Chapter Text
There’s no use going back to yesterday,
Because I was a different person then.
. . .
Hermione stirred her porridge absentmindedly, her eyes fixed on a bare patch of table beside her bowl. She had yet to bring a spoonful to her mouth. The breakfast selection at the Home was narrow, though not totally abysmal. They still had appearances to keep, and a bunch of starving, malnutritioned wards would not ensure renewed funding each year.
The Queen liked to throw crown money at social causes, particularly those suited to women, without having to step foot inside the hovels herself. Hermione was certain the funding was at least partially diverted to other interests before the residents saw any benefit. But the Powers-That-Be couldn’t allow the place to fall into complete ruins, otherwise, they’d be cut off entirely.
Still, she had no stomach for the food set out before her. She had selected a bowl of mush so she’d have something to do with her hands, giving the illusion of eating.
Her appetite was nonexistent, as it had been for the last year. She only ate when pressured, and her thin, brittle frame was showing the wear and tear of her poor diet. Her collarbone all but jutted out from her pale skin, nearly every rib visible around her middle. She wore high collars and extra layering to hide the evidence of her slow disintegration.
Truth be told, she couldn't care less about her appearance these days. And it seemed right that her outside match her inside. Broken and scarred.
It was strange to think back to who she once was such a short time ago. The silk dresses, the glittering gems, the painstaking hours of prep before she’d dare step foot outside. Her mother would spend all morning twisting her curls into lavish displays, strategically placing pearl-tipped pins throughout, giggling alongside her daughter as the thick tendrils refused to stay in place for more than a few seconds.
Thinking of her mother caused a sharp pain in her chest, a chronic ache as of late. She pressed a hand to the spot in silent acknowledgment of her grief, but quickly lowered it as someone slid onto the bench beside her.
She didn’t have to spare an upward glance to know who had joined her, the smell of gardenias greeting her before the white-blonde plait became visible in her peripheral vision.
“Good morning, Hermione.”
“Good morning, Luna. You’ve been tending the garden?”
The young woman smiled, her expression lit by genuine serenity. “You're very observant. Or did Lauma tell you?”
Hermione couldn’t help but smirk. “No, I’m afraid Lauma doesn’t speak to me.” She continued to stir her bowl. “What form did she take today?”
“A spotted magpie,” Luna said, playing idly with her plait. “She sang to me while I watered the flowers.”
Hermione glanced sidelong at her strange companion who claimed the woodland fae goddess communed with her in the form of various animals. “That’s a good sign, right? It means today will be a good day.”
Luna shrugged a delicate shoulder. “It depends on the message. She sounded a bit frantic. I think she was trying to warn me.”
A sudden chill permeated Hermione’s bones. She set her spoon aside, turning to face her companion. “Warn you about what?”
Luna reached for a piece of burnt toast without a care in the world. “I don’t know, I had trouble understanding her. Something in the air is affecting my aura.”
“The air? Like smog?”
“No.” Luna slid the butter dish closer. “Nothing you can see. Something you can feel.” Her large blue eyes found Hermione. “You can feel it, too. I can tell.”
Hermione shook her head, keen on asking more, when a new voice interrupted their conversation.
“Loony Lovegood, covered in filth before breakfast is through. Sleeping in the stables again?”
Hermione glared at their uninvited guest standing behind them. “What’s your problem, Marietta?”
The young woman smiled with malevolent glee. “My problem, Granger, is Loony’s stench. Or maybe it’s you I’m smelling from across the room?”
“Luna smells like the garden and I practically bathed in rose oil this morning. I know your capacity for original thought is limited, but try to be more creative.” Hermione faced back around, not willing to give the petulant girl another moment of her time.
“You stupid bunter! Think you’re so much better than everyone here because you grew up on the Westside? Well, now you’re stuck in the East End like the rest of us because no man will have you. Which makes sense, considering you’re certainly nothing to look at, so don’t think for a minute—”
“Not thinking is really more your thing, isn’t it Edgecomb?” Came a new voice.
“As is deterring members of the opposite sex with your ghastly face.” Came a second.
Lavender and Parvati appeared, flanking the angry girl from behind, exchanging smirks with each other as they crossed to the table and sat opposite Hermione and Luna.
“You— you— dumb whores—”
“It’s alright, Rhetta, if there are men desperate enough to pay for it, there’s gotta be someone willing to stick it to you for free.”
“Lavender!” Hermione hissed. “Not at the breakfast table!”
Her roommate laughed, reaching for a piece of toast without a hint of shame. “Oh please, it’s not like I told her to wear a bag over her head—”
“That’s enough!” Hermione glanced around, looking for Umbridge as Marietta burned bright red, sputtering in outrage and humiliation.
“It’s really just your complexion, luv,” Parvati said, her voice dripping in faux sympathy. “Men mistake your face for your arse and get all confused.”
Lavender choked on her bite, spitting crumbs across the table. Hermione shook her head, spotting their Matron at the head of the room, her beady eyes narrowed on the gathering of girls. “We’re being watched.”
All five heads swiveled around. Marietta took a reluctant step back. “This isn’t over,” she hissed, stomping away with clenched fists and a blistering face.
“I can’t believe you said that, Parvati,” Hermione whispered. “What if she reports you to Umbridge?”
Her friend rolled her eyes. “She’d never have the nerve to repeat it because she knows it’s true.”
