44

Chapter 44

Sunday 16 March 2003: AM

"Hallo, Mac – are you ready? I'm due there at half past ten and we still must walk in from Hogsmeade," Hermione rounds the corner into the lounge room to discover Macdolas guiltily scrambling to move farther away from the television and VCR they'd imported from her flat yesterday evening. After much to-ing and fro-ing, they'd finally decided to move one of the retro sideboards closer to the couch and had positioned the compact electronic appliances atop it.

"Mac, dear – it's better for your eyes to be seated at a goodly distance from the screen," Hermione gently advises. Her Scottish steward's pointy nose was practically touching the convex surface before she'd startled him.

"What are you watching, anyway?" Hermione suppresses a chuckle when she recognizes the little blue and white cartoon figures. "Smurfs? Oh, I used to watch them all the time when I was a kid! I wish I still had my figurines; they might be worth something by now," she muses.

"Macdolas asks Her Grace Lady Granger: do the sweet wee Smurfs be elves? Where do they live? And why does the wizard Gargamel despise them so? The Azrael cat reminds Macdolas of the Crooky," Mac is inching closer to the television again in rapt fascination.

"I'm sorry, Mac - they're not real; but they're fun to watch, aren't they?" Hermione pats him consolingly on the back as his face falls. "Most of the shows on television are about made-up things... just like 'Pride and Prejudice', hmmm?".

"Macdolas knows the Pride and the Prejudice is a book – Macdolas reads it in the Manor library," he proudly imparts. "Ruibby says it be her favourite novel."

Jane Austen-loving house elves... just fabulous, Hermione reflects.

"That's lovely, Mac." She finds the remote and turns off the television with a click. "Shall we Apparate now? Oh, my giddy aunt – are you wearing what I think you're wearing?" Hermione almost chokes on an upswell of mirth as she takes full stock of Macdolas's garb.

Nodding solemnly, Macdolas performs a graceful pirouette worthy of a Milan catwalk model, the miniature boy's Gryffindor school uniform robes swirling around his scrawny body. "Macdolas pays his most profound respects to The Cherished Master Harry James Potter, Magnificent Auror and Lord of the Lightning Bolt, Redeemer and Protector of Humble House Elves– "

"Right, right – you look fabulous, Mac," Hermione interrupts before he can extol Harry's virtues for the next five minutes. "Where did you manage to source that outfit, though?" she asks in puzzlement. Surely the Muggle costumier doesn't sell Hogwarts uniforms?

Impossibly, the house elf's bantam chest swells a little more as he gleefully replies, "His Excellency Harry Potter gives Macdolas an original uniform as a present of gratitude! Macdolas shrinks it to fit and merely procures the spectacles." He pops the distinctive rounded lenses onto his face; he must have charmed them to enable the wire arms to hook securely behind his big ears. It is all Hermione can do not to laugh herself silly at the comical figure he presents.

Drat! Where's a ruddy camera when you need one? Hermione vows to immortalize Macdolas's comical tribute in some fashion or another before the day is out. Draco HAS to see this for himself, she grins.

Pushing aside his wispy carroty hair, Macdolas points to his forehead. "The scar for authenticity, Her Grace! Macdolas knows the devil is in the details."

"Indeed. Well, come along, Harry Potter Junior," Hermione grasps his nubbly hand in her own and concentrates on their destination…

"Are you sure you don't mind giving Mac the tour? I don't mean to impose, and I would be happy to show him the castle myself once my interview with Professor McGonagall is over; but he is terribly excited about his first visit to Hogwarts, and it seems cruel to make him wait," Hermione apologetically offers, as Hagrid and Luna alternately shake their heads and beam their willing smiles.

"Course not, Hermione! 'He's a righ' cute little blighter, and we'd be honoured ter show him the ropes," Hagrid's teeth are nearly lost in the bushy expanse of his salt-and-pepper beard. "Yeh sure yeh're alrigh', love? Yeh look a mite sad round the edges," Hagrid's dark eyes are worried.

