Wanderer

Granger

Chapter Fourteen- Granger

It seemed to be a habit of theirs but they walked quietly, trekking their way down the well-worn and thus, rather slippery slope, down across the grounds. Though she was wearing her winter boots, Hermione kept losing her footing, clutching onto the tufts of frozen grass and muttering high-pitched pleas to whatever entity was listening. It was made all the worse for the snowballs that occasionally pistoled towards them and she had no time nor security to find her wand and shield them both from attack. One came hurtling at her head and she screamed, ducking, her feet taken from underneath her as the dirt crumbled away, grappling for purchase, for something to cling onto-

"Fuck. Granger! Will you-!" she heard Malfoy grumble, his breath hot on her forehead, but she knew her hold on him was firm and she hadn't stopped skidding and was therefore unwilling to let go. Hermione felt something haul her to her feet and she gripped at thin air. It was only when she was firmly planted back on flat ground that she released his arm, muttering a reluctant thank you and they continued on their way. Hermione, more cautiously than before.

She couldn't see him but she was certain that Malfoy stopped for a moment when they reached the Hogwarts gates. Hermione heard a sharp intake of breath, though it could have been the wind whistling through her hair. Either way, she didn't comment, and carried on walking, sneakily glancing behind her, watching his footsteps in the snow, to make sure he was following. There was something reassuring about the fleeting trail they created, and the way the snow would kiss the imprints to cover them over.

The walk down to the village seemed quicker than she imagined, though Hermione had a feeling that time would sprint today, for it was usually what time did when one wanted it to do quite the opposite. Even against the onslaught of wind that chilled her to her bones and the snow that flecked her cheeks and congealed on her eyelashes, there was something warm that bloomed in her chest; Hogsmeade was everything she remembered it to be, and more. As they got closer, the snow gave way to an emerging row of white-wrapped buildings; the roofs overhung, their mismatched brickwork tucked away under a blanket of winter for as long as the snow persisted, golden walls rarely peeking out if any of the snow collapsed from the windowpanes and flower baskets. Hanging signs danced wildly in the wind, clanging and creaking, revealing the odd letter or emblem. Students and villagers, protected by their winter robes, hats and scarfs, weaved in and out of shops, whose doors would fling open and spill a puddle of enticing heat onto the frost-bitten ground. A well-trodden path snaked deeper into the village, though snowflakes continued to fall, smoothing it over with fresh powdery mounds that the students were all too happy to jump in.

Hermione breathed in the cold air. It had been so long since she'd felt that familiar warmth of normalcy, but it embraced her now, that sobering blast of freedom. She hadn't realised she'd stopped walking completely until she heard Malfoy hiss her name.

"Oh. Sorry."

Hermione led him through the village, breathing in the smell of roast potatoes from The Three Broomsticks, distracted by the laughter and sparks and whizzing bolts of light from the joke shop, not stopping until they'd made it past every shop on the main street and had weaved their way past darkened windows and boarded up doors, falling into the empty shelter of The Hog's Head pub.

She heard Malfoy make a derisive noise but ignored him, smiling at the barkeep (who was certainly not Aberforth, what with his perspiring bald head and bulbous moustache, pipe poking from between the gaps in his teeth), and making her way to a table in the corner. Hermione sat down, biting back a smirk at the hesitant and inconspicuous scraping of the chair opposite her as it was pulled out and drawn in again.