Chapter Six

Halloween came in a quiet flurry of homemade costumes, charmed decorations, and pumpkin pasties in the Potter household, and Hermione became the unsuspecting victim of George Weasley's creativity when she opened a large parcel he had mailed to Grimmauld Place. Upon untying the string that held it together, she was greeted by a small puff of blue smoke that settled on her cheek as a fluttering butterfly. She had just managed to immobilise it and make it look like face paint before heading in for her morning orientation at work, grateful that she could explain it away on the day and eager to pay George back in kind.

She found the family midway through lunch when she arrived at the Burrow later that day, squashed around several small tables in the kitchen and sitting room. Gatherings were much easier to maneuver in the summer weather when they could all sit outside, but the downpour and thunder kept everyone indoors. She grabbed a plate from the countertop and sidled up between George and Percy, pulling out her wand to reanimate the butterfly before reaching for a serviette.

"Pretty good magic, eh, Hermione?" George asked proudly.

"Pretty permanent magic, that's for certain. I couldn't get it off."

"Me neither," Percy confessed. He turned his head to the side, giving her a view of a tiny grey snail creeping across his eyebrow.

Peering down the table, she realised that all of the children and several of the adults present were sporting the latest product from George's booming business. Admittedly, the only person who looked remotely upset about this was Ron, who kept a weary eye on the black spider crawling across his daughter's nose.

"I only wish I could have figured out a way to cover it up before I went in for my new job." She glared him down good-naturedly as she stressed the final three words.

"Er... well..." he stammered as a mixture of congratulations were levied at her by the others.

"I'm just glad today actually was Halloween," she continued. "The secretaries at the hospital now believe that I am a doting aunt who was having a bit of fun. At least I could keep it from flapping its wings."

"Sorry. I had no idea." He gave her an apologetic smile. "I don't suppose that a complimentary trick wand would ease the blow?"

"Make that a package of Canary Creams, George, and I may forget all about retribution."

"Deal."

Led by Arthur, whose fascination with Muggle medicine began in earnest in her fifth year during his stay in St. Mungo's, the rest of the Weasleys launched into a round of questions about Hermione's job: Where was she working? What would she be doing? Was she going to sew up people by herself?

"I'll be starting Monday as a doctor at Ealing Hospital, a Muggle hospital on the outskirts of London. Primarily in the emergency room, which is not ideal. Thankfully, Muggle health care in London is atrociously underfunded and ill-managed, so there are always more patients than doctors, and I'll always have a post when I need one. I'll still be applying for jobs in neurology, but at least I'm taken care of financially for now." She explained her reasoning to them as much as to herself, reassuring everyone that she was making the right decision. "And, yes, stitches are both perfectly safe and rather effective when not treating magically induced wounds."

Later that evening, Ginny sat down with Hermione over a pot of tea in their regular spots at the kitchen table.

"Listen, Hermione, Harry and I were talking it over..." she said, pouring two cups of chamomile. "We think you should put off looking for your own place for awhile. Stay here with us for a few more months as you get used to being back and working full-time again before you face another big change in your life."

Hermione accepted the teacup slid her way and reached for the honey. "That's very kind of you both, but I don't want to impose."

"You could never be an imposition." Ginny returned from a cupboard with a tin of biscuits sent by Molly earlier in the week. "I'm sure it's been stressful enough with the move here and the job. Do you really want something else new on top of it all?"

Hermione set her cup down and stared up at her friend. "Oh, no. This isn't about that, is it?"

"No," Ginny responded a little too quickly.

Hermione grimaced.

"Well... not entirely." Ginny set her cup down as well, and began ticking off her reasons for Hermione to stay on her fingers while she presented her argument. "First, we love you and like having you here. There's plenty of space, and you know it. Second, we don't particularly like the thought of you in some big place by yourself without anyone else there. Third... yes, this is about that. You may not want to talk about it, but maybe you should. It'll be easier here with Harry and me. I can't help thinking that you missed out on your chance to... well, to mourn everything and everyone we lost before you left for Australia. And you missed your chance to start over again and..."