Hermione affectionately squeezes his brawny forearm. "I'm as healthy as a Hippogriff, Hagrid… I'm just missing Draco a bit," she explains. OK – missing Draco like crazy. Even though it's only been two nights apart. Hopeless.

"Don't worry, Hermione," Luna assures. "Draco will be back in your bed before you know it, and you will celebrate your reunited love like two rabbits in oestrus."

Poor Hagrid sputters something incomprehensible and pretends to be engrossed in re-stacking his dirty dishes as Hermione chokes on her own surprised expostulation. "Luna – I didn't mean it like that, I was just saying– "

Luna waves her delicate hand airily. "No need to be embarrassed: human sexuality (in its many forms) is a beautiful thing. Especially when two people adore each other… like you and Draco."

Ah, hell. Not you too, Luna. Hermione doesn't know where to look as her neck and cheeks begin to crimson. She settles for hunching her shoulders, twisting her hands together, and staring at the floor.

"Hadn't yeh best get a wriggle on, Hermione love?" Hagrid comes to her rescue. "Yeh don' want ter keep the Headmistress waitin' on yeh," he prompts. "We'll take good care o' yer little man outside," he jerks his head toward the clearing beyond the slightly grimy window, where a delighted Macdolas is busily chasing a patient Fang around the hut, in turn being stalked by a prowling Crookshanks.

"Yes – I'll make my way to her office now," Hermione smiles gratefully. She gives each of her friends a tender hug before she walks to the door. "I'll come back to the hut and wait for you, if that's alright? I thought that perhaps we could walk back to Hogsmeade together and have lunch at the Three Broomsticks? I promised Mac I'd let him loose in Honeydukes; I think he wants to buy out most of their stock to give to Ruibby."

Luna and Hagrid acquiesce to her plan immediately. Hermione waves at Mac before picking her way up the familiar path to her alma mater. The spring day is chilly, but the skies are a clear pale blue, showcasing the medieval castle's unique architecture and beauty. Though the battle-damaged exterior has been painstakingly restored, the contrast between old and new brickwork clearly shows, like scars that are yet to fade.

It's been too long since I've visited, Hermione meditates, as she briskly makes her way through the Great Hall and onward to the Headmaster's Tower. She politely nods to the students and teachers she passes, electing to ignore the not-so-hushed exclamations of wonderment. Once she has traversed the Corridor, she stops in front of the gargoyle guarding the mobile circular staircase. He raises a querying stone eyebrow at her presence, waiting for the password.

"Felis silvestris," Hermione confidently pronounces; Professor McGonagall owled her the code yesterday, along with her acceptance in granting Hermione an audience today. The term is the Latin name for the European Wildcat; unsurprising, given the Headmistress's Animagus form and love of all things feline.

The gargoyle wordlessly steps aside, granting Hermione safe passage to Headmistress McGonagall's office. She knocks on the door with a firm double-rap.

"Come in, Hermione," and she complies.

The room she steps into evokes a rush of nostalgia and sorrow that Hermione is helpless to prevent. Headmistress McGonagall has clearly left her stamp of individuality upon the large circular space; but the gallery of portraits of past principals, the impressive library, and the Sorting Hat remind Hermione of the multitude of experience and learning that she underwent at the Wizardly boarding school. Professor Snape's portrait hangs behind the Head's desk, his habitually aloof, severe mien given added poignancy now that Hermione better understands the circumstances of his difficult life… and his sacrifices.

You're not here for a trip down Memory Lane, woman. She takes a few steadying breaths before moving toward the desk at which the Headmistress is currently seated. McGonagall rises, meeting Hermione halfway and shaking her hand with a firm, warm grip.

"Good morning, Hermione; it's a pleasure to see you again. I must confess to being intrigued – and hopeful – after receiving your petition for an appointment?". The Headmistress gets straight down to business. Her Scottish burr infuses her words with a pleasant, comforting lilt.

"Thank you very much for agreeing to meet with me, Headmistress McGonagall," Hermione begins, moving to sit in the visitor's chair and smoothing the skirt of her brown tweed suit beneath her, fussing at the middle button fastening her mahogany waistcoat.

