Bygones

A/N: A huge thank you to my amazing betas, Lariope and lullabelle72, for all their help, suggestions, and encouragement. Also, special thanks to Aloracat for her helpful insights.

Disclaimer: JKR owns it all.

It was an unusually warm day for early May on the grounds of Hogwarts Castle. The sun was shining brightly, enticing the lime green buds on the elm trees to burst out into tiny, fleshy leaves. Even the slight wind had a warm feel to it as it helped dissipate the smell of freshly mowed grass into the air. It was indeed a perfect day for hosting the First Anniversary of the Fall of Voldemort.

Despite the excitement vibrating in all corners of the castle, Snape was not in the mood to celebrate or play War Hero alongside Potter. Classes had been dismissed shortly after noon for the day, and he had decided to disappear for a few hours to get the peace and quiet everyone claimed he deserved.

His heavy woolen cloak floated over to his chair, and he draped it over his left arm without realizing that he had wandlessly summoned it.

Such had been his way of operating for the past year. On automatic. Unconsciously completing tasks and routines.

After the war, Snape could not be bothered to take up a new career. In fact, he couldn't be bothered about a great number of things. After seventeen years of spying and the constant tension that had attended it, the end of the war had brought relief, yes, but also a kind of supreme apathy. It was difficult to care whether the Hufflepuffs could accurately brew a Hiccoughing Draught after finally defeating the Dark Lord and narrowly escaping his own death. Somewhere, in a mostly unexamined part of his mind, Snape knew that he should leave the job to those more suited, more committed, but that would mean figuring out another option, and truth be told, he was far too tired for that.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden sound:

Tap, tap, tap!

The glass on his office door window shivered again, indicating yet another owl coming to deliver mail.

Why did they even bother with the 'peace and quiet' platitudes if they were going to bombard him with non-stop mail?

Resigned, he stood abruptly, making his chair screech on the hardwood floor in protest. He opened the door a mere five centimeters and obtained the rolled up note from the owl who seemed to be annoyed at having to work during a civic holiday.

Snape unrolled the missive, pulling with both thumbs in opposite directions, hoping to read that his presence at this afternoon's ceremony was no longer required. No such luck.

For a moment he was struck with disbelief. Another note from Granger? What the hell was the matter with her? This was the fourth one in the two weeks since he had seen her in the library the day that his journal came, and each missive was more bizarre than the last. Snape reread the note, trying to determine her true intent. She had never been the type to jeer at him behind his back, and yet the words on the page were preposterous.

Dear Professor Snape,

As you are surely wondering about my secret identity, I have decided to reveal my physical being to you in the library on Saturday, May 3rd, at 14h00. I am looking forward to learning whatever you have to teach.

I shall see you tomorrow, Mercury

Tap, tap. tap. That damn owl was tapping again. Tap, tap, tap, waiting for a reply. Severus pivoted back towards his desk, grabbed his quill from the ink pot and scribbled his reply directly below her note:

No, You shall not.

I do not have time for this nonsense, he thought as he dropped her note impatiently into the owl's beak on his way out.

Snape headed out the long stone hallway of the Dungeon despite the fact that he had no real destination in mind, only escaping the castle and the nonsense that surrounded him. As he walked to the Apparition point on the outside of the front gates, he caught a glimpse of the monstrous stage the Ministry had set up at the far end of the Quidditch pitch. Suddenly it felt like his lower limbs were filled with lead and his upper body filled with helium, the combination rendering him instantly nauseous. He knew then that, without a doubt, he would have to break his promise to Minerva. He would not be returning for the ceremony.

Snape pictured in his mind the place where no one could find him and proceeded to Apparate into the living room of Treacle cottage. The blinds were already shut all the way down around the bizarre circular windows--hublots, Dumbledore had called them--but they did not deter the sun from shining brightly, surrounding the circumference like an eclipse of the moon. The place still had a cheery air to it, despite its owner having been absent for two years, as though twinkling were a permanent condition of Dumbledore and his possessions. And to make matters worse, a small, joyful elf was suddenly standing next to him, grinning.

"Remy," said the elf brightly, pointing his long finger towards his own chest to remind Snape of his name.

Snape looked down at the keen house-elf with resignation. Remy appeared to be jumping out of his skin with eagerness for Snape to call on him. He was briefly reminded of Granger during her first few years at Hogwarts.

