Chapter Text
Hermione quickly checked that all her curls were tucked into her bun and smoothed down her blouse before knocking promptly. Parvati Patil was on the other side of the heavy door, tired but sharp eyes meeting Hermione’s.
“Hermione, hi, I didn’t think you’d come,” Parvati smiled tightly, stepping aside to let Hermione squeeze past her. Hermione stepped into her home, deciding immediately to forgo reaching in for a polite hug.
“Right, sorry about cancelling the other day Parvati,” she trilled, “but you know, the Ministry doesn’t wait…” Hermione laughed nervously, Parvati joining her out of feigned politeness.
“Of course,” she nodded, gesturing for Hermione to follow her inside.
“But really,” Hermione continued, allowing her nervous energy to fill the silence, “thank you for accommodating my schedule.”
Truthfully, Hermione didn’t want to come. She didn’t want to be stepping into Parvati’s kitchen on a Tuesday afternoon, about to get a tea leaf reading from her. But Ginny had insisted—had actually bought her an hour divination session with Parvati for her damn birthday. Ginny was all about those ‘paperless’ gifts these days. Something about experiences over things. Hermione scoffed under her breath, remembering Ginny’s gleeful grin when she told her what her present was. At least Ginny couldn’t accuse of her not trying. Though she had managed to cancel at least three times, two of them for legitimate reasons, here she was. Maybe it would give her enough of a break until Ginny’s gift next year, though she wouldn’t put it past her to book her an hour of swimming lessons with the Merpeople in the Great Lake.
“Coffee?” Parvati called over her shoulder, hair pulled back in a soft plait. Hermione stared at her hair a second too long. Wasn’t she supposed to be drinking tea?
“Erm, no thanks,” she said before pausing, “actually, yes, coffee would be great.”
With Parvati’s back turned, it gave her a moment to take in her flat. It was nicely decorated, as she expected. She realized she couldn’t remember the last time she saw Parvati. Maybe at that thing Dean Thomas had hosted a few years ago, some charity thing or other?
“Nice place,” Hermione finally commented, settling down in front of a circular table in the corner of the kitchen.
“Thanks,” Parvati smiled over her shoulder, “Padma helped a bit with decorating.”
“Oh?” Hermione asked, “and she’s still working as a…?”
“Curse-breaker,” Parvati supplied, “with Bill Weasley.”
Hermione hummed in response, an imagine of Bill and Fleur together last Christmas flashing across her mind, Victoire grinning up at her, little Dominique in her mother’s arms. A wave of familiar nostalgia flooded her and she shook her head, blinking back the unexpected emotion.
“Sounds really lovely,” Hermione murmured, and Parvati glanced back at her.
“I suppose, yeah. She seems to enjoy it,” Parvati added.
“Mm,” Hermione nodded, “that’s good.”
Right – Padma. That’s what they were talking about.
Parvati finally joined her at the table, two delicate teacups in hand. Hermione eyed them, the porcelain so thin it was opaque.
“I’ll admit I haven’t had my tea leaves read since school,” she said.
“Tessomancy,” Parvati replied softly, “the practice is called Tessomancy.”
Hermione nodded in mild interest. She knew that. At least, it sort of sounded familiar. She thought she was doing a decent job at keeping her skepticism at bay, but she felt like her disbelief was hanging off of her like a coat.
“And you practice it fairly often?” Hermione asked.
“Daily,” Parvati confirmed. “I’m actually co-authoring a new book with Dr. Vablatsky on it.”
“That’s really great,” Hermione said. She was unable to garner up any more enthusiasm, but she was genuinely happy for Parvati. Though she had thought little of Unfogging the Future, Parvati did strike her as a more nuanced practitioner.
“You know, Hermione,” Parvati sighed, “there’s a lot that going into the reading of leaves. The history of the tea itself is largely a story of violence and colonialism. And tea-leaf reading is one of the oldest forms of divine magic. I know unstructured magic has always made you uncomfortable, but it’s fairly direct once you understand it.”
Hermione opened her mouth, feeling her jaw click. “Of course,” she quickly agreed, “no, I mean, of course. I…really respect what you do.”
Parvati didn’t lift her head this time when she nodded, instead gently stirring the tea with a silver spoon. “I’m glad,” she said.
“Now, here.” Carefully, Parvati handed over the teacup, balanced precariously on its saucer. “Drink it all but leave a teaspoon in the bottom. Let the leaves touch your lip if you can.”