Hermione sighed while Lavender erupted into a fit of giggles. Luna started humming and nibbled at her crusts, seemingly oblivious to the entire exchange.
“Oh relax, Mione," Lavender offered. "Edgecomb isn’t a threat. She’s a brown-nosing little—” She stopped short, her mouth agape and her eyes glassy.
Hermione leaned forward with concern. “Lavender?”
The woman remained unresponsive, her gaze affixed to some point just beyond Hermione’s shoulder. Hermione glanced at Parvati in confusion, but found her attention similarly locked.
She spun around on the bench as the chatter within the dining hall came to a standstill. The silence was jarring, eerie, then Hermione saw what everyone was staring at and understood.
Dr. Riddle had entered the room.
For his part, he either didn’t notice or chose to ignore the profound effect his presence was having on the female population of the Home. Her money was on the latter, as the sea of teenage girls made their interest shamefully obvious.
They giggled and blushed, whispering behind their hands and batting their eyelashes coyly. Hermione felt a wave of nausea seize her, embarrassed to be in the same room as these twits.
She turned around to say as much to her roommates, only to watch them salivate all over the table.
“Oh for heaven’s sake.” They didn’t hear her, too busy tracking his every movement as he cut a confident path through the middle of the room en route to the head table.
“Strange…” Luna murmured, gaining Hermione’s attention.
“What is?” Hermione whispered, the room still unnervingly quiet.
“Your aura… it’s changed.”
Hermione blinked, spared from having to find a response by the cringe-inducing sound of their Matron clearing her throat. It sounded like kittens being drowned in a burlap sack.
Hermione imparted a lingering look of bewilderment to her bench-mate before turning to the front of the room. Umbridge stood on her little crate, making her round shape hover half a meter higher than usual. She glanced about the room with her signature glare in place, paired timelessly with her cruel smirk.
“How lovely to have everyone so attentive first thing in the morning. Perhaps I’ve been able to instill a modicum of manners into you after all.”
The Doctor came to a stop beside their Matron, turning to face the room with his hands clasped behind his back and his shoulders level, his chin up.
Despite his modelesque stature, Hermione could tell it was a natural repose for the man, not an act of preening she was accustomed to seeing young men like Cormac exhibit in female company. She tilted her head, studying him in a clinical fashion, much in the same manner he'd done to her the night before.
She hadn’t been able to fully process his appearance then, her mind frazzled and dazed. Now, safely encased within the group, she was free to inspect him at her leisure.
He was obviously quite attractive, even more so in the sunlight, which was surprising, as it normally revealed flaws. His pale skin was unblemished, carved from marble, sloping in perfect lines beneath a heavy brow. His clothing was as dark as his hair, heat-pressed and bespoke.
Everything about him was inviting, screaming refinement and money. It was no wonder the room was filled with shock and awe. It wasn’t often such a specimen was seen on this side of town, little less, within these walls. At least, not during daylight hours. Plenty of rich young men found themselves wandering the halls at night in search of female company. And many of the residents were only too happy to oblige, taken in by promises of a better life. Others simply gave in for the promise of one less lonely evening.
But Hermione wasn’t fazed by his appearance or beauty. If anything, she was put-off by both.
No stranger to high-born males who dressed like kings and treated everyone around them like squires, she'd lived alongside the elitist sphere for most of her life. Never a part of things, always an outsider looking in, painfully aware of her so-called shortcomings due to her great misfortune of being born into the wrong family. She was already classifying the Doctor among the gentry she so detested before Umbridge had even finished introducing him to the room.
She’d barely spoken to him last night, and truth be told, he'd shown great leniency in letting her go without punishment or reprimand. But she didn’t dwell on that detail. No, she couldn’t afford to think of him as anything but a person to avoid. She would form no ties with this strange man, that much was certain.
Tuning back into Umbridge's speech, she found herself sitting straighter upon learning his full name.
“I would like you all to help me in welcoming our newest member of the administration, Dr. Thomas Riddle. He joins us from St. Mungo’s Hospital where he came very highly spoken of by all his associates. We are so very honored to have him join us.”
There was an explosion of chatter, eyes gleaming and limbs fidgeting as the crowd moved as one to get a closer look.
“Ladies! Ladies, do calm down!” Umbridge yelled, looking greatly put-out. Her pleas fell on deaf ears, the ensuing chaos growing louder as residents called across the room to one another, exchanging jokes and laughing sharply.
Dr. Riddle looked mostly amused, the corner of his mouth tipping up as he glanced around the room with little interest.
Hermione glared. It was just as she'd suspected, then. Of course, Umbridge would hire someone with as little regard for the residents as herself. And if the rumor was true, no one had wanted the post to begin with, which was why it had taken so long to fill.
Needless to say, Hermione highly doubted the Doctor was all that respected in his field. It seemed far more likely he’d drawn the short straw among his colleagues.
She continued to scowl at the side of his handsome, perfect face, when his head suddenly turned and his eyes locked with hers.
She jolted, her accusing expression transforming into one of dismay as she was once again subjected to his burning gaze.
There was a sudden flash of lightning in his storm-cloud eyes, perhaps a flicker of recognition, and his air of amusement only grew. Heat flooded her chest and neck, pooling in her cheeks until he finally released her, glancing away as though nothing had happened.
She deflated with a sharp breath, unaware she’d even been holding it in.