"Can you go see if there is any liquor in this doll house?" ordered Snape as much to get rid of Remy as anything else. "And I do not mean anything sweet and sugary with a proof less than 45%. Understood?"

Remy was already happily heading towards the basement door, and if elves had tails, his would be wagging frantically.

Snape stood in the middle of the room for a minute or two, unsure if should stay or find another venue to disappear to. The place absolutely reeked of Albus, and therefore, everything he was trying to escape from today. It was only his second visit to the cottage, and he felt no strong urge to move in. Of course, Dumbledore had to bequeath Severus Snape his private residence, a veritable gingerbread house filled with equal parts gaiety and tackiness. He would rather Albus have left him the ashes of one of his brother's goats than this bright, inanely cheerful place.

Severus scanned the décor of the room. At least it had no overly annoying theme like the other quarters of the house. Just stepping into the cowboy room, for instance, made him want to stab his eyes out on the spines of the large cacti residing there. No, the walls of the sitting room were an uncharacteristically subdued dark ochre colour and had only one large painting of a Narwhal scene. In the middle of the room, two small sofas faced each other in front of the stone fireplace. They looked quite comfortable despite the fact the fabric resembled the McGonagall tartan. Directly to his left, the living room had an extensive private library; ornate wooden bookshelves, which appeared to be made up of elder wood, surrounded the perimeter of the all brick-walled reading room. Two large Queen Anne chairs, with an ottoman in front of each, stood side by side with a soft myriad of candles floating overhead with the ability to adjust to the lighting needed by the individual reading.

The small, jovial elf returned with three rather large bottles of unlabelled liquor, one in each hand and the third tucked under his right armpit, making him tilt slightly to that side. He set them awkwardly on the large oak coffee table located in the middle of the two loveseats. He then snapped his fingers, and a fine crystal glass appeared on the table. He plunked some ice cubes in the glass and handed it proudly to the professor.

"Does the professor want food with that too?" inquired Remy, still eager to please, ear tips waggling in anticipation

"No, that will be all," said Snape distractedly before adding a curt "thank you" that was more of a dismissal than a word of gratitude.

Snape poured himself a generous amount of something resembling scotch and uncharacteristically slouched down on the dusty tartan sofa. He held the crystal glass with both hands while staring down at the amber liquid still swirling around. He knew the first taste would be more bitter than savoury, but eventually it would not matter, as that very substance would gradually numb his senses.

All of his senses but one, that is.

It seemed he had inherited more than his father's crooked bottom teeth, for drinking, just like his patriarch, made him horny as hell.

But the way things were right now, it mattered not. He would probably end up sitting here for the remainder of the afternoon in a drunken stupor, which sounded infinitely better than being paraded about a Ministry party.

True, the War Hero nonsense could've garnered him more than the occasional free drink at Rosmerta's, but typical of his luck, not only had redemption passed him by, but the details of his private life had been broadcasted for everyone to hear. He still couldn't bring himself to even think about Golden Boy spilling his guts to Voldemort about Lily (as if that had been the time to be sharing confidences with the Dark Lord). Were they not supposed to be trying to kill each other instead of bickering whether it was love or lust that had motivated him to switch sides?

Now, thanks to Potter, witches young and old (apparently the greatest number falling between the age of thirty and forty according to a poll in Witch's Weekly) wanted to reform him and heal his tortured soul. He did not want their pity or attempts at recovery. In fact, he still preferred the witches who had circulated within Voldemort's circle. At least they had understood that a quick fuck was, indeed, just that. Not to mention, women unconcerned with the state of their own souls were certainly disinterested in the state of his. However, his role in the War did not seem to have overly impressed them, and most of them were probably cursing him from their new accommodations in Azkaban.

Snape gulped the content of his glass in one big shot, as if it were Polyjuice Potion that would turn him into someone else. Someone with more luck.

A quick look at the clock, located on the mantelpiece next to an empty picture frame, indicated that the ceremony was about to officially commence. Images of Potter, Ministry Officials and endless speeches floated to the forefront of his mind until he imprisoned them safely in the back to where they belonged, behind a screen of alcohol.

Snape did not regret skipping out. He did not want to be reminded of the events that had taken place a year ago. He was just beginning to remember what it felt like to have the earth underneath his feet again after dangling between the Dark Lord and Dumbledore for so long.

Now that he had somehow accepted his unlikely survival, it was time to plan for the future. A future that did not include Hogwarts, teaching and conducting research.

