You've Got Owls!

You've Got Owls!

Chapter 3

Hermione grinned when she saw the envelope in her In Box. She pushed open the door and trotted inside, ripping it open and reading hungrily.

After returning from the Auror conference the previous evening, Hermione had gone straight to bed, thoroughly exhausted from spending five hours discussing death, dark magic and You-Know-Who, all the while sitting a mere ten yards away from the other You-Know-Who-Trying-To-Take-Over-My-Firm. After a few hours of tossing and turning in the darkness, she had whipped up a hasty Dreamless Sleep brew in her kitchenette and guzzled it. Thanks to her thorough potions schooling at Hogwarts, it had worked, and she awoke that morning refreshed and generally feeling very pleasant. However, as soon as she remembered the meeting, worries came crashing down around her like crumbling buildings.

As it was Saturday, she could have slept in, but her mind was too busy for sleep and she didn't feel like another brew would do her digestive system any good. So Hermione had decided to take a long run in the dim, still-empty Diagon Alley streets before the madness of pre-Christmas weekend shopping fully converged on the city. In her grimy, paint-splattered sweat cut-off shorts and an old red Gryffindor zip-up-the-front she had set forth in the fog-rife early morning hours to clear her head and decide exactly how to break the news to Vanessa.

She had been pondering this for a while (and getting absolute nowhere - okay, running-wise, she was certainly getting somewhere, but was still stumped on how to tell Vanessa) when she had stumbled upon the business district and remembered the letter she was expecting at the office. A few right turns, a flight of stairs, and an 'Alohamora' later she was inside, greedily devouring the reply.

She finished the letter with a laugh, a strange, warm fuzzy feeling filling her insides. She wasted no time, but got out a parchment and quill and whipped up a reply.

Dear London557

I'd love it if you would send me that spell. I'd look it up, but things are so busy. I'm having quite a time here...and yesterday was a long day. You probably know, we had Auror Rep. Meetings yesterday. They always make me anxious...and besides, there are other things on my mind.

I agree about Christmas. Having been raised a Christian Muggle, I never really thought about it from a wizard's perspective, but it does seem quite silly now, doesn't it? My thoughts are, maybe he was god, maybe he wasn't. Whatever he was, he taught some good stuff, and that's what counts, doesn't it? On the other hand, we don't give people presents in honor of Gandhi or Martin Luther King Jr., do we? I suppose it's just one of those things.

Anyway, one good thing Christmas brings is guests! I have a friend visiting for a few days, and then we'll be leaving for London to stay at a mutual friend's home for Christmas. I can't wait. I'm going to try to force him to see I Know What Spell You Cast Last Summer with me. It was a very good movie, if you like thrillers. (He's not too big on them, though, as he says, his life has been thrilling enough, thank you. But how can you say that with an Auror in the room???).

Sincerely,

HG

P.S - Cher?? She looks like a pigeon!

*

Hermione had been busy all afternoon. After her run, she had called Vanessa by wand and had a good long talk with her. Then she had apparated to Ms. Silver's office to check up on the Ministry's decision, which, she discovered with frustration, was still pending. After that, she had remembered that Harry would be arriving sometime soon, and everything after that had been a flurry of cleaning, ordering, straightening and dusting (with magic, of course) until her tiny flat was sparkling and neat. She had spent the last few months obtaining a permit and then figuring out how to perform a complicated Extra Space spell, which would magically extend a broom closet into a spacious extra room for a short time. Working one strong enough to last the weekend had taken a lot of time, and when it was finally done, she'd had to find a place for all the things previously housed in the broom closet and make the room look at least remotely furnished. Finally, Hermione whipped up a casserole (Harry's favorite) and set it aside for cooking.

By the time everything was done, it was six o'clock. Harry had owled her to say that he would not be able to arrive until seven, so, to kill time (or so she told herself) she apparated to her office to check on her mail.

Sure enough, a large, silver-edged envelope was sticking out of her slot, as well as a few junk parchments.

Dear HG,

I have to admit that I've never checked my owls this much before. Your letters make me laugh...like, well, like I've not laughed before. God, this sounds so trite, and strange coming from me, but what can I say? It's like I'm a different person in these letters. That sounds freaky, doesn't it? I don't mean to scare you, I'm just trying to be honest.

This friend you speak of...is he, by any chance, a romantic friend? I hope you two have a fun time together.

Sincerely,

London557

P.S - A pigeon? I'm insulted! Fine then, how about something nice from the Beatles?

Hermione read over the sentence over and over again - "is he...a romantic friend?" feeling her heart flutter slightly in her chest. She felt herself laugh a little bit at the irony. A long time ago, when she was still a naïve child, this might have made her giggle with lovesick wistfulness, but now all she felt was the burning desire to write back and dispel her new friend's fears. Harry, though very close to her, was nothing but a friend.

Dear Lond557...

*

Draco Malfoy looked out of his dining room window onto the lawns beyond, dimming in the evening twilight. He clacked his utensils absently against his plate in impatient habit, causing the woman sitting opposite him to start in indignation.

"Really Draco! Stop that!" she exclaimed irritably. He looked up, bored, and rolled his eyes insolently at the ceiling.

"Sorry, love, I'm just dying of boredom here," he said, his tone steely and not very loving at all. In fact, he sounded very annoyed.

"We could talk," the woman suggested, stuffing a forkful of food into her mouth.

"About what?" he spat.