"Ginny, I..."

"No, I'm still going." Ginny cut her off. "Four, Harry and I had planned on using you shamelessly as a babysitter so we can finally have a hot date out on the town, and we really need to take you up on it. Five, we'll never be able to explain to Lily why her favourite orange kitty is gone. You do know that "kitty" was her third word thanks to Crookshanks, don't you? It beat out "Gran" despite Mum's best efforts, something which will haunt her until her dying day. Six, did you really want to start making house payments? Seven, we..."

"I get the picture, Ginny." She let out a deep sigh. "I'll hold off for now, all right?"

After surviving several years of notoriously inedible hospital food in the Muggle world, Hermione was delighted to find herself a few days later with a moderately tasty salad at St. Mungo's. Neville had shown her several of the hybrid plants he was working on in the back rooms and healing gardens on the third floor before they retreated for lunch to the visitor's tearoom on the fifth. She had been greeted by several workers throughout the hospital who recognised the war heroine beside one of their resident Herbologists.

"Hermione... Hermione Granger? A pleasure, yes, an absolute pleasure."

"Miss Granger?"

"Hermione Granger? Back in England, are you?"

Each time, she smiled warmly and responded with a few words or a handshake before moving on with Neville. "They did that with me, too, right after the war," he whispered, glancing around to make sure no one could overhear. "Thankfully, it ended after a few months. I don't know how much more of it I could have taken."

They chatted freely in the tearoom once the inquiries finally settled down, and Hermione asked him about everything from his future career ("I've spoken with Professor Sprout about taking over for her at Hogwarts one day...") to his love life ("... I go to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch quite often, and it's sort of wonderful to have Hannah to talk to...") to his feisty grandmother ("She's insisting that I push for a promotion, but..."). Neville finally managed to turn the tables on his inquisitive friend and ask Hermione about her newly acquired job.

"You'll have to come visit me at Ealing sometime to see how Muggle hospitals work," she insisted, happy to be able to share this with one of her wizarding friends.

"I'd love to. They can't be too different, can they?"

"They do look fairly similar: rooms filled with sick people needing help, Healers walking around everywhere, even reception areas stocked with old magazines."

"I've never understood that one," he snorted jovially. "St. Mungo's has several subscriptions, but I've yet to see anything current within the last two years. Where do they go? And why do they show up later once enough time has passed for them to be outdated?"

"One of life's great mysteries, Neville." Hermione checked her watch for the time. "Today's only my third day there, so let me get settled a bit, and then I can show you around." She still had about an hour before she had to return there for her next shift. "Doctors get much better uniforms than Healers, though. I'd go blind if I had to wear those ghastly lime-coloured robes they're stuck with."

"Have you actually cut people up, then?"

"Yes, I have. Very carefully, of course. It's really not so terrible. We start by practising on cadavers before we get to patients."

"Cadavers?"

"People... who were formerly alive."

A greenish tinge swept across her friend's face.

"A bit squeamish?"

"Just change the topic, please."

"But after everything you saw in battle?"

"I can take it all if I have to, Hermione. It's just that I'd rather not..."

"But you work in a hospital!"

"I work with plants in a hospital. The most I do now is consult with a Healer for a patient who's had a nasty run-in with a Devil's Snare or a Black Nightshade." He began pushing the remains of his soup around the bowl with his spoon as he avoided her gaze. "You know, perhaps it's best if I don't come visit you at work."

"Well, if you ever change your mind, let me know." She took the plunge. "How are your parents doing? Do you like being here with them?"

"Oh... They're fine as always." He continued stirring the overcooked carrots he had left uneaten, staring off at a far wall in the tearoom.

"Nothing... new?" From what Malfoy had told her, she thought Neville would have some exciting information to share.

"Er... what? Did someone say something? Why are you asking?" he asked suspiciously.

"A little blond bird may have told me..." she began before being interrupted by a visitor.

"Granger, Longbottom." He reached out a hand to Neville. "The murmurs were true, I see. Granger makes an appearance."

"Talk of the devil," she muttered quietly.

