Chapter Text
For the most of her days in her twenty nine years of her life and counting, Hermione Granger always knew she had everything sorted out. She knew where she would have to be and who she had to meet or what she needed to do at any given time of the day, and of course, she also knew what it was that was required of her. A meticulously detailed planner comfortably sat in her well-worn but very much loved saddle brown satchel, and in it are keepsakes of her days. It never ran out of pages seeing as its owner was a witch.
And then there were the days in between those when she was less sure of herself – where doubt crept in and discontent came knocking. Hermione always had a purpose and she knew where she belonged; but the universe has its way to withdraw one’s enthusiasm and create baffling questions, and the Gryffindor witch wasn’t impervious to that.
Today was one of those days. The nineteenth day in a span of thirty four days. A quiet sigh escaped her as she re-tied the loose ponytail of the disorderly curls of brown that she referred to as her hair. She briefly looked at her reflection in the windows of one of the wards for Magical Burns and Scars, and noted the creases of telltale fatigue on her face. Straightening her shoulders, she quickly looked away and mentally reminded herself that she needed sleep – at least an eight-hour sleep to recover from her continuous 36-hour rota, and not the two-hour bleary-eyed sleep she gave herself during her last shift break.
‘Just breathe, Hermione.’ She reminded herself.
Pulling on a smile in hopes to lift her spirits, the witch made her way to the emergency unit for Absolute Foolhardiness. She didn’t name that medical ward but the head of St. Mungo’s did after the innumerable absurd reasons that a screaming wizard or witch has when they are admitted into the magical hospital – when really, a simple healing incantation can resolve their predicament if only they took a few seconds to breathe and remember that they are magical beings. It helped the Healers to sort out the real life-threatening emergencies and those that were rather superficial.
The hours passed in a whirl with the asinine assortment of patients – a handful brought amusement to her but most of them made her questioned sanity. She was amazed with the unrelenting immense creativity of a mishap that one could get into. She gave bonus points to those whose ideas were exceptionally original. Cho Chang, her fellow fourth year junior Healer assigned to the same unit, mirrored her exasperation when they were both assigned to deal with a wizard who charmed his fingers to play the harpsichord without him actually learning how to. The charm predictably backfired as he was on the receiving end of extremely twitchy fingers that had a mind of their own including groping anyone within two feet of him.
It was enough to drive Hermione to Grimmauld Place with a rant that lasted almost half an hour as her best friend, the one and only Boy-Who-Lived, listened with as much good humour he could muster without wincing.
“Honestly, Harry, I don’t know what is it that I’m doing anymore.” With a huff, Hermione unceremoniously threw herself into the armchair. Her arms flopped over the armrests like a ragdoll’s.
“You are a Healer, Hermione. And a very good one too.” Harry calmly answered. “Top of the class, a favourite of the department heads, and very much loved by her patients.”
“Are you trying to butter me up?”
“You don’t see me holding two slices of bread do you?”
Hermione laughed. “Stop it, Harry. You know what I mean.”
The green-eyed wizard emitted a chuckle of his own. “What would you have yourself do instead?”
“I honestly don’t know. I feel – ” Hermione paused and looked down at a spot on her jeans before continuing with a frown etched on her face, “I feel as if my heart’s not completely in it. That perhaps I should do something else, something more gratifying for my soul.”
“I really would like it if you kept your soul intact instead of breaking them into seven pieces.”
She threw a cushion at Harry’s direction but the latter simply ducked with a hearty laugh. “We both know that Voldemort was a lazy ponce who thought splitting his soul into artefacts was a brilliant idea when really, he could have just mastered all wizardry and dark magic to be one of the most powerful wizards of all time like Professor Dumbledore was.”
“I take it that our time hunting the Horcruxes is still a memory you loathe.” Harry lightly said. “Though you have to admit, the time we got to spend together between the both of us was a good thing – it made us closer.”
“I suppose.” Hermione exhaled with a soft smile for her best friend who was also the closest she has to a sibling. “Will you help me with this, Harry? Finding out what exactly am I supposed to do if not a Healer?”
