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Hermione landed in the atrium of the British Ministry of Magic, exhausted and hungry. The journey had been quick, but Portkey travel always made her feel queasy. She would have preferred to take the Eurostar, but in the interest of time, she had opted for a quicker, though much less comfortable, travelling method.
She was back in London to attend the British Ministry’s spring charity gala as an ambassador for the French Ministry, her status connections with England making her the best candidate to advocate for a joint project between the two countries. Hermione despised kissing up to wealthy, uppity purebloods, many of whom were still stuck in their ways even after two wars in less than thirty years, but even she couldn’t deny the opportunity to see her friends.
Harry and Daphne were waiting for her when she arrived. “Did you have a good trip?” Daphne asked, embracing Hermione. “It’s nearly dinnertime; you must be famished.”
“I could eat,” Hermione admitted. “I had to wrap some things up at work before I left, so I missed lunch.”
“You should really take better care of yourself,” Harry admonished, giving Hermione a hug of his own. “I can’t pop into your office to remind you anymore.”
Hermione chuckled. “You’ll just have to transfer to France, then. I’m sure Daphne wouldn’t mind too much.”
“You know me too well.” Daphne grinned. “Let’s go home. Kreacher’s likely nearly finished with dinner.”
~
The trio caught up around the dining table when they reached Grimmauld Place. Kreacher served them fresh salads and lemony pasta, and Hermione regaled them with the goings-on at the French Ministry and her work as a curse-breaker. As she savoured her pasta and conversed with her friends, she realised she’d missed this sense of community. She hadn’t received many visitors down in France; Harry and Daphne had visited more than once, and she met with Ron and Padma once for lunch when they were in Paris on holiday, but the visits were few and far between.
Despite this, written correspondence had been nothing short of abundant, and Hermione filled much of her downtime with writing letters. She wrote regularly to Luna, whose letters seemed to come from a different city or country every time. She wrote to Neville about his plants and sent Pansy Muggle fashion magazines. She wrote to Harry and Ron, of course, although they turned into letters to Daphne and Padma more often than not due to the lack of downtime Auror work afforded the men.
And she wrote to Theo Nott, whom she had secretly been in love with since eighth year.
It wasn’t a secret from everyone—in fact, the man in question was included in the short list of people who knew. But she knew it could never work, and had tried to quell the feeling numerous times, the squeezing of her heart that happened every time a grey envelope appeared in her postbox. She’d tried going out with different men, although only two ever made it past a first date. She’d tried picking up new hobbies. She’d even tried to stop writing to him for a while. But nothing worked, and now she was hopelessly gone.
“You’ll have to show me the gown you brought for the gala,” Daphne commented.
“Certainly,” Hermione replied, “although you’ve seen this dress before. I haven’t purchased anything new in quite a while.”
Daphne hummed. “Maybe you can borrow something of mine. We can take a look after we finish here.”
“Are you excited for the gala tomorrow?” Harry asked. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy seeing everyone, at the very least.”
Hermione nodded. “I heard even Luna is going to be there. The last time I heard, she was in Chile studying the difference between European nogtails and South American nogtails.”
“She is! And I believe Rolf will be there as well,” Daphne said. “And I believe Neville is anxious to speak to her as well.” She grinned. “Pansy has been complaining constantly about how much he’s been going on about all these South American plants, but I think she secretly loves it.”
Hermione shook her head fondly. “Classic Neville.” She scraped her plate, picking up the last few bits of pasta. “Once you’re finished, Daphne, we can go upstairs.”
“Don’t forget we have dessert,” Harry reminded the two witches. “Kreacher’s made pie.”
~
Once upstairs in her bedroom, Hermione pulled her gala dress out of her suitcase. It was one she’d worn before, but she hadn’t felt like purchasing a new one just for the occasion. It had been a few years, after all—very few people, if anyone, would recognise it.
Unfortunately for her, Daphne was one of those people. “Didn’t you wear this to the last spring gala you attended?”
“Well, yes, but that was two years ago!” Hermione said, slightly defensive. “I didn’t think anyone would care that much.”
