A Pound of Flesh

Author's Note: I promised you a chapter before my wedding, and here you have it, with a week to spare. Enjoy!

Chapter 7: Watching Damien King

The rest of brunch at the Burrow passed relatively painlessly. Ron, upon finishing his meal, moved to the other table to play with Victoire. Hermione watched him go, sighing in relief.

“So why were you late, really?” Ginny asked Hermione once Harry was distracted in conversation with Dean about football.

“I had to go to the Apothecary to get a Hangover Potion, like I said. And then I ran into a member of my fan club.” Hermione grimaced, remembering the awed look on Sally-Anne’s face.

Ginny groaned in sympathy. “I take it that it didn’t go well?”

“She wanted to know why I didn’t become an Obliviator,” Hermione answered with a sigh. At the other table, Victoire and Teddy let out squeals of laughter as Ron made a funny face at them.

“Oh,” Ginny said, looking wary. “Did you tell her about…?”

“About my parents? That’s hardly information I want to spread around the wizarding community. I can see the headlines already: ‘Heroine Hermione Granger Estranged from Parents over Memory Charm Mishap.’ That’s all I need,” she said with a sharp laugh.

“Or any of the others, then, I guess is a no,” Ginny finished. “Obviously.”

Hermione slid a glance over to Harry and Dean, who were engaged in an enthusiastic conversation that involved wild gesticulating. “Why did Dean ask me if I was getting a Morning After Potion?” she asked Ginny, careful to keep the accusatory tone out of her voice.

Ginny looked guilty and annoyed at the same time. “I guess last night Ron said something to Harry that he’d heard from Luna that you were seeing someone and you hadn’t denied it when you talked to him yesterday, and then Dean chipped in that Luna had told him you’d been out rather late a few times, so Harry came to me for confirmation, and… well – ” Ginny paused, wringing her hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t say anything they didn’t already know – ”

“Because you told Luna,” Hermione supplied.

“Yeah,” Ginny finished weakly.

“It’s fine, Ginny.” Hermione patted her friend on the shoulder.

The mounting afternoon heat soon drove everyone away, and Hermione was relieved to say her goodbyes and Apparate home. She promised to return the following evening to help with the decorations, once the day’s heat had dissipated a bit.

Stepping into her luxuriously chilly apartment, Hermione felt her prickly, sweaty skin break into gooseflesh, and she laughed aloud. Sometimes being a Muggle-born was just so convenient.

In her bedroom, Hermione stripped down to her knickers and flopped back on the bed, feeling the last breaths of the oppressive heat outside fade from her skin. Still feeling sticky, however, she decided another shower sounded like an excellent idea.

When she emerged, shivering slightly from the cold water, she wrapped herself in a towel and went back into her bedroom, intent on finding something warm to bundle up in. Instead, she stepped onto a piece of broken glass and hopped backwards, swearing slightly. A vase full of flowers had fallen from the table next to the window; more likely Crookshanks had seen a bird outside the window and had attempted to climb onto the table, knocking the vase off.

Sure enough, she spotted her ginger cat peering around the corner of the bed, his tail puffed to twice its normal size. “You okay, baby?” she cooed, stepping around the glass to fetch her wand. Crookshanks emerged from hiding and wound his way around her still damp ankles, making her itch slightly. She bent to rub his old head. “It’s alright, Crookshanks,” she told him, using a precise Reparo to fix the vase.

She knelt to gather the flowers and as she stood again, her eyes fell on the corner of the room where she never looked: the corner which housed her school trunk, the one she had not opened since she’d left Hogwarts. Very briefly, she was struck by the desire to open it and go through her old textbooks and belongings, but she squelched it just as fast, knowing there were things in there she just wasn’t ready to deal with yet. Even after all this time.

*****

The following morning found Hermione as a blonde, her eyes blue and her light dusting of freckles across her nose covered by a simple glamour. She sat behind thick, dark sunglasses at a café up the street from Draco’s flat. Though she was pretending to read a book, her eyes were fixed on the doorway to Draco’s building, waiting for him to emerge. As she took a sip of chilled coffee, a waiter brought her the blueberry muffin she’d ordered, momentarily blocking her view.