"You may call me Minerva, dear – I think we've known one another long enough to now be on a first name basis," the Headmistress decrees. "Besides: am I correct in assuming you are approaching me in a professional capacity? It will be perfectly acceptable to use each other's Christian names in a collegial setting, I assure you."

Hermione determinedly shoves aside any nerves she's been harbouring about her request. "Yes – I wish to formally apply for the position of Arithmancy Professor… Minerva. Assuming it has not been filled, and that I prove myself worthy of the role, obviously."

The Scotch witch's shrewd blue-grey eyes twinkle. "Excellent news. The best I've received all week, in fact." She peruses Hermione's animated face with keen interest. "Before we commence the interview proper: may I ask how you are coping, my dear? Rubeus and Professor Lovegood have guaranteed that you are safe after your terrible ordeal, but I do have some concerns as to your motivations for applying for the vacant position."

Hermione takes a moment to compose her reply. "I'm not running away from my problems, if that is what is troubling you, Minerva; I have been contemplating a change of career for some time." It is the truth: even before Draco's vehement assertions that she should not be mouldering in a stagnant, dead-end job, Hermione had been mulling over one of the sources of her pervasive discontent.

"While the recent assault at the Ministry has solidified my intention to work in a more meaningful field, it was not the sole impetus for my application," Hermione continues. She hesitates, but decides to go with her gut in revealing a more personal incentive.

"I am sure you've read the salacious headlines the Prophet has been churning out, Minerva?". The other woman nods. "Most of what it has printed lately is rumour-mongering trash, but I can confirm that I am in a committed relationship with Draco Malfoy. If that presents an insurmountable issue for you – or the Hogwarts administration – I regret that I must withdraw my job application immediately." Hermione steadily holds Minerva's intelligent gaze.

She is vastly relieved when the Headmistress simply irritably waves her hand. "I appreciate your forthrightness, Hermione – but your private life is your own. Granted, our teaching staff has traditionally remained (ostensibly) single, but I see no reason why that archaic custom cannot be challenged, and compromises possibly granted."

Releasing a breath of relief, Hermione smiles widely.

"On a more particular note – I've long noted Mister Malfoy's character potential. His lacklustre forced participation in the wickedness of Voldemort's gang of Mahouns and lowlifes was evidence of his hidden good heart. Mister Malfoy used his Occlumency skills to protect the First Years that the Carrows forced him to practise the Cruciatus Curse on, did you know that?" McGonagall brusquely imparts.

What? Oh, Draco… Hermione shakes her head as her eyes moisten.

"Yes: during that dreadful period of fascist occupation, I carefully questioned the children in question while they were being treated for their injuries. Their stories varied little from recounting how their suffering was significantly dulled whenever young Draco was in the room, even when he wasn't the one inflicting the curse. Apparently it felt as though 'a heavy blanket swaddled them from the worst of the pain'," Minerva describes.

Hermione jolts as she remembers experiencing an eventual similar sensation on the terrible occasion that Bellatrix Lestrange tortured and maimed her… Did Draco protect me then? I thought it was just my mind trying to cushion me from an inevitable descent into madness! She bites her lip as she is torn between admiration and irritability at Draco's secretiveness.

Bloody blond goose. She files away the information to take Draco to task when he comes home.

Minerva adds, "I do hope Mister Malfoy hasn't taken the Prophet's smear campaign to heart, Hermione? You have my blessing to pass on my encouragement and approbation, if you wish."

Hermione swallows the lump in her throat. "Thank you – I shall certainly tell Draco that. I appreciate your kindness, and your open-mindedness, Minerva… very much." She shares a quiet moment of grateful kinship with her old mentor.

"Shall we proceed with the interview proper, Hermione? Let's begin with a comprehensive list of your vocational and scholastic achievements; I am familiar with your many academic triumphs, but best to cover everything, for the record."

Mouth pursed in concentration, McGonagall picks up a quill and dips it into a waiting inkwell, before poising it expectantly above a blank page of parchment.

Before she replies, a prickle of awareness settles upon Hermione; she flicks her eyes to the side, catching a cheery wink from Albus Dumbedore's portrait. He tips down his head in benevolent acknowledgement and encouragement.