Yes… I definitely need to stay away from that one.
“Blimey, I think he was looking at you.”
Hermione glanced across the table, fearful her head would ignite. “Pardon?”
“He was staring right at you," Parvati continued. "Probably thought you have a fever with how red you’re turning.” She smiled knowingly, making Hermione burn even hotter.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. He wasn’t looking at me.”
“Leave her alone, Parv,” Lavender smirked, twirling a long strand of hair around her finger. “If he pinned me under his stare, I’d be turning all shades of crimson.”
“If he had you pinned under—”
“Enough!” Hermione snapped, facing the front of the room with her hands folded primly on her lap. She pressed them so tightly together, her knuckles turned white.
“Quiet!” Umbridge all but screamed, her complexion turning a blotchy purple. “Act like respectable young women!” Her eyes bugged out, a vein throbbing in her forehead. It was all Hermione could do to hold in her laughter. Others weren’t so capable. Umbridge silenced them with a lethal glare. “You will all behave the way young ladies are supposed to behave, and will not embarrass me or this institution!”
The Doctor looked both humored and perturbed by the Matron’s tirade. Hermione did her best to keep her eyes off of him but found it increasingly difficult.
The crowd finally settled, silence falling across the room in a rippling wave. Umbridge gasped for breath.
“Dr. Riddle will be treated with the respect his title and position in this Home deserve. Any offense against him will be treated the same as an offense against me.” She scanned the crowd with a slitted gaze, her focus lingering on a select few charges, Lavender included. The blonde rolled her eyes, indifferent to the threat. “Once the Doctor is settled into his office, he will begin seeing patients on a case-by-case basis, starting with those who have not been to see a physician since their admittance.”
Hermione’s heart skipped.
“If this includes you, you will review the schedule posted outside the clinic door tomorrow evening. If you are late for your appointment, or try skipping it—” her eyes fell on Hermione, bright with hell flame, “I assure you, you will not enjoy the consequences.”
Hermione released a slow breath as the Matron glanced away, then felt her heart lurch anew as the Doctor's fathomless gaze turned upon her, likely taking cues from Umbridge.
Hermione stared straight ahead, remaining perfectly motionless until the feeling of being watched faded. Her fists were clenched so tightly, her nails had dented the skin of her palms. The sting of pain was soothing.
Then, as if the Matron hadn't just spent the last five minutes threatening and belittling the entire room, she smiled brightly and bounced on her crate. “Splendid! I am so looking forward to another productive day. The weather is superb, so there’s no excuse for anyone to dawdle inside the dining hall. Remember, idle hands are the devil’s playthings.”
Parvati scoffed as the room erupted into conversation. Hermione watched the Doctor extend a hand to their Matron, helping her down. Umbridge flushed, her hand lingering on his arm even after he’d released her.
Hermione glanced away sharply, staring at her congealed porridge with a heavy lump in her stomach.
“Well, the day is certainly off to an interesting start,” Lavender mused, sweeping a pile of crumbs onto the floor with a smirk. She loved creating a mess for Filch.
“You’re one lucky bint, Hermione.” Parvati grabbed a piece of toast and began ripping it to shreds, tossing the pieces over her shoulder to add to the growing mess. “You’ll get to spend some quality time with the good doctor before any of us. You have to report back, spare no detail.”
Hermione rolled her eyes at their antics. “I will do no such thing. And I certainly don’t understand the cause for such a stir. He’s a medical professional, what do the girls think is going to happen? He sees us as his patients and nothing more.”
Lavender waggled her eyebrows, leaning in closer. “Obviously, you don’t know why the last doc got chucked.”
Hermione found herself leaning forward as well. “What do you mean?”
“He was a bad man," a soft voice spoke.
Hermione jumped, nearly having forgotten Luna was seated beside her. The simple but loaded declaration made goosebumps erupt along her arms.
“What did he do?” Hermione asked.
“Let’s just say he adhered to the medical half of his job title a bit more closely than the professional part,” Parvati replied with disinterest, glancing around the room.
Hermione’s mind reeled. “Are you saying he was inappropriate with the residents?”
“If that’s the genteel way of saying he knocked boots with ‘em, then yes.” Lavender looked far too amused by the subject matter they were discussing.
Hermione blanched, at a loss for what to say. She couldn't think through the sudden emotion that seized her. How could such a thing happen? This was meant to be a safe haven for young women, refuge for the orphaned and destitute. The mere notion that someone charged with providing protection and care could abuse them in such a way was beyond terrifying.
She glanced over her shoulder at where the Doctor had last stood, but he was already gone.
Hermione pushed open the glass inlaid door, the overhead bell ringing throughout the small Apothecary.
“You’re late.”
She fought back a sigh. “I was detained by Madam Umbridge. She extended the shopping list, we have a new physician on staff and the medical pantry needs restocking.”
“I’m aware. Now, stop wasting my time any further and hand it to me.”
Hermione crossed the wood slat floor and did as requested, barely phased by Snape’s ire. She was used to it after three months of regular visits.
It was unheard of for Umbridge to entrust one of the residents with the important task of procuring medical supplies for the Home. Apparently, Filch had been assigned the errand previously. But Hermione’s existing knowledge of medicine and chemistry made her a more viable candidate for the task, resulting in this pleasant afternoon excursion.
