Disclaimer: Of course, I do not own these characters or the world in which I'm writing them.
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"Quitting time!" The punch clock announced in its usual surly tone. It let out a throat-clearing noise, despite having no discernable throat, and then whistled grudgingly.
A head of bushy brown hair appeared from behind a sea of floating parchment. With a flick of her wand, Hermione Granger sent the parchment whizzing into a filing cabinet to her left, then flopped backwards into her chair with a sigh.
It was the end of another long day at the end of another tiresome week. Hermione had only been at her post in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for about two months, but she was already resenting her decision. She had accepted the position thinking that she'd be fighting for House Elf rights or perhaps conducting exciting research on a thirteenth, previously undiscovered use for dragon blood. She had imagined herself giving speeches to dewy-eyed fifth years at her alma matter, inspiring them for a life of learning and public service.
That was not the case. Instead, her days varied between two extremes: reenactments of Hagrid's disastrous Care of Magical Creatures lessons or hours of monotonous parchment filing. Twice she had been scooped up by some Ministry bigwigs and paraded out for public morale. She would stand in front of a crowd next to Harry, who had of course started in the Auror Office as soon as he could, and they would smile, pose, and shake some hands, but as of yet they hadn't been able to speak.
That's why they hired me, Hermione thought sullenly, to be one of their good faces. That will change soon enough, she promised.
"Didn't you hear me?" The punch clock chimed, interrupting Hermione's thoughts.
"Oh!" she huffed, "Yes, thank you." She exited the office hurriedly, in no mood to quarrel with the clock again. Last week they had gotten into it and the clock refused to alert her for her lunch break for three straight, ravenous days.
The hall and the lift were empty, the other ministry workers probably cut out early on Friday afternoon. Hermione didn't mind the quiet now, allowing her eyes to close as she was carried toward the lobby. Suddenly, the lift lurched her forward, coming to an unexpected early stop. A female voice announced, "Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement." A sigh of relief escaped Hermione's lips when she saw it was none other than Harry Potter, also alone, who joined her.
"Hi, Hermione!" He exclaimed, louder than necessary in such close quarters. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were sparkling with excitement.
"Hiya, Harry," she responded, finding the will to smile back sincerely. "Looks like you've had a grand day."
"I have! I put on a lesson for some of the more… er… senior Aurors. Y'know, new techniques and the like. It was brilliant." He beamed.
Hermione chuckled and her earlier tension started to melt away. Harry's good moods were always so infectious to her.
"I told you that you should become a professor, after all that work you put into the D.A." She thought back on their hours spent mastering defensive spells in the Room of Requirement. Harry truly was a gifted teacher. "Hogwarts must be at a loss without the great Harry Potter," she teased.
"Come off it," he nudged her arm and shot her a good-natured wink.
The lift stopped again, this time announcing, "Lobby" and the gate opened onto the wide rotunda. Golden early evening light shown down onto the monument that now stood in the center of the towering room.
No matter what she thought of the Ministry, Hermione was thankful that they wasted no time in removing the grotesque 'Magic is Might' statue. In its place was a serene tribute to the lives lost in the wizarding wars. Several tall white stone tablets stood in a circle, each carved with a list of names of the known fallen. A small stream of clear water fell from somewhere above, landed in the center of the circle, then radiated out into a moat just outside the circle. Three thick benches in matching white stone surrounded it all for seated viewing.
Harry and Hermione had made it a habit most days to stop at the monument and pay respect to the next name on the list. They would share a silent moment - Hermione would wordlessly thank the name for its great sacrifice; Harry would apologize for not being able to end the war sooner.
After a somber beat, they continued toward the line of fireplaces to exit. Harry broke the silence.
"Are you coming to the Burrow tonight?" His tone was cautious.
"I… I don't think I should," was all she could muster. Her heart pumped a little faster but she tried to keep her face blank. Harry held her gaze, not bothering to mask his sadness.
"Do you… want to tell me what happened?"
As close as the two were, they rarely had any heart-to-heart talks. Alike in so many ways, their relationship was one of simple understanding. They both grew up in the muggle world as only children and were true Gryffindors. They could read each other by expression or body language, so there was never much need for too many words. Hermione had never been overly-emotional, but Harry was still unsure how she'd respond.
"Nothing."
He eyed her carefully, thankful she didn't lay into his other best friend. Still, he didn't make another move for the fireplace yet.
"Honestly, nothing," Hermione repeated with a noncommittal shrug. Harry nodded but she could tell he didn't believe her.
"Alright then, I'll see you Monday morning for tea before shift?" He grinned again, knowing what her answer would be.
Hermione returned the smile with forced warmth, "Of course," and with that, Harry stepped into the green flames and disappeared.
Alone again, Hermione sighed and let her shoulders droop. She stepped into the fireplace and when she stepped out, she was no longer at the Ministry of Magic, but in her parents' living room. Only, it wasn't her parents' anymore, it was just hers. Mr. And Mrs. Granger were still halfway across the world, believing they were Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and utterly childless. She had every intention of running to them as soon as the battle was won, but something was stopping her. If anyone asked, it was because she had made her charm too powerful and couldn't track them just yet. The truth had more to do with the fact that she still kept her rucksack packed to flee, or that her hand always found her wand the instant a stranger entered a room.
The witch plodded into her muggle kitchen and peered into the refrigerator. In a moment she was standing against the counter digging in at a container of leftover takeaway, imagining the bustle that must be going on at the Burrow. The thought caused her to reach into the cabinet for a bottle and a glass. With a heavy hand, she poured herself some firewhiskey and downed it in two gulps.
She hadn't technically lied to Harry. Nothing had happened with Ron. Well, okay, she cringed as she allowed herself to remember, nothing happened after a big something did happen.
Smoke still billowed from the castle rubble. The air seemed electric. Ron had finally, finally, showed her how he felt towards her. Death and love was at every turn. The two left the school grounds broken but together. Stay with me, she whispered into the curve of his neck, and he obliged because he needed her, too. It was comfort that pushed them into bed together; comfort, not passion. Afterward, Hermione cried. Her tears were hot and fat, too big to hide even if she had had the energy to try. They spent the rest of the night unable to sleep, lying next to each other without touching, and Ron was gone with the rising sun. In the weeks following, neither could find the right words, or any words really. Avoiding each other was just easier. Hermione's heart ached, but perhaps the worst part was that she couldn't convince herself that the ache was for Ron.
Her glass clinked on the counter, harder than she meant to, and the noise jarred her alert once again. She set her jaw.
"I'm not going to jail myself up in this house," she announced to no one and strode over to the hallway mirror. Her Ministry robes fell in a lump at her feet and she smoothed her blouse and slacks with her palms. Hermione crinkled her nose at the sight of her uncontrolled mane and did her best to tame it into a bun. She glanced at her reflection once more before she decided that she didn't have anyone to impress and gave up. With a shrug, she turned on the spot and disapparated.
A/N: Hello and thanks to anyone reading this! This is my first fic in a veeeery long time so I feel a little rusty. I always appreciate honest feedback.
Even though Draco has not made an appearance yet, I do plan this to be Dramione. I will try to update on a regular basis, maybe weekly, we'll see. Sorry this is so short, I plan it to get longer after it gets going.