Ch 113
Christmas was drawing near, and Hermione decided to take advantage of the holiday to visit Hogsmeade.
She felt she had finally sorted out her emotions. She couldn't avoid this place forever just because of that incident, could she?
The extra workload brought on by the Time-Turner had finally been caught up with as well. After so much studying, rewarding herself felt only fair.
She remembered that on her first trip to Hogsmeade she had only gone to Honeydukes. The rest of the village was still unfamiliar territory, almost like a new world waiting to be explored.
Outside, heavy snow was falling. Hermione wore a brown-and-yellow striped knitted scarf around her neck, a fluffy crimson hat on her head, and a thick coat wrapped tightly around her body. She walked slowly, leaving a neat trail of footprints in the white blanket covering the street.
The village was bustling with noise and excitement. Even the bitter cold couldn't dampen the enthusiasm of students and residents. Christmas was everywhere—many shops had decorated their entrances with glittering trees, holly wreaths hung from doors, and strings of enchanted candles flickered among the branches.
Hermione looked around curiously, taking in the wizarding customs on display. A choir of short witches and wizards in pointy hats sang loudly on a street corner, while tall wizards rode past on shaggy cattle. She couldn't help comparing it with the ordinary town where she had grown up.
The wind howled, and snowflakes stung her cheeks. Even with gloves on, her hands felt numb. She kept blowing warm breath over them while searching for somewhere to rest and escape the cold.
"The Three Broomsticks?"
She looked up at the sign, hesitated for a moment, then pushed the door open.
Nervous excitement fluttered in her stomach. In her mind, a bar was still a place not quite suitable for someone her age.
Inside, it was blissfully warm. Groups of wizards sat at wooden tables, drinking and chatting. Some argued loudly about rumors and old stories until their faces turned red, only to be calmed by the beautiful landlady who moved gracefully between them.
Hermione was just about to find a seat and order something suitable for a minor when she saw someone she absolutely did not want to meet right now.
—Ron.
He was sitting at a small table, face flushed, sneaking glances at Madam Rosmerta as she bustled about.
Entering this place was a mistake, Hermione thought with a roll of her eyes. She turned on her heel and walked straight back out into the snow.
She decided to head to Honeydukes instead and buy some sweets for her parents. They had loved the peppermints she'd brought last time.
And there, among the shelves of colorful candy, she ran into Harry.
"Are you going to find him? Go ahead," Hermione said coolly.
"I don't know the way anymore. Their map only goes as far as Hogsmeade," Harry admitted awkwardly.
Hermione sighed. "Fine. I'll take you."
She wasn't too worried about Harry's safety now. Besides the festive crowds, there were Aurors patrolling everywhere. On her way out of the pub she'd even seen Professor McGonagall with several familiar faces. The Three Broomsticks was probably the safest place in the village.
Putting herself in Harry's shoes, she could understand his need to relax. She couldn't possibly report him, could she?
"You brought the Invisibility Cloak, right?" she asked quietly. Then added, "I heard Mr. Moody is searching the Forbidden Forest today. Otherwise I'd tell you to go straight back."
Harry nodded—but he hadn't told her the whole truth. Finding the way wouldn't have stopped him. What he really wanted was a chance for his two best friends to make up.
"Let's go," Hermione said.
Unfortunately, when they reached the little back room, Ron was already gone.
They slipped inside through the old wooden door. Harry was hidden under the cloak, and Hermione pulled her collar up to hide her face. She still wanted to keep a good image in front of her teachers.
"Two Butterbeers, please," she said to Madam Rosmerta.
"Uh…" Rosmerta looked at her uncertainly, clearly conflicted. Hermione had left quite an impression last time.
"Are you sure you can drink this?" she asked cautiously.
"Yes." Hermione nodded, puzzled by the question.
"Alright then. I hope you're telling the truth." Rosmerta handed over two steaming mugs topped with froth.
"Small canyon water for me," came Professor McGonagall's voice from behind.
"A sherry soda with ice and an umbrella shell," Professor Flitwick added.
"And a redcurrant sugar wine," said another unfamiliar voice.
Hermione stiffened. The teachers were right beside them.
"Harry?" she whispered after sitting down—but there was no reply. The Butterbeer across from her began to lower as Harry drank under the cloak.
Suddenly the movement stopped.
Because Hermione heard a name.
"Black."
Now she understood why Harry had insisted on coming.
Rosmerta had joined the table with a glass of light red wine.
"What brings you here, Minister?" she asked.
"Don't call me Minister," Fudge muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "One day I'll be stepping down completely."
He tapped a newspaper filled with scathing articles about him—mediocre and incompetent being the kindest.
Professor McGonagall said nothing. Flitwick sipped his drink in silence.
"It's all Blake's fault," Fudge burst out. "Ever since he escaped, everything's been chaos!"
"I still can't believe it," Rosmerta said softly. "Sirius Black was the last person I'd expect to turn like this."
"He was close to the Potters," McGonagall murmured. "Like a brother."
"But he betrayed them," Fudge snapped, launching into the old story—Fidelius Charm, Peter Pettigrew's death, Azkaban.
Hermione felt Harry go very still.
Finally the teachers prepared to leave, and Fudge remained alone.
"Harry," Hermione whispered—but the space beside her was empty.
Her heart leapt in panic.
He won't do something stupid, will he?
Just as she was about to rush outside, another voice reached her.
"Uncle Fudge, long time no see. Please allow me to greet you on behalf of my father."
Hermione turned.
Draco Malfoy, in a light grey overcoat, had seated himself opposite the Minister.
"Oh—your father. How is Lucius?" Fudge asked stiffly.
"Very well," Malfoy replied smoothly. Then his tone sharpened.
"But Uncle Fudge, your own situation isn't looking so good."
Fudge's face darkened.
"I didn't know Lucius's son had become so rude," he said coldly.
"Perhaps one day you'll need an appointment just to see my father," Malfoy said with a faint smile. "He doesn't waste time on useless people."
"Ridiculous!" Fudge slammed the table.
Hermione stared in disbelief. She had never heard Malfoy mock someone so openly—especially not the Minister.
"What does he want?" she wondered.
Malfoy waved to the bar. "Lemonade, please, Madam Rosmerta."
Then he handed Fudge a small, tightly written piece of parchment.
"Believe me, Uncle Fudge—the Malfoy family has always been your friend."
Fudge leaned closer to read.
And Malfoy delivered the final blow.
"I've discovered quite a lot about Blake."
A slow, mysterious smile spread across his face as he watched the Minister freeze in shock.