As the waiter moved, she spotted Draco walking up the street toward her, and she continued to pretend to read her book. He passed without looking her way, a full book bag upon his back. Dressed in khaki shorts and a cotton button-down hanging open over a white t-shirt, he looked every bit the Muggle. In daylight, his blond hair gleamed and shifted as the breeze caught it and blew it away from his face. A rather trendy pair of sunglasses completed his look. He was whistling slightly.

As soon as Draco rounded the corner and disappeared from view, Hermione stuffed her book into her bag, dropped her money on the table, and quickly followed. Affecting a casual stroll, she turned the corner and scanned the sidewalk ahead for Draco’s blond hair. He was hard to miss; his hair practically glowed in the sunlight.

Her quarry in sight, Hermione nibbled on her muffin, matching her pace to his. She didn’t want to get too close and risk him noticing her presence, disguised or not. Draco didn’t appear to be in a hurry; he lingered outside a used bookstore so long, Hermione nearly caught up to him. At last, Draco waved to someone inside the shop and then continued on his way. Intrigued, Hermione glanced in the window as she passed, and saw a young woman watching Draco walk away.

Interesting, Hermione thought, turning away as if she had just been casually glancing into the bookstore before the woman noticed her.

She searched for Draco again, and spotted him pausing at a crosswalk, waiting for the signal to change. As he crossed the street ahead of her, she stepped up her pace slightly, not wanting to get caught by the traffic signal. She had to jog the last few steps, her bag bouncing against her back, and one of the cars that had been forced to wait for her to finish crossing honked at her. Draco didn’t turn around though.

The sidewalk grew more crowded, and Hermione hung back a bit, at the same time trying not to lag too far behind. So she missed it when Draco gained a companion; she fought her way through a crowd of business men carrying suitcases that bumped uncomfortably against her thighs, and spotted Draco walking with a young man that could have been his age or slightly older.

Their heads were bent together, and their laughter reached Hermione’s ears. What she wouldn’t give for a good Eavesdropping Charm, but she certainly couldn’t risk pulling her wand in this crowd. So she just tried to make her way closer.

Draco’s companion had hair that was light brown, streaked through with platinum highlights, was half a head taller than Draco, and rail thin. He, too, carried a bag upon his back, something he was currently complaining about, Hermione realized, as his voice reached her ears.

“ – Bloody heavy! Don’t they realize that carrying this much weight around on someone’s back is bad for their posture?” The young man adjusted the bag with an exaggerated flounce, and Draco graced his friend with a wry smile.

“I reckon if you weren’t such an overachieving git, you wouldn’t have signed up for so many A-levels and you wouldn’t have to carry so many books,” Draco shot back.

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have your Da breathing down your back letting you know what a disappointment you’ll be if you screw up again,” the thin boy retorted.

“Yes, well,” Draco replied lightly. “That’s because I have no idea who my Da is. Makes things much easier for me.”

“Lucky you.”

“I’ll say,” Draco said dryly.

Fascinated by their easy and lighthearted communication, Hermione tried to ease closer, but was knocked sideways by a man intent on hailing a taxi. She stumbled back a few steps, stifling her angry reply to the man who shot her a befuddled look, as though he couldn’t understand what she was doing in his way.

By the time she caught up with Draco and his friend, they were discussing their upcoming Chemistry practical examination, and Draco’s friend was bemoaning his lack of revision time.

“Tom, I have a job and I still make time to study,” Draco pointed out to his friend.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know how you do it. Bartending doesn’t strike me as the type of job where you have loads of free time to study,” Tom mused.

Draco didn’t blink or flinch or give any indication at all that he was anything other than a bartender, and Hermione made note that Draco hadn’t told his friends what he did for a living.

“And,” Tom continued, “I thought you were supposedly pants at science stuff.”

“Chemistry isn’t really like science,” Draco argued.

“Excuse me? It’s exactly like science.”

“No, it’s more like art,” Draco said, grinning madly. “Science is physics and biology. Chemistry is less bookwork and more hands on.”

“You make no sense at all, do you know that?”

“I make perfect sense. You’re just annoyed that I’m better than you at something.”

“I am not.”

“Let me have my little victories, Tom, seriously,” Draco went on, and Tom rolled his eyes.

“Don’t start,” Tom warned, stopping at a bus stop.