Hermione quietly took the cup, feeling heat at the tops of her cheeks. Was she that transparent? Her eyes flicked up again as the lights in the kitchen slowly dimmed, bathing them in only a soft glow from the nearby window.
“Try to clear your mind, Hermione,” Parvati instructed, her voice low and soothing. Hermione had the urge to roll her eyes. She hadn’t had a clear mind in years.
She stared into the cup as the swirling leaves eventually slowed. The tea was hot in her throat, and she had to stop herself from coughing. But it tasted light and sweet on her tongue and she wondered absently if Parvati sold the blend as well.
“Good,” Parvati continued, “now take the handle of the cup—left hand, please, and carefully swirl the leaves counter-clockwise.”
Hermione did as she was told, watching as a few leaves clung to the side of the cup while others filtered to the bottom.
“Now, very gently, invert the cup on the saucer,” Parvati demonstrated with her hands, and Hermione quickly followed, “and just give it a minute.”
“Try to think of your intentions for the leaves, bring forward the questions you have,” she continued, and Hermione tried to stifle her yawn.
But no questions came to mind. Well, other than how much longer this was going to take. Otherwise, she was generally happy with her job. Her friends were all doing alright. Ron still managed to drag her to pub nights as often as he could. Her love life—well, it was fine. She dated here and there. Ginny had managed to set her up with an unending row of both men and women, and some of them had stayed in her life for a few weeks, sometimes even a bit longer. But no one had stuck. None of them really excited her.
“Alright,” Parvati’s voice cut through her daydream, “flip the cup back over—yes, just like that—and set it down on the saucer. Perfect.”
Parvati’s hands removed the cup from in front of Hermione and put it back down on her side of the table. Hermione watched as Parvati gazed down into her cup, slowly rotating it in a painstaking manner.
“A bridge,” Parvati announced, half-moon nails directing Hermione’s line of sight to a small collection of leaves halfway up the cup. “A good omen, a positive journey sometime soon in your future.”
Hermione stared, positive she saw nothing more than a jumble of leaves.
“An arrow, here at the very bottom,” Parvati continued, “meaning unpleasantness in your distant future. But do you see the sail above it? Change is coming in your life – the potential for great things, but you need to initiate the change.”
Hermione leaned closer. She could sort of see it, but she was distracted by larger gatherings of dark leaves around the sides of the cup, almost in a pattern.
“What’re these?” she asked.
“Flowers,” Parvati concluded. “Perhaps pansies. A symbol of understanding. See the small circle in the corner, just there? It’s connected to the chain of flowers.”
“What’s that mean?” Hermione looked up, catching the glint in Parvati’s eyes and the way she tried to mask her smile.
“It’s a good symbol,” she supplied. “What questions did you ask the leaves?”
“Erm, I’m not sure I asked much of a question, it was more of a…suggestion? I was thinking about my friends, I suppose,” Hermione tried.
Parvati sucked her lips between her teeth, not meeting Hermione’s stare.
“A positive sign, indeed,” she murmured.
“Don’t they look more like marigolds?” Hermione asked.
“No, I’m fairly certain they’re pansies,” Parvati replied. “Flowers in the middle of the cup generally point to pleasure and joy. With the chain, and the arrow and sail, you have an interesting year ahead of you.”
“Oh, well, that’s…great,” Hermione managed. She was struggling to sit still now. She was meeting Ginny soon at the shop up the road and she was suddenly eager to leave. The reading could have been worse, she reckoned. At least Parvati didn’t see a bat or some dark omen in her cup this time. She could handle a few flowers and an arrow.
“Did you want to know more?” Parvati asked.
“Mm, I think you’ve given me some really great things to think about,” Hermione said. “Perhaps we should move on to the next bit?”
Parvati’s eyes flashed in response before she began to clear the table.
-
Her lunch hour was swallowed whole by her visit to Parvati’s and subsequent quick meeting with Ginny. She was still clutching a paper cup in her hands as she pushed her way into the Auror Department, coffee spilling down her wrist.
“Busy afternoon, Granger?” Draco grinned as she dropped her bag onto the desk across from him and attempted to push her hair from her face.
“You’re getting coffee in your hair, love,” he pointed out.
“No, I know,” Hermione grumbled.
“The Weaslette got you all hot and bothered after your coffee date?” he asked.
“Draco, I will still literally blast your ears off if you start with that again. She’s a sister. Don’t be daft.”
