Hermione's hands fumbled with the dishes in the sink, as a clap of thunder caused her once again to drop the plate she was washing. The plate sank into the soapy water she'd filled the basin with, landing at the bottom of the sink with a clank.
"Get a hold of yourself," she said quietly. She wasn't used to being in the cottage by herself for this many days in a row. That, paired with the weather outside, was making her nervous.
She finished the washing up and went into her bedroom to pull out a sweater. The rain had sent a chill through the house and Hermione instinctively reached for her favorite jumper, maroon and hand-knit. She rubbed the faded R emblazoned at the front, now almost too worn out to be read. Burying her face into the wool she inhaled deeply and was reminded of amortentia.
Thinking better of it, Hermione hung the jumper back in her closet. It wouldn't do to give in to memories. Instead, she pulled out a warm gray cardigan and pulled it over her night dress, running her hands up her arms to generate some heat.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
Hermione wasn't expecting visitors. Rarely did a neighbor stop by for a chat, and never at this hour or with this sort of rain storm going on outside. She walked timidly down the hallway separating her bedroom from the front door. As she stood ten feet away from the door, pondering what to do, there was a second knock. This one was more insistent, the sound reverberating through the house so that the walls shook with the effort.
"Wh-who is it?" Hermione called out. It was times like this she cursed herself for having given up her wand. Perhaps she should have kept it, hidden in a drawer somewhere, just in case.
There was a long pause and no answer. Emboldened and putting on more bravado than she had, Hermione spoke up once more.
"You should know I've called the police and they're on their way. So you should just leave, whoever you are."
There were a few more seconds of silence, before a deep male voice responded.
"Hermione, it's me."
She froze, the words hitting her like cold water. Even with three years' time between them and the clamor of rain and thunder outside, Hermione would recognize that voice anywhere.
"Harry?" His name was a question, not a statement, and was filled with disbelief. It sounded like Harry, but that was impossible. Harry didn't know she existed, let alone where to find her. Hermione's fingers itched to pull the door open and see for herself, see what he looked like, how he had grown, if his eyes were the same. She took a few breaths to clear her head. She couldn't be rash here. Either this was Harry or someone impersonating Harry, and either way she was dealing with a situation from the magical world. That meant this could be dangerous.
"Where did we spend summer before fourth year?"
"At the burrow," Harry replied. Hermione pursed her lips and looked up at the ceiling. It was sort of an obvious answer, everyone who knew Harry knew he spent every summer at the burrow. Hermione heard what sounded like whispers from behind the door, almost as if Harry were talking to someone. Then Harry spoke again, louder this time.
"And we went to the Quidditch World Cup," he said. "It's really me Hermione. You'd better open up." He said the last bit not like a command, more like a defeated plea. Hermione suddenly felt cold dread for what was waiting for her behind that door.
She reached a tentative hand forward, turned the knob, and opened the door.
In all her life she would never forget his face. He stood stock still, wearing a heavy black coat. His clothes and hair were matted down with rain, and he looked like he hadn't shaved in days. When did his facial hair start growing so fast, she wondered. Then she looked in his green eyes, covered with the same round glasses, and he gave her a small smile. It looked almost as if he were glad to see her, and Hermione was suddenly consumed with the need to hug him.
She took a step forward but was interrupted as a bulking figure pushed in between her and Harry, walking across the threshold and into the hallway of her home. She turned to protest at the figure, then saw the unmistakable color of Weasley red hair.
The shock of him left her powerless to speech or rational thought. She closed her eyes tightly, willing herself to focus and stay on task. Standing in her hallway was Ron. He was the person she dreamed about every night, he was the person whose name was like a prayer to her. He was also the last person on Earth she ever wanted to see again. Hermione took a deep breath that ended in a gulp. When she opened her eyes and saw him still standing there, glaring at her, she knew that her hardest work was still before her.
"Why don't you both come in?" She swept her arms to indicate they should all walk into the living room. Ron started first, walking into the room and placing himself unceremoniously onto the sofa, a puddle forming at his feet. Harry walked in next, taking a careful seat next to his friend. Hermione hovered awkwardly in the space between the entryway and the two boys. No, men.
"Would you like some tea? I'll get some." Hermione rushed off to the kitchen, speaking to herself as she made quick work of readying a tea tray.
Be calm, Hermione, you know why you're doing this. Just keep the story simple, catch up, and they'll be on their way. She paused to wait for the tea kettle to heat up, tapping one finger on the counter. Not that she was anxious to return to the living room, but the sooner this business got started, the sooner it would be over.
Hermione walked back to the living room holding a tray filled with a kettle, tea cups, milk, sugar and biscuits. She lowered the tray onto the coffee table and took a seat in an arm chair next to the sofa. Hermione took a moment then to look Ron over head to toe. He looked older, obviously, but in a way that didn't just come from aging. His eyes were darker, heavier, and his hair was longer than she'd ever seen it, even in fourth year. His skin was still pale and freckled, but his arms were bulkier and his shoulders wider. It looked like he had gotten taller, too, if that was possible. And he was oozing rage, the anger rolling off of him in waves.
"Here, have some," Hermione said finally. She reached out and prepared a cup for Harry, dropping one sugar cube in and handing it to him. She then picked up a second cup and filled it half way with tea, half way with milk, and dropped two sugar cubes in. Just the way Ron liked it. She placed the cup on a saucer and held it out to Ron. The china cup clinked against the saucer, and Hermione begged her hands to cooperate and stop shaking. She let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding as Ron finally took the cup from her.
"So, how have you two been?"
Hermione's question was halted by a crashing sound, as Ron threw his tea cup across the room. It shattered as it hit the wall across from Ron, the pieces of china hitting the floor and the tea making a dark stain against the wallpaper.
"M'not thirsty," Ron nearly growled at her.
Hermione winced at the sound of the breaking cup, her arms flying up in front of her as if to protect against some curse.
"Let's all calm down here," Harry said, placing his arms out to keep the two others apart. Hermione had jumped out of her seat and stood in front of the coffee table, her arms crossed in front of her chest.
"I don't know what she's got to be hacked off about," Ron said, speaking to Harry but drilling Hermione with his eyes.
"Well," Harry said in a controlled voice, "you have shown up at her home in the middle of the night and begun breaking her things."
"I'll break as many damned things as I like!" Ron shouted, his voice several decibels louder than before. "I'll break anything I like, and then put it back together with this." Ron pulled his wand out of his pocket and pointed it menacingly at Hermione.
"You know what this is, don't you?" Ron continued. "It's a wand. Perfect for fixing things like broken cups. What it's not usually used for, though, is turning your best friends into guinea pigs for your latest magic experiment!"
Hermione stood frozen in front of him, not sure if she was supposed to respond here. She had backed up so far that she was now flush against the wall with the new tea stain, the dampness of it seeping through her cardigan. It was the first time in her life she had ever been truly afraid of Ron Weasley.
"Don't look at me like that!" he roared. "Get out your wand!"
Hermione shook her head helplessly, trying to form words but unable to speak. Tears were welling up in her eyes.
"What's that?" Ron asked sarcastically. "Miss Know-It-All's run out of words, has she? Get out your wand and fight me!"
"Easy, easy mate," Harry said suddenly. He positioned himself in front of Hermione, his wand drawn but not raised, ready to shield off any hexes Ron might start throwing.
"I…I don't have a wand," Hermione said finally. "I got rid of it. After." With that, Hermione ran to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. She turned the faucet on the sink to generate some noise, crouched over the toilet, and threw up.
A/N: Thanks for reading and please vote and comment!