"You could try asking how my day was," she moped, grumpily, stabbing at her steak with her fork and pouting. With a grunt of exasperation, Draco shoved his chair back and rose abruptly. Placing his hands primly behind his back, he walked over to the gilded fireplace over which hung several paintings and medals he had received. His mind was clearly not on his girlfriend. Instead, it brazenly insisted on wandering aimlessly back towards his secret correspondence with a certain witch. Sighing thoughtfully, he told himself again to forget her. He knew absolutely nothing about her! How could he obsess like this? She was Muggle-born, she had admitted herself! A...a Mudblood...though he hated to use that word where she was concerned. How could such a smart, funny, talented witch be one of that race so detested and scorned by all proper wizarding families? Perhaps all those things his father had told him had not been quite true...maybe he had never really even stopped to think about it himself.

He smacked his head in frustration, disturbed that he could have followed so blindly into someone else's distinctions, especially someone as cold and hateful as his own father!

"Draco!" Blaise exclaimed, her silverware clattering on her plate. "Draco? What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he murmured. "Nothing...just thinking." He suddenly had an urge to get out of this house, with its portraits of pale-skinned Malfoys at every turn, away from the whining voice of the woman beside him, away from all reminders of his real life.

"Come on," he said, turning to Blaise and sweeping his coat up. "We're going to a movie."

*

Hermione skipped in place, hugging her arms over her body, swathed in a thick, heather gray cloak of wool. Her breath frosted in front of her on the chilly street, as the queue line wound closer to the ticket booth.

"It certainly is nippy here, isn't it?" Harry asked, running his hands through his dark, windblown hair, green eyes sparkling with merriment.

"Oh, shut up, you," she scowled, and then burst out laughing.

"Months spent rising at the crack of dawn to sit on a frozen broom in the middle of nowhere in Bulgaria has more bonuses than I had imagined," he grinned roguishly.

"Oh yeah, and what would its other bonuses be?" she asked. He chewed thoughtfully on his lip and rolled his eyes up at the sky.

"Well..." he trailed off. His eyes lighted on a dark form not far away and narrowed sharply. "Not seeing Malfoy is definitely a plus," he hissed under his breath. Hermione spun around to see her arch nemesis making his fluid way through the crowds, a black and silver velour cloak slung over his shoulders, a thin, dark-haired woman clinging to his arm with an unpleasant look on her face. He was apparently not looking very carefully at where he was going, and bumped right into Harry.

"Hey," he exclaimed, stumbling back. Hermione bit her lip, preparing for the fight that would doubtless ensue. But, oddly enough, the two men only drew back, eyeing each other with a kind of surreal jurisdiction, as if surveying one another by what they saw.

"Good evening, Malfoy," Harry said, stiffly, albeit politely. Hermione was almost amazed, and then she realized how much they had all grown since Hogwarts, and how years spent zipping around the continent with different Quidditch teams (away from Malfoy) had affected Harry. He was no longer the little, scar-faced boy from Hogwarts, and Draco was no longer the slimy evil git who was constantly trying to hex them out of the country. In fact, it made sense for Harry to be civil to Draco, even to be friendly with him. After all, the main reason none of them had liked him in school was because he always seemed to be intent on bringing back Voldemort and killing them all, but his recent turn to the Auror department and the many successes he had dispelled many of these memories. Or at least made them seem silly.

"Potter," Malfoy said, regarding him with a weak look of disdain. Harry extended a hand firmly, pulling Hermione up next to him.

"It's nice to see you again," he said, flashing a grin at the other man. Malfoy tentatively extended his arm and took Harry's hand.

"I'm sure it is," he said tersely.

"You look familiar," Harry said, turning to Blaise. "You must be..."

"Blaise," she said, stepping forward. "Blaise Zabini." She clung to Draco's arm and shot the other two a look of predatory warning.

"Well, Blaise, this is..."

"Granger," she said coolly. "Yeah, I know her."

"You do?" Harry asked, looking alarmed. Draco cleared his throat.

"Hermione, Blaise and I are both in the same business, Potter, surely you realize we would all have met on several occasions after Hogwarts? We're not all as unsociable as you are," he said coldly.

"Harry is not..." Hermione began indignantly.

"No," he cut her off, holding up a hand, his eyes not moving from Draco's pale face. "No, he's right. Well, isn't he?" Harry looked around at the shocked faces incredulously. "I have been gone a while!" Draco snickered softly under his breath.

"Who'd have thought we'd see the day? Harry Potter and me, having a civilized conversation, without a single ill-aimed hex," he murmured, his voice carrying a certain amount of irony in it. Harry's eyes flashed, but he said nothing.

Hermione watched, silently seething in confusion as Draco and Blaise turned and stalked quickly off into the enveloping crowd.

"Harry," she exclaimed, whirling on him, a small smile playing on her lips. "What was that all about?" Catching her eye, he shifted nervously.

"Well, Hermione, there's something I didn't tell you about Bulgaria..." he said quietly.

"What is it?"

"While I was teaching at Durmstrang, keeping an eye on it for the Ministry, I met another Hogwarts graduate...um, a Slytherin, actually, and we...we've been dating for a while," he said, swallowing. Hermione's face looked grave.

"Dear God," she whispered. "Who? Who? Tell me!" He looked at her and blushed.

"Millicent Bullstrode," he said with a love-weary sigh. Hermione's eyes nearly popped out of her head.

"Millicent Bullstrode?" she exclaimed, stunned. "You mean the girl that nearly killed me in dueling class?"

"She admits to having a violent streak in school...but, oh Hermione, when her parents took her away from Hogwarts after Voldemort's return, they fled to India and she started practicing with a spiritual yogi, and now she's the most gentle, loving..."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Hermione grunted. "Harry, she's a Slytherin!" He shrugged.

"Hermione, people change."

"Not Malfoy," she quipped, "he's still as evil as ever."