There was a pause where Draco rolled his eyes and picked up his quill again. Hermione did the same, doing her best to shoot Draco annoyed glares.
“You really should cut back on the caffeine though,” he added.
It had been six months of this. Six months of sitting across from Draco Malfoy in what could only be described as an upscale cubicle. Working in the Investigations Department hadn’t exactly been her dream position, especially after leaving her comfortable role at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but Kingsley subtly hinted she should get experience in the department before trying for deputy head in the next few years. Lateral movement with an upward trajectory, as he called it.
Even so, she could admit that Draco had grown on her. Though only a little. He was still mostly a prat, just taller and with better hair than before. He had spent enough years apologising for his crimes and somehow wormed his way into a nice job at the Ministry. Harry said he was ‘reformed.’ Kingsley agreed that it looked good for the Ministry moving forward.
“What’s this?” Draco asked, hand quickly closing down on her bagged scone.
“That’s my lunch,” Hermione said, swatting at his wrist.
“What, you’re gone a whole hour and you can’t even manage to finish a scone? You two really were snogging, weren’t you?”
“You know, Draco, you don’t have to be awful all the time,” she sighed.
“Oh, come off it, Granger. Think of the fun we have,” he sniffed.
Hermione stared down at her crumbling scone. The memory of cracking Draco’s nose flashed into her mind and she smiled to herself.
“Don’t get sentimental on me,” Draco said, snapping his fingers to get her attention. “Potter called a meeting in a few minutes and I can’t wait to see what poor new recruits he’s managed to wrangle.”
Frustrated, Hermione waved him away. She had a mountain of paperwork to get to and stopping for another one of Harry’s meetings was hardly productive. It seemed like he hosted them almost daily. But she knew he was tired, working himself past exhaustion. Robards had announced his upcoming retirement only weeks ago and Harry was slowly transitioning himself to take over.
“Have you seen him today? How’d he look?” she asked.
“Awful,” Draco sighed. “Wait till you see his trousers. Wrinkled beyond recognition.”
Hermione couldn’t help the smile that pulled on her lips. “Mm, I don’t spend much time staring at Harry’s trousers, but good to know you’ve got that covered.”
“Don’t be daft, Granger,” Draco balked, tossing her words back at her.
The meeting was terribly dull. Hermione made a half-hearted attempt to seem interested as first Robards went over their goals for the week and then Harry moved on to discuss the process for bringing in new trainees and who each would be assigned with. These meetings rarely concerned her anyways. The Investigative Department was just her, Draco, and Nancy—‘Nance’ as Draco insisted on calling her. She had been a few years ahead of them in school. Ravenclaw maybe. Lucky enough to get her own desk.
Hermione shifted her attention back to Harry as he read out the names of those entering training. “And,” Harry announced, shifting on his feet, an uneasy smile on his face, “we’re also welcoming a new fully-fledged member to the team.”
Hermione sat up. She shot a glance towards Draco, noting he was paying close attention. Trainees, yes, but another auror hadn’t joined the department in well over two years.
“She’ll be working closely with me to ensure she integrates well into the team these coming weeks. We’re really excited to have her. I’m sure a few of you will already be familiar with her. Pansy Parkinson is coming to us from Gringotts, actually. She’s a former curse-breaker and was trained by Bill Weasley…”
The rest of Harry’s words muddled together as Hermione felt the heat leave her face. Parkinson. Pansy Parkinson. The one she thankfully hadn’t set eyes on for what – almost seven years? Hermione distantly heard Harry wrap up the meeting and the sound of her colleagues shuffling back to their desks. She pushed herself to her feet, unaware of Draco’s curious stare, and rushed after Harry into his office.
“Pansy Parkinson?” she asked, hand still on the back of his door. “The Slytherin one? With the upturned nose? Bit of a bully? That Parkinson, Harry?” The words tumbled from her as Harry scrubbed at his face.
“Shit, I forgot to tell you,” he muttered.
Hermione didn’t wait for an invite before dropping into the chair before his desk.
“Harry,” she tried to reason, “surely, I mean, you can’t be serious.”
“I meant to tell you the other night at Ron’s.” Harry continued talking into his hands and her gaze flicked down. His trousers really were terribly wrinkled.
“Listen, Hermione, I know it looks bad. But we need a curse-breaker here. Gringotts doesn’t like lending out employees, and Pansy is the best they have besides Bill. He almost jinxed me when he found out I was recruiting her.”
“You recruited her,” Hermione repeated, needing a minute.