A moment of comfortable silence befell upon them and Hermione crossed her legs underneath her as Harry ruminated with a stare at the bookshelf in the corner of the room. Time quietly ticked by before Harry finally looked away. He picked up a soft wool blanket and walked over to Hermione. Draping the blanket over her legs, he settled himself in front of the armchair with a hand resting atop her covered feet. His smile was warm and kind as if hoping to ease the quiet frustration that was bubbling within Hermione.
“You’ve always been fond of helping others. It’s in your nature, Hermione. What about the Ministry with the DMLE or even the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures? You could help draft up new legislations and treaties.”
Hermione grimaced. “The administrative work I am dealing with as a Healer has put me off paperwork.”
“I never thought I’d see the day where Hermione Granger has such aversion for paperwork.” Harry teased. “Well, what about being part of the Department of International Magical Cooperation? Keeping relations with the other wizarding communities and all that fancy functions and cooperative magic?”
She sighed. “Would it be insensitive of me to say that I reckon it isn’t any more fulfilling than what I am doing right now?” Her hand dropped to Harry’s own and her index and middle fingers made little tapping motions on the top of his hand. “I appreciate what the Ministry does, and I understand that being a Healer allows me to help others when they can’t, but why do I still feel as if I’m not doing something that I truly enjoy?”
“Probably because you’re not? Remember – I said you are fond of helping others. Not that it’s your life’s mission to do so.”
“Now I feel terribly selfish.”
“Hermione – you are the least self-centered person I know of. Besides, there are a lot of contenders for that coveted spot of the most selfish person.” Harry pointedly said.
Another sigh escaped the witch.
“If you want to change your profession to something that your heart beckons you to – I’ll say go for it. You deserve to be happy, Hermione.”
It was as if Harry still knew and understood the quiet thought that persisted in her heart for years, the one that she hardly spoke of but always knew it existed. It was a topic he had once broached, nine months after the end of the Second Wizarding War and when it was just the both of them under a tree by the Great Lake in Hogwarts. They have never revisited the conversation and Hermione wasn’t ready for it now either.
A wistful smile appeared. “Anything at all, Harry?”
“Anything.” He affirmed with a pat on her hand that was now resting on his own.
“It’s probably going to take me some time to figure out what it is that I’d like to do. I need to discern my passion, and what I would love to spend the rest of my life doing.” Hermione mused. “What if I never find out?” Harry’s eyebrows shot up with dubiousness. Laughter bubbled from within her in admission that the statement was rather asinine. “I’ll find something.” She breathed out with a hint of determination.
“Good. Now then, shall we have dinner?”
She narrowed her gaze. “I suppose the only reason that you put up with my rant is because you are expecting me to make dinner.”
“Well,” a sly grin found its way to Harry’s features, “it does seem like a fair trade-off.”
Hermione huffed and shoved the blanket away from her feet as she made to stand. The raven-haired wizard stood up with her, grinning. “How does fish and chips sound, Mr. Potter?”
“Fit for a famished Auror.”
“I don’t know how Ginny puts up with you.”
“It helps that I am her childhood crush turned sweetheart.” Hermione rolled her eyes, resisting the smile tugging at the edge of her lips. “But seriously, I’m glad you’re here so I don’t have to eat alone while Ginny’s away.”
“Where is she at for the weekend match?” Hermione asked as she walked to the kitchen, Harry falling into step beside her. She pulled her ponytail into a messy bun before rolling her oxford sleeves up to her elbows.
“It’s a home match, so Holyhead. The Harpies are facing off the Magpies.”
“Are you going for the match?” Hermione distractedly responded as she picked out the ingredients for dinner.
“We are supposed to be going together.” Harry pointed out.
“We are?”
“You promised Ginny you would at least watch one of her matches this season and you picked this one.”
Hermione slapped a hand to her forehead. “I almost forgot. Right, that’s this weekend.”
“Ron’s meeting us here tomorrow at nine. You did clear your rota for this, did you?”
A sheepish look crossed the witch’s face. “I may have forgotten to do so.”
Harry smirked. “Ginny’s going to send a Howler your way.”
“I promise I’ll be there by three. I have to get back to St. Mungo’s after dinner for tonight’s shift, so I will arrange something with Cho and probably be able to get away by two in the afternoon. The match doesn’t start till half past three, does it?”