“I care, and that’s what matters.” Daphne’s expression turned thoughtful. “But don’t worry, I’ll find something for you that will be absolutely perfect.” With that, she left Hermione’s room and crossed the hall to her and Harry’s, on a mission Hermione had no power to stop. Heaving an exasperating but affectionate sigh, she made herself busy tidying the room and setting it up for the evening while she waited for her friend to come back.
“I have the perfect thing for you!” Daphne burst into the bedroom several minutes later, a mass of fabric draped over her arm.
Hermione startled, having been digging through her bag for her pyjamas. “What’s all this?”
“I pulled a couple of dresses from my closet,” Daphne said. “I know you don’t mind rewearing the gown you brought, but I thought you would appreciate something new.” She gave the curly-haired witch a pointed look. “Especially since you wore this to the last gala and Rita Skeeter is bound to notice.”
The warning about the conniving Daily Prophet reporter won Hermione over. “Alright, you’ve convinced me,” she sighed. “Hand them over.”
The first gown was a deep blue, reminding Hermione of the North Sea. The neckline dipped into a deep V, with the bodice tapering into thin straps. The dress sparkled from top to bottom, and the thin detailing on the bodice and around the bottom of the A-line skirt reminded her of a forest.
The second dress was drastically different. It was much simpler than the blue gown, with no extra detailing or sparkles, but the satin fabric was pulled tight on the left side, creating folds in both the skirt and the bodice all the way up the single shoulder. The champagne colour emulated the bubbly drink it was named for, and as Hermione held the gown up to herself, a slit in the side caused the skirt to open up.
The women met each other’s eyes, and they both nodded decisively.
“This is it,” Daphne exclaimed. “Go try it on!”
As suspected, the dress was gorgeous on her, and Hermione was thrilled. She stepped out of the lavatory, and the look on Daphne’s face showed her agreement. “I might just give this one to you,” she said. “It looks so much better on you than me.” She took the blue dress back. “Tomorrow is going to be such a good day.”
Hermione laughed. “It’s so nice to have more girl friends. If I asked Harry or Ron, they’d tell me to wear whatever I thought was better. It’s not my own opinion I’m after!”
“I’m happy to offer my opinion. You forget I spent many of my summers in France. And—” Daphne tilted her head back toward the stairs, where her husband was setting up board games in the living room. “—you forget I’m not Harry. I love him, but his observational skills when it comes to clothing are severely lacking.” She huffed. “When I was young, I dreamed of marrying an elegant Frenchman with impeccable fashion taste. Alas, here I am with a Brit who would wear his clothing until it turned to rags if I let him.”
“You complement each other,” Hermione said. “You balance each other out so well it’s almost scary.”
Daphne chuckled. “I’ve been told more than once. And anyway, I wouldn’t change it for anything.” She sighed, staring off into the distance.
“Okay, lovebird,” Hermione teased. “Let me change, and I’ll meet you downstairs!”
~
Hermione heard a knock on her bedroom door just as she was finishing her hair. “Come in!” she called, securing the last few pins in her hair. “Does this look okay?” She turned her head side to side, fussing with her curls.
Daphne stepped in, hair and makeup finished, but still carrying her gown over her arm. “I thought it would be nice to finish up together,” she said. “We haven’t had much girl time yet, and you’re leaving so soon after!” She stepped behind the former Gryffindor, smoothing down a few flyaways. “Your hair looks wonderful.”
“Thank you.” And I know,” Hermione replied, “but the cogs of the Ministry keep turning, and they’re expecting to hear about my results from the gala by Tuesday.”
Daphne huffed lightly. “Oh, I forgot you’ll have to kiss up to all those stuffy old men while we’re there.”
“Part of the job, I suppose.” Hermione shrugged. “It’s the reason I’m here, after all.”
Daphne pouted, then brightened suddenly. “On the other hand, you’ll be able to see everyone you want to see.” She smirked. “Especially that one person…”
The brunette blushed, fidgeting with her hands. “Hey, now. I’m equally excited to see everyone.”
