Bride of the HP Dragon

"Happy birthday," said Hermione to the blurred reflection in the bathroom sink.

Outside, the world was almost drowning, the rain was pouring, and in the sweltering air, the sweltering summer rain fell straight on the ground.

The woman looking at her in the mirror didn't seem particularly excited about the birthday announcement, but after all it was seven in the morning and Hermione couldn't be very refreshed until nine, and she needed at least a cup of tea.

She brushed her teeth, looked at the pile of towels in the laundry basket behind her, and thought about washing them at night.Probably not, since the weather is not suitable for washing and drying.

At least the cottage garden was somewhat irrigated, and her landlady had been startled by the browning of the flower beds and the yellowing of the grass in the summer.

Perhaps it would have been wiser to move to Ginny's flat in London, a country house always required more maintenance than an apartment.In the end it was Crookshanks who sorted out the situation, he was getting too old to run up the stairs with his usual agility.

Ginny's apartment was up four flights of stairs, a challenge for Crookshanks at his best.And the two tiny restored bedrooms in the Edwardian country house are too lovely to pass up.In the warmer months, catnip and cat grass grow everywhere along the twilight brick walkway, which is no slouch for an old cat who still likes to play around now and then.

It was clean, whereas Hermione had been very Spartan when she signed the lease.She needs to buy a bigger bed, a refrigerator and a gas stove.Harry regretted that there wasn't a TV in the room when he visited, but Hermione assured her she could do without it.One room serves as a bedroom, the other serves as a makeshift office and library, only her collection of books piles up on shelves donated by her mother.

They were lined up neatly along the walls, stacks of tottering books that Ron joked would put Hermione or Crookshanks at risk of death by toppling over one of their heads.

Her landlady, a gracious widowed Muggle, insisted on presenting her with brand new curtains and warm, colorful rugs for the small drawing room.She lives on this road, and every two weeks, she will come to drink tea and chat after church every two weeks.The nearby village was Muggle-inhabited, as was the country house, but it wasn't difficult to register the two fireplaces to connect to the Floo network.

Ginny constantly nags that Lavender Brown is the most unreliable roommate in the world, if Hermione is willing to change this secluded life...

But this is not going to happen.

Hermione had already considered living alone, silently attributing it to being an only child who enjoyed her own space.After seven years of boarding school, a little privacy is welcome.

At any rate it spoke a little truth, and she clung to the reason.

The face staring in the mirror was flushed from the hot bath, and the short, curly damp hair framed a delicate heart-shaped face, perhaps a little thinner than before.Small black strands rooted along her hairline and nape, and the hairstyle made her eyes appear larger, and she never really noticed how curled they were after the cut.

Eager for a change, Hermione had cut off her shoulder-length, thick hair a year ago in an uncharacteristically hot summer.She doesn't want to look back and find that short hair isn't really easy to manage, as she spends many mornings taming that mass of hair into a desirable hairstyle.

But she still feels it suits her better, and she certainly doesn't miss the weight it once had on her scalp.

Hermione was rinsing her mouth when the bell at the front door rang, and she could barely make out the bell from the sound of the rain.It was too early for a visitor, and Hermione frowned, pulled on a morning jacket over her pajamas, put on socks, and went out to see who it was.

Ron stood on the front step, looking dead serious and drenched, holding a soggy brown paper bag.

"Birthday congratulations." He smiled, then sneezed twice.

"Ron, you're drowned!"

"Yeah." He gasped, shaking like a wet puppy, and Hermione saw a broom strapped to his back.

Hermione raised her eyebrows: "You flew here on a broom?"

Ron nodded: "Yes, from the Burrow." He held up the bag: "Mom took care of me, and she made this for you." Ron handed the brown paper bag to Hermione, and Hermione could Smells like cinnamon buns, even though they've been soaked into a spongy shape in transit.

"The damn water-repellent charm doesn't work after the first mile." Ron said helplessly.

Crookshanks also ran to the door to see who the guests were, but there was no affection between Ron and the cat.They looked at each other brightly before Crookshanks slipped back into the comfy bed that Hermione hadn't made yet.

Hermione stood by: "Come in, I'm going to make a pot of tea."

Ron thought she must know.