“Seriously,” Draco repeated, unable to completely contain the cheeky tone in his voice as he came to a stop next to Tom. He leaned against the back of the bench and shot his friend a look of mock innocence. “You’re better looking, better at football, better with the ladies, and better at everything.”

“Belt up, why don’t you,” Tom groused.

“Except,” Draco went on as though Tom hadn’t interrupted. “Except for Chemistry. Let me have this one thing, mate.”

Hermione hung back, standing in front of a shop window, pretending to examine a variety of exotic travel destinations. She made sure to keep a group of tourists between her and Draco and his friend, and she had to strain to hear over the quiet chatter of the women complaining about the heat.

“Speaking of ladies,” Tom said, abruptly changing the subject.

“No,” Draco said simply.

“I want to know how it went with Jane!” Tom protested.

“It went well.” Draco looked slightly smug. “And that’s all I’m saying.”

Tom, looking disappointed, heaved a sigh and said, “You’re no fun.”

“Exactly, but neither are you, and that’s why we’re friends.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tom said brightly. Their conversation reached a lull, and Tom shot a look around, spotting her. He nudged Draco and whispered something, and as Draco turned his head to look her way, she moved slightly so the tourists blocked her from his view. She was saved further scrutiny as the red double-decker came to a wobbling stop next to the bus stop.

Draco and Tom climbed onto the bus, and Hermione had no choice but to follow, praying that she wouldn’t be spotted again. Luckily, they sat on the bottom level, further back, and Hermione squeezed into a seat near the front where she’d be able to step off after them if they got off. Unfortunately, she could no longer hear their conversation.

The bus ride was short; Hermione glanced at her watch as she jumped off the bus at the last moment after Draco and Tom slid past her. Only fifteen minutes had passed since they boarded the bus, and it had been a wretchedly long, hot fifteen minutes.

The two boys picked up their pace as they walked toward a building labeled Ashworth Community College.

They entered the building, and headed up the nearest stairwell. Hermione lagged behind, staying well back as they ascended to the second floor. It was less crowded up here, and it was easy to duck into an alcove and sweep the Invisibility Cloak out of her bag and over herself. It had been an expensive purchase, but with the money the Ministry had given to her, Harry and Ron, she could definitely afford it. And it came in dead useful during times like this. She adjusted it carefully before stepping out into the corridor again, taking care to cut a wide berth around everyone she saw.

Draco and Tom went into a classroom three doors from the end of the corridor, and Hermione cautiously followed behind them. She stayed close to the wall as she slipped around the room to the back, where she stood behind a row of empty desks. Draco sat down at a worktable in the front, and Tom plopped down in the seat beside him. After one final whispered comment that elicited a laugh from Tom, Draco turned and pulled out his Chemistry book. He proceeded to study quietly until the professor breezed into the room. Then class commenced, and Hermione couldn’t help but be sucked into the lesson that was taking place.

She’d never really thought about the similarities between Chemistry and Potions, as Chemistry was more chemical and Potions was more organic, but the properties were similar. As Draco worked on carefully mixing two liquids together, Hermione could see the same precision he’d displayed in Potions being used in Chemistry. It was easy to see he was the best student in the class.

After Chemistry, Draco and Tom headed back for the stairs. When they’d reached the ground floor again, Tom nodded in farewell, before saying, “Suppose I’ll see you at lunch, yeah?”

“Only if you don’t want to talk about ‘ladies,’” Draco countered.

“Fine, fine,” Tom conceded, holding up his hands.

“Meet you at Malone’s?”

“Again?” Tom said, wrinkling his nose.

“I like it there.”

“Fine, Malone’s it is,” Tom said, sighing in defeat.

Draco took off one way, and Tom trotted off the other way toward the front of the building, quickly getting lost in the crush of people making their way through the narrow, but brightly lit corridor.

As it was far too crowded to try to wear the Invisibility Cloak, Hermione had ducked behind a planter at the top of the stairs and whipped it off. Now visible again, she was caught off guard when Draco turned around and spotted her. Caught in the act of following him, she tried to smile weakly, and he nodded before his eyes unfocused and he looked through her, as if in search of someone. He frowned slightly, turning to look the other way, and then with a shrug, he stepped into another classroom, one which was much more crowded.