Harry dropped a bag of chips into a heated pan of oil. “Seventeen years of Quidditch and you have yet to remember the exact time that a league match begins on a Saturday. Absolute rubbish of a memory you have.” He offhandedly commented.
She gave a sharp jab of her elbow to Harry’s side, earning a scowl from the wizard. “I enjoy having useful facts and figures drummed in my head, rather than match timings for witches and wizards to whiz across a pitch.” She said as she prepped the batter for the fish fillets.
“I’m telling Ginny that you’ve questioned the validity of her profession.”
A handful of batter precisely launched itself to Harry’s face. Hermione immediately laughed. Harry retaliated by pelting a chip in her direction.
“You’ve just wasted a potato’s sacrifice.” Hermione said in between laughter.
“A small decent portion of it.” Harry answered with another flying piece of chip.
She lifted up her flour-coated hands, palms forward. “Alright, I call truce. Lay down your arms.”
“Ceasefire of potatoes shall commence.”
Eyeing Harry with a narrowed look of suspicion, Hermione gradually placed her hands down. “Did we planned on staying overnight at Cardiff?” She asked.
“Ron and I reckon the match should take about a couple of hours considering how competitive both teams are to rack up the points and the Magpies’ Seeker is a conniving prat who takes pleasure in ensuring the Snitch is only captured when the points are almost even, just so the Magpies win with a higher point margin. Are you in a hurry to Floo back to London?”
She shrugged. “It depends on how dead on my feet I’ll be tomorrow after my shift.”
“You do look like you need the sleep. A racoon could mistake you for its cousin.”
“Thank you, Harry. I appreciate the endearing relationship you’ve made between me and a mammal of the procyonid family.”
Harry gave an innocent smile. “Well, the racoon is indeed a very intelligent creature too.”
A resounding plop filled in the room, followed by a sharp curse. Harry’s hand reached out to his glasses and lifted them from his nose as he swiped the glob of fresh batter from his face. Hermione raised an elegant eyebrow without a hint of guilt.
“I forgot how violent you can be, Hermione.”
“Let’s not forget how much damage I can be with a wand in my hand.” She impishly replied as she dipped a fillet into the hot oil.
Harry chuckled. “And that is why I have never challenged you to a duel practice.” Wiping his glasses with the edge of his shirt, Harry distractedly continued, “Just stay the night in Cardiff. It would provide us a chance to catch up – all four of us.”
Hermione sighed. “And that reminds me of my lack of social life ever since I started my Healer studies.” She poked hard at a fish fillet in the pan. “Or rather, my lack of voluntary participation in any interaction with creatures who are not injured or teaching.”
“Cardiff it is.” Harry grinned. “I’ll make sure you don’t fall asleep at some random dodgy place when you’re supposed to be polishing up your rusty social habits.” Hermione rolled her eyes in response and Harry chuckled.
He placed the ready chips onto two large plates just as Hermione brought over the pan and carefully slid the fillets onto the plates. He turned around and withdrew a bottle white wine from the cabinets.
“Could I possibly have tea instead?” Harry grimaced at the question. “I have to get back to work after this.” Hermione retorted, pointing out a fork in his direction.
Shrugging, Harry picked up a canister of tea leaves instead and placed them in a teapot before muttering a spell with a flick of his wand. He poured the brewed tea into two mugs, without sugar and just milk as they both liked their tea, and returned to the counter top where Hermione stood waiting. They didn’t bother with the dining table seeing as it was just the two of them. She smiled at him as they clumsily clink their mugs together in a silent toast.
Hermione gladly basked in the comforting fuzzy warmth that filled her; these moments with her best friend were ones that she always looked forward to after every long shift. She wasn’t sure how Harry could stand being so patient in enduring years of medical verbosity from her but she was glad that he wasn’t complaining.
“Harry?”
“Yeah?” He answered without looking up from his picking of the chips.
“Thank you.” She softly said.
He lifted his gaze to meet hers and a mischievous curl of his lips appeared. “For cooking the chips?”
“You know what I’m referring to.” She amusedly replied.
“Always, Hermione.” He simply said. “Now eat. You have 10 minutes before you need get back to the chaos.”
She groaned and Harry reached out with a pat of consolation on her shoulder.