Snape refilled his glass for a third time, adding more alcohol and less ice. Again, he stared at the golden swirling liquid in the glass much like Trelawney did when reading tea leaves, trying to determine where and what he should do after this school year ended in a few weeks.

Minerva had been pressuring him to take up academia again (likely in an effort to keep him at the school). Come to think of it, she was not the only one who was suddenly interested in his past research. Hadn't Irma Pince sent a note asking him to drop by the library with his original essays on mercury? Probably on behalf of Granger.

Mercury. Hg. Hermione Granger.

What the hell was the matter with her anyway?

Surely she knew he would figure out she was the not-so-mysterious Mercury.

It was so transparent! In fact, this had Minerva McGonagall written all over it. But why insult his intelligence with the "Mercury" intrigue? Why not just send her "permanent student of the month" over in person to discuss his research?

Still, what did it matter? Even if the young witch had come in person, the results would have been the same. He would still leave the school. But what was Minerva thinking... research with Granger?

Drinking away that disturbing notion, Snape muttered to himself, " I would rather be hexed!"

Remy poked his head in swiftly when he heard a noise coming from the family room, hoping to be of service again, but Snape waved him off with a hand gesture that looked like he was swatting a fly. Remy smiled brightly and waved back before retreating behind the door again.

Was no one scared of him anymore?

Obviously not Granger. The girl was not stupid, so why would she even abase herself by agreeing to send him these notes? Especially the last one.

The first three missives of her attempt at correspondence had just been to inquire about his thoughts on Mercury toxicity and her ideas regarding its removal. What had annoyed him was the fact that she had used a generic handwriting charm and signed the missive Mercury as if he would not figure it out. Seriously, had she already forgotten he had been a bloody spy?

But what about that last note? I am willing to learn whatever you have to teach. What was she trying to get at with that line?

McGonagall was playing mind games with him. Making him think way too much about this, and the sad part was... it was working. Had he not been analyzing this way more than it was worth?

He had almost been tempted to take the bait too. It would only do Miss Granger a favour to have someone tell her to her face that her whole thesis proposal was absolutely idiotic and that the only reason she was allowed to proceed with it was her War Hero status. Was it not always the way with institutions of higher learning? It would certainly add prestige to Beauxbâtons Académie to have such a high profile graduate as Granger.

But after this last note, there was no way he was getting involved in these childish tactics.

Snape got up from the sofa to get more drink, and the extent of his stupor became clearer as the counterclockwise spinning of the room forced him to sit back down again.

He noticed that almost all of the liquor Remy had brought was gone, yet he still needed some type of alcohol to keep his memories confined. Perhaps he should just go finish his debauchery at the Anvil Tavern, the seedy dive where he had Confunded Mundungus into suggesting the seven Potters to the Order. He was confident that the patrons there would not fit into the category of War Hero Worshipers, and he would be left alone.

***

At precisely 13h00, Irma Pince closed her library for the rest of the day. She efficiently performed all the proper charms to safeguard the written institution and made her way back to her private quarters before heading out to the Remembrance Day Ceremony.

She walked rapidly towards the faculty's residence located at the back of the castle, just behind the southern gardens.

She hoped Pomona, whose residence was right next to hers, was still in the Great Hall eating her lunch. They had shared a few drinks last night, and truth be told, Irma had perhaps consumed a bit too much.

"C'mon Irma, one more drink won't hurt you! We're celebrating being rid of "You-Know–Vol!" her jolly colleague had pressured.

A few Martinis later, Irma had shared her "cousin's" difficulties in getting two individuals with like minds together.

"Food, Irma; I tell you, food is the common denominator to all living creatures," Pomona preached importantly while popping another olive into her mouth. "Tell your cousin to throw a dinner party for them."

Irma tried to picture Snape and Granger discussing research over a meal but the images just would not form.

"My cousin just wants them to collaborate on a research project," interjected Irma, interrupting Pomona's long list of entrée ideas, an amazing number of which involved cheese in some form.

"Easy! Use humour or intrigue," replied the Herbology Professor, clearly not fazed by Irma's impatient tone.

Upon returning to her own quarters, Irma had decided intrigue suited her Professor best, and because she was slightly under the influence, her patience had dissolved, and she had just scribbled the quickest and easiest way to see him again. She had written a most desperate and idiotic note to Severus Snape on Mercury's behalf. The previous three had been decently mysterious and subtle, but this one had been outrageous. Now she was regretting it profoundly.