Hermione waited until the hallway was empty before she once more swung the cloak over her. Just in time, she pulled her hands underneath as an older man strode down the hallway toward her. He stepped smartly into the classroom where Draco was waiting, attempting to pull the door shut. Realizing too late that she was about to be shut out of the class, she yanked the door open and sidled past the professor, who turned in puzzlement to shut the door again.

Draco was seated in the middle of the classroom, his button-down hanging casually over the back of his chair. It was then that Hermione became aware of just how hot it was in the classroom. Already, as she swiftly made her way to a spot by the windows, she could feel a bead of sweat breaking out on her upper lip. Therefore, she didn’t much pay attention in class, something she didn’t reckon had ever happened before, only perking up once when Draco raised his hand with the answer to a question.

It was a relief to be out of the class, and before she whipped the cloak off, she paused to cast a new Glamour upon herself. Draco had spotted her last disguise, and she couldn’t be seen twice. She concentrated on having dark hair, like Harry’s, almond shaped eyes like Ginny’s, and Fleur’s flawless complexion. She felt the spell take hold and she ducked into a lavatory to rip the cloak off, gasping in relief. She glanced at herself in the mirror, reasonably pleased with her results, before ducking into a stall to transfigure her clothes into something different.

Then she rushed back into the corridor, standing on her toes as she searched for Draco, who was just getting ready to walk out the front doors. Her quick changes were legendary in the MLE, and not for nothing. She could change appearances in less than thirty seconds flat.

Draco slowly wandered three blocks before coming to a stop at a small fish shop tucked between a larger pub and Thai take-out place. Hermione waited five minutes before following Draco in. He was seated at a table near the windows, talking to his friend Tom. The smell of fish was delectable, and Hermione’s stomach gave a protesting growl, reminding her she’d only eaten a muffin earlier. She quickly ordered some fish and chips, and took her food to a small table in the corner opposite to where Draco sat, eating tidily as his friend wolfed his food down in a way that would have rivaled Ron’s eating habits.

Out of the blue, Tom stood abruptly. His chair clattered to the ground, and the din of conversation at the surrounding tables quieted. Draco slid down in his seat looking mortified. “Say,” Tom said loudly, “If there’s anyone here making googly eyes at my friend Damien here, would you bugger off already? Thanks.” Then he retrieved his chair and calmly sat down as though nothing had happened.

“I hate you,” Draco said loud enough for Hermione to hear in the silence that followed Tom’s announcement.

“I know, you love me,” Tom replied, taking a large bite of his fish sandwich. The rest of the diners, apparently deeming it safe once more to engage in conversation, began to speak again. Hermione, who had frozen with a chip halfway to her mouth, set it back on the plastic plate, forcing herself to look anywhere but at Draco. Could he sense her following him? Not wanting to risk any further suspicion, she threw the rest of her lunch into a waste bin and beat a hasty retreat out of the fish shop.

She had enough information to go with, for now.

***

Later, in the coolness of her flat, she thought about everything she’d observed that day, and pulled out her notepad to notate what she’d witnessed. Most interesting was the fact that Draco’s friends did not appear to know what he did for a living. She decided she’d like to know the story about Tom, and made a note in her files to ask Draco about his friends if she ever spoke with him again.

After she finished writing down her new findings, she went into the bedroom and began to get ready to go to the Burrow. Crookshanks, stretched lazily across her bed, opened one eye to watch as she stripped off her wilted clothing.

Wrapped in a towel and about to step into the bathroom for a shower, she reached over to scratch his grizzled head. He stretched, his mouth open in a wide yawn, and then hopped off the bed, his tail held high as he trotted out of the room.

“Fine, be that way,” Hermione called after him. As she turned to go into the bathroom, her eyes, inexplicably, were once more drawn to her school trunk. She took two slow steps toward it, thinking about the similarities between Potions and Chemistry, and her Potions texts, which were buried somewhere in the trunk, but then stopped, thinking about the other things that might be in there that she wasn’t sure she was ready to see yet.