It wasn’t long before she was back in St. Mungo’s again and dealing with a new throng of patients. While some may think the night shift would be considerably quieter seeing as it’s the time of the day when most would be asleep, that was certainly not the case with the wizarding community. Apparently their ingenuity eluded sleep because the hours between after dinner and breakfast seemed to be the best time to brew potions or to light a bonfire, or even to charm unanimated items.
Hermione almost lost her temper by the ninth hour when a witch and her talking teapot kept up a steady stream of cussing. It wasn’t the vast range of colourful curse words that annoyed the Gryffindor. Rather, it was the fact that the witch really did had a poor choice in tea – which the teapot insisted on and reasoned it was valid enough for it to scald her hand in utter disgust, but said witch stubbornly refused to acknowledged it. Hermione bit her lower lip long enough to quickly heal the witch’s palm and moved away to her next patient before she could let it slipped that she thought it was appallingly foolish for anyone with half a logic to even consider that teabags with twigs that have been grounded into dust would be better than loose leaf tea.
When the time finally ticked to fifty past two in the afternoon, Hermione hastily rushed off to the showers after clocking out of her shift. She had been caught by an incident where a young wizard decided that it would be hilarious to stick up two wands in his nostrils to pretend he was a mammoth. As with all ridiculous ideas, the wands were stuck too far up and were emitting orange sparks when the thirteen-year-old wizard was brought in by his distraught parents. Cho’s expression undoubtedly questioned the scale of fatuity when it comes to humankind, and Hermione simply drew an infinity sign on the medical chart she was filling in as a response to the former Ravenclaw. Cho had to hide her laugh behind a pretend coughing fit.
By the time Hermione was ready to Floo to the Harpies’ Quidditch stadium, it was already fifteen minutes past the time she had promised to meet Harry and Ron. Grumbling under her breath, she hurriedly grabbed her satchel just as the green flames appeared.
“Hermione!”
She stepped out of the busy Floo network of the Holyhead Harpies’ home stadium to see Ron beaming from ear to ear. Managing a smile on her face at the sight of the redhead, she gladly stepped into his hug despite the rowdy crowd around them. She felt a jab of a bony elbow at her sides when she hugged Ron and there was an accidental tug of a curl of her hair when a group of witches walked past them. It was the crowd that really turned Hermione away from Quidditch matches. She narrowly dodged when a large banner almost flapped in her face as another group of young wizards boisterously made their way to the stands.
Ron knowingly chortled at her annoyance. “Come on, ‘Mione. We’ll get you to the stands and you’ll be safe from these walking hazards.”
“As if that would keep my eardrums from exploding with all the noise.”
“You used to love Quidditch back in school.”
“I merely tolerated it. I should have known that was only half of the madness when it comes to the actual league matches.”
“Harry wasn’t joking when he said you would be a fireball when you arrived.”
“He said what?” Hermione’s frown deepened.
The redhead laughed and tugged Hermione closer to him when a pair of wizard and witch almost knocked into her with their armloads of Harpies’ fan paraphernalia. “Don’t hex him yet – he was concerned about you and told me about your conversation with him last night. That’s why he sent me to wait for you at the Floo, he knew the madness of the crowd would bother you.”
The irritation on Hermione’s face faded almost immediately. “I suppose that’s thoughtful of him.”
“Truthfully, you didn’t sound like the usual you. I am slightly worried myself too.”
Hermione looked at Ron and the latter’s face held a small sheepish smile. “Thank you.”
His features lightened up with a cheerful grin. “Maybe being here for the weekend match would cheer you up and provide you the enlightenment you’re looking for.”
She knew Quidditch meant the world to Ron; he practically breathed in the game, but she didn’t think he would associate the match to a philosophical rationale. It was almost preposterous in her head, but instead she said, “Highly doubtful but let’s get on with it anyway.”
Ron led her to the top of the stands where Harry had saved them seats with prime view of the hoops. They barely reached their seats when the shrill sound of the whistle blew. Ginny flew past them and managed a quick grin their way before she turned her full attention to the match. Despite her lack of enthusiasm for the game, Hermione clapped and hooted a cheer anyway. Harry nudged her in the shoulders with a knowing grin.