Irma came to an abrupt stop in front of her door. She glanced at her outgoing mail basket outside her door, and what she had dreaded most was confirmed.

Rats! The note was gone. Her owl had already taken it, determined to get the afternoon off like the other employees of the Castle.

Her door flew open as soon as she whispered watermelon. She stepped through and closed the door with a little too much force, making the lone picture on the wall tremble, and its occupant, her mother, frown.

She hurried to her large desk, sat down on the matching wooden chair and opened the third bottom drawer to her right. She pulled out a small box of cereal and Accio'd a bowl and some milk to savour her favorite lunch that she ate every day using the re-transfigured spoon from that momentous day long ago.

The discarded plan was still lying in the middle of her desk, and she felt no need to remove it while she ate. It did not matter if a drop of milk fell on it or if an entire bottle of permanent ink tipped over it. The truth was that the plan, so far, was a failure.

Phase One had been to send Granger's abstract to Snape anonymously and to inquire on his past research dealing with mercury. That had not brought her beloved anywhere near the library.

Phase Two: Research Library for Material on Intellectual Matchmaking had yielded nothing. She had tried different key words, even performed an advanced Boolean search but still nothing.

Apparently, the keys to luring intellectual minds together were grant money and the promise of prestige. Severus Snape was certainly not interested in any sort of status, and where would she get grant money anyway?

That left her only with Matchmaking, the traditional romantic kind, where two individuals are brought together in the hope that they could fall in love.

The idea was utterly ridiculous. She just wanted him in the library on a regular basis, not in love with someone else!

Suddenly, her boomerang owl (such creatures were usually only used for interlibrary loans) was notifying her of its return.

A reply!

She read the note quickly and then ran her index finger over 'No, you shall not' as if reading Braille.

"Well," sighed Irma, "this reply was expected."

What a fine mess she had created!

Her revised plan now consisted of convincing Miss Granger to come to the library tomorrow in case Professor Snape changed his mind and wanted to meet the mysterious Mercury. A flimsy plan at best, and one destined for failure, she was certain.

Still, she would have a word with the young witch at the ceremony, and in the meantime, Irma consoled herself with the fact that she would see Severus Snape in thirty minutes' time. Surely that would re-energize her and inspire her to find a way to get him back in her library where he belonged.

Irma arrived at the ceremony twenty-two minutes ahead of schedule. She sat in the fifth row from the front. She didn't want to seem too obvious by sitting any closer. Snape, a War Hero, no less, would be sitting right on stage. She usually had no patience for these types of gatherings. What was done, was done, dust to dust, ashes to ashes...really, just let people get on with their lives. These sentimental services were usually just in place to convince the masses that the Ministry cared at some level or other, and Irma was hardly swayed by Ministry propaganda.

Today, however, her eyes would be fixed on her prize, and the longer it took the Minister to say whatever he felt needed to be recalled, the better.

After saving her seat with a spell that wrote her name on the back of the chair, she went looking for Miss Granger. There were already small clusters of attendees gathered around on the grounds, talking and reminiscing. Irma finally spotted the Granger girl talking to the Weasley boy next to a large evergreen tree on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They both appeared to be crying.

When Irma returned a few minutes later, the ginger headed boy was gone, and Miss Granger was sitting on a small wooden chair behind the stage, trying to console some poor woman who was sobbing. Irma moved a bit closer and recognized the woman to be a certain Mrs Creevey. She remembered reading in the Global Wizarding Times (not a trashy newspaper like the Daily Prophet) that Madam Creevey had lost her son in the war a year ago, but was still mourning as if he had been killed yesterday.

Irma noticed Hermione Granger patting her on the back and touching the woman on the arm. Again, Irma decided that perhaps she would just talk to the young witch after the ceremony.

Irma made her way back through the crowd of well-wishers. She found her seat and greeted her surrounding neighbours with a brief, polite hello, but her attention veered immediately in search of Snape. Her eyes went up to the stage, and after scanning the long row of chairs back and forth like a lighthouse beacon, she came to the dreadful conclusion that Severus was not in attendance. Involuntarily, her eyes filled up with tears. The new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt had started his speech, and the audience grew respectfully quiet.

What is the matter with you, Irma? Her tears would not subside, and she hoped that those around her mistook them for tears of sadness about the war.