None of them had ventured into their trunks yet. It was almost an unspoken pact among them. Harry had taken out all the things he’d known he’d want: his Invisibility Cloak, the Marauder’s Map, and the photo album Hagrid had put together for him, and then he’d tucked the trunk first in the attic of the Burrow, and later in the spare room of the flat he’d up until recently shared with Ron. Ron had taken a simpler route, simply storing it, sight unseen, in the attic of the Burrow next to Harry’s, and as far as Hermione knew, it was still there collecting dust. Hermione intended to open the trunk one of these days; she knew it wasn’t healthy to avoid the past forever. She just wasn’t quite ready to remember yet.

Sidestepping the corner of the room with the trunk, Hermione headed for the shower. As she washed her hair, she thought longingly of the water pressure in the girls’ dormitories at Hogwarts.

When she stepped out of the shower, her phone was blinking. With her towel wrapped loosely around her wet head, she played the message back.

“Hi, Jane. It’s Damien. I was just calling to say hello and see how your day was. Give me a call back if you get a chance.”

She hesitated for a moment before she erased the message. She was keeping things professional from now on.

***

Tuesday morning found Hermione as a redhead, sitting at the same café on Draco’s street, the same pair of oversized sunglasses perched on her face. She sipped another chilled coffee, picked lazily at the cranberry muffin she’d gotten, and waited for Draco to go by on his daily business. In short order, he passed, though today he wasn’t whistling.

Hermione waited until he’d rounded the corner further up the street, and then she slowly slipped her book back into her bag, gathering her thoughts one last time. She was meeting Mr. Dearborn today. The landlord wasn’t aware of this fact, but Hermione was certain it wouldn’t be a problem.

She made her way down the street, finishing the muffin, which turned out to be quite good. The thrill of the hunt once again coursing through her veins, Hermione rehearsed what she was going to say. She was a university student, working part-time, and she needed a place to stay.

It was actually a ruse she’d used several times before while on the job, except this time she wasn’t technically on the job. At least, not an assigned job. This was more extracurricular, she told herself. She was just thankful that she’d had the foresight to take the week off from work for Harry and Ginny’s wedding.

Hermione stopped at the front of Draco’s building. It was more welcoming in the daytime; white curtains flapped in all the windows save Draco’s, where the opulent green waved languidly in the breeze. Window boxes full of bright red flowers adorned each window, and two planters flanked the front door, a small pine bush growing in each. A notice on the door announced that there was a flat available, and to inquire within.

In contrast, however, the inside of Draco’s building looked even more worn down in the meager daylight that lit the front entry. The carpet was dusty at the edges and the faded paint was peeling slightly. Wrinkling her nose in quiet distaste, she stepped up to the door to the right, which had a small sign which read ‘Superintendent’ glued crookedly to it.

She could faintly hear a television on in the flat in question, canned laughter reaching her ears. She knocked firmly, and waited.

“Hang on,” a man said from behind the door, and Hermione felt a small thrill rush through her limbs. The hunt was on.

A moment later, the door opened, and a balding, cheerful man smiled out at her. Struck by the sense that she’d seen this man somewhere before, Hermione returned his smile and inquired, “Mr. Dearborn?”

“Aye, that’s me,” he responded. “And you?”

“Katie Stratford,” Hermione lied easily. “I was told you’ve a flat available.”

“Aye, I have indeed.” Dearborn opened the door wider and gestured Hermione inside.

“Thanks.” Hermione stepped into the flat, looking around discreetly. She immediately assessed that Dearborn was a single man, based on the condition of his carpet, the sag of his couch, and the size of his television.

“Please, have a seat,” he said, crossing to a small dining table piled high with mounds of paper. Hermione settled in the wobbly chair

He sat down across from her, his chair creaking dangerously under his slight weight. “So, you’re looking for a flat,” he said conversationally.

“I am.”

“Student?” he asked, his gaze passing over her stuffed book bag.

“Part-time. I’m working my way through school. I go to Ashworth.”

Dearborn’s face wrinkled, and then his eyes lit up. “Say, do you know Damien King?”

“I do, actually. He’s the one who told me about the flat,” Hermione answered, smiling widely. She had Dearborn just where she wanted him.

Dearborn smiled like a doting father. “Good kid, Damien. You know about his troubles?”

“His memory loss? Yeah.”

“Shame, really.” Dearborn shook his head. “When I read about him in the newspaper, I just felt for him. Young kid like him, no clue who he was, and nobody came forward to claim him.”