While Ron was talking about the news, Hermione was busy with their breakfast, even though Ron had emphasized that his mother had fed him.But in order to have something to do while he continued to deliver the dire news, Ron managed to tuck down two slices of toast with marmalade and share the sliced ​​grapefruit that Hermione served.

Hermione liked sweetened black tea, brewed slowly to the point of coffee, so Ron took the time to get his milk from the fridge.

The rain kept pounding on the shingled roof, which, Ron thought, was an apt background sound for the tense atmosphere.

They were sitting at the kitchenette table, and her only visible reaction to the news had been stirring the tea for the past five minutes.Half the tea was spilled on the saucer, and she didn't seem to notice.

"Hermione." Ron said gently, Merlin, why did he have to deliver the news this time.

Because Harry was busy and Ginny was a bloody coward, which is why: "You heard me."

"I heard you very well, thanks." Hermione interrupted him, taking a distracted sip of her tea and keeping her eyes on the table.

"You totally accept it."

She shrugged: "So he died, and now he's back."

Ron shifted in the chair, the only dry part of him was the area where he sat, his soggy shoes and socks badly needed a sink.

"That's it, you never believed he was dead, no matter what Harry and I said, you remember? Seems like you were right."

Hermione clenched her jaw, and she tucked a short lock of bouncy curls behind her ear: "I don't care about Malfoy, Ron. I really don't care, he lost me a long time ago." , I've looked ahead."

"Of course you're looking ahead," he said, perhaps too vaguely: "but you're only human, and it's all right to admit it's a big deal, Hermione."

Ron hadn't expected the anger on Hermione's face, her brown eyes fixed on him, throwing her spoon at him.

"There is nothing between us! It starts over the day I die in the black lake, FidaMia's magic disappears, and he leaves! This is how the story ends, be it an adventure or a love story, this is a Tragedy, mistake, call it what you will, his return meant nothing other than a possible quick fix to the war."

Ron didn't say anything, he just carefully got out of his seat, fetched a tea towel from the sink and handed it to Hermione.

Hermione wiped the tea that had spilled on the table. "Thanks," she said primly. "Catching Bellatrix is ​​a real milestone, and Moody must be very happy."

"Yes." Ron frowned.

"That's what it should be," said Hermione aloud.

They continued drinking tea in silence.

Ron sighed, he was a waste in the deep and meaningful way: "I know you looked ahead, but I also understand you, you just... haven't forgotten."

She replaced the cup on the saucer with more force: "Look at me," she said dryly, "trust me, I'm fine, Ron. All I feel about Malfoy now is pity."

"Interesting, I feel the anger."

"I'm no longer a teenage girl, this is not the time for a fling, and I'm not going to run to him to rekindle a passion that won't help."

"But our time was not the time for flirting," Ron muttered. "You look back and see, they haunted your life then."

Hermione pretended not to hear: "I don't want to see him if I can avoid it."

Ron looked up, and this was also his suggestion: "It seems that this may be a bit difficult..."

"Why?" she asked, frowning. "My work has nothing to do with you or Harry's. We have almost no intersection in the Ministry of Magic."

"Well, because he lives with Harry!"

"What?" Hermione's eyes widened.

Ron had at least rehearsed this passage before: "You know, Malfoy Manor is now under the management of Pansy Parkinson, and it's all arranged by the Ministry of Magic. Legally, they can't declare Malfoy dead unless he Missing for more than seven years. Because of the lack of an heir, the property needs to be managed by someone else. Parkinson bid to get the contract to manage the place, and the Ministry of Magic accepted. Malfoy said he didn't want to rush Parkinson out of work, so he planned to let the contract continue Go down, and Moody doesn't want to let Malfoy out of his sight, so..."

"So Harry took him home?" Hermione concluded.

"Yes."

She stood up: "I've heard enough, I'm going to be late for work."

Ron wondered if he wasn't too naive to think he wouldn't have his head bitten off after this morning's visit.

"Hermione, your late secret ex-husband has re-emerged after five years, taking as a prisoner the most wanted criminals from the entire European wizarding community. In that case, I'd say you deserve a private holiday, just today, today It's your birthday."

Oh, and there's no way keeping her out of work for a day.