Of course, Umbridge went through the shopping basket with a narrowed eye upon Hermione's return each time, no doubt paranoid her charge was pocketing substances for herself.
Hermione found it mildly irritating but didn’t take great offense, well aware of how much she could earn by selling tonics to the residents or on the street. Lavender had already tried to convince her to do so more than once before Parvati finally convinced the woman to let the matter rest.
And as much biting sarcasm as Snape drenched Hermione with during her visits, she knew he preferred her to Filch’s company any day of the week. The Chemist often tossed out random questions to challenge her, looking annoyed when she answered correctly, but also, somewhat pleased. She imagined he considered the majority of his customer base to be idiots, making her visits a welcome reprieve in his day.
She watched his black eyes scan the parchment, flickering back and forth rapidly before he set the list on the counter and disappeared between the aisles.
She heard him rummaging, the tinkering of glass, and saw flashes of his thin, ghostly frame between the shelves.
“May I help?” she asked, already aware of what his answer would be. Alas, she enjoyed poking the bear with a stick; she had so few outlets for entertainment these days.
“The only help you could provide is acting as a human door jamb.”
She rolled her eyes. “I was going to suggest substituting the laudanum with soothing syrups. Both are addictive, but the girls won’t be as familiar with the latter, and therefore, less likely to abuse them.”
“Seeing as I’m not a complete imbecile, I’ve already made the alteration.”
She folded her hands behind her back, glancing around the shop with a gleam in her eyes as she paced between the display cases. She didn’t notice Snape watching her through the shelves, raising his brow.
“You seem restless today, Ms. Granger. List the humoural temperaments.”
She straightened, a thrill racing down her spine. “Sanguine, choleric, melancholic, and phlegmatic, if you’re basing it on classical theory. If you lean towards Kant’s argument, then of course phlegmatic is merely the absence of temperament. Unless you adhere to the five temperamental theory, in which case, the latter is deemed neutral, whereas relationship-oriented introverts are regarded as the fifth classification.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up a fraction before his expression pinched into a signature scowl. “There, you got to show off. Now, stop wearing a hole into my floor.”
She sighed, coming to a standstill. “The pedlar’s back. I saw him at the corner of Browning on my way here.”
“I’m aware.”
She frowned at the scorn in his voice. “Why hasn’t he been arrested yet? He’s selling snake oil and patents, at least one death has been linked directly to a tonic from his wagon.”
“The authorities rarely put the focus where it is most needed, surely, you of all people are aware of that fact.”
She averted her eyes to the floor, unable to shake the dark cloud hovering above her since last night. She was pulled from her melancholy by Snape’s bored drawl.
“I find it fascinating you have such concern for the welfare of Fletcher’s clients, and so little for your own.”
She glanced up, watching him move from one aisle to the next like a graceful bird of prey, his deft fingers grabbing up bottles, boxes, and pouches, adding them to the ever-growing pile.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You’ve lost half a stone since you last deemed to grace me with your incessant presence.”
She feigned fascination with a display case, doing nothing to deter him.
“And here I thought you had some common sense about you. Surely, you’re aware daily sustenance is needed for the body’s vital functions to continue operating?”
“Last Spring, a man survived for twenty-two days on a boat without food,” she recited.
“What a useful piece of information.”
She glanced at her feet with a flush. Snape was silent for a while, the only sounds in the shop comprised of his swift footsteps as he navigated his inventory. Then, he spoke again, his voice laced with disinterest, “You should try to survive until Parliament reconvenes. Gurney is bringing forth an interesting proposal.”
Her head snapped up, her embarrassment quickly forgotten in wake of her budding excitement. She stepped around the shelf but only caught a glimpse of his dark coat tails as he darted to another corner.
“They’re voting on the Medical Act?” she asked. Her access to political news was limited to snippets she overheard in the street or read in stray newspapers abandoned on the pavement.
“Indeed.”
“Do you think it will pass?” She continued to search for him between the stacks but he was like a human shadow, jumping from one place to the next as quickly as light traveled.
“The Queen is certainly against it, but Gurney has a long record of overcoming great obstacles. He managed to get the Property Act through, after all.”
She inhaled deeply. The implications were life-changing. For the first time in a long time, she dared to feel hope. Her heart was light and fragile as glass in her chest, one touch, and it would shatter to pieces.
Snape appeared before her as though materializing from thin air.
She reared back, tipped off-balance. He grimaced as she steadied herself against the wall, nearly crashing headlong into a cough-suppressant display.
“Another symptom of starvation is lightheadedness.”
She blinked twice. “I didn’t— I mean, you—” she shook her head, falling silent as he passed her by swiftly with a loaded basket in hand.
“I will add these to the Home account," he clipped. "Tell me, do you enjoy performing sums as much as hearing yourself speak?”
She watched him pull a ledger out from beneath the counter, writing fast and furious across its page.
“I find myself in need of part-time assistance," he continued. "I would put a sign out front, but I shudder to think of the vermin it will attract.” Her heart lurched as he continued to write, speaking as though he was bored out of his mind. “I need someone to take inventory, restock shelves, and conduct rudimentary sales on occasion. And while I’d prefer a deaf-mute, I doubt I’ll be able to find one on such short notice. If I’m forced to settle, I suppose you’re as adequate as anyone else. I don’t suppose you’d be interested in the position?”
