Remnants

Remnants

"Do I look okay?" I ask Ron, tugging at the peach dress robes anxiously.

"You look fine. Gorgeous," he replies, all charm. He seems like a stranger to me in his sophisticated dark robes and narrow glasses that he doesn't really need.

Ron had begged me to accompany him to the benefit for Wizarding Children Welfare. "Everyone will have partners," he had said. "And there'll be dancing. I'll look like a prat if I don't bring anyone and you're the only girl I can really talk to without wanting to belch up slugs."

Harry coughed pointedly. "Oh, and Parvati of course. But she's taken."

He had looked so ... Ron in boxers and a large tee-shirt. How could I refuse the pleas of my best friend and former love of my life?

It isn't my sort of place. I can tell as soon as I walk through the doors into the posh restaurant - one of many that now litter the streets of Hogsmeade. It is all false and glistening. Pretending to be refined and beautiful. I feel immediately out of sorts and knew that this is the type of evening where I would be spoken to as if I had a mental disability and looked down upon for simple robes.

We are seated at one of the tables with Harry and Parvati and another couple who I don't recognise. "Gabrielle Delacour and Theo Nott, this is Hermione Granger," Ron says. Theodore. He'd been in Slytherin. Ron must really hate him, I think. But not one flicker of distaste shows, impressing me. And Gabrielle is a Delacour, likely the sister of Fleur.

I smile and settle down in my seat, avoiding eye contact with this handsome couple. I hate beautiful people. They make me remember how awkward I am.

Harry and Parvati amaze the table with some story from their honeymoon in Cyprus. "Honestly," Parvati says, flashing her ring. "They actually thought I was a Bollywood star..." She and Harry laugh in unision, bright and tinkling.

"Wonder couple strikes again, yeah?" Ron murmurs. There is none of the bitterness from his schooldays in his voice and I can see why. Gabrielle has been eying him with a hungry look and has clearly set out to have him as hers by the end of the evening. Poor Theo, I think but without any real feeling.

There are speeches made by the benefactor of the Welfare programme, Millicent Bullstrode. I can't understand how Ron so easily rubs shoulders with these people even if the war is now a part of history. Even Draco and Pansy Malfoy are there, arguing about something - money perhaps? Or their divorce settlement?

"And now," Millicent says, as the utensils disappear, "I would like to welcome The Grindylows, who will be performing this evening. If couples could step onto the dance floor."

Ron takes my hand, a little reluctantly I think for someone who desperately wanted me to come, and leads me on to the expanse of polished oak. The music is catchy and easy to dance to. However, I just can't be interested and I feel horribly clumsy. When the song ends, I murmur my excuses and leave Ron to be picked up by one of the many eligible bachelorettes.

The tables have been swept away while we danced and the floor surrounded by plush couches, that look beautiful but are probably desperately uncomfortable. I sit down on the first available space. My leg is playing up again. I should not have worn high heels but they're so tempting.

I take a look at it. Sure enough, my ankle is swelling up. I fumble for the pocket in my robes and bring out the lotion. The rogue ankle cools down and feels normal immediately. Then, I realise that there is someone beside me. Blaise Zabini, the new Potions Master at Hogwarts since Snape's retirement.

"Hello," I say curtly, nodding.

"Miss Granger," he replies, holding out a hand. He is all politeness, I think sarcastically as I take it.

"How are you?" I ask. I wouldn't have expected to see him at one of these.

He raises an eyebrow in answer.

I smile despite myself. His intimidation tactics just won't work on me. "My ankle was hurting," I say conversationally. "But really it was just an excuse to stop dancing."

Zabini looks grave. His dark eyes stare into mine, making me shiver with the intensity. "I heard about the accident."

"Wouldn't have been dificult to hear about it. Besides, the scars are terribly noticeable." I touch the deep jagged cuts on my cheeks. Remnants.

"Yes."

We sit awkwardly. Silent. Ron is dancing with Gabrielle Delacour. She has pressed herself close to him and is whispering something in his ear. His lips crease into a slow smile. My chest lurches in jealousy even though I don't care about him in that way anymore.