Hermione sends the likeness of the dear departed wizard a wink of her own, and begins her answer to Minerva.

Draco sits at his favoured cherrywood escritoire in the Manor's library, shuffling together the loose pages of the project he's been working on for the last two hours in order to clear a space to write his letter to Hermione. He briefly considers running upstairs to grab her original epistle to refer back to, but realizes he doesn't need it; he has read and re-read it often enough in the last day to have memorized every word.

'Ma petite Hermione,

How are you, my lovely little lioness? Are you looking after yourself, and are you well rested? You will be satisfied to learn that I have eaten three square meals, plus afternoon and morning teas, since my temporary sojourn at the Manor. I am sleeping reasonably well, despite the intolerable situation of not having my beautiful girlfriend tucked against me as I slumber.

I thank you for sending me your wonderful letter; you can have no idea what your sweet, sincere words mean to me. You were correct in telling me that working on boosting my self-esteem is something I need to address on my own, but Hermione – without your generous, unmitigated support and belief in me, I would not be ready to take that step. Your unconditional trust, respect, and regard has helped me to bridge the gap between my heart and my head. I hope I know I can learn to be the man you deserve, in all the ways you need. Thank you, ma petite. For everything.

Granger, rest assured that thoughts of our imminent reconciliation fill my waking moments (and a goodly portion of my slumbering ones). I have such fascinating, earthy, downright filthy plans for you, my sexy little witch. Be prepared to be enthusiastically and thoroughly ravished upon my return…in all the English ways, and in quite a few French ones, as well. I am happy to provide translation for anything you have trouble understanding, and there is no substitute for hands-on learning and practical instruction, is there?

I have located and packed my Slytherin Seeker's uniform, as per your instructions. I expect a strict account of the 'interesting and explicit' dreams you had of me at Hogwarts; it is only fair, considering how outrageously your not-so-innocent hints and allusions have raised my blood pressure and heartrate (and that is not even taking into consideration what the thought of you wearing your old Gryffindor uniform is doing to me). I full intend to make up for time wasted when we were a couple of bumbling teenage twits (yes, yes, I was the twit).

Macdolas is a vain, cheeky moppet who tries my paper-thin patience at the best of times; but he is firmly entrenched in our family unit, and you and I both know I would assist him in getting away with bloody murder if need be. I have decided upon an approach to giving the randy little rascal 'The Talk'; I have been working upon it most of the morning, and I am confident you will think it an acceptable solution. I will show you what I mean when I come home. I saw straight through your buttering-up blandishments re my being the head of the Manor, of course. Close, but no cigar, Granger.

Hermione, I would not change a single thing about you. I shan't declare you to be perfect (though in fact, you are): but it is true that your little foibles and idiosyncrasies are incontestably endearing to me. Anyone who dares to claim that those aspects of your character require correction is a moron.

What if we procured both Muggle and Wizard cameras? I love the idea, and will look to source both immediately. On that topic – I would very much like to make some preliminary sketches of you, Granger. Both for drawings, and eventually for paintings – if you don't mind, of course. If you've had another look through the studio (and you are welcome to), your razor-sharp wit has doubtless concluded that you have long been my Muse. But my memory does not do you true justice, and I wish to rectify that as soon as possible.

Our friends are indeed remarkable; but you are the glue that holds our social group together. I was so lonely before you came back into my life, Hurricane Hermione. I'd spent years thinking that solitude and rigid control were the only things keeping me from relapse and ruin; I can never thank you enough for bringing colour and joy and kinship back into my narrow little world.

My meeting with Ewan went well, though it was draining at times. I have been remiss in not ensuring my therapy needs are being met; it is something I am committed to keeping up, henceforth.

I invited Lucius to take afternoon tea with me yesterday; he was more candid in that hour than he has been in our entire past history. It was astonishing (albeit somewhat disconcerting) to be able to talk cautiously yet frankly with him about our chequered history. Mother wants him to see a Healer for his depression, and I believe he has finally accepted that he needs to address his problems. Salazar knows, they are many and varied, but I consider his newfound amenability to be a promising start.