The Harpies were extremely agile on their brooms, and it wasn’t long before they scored the first goal – courtesy of Ginny. The home crowd roared with delight. Hermione cheered for Ginny’s name as Ron hollered with pride and Harry profusely clapped hard and loud with a wide grin gracing his face. The opponents decidedly picked up the pace with bloodthirsty determination to score the next, and it was at that moment that Hermione caught a flash of striking white-blond hair in her line of vision. She considered that it could have been anyone, and didn’t bother to look again considering the maddening speed the players were all flying around. She concentrated on the Harpies instead, seeing as she was there for youngest Weasley anyway.
By the time the first hour rolled around, Hermione had her nose in a book, having lost her full interest in the match as she knew both sides would keep raking up the points for a higher goal difference in the league standings. Ron had snorted but said nothing when she flipped her book open. Her reading was hardly distracted by the raucous noise of the stadium as she easily immersed herself in the fiction of Kenilsworth Rashodante and his cunning thievery against the magical governments of the world.
So caught up was she in the story that when the crowd deafeningly booed and protested against a foul that she barely even looked up. It was only when Harry cursed under his breath that her gaze shifted in curiosity.
“What happened?” She asked the raven-haired wizard.
“Harpies’ Seeker Margareth got knocked of her broom by the Magpies. It appears that she broke all the fingers on her right hand. It was a sly move, smart but dangerous manoeuvre to get Margareth on tail and she was fooled by it. Bale’s Bludger gave her a good whack when she was distracted – clearly a strategised attack.”
“Isn’t that the point of the game?” Hermione replied.
“Well, yes, but they didn’t have to get so bodily harmful.”
“It’s a contact sport, Harry.” She answered in a mixture of amusement and exasperation.
“And she’s absolutely right, Potter.” A voice drawled from the pitch and Hermione turned around in surprise.
She hadn’t seen him for a few years, not since his Wizengamot hearing when she and Harry had testified. Seated on his broom, looking taller and less sunken and pale than she had last remembered, the wizard had his steel grey orbs fixed on her. A hint of an amused smirk crossed his features.
“Keep your eyes on the pitch, Malfoy.” Ron retorted.
“You.” Hermione was nonplussed as she stared at the former Slytherin Seeker, and apparently now Montrose Magpies’ Seeker, Draco Malfoy.
“Granger.” He acknowledged with another full smirk before doing a dexterous manoeuvre to return to the match.
“What is he doing here?”
“Don’t you read the news, Hermione?” Ron’s face was a picture of genuine bafflement. “Malfoy’s the Magpies’ prized Seeker. The Magpies’ bagged the League Cup thrice since he joined, and it was thanks to him catching the Snitch that they won the finals at the last European Cup.”
“I usually skip the Sports section.” Hermione unflappably said, not the least minding Ron’s patronising tone of voice. “And why do you sound as if he is one of your favourite players? You speak of him as if you would for Janelle Pickerington. And I know she’s your favourite Cannons’ player considering you never stopped talking about her since she joined the team three seasons ago.”
Harry chuckled as Ron rolled his eyes and snorted. Leaning closer to Hermione with a conspiratorial smile, “Ron’s got a bit of a love-hate fan relationship with that. He’s still struggling between admiring the skills and disliking the wizard.”
Hermione shook her head. She looked out to the pitch again and caught sight of Malfoy’s blond hair on the other side of the stadium. He was someone she had least expected to see, but she wasn’t really bothered with him. Rather, she thought she had more pressing matters such as reconsidering her profession as a Healer. She looked back down at the book in her hands, getting lost in her own thoughts, and paying little attention to the match after that.
The match between the Harpies and the Scotland-based Magpies ended with the latter on the winning end. Draco caught the Snitch at the fourth hour when the teams were at 140-150 points. Despite having lost the match, Ginny greeted the trio in cheerful spirits and especially with Hermione as the redhead witch had barely seen Hermione what with their differing schedules.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Hermione.” Ginny gushed.
Hermione returned her smile with one of her own. “It was a good match, Ginny.”
“Really?” Harry mischievously asked. “You barely looked up from your book.” His words emitted a laugh from Ginny just as she reached out to hug him as well.
“I was multi-tasking.” Hermione defensively answered, but knowing it was futile anyway. Besides, she knew Ginny long understood that Hermione and Quidditch weren’t two things that went hand-in-hand.