I look at Zabini. He would be about my age and, although not what one would call attractive, he has an air about him that draws you towards him. Although his nose is still as beaky as I remember and he is barely taller than I am, he looks more at ease and less angular - as if age and experience have softened him around the edges. I notice the curve in his lips and his foot unconsciously tapping along with the beat.

"Hermione?" Ron is in front of me. He doesn't look particularly happy. Gabrielle clearly let something slip about his prosperity. Gold digger, I think. "Let's go." He ignores Zabini.

I take one glance back at him. He is watching us leave, face devoid of emotion. And I feel sad. I don't quite know why.

*

I spend the next day recuperating. Although I don't like to admit it, social events tire me. My weak body, which has plagued me with complaints since I was first taken to St Mungos after the accident, is to blame. This means that I am still in my pyjamas when the doorbell goes.

I wrap a bathrobe around myself and open the door. Zabini is standing there, looking as uncomfortable and embarrassed as I feel. "Hello?" I ask.

"I brought you some liniment for your leg."

"Oh." I stand there, shocked. "Come in. I'm having a bit of a lazy day."

"Yes, I can see that." I see a smile graze his face.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" I ask. "I can put the kettle on."

"I wouldn't like to inconvenience you," he says.

"It's no trouble really," I reply, startled by what I am saying. I had brushed away Harry's suggestion of lunch, saying that I would be too tired and now I'm offering tea to a Slytherin who couldn't care less about me.

I bustle around the kitchen while he perches on one of the armchairs. "Milk or sugar?" I ask. It doesn't surprise me when he says; neither.

"How are you?" I ask, as a means to break up the tense silence.

"I'm fine." Pause. "Yourself? Your health is good?"

"As good as it can be under the circumstances," I say. "My body isn't particularly strong and after a night of social triviality, I'm a little spent." I grimace inwardly at my choice of phrasing.

"I see." He stands up. "Here's the liniment. Just rub it in the aching spots."

"Thank you," I say, and show him to the door.

*

Several weeks go by. The liniment is amazing. I can walk further distances without tiring and my whole body feels healthier. I realise that I never properly thanked him. After work I visit Flourish and Blotts in search of quills. I feel an eagle feather quill is a sufficient token of my gratitude. And, as usual, I am drawn towards the novels.

I browse through the cheap romances, written by authors like Helga Hearthrob and Royce Biggestwand. Then, I find the poetry, the section I always end up in no matter what I come to buy. D. T. Lewis has a new anthology out, Potions. I scan through the pages.

It is hard

I think

To be a potions' teacher.

I grin. Just the ticket. I scribble a note on a scrap of parchment and post it from the Owlery down the lane.

*

Blaise Zabini,

Thank you for the liniment. I hope this is an appropriate symbol of my appreciation.

Hermione

*

Miss Granger,

Contact me if problems arise.

Blaise Zabini

*

Blaise,

I appreciate that.

Hermione

*

Miss Granger,

Have you run out? I can bring some more around if that would be convinient for you.

Blaise Zabini

*

Blaise,

Don't be ridiculous. I'll pick it up. I'm not that much of an invalid. Let me know if Wednesday after dinner is not okay.

Hermione

*

I walk up from Hogsmeade to the castle. The sun is just setting and it is peaceful and quiet. I try to feel calm but for some reason I am flustered, tugging uneasily at my robes and fiddling with the clasp on my watch.

I am about halfway up the path when I see Zabini striding down to meet me. "You didn't need to come," I say, embarrassed that I am cutting in on his time.

"Yes I did," he replies. "Are you okay to walk up here?"

"Of course," I snap. "I'm not disabled."

"No," he says with a smirk. "There's certainly nothing wrong with your tongue on any counts."

"I'm just sick of constantly being reminded that I can't do everything that I once could," I say apologetically.

"What can't you do?"

"Well...I can do everything, just in smaller doses."