I asked Father about our magical cores uniting (without going into detail about how that occurred, obviously. Though I think he may have guessed). Lucius said he had heard of rare occurrences of similar coalescence, and that it is considered ancient, spontaneous magic. Hermione – he told me something else that I would prefer to share with you in person. It's not bad news, but it may shock you at first. It did me.

I read the Evening Prophet last night – thank you, Granger. You did not have to demand the retraction, but I greatly appreciate it (and your staunch support). Mother came back from the Prophet's offices with the triumphant air of a Roman gladiator, and when Lucius asked what she'd been up to, she exultantly replied, "Hermione and I kicked Skeeter's arse to the curb and left her crying for a taxicab!". I would call you a terrible influence, but I believe you feed off each other's malicious tendencies and powers. Also, I am justifiably frightened to cross either of you; together, you are nigh unstoppable. I'll shut up now.

Ma petite, I miss you more than mere words can express. I was amazed when you pointed out it has only been a month since we reconnected. I have been waiting my entire life for you, and the days have flown by like minutes… but the minutes apart from you have crawled past like days. I cannot spend another night without you in my arms.

You are my home, my North Star, and my universe, Hermione Jean Granger.

I am, and always will be,

Your Draco.

PS I am coming home tonight, ma petite. Be ready.

D.L.M.'

Sunday 16 March 2003: PM

"Hand 'em over, laddie – yeh're leavin' yerself no room for lunch, an' yeh'll be sorry fer it, Rosmerta always puts on a decent special," Hagrid warns Macdolas as the house elf stuffs his cheeks full of Honeydukes' finest lollies. He makes an abortive attempt to hide the rest of the sweets in his shrunken Gryffindor robes, but sheepishly hands over the packets of Tooth-Splintering Strongmints, Chocoballs, Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, Cockroach Clusters, and Mice Pops. Hagrid stows them in the outside flaps of his dun-coloured vest.

"I'll look after 'em fer yeh, Mac – but what's that bag yeh're still clutchin'?" he nods to Mac's left hand.

"Ruibby's favourite Jelly Slugs – Macdolas never touches a boon for his sweetheart!" the elf mumbles indignantly around a mouthful of processed sucrose.

"Righ', righ' – o' course yeh wouldn't," Hagrid easily agrees. Luna and Hermione exchange an amused look as Hagrid reaches the entrance of the Three Broomsticks and gallantly holds open the door for the rest of their little party. "In yeh go, I'll grab the firs' round o' Butterbeers while yeh have a gander at the menu, eh? There's a table free in the corner, I'll squeeze in beside lil' Mac and we'll be nice an' cosy."

The half-giant hurries to the bar, a huge grin suffusing his bearded face at Madame Rosmerta's cheery greeting. She acknowledges the two young witches with a smile, and a wink for Macdolas, who immediately blushes and skips ahead.

Hermione worriedly whispers to Luna, "Do you think he's had too much confectionary? I've never seen his eyes grow so large before – not even that night he got tipsy with us."

Luna cocks her head to the side. "It's possible Macdolas is especially susceptible to sugar, Hermione; I've seen it before in elves. Best to restrict his intake, and keep a close eye on him," she briefs her friend.

"I'll have to swap out his Butterbeer for a plain water… oh well, Hagrid won't have any trouble downing it instead," Hermione sighs. "I didn't realize Mac was practically buying out the entire range, or I would have curtailed his overenthusiastic purchases."

Ooh! Maybe I should tell him that Dad will have to perform Muggle dentistry if he fangs into too many sweeties… that might do the trick. No, that's far too mean. Hermione regretfully rejects the idea.

Luna and Hermione take the side of the table that faces the door; Mac jitters in the chair opposite them, craning his head to take in every last detail of the old pub's homey interior. Hagrid slides in beside him, slopping a little Butterbeer foam onto the scarred wooden table as he plonks down their beverages.

Before Macdolas can reach for his ale and begin slurping, Hermione hovers her hand over it and apologetically announces, "I'm sorry, Mac – you're having water for the rest of our outing, please. We're concerned that you're having an adverse reaction to all the candy you've gobbled, and it would be negligent of me to not ensure you're whole and healthy, little mate."

