Hermione stood over the unconscious figure of Antonin Dolohov with weary satisfaction. She'd been tracking the man all over Europe for months before following him right back to London. He was one of the last Death Eaters on the loose after Voldemort's defeat, and the Auror department had assigned the case to her, hoping their brightest Auror would be able to bring Dolohov in. Hermione hadn't disappointed, but she was more than ready to go back to her flat and sleep in her own bed rather than the cheap motels she'd had to frequent while tracking Dolohov.
Rummaging through her pockets, she carefully withdrew the galleon Portkey that was to transfer the man back to the Ministry holding cells where he would await a trial.
Being sure to grasp the cloth around the coin, Hermione pulled out her wand and tapped the Portkey to activate it before letting it fall onto Dolohov. With a pop he disappeared.
She barely had time to slip her wand back into her bag before she heard a gasp behind her. She sighed- the day wasn't over, it seemed. Some muggle must have wandered down into the alley where she'd cornered Dolohov, and now she would have to preform a memory spell before finally going home.
Hermione turned to face the muggle. When she caught sight of his familiar face and distinctive blonde hair, she bit back a gasp of her own, whipping away from him in shock.
What was he doing here? She hadn't seen Draco Malfoy since his trial six months ago.
The trial... remembering it brought a fresh wave of guilt over her.
Harry had asked her to testify with him for Malfoy, but she had flatly refused. Ever since sixth year, Malfoy had transformed from an irritating, spiteful bully into a young man who truly seemed to side with Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Hermione knew Dumbledore had even offered him protection and a way out of Voldemort's service, and Malfoy had still refused it. He might not have killed Dumbledore himself, but Malfoy stilled served as a catalyst for the events following Dumbledore's death.
Despite her feelings about him, the verdict the Wizengamot delivered shocked her with its vicious cruelty: his wand snapped, memories of the wizarding world obliviated, and permanently exiled to the muggle world. At this, her sense of justice had stirred in her, protesting against the vindictive sentence and whispering to her that he had probably been as scared and desperate as she'd been. Stubbornly, she had ignored it, reminding herself of his impassive stare as she'd writhed under his aunt's Cruciatus curse that afternoon at Malfoy Manor. Over the following months, though, Malfoy had popped into her thoughts again and again, each time accompanied by increasing shame.
"Excuse me?" Malfoy's drawling voice interrupted her troubling thoughts, questioning and demanding. "What on earth just happened? That man on the ground, where did he go? What did you do to him?"
Hermione frowned. His personality, it seemed, remained unchanged, still presumptuous and arrogant. "It's none of your business."
"None of my business? A man, unconscious or maybe dead, is laying on the ground next to you one moment and is gone the next, and it's none of my business?"
"Yes," she snapped tersely, finding it difficult to say more. Years of hostility when dealing with the man before her had formed habits, and old habits die hard.
"Now see here," Malfoy said indignantly. "This is serious. That man looked quite injured. He needs a doctor. I don't know how you made him vanish like that, but-"
"Magic," she cut him off. "I used magic."
"Magic?" He echoed skeptically. "Magic isn't real."
Hermione's heart twisted. She never would have imagined she'd hear those words from him. "Believe it. Magic is very real. Of course, our worlds were separated and wizards were hidden a long time ago for our protection, but we're still here." Why was she telling him this? Given his new state of mind, it was technically illegal to say this. She shook her head. "Never mind. It's highly unauthorized for me to share information about the magical world like this with a... a muggle."
"Muggle," Malfoy repeated thoughtfully. "I assume you refer to people with no magic? People like me?"
"Correct," she clipped out, nearly choking on the word. It was almost funny; here stood the heir to one of the greatest Pureblood dynasties in wizarding Britain, calling himself by the titles he' once scorned her for. Muggle. Filth. Once he'd thought they were scum, and now he counted himself one of them.
Hermione winced. After his trial, she had stuck around, her own misery taking a backseat to growing shame. True, she disliked Malfoy, but what happened to him was horrible, and she knew deep down that she could have testified for him, or could have spoken up afterwards and tried to convince the Wizengamot to give a lighter sentence, and she hadn't. She hadn't helped him at all, and so she had forced herself as penance to watch his devastated expression as they broke his wand in two. She made herself look at his parents, his mother openly weeping as her son's grey eyes slowly faded when the memory charms took hold, something behind them flickering out. She had known, then, that it wasn't justice being administered. It was revenge, with Malfoy acting as the scapegoat.
But she also knew was nothing for it anymore. He was now, essentially, a muggle, all his magical ability buried deep inside and his memories of their world gone. The smirking, swaggering boy she knew from Hogwarts no longer existed.
She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "For what it's worth Malfoy, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I should've helped you. I should've spoken up and said something, anything, because I wouldn't wish this on anyone, not even you." She raised her wand.
He frowned in confusion. "How did you know my na-"
"Obliviate," Hermione murmured, watching memories fade from him for a second time. After a few seconds, he looked up, blinking, and smiled politely at her.
"I'm sorry, did I bump into you?"
"No," she responded faintly. "No, not at all." And with that, she walked away from him, her remorse weighing her down.