“Please. Let me assure you that Theo is looking forward to this gala just as much. Perhaps even more.”
Hermione wasn’t surprised that Daphne knew just who ‘that one person’ was. “I didn’t even know he was attending until Harry mentioned him when he was telling me who was going to be there.”
Daphne took the other witch’s hands in hers. “Trust me,” she said, looking into the other witch’s eyes. “Theo is so in love with you, I think he would up and move to France if you let him. A gala is nothing.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. She wondered whether she should tell her friend what had transpired at the end of eighth year between her and Theo. “Has he said anything?” she asked carefully.
“Not directly,” Daphne admitted, “but you two have been dancing around each other for years. Years!” The blonde witch sighed dramatically. “Best to just tell each other you’re hopelessly in love and call it a night.”
Hermione snorted. “Easier said than done.”
“It’s the perfect night to say something. I’ll support you either way, but I just know you’ll both be happier if this miscommunication—or rather, lack of communication—ends once and for all.”
“I’ll think about it.” Hermione stared out toward the window for a moment, contemplating, before focusing again on the task at hand. “Shall we finish getting ready?”
The witches pulled on their gowns, Hermione in the one Daphne had picked out for her the previous night, and Daphne herself in a dark teal gown with whimsical swirl detailing on the bodice and straps.
“Now, for shoes and jewellery…” Hermione pulled out her jewellery pouch and spread the pieces out on the vanity. Her hand hovered over a gold chain with a ruby pendant, but then she thought about what Daphne had said about Theo.
I think he would up and move to France if you let him.
She placed the ruby necklace back in the pouch and picked up a different one. The pale gold chain nearly matched the colour of her dress, and the solitary blue sapphire complemented it perfectly.
She recalled the last Hogsmeade weekend of their eighth year at Hogwarts. She and Theo had been spending more and more time together in the library and even outside of studies, and they both knew that feelings deeper than friendship were developing. He’d given her the very necklace she was considering, late at night just before curfew. I know you’re off to France after school, he’d said, and while this means exactly what you think it does, I don’t want you to feel obligated to say anything or do anything. I’d like you to have it either way, even if you never wear it.
Hermione had accepted it, but she knew it couldn’t last. Theo had accepted a position with the Department of Mysteries not too long before, and she didn’t want him to give it up for her. The feeling is mutual, she’d replied, but I don’t want you to feel tied to someone living hundreds of kilometres away.
She hadn’t kissed him, afraid that if she had, she wouldn’t be able to let him go.
She recalled the day she left for France, not long after graduating from her eighth year at Hogwarts. She had been doing a last once-over of her flat, making sure she didn’t leave anything behind, when she heard a tap at the window. A barn owl sat on the sill, a letter clutched in its claws. Hermione accepted it and gave the owl a treat, but it left soon after, not waiting for a response. She opened the envelope.
It’s going to be a strange adjustment, going from seeing you nearly every day to not at all, the letter said in familiar handwriting. Write to me from Paris. Miss you already. – Theo
Hermione picked up the sapphire necklace and put it on. Matching earrings completed the look, and when they headed out to the top of the staircase, Harry was waiting at the bottom.
“You both look beautiful,” he said. He hugged Hermione and kissed Daphne’s cheek, careful to avoid her freshly applied lipstick. “Ready to go?”
~
The trio arrived to see a full ballroom bustling with activity. A string quartet was performing a lively rendition of Vivaldi’s “Spring” in one corner of the room, while a long table of hors d’oeuveres and various desserts lined the far wall. Floating trays weaved through guests, balancing flutes of champagne and glasses of port without spilling a drop.
Hermione spied Luna and Rolf near a chocolate fountain and pointed them out to Harry and Daphne. “I believe I see Ron and Padma as well,” she added. “I’m going to get my work duties out of the way, and I’ll join you after. Save me a lemon bar!” Then she slipped away to take care of her Ministry obligations.
When she reached her self-imposed goal for people spoken to, Hermione plucked a glass of champagne from a tray and made her way over to Luna and Rolf. “How are your studies faring?” she asked the former Ravenclaw.