She pushes his stein to Hagrid, ignoring Mac's sullen little face. "I'm going to get you a glass of water instead; I'll be right back." Hermione hurries to the bar and politely requests the replacement drink from Rosmerta.

Turning with the tumbler in her hands, she almost drops it as she spies the red-haired newcomers entering the inn.

Oh, shit. Hermione freezes, hoping against hope that she has not yet been spotted, and can somehow slink back to her seat without having to endure an awkward conversation.

"Hello, Hermione," the female half of the sibling pairing acknowledges.

Nope. No such luck. We're doing this now, then.

"Hello, Ron. Ginny," Hermione plasters on a non-committal smile. "What brings you here?"

Ginny pushes slightly ahead of her brother. "Ron's been miserably haunting the house lately; Mum ordered me to take him out for lunch. And it's always a cheap eat here, right? Care to join us, Hermione?" she sounds sincere in her cautiously friendly invitation.

"Oh, um – I'm here with Luna and Hagrid, actually. And Macdolas, we've just shown him around Hogwarts, and Honeydukes – well, Hagrid and Luna took him around the castle, I was busy – Mac's my… our… Mac's our house elf, well, he's kind of my bodyguard at the moment, I mean– "

Her redheaded former bestie interrupts her nervously babbled rejoinder. "It's fine, Hermione. You don't have to explain. Just thought I'd ask. We'll leave you to it." Ginny's tight smile doesn't quite reach her almond brown eyes. Ron hasn't said a word yet; his mouth is downturned and his posture stiff.

"Wait. Would you like to sit with us, instead? We can push over the adjoining table, and we haven't yet ordered. I mean, if you want – no pressure." Oh. My. Goddess. Stop wittering on, you ninny!

"Sounds good," Ron's gruff acceptance surprises both women. "After you," he sweeps his big hand out for them to precede him.

Being in the lead, Hermione is able to mug a few frantic faces at Luna, who blessedly gets the hint and helps Hagrid to rearrange the seating arrangements. Luna rises from her chair to allow Hermione to give Mac his water and slip into the far corner, while greetings and introductions are traded.

"Ron, Ginny – it's my pleasure to introduce you to my dear friend Macdolas," Hermione begins, startled as Mac jumps up to stand on his chair.

"Free Elf Macdolas of the Clan Fhionnlaigh, now proud major-domo of the House of Granger-Malfoy and Chief Security Advisor to Her Grace Lady Granger!" he brusquely adds, glowering at Ron with particular disfavour.

"Macdolas – what's gotten into you?" Hermione hisses, sotto voice. "You're being rude to my friends."

"'The House of Granger-Malfoy', huh?" Ron slowly repeats. Hermione draws a sharp breath, preparing for some form of insult to follow. She is shocked when Ron tilts back his auburn head and laughs throatily.

"Macdolas – are you dressed as Harry Potter? Good for you," he chuckles. "This alone was worth the trip to Hogsmeade."

Macdolas's antagonism visibly reduces, as he plucks an imaginary piece of lint from his black robe. "His Excellency Harry Potter bequeaths Macdolas his fine uniform: Macdolas takes delight in paying homage to the Secondary Leader of the Golden Trio," he touts.

"Who's the Primary Leader, Macdolas?" Ginny queries with a raised eyebrow and the hint of a smirk on her mouth.

"Her Grace Lady Granger, of course – Her Grace is the brains, His Excellency the heart," Mac readily supplies.

"What does that make me, then?" Ron huffs. "Chopped liver?".

Macdolas takes a moment to consider. "Master Weasley is the brawn?" he offers, grinning smugly as everyone but Ron and Hermione smiles or chortles at his quip.

Luna pats the grumpy Gryffindor's arm consolingly. "Don't worry, Ronald; boars are good-tempered, kind-hearted, positive, loyal, strong, and possess excellent appetites," she observes. "It's truly a compliment, you know."