She nodded quickly. “I— yes, of course, that is, I would be honored to— if, if you needed the help—”
“Bloody hell.” He glanced up sharply, his eyes narrowed. “I already regret asking.”
She couldn't help the smile from overtaking her face, causing his scowl to deepen. “Yes! I would love to assist you—” she stopped short, her excitement curdling. “But I don’t think Madam Umbridge would allow it.”
His expression flickered, true malevolence overtaking his face for the briefest moment, there and gone so quickly, she wasn’t certain if she'd imagined it or not.
“I will speak to her,” he said, his gaze returning to the ledger. “Your skills are wasted as a simple errand girl.”
She blinked, wondering if she'd misheard him even as warmth permeated her chest. The comment was high praise coming from Snape. And it had been so long since she’d heard such commending words regarding her intellect, it shook her to the core.
He raised a brow, his eyes still focused on the parchment. “Don’t get a big head. It will look obscenely out of place on that skeletal body.”
Ah. That was more like it. Still, she felt dizzy with excitement, drunk with hope, the dark cloud breaking apart and light peaking through.
And for just a moment, she felt the old Hermione stir beneath the surface.
She was so excited about her potential new position at the Apothecary, she'd nearly forgotten about her second mission of the day.
She was supposed to head straight back to the Home with the supplies, of course, but she knew escaping the oppressive walls of her sanctuary would be all but impossible once she returned. And she had something vitally important to do, no matter the consequences.
Studying her reflection in the windowpane, she tried not to cringe. Her appearance was ghastly. And while she normally didn’t give two figs about such trivialities, she knew the person meeting her inside would have a strong opinion on the matter.
She sighed, doing her best to tuck her fallen curls away. She hadn't spent nearly the time she should have twisting them up this morning. It was only a matter of time before the entire mess came crashing down around her.
Alas, she couldn’t delay any longer. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside the bustling cafe.
Luckily, they were meeting at a halfway point, and, therefore, she only received a fraction of the sidelong glances she'd be subjected to in a fancier establishment.
She stood on her tiptoes, peering around the tops of diner's heads in search of the familiar shock of black hair.
“Mione! Over here!”
Her heart leaped as she spun, grinning widely at the familiar face. “Harry!”
He stood from his chair as she approached, weaving between tables with the apothecary basket in hand. He stepped forward, unable to wait any longer, and seized her in a hug.
She laughed, wrapping her free arm around him while he breathed into her hair, “Christ, I’ve missed you.”
She felt tears well in her eyes at the simple admission. “I’ve missed you, too.”
He released her slowly. They gazed at each other, oblivious to the curious stares they received from neighboring patrons.
Her bedraggled appearance may not cause a stir in and of itself, but a man and woman embracing so openly in public was certain to garner a scandal. No doubt, the onlookers were curious to see how much further the couple took it.
But Hermione was used to strangers drawing assumptions about her and her best friend, both of them having given up explaining their bond years ago. Harry had been a central part of her life since childhood, and she wouldn't feel any measure of shame for loving him.
“You look dashing,” she said with a grin, admiring his tanned complexion and bright emerald gaze.
He flashed a dazzling smile, dimples capping either end. “Stop that. You look—” he paused, finally seeing her properly. His smile fell. “Mione, what’s happened?”
She stepped around him for the table, eager to sit and block her thin frame from view. “Nothing’s happened. Let’s sit and order, I’m starving.”
She cringed, regretting the turn of phrase as soon as it left her lips. She kept her gaze averted to the basket as she set it beside her feet.
“Obviously," he replied. "Have they not been feeding you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just busy—”
“Too busy to take care of yourself?” He slid into the chair across from her with narrowed eyes.
“Harry, please, let’s not do this right now—”
“Then when? I haven’t seen you in over two months and you look like you—”
He inhaled sharply, shaking his head. Now, it was her turn to glare.
“And I look like I what, Harry? Say it.”
“Nevermind.”
“No, you obviously want to talk about it, so let’s talk about it. What do I look like?”
“I don’t want to fight," he relented.
She exhaled. “Neither do I.”
He handed her a menu before opening his. “If you want, we can go 'round back and I’ll let you punch me square in the mouth.”
“That sounds splendid.” Her eyes roamed the page without reading anything. She glanced over the top. “How was the Mediterranean? You look like Apollo come to life.”
He laughed shortly. “I don’t know about that. But it was breathtaking. I have to take you to the islands. You’ve never seen water so blue, the way it sparkles like topaz under the sun.”
She smiled, happy to see him talk so animatedly about something again. He was normally in high spirits, always finding the bright side to any situation. She'd been equal parts broken-hearted and thrilled when he'd followed in his godfather’s footsteps and enlisted.
“And the ship? Is it really mastless?” she asked.
“Yes, the very first of her kind. She has a twin that's about to be sea-bound as well. The Devastation class, or so they're calling it.” His eyes lit up when he described the ironclad warships, but she felt a stone sink to the pit of her stomach.
“Do you man the gun turret?”
He shook his head with a sigh. “I’m not senior enough for that. At least, not yet. But Sirius thinks I’ll be ready in another year. I’m focused on weaponry now, but still in training.”
“I hate the thought of you on a 13,000-ton weapon in the middle of the ocean.”