"Granger! I thought we'd moved passed that." He sounded amused, even pleased.

"Malfoy." Neville gave his hand a hearty shake. "How's your lab these days?"

"Wait, wait, wait. When did this happen?" she asked incredulously, stopping Malfoy from answering Neville.

"We work in the same building. Same floor, even. What are we supposed to do – hex each other at every turn?" Draco chuckled.

"Besides, if he does anything at all to mess with me, I can destroy his supplies. A little too much water here, a little poison there..." Neville replied. "Actually, will you look at the time?" he asked far too loudly, nervously pointing to his watch. "I need to run. Really. There is a watering schedule, and I can't destroy all the scurvy-grass and sneezewort for everyone, now can I?" He said his goodbyes and gathered his things before retreating to his greenrooms.

It was, however, getting close to the time when she needed to leave. "Malfoy, I was going to owl you, but since you're here... when may I come over to peruse your library?"

He furrowed his brow and paused before speaking. "Will you be all ri..."

"Yes. I'll be fine," she said firmly.

"How about Saturday?"

"That's my usual day at the Weasleys'."

"Sunday?"

"Grand."

"2 p.m.?"

"See you then."

A fortnight had passed since she last appeared in this fireplace in a burst of swirling green flames. Now as she stepped out into the empty room, she was greeted by the entire Malfoy clan. Draco was holding himself in miniature, seemingly identical from the platinum hair to the pointy chin, and Astoria stepped forward to greet Hermione.

"Hermione. I'm glad to see you again."

"Thanks for having me, Astoria."

"This is Scorpius." She led Hermione across the room as Draco set his son down on the floor beside him. "Scorpius, this is Miss Hermione."

"Hello, Scorpius. It's a pleasure to meet you." She extended her hand to the toddler.

"Hewwo." He took her hand and shook it very seriously.

"Scorpius, where are we taking Miss Hermione today?" Astoria asked her son as he retreated behind her legs.

"The Wibwawy." He answered obediently, smiling shyly at Hermione from his hiding spot.

"I love libraries." Hermione held back, giving the little boy his space. She had learnt her lesson with James and Albus that pouncing on small children only terrifies them. Each time she'd appeared at Grimmauld Place after months away, it would take a day or so for them to remember who she was and not run away in fear as she scooped them up in her arms and smothered them with kisses. "They're filled with books, and books are filled with stories. Do you like to hear stories, Scorpius?"

A few silent nods answered her.

"Do your mummy and daddy read to you?"

A few more nods.

"What's your favourite bedtime story?"

Silence.

"I like The Tales of Beedle the Bard. Do you know any of..."

"Babbitty Wabbitty!" he exclaimed, pumping a small fist in the air and scampering over to the doorway, encouraging his entourage to get a move on.

Draco masked a smile and gestured to his wife, allowing Astoria and Hermione to follow after his son as he headed through the house to their destination. The group traced a now familiar path along the torch-lit hallway, around a corner to the right, through the portrait room, down a flight of stairs and beyond the conservatory. Really, Hermione thought, it's just like my childhood home, but just a bit bigger. Trade in the torches for electric sconces, the portrait hall for a wall of family photographs showcasing various stages of the growing beast that was her hair, and the conservatory for her mother's pot plants littered throughout the kitchen, and it was the same thing in spirit if not in scale.

When the doors to the library swung wide, Hermione's jaw went slack, and her eyes grew several sizes. She had been there only two weeks earlier, but her distraction had kept her from actually seeing the room. It was a bookworm's dream, open two stories with a balcony around the perimeter for access to the collection. Completely lined with wooden panelling and built-in shelves, the centrepiece of the library was a stone fireplace tall enough for her to stand in topped by an oil painting of a Scottish hunting scene. Her eyes skimmed over the brass telescopes and astrolabes in the far corner by the window to the massive globe atop a wooden floor stand along the wall nearest to the door.

"All right, Granger." Draco chuckled quietly at the strength of her reaction. "Where would you like to be set up?"

"Do you mean I can select a desk for myself?"