“He mentioned that you were very kind to him and offered him the flat. He said you could sympathize, or something like that,” Hermione said earnestly, looking with wide-eyes at Dearborn to complete the effect.

“Aye, that I can. Had the same problem myself. Got dropped off at a hospital one night, brain completely scrambled, beat all to hell. Only thing I knew was my name, and that’s cuz I had a strange little card with my name on it.” Dearborn looked pensive.

“Except weren’t nobody to offer me a place to live. Not this nice, at least. After I finally got out of the hospital, I had this urge to go backpacking, so I scrounged up a couple bucks, bought a backpack and set out. I stayed in hostels all over Europe.”

“That must have been some adventure,” Hermione commented quietly, not wanting to interrupt his train of thought.

“Aye, it was. But after a few years, it got old, and one day, I just felt like I needed to come back to London. I rented a room from an old woman who lived alone here in the building and got a couple jobs.”

”So how did you end up owning the whole building?” Hermione asked, interested.

“Turns out the old woman owned it, and when she died, she left it to me. Said I was the closest thing she’d had to a son since her own boy had been killed in the war.” Dearborn shook his head sadly. “That was going on ten years ago, now.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, and then Dearborn looked up, as though remembering she was there. “So – ”

“Well, it was really nice of you to offer a place to Damien, then,” Hermione said, steering him back to the topic at hand.

“It was the least I can do. Like I said, real nice kid. Had some trouble adjusting, though. It was like he was from a different planet. Didn’t know what hardly anything was, and was real gruff and cold to everyone. But he was scared, y’know? It was so easy to see that’s why he was acting the way he was. And it dinnit last long. He came around real nice after a couple months, started talking to the other people in the building, and now he helps me fix things up ‘round here. Oh, that reminds me… air conditioner.”

“I’m sorry?” Hermione asked, unable to follow that train of thought.

“His air conditioner is on the fritz. I need to send a repairman up to fix it.” He pulled a scrap of paper across the table and wrote in large letters ‘Get Damien’s AC fixed.’ Then he turned his attention back to Hermione.

“So – Katie…”

“Stratford,” Hermione supplied.

“Katie Stratford,” he said slowly, rolling the name around on his tongue like he was tasting it.

“Yes?” Hermione asked, uncertain.

“Cary Dearborn,” he replied, reaching out with one thin hand. As Hermione took his hand to shake it, she noted a strange pattern of scars on the back of his hand, like he’d been burned. “Let’s get you an application, shall we?”

Later, after filling out the paperwork, Hermione slipped out of the building, glancing at her watch. She’d been in there far longer than she intended, and she wasn’t keen on running into Draco on her way out. And she was late for lunch with Harry. Swearing softly to herself, she ducked into an alley and Apparated to Harry’s flat. He opened the door immediately, nearly before she’d finished knocking.

“There you are!” he said, his face shining relief. “I was worried. You’re never late.”

“Sorry, Harry,” Hermione apologized. “I got held up with some work stuff.”

“I thought you were taking this week off,” Harry countered, stepping back and allowing Hermione entry to his flat.

“I am,” Hermione told him, dropping her bag on the floor by his door. “But I thought of something last night so I went to check it out today, and it took longer than I thought it would.”

Harry led her to the small kitchenette. The table was set for two, and Harry pulled out her chair. Amazed, Hermione sat, and stared at him.

“Who are you and what’ve you done with my friend Harry?” she asked with a laugh.

Harry pulled a face, dropping into his seat across from her. “I’ve been practicing my manners for the wedding.”

“I’m impressed.”

“I’m glad you are. Ron thinks I’m nutters.”

“Fine stick to measure you by,” Hermione muttered. Harry blinked once before forcing a smile to his face.

“Sorry, I know you don’t like to talk about him,” Harry said quietly. Hermione felt instantly ashamed of herself for dragging Harry into the middle of it yet again.

“No, I’m sorry, Harry. Tell me more about your manners.”

Harry was glad to oblige, and as Hermione filled her plate with cold pork pie, she listened, amused. They’d both been so busy lately that it was rare that they had a chance to sit and talk, just the two of them, and Hermione found that she missed times like this.