"Apologize, please, Mac – Ron is not stupid, and there is no need to insult him in order to underline your loyalty to Draco," Hermione quietly requests. "Being ill-mannered for the sake of a cheap joke is rather badly done of you."

She maintains steady eye contact with the now-sulking elf until he mutters, "Macdolas is sorry for calling Master Weasley brawny," and sits back down in his chair with a flump.

Ron ignores the flimsy apology as he looks straight down the table at Hermione. "It's true, then? You and Malfoy are an item?". Hermione hears her companions holding their breath as the tension instantly ratchets.

She folds and unfolds her arms, striving not to sound defensive as she calmly replies, "Yes – Draco and I have been dating for a month. Is there something you wish to say about that, Ronald?".

The pause that ensues is long and fraught. "Are you happy, Hermione? With – with him? And… are you alright, like – physically? Harry told me the bare bones about what happened to you – but… you know, we've all been worried," Ron finally speaks. His aquamarine eyes appear weary and sad as they meet her topaz gaze.

Hermione nods vigorously. "Yes, I am. Very happy. I've recovered fully from my injuries, yes. And I hope you don't believe everything you read in the Prophet – they did a real number on Draco."

Ginny leans forward from her seat beside Luna. "Malfoy is an alcoholic, though?". She puts up a conciliatory hand as Hermione draws a sharply indignant breath. "Sorry – I just meant, I didn't realize he'd been that deeply affected… with the War, and everything. It was eye-opening, actually."

"You know Slytherins are people too, right?" Hermione struggles to keep her temper leashed. "Snape, Slughorn, Regulus Black… Narcissa and Draco – we would have lost the War against Voldemort before it even began, were it not for their actions and sacrifices. Even Lucius walked away, rather than fight."

Ron pipes up. "You're in pretty tight with the Malfoys, Hermione? First name basis already? Seems like bloody quick work, if you ask me." Macdolas growls something incomprehensible beneath his breath but refrains from any further reaction when Hermione shoots him a remonstrative glance.

"I call him Lucy, now," Hermione delights in correcting. "He's not the irredeemable scoundrel he was; he's now somewhat pitiful… diminished. Oh, he's still a jerk, but his rank pomposity has been well and truly corralled."

Hagrid has been hunched at the end of the table during their increasingly strained conversation; he makes a valiant attempt to steer their interactions into safer waters.

"I reckon it's pas' time we ordered, I can hear wee Mac's belly growlin' fer proper sustenance from here," he rumbles. "I'll be havin' the bangers an' mash – what're the rest of yeh thinkin'?".

Bless you, Hagrid. Hermione bequeaths him a heartfelt smile of gratitude for his peacekeeping efforts. But why did I feel compelled to make nice with the Weasleys? I blame Dad – he hammered the importance of politeness and hospitality into me ever since I was a little kid. Ironic, considering how tactless Dad can often be.

Everyone bar Luna chooses the same starchy British classic dish; the blonde Ravenclaw opts for the home-made pumpkin soup and buttered rye rolls.

"I'll place our order – and it's my treat," Hermione is itching to gain a little distance from the crowded tables. She can't help but feel dismayed when Ginny hops up too.

"I'll give you a hand." The athletic young witch easily falls into step beside her as Hermione walks briskly back to the bar. It takes but half a minute to relay their food requests to Rosmerta; Hermione makes to return to their party, but Ginny's freckled hand on her forearm stops her in her tracks.

"Hermione – can we talk? It won't take long, I promise. I have a few things I'd like to say to you."

Huh. Hermione tries to curtail her flinch at the memory of their last bitter discourse.

Ginny's characteristic straightforwardness hasn't deserted her, judging by the next words dropping from her tense lips.

"I'm sorry I was such a bitch to you, last year. I had no right to accuse you of the things I did – and to side with Ron when you guys broke up. I was struggling to deal with the breakdown of my own relationship with Harry… it's no excuse for my poor behaviour, but I lashed out at you and I shouldn't have. Sorry, Hermione," Ginny fiddles with the tail of her dark auburn plait as she awaits Hermione's response.