"It'll take you awhile to work through all this stuff. I would let you take them home with you if I could, but they've all been spelled to remain within the house. Several are actually spelled to remain within the room, and I can't even take them to my study."

She examined the room, taking in the three open tables in the centre and the smaller desks peripherally scattered about. Most were empty, so she walked over to a walnut writing-desk nearest the fireplace. "May I use this one?"

"Certainly." He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a folded up piece of parchment to hand over to her. "Here's the list. None of them above the line are restricted; just Summon those. All those below the line could be problematic, so just ask me when you get there, and I'll help you retrieve them."

"Restricted?"

"You didn't expect this place to be filled to the brim with bunny rabbits and daisies, did you, Granger?" He walked over to an alcove under the balcony, flagging her to follow him. "These are books that you should not attempt to open without me in the room. You have to know the quirks of each volume so you can avoid trouble."

Hermione gulped slowly, allowing her gaze to stray to a chaise where Astoria was animatedly reading stories aloud to their son. "What about Scorpius?"

"Spell-protected for the underaged. I couldn't get within a metre of them when I was young, either."

"May I look around at the rest of the collection?" She monitored her breathing, trying to suppress the giddy excitement that threatened to overwhelm her.

"Could I possibly stop you?" He laughed aloud, waiting for her to respond with a huff before leading her around the rest of the library. They followed the shelves around the room twice, once on the lower level and once on the balcony, and he pointed out each section of the collection, rattling off important volumes as he remembered them. "This section is all History of Magic, arranged chronologically within region of the world. Here's the collection on alchemy, arranged alphabetically by author. There's a lovely leather bound set of the complete works of Agrippa, if you're interested. All bestiaries and books on magical creatures are on these shelves, including the real Aberdeen Bestiary, if you'd like to see it. I know you weren't interested in creatures at Hogwarts, but it's a sight. Newt Scamander's works are there as well. Wizarding literature here, Squib and Muggle literature there." He paused to look down at her. "Don't say it, Granger, I know what you're thinking."

"No comment on the Muggle literature," she offered with a raised eyebrow. Harry will never believe this.

Following another grueling week in her new job in the emergency room, Hermione was relieved to have her weekend off. She had signed on to fifty working hours with the option of being on call one night each week. After realising that she couldn't take her on call shift from home with a pager (electronics and the very magical home she was dwelling in did not mix at all, something she had completely overlooked when living as a Muggle in Melbourne), she signed up for night shifts at the hospital and slept there on a lumpy cot in a tiny room. Another lunch at the Burrow on Saturday gave her time and space to relax outside in the unseasonably warm November weather before returning to her Legilimency project indoors on Sunday afternoon.

She had already discussed her somewhat unpredictable schedule with the Malfoys, who in turn arranged for her to be able to slip in and out of their home as she needed. She had initially tried to protest this generous offer, suggesting that she check into the library at prearranged times, but Draco waved her concerns away. "I could never trust you with the books if it weren't for the protective spellwork, Granger," he insisted mischievously. "Besides, the house-elves will keep you in line."

Following tea with Ginny on November 15th, Hermione gathered notebooks and biros in her satchel and left for Malfoy Manor. The Floo room was empty when she arrived, so she hung her coat on one of the hooks in the room and headed off through the winding hallways of the country house. Each time she traipsed through the maze of rooms, she spotted something new. This time she noticed that the gallery held more than just family portraits. Several large landscape paintings with peasants and shepherdesses were crowded onto one of the walls. The commotion of a fleeing flock of sheep, madly chased by a young woman dressed in taupe over a hilltop, caught her eye as she was exiting.

She was still wary wandering through the old mansion alone. Although she knew the route from the Floo room to the library by heart, she willed herself to block out memories of every other part of the house. Not knowing how she would react to visiting the drawing room or even Draco's study, she shut down her curiosity, refusing to open closed doors or even peer down empty hallways. It was easier not to deal with it, easier to think of Malfoy as almost a new acquaintance rather than the person she had known for so long.