“I thought it was a bloody brilliant game.”
“For the Harpies or our opposition?” Ginny quipped.
A hint of red flushed at the edges of Ron’s ears and the group laughed.
“I am starting to take offense with your lack of support for your own sister’s team.” Ginny continued teasing.
“Oh come on, Ginny. You know my support for the Harpies is on default by association.”
Ginny’s face contorted into one of mock displeasure. “By association? Couldn’t you possibly sound any less more willing?”
“At least I don’t pretend the Harpies are my absolute favourite.”
Harry shot Ron a look that demanded for his redhead best friend to immediately shut up, or as Hermione interpreted it; ‘I am going to skewer your insides and feed them to a Hippogriff if you say anymore.’ His features quickly pulled on a look of indifference when Ginny turned to look at him with a suspicious glint her eyes.
“Shall we have dinner now? It’s after eight and I’m feeling the hunger pangs.” Hermione quickly suggested, earning a look of utmost gratitude from Harry. Ron shot a wicked smirk at his best friend’s way and the latter discreetly elbowed the redhead wizard in return.
“We will speak about this later tonight, Potter.” Ginny pointedly said with an innocent smile as she hooked her arm around Hermione’s. “Cardiff for dinner?”
Hermione shrugged with a sympathetic smile at Harry’s waning look of relief. Having Ginny calling him by his last name certainly wasn’t a good sign. Ron was still chuckling as he led them to the Apparition point to head into the Wales’ capital.
As soon as they arrived in the Wizarding Cardiff, Ron offered Hermione his arm and she gladly slid her other free arm around Ron’s. Harry fell into step beside Ginny, gently intertwining their fingers together. Hermione knew it was tad childish and also an impediment of mobility with the four of them walking together in a row, but after the long days she had at work – this was all she needed to remind herself that she wasn’t alone and she had a life outside of St. Mungo’s. Her friends were almost similar to a family for her; they were her tribe and her comforting cornerstone. At least with them she never really had to question who she was to be or if she fitted in.
Dinner was an enjoyable session of two hours as Hermione found herself lost to time as she caught up with the going-ons for her best friends’ days. Ron was seeing Susan Bones, their former schoolmate who was part of the Muggle Liaison Office division in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Ginny filled them in on her call-up for the England team in the next rounds of international friendly against Jamaica and Spain. Harry shared a funny anecdote from one of his Auror missions with a junior Auror who had been too eager to prove himself to the department. Hermione recalled the incident of the talking teapot and the witch.
When the restaurant had its round of last orders, the group left for the pub next door to continue the night. Hermione had started yawning by the time the first round of drinks came around and was resting her head on Harry’s shoulder as she listened to Ron’s update on the latest mischief creation that George has for the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. She almost choked on her Butterbeer when Ron told them that the creation was now being exported outside of the United Kingdom as well.
“George’s really outdone himself this time, hasn’t he?” Hermione said with admiration. “That’s brilliant!”
“Bloody brilliant.” Ron proudly said.
“Mom’s so proud of George that she even said that this makes up for the twins’ leaving school to set up a joke shop.” Ginny grinned. “It’s full approval all the way that George is practically her favourite son now.”
“Mom doesn’t play favourites.”
“That’s what you think.” The redhead witch snickered as Ron’s face paled.
“Wondering what’s your standing, Ron?” Harry commented with a tone of playful revenge for Ron’s earlier slip of his actual most favourite Quidditch team in the league. “It’s not the top three if you must know.”
“Probably after Harry included.” Hermione teased.
“Oi!”
Ginny and Hermione laughed. Harry smugly lifted his pint of Blishen's Firewhiskey in gesture of a toast to Ron. The banter continued until it was half past midnight and when they finally stepped out of the warm pub and into the cool night of Cardiff’s fall weather, Hermione was practically yawning by the minute.
“Shall we call it a night before Hermione falls asleep on the side of the pub?” Ginny giggled as Hermione let out another yawn with her arms stretching out and almost smacking Ron in the face.
“It’s a Saturday and we’ve only had five rounds of drinks.” Ron said, almost whining. “Surely we can go for another before she falls dead on her feet.”
