wind - Dramione

15

Hermione did as she was told and walked away from the park.

Once Hermione had seen her, she froze as Winker had sat on the opposite side of the bench as her, calmly taking a long sip of coffee or tea or whatever was in her cup. It was nerve-wracking how calm Winker was, but Hermione tried to disguise her nervousness as confidence. Luckly, Winker wasn't facing her; even if she had been, the tears that fell from her eyes immediately stopped with what she wished she could call Ministry professionalism.

I know who you are.

Hermione remained stoic.

I know you know who I am.

Stoic.

You need to leave us alone.

Us? Hermione faltered.

We have your friend.

"Which one?" Hermione had requested.

Does it matter?

Hermione swallowed.

You're going to face forward, close your eyes for ten seconds, and walk away. You will not tell anyone. You will stop looking. And then maybe we won't hurt him.

Hermione didn't dare go home. She couldn't risk seeing anyone. Not Ron, not Draco, not Harry, no one. There wasn't anywhere she could go.

Who did they have? Him? Who were they? What did her friends have to do with the Browning Boys? There were so many questions and barely any answers. The answers she had only raised more questions and dug her into a rabbit hole that led to a shithole ill-lit pub that stunk of firewhiskey and sorrow.

She knew she would find only short-term solutions there. But what other choice did she have? She couldn't follow Winker. She couldn't go home. She couldn't go to Draco after she ruthlessly walked out on him after all he offered her was escape. Escape from the life with her husband she was in constant denial of.

"I'm not sorry I did it," a voice claimed from the backside of the bar table.

"I can't do this right now, Hickman," Hermione sighed, defeated, "Just make it on the rocks. Please."

Julie neglected to move.

"I'll even pay double, just get me what I need," Hermione bargained, too tired to talk, reaching over the bar to grab herself a small glass seeing as Julie had no intention to.

"What you need isn't alcohol," Julie retorted, placing her hand over the opening of the glass, "You're married, Hermione."

Not having the heart to hear what she'd been telling herself all day from someone who had no part in her personal affairs, Hermione made her way to stand up and go to a different pub.

"Running away won't help."

"Damn it, Julie, I know that!" Hermione spun around and pushed the barstool into the table, causing a scene and immediately regretting it. She looked around the pub, embarrassed about how many heads she turned, and how many brows she raised. "I know, Julie." She took her seat back in the barstool and collapsed onto the table.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing. Julie hadn't said anything more, but Hermione could hear the shuffling of feet, the clinks of glasses, and the clean, unsoiled sound of liquid collecting in a pool.

She lifted her head to see a tall glass of water with two ice cubes floating at the surface. She lifted her eyes to meet Julie's and gave her a muted appalled expression.

"Just as requested," Julie slid the glass closer to her, "on the rocks."

Hermione mumbled a small and defeated "thank you" before lamely nursing her water, keeping the glass close to her lap rather than returning it to the tabletop. She stared at the polished wood of the bar table and was reminded of Draco's dining table where they had gone over their first case together. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, fruitlessly trying to push the thought out of her clouded mind.

Julie stared at her the entire time, not saying anything. It was true what she had said to Hermione about not regretting sending Weasley the patronus. She watched pitifully as Hermione seemed to fall apart right before her eyes. She did this to herself she thought.

"What are you even doing here, Hickman? You're an Auror."

"Yeah, an Auror only trusted with cheap cases of petty theft while those of you who are privileged enough to be granted the important cases get enough money to put food on the table for your whopping two-person household," Julie spat bitterly, turning her head away from Hermione, disgust obvious in her eyes. "I've got three kids with no father. Have since I was sixteen years old. I need to be working the cases that put food on the table. But Potter and every other entitled Department Head only sends the less 'valuable' workers the scraps that don't pay shit. Ronan has been preaching this for years before you were even out of school and only when Potter became Head did I finally realize what he meant."

By the time her words had stopped playing over in Hermione's head, Julie had gone to help another customer to a drink. Hermione never thought of things like this. The privilege that knowing Harry had brought her and how it affected other people who deserve just as much compensation as she. She mulled these foreign ideas over her mind and continued to sip at the water Julie had given her, grateful for the clarity the coldness gave her.

Hermione felt her head begin to spin and decided it was time to go home. Wherever she could call that. She called Julie over to thank her for the insight when an epiphany hit her square in the chest. Ronan.

He'd been leading her away from the case the second he'd been assigned to her. Bringing her to the wrong address for the Winker family. Purposely mispronouncing "Winker" to further separate him from the suspects. Threatening her when she got help from someone else. It all made sense. He's dirty.

"Julie, when was the last time you saw Ronan?"

Julie stopped in her tracks and cursed at herself. She was facing a customer with her side to Hermione as she hung her head backwards, a callous crow built in the back of her throat.

"I knew I shouldn't have mentioned him, honestly, he told me not to," Julie casually laughed at herself shrewdly. "I knew you were clever, but I really didn't think you'd connect the dots that quickly for a mudblood. Anyway, agunt."