When she arrived at her favourite room in the manor, she dropped her bag at her writing-desk and picked up the list of books he had left for her. The thought of Summoning books through an open space with delicate glass lamps was still rather disconcerting to Hermione, so she walked to the centre of the room before beginning the retrieval process. "Accio Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes!" she cried, and a burgundy volume floated gracefully from the balcony level into her hand at a speed much slower than any normal Summoning spell. Recognising this as another protective enchantment in the library, she headed back to her seat to get the rest, passing a dark wooden rolltop desk open and stacked high with books. Curiosity got the better of her as she took a peek at them: a few looked to be books on the magical properties of plants, several appeared to be on the human body, a Latin-English dictionary sat on the highest shelf, and a syllabary was opened flat on the seat of the chair.

She had barely reclaimed her seat when quiet footsteps marked the arrival of her library companion. Professor Snape slowed upon seeing her there, giving her a curt nod as he took his seat. She merely nodded in response, willing herself not to speak. The more difficult task proved to be willing herself to focus on the reading at hand, as her nerves gave her a hyperawareness of his presence in the room: where he paced with a volume in hand and where he spread out multiple books on an empty table. Eventually her work consumed her, and by the time she was ready to pack up her things, he had already closed up the rolltop desk and left without her notice.

Ignoring pickup Quidditch games in increasing chilly weather whilst anticipating Molly Weasley's cooking was rapidly becoming Hermione's favourite way of spending her free time, followed only by her satisfaction with the slow progress she was making through the volumes on her writing-desk. Her hospital schedule the week was the same as the previous, so she spent another Saturday in the company of the Weasleys playing with her adopted nieces and nephews. Another Sunday was spent in the company of Malfoy's books.

Professor Snape was pacing the room when she arrived this week, stepping, she assumed, subconsciously in time to the lively sounds of a Classical string quartet coming from a phonograph on a stand near the wall. His eyes remained on his book as she began thumbing through an old volume on her list, but she knew better than to assume that he hadn't noticed her entrance. After last week's hours of silence and this performance today, she concluded that they had somehow reached an agreement to ignore one another completely.

When the movement ended, he lowered his book and greeted her sharply. "Miss Granger."

She looked up, startled, but remained seated. "Professor."

"If you prefer to work in silence, I can turn this off. Confined as we are to the same workspace, I have no desire to hinder your progress."

"I have no complaints," she said calmly. "Of course, I might object if it were elevator music or some hip hop."

A look of bewilderment appeared on his face as his brow furrowed.

I've just mentioned hip hop to Severus Snape.

"Are you aware of your complete incomprehensibility?" he asked, snapping his book closed.

"I just meant that this is neither a quiet piece lulling me to sleep nor something riotous and loud. It focuses my mind more than anything else."

"Ah, yes... 'What passion cannot Music raise and quell?'"

"John Donne?"

"Dryden, Miss Granger. Dryden."

After that brief interchange, each resumed their studies, working in relative silence for the next few hours. The music continued on, accompanied by the soft shuffling of pages and the muffled padding of his pacing footsteps, but neither spoke another word. The phonograph cycled through quartet after quartet, always playing something new yet in the same style as the first piece she heard. When it finally clicked in her mind's ear that she had been listening to the same tune repeating itself, she looked up to discover that he had slipped out before her once again. She packed up her books of notes and spells to practice over the coming week, silenced the phonograph, and returned to Grimmauld Place.

The hospital shifted her schedule during the following week, so she didn't have time until Monday morning to return to Malfoy Manor. This time he was nowhere to be found. She casually strolled past his desk, only to find it closed with the chair tucked away. Drumming her fingers idly across the top, she surveyed the room and wondered again how on earth she ended up there, in the home of the boy who had hated her, learning how to make her parents remember they loved her. Shaking herself out of her reveries, she returned to her desk only to find a pocket-sized volume with gilded pages set on her chair. A scrap jutted out from among its pages, and when she opened the book to the page it marked, she instantly recognized the angular script that had once filled the margins of her Potions essays.

Exercises 14-23 must be mastered. Review so that these spells can be performed wordlessly and wandlessly.

She tucked it into her pocket and returned to her work, unaware of the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.