“Very well,” Luna replied. “It’s fascinating to observe the behavioural differences between creatures that were once the same species.”
“How are you finding Chile?”
“It’s beautiful!” Luna’s expression brightened. “The mountains are stunning. And I’m discovering so many new creatures!”
“We recently saw a wild chupacabra for the first time,” Rolf added.
“How is Paris treating you?” Luna asked. “Is curse-breaking keeping you busy, or are you able to explore and have some fun?”
The three of them caught up as they people-watched, sipping their drinks and snacking on hors d’oeuvres from passing trays. Ron and Padma appeared at one point, taking a break from dancing.
“Good to see you, ‘Mione,” Ron said jovially, giving her a hug. “Mum and Dad say hullo.”
“Well, tell them I say hello back,” Hermione replied, hugging him back. “How has the shop been?”
“Not too shabby.” Ron snagged a crostini from a tray. “George has been creating some smashing new products lately. They won’t be ready to sell for a bit, but I’ve been trying to help him as much as I can between Auror duties.”
“Your necklace is lovely, Hermione,” Padma commented. “Where did you get it?”
Hermione fingered the pendant nervously. “I’m not quite sure anymore,” she said evasively. “It was a few years ago already, I believe.”
Padma seemed to accept this answer, but Luna smiled at her with a knowing look. “It’s very pretty,” she agreed. “Sapphire has many protective powers.”
“That it does.” Hermione looked around the ballroom. “I think I’m going to find myself a lemon tart. I told Harry and Daphne to save me one, but I haven’t seen them since we arrived.” She waved to the group and made her way across the room to the dessert table.
As she finished her lemon tart and watched the party go on, Hermione saw Theo speaking to Daphne, Harry, Draco, and Astoria near the orchestra. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he looked over, eyes widening as he registered her presence. She smiled, tilting her head in greeting. He made his way over, and Hermione couldn’t help but notice how much he’d grown into himself over the past two years.
“You look beautiful,” he said in greeting. “This dress suits you.” He glanced down, and Hermione caught the moment his eyes landed on her necklace, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Is that…?”
She nodded, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I hope it wasn’t too presumptuous of me.”
Theo’s eyes softened. “I never dared to hope… but I’ve never forgotten. Those days in the library were my saving grace. You were my saving grace.” His hands found hers, lacing their fingers together.
Hermione squeezed lightly. “I wasn’t sure if you would still be here. I thought maybe you might have moved on.”
The former Slytherin shook his head. “I don’t think I could have if I tried.” He sighed, thumbs stroking her hands gently. “I’ve thought a lot about it over the years. Things I could have done so we wouldn’t have had to leave each other the way we did. But no matter. We’re here now.”
They stood together, staring at each other until a voice piped up from near the treacle tarts. “Oi, lovebirds! You just going to stand there with stars in your eyes, or are you gonna get a room?”
“Sod off, Ron,” Hermione shot back without even bothering to look at her friend. She huffed out a laugh. “So, what happens next?”
“I certainly don’t intend to let you go,” Theo said, determined. “We’ll figure it out.” He paused. “France has a Department of Mysteries. I’ll move to you if that’s what it takes.”
I think he would up and move to France if you let him.
Hermione choked out a half-laugh, half-sob. “Daphne said you would do that for me.”
“Whatever it takes,” the wizard replied. “It’ll take some time, but we’ve waited this long; what’s a few more months? And in the meantime, we can still write.”
She recalled Theo’s letter, the one he’d sent just before she’d left England. Write to me from Paris.
Theo drew her into an embrace, kissing her forehead. “People are starting to stare,” he murmured. “Would you… want to go somewhere else?”
“Yes.” Hermione pulled back and looked around, searching for Daphne or Harry. She caught Daphne’s eye from where she was talking to Harry near the string quartet, and gave the blonde witch a little wave, laughing as the witch’s expression changed from politely confused to dawning realisation.
She turned back to Theo, brushing her thumb along his cheek. “Take me home.”