Chapter Text
The flat was perfectly Muggle. Hermione thought with pride that every piece of it was carefully crafted to hide the little magic inside.
A small TV sat in the sun-drenched living room for watching movies, and a mobile phone was plugged in beside the bed. The low hum of the electric light and the dishwasher’s whirl filled the air during the wash cycle.
And yet, Hermione’s Muggle friends could have sworn the pictures on her mantel were different every time they saw them. It was as if the picture couldn’t quite decide how Hermione felt about her past.
Sometimes, when they visited her, one of the pictures showed Hermione grinning ear to ear between the two boys, one a redhead and the other with dark curls. Other times, the boys stood side by side while Hermione pulled them close, a smile on her face that didn’t seem to reach her eyes, well-practised and well-worn. More than once, her friends had laughed that the place seemed far larger on the inside than it appeared from the street.
One of the few things truly magical was the wand tucked away in Hermione’s bedside table, kept there, she told herself, just as a precaution.
Her mobile phone chimed, and she picked it up to find a message from Monica, her cousin and bride-to-be.
Monica: Are you at the hotel yet ??????
Hermione: I'm almost there.
Monica : ETA
Hermione: I say about ten minutes.
From the kitchen table, Hermione’s gaze drifted to the refrigerator, where an invitation was taped up on cream card stock, thick and expensive, Monica’s looping script announcing tomorrow was the big day.
Hermione rechecked the time, careful not to look too closely at the names printed in gold. Careful not to think of who else could be there tomorrow.
She did a last walk-through of her apartment and plucked her wand from its resting place in her bedside table. The wand felt heavier than it should have; an old instinct tightened her grip on it. She had been living in the Muggle world for a long time, but some old war habits, learned young and learned hard, alongside people she no longer spoke to. Those. She had come to realise she had never truly left.
This was a Muggle hen do, but taking the wand would make things far easier for her in the long run, she thought. She grabbed her worn-out beaded bag and twirled on the spot and vanished with a pop.
She landed in an alley a short distance away from the hotel. She gave herself a little shake, working through the familiar tightness that Apparition always left behind. She made quick work of cataloguing the doorways, windows, and blind corners.
She sighed with relief; no one had seen her or heard the telltale pop.
Inside the hotel was all warmth and motion, voices overlapping, glasses clinking, music humming just beneath the chatter. Monica spotted her immediately and waved wildly. Relief flashed across her face.
“I am so glad that you’re here,” Monica said, the words tumbling out in one breath. “Everything is a disaster, Mum. Dad’s plane has been delayed; they aren’t arriving until midnight tomorrow .”
“She swallowed. I don’t know what to do, Hermies.”
It was the nickname Monica had used since they were children; she had earned it long ago in her cousin’s backyard. Hearing it now loosened something in her chest.
“It’s going to be okay, Mon Mon,” she said, hoping the use of her nickname would have the same effect.
Monica took a deep breath, shoulder easing. It worked,
Hermione smiled. She could handle this. She was always handling things.
“What airline?” Hermione
“British Airways”
Hermione was already dialling before Monica could process what was happening.
“ What is the booking reference number?” Hermione asked, covering the phone receiver.
Monica blinked. Let me check. She fumbled with the phone in her hand, fingers trembling slightly, her tongue poking out of her mouth in concentration. “LHG8796 Mum booked.”
“Perfect,” Hermione said as she connected to the customer service line.
The British Airways customer service team answered in a bright voice.
“Hello, Hermione, said Calmly, “I ‘am calling about booking reference LHG8796. Two passengers. Their connecting flights have been delayed.”
She listened, nodding once
“Yes, I understand. What alternatives are available that still get them into London tonight? They have to be here for their daughter’s wedding.”
Monica hovered, watching Hermione with a stunned look on her face.
Frankfurt? Hermione repeated in forty minutes. Two seats,” she glanced at Monica’s Economy Fine?
Monica nodded rapidly.
“Yes,” Hermione said. “We’ll take that”. She covered the mouthpiece and said, “Call your mum, and tell her she needs to get to gate 387 now.”
The noise of the lobby rushed back in all at once, laughter and music filled the air, and someone shrieked Hermione’s name from across the room.
Hermione ended the call and turned just in time to see Monica staring at her.
“I really thought that everything was falling apart,” Monica said, laughter bubbled out of her; she pressed her hand to her mouth. “I love you, and you are the Best Maid of Honor/cousin a girl could ask for.
Hermione smiled, warm and steady.
“It’s very easy to love you, Mon Mon,” said Hermione.
Monica barely had time to breathe before the group descended.
“There you both are !” Alice said
“Honestly, Hermione, we were taking bets on whether you showed up with a colour-coded binder .” Said Jess
“Check your email.”
Laughter broke out as someone slung an arm around Hermione’s shoulder, pushing a cold flute of champagne in her hand.
“Drink up, you’re already two shots behind,” said Poppy in a sing-song voice, smiling as she tipped the flute up into Hermione’s mouth.
“I’m drinking, see,” Hermione said, a smile stretched across her face. Her shoulder relaxed, and she drained the glass in one gulp.
A cheer rippled through the women, slightly too loud in the hotel lobby, as several onlookers turned to watch the women in their glee.
Hermione placed her glass on the bar and checked her watch, “5 O’clock on the dot,” she said to the gaggle of women with her. Now it’s time to start getting ready. She looped her arm with Poppy and guided her and the others to the elevator.
She caught a glance of herself and her friends, all bright and excited, precisely as she should be. Tomorrow was all about Monica and her happiness. Tomorrow would be a celebration. She forbade herself from thinking about anyone else.