"You tire more quickly?"

"Exactly. I can't shop for hours with Ginny Weasley anymore - not that that was a hardship to give up."

"I see." He is silent for a moment. "What exactly happened? I know the backbone of the tale but little beyond that."

"It's almost embarrassing really." I laugh. "I'm a forensics wizard at the Ministry. I was rushing to put something away. The shelves collapsed on me. Broken glass attacked my face and the combined force of dangerous potions and heavy shelving caused this incurable fatigue."

He looks at me. It isn't pity that I see in his dark eyes but something less humiliating - compassion. "You were extremely lucky."

We are at the castle. I follow him down the familiar corridors, past paintings I haven't seen for ten years and classrooms that, sometimes, I wish I was back in. He leads me into his office. "Sit down, please, while I get the liniment."

I sit gratefully. "Would you mind if I used your floo connection to get home?" I call out. He comes out of the cupboard holding the potion.

"Why didn't you just floo here?" He looks incredulous. His eyebrow raised.

"I like to prove to myself that I can walk wherever I used to, even if it's harder," I murmur as I take the liniment and throw floo powder into the hearth. "Thank you."

*

I wake up on Friday morning and try to get out of bed. I can't. My legs just won't move. It's one of those days. Happens about every two or three months. I scrabble for a piece of parchment beside my bed and write a note to work. Hestia, my owl, takes it. It is only when she is gone that the tears come.

I feel so alone.

*

There is a knocking on my door downstairs. I cannot get out of bed. Eventually it stops. However, a moment later there is a sharp pop and a quiet knocking at my bedroom door. "Miss Granger?"

"Hello," I say wearily, aware that my eyes are swollen up and I haven't brushed my hair for a few days. I don't know why I care really but vanity, as usual, kicks in.

Zabini looks around the door. He has a flask of some sort of potion. "I heard that you were ill," he says hesitantly.

"Yes," I say. We stare at each other.

He starts. "I brought you this. It will help you sleep and sooth your aches. Hopefully you'll come through this as pleasantly as possible."

I take the flask appreciatively. "You didn't have to do this."

"Yes I did." He is being so nice. Actually, he has been since I first spoke to him at the benefit.

"Are you just being nice because I'm sick?"

"No." He sneers and it strikes me as odd. "I'm being nice because I care what happens to you. Now take the potion."

I take it and fall asleep.

*

When I wake up I get up. It's as simple as that, which surprises me. There is no easing myself out of the bed to make sure my joints haven't seized up in the night. I feel alive again and it's nice. However, I also feel groggy and sweaty so I run a shower and wash out the dirt that has accumulated on my skin overnight. The warm water cheers me up.

I wrap a towel around myself and go down to the kitchen. Zabini is sitting in one of the chairs, reading a newspaper. He raises an eyebrow. "Hello."

"Oh." This is humiliating, I think. I'm only wearing a towel. I blink a few times, and rush back upstairs. Halfway up, I trip and land on my ankle. Pain shoots up my leg and I yell out despite myself.

Within seconds, he is there. He picks me up gently and carries me to my bed. "What did you do?"

"Tripped up the stairs. My ankle." I am lying on my bed. He sits down on the end of it and I gesture to which ankle it is. He takes it. His hands feel cool and soothing. Long thin fingers put lotion on my foot. The pain subsides.

"Try and stand up," he says. I do and, although slightly shaky, there is no pain. "Good," he says and turns to leave.

I feel lost. "Blaise?" He turns back, small slim frame seeming to fill the space in the door. "Please don't leave me."

He walks slowly towards me. I feel myself blush. I remember the towel and the fact that this is a despised Slytherin. Despised? "How do you feel?" he asks.

"Confused," I reply. "Blaise ..." I don't get time to finish what I was going to say because his hands are on my face and his lips are pressed against mine. I feel the heat of his body against mine as he holds me and I bury my face into his chest, breathing in his scent of potions and musk. Never wanting to let go.

The remnants of my scars don't seem so bad when I am holding him.