“So I read the entire book in one night, and I’ve been practicing the right forks and where to put my knife, and how to fold up my napkin and all that stuff since then. Ginny doesn’t know because I want to surprise her, so don’t say anything!” Harry finished, at last taking a bite of the pork pie.

“I’m impressed,” Hermione repeated. “Really. Ginny will be surprised. But I think she’ll just be so glad to be your wife, you could probably eat like a drunken hippogriff and she’d think it’s cute.”

“I don’t know,” Harry began. “You know what she always says about – ” he stopped abruptly, closing his mouth so hard his teeth clacked together.

“Ron,” Hermione supplied. “It’s fine Harry. We can talk about Ron.”

“Is it getting any better at all?” Harry asked. It was obvious that he'd been wanting to ask the question, and that the stress of his two best friends barely speaking to each other was wearing at him.

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted. “I thought it might after a few months, but you know how Ron holds grudges. Even when he’s the one who did the breaking up. Clearly, I’m at fault too.”

Harry nodded haltingly, looking almost as though he wished he’d just let it be. “He definitely doesn’t like the idea of you dating anyone else, though,” he told her.

“Hadn’t noticed,” Hermione lied.

“Sure,” Harry told her, rolling his eyes slightly. She laughed, and Harry smiled at her broadly.

“So, if you were dating anyone, y’know,” Harry began, “you can tell me about it. I’m not going to tell Ron.”

“Oh Harry, I know!” Hermione exclaimed, knowing he was fishing for information. “I’m not really dating anyone. I’ve just seen this bloke a couple times.”

“The Muggle Ginny told Luna about?”

“Yeah, but he’s not really my type.”

“Pity for him,” Harry said, wiping his mouth carefully with his napkin before folding it in halves and placing it in the middle of his plate. “Well, what do you think?” he asked, pointing to the napkin.

“Perfect, Harry.”

Hermione stayed longer than she intended, talking to Harry, and it wasn’t until Ginny’s head appeared in the flames of Harry’s Floo that Hermione realized how late it had gotten. She was supposed to be at the Burrow, helping to decorate. After promising Ginny she was on her way, with Harry right behind her, Hermione stood, reaching for the jar of Floo Powder. She paused as her hand bumped against a picture frame on Harry’s mantle that had not been there before.

“Oh, this is new,” Hermione noted, stepping closer to examine the picture.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said, coming to stand next to her. “You saw this before, didn’t you?”

“This is the picture Moody gave you of the original Order members, right?” Hermione remembered, watching as Harry’s young parents laughed with two redheaded men who looked remarkably similar to Fred and George.

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “I found it in my school trunk.” He paused thoughtfully, and Hermione watched a younger Sirius sling his arm around Peter Pettigrew. Then she realized what Harry had said: he’d finally delved into his school trunk. She quickly turned to face him, her mouth open slightly.

"You opened it?"

With a wry smile he nodded. “Yeah, it was Ginny’s idea. She said I needed to accept my past so I could look forward to the future.”

“Oh,” Hermione said quietly. “How was it?”

“It was hard at first, but there was more in there that I wanted to remember than I wanted to forget,” Harry said with a rueful sigh. “Have you – ?”

“No,” Hermione said quickly. “Not yet.”

Harry nodded, reaching out a finger to touch the glass covering the photo. Hermione followed his gaze, and took a moment to look at each face, some young, some old, all fixed with a defiant hope. Then her heart jumped to her chest as she caught sight of a face, a familiar face, one she hadn’t been able to place until just now.

“Harry, who is this?” she asked, pointing to a young man standing next to the Prewett brothers.

Harry thought for a moment, his eyes going faraway. “Dearborn,” he said at last. “Caradoc Dearborn. Moody said he vanished six months after this picture was taken.”

Hermione nodded slowly, tingles racing through her body, for there, staring out at her with a wide smile on his young face, was Draco’s landlord.

---

Author's Note: And there you have it. I apologize if this chapter was boring. It took a lot to get to where I wanted to end up. But now we have a new mystery to add to the mix, and even better news for you: the smaller half chapter I have planned as an interlude between this one and the wedding chapter is all but finished, so it should be a quick update - think a little over two weeks from now. And now, I'm off to get married myself!