166Monsters in the Eye of Monsters
Although I finished this piece two and a half years ago, I still find readers returning to or discovering this story, leaving wonderful reviews for me to read along the way. I am still in shock that this story has gathered almost 50,000 reads during that time. Thank you for enjoying this story, which I have always kept with me growing older.
Tonight, I found myself struck with sudden motivation, and here I am, typing away at my computer in the evening hours the night before my last two exams of the week.
Additional Chapter: A Little Gift to my Wonderful Readers
Although the wizarding community was scattered and few, it still valued its old judgments almost religiously.
Among all cautions, there was One Rule that had to be followed. The One Rule that had once been broken, leaving the world a scary and difficult place for the remaining witches and wizards.
The Rule that said not to trust Muggles.
Coincidentally it was also the One Rule that Ron had broken, and that he still was challenging every day.
Although it had been proved countless times that Hermione had magic (albeit untrained and at times uncontrollable, but nonetheless magic), she still came from an endless line of Muggles.
Not having a single known Magical within her bloodline still counted her a Muggle to many Magicals, no matter what skills she showed them. These people tended to be rude and unpredictable. Just like all Magicals had been in the books from Hermione's school years.
They also tended to be violent, as the Trio had experienced several times.
The three of them had been traveling together for several weeks after the downfall of Voldemort's resurrection lair. Although it felt good to relax in the absence of the Death Eaters, the time after their victory had not been as happy as she had imagined.
Hermione had never really liked Malfoy, but the grief that followed his heroic death still lingered over her heart like a curtain. The curtain had almost locked out Ron's love, but in the end, they had talked, and she had once again felt how he cared for her.
Harry had been distant too, until they talked to him.
Through their conversations they had set themselves a new mission: to find Astoria in order to tell her of Malfoy's last bravery, and his devotion to her.
It was the least they could do after he had saved their lives.
As the news of the Death Eaters' final rise and fall had spread through the Magical community, more wizards and witches begun campaigning for their freedom and innocence to the Muggles.
And somehow, it had begun working.
It was still unsafe to be of Magical blood, but the Muggles gradually became more accepting to their people.
Therefore, the Magicals in turn started connecting more openly, and as some still said, recklessly.
That's why Nomad Markets had opened – sporadic, unannounced markets for Magical artifacts like wands and cauldrons, tools and food. Whenever one appeared, all Magicals in the area would be there soon after shopping for necessities.
And Muggles and Magicals alike, everyone needs food. Even Harry, Hermione and Ron.
And in such a Nomad Market, they encountered yet another hateful soul, clinging to their last bit of normalcy through their discrimination of Muggles, and therefore also Muggle-blooded Magicals.
The Market was located among a cluster of weather-ravaged, dry trees in the middle of a vast grass plain. There were shacks and tents put up temporarily all around them, leaving only a narrow path to follow in between them.
They stopped in front of a tent displaying intricate ceramics. The shop keeper looked especially proud of the figurines painted blue, glinting in the sun.
"Mudblood!" the ceramic salesman had burst out, when Hermione answered his request of her last name, "No Magical has the name of Granger, only monsters and Mudbloods,"
Harry stiffened at her side. Ron tightened his grip on her hand, his jaw tense, and his eyes hard.
Hermione glanced around at the other people at the market. The other shop owners glanced nervously at them but took no action. She saw a pair of shopping Magicals eyeing them suspiciously without slowing their pace.
Other than that, all was calm. The market around them was almost bustling like usual.
Until the salesman exclaimed again, his beady eyes glinting darkly, "We should do to you as your people did to mine – burn you on the stake,"
Ron's face reddened in anger, his grip on her hand tight. He shook, and Hermione knew that he did his best to keep his anger restrained.
That was, until the salesman laughed. It was a raw laughter. There was no humour in it, only a cruel rasp. He smiled a wicked smile.
Then, the salesman spit on her. From between chapped lips and rotting teeth, slimy saliva hit its target, and landed straight onto Hermione's chest.
She looked at the salesman with wide, shocked eyes.
That was the final straw for Ron.
Before she had time to react, he lunged at the salesman. His knuckles connected with the salesman's jaw. The sound of it was sharp in her ears, like a bullet fired. She was caught off guard.
The salesman tried to hit him back, but he was too slow. Ron had already swung at him again, this time hitting him in the stomach.
Harry suddenly broke out of his trance and pulled Ron away from the ugly salesman.
The salesman was still bent over, spitting blood and holding his arm protectively over his abdomen. He eyed Ron nervously from the side.
"Apologize," Ron demanded, his normally cheery voice hard and loaded with authority.
The man spit on the ground again, gagging slightly, before he spluttered out between heaves, "'m sorry,"
Ron opened his mouth to speak again, but Hermione stopped him with a hand on his chest.
She walked over to the salesman, taking in his frayed hair and beady eyes. His chest was still heaving but he had stopped spitting blood. He still hadn't moved from his hunched over position.
She put a hand on his back calmly, and he flinched at her touch.
Hermione offered the man her other hand, and after a solid minute of staring at it, he took it uncertainly.
She helped him up, then smiled weakly at him.
"Are you okay?" she asked him.
He nodded slowly, as if he'd aged another ten years in the span of minutes.
"What is your name?"
"Giffard," he said after a while, "Abbott,"
"Hey, Giffard," she said warmly, trying to ignore the streak of blood running from the corner of his disgusting mouth full of black teeth, "I'm Hermione,"
He just stared at her. Then he nodded slowly.
She talked to him some more, about how his technique made such pretty ceramic figurines and pottery.
In the end, he was convinced that she was indeed not there to steal his technique, but rather to be friendly with him.
When she left the salesman's shop, he was grinning, showing off his stubby teeth.
Harry and Ron stared at her like she was crazy. When they were out of hearing range of Giffard Abbott, they asked "What was that, Hermione?!"
She lifted her finger at them, like a teacher would to her students, "You don't solve violence with violence," she scolded.
"But he spit at you!" Ron said, "He bloody deserved it!"
"Yes, he spit at me, but that does not mean I spit at him,"
They looked at her, speechless with blank eyes.
"Honestly, have you never learned this? It is kindergarten level," she said exasperatedly, gesturing wildly with her hands.
"We have to show them that we're not to be messed with," Ron defended, while Harry nodded fervently in agreement.
"You are unbelievable," she sighed, then said, "Tell me, what did the man look like after I talked to him?"
They didn't answer.
"He was smiling, nitwits," she explained, "Would he be smiling after you had beaten him half to death? I think not. If you don't fight violence with violence, or hate with hate, then maybe his opinion of us Muggle-blooded will change,"
Ron's face softened, "I'm sorry, Hermione," he hesitated, "I didn't mean to upset you, I just felt so angry. He had no right to –"
"Don't worry, Ron," she said, a simmering warmth spreading in her chest, making her feel fizzy.
His blue eyes were downcast.
Standing on the tip of her toes, she kissed him lightly on the cheek. His face lit up immediately, an askew smile softening his face into that of innocence.
She squeezed his shoulder, then whispered in his ear, "It was kind of sweet anyway,"
Behind them, she heard Harry sigh exaggeratedly, grumbling to himself. He groaned, "I swear you two are going to be the death of me,"
She heard the sound of Harry's palm smacking his forehead, and hers and Ron's eyes locked. With reddening cheeks, they laughed at the expense of their friend.
A/N: Just thought I'd add a little extra for you avid fans out there. Thank you for all the support you have been giving me through the years and in the years to come. You will always be appreciated.