Hunter and Prey

Hermione woke up feeling like she had been run over by the Knight Bus. She was so stiff it took her several attempts just to sit up and by the time she managed it, she was so weary she sank back down onto the pillow. Crookshanks hopped up onto the bed to demand loudly that she adore him. Esme shushed him but it made no difference.

She vaguely expected to see Harry there but it was Draco who was sitting in the other guest chair. He was reading L’Oracle and smirking to himself. Hermione groaned and would have thrown a pillow at him if she’d had one to spare. She knew that expression.

“Do tell, Mr Smug.” Her voice was a croak. She poured herself some pumpkin juice, gulping it down as she noticed with surprise the Happy Birthday cards on her shelf. There was a gala of flowers; most from friends who knew her well enough to recall she preferred potted plants rather than cut blooms. Hermione did not see the sense in a bouquet, which was essentially a bunch of dead flowers.

“Excellent timing, darling.” Draco directed the smirk at her but went to the door to summon a Mediwitch. Hermione poured a glass of juice for Esme, who put her teeth back in to drink it and ignored the wizard’s disdain. “You’ve been asleep for more than a week. Potter’s in Galloway at the barn you found for him.”

It took an hour for the Healers to check her over and remove the monitoring and sustainment charms they had cast on her. Her blood pressure and heart rate had spiked during her dream. The duty Mediwitch gave her the expected scolding but she was overall healthy and now officially in her third trimester. Happy Birthday, Hermione, she thought a touch bitterly.

“Did they get Greyback?” Hermione demanded once she had been left to recover on her own. Esme fussed with her cloak before bundling it on any old way and pinning it.

“Don’t know, dear. Don’t trouble yourself about him. I’m sure he’ll turn up again.” The old witch reassured as though the werewolf was a lost pet. She took herself off and Hermione did her the courtesy of not cursing her as she departed. Him turning up again was precisely what was worrying her.

Esme was powerful, she had seen that herself, but Hermione could not help wondering whether the price was worth it. The old witch seemed to have only a nodding acquaintance with reality. Trelawney had feigned that abstraction for a seer’s image. Esme did not need to act.

“Thank you.” Hermione called after her, remembering her manners. She was grateful for the help. A faint reply came absolving her of obligation. Draco raised a silvery eyebrow at her in a studied gesture. She met his flourish and raised him a regal roll of her hand, which earned her a look down his nose before his sense of humour asserted itself.

“The interview has been published. Apparently the Malfoys are no longer a pox. Mother has had letters from several school friends keen to again admit to knowing her.” Draco handed her the French newspaper. Hermione flicked through it, noticing a copy of the picnic photo and one from the fete. There had been several guests with cameras, she recalled. “You’re parents are already in Provence and Mrs Potter will be by this afternoon to Apparate you to your party.”

Looking particularly pleased with himself, the Malfoy heir sauntered out of her room. Hermione got all the gossip from Ginny when she arrived just after lunch. Draco had organised a birthday celebration for her at his family’s chateau. Esme had promised her parents she would wake up in time. They had gone to France the day before, probably reasoning there was little else they could do other than cross their fingers.

“Please tell me it’s not a media circus.” Hermione beseeched as she let Ginny do her hair. She was perfectly capable of doing her own coiffure but Mrs Potter would not be denied. As Harry had discovered, it was easiest to surrender with good grace.

“Oh there’s been some sort of press release and there’ll be a photographer for a little while but he’s not staying long.” Ginny pinned, curled and twisted, managing to talk through a mouthful of bobby pins. “Malfoy knew you’d object so he donated the fee he got from the papers to St Mungo’s so you’ll look a right pillock if you refuse.” Her eyebrows quirked. “Whatever game he’s playing, he’s playing for keeps.”

“He’s trying to denazify the Malfoys.” Her tone was sharper than she had intended. Hermione did not like being manipulated and was conscious Draco was better at it that she was. He seemed to have got his way. She was surprised it had taken so little time. L’Oracle apparently considered the rehabilitation a done deal. Or perhaps she was not surprised, which was why she was upset. “He deserves a second chance. His father does not.”

“You justifying it to me or yourself?” Ginny asked, running out of pins and deciding her work was done. Most of Hermione’s hair coiled on the top of her head with little curls escaping to soften the updo.

“I want some control back in my life.” Hermione stood up carefully feeling like an over-inflated balloon. “This party is a lovely gesture, very kind of him, but I have had too many surprises of late.” She frowned and shook her head. “I’m fine, Gin. I’m just a bit fed up with the world in general.”

“I think you’re allowed to be.” Ginny gave her a hug. “You need to get out of here for a while. Live a little.” She grinned. “He might be a snake but Malfoy is footing the bill for a party in your honour. The irony alone ought to be worth seeing. And I know for a fact there is a Belgian chocolate cake the size of a desk that I am going to let seduce me.”

“Shouldn’t you be starting training soon?” Despite Molly’s suggestions, hints and nudges to the contrary, Ginny was determined to get back to the Harpies. Mrs Potter put an arm around Hermione’s hips as her waist was a thing of the past.

“There is nothing like a dream to create the future. Utopia to-day, flesh and blood tomorrow.” Ginny said, with Victor Hugo, and Apparated them to Provence.