“If I’m going to be in the middle of the ocean, better to be on a massive floating weapon.” She rolled her eyes. He laughed. “Relax, Mione. No one is going to mess with our ship, not when they know the firepower we have. I was in more danger on the previous routes I sailed.”
“Don’t remind me.”
He scanned her face. “Enough about me. How are you?”
She lifted her menu, focusing on the appetizers.
“That bad, huh?" he asked.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly.”
She swallowed tentatively. “Harry—”
“I don’t understand why you insist on staying at that awful place. Grimmauld is sitting completely empty right now. And even when Sirius and I are off rotation, we’re practically family—”
“The rest of the world doesn’t know that and would hardly listen if we tried explaining it to them.”
“I don’t give a toss what the rest of the world thinks.”
She sighed behind her shield. “People who don’t care about the opinions of others lead very lonely lives. And that’s what will happen to us both if we’re labeled an item.”
“We won’t be lonely if we have each other.”
She lowered the menu. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. I love you, Harry, and right now, you might be longing for travel and adventure. But someday, you’ll want to settle down and find a wife, start a family. And you’ll never be able to do those things if all of London thinks I’ve been your kept mistress for the better part of our youth.”
“Then I’ll find a spouse outside of London.”
She rolled her eyes. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”
“You mean, you can’t stand when I punch holes in your argument.”
“You’d have a better chance of punching holes in your warship.” She picked up her menu with a pointed glare. He smirked.
“Glad to see your sharp tongue hasn’t dulled.”
She smirked in turn. “I seldom have the opportunity to use it now that you’re off sailing the high seas.”
“So, I take it you haven’t spoken to anyone else?”
Her amusement faded, her knuckles turning white around the cardstock. “Hm?”
“And I’ll take that half-hearted deflection as a resounding no.”
“I think I’ll get something sweet, I’m craving fresh fruit.”
“Hermione.”
She ground her teeth, hating when he used her full name. It rarely boded well.
“I know you’ve been avoiding our friends because you’re all they've asked me about since I got back," he divulged.
“Don’t be dramatic, you only returned home yesterday.”
“I did indeed. And guess who was waiting for me at my doorstep?”
She went rigid in her chair, continuing to stare blankly at the dessert selection. “I have no idea.”
“No guess whatsoever?”
“I’d make one if I had it.”
“So, you didn’t get into a big fight with—”
“I don’t want to discuss this,” she snapped, unable to bear hearing his name aloud.
“I didn’t want to discuss it either, but I was forced to listen to his drunken ramblings until one o'clock in the bloody morning. So, you can sit here and listen to me for a few sodding minutes.”
She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms like a petulant child.
“Now, I have no idea what is going on between the two of you,” Harry continued with a glare. “Frankly, I don’t want to know, since I’m sure it will send me into a violent rage and I have zero plans of being kicked out of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy over Draco Bloody Malfoy—” she cringed, unable to mask her visceral reaction “—which means, the two of you are going to work it out so I don’t have to act as mediator.”
She shook her head. “No one has asked you to be our mediator.” She certainly knew Draco wouldn’t. Then again, if he'd truly been in his cups last night and stumbled to Harry’s door, he must have been in quite a state…
She wondered how much he'd revealed. It couldn't have been everything. Otherwise, her best friend would've mentioned the elephant in the room right away.
“The two of you have fought like cats and dogs since I made the horrific mistake of introducing you ten years ago," Harry lamented. "If I didn’t step in every now and then, I’d have lost my sanity a long time ago. But I can’t do that anymore, not while abroad and not with you stuck in that asylum you call home. I worry about you every day, all day. I need to know you’re okay. Malfoy can look out for you. But if you refuse to speak with him—”
“It’s not that,” she hissed, instantly wishing she could recall the words.
He raised a curious brow. “No? Then what is it?”
She inhaled sharply, her cheeks tinging pink. Her companion groaned. “Bloody hell, I knew it, I’m going to fly into a violent rage—”
“It’s not a joke.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“I don’t want to discuss this with you—”
“Then discuss it with Malfoy!”
“I can’t!” She blanched, practically screaming the last part. Nearby patrons looked their way, whispering feverishly.
Harry sighed, either oblivious to or uncaring of their audience. Probably the latter, given his frustrating skills of observation.
“You don’t have a choice, Mione.”
She peered across the table. “What does that mean?”
“Malfoy said you have to arrange a meeting with him. Or, he’s coming to you.”
She leaned back with a huff.
“Furthermore," Harry recited, "if you make him come to you, he’s arriving in his family’s most gaudy stagecoach and wearing his most ostentatious suit, he's also tipping off the gossip rags so your reunion makes it to the front page of the London Gazette.”
She rolled her eyes while her tablemate smirked, far too amused by the aristocrat's ludicrous threats.
“He also said to inform you, in the event you planned on slipping out before his arrival, he’ll purchase the deed to the building and land and have everyone but you evicted by morning.”
Hermione nodded, face pinched. “Lovely. Anything else?”
“Yes," Harry smiled. "He said you have twenty-four hours to send him word, starting from last night.”
“That son of a—”
“Are you ready to order?”
Hermione jolted, gazing up at the waitress beside their table.
The woman's eyes were fixed firmly on Harry, obvious wonder in their depths. Even out of uniform, he cut a very attractive sight.
“Not yet, luv, give us a moment,” he replied, barely sparing her a glance. But he flashed a cheeky wink that made her giggle nervously.