“Yeah,” Harry admitted, having the wherewithal to look sheepish before his tone changed. “But you know as well as I do that she’s not the girl she was in school.”
“Harry, listen to me,” Hermione pressed the pads of her fingers to her forehead, trying to ward off the inevitable headache. “I don’t want to work with her. I absolutely—I will not work with that woman.”
“She’ll stay out of your hair,” Harry said. He reached across his desk, pulling her hand into his. “I’m sorry, alright? If there was anyone else who could’ve done the job, I would’ve hired them. Draco vouched for her though, if that helps.”
“It doesn’t,” Hermione gritted through her teeth.
“And she was reluctant to take the job,” Harry added.
“So, she’s a martyr now? Hardly, Harry.” Hermione bit back a laugh.
“I know, I know,” Harry groaned.
Hermione felt herself soften. She hadn’t seen circles this dark around Harry’s eyes in years. Stubble flecked his jaw and his hair showed the telltale sign of having anxious hands run through it every so often.
“I’ll be civil, alright?” Hermione smiled, squeezing his hand gently. “And you’ll let me know if I can help you at all. Deal?”
Harry nodded in thanks before pushing his glasses back up his nose.
“Deal.”
-
Draco was waiting for her back at their shared space. Crouched, almost. She could practically feel him pouncing on her as she approached.
“On with it,” Hermione said, hating herself for encouraging him but wanting his antics over with as quick as possible.
“Oh, don’t be cross,” Draco said.
“You knew,” she stated, voice level.
“Of course I knew, Granger. Unlike you, I keep my ear to the ground around here.”
“I’m not bothered by it,” she announced.
Draco’s brow raised slightly.
“Fine, but the vein in your forehead says otherwise,” he pointed out.
“Lovely,” Hermione laughed bitterly, “Draco, you’re truly a—”
“A what? A devoted colleague? A beloved friend?” he interrupted.
“Merlin’s sake,” she sighed, “can’t wait to get absolutely torn apart by the both of you now.”
“Granger,” Draco said, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “you know…you know it’s all in good fun, don’t you?”
“Don’t get soft on me,” Hermione warned. She could handle Draco most of the time, but she couldn’t handle contrite Draco. It didn’t suit him. It made his mouth turn down in an odd way and it made her chest tighten. She wouldn’t have it.
“Well…I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she said, mostly to get him to stop looking at her like that.
“She’s changed,” Draco suggested. Hermione snorted.
“What, did she fix her nose?”
Draco gasped.
“Hermione Nance Granger, I’m scandalised. I’d say I’m rubbing off on you if I didn’t already know a nasty witch was hiding under all that hair.”
“It’s ‘Jean,’” she corrected. “Don’t bring Nancy into this.”
“Do you need me?” Nancy called across the room.
“No, Nance,” Draco shouted back, “Granger is just finally coming into her own.”
-
“And then,” Hermione laughed in disbelief, “he just says he forgot to tell me!”
“You said yourself he’s been a little rundown lately,” Ginny tried, sitting cross-legged on the couch still in her Harpies’ gear. Her fork clanged against the side of her bowl as she gestured.
They were at Ginny’s place. It was arguably the coziest of her friends’ flats, and the de facto gathering place. Hermione had considered moving in a number of times but figured living in the flat next-door was close enough. Plus, this way Ron dug through Ginny’s pantry and not hers.
“But don’t you think this is different?” Hermione asked, waving a spoonful of rice at her.
“I’m sure he meant to,” Luna added from her place on the floor. She was sprawled out on the wool rug beneath them, dark-blonde curls fanned across the criss-crossing design of dark reds.
Ginny’s leg slipped from the couch and Luna’s hand floated over to rest easily on top of it.
“Where is he, anyways?” Ginny asked.
“Robards is keeping him late. He said not to wait up.” Hermione shrugged. “I’m not trying to question his judgement here, it’s just…it’s an odd choice.”
“Oi, Gin, where’d you put the pakoras?” Ron shouted from the kitchen.
“Ron!” Hermione shouted back, “if you’re not offering direct advice on my impending crisis, zip it.”
A loud and resounding meow was the only reply.
“And don’t give anything to Crookshanks!”
Ron’s scoff could be heard from the kitchen. “As if I’d give anything to the ancient cat.”
“Still,” Hermione countered.
“I dunno, Hermione,” Ron finally popped his head out of the kitchen, ready for an actual discussion, “could be fine. Unless Harry really has lost it, in which case, best of luck.”
