housing.”
“Well, you know what they say about status symbols in the Wizarding World. You’ve got to be bigger and better than your closest rivals… in this case, I thought it fitting.”
Hermione rubbed her eyes and said, “This is a pretty big property, where are we?”
“Just northwest of Draperstown, in good ol’ Ulster.”
“Ulster!?” Hermione asked, bewildered. “You were pub-crawling in… London… yet you live in Ulster?”
“Well I was there on purpose, wasn’t I? I can’t just compose a letter to someone and not show up?”
Hermione’s brain, fogged up by her hangover, took a brief minute to catch up.
“Wait, you wrote that letter?”
“Yes, love, and for good reason. I’d like to show you something, perhaps it’ll make sense.” She was wearing large cooking gloves on her hands, much like she had been wearing silk gloves the previous night. After serving the bacon, eggs and toast, she removed the gloves and raised her left hand, palm facing away from Hermione.
“I must not tell lies” was etched into her skin deep, and Hermione unceremoniously dropped the coffee mug, shattering it against the kitchen tile floor.
Kathryn began to laugh uncontrollably, and Hermione’s face reddened.
“You… how? when? why?”
“I’m sure you have lots of questions, Hermione.” The woman formerly known as Harry Potter said with a charming smile.
“I’ll endeavour to answer them as best as I can, but let’s eat first, and move somewhere much… better for this kind of conversation, okay?”
The two consumed their breakfast in silence, with Hermione occasionally looking up at the woman who was claiming to be her former love interest with intent. It was only now in the light that she could see faint traces of a scar running along her forehead, concealed by what she assumed was, well, concealer.
After finishing breakfast, Kathryn ordered Hermione upstairs to shower. Hermione protested, saying she had nothing to wear, but Kathryn rolled her eyes and said she’d find something for her.
Twenty minutes later, Hermione, freshly cleaned up and wearing something borrowed from Kathryn’s wardrobe, was sitting across from her host in a beautiful atrium, with Kreacher serving tea.
“So, what would you like to know, Hermione?” She asked, and Hermione seemed uncertain, before asking.
“Are you really… Harry?”
“I used to be, yes. A little strange, I imagine, in less than a year, for your male best friend to be… like this.” She laughed.
“Well, yes.” Hermione said, and Kathryn nodded.
“Well, after the Battle and the spiralling depression we all seemed to be going into, I started coming to the realization that I may not be a boy, and that I might be trans. I started researching it in my spare time while not doing diplomatic meetings and this and the other thing. I ended up getting help from a few people, surprising places too.”
“Either way,” She shrugged her shoulders, “That was one of the reasons I left for Ulster alone… I felt I had to plod this path mostly alone, but I grew increasingly lonely, and I felt like I’d left you in a state I shouldn’t have.”
Hermione’s shock didn’t leave her face and Kathryn said. “I’d like to apologize for the deceit, I just didn’t think you’d believe me, and I didn’t really want to come back to you as Harry. I mean, for one, have you ever tried to transfigure your breast size down? It doesn’t work very well.”
“Wait, they’re not a charm?” Hermione asked in surprise, and Kathryn shook her head. “There are quite a few potions for hormone therapy, and there are healers who specialize in bodily augmentations.”
“Interesting.” Hermione wondered, before shaking her head. “So, okay. You’re a woman now, you’ve changed your name to Kathryn, and…”
“I want you to be back in my life, Hermione.” Kathryn said, reaching across the small table and taking Hermione’s hands in hers. Hermione briefly noticed that Kathryn’s nails were iridescent and had a dragon-scale design to them. “I hope I’m not too late.”
Hermione said, “Well, there’s Allison but you know how that was before you even left. She and I were just… friends who happened to snog each other on the weekends.”
“Yes, she was one of the people I talked about my problems with first, she suggested doing me up in drag and having me join in. I declined, as I didn’t think that was quite appropriate for coming out. She’s a freak, Hermione, but in the good, sexually liberated way.”
“I agree, she is definitely a freak. But you know, once you hear her orgasm…”
Kathryn’s eyes hazed over briefly before she shook her head. “Sorry, um, the potions I’m on–one of the side effects is a heightened sex drive. The opposite of actual Muggle hormone therapy.”
Hermione laughed and said, “Oh, dear. I hope you didn’t do this because I like girls, we could’ve made it work out–”
Kathryn raised her hand. “I didn’t do this because of you. I did this because of me. I… have never felt comfortable in my male body. I always envied the girls and how pretty they were. After the Battle was done, I realized that there was nothing holding me back anymore. I’m happy to be this way.”
Kathryn’s speech was interrupted by Hermione nearly pile-driving her way over the table and onto her. Hermione was shocked at how soft Kathryn’s lips were, and Kathryn was shocked at how expert-tier Hermione had gotten at romance.
The two made out for a little while in the atrium, before they pulled apart. Kathryn’s lipstick was smeared all over the place, and most of it seemed to be on Hermione’s face. The two laughed at each other’s appearance for a moment before Kathryn nudged her.
“Wanna go upstairs?”
“Always questioning the obvious, Potter. Never change.” Hermione said with a sigh, as Kathryn picked her up in a bridal carry.
“Maybe just a little bit.” Kathryn replied, kissing Hermione deeply once more.