Falling for Weasleys (Germione/Herminny)

Chapter Seven: Journeying

Hermione had never been a nail-biter. But by the time she and Ginny had finally been allowed to walk to Hogsmeade, escorted by the new caretaker, Cline (Filch had, to everyone's utmost surprise, died during the battle of Hogwarts while ensuring that a group of first years had safe passage out of the castle. The rumors varied, some believed that Filch was a victim of circumstance, while others said he slashed a secret passage open with a rusty sword belonging to a suit of armor, pushed the first years through it, then took three killing curses in the chest while shielding the students from harm.) her nails were bitten down to the quick. She looked down in surprise when she saw the pool of blood cradled in her cuticle.

It had taken a great amount of arguing and pleading to get someone to agree to Hermione and Ginny's insistence that they needed to be at St. Mungo's immediately. In the end, they had to appeal directly to Professor McGonagall, who was not pleased about the interruption. But after a frantic note arrived from Mrs. Weasley, The Headmistress agreed that they could travel to Hogsmeade on foot and apparate from there.

So, they headed off down the lane towards Hogsmeade together for the second time in a week, not talking at all. Cline lead the way, wand out, a lantern bobbing along in midair before her. Unlike Filch, Cline possessed magical powers, and seemed keen to display that difference whenever she could by never letting an opportunity to use magic around students go amiss.

They were halfway down the road now. Hermione could see the distant lights of Hogsmeade, swathed in the chilly mist that had descended around lunchtime. They seemed cold and harsh to her, like blinding puncture marks stabbed into the inky surface of twilight.

An image of her mother, battered and bruised, crept into Hermione's mind. She bit her lip before it could begin to quiver, but could not stop the water gathering in her eyes.

She felt Ginny's gaze on her and turned her head away, trusting that her hair would hide whatever piece of her face Ginny was able to see through the weak light of Cline's lantern. This did not seem to work, Ginny knew her too well. She reached over and took Hermione's hand.

Hermione's worries for her parents' well-being eclipsed the little thrill she received from Ginny's touch, but she was able to appreciate the comfort in her gesture. She nodded in Ginny's direction. Her throat was scratchy and dry. No words for miles.

The packed dirt beneath their feet, trampled flat from centuries of excitable Hogwarts students, began to recede slowly to stone. The ground had never felt less firm. Hermione felt as if the street was a sinkhole, and she was bound to fall in at any moment. Ginny's grip on her was the only solid thing in existence.

Hogsmeade was nearly empty. People were trickling down the streets, noiseless in the mist, shrouded in cloaks. It wasn't particularly cold, but Hermione had begun to shiver. Ginny's hand jittered slightly in her own. She looked over with a question in her eyes.

"This damn mist," Ginny replied. Her voice somehow managed to be both airy and flat. "We're in the center of it."

Sure enough, when Hermione craned her neck, she could barely see the rooftops above. They were lost in the mass of eerily drifting mist, which was rapidly becoming a fog. Even Cline's lantern, which was floating only a yard or two away, appeared far off.

The door to The Three Broomsticks opened clumsily, and a heavy dollop of singing, laughter, and shouting rolled out and landed at Hermione and Ginny's feet. Looking up at the pub, Hermione felt compelled to enter it. The light spilling from its windows mingled with the scent of butterbeer and grilled bread, and she thought she could hear Hagrid's unmistakable chortle. He had taken to hanging around the pub late into the evening, a habit Hermione had often scolded. Now, however, she would love nothing more than to have a chat with him, the fog banished beyond the plate glass windows, a frothing mug steaming before her, Ginny's hand under the table.