Suddenly, Mr. Shacklebolt's speech was interrupted by a loud, squeaky, distorted sound that was half cry and half plea.

For a quarter of a second, Irma thought it was she who had made that sound, such was her inner turmoil.

But the sound was coming from the front row. Mrs Creevey was now crying loudly, her shoulders heaving up and down as her younger son, Dennis, was desperately trying to make her stop. The crying was followed by dolorous wailing like a desperate plea to her departed son.

"Whyyyyy? Please! Oh, Why?" followed by stretches of "Noooooooooooooo... no .........noooooo!" she chanted over and over in a tone only a bereaved mother could produce.

The audience seemed to be frozen, uncertain what to do, as that poor mother had single handedly reminded everyone what the War had truly cost. Finally, Molly Weasley got up from her chair and went to kneel down next to the woman, taking her in her arms, and rubbing her back in great big circles. Molly was soon followed by the usually reserved Andromeda Black, who handed over baby Teddy to her husband before kneeling down on the other side of Mrs Creevey, whispering words of fortitude to her and showing the audience what else the end of the War had brought – the dissolving of bloodline alliance. Pureblood and Muggle held unto each other as they struggled to cope with the loss of their children.

Madam Pince removed her rimless eyeglasses and dabbed her tears with a tissue, feeling shame at her previous callousness. But as she made her way back to her private quarters, she could not help still feeling disappointed that she hadn't seen Snape.

***

Hermione watched as parents put their arms around their children, walking slowly to the Great Hall, appreciating life, the bright sun, and perhaps each other more than they had in the past few days.

What an emotional service it had been. There was not a dry eye in the audience or up on stage when the true meaning of remembrance had been presented to them.

Hermione stood beside the entrance to the Great Hall, where the more festive reception was now taking place. A flute of champagne appeared in her hand, and she drank it fast as the day was very warm and muggy, but her flute kept refilling itself, and soon she could feel the effects traveling in her bloodstream.

It felt like ages ago since she had returned from France and gotten ready at her parents' place for the ceremony. She wasn't excited; the war was still too fresh in her mind, the faces of all those who had been lost still vivid in her memories, for her to be excited and in a celebratory mood. Instead she felt out of place, uneasy, and unsure as to how exactly she should feel. To quell her nerves, she had drunk half a bottle of chilled Rose before meeting Ron and her friends at Grimmauld Place just after lunch. She had hoped that their presence, their warm familiarity, would ease her unsettled mind. That hadn't worked out has planned, not at all, but she would not let herself think about Grimmauld Place until she was truly alone.

She felt somewhat left out when she noticed Harry and Ginny both chasing a toddling Teddy while Ron chatted with Cho.

She felt so conflicted and could not believe she had ended things with Ron just before the ceremony started, exactly on their one-year anniversary. She had worked so hard to make it work, but it felt like their relationship was more complicated than it needed to be, unlike Harry and Ginny's. She always envied them tremendously that certain elusive something that made their relationship truly special. They laughed often, teased and had common interests. It was also obvious that they could not keep their hands off of each other. She and Ron argued constantly, had very few common interests, and the sex had been inconsistent and mostly a chore, but she had been determined to wipe those glitches away and make it work regardless.

As she glanced at Molly talking with Mrs Creevey, Hermione tried tallying up her blessings for which she should be grateful: First, she and her best friends were alive and healthy. Second, she had good parents who loved her. Thirdly, she was tremendously happy with her decision to go back to school.

Hadn't she wished she were single during orientation week at the Académie? Really, she should not be feeling so down.

Still feeling somewhat melancholic and emotionally drained, Hermione decided to leave the reception early and meet up with Viktor Krum. He had owled her a quick note two days ago, saying his team was playing in London and asking if she and her friends would like to meet up at the Anvil Tavern for a few drinks after his match. Hermione had originally declined due to the ceremony, but had reconsidered since it could provide a distraction, and frankly, she had no desire to continue her alcohol consumption in front of everyone she knew.

She Apparated to the junction of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, just under the lamppost that illuminated the names of both streets. She was glad that she had managed the feat without Splinching herself, for she was quite inebriated.

"I wonder why the Wizarding Community doesn't educate young wizards and witches about the dangers of drinking and Apparating like Muggles do with drinking and driving? Someone should look into that," she muttered to herself. She would need to write a memo to the Ministry to inquire about this issue.