Ron walked away from the Floo, looking worried and apologetic.Hermione thanked him curtly for the birthday wishes, cinnamon buns, and gave him a thankful goodbye kiss on the cheek, promising to meet lonely Molly at the Burrow soon.

Then she sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her clasped hands.

There was a palpable feeling in her abdomen, not quite hurt, but still a pain.It's like an old injury you've forgotten, flares up in the cold, or when everything and your mind is so peaceful, you allow yourself to recall it again.

It's just that the wound has been dulled, only stinging pain remains, but just as she thought about it, it became more intense and irritating, until she grabbed the sheet with her white knuckles.

Sometimes, in a half-dream, she swore the tattoo was still on her body, still coiling gracefully around her leg like clinging silver ivy.

In the early years, she would use this illusion to try whether she could locate Draco, but feeling and practicality were two different things, and it was really illusory.

The sting is from memories, nothing else. FidaMia had imprinted a magical scar on her psyche that still stings every now and then.And this is no longer the compass leading her to him.

When the life left her body, FidaMia also disappeared.

There was no connection between them, Hermione understood bitterly early on, that the spell had faded allowing Malfoy to revert to the past and leave.

leave her.Forsaking the vows he had made by magic, forsaking his inheritance, he had not only stepped out of her life, he had stepped out of his own.

His Gringotts account was intact, which gave her initially unrealistic hopes.As Hermione pondered the facts, she became more and more insistent that he would not abandon his judgment.

Maybe he was taken away by force?Maybe there are other forces in action?

But the first year of his disappearance came postcards, a sad reminder that it was the vow she had forced him to make the day they met in the Quidditch warehouse.

"I know you're going to do what you think you have to, but it would be better to have a mailing address..."

He sighed.

"One letter a week is also ideal..."

"Granger, I..."

"Hell, then I'll be satisfied with one postcard a month, I'm not picky."

He wanted to tell her, didn't he?She was too stupid to want to know where he was, he chose to stay there, he chose to leave her.It was heartbreaking, even though she understood what he was doing.

There was a sudden warmth on her bare thighs, and she lowered her head to find that the morning coat was untied, and tears were streaming down her cheeks.

Hermione wiped her face with her hands and was surprised to find that her hands were wet, no, she wasn't crying.

She won't cry, never again, there's nothing to cry about, her two weeks of upheaval are no cause for uneasiness, it's over.

In the end, being stubborn and determined was of no avail, and Hermione burst into tears.She's older and more sophisticated, but she's still the one who lingers over beautiful sunsets, rejoices at the birth of a Weasley grandchild, and gets accused of being a busybody every time she asks questions about Harry and Ginny's ongoing romance. Human Hermione.

After a minute of contemplation, she went to the closet and pulled out a small locked wooden box from under the shoes she barely wore, a suitcase, and the soles of the roller skates her father had given her for her 1th birthday.

The Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic where she works is concerned with the power of symbols, and research into this and its potential meanings is very promising.

Not to mention enlightening.

So she knew what she had to do, and she'd given herself plenty of reasons not to.

The box contained a few items, a walnut, an embroidered towel from the Cobblestone Hotel, a receipt from the Sushi Shack on Euston Street, a creased note that had been folded many times at the corner, and a peeling rainbow T-shirt , with a thoughtful frog underneath.

The living room fire was still burning and Hermione's Floo was working.She went over and threw the whole box and its contents into the fire.

With that done, she was ready to get dressed and pack her lunch.

There’s so much to do with your day job, and it’s a relief to get involved.

The author has something to say:

A small foreshadowing, Draco's hair has become longer, but Hermione's has become short, which may indicate a change in the relationship between the two, and the person who takes the initiative has changed.

The wet puppy Ron is very cute. After Harry, he became the No. 2 best friend of Britain~

The small wooden box is equivalent to the summary of all the plots in the previous 49 chapters. Hermione burned it when Draco returned, and her determination to cut it off was very strong.Even I was sad for her secluded life and suddenly remembered Ah Sang's song:

The original beginning of love is companionship

But I also gradually forget

How was it accompanied by someone

I eat alone and travel

stop and go

Read and write letters alone

talk to yourself

Just where did my heart go

I can't even see myself

i think i don't just lose you

Thank you for a ray of light girl, it’s a waste of money, I’m very busy at the end of the year, I will work hard