“O-Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She walked away as though tipsy, batting her lashes while Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Why am I surrounded by such desperate women?”
“She wasn’t desperate, she was flirting. There’s a difference. Not that you’d recognize either.”
“What does that mean?” she glared.
“Your idea of flirting is debating politics or breaking a bloke's nose.”
She flushed hotly. “That was one time! And it was hardly flirting!”
“As I said, I don’t want to know. I just want the two of you to get it sorted. Which is why I’m here to reluctantly act as your messenger pigeon.”
Her shoulders drooped. She didn’t want to do this, wasn’t ready to confront him, but it seemed she had little choice in the matter, the last of her free will burning away with the remnants of her childhood home.
And yet, a part of her, albeit a small, frustratingly supercilious part, knew Draco wasn’t being entirely unreasonable. She'd ghosted him for the better part of three months, avoiding public markets and bustling parks where he might corner her, all the while remaining unresponsive to his numerous letters.
She'd read them all, of course, quite obsessively, until she'd memorized every word, then carefully folded and bound them in a neat pile tucked safely beneath her mattress, only to repeat the ritual night after night.
Her silence was cruel, but avoidance was so much easier than facing the truth. There’d been too much to deal with this last year, she couldn’t process it all at once. But it seemed he'd finally managed to corner her.
She was almost impressed, if only she wasn't so enraged.
She chewed the inside of her cheek, ending the stalemate with a tired sigh. “Tomorrow. Royal Gardens. 10 am.”
Harry seemed lightened by the words. “Great. Where should he meet you inside?”
She closed her eyes, a familiar stab of pain impaling her heart. “Just say Kew. He’ll know where I am.”
She was reluctant to part ways from Harry, content to linger in his company all day. But she'd delayed her return to the Home for far too long.
She had no doubt Umbridge would punish her tardiness, but she wanted to avoid total house arrest, if possible. She doubted Draco would appreciate such an excuse for standing him up, and she certainly couldn't reveal her plans to her Matron. Umbridge already thought her charges were sexed-up strumpets one glance away from getting impregnated by any man who passed them on the street.
Hermione would have to be on her best behavior tonight, draw as little notice to herself as possible until she was able to slip out after breakfast. Perhaps she could get Parvati to cover for her, should her absence be noted—
“There you are!” a shrill voice rang.
Hermione froze halfway down the hallway, a rapid click click click gaining volume behind her. She took a deep breath before slowly turning, unable to speak before the Matron cut her off.
“Quiet! I don’t want to hear whatever pitiful lie you’ve concocted! You should have been back hours ago. Where have you been? And give me that!” She forcefully tugged the Apothecary basket from Hermione’s grasp. “If I find a single item missing, you can rest assured, you'll be spending the rest of your nights sleeping in the gutter.”
Hermione kept her face neutral. “Yes, Madam.”
Umbridge huffed, always frustrated when her charges refused to take the bait. “Come to my office at once.”
Hermione fell into step behind the rotund figure, her fists clenched at her sides.
They followed a twisting path through the crumbling corridors before emerging inside the horrendously decorated office.
Each wall was lined with shelves housing a menagerie of figurines, namely cats, alongside a varied assortment of adorable creatures with large round eyes and softly curling mouths. It was always jarring to stand inside the whimsical space, especially when accompanied by the evil witch.
Hermione felt the hairs on her nape stand on end, reminding her of the experiences she'd had trapped in other parts of the Home… other dank, dark rooms brimming with—
She cleared her throat, eager to distract herself from the haunting thought. She couldn't afford to think on that now, not here, not in the presence of Medusa herself.
Umbridge glanced over her shoulder at the interruption, her eyes narrow and expectant.
Hermione flushed, scrambling for an excuse as to why she'd called the woman’s attention.
“Um… I…” But her mind was a wasteland following her visit with Harry.
The Matron rolled her eyes. “Spare me.” She set the basket on her desk and began rummaging through its contents, clicking her tongue to find everything in order.
Suddenly, a dark mass floated past the open doorway.
Hermione gasped and reared back. A frigid wind blew inside the room, its icy current settling deep inside her bones.
“Idiot girl!” Umbridge hissed, stepping away from the desk to charge for the hall. “Not one ounce of propriety.”
Hermione stared at the empty doorway in a daze, wondering if Umbridge had seen the same ghoulish apparition.
The Matron stepped into the corridor, her saccharine smile plastered ever so sweetly on her face. “Oh, Doctor Riddle, do you have a moment?”
Hermione's brows pinched in confusion as a steady tread of footsteps echoed off the stone.
Suddenly, a tall, imposing figure appeared before them, dressed in the same dark pitch from this morning.
Hermione flushed, realizing she'd mistaken his passing figure for a supernatural entity.
I’m going mad.
Logic evaded her entirely when his gaze shifted over the Matron's head to fasten on Hermione.
“Yes, Madam?” he bid, looking at Hermione all the while.
Umbridge glanced over her shoulder with a scowl, as though it was Hermione’s fault for drawing his attention away. “I just received new inventory from the Apothecary. Would you like me to have it delivered to your office?”
He smiled, returning his focus to the Madam. She burned hotly beneath his scrutiny. Something in his expression looked lethal. “No need, I am happy to take it myself.”
“O-Oh, alright then. Please, do come in.”