Even though it was not quite dark outside, more on the brink of dusk, Hermione felt uneasy being so close to Knockturn Alley. She peered down the shadowy, narrow streets, deserted except for a large rat that was getting a head start on its nocturnal activities as it emerged from the gutter. A large portion of the Wizarding World was probably still enjoying the festivities taking place at Hogwarts.

Her thoughts slowed and meandered lazily about her brain. She was having a hard time remembering the name of the street she was looking for.

"Spencer Lane," she murmured as she took a sharp left off Knockturn Alley.

The Anvil Tavern was the lone establishment with its lights on. She had no difficulties finding it. Hermione wiped her eyes with the back of her hand before entering the premises and took a deep, cleansing breath. She tugged several times on the heavy door before casting an "Alohomora!" The door opened with a loud squeak. She headed straight to the bathroom facilities without glancing up. She didn't want anyone to see her in such a sorry state.

The copious amount of champagne and rose she had consumed muffled her senses, but the seediness of the tavern penetrated the dense wall. It smelled like a Muggle ashtray, and the wooden floor looked like it had never felt the strong caress of mop and bucket. Her sandals stuck to the wood planks, making a squishy sound. The state of the bathroom was no better, but at least it was empty, giving her the privacy she needed to pull herself together.

Hands on either side of the grimy sink, she looked at her reflection in the cracked mirror.

The events of the day came rushing back full force now that she was alone to lick her wounds. She had wanted to surprise Ron at Grimmauld Place, so she had carefully Disillusioned herself and cast Muffliato to make sure she would not be heard. However, it was Ron who had surprised her, for he was not alone as expected, and he hadn't bothered with any charms to conceal his presence or voice.

She had not been upset to find him chatting with Cho Chang. The two had become friends during Auror training and were now paired to patrol together. They seemed to be having what was obviously a work-related conversation.

"Cho, I really don't know what to do!" lamented Ron, "Hermione is one of my best friends, and I really do care for her."

"Maybe not work related, " thought an (at the time) only slightly tipsy Hermione.

Cho was sitting on the sofa chair across from him. Her large, brown eyes were fixed on him with warm empathy.

"Ron, you can't stay in this relationship forever if you are not happy," said Cho softly.

"I would sacrifice my happiness not to lose her friendship!"

"Oh, Ron!" exclaimed Cho, now teary-eyed, "It's so rare for me to be in the company of someone with such intense feelings!"

"Is she still talking about Ron???" thought Hermione, looking around the room for another person.

Biting his lip, Ron leaned forward slightly and looked at Cho with such longing that Hermione realized that there was something developing between them. Something tangible and real.

Her stomach had immediately plummeted upon digesting that bit of information, and before she could do or say something she would later regret, she silently left the room, unnoticed, leaving Ron and Cho to their burgeoning feelings for one another.

When she had been reunited with Ron later at the ceremony, she had been the one to end their relationship, claiming that they had different goals and interests. They had both cried but Hermione had noticed how easily he had accepted her decision. His grateful expression had hurt her more than she could've imagined.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked a fright. Her eyes were bloodshot. They were so red, in fact, that it seemed that if she were to cry, blood would run down her cheeks instead of tears. She splashed cold water over her face and reached for her wand that was tucked away on the side of her skirt at the waist. She cast an efficient "Rougesorta!" and her face and eyes returned to their natural colour.

Face cleaned, shoulders high, fake smile on, it was time to leave the bathroom to see if she could find Viktor and his teammates.

Still feeling the effects of the Rose and the other numerous drinks, Hermione tripped over the small step leading to the bar area. She grabbed the wall and slumped against it, just in time before falling on the disgusting tavern floor. Another memo to the Ministry composed itself in her head about standardizing the height and width of steps in the Wizarding Community.

As gracefully as she could, Hermione made her way over to the bar and sat on tall stool after wandlessly casting a cleaning spell on the stained gray material that had perhaps been blue at one time. She quickly glanced around the tavern to see if Viktor and friends were around, but she already knew they were not here, as she would have surely heard the boisterous sound of fifteen Quidditch players drinking.

Hermione wondered how in the world Viktor had chosen this disgusting place. She ordered some red elf made wine while she waited. Surely, one more glass of wine couldn't hurt, and besides, she was in dire need. She had just lost the only boyfriend she had ever had.