“Ron, I am terribly exhausted.” Hermione punctuated her words with the eloquence of a fatigue-infused witch. She reached for Harry and the raven-haired wizard knowingly stepped up to her side and offered her his shoulder as a pillow for her head.
“How about we bring her back to the inn and let her sleep before we head out again?” Ginny offered. Hermione aimed a grateful smile at the younger witch’s thoughtfulness.
“But it’s not fun without Hermione.”
“Ron, I am the least exciting person to be with at this moment. Every ounce of any drollery I’ve ever had has completely left my being.”
“But she remains a deadweight though.” Harry joked as he shifted to be comfortable under Hermione’s leaning frame. Ginny giggled at the verbal jab while Hermione pinched Harry in the arm for the comment – earning a low howl from the wizard. “That hurts!” He exclaimed.
“That was unkind of you.” Hermione huffed.
Harry looked to Ron. “Ron, if you’re going to take care of Hermione while she’s in this violent state of sleep then we can bring her along. If you aren’t, then I stand by Ginny’s suggestion.”
“I am not violent.”
“She does seem a little legless too.” Ginny commented.
Ron grimaced. “I don’t want to deal with a drunk and sleepy Hermione Granger.”
“No one really does.”
“Stop talking as if I’m not here.” Hermione irritably said, earning a chorus of laughter from the others.
“Come on,” Harry breathed out, “we’ll get you back to the Draig Brecwast Gwesty before we get another round for Ron’s sake.”
“Did you know that literally means the Dragon Breakfast Guesthouse in Welsh?” Hermione said as they started walking down the still bustling streets of Llandaff.
“No, we didn’t until now that is.” Harry fondly replied, in marvel of Hermione’s capability to still be an erudite witch despite being somewhat inebriated.
“I knew that. You pick up some Welsh while being with the Harpies.” Ginny grinned. “Speaking of dragons though, today’s meeting with a particular dragon namesake was almost brutal. That feint he pulled – Margareth really fell for it.”
Ron nodded. “It’s going to be in the papers tomorrow. I really thought he had the Snitch in his grasp.”
“His speed manipulated what we thought we saw.”
“I didn’t know he was a professional Quidditch player.”
Harry and Ron exchanged significant looks of amusement at Hermione’s lack of familiarity with Quidditch despite being in a close circle of friends who were complete loons for the sport.
“And that is why sometimes I doubt you are listening in to whatever I am sharing about my matches.” Ginny smirked. “Honestly, Hermione – a little more attention would have been acceptable.”
“We’ve tried, really. Six years in Hogwarts.”
“Don’t bother.”
“I’m still here.” Hermione swatted Harry in the back of his head and tried to reach for Ron, but the redhead quickly dodged. “It’s really annoying when the three of you speak as if I’m not listening in. And could we please discuss about me now instead of some Quidditch player?”
“What about you?” Ginny good-humouredly asked, despite knowing where the conversation was going. Both Harry and Ron had filled her in after all.
“I need to find out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.” Hermione said, almost dramatically as she flung an arm out in a figurative gesture to her reference of life.
“This could be a phase you’re going through, ‘Mione.” Ron offered.
“It’s now Day 20 and I still feel the same way.”
“You keep count on that?” Harry asked with astonishment.
“She keeps count on everything. She’s Hermione, remember? She probably remembers what you had for dinner two Saturdays ago.”
“I don’t. And can we please stay on the topic?”
“Hermione – has it occurred to you that perhaps you just need to take a holiday?” Ginny suggested. “When was the last time you had one?”
The silence that filled the air between the quartet was ironically loud enough to answer Ginny’s question.
“Take a few weeks off and get your head in the system.”
Hermione lifted her head from Harry’s shoulder and vigorously shook it – so hard that she almost felt a headache coming on. “That’s just it, Ron. I don’t want to be part of a system. It’s dreary and exhausting.”
“But you like rules. You lived for them.” Ron retorted. “We could all have been killed – or worse, expelled!”
Harry and Ginny erupted in hilarity with Ron’s mimicking of Hermione’s most peculiar priority. Hermione felt her cheeks flaming up in embarrassment; even she had to admit that her priorities were rather odd but they were still very valid ones for a student.
