Blood In The Stars

17. A Lethal Lager

"It's a long old road, but I know I'm gonna find the end." -Bessie Smith (American blues singer, nicknamed: Empress of the Blues) 

4202 words

Hermione stared at Harry, and he back at her. Both, for the first time in their respective lives, at a loss for words. 

Harry, because he had just spilled his pent up feelings of the last four or so years, all in one horrendous go. 

Hermione, because it was one of those rare moments Harry was undoubtedly and completely correct.

"I don't know what to say." Hermione whispered as she could feel a chill overtaking her arms, stretching down to her toes. It was unwelcome, and she couldn't help but to shiver. 

"You don't-Merlin, Hermione. I'm sorry, but it's the fucking truth." Harry pointed out, sounding faintly embarrassed for saying such things. He turned, hand pushing into his hair, showcasing his nervousness. Hermione nearly reached out for him, but a rustling of leaves behind her caused her to pause any movements.  

"Truth is easiest swallowed at night, young lady." A croaky voice sounded behind Hermione, and she spun alarmed to find someone who looked remarkably like McGonagall but in a very eerie way. 

She wore thin robes, over a sage green dress that fell to her ankles. Her feet were bare, and the forest floor was evident on her ankles. Her hair was done up in an intricate bun atop her head, pined there by a thin stick. Her smile held crease lines, and her eyes were thin as she regarded Hermione. 

So much so in fact, Hermione tilted her head to the side as she regarded the women before her. 

"Yer lass got a staring problem?" The woman snapped, her long fingers waving in front of Hermione's face. Knocking her out of her staring. 

Hermione was almost positive she was entranced by the woman, but shook her head to rid such thoughts from her mind. 

"Not my lass." Harry said at once, as if he was fearful George was standing just beyond the line of trees, or worse, Ginny. "She uh-well, I've just finished shouting at her, so now we're a bit in an..an..argument." Harry mouthed the word, as if he wasn't quite sure it was true.

Hermione couldn't recall the last true argument they had been in, well several over the course of the war but following that, the arguments had been scarce. Void even, as they both mourned their losses and the truth of their lives following the horrors of the war. 

"I'm looking for a Hermione Granger." The woman spoke up, flicking her gaze between the two in disregard. 

Hermione stilled, toes curling in her boots as Harry cleared his throat behind her. 

"She's standing right in front of ya Orla!" The man that stood in front of the tavern shouted out into the night, a greasy grin on his lips. Hermione cursed him in her mind, as the man was starting to grate on her nerves. 

"Yer the witch who killed Voldemort?" The woman, now known as Orla, asked. Regarding Hermione with a new sense of wonder, her eyes widening as she raked her eyes up Hermione's frame. 

Hermione fidgeted, growing uncomfortable under the hot gaze. 

"I didn't wield the wand." Hermione pointed out, before jerking her thumb back to Harry who smiled broadly at the woman. 

"Ayye, the boy with the scar on the smack front of his noggin." The woman laughed, turning her heel in the dirt to walk towards the tavern. "Ya comin'? Cravin' me a lager." She shouted over her shoulder, blowing a kiss to the man at the door as she strolled right through the wood.