Duplicitous | T.N.

LXIX • Familiar Faces

• Act 3 •

Hermiome Jean Granger was an expert worrier. She troubled her mind with thoughts of inevitability, for the war that came, the death that would follow, and the consequences that were bound to occur. And although it's easy to fear for the future, she tried to haul her mind back towards the present, even then however she had more to worry about.

She worried as her eyes skimmed the Daily Prophet, news of several disappearances and murders marked the headlines. Her worry, for the families and those who might not come home to them.

She worried for Harry, who remained in muggle suburbia, isolated from the Wizard influence, and alone until the trace wore from him. She could hardly bare to think of what he may be going through on Pivot drive.

She worried for Ron, who day by day pondered upon the safety of his family, his fear that had left him eloped in a depressive state. Spending time in his room, awake by eleven everyday and even then was hardly conscious. He tried to laugh, to joke but it was fruitless, she could see it.

She worried fiercely for her parents, who no longer knew her name or face. She struggled as she thought of what may happen to them without her. She worried she'd never see them again.

And in that moment she worried for Rory. Rory who lay heartbroken beneath her blanket. Hermione, who knew she was awake, remained unsure what to say, how to comfort her. And she worried because she knew she couldn't. And that Aurora was simply barrelling towards a state of misery.

It had been not yet a month before that Hermione had urged her friend to share what it was that had her so blue. And as she heard it all, a tear or two shed from her own eyes, Aurora stoic before her as she revealed the truth about the first boy she loved. Not that Rory used that word but Hermione had realised far too early on that she did. And painfully enough the Granger witch felt as if Theodore Nott, the bastard Theodore Nott, may've loved her too.

"Rory." Hermione feigned a reassuring glance as she awoke her friend.

"Yeah?" Aurora feigned her own smile as she sat up. "Sorry I slept in." They both knew it was a lie, but Hermione would let her think she fell for it, just this once.

"Fleur is just downstairs trying on the dress." She beamed. "She wanted all us girls to be there. Come." She pulled her. Aurora grinning from behind her, her smile perhaps too wide.

Hours passed by.

"I don't know." Her accent, thick like honey, yet soft as vanilla, spoke. The French woman dressed in white twirled before her mirror. "Does it need lifting, here?" She showed Mrs Weasley just where the dress hung too low, the Weasley mother frowned deeply as she pinned yet another crease of fabric, the bride requesting for more adjustments, following the prior fitting.

The girls munched on chocolate frogs, awaiting for the third fitting that now had to come after even more adjusting, Ginny whined as more clips were placed, for it was her responsibility to be the extra hand for her mother as she sewed, and often it was Ginny who would then receive a prick to the finger, the sewing needle was responsible for the two bandaids that she wore currently.

"You needn't worry dear, I'll fix this right up." Molly grinned, preparing her sewing set for the third time. No body failed to detect the strain in her tone, no body other than the anxious bride of course.