"I accept your apology, Ginny. I'm sorry for the harsh things I said back to you; I shouldn't have called you immature, or jealous to the point of unhealthy obsession," Hermione returns the apology, and tentatively pats Ginny's shoulder. "I hope you know – there's never been anything romantic between me and Harry, right? He's always been the brother I've never had."

"Yeah, I know," Ginny sighs. "It wasn't about you, Hermione – it was about me, and my insecurities. I always felt left out of the Golden Trio's tight-knit bond, and then with Harry basically being treated like a Muggle rock star after the War… I kind of lost it. And you bore the brunt of that, which I deeply regret."

Hermione shrugs, conscious that a long-held weighty sadness has been vanquished with Ginny's sincere apology. "I wasn't happy with my own life either, Ginny; it took being drugged and almost kidnapped by rapists for me to wake up to that fact. I appreciate that you've had the courage to approach me – I figured I was persona non grata at The Burrow now."

Shaking her head in quick negation, Ginny divulges, "Mum and Dad have always stuck up for you, even through the worst of Ron's moping and my petty jealousies. Mum was mostly disappointed she wouldn't be having you for a daughter-in-law, but she always has maintained Ron was lucky you gave him the time of day in the first place," she chuckles.

"Are they well, your parents? And the rest of the family?" Hermione presses. She has keenly felt the loss of the sprawling Weasley clan in her life since her uneasy split from Ron.

"Yeah, they're fine. Bill and Fleur had a minor separation – but it only lasted about six hours. Bill came back to The Burrow just long enough to instigate a knock-down, drag-em-out fight with Ron and gave him a black eye for his birthday… oh, and he tricked Ronniekins into climbing a tree in the nude, stole his clothes and wand, and left him to make his own half-drunken way home. Ron refuses to tell us exactly what happened, but he rolled in the next day wearing an expensive throw rug and a face like a slapped arse," Ginny's laughs merrily. "He's been almost tolerable ever since."

"Thanks, Ginny. I'm glad we're not at odds any longer."

"Me too. Thanks, Hermione. Maybe – not right now, but soon – we could meet up, for dinner? Or when you next visit with Luna?" Ginny asks hesitantly.

"I'd like that, Ginny."

They wend their way back to their group, and the rest of their luncheon passes without incident, though Hermione catches Macdolas openly throwing contemptuous looks in Ron's direction on more than one occasion. At least his lolly high has eased. Draco is going to scold Mac terribly once I tell him about him gorging on sweets. She tucks in a smile at the thought.

Hermione isn't aware she has fallen into a little Draco-centric reverie until Ginny and Ron stand up to depart. She rises to her feet as Ron shuffles closer, looking sheepish. He digs in his pocket and thrusts a crumpled, folded note into her surprised hand.

"I wrote this a while back, but I wasn't sure about sending it – look, it's up to you if you wanna read it or not, alright," Ron mumbles. "Take care of yourself, Hermione. I'm glad – I'm glad you're happy." He waves jerkily at everyone and bolts for the door; Ginny rolls her eyes and completes her goodbyes before following him.

"It's healthy to be able to cleanse our auras of bitterness and rue, isn't it?" Luna quietly remarks, as she helps a sleepy-eyed Macdolas to manoeuvre his bloated body around the table and toward the exit. "It was kind of you to make the overture to them, Hermione. Ginny's been wanting to make amends for a while, now. Thank you for being the bigger person."

"Well, I think I just panicked, Luna," Hermione hedges. "And Ginny asked me to join them first."

Luna smiles her ethereal smile. "Still, you met each other halfway; and even Ronald seemed to have gained some perspective. He hardly brooded at all, really."

Macdolas's exaggeratedly scornful sniff to express his poor opinion of the copper-haired Gryffindor wizard causes the two witches to look at each other and chuckle.

"Yeh're a salty little scallywag, Macdolas," Hagrid affectionately claps his bear paw onto the elf's back and nearly sends him airborne. "Mebbe yeh should focus on digestin' for the time bein', instead o' worryin' 'bout young Ron," he chides.

Hermione stows Ron's unexpected missive in her jacket before grabbing for her cranky little bodyguard's hand.

"Come on, Mac. You've had a big day. Time to go home."