It was disturbing to watch Umbridge titter about like a nervous school girl. It was more disturbing to feel the shift in atmospheric pressure as the Doctor stepped inside the room, as though his presence had a gravitational pull all its own.
Hermione fought its effect, stepping back until she was practically plastered against the wall.
The movement drew his attention, his dark eyes locking on her. The corner of his mouth curved in a wry smirk.
“Hello, there. My name is Doctor Thomas Riddle, and you are?”
Her stomach twisted into knots.
“The doctor asked you a question!” Umbridge hissed, quickly reloading the basket.
Hermione tried to remember how to breathe, muttering, “Hermione Granger."
“Hermione,” he repeated, his expression dancing with mirth. “That name sounds strangely familiar.”
She stared at him with wide, pleading eyes. This was it. He was going to expose her midnight excursion to his chamber. Last night’s reprieve was merely a mocking gesture, a passing amusement at her expense—
“Ah, yes,” he mused, his teeth gleaming in the light. “I know where I’ve heard that name… The Winter’s Tale. Were your parents fans of Shakespeare?”
Her heart thumped painfully, poisoned by adrenaline. She wasn't certain what was happening, but she forced a response past the constriction in her throat.
“No. I mean, yes, they were.” She trembled beneath his stare. “But they were bigger fans of Greek Mythology. My mother’s name was Helen, my father called her his Helen of Troy.”
His eyes flashed, filled with an emotion she couldn't catalog. “Of course. Hermione, the daughter of Helen and Menelaus. She married the son of Achilles, did she not?”
Hermione felt her shoulders ease a touch, finding familiar footing among such topics. “Yes, after breaking an engagement to her grandfather.”
He chuckled, the sound rich and soothing to her nerves.
“Seems she caught a lucky break then," he reflected.
She stepped away from the wall, the lure of conversation overriding her previous panic. “Hardly. Pyrrhus took a mistress and abandoned his wife after she failed to conceive. Hermione fled Sparta, married her cousin, and died in childbirth.”
The Doctor raised an eyebrow, drawing in air as though to speak. She held her breath, eager to hear his response, but their Matron’s shrill voice broke the spell woven between them.
“I find such stories a complete waste of time. They’re myths, nothing more, hardly worth studying. No one ever succeeded in life by memorizing fairytales.”
Hermione glanced down, barely catching the predatory flash that overcame his features as he faced the head of the Institution.
“On the contrary, Madam. I find Greek and Roman mythology played a pivotal role in the developing world, leading to the most notable innovations in arts and science that allow us to lead the lives we do today.”
Umbridge glanced up with eyes wide. “Oh. Well, I—”
“The earliest charted navigation system for shipping routes were credited to man’s understanding of the stars, explained using stories of ancient myth and legend to make them accessible to future generations. In fact, the majority of the cosmos are named after such stories. And even today, the symbol for modern medicine is the staff used by Asclepius, the God of healing.”
The Madam's face was somehow deathly white and blistering red all at once.
Hermione felt her chest swell, her pulse staggering, and for the briefest moment, she met the Doctor’s eye.
Time stopped and the air shifted, gravity evading the room until they were weightless among the stars he'd just described.
Then he glanced away, indifferent to the occurrence.
Her feet hit the floor with a thump, cursedly weighted to the earth.
“That’s very interesting, Doctor,” Umbridge said in a thin voice, unable to meet his gaze. “Well, the supplies are ready, if you’d like to take them.”
She swallowed nervously as he approached. He smiled without warmth before taking the basket, glancing at its contents. “These were delivered?” he inquired.
The Matron bristled. “No, they were picked up by Ms. Granger. Is there a mistake? I knew the girl was up to something—”
“Not at all. Everything is in order. I was merely curious.”
The woman deflated. “Oh. Yes, well, it saves on a delivery charge if I send one of the residents.”
He nodded. “Then perhaps Ms. Granger can also help me restock the medical pantry, given her familiarity with its contents.”
It wasn’t phrased as a question. Hermione felt her thighs clench of their own accord.
“Oh…” The Madam looked decidedly thrown for a loop. “That is... highly unorthodox. We don’t trust our charges to handle the medical supplies directly, you see.”
“Merely to purchase and transport them.”
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She’d never witnessed someone challenge their Matron before. It was superbly entertaining.
“Yes… well, Ms. Granger has background with such things, otherwise I wouldn’t—”
“Wonderful, she’s the perfect candidate to assist me then.”
Umbridge blinked. “That’s not— I don’t think— well, I suppose—”
“I begin seeing patients in two days' time. Send her to my clinic tomorrow after lunch.”
Hermione swayed on her feet, wondering if she'd been rendered invisible. He'd engaged her without hesitation moments prior, teased her even, and now, he spoke as if she wasn't in the room.
“Alright,” Umbridge relented with obvious unease.
“Thank you, Madam. Have a wonderful evening.” He offered her his back without awaiting a response, striding for the door.
The room rapidly darkened with the setting sun, bathing his face in shadow. Hermione drew in a shaky breath, equal parts frustrated and dismayed, not fully comprehending either reaction.
He stopped in the hall and turned to face Hermione in the doorway, standing directly before her but outside of the Matron’s view.
“It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Granger.”
She swayed in place, lured by the magnitism of his stare.
“I shall see you tomorrow.” His smile was perversely beautiful, dripping venom to the floor. “Sleep well.”