“I wasn’t going to allow myself be expelled from a quality school of wizardry all because Harry and you had the insatiable desire for foolhardy bravery.” She sniffed with an air of dignity. “It would have been outrageous to have my school records to say I was expelled for traipsing where I wasn’t supposed to be and was almost eaten by a three-headed dog. No one would believe me!”
As soon as the words left her, Hermione found mirth bubbling within her and she quickly collapsed into a laughing fit with Harry, Ron and Ginny. Passersby eyed them with curiosity and strange looks but no one bothered them, thinking that the group was likely just another bunch of drunk adults out on a weekend night.
“In all seriousness,” Ginny said, catching her breath with a slight breathless note, “I reckon you really should take a break from St. Mungo’s.”
“And find something else to distract you. Something you’d enjoy doing.” Harry added.
“Something like this?” Hermione’s words effectively stopped them in their tracks as they followed her index finger to see her pointing at a sign hanging at the door of a corner shop with Victorian architecture. “For sale. To book-lovers only.” She read aloud.
Ginny took a step back and realised they were looking at a bookshop. Ron peered into the glass panels to take a glimpse inside.
“Hermione, let’s not get ahead of ourselves yet.” Harry carefully said.
“This could be it, Harry.” Hermione said, suddenly very much energetic as she stepped up beside Ron to look inside the shop. “There are tons of books inside! It’s dark but I can make out armchairs and wooden floorings, and there seems to be little nooks and alcoves within. Come and see!”
Harry sighed and obliged. Ginny followed suit and together, the four of them stared into the unlit place and tried to make sense of what their vision could afford them.
“It looks as if there are cobwebs too.” Ron commented.
“You can’t possibly spot that in the darkness.”
Ron shuddered. “If there are spiders inside, I really don’t think you should even consider this, ‘Mione.”
“Spiders are the least of a worry, Ron.” Ginny said. “She needs to know if this place could even make a profit. What’s the inventory like, and what are the footfalls past this place every day?”
“Probably loads. There’s a bakery down the street, and a quill shop just two doors down.” Hermione gladly provided without looking away from the shop’s interior. “This place shouldn’t be too shabby.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, “But then why is it being sold if business is flourishing?”
“Perhaps the owner is too elderly to keep up with the business, or is moving away?” Hermione guessed.
“Or maybe the owner finds this boring and wants to just get rid of it.”
“That’s not possible if he or she is seeking to sell the place to a book-lover only.”
“Or the owner is running from the Muggle mafia.” Hermione snorted at Ginny’s random thought. The Harpies’ Chaser shrugged. “Always a possibility. Or the owner had just committed a homicide and is trying to escape the authorities.”
“Did you watch too much of Muggle telly lately?” Harry chuckled.
“Whatever reason that the owner has for selling this brilliant establishment of exciting imaginations and wonders, I’m still sure that this is where I can see myself in the next ten years and more.” Hermione elatedly said as she made a small twirl of delight. She was already grinning from ear to ear. Catching sight of Harry’s furrow of eyebrows, Hermione grabbed hold of his arms and pulled him out to the street with her. “Come on, Harry – look at it.” She gesticulated to the shop with both hands. “Tell me this is not where you’d imagine I spend my hours in.”
Her best friend shot her a resigned smile and she knew she had made her winning point.
“Books! Loads of them – where I could curate, catalogue and share them with people who’d equally treasure them too.” She giddily added with a trail of gaiety.
“Are you sure this is what your heart wants, Hermione?”
“Absolutely.” She affirmed.
Ginny clasped her hands together with a bright smile. “That settles it. Shall we come back in the morning and negotiate the price?”
“This is amazing! I wouldn’t have to go back to my healing profession and I don’t need to heal anyone again. I don’t–”
Hermione’s sentence was abruptly interrupted by a loud smack that closely resounded of bones against bones, and followed by a dull hiss of explicit pain.
“Shite. Granger!”
“I reckon you may want to reconsider that thought about not having to heal anyone ever again.” Ron awkwardly shifted on his feet.
“Because you may have just broken Draco Malfoy’s nose with your knuckles.” Ginny helpfully supplied as Hermione stared in horror at the blood that was beginning to drip from their former Slytherin schoolmate’s nose.