“Remember when she paraded around in the ‘Potter Stinks’ buttons?” Hermione added.
“I’m on your side here,” he protested. “‘Bugger the lot of them,’ and all that. But you somehow manage to not jinx Malfoy every day.”
Hermione grumbled to herself. That was mostly true.
“And!” Hermione suddenly remembered, “she laughed at me when Draco spelled my teeth past my chin.”
“Gods, I still can’t believe you work beside him,” Ron said.
“Didn’t you get her with an antler jinx in fifth year?” Ginny pointed out, laughing. “That was one of Fred’s specialities that he passed on to you.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” Hermione grinned in return.
“She was nice the last time I saw her,” Luna added quietly.
The four of them paused, a knowing silence filling the room. Hermione watched as Ginny reached down and grazed her hand over Luna’s cheek tenderly. She felt a twist in her gut. She knew the last time Luna had seen Pansy. She was there, after all.
-
Pansy Parkinson was not in the office on Wednesday morning. Hermione felt her body physically relax as she quickly scanned the office, jumping only at Draco’s quiet, "getting antsy, Granger?"
She was, however, there on Thursday morning. Hermione was only halfway through her flat white (always taken with a little too much milk, according to Ginny) when she saw her. Harry was standing next to her, his robes miraculously unwrinkled. Hermione blinked twice before taking a hard left to her desk. She wasn’t avoiding her per se, just prolonging the inevitable.
“Morning, love,” Draco cooed. “That for me?”
“Funny,” Hermione deadpanned. Same joke, every morning.
Within twenty minutes of her arrival, it became clear to Hermione that Harry was steering Pansy around the office and introducing her to each auror. She was already in her auror robes and everything. They were getting dangerously close to Hermione’s desk. She wiped her palms against her robes.
She was being ridiculous, she knew it. Pansy Parkinson held no sway over her anymore.
“Hermione,” Harry called.
She turned, slowly – not getting up from her desk. That is, until Pansy Parkinson reached out her hand, and Hermione reluctantly stood to shake it.
“Good to see you again, Granger,” Pansy said. Her voice was cool, professional. Her hand was remarkably soft. Hermione stared at her hair briefly before nodding and returning the empty sentiment. Parkinson was taller than she remembered. Begrudgingly, she admitted to herself that the nose suited her now.
She stepped back and watched as Draco stood gracefully and pulled Pansy into a quick hug. She suspected they were still close. Between Draco’s endless teasing, she had detected a level of affection when he spoke of Pansy. Draco had his hands on her upper arms, welcoming her to the department. Hermione allowed herself a moment to study Pansy. Her blunt black hair ended halfway down her neck, framing a face that looked polite but permanently bored. Her eyes were green like Harry’s, less bright but no less startling. And she suited the robes well, damn her.
Shockingly, Draco said little to her for the rest of the day. She wondered if he could sense her apprehension and decided silence was the best course. As it was, she was acutely aware of Pansy’s presence in the office. While the Investigations Department technically had their own room, the double doors were always open, ensuring they were still part of the bustle of the Auror offices. It meant that she sometimes heard Pansy’s easy laugh across the room. She sounded relaxed, as if she had been working here for years. Hermione buried her nose further into her work, distracting herself with tracing the last known whereabouts of Antonin Dolohov.
-
Hermione slipped into a familiar dream that night. She recognized it right away.
The sense of loneliness and foreboding slid over her as her feet struggled to push through sand. Shell Cottage materialized, Harry screaming distantly from behind. Her arm is held out, and she's squeezing the area below her elbow to staunch the bleeding. The screams are from the house now, and Fleur pulls her into the narrow hallway. She falls to her knees and looks up. The scent of sea lavender drifts past her. The bottom of the stairs comes into view from the sitting room. Fleur is doing something to her arm, wand pressed warm against her skin, and Hermione struggles to make sense of what she’s seeing. Pansy Parkinson, sitting tucked on the second-to-last stair, eyes wide.
-
It took longer to fall back asleep after she woke in the middle of the night. Hermione breathed steadily into the quiet of her own bedroom and focused on the weight of the quilt against her. Still half-hazy with sleep, she considered dragging herself over to Ginny’s and asking to sleep on her couch. But she would be alright. She’d had this dream before – had worse ones over the course of the past few years. She just needed to get a handle on her thoughts and listen for the ragged and faint snores of Crookshanks beside her before she drifted back to sleep again.