Chapter One – Sunday Lunch
"Really Hermione, take another slice! You look as if you're wasting away."
"You do get enough to eat, don't you darling? We can always send you more money, if you need it. You can take it along to that lovely bank and-"
"Dad, honestly I'm fine." Hermione let her hand rest atop her fathers, giving him a gentle smile. All the while, her mother was serving up another slice of Victoria sponge cake. "I'm just so busy with work at the moment."
"Not too busy to see us though, are you love?" Mrs Granger topped up her the families cups with tea and replaced the cosy. "Although I must say, I am surprised."
Wiping crumbs from the side of her mouth, Hermione looked up.
"Why is that? I always visit on Sunday's."
It had become a tradition of sorts, since the modification charm had been lifted. Being reunited with their daughter had been hard at first, but once Hermione had explained that it had all been for the greater good, her parents had graciously accepted her deepest apologises. The Grangers had returned to their old home in Oxfordshire, England. Thanks to Hermione's ingenious spellcasting, the family home had remained exactly as it had the day that she had left, even the garden to her father's delight. The people in the cul-de-sac remarked on Mr and Mrs Granger's wonderful tans, how grown up Hermione looked, that the dentistry industry in Australia must be booming, and what on Earth had led them to come back in the first place. Mrs Granger just gave a knowing smile.
Every Sunday since their return, Hermione came over for Sunday lunch. There was always a tasty roast dinner and a pudding to follow, all the while accompanied by countless cups of tea. Hermione loved to help when her mother allowed her to enter the kitchen, thankful that there were no House Elves to trip her up, or insist she leave.
It was part of the reason that she had a simple flat in Muggle London. It was cramped, the hot water system was temperamental at the best of times, even with the interference of magic, and the only pet she had were the birds who rested on the window sill each morning. She had turned down the elegant home that the Ministry of Magic offered, choosing instead to keep her link to her heritage, her childhood, and for appearances sake, a young woman.
She could hardly have gone back to live with her parents, not after all that had happened.
Hermione watched as her mother sipped her tea, their eyes never quite meeting. Mr Granger idly flicked through a copy of the newspaper, occasionally chuckling as his eyes skimmed the section with the cartoons.
"Mum? Why are you surprised?"
"Well dear, it's just that most young girls would be out with friends, enjoying the sunshine. Nursing sore heads from a night on the town. Having a day out with a boyfriend-"
"Oh mum, please don't start this again!"
"I'm not starting anything, dear, I'm just saying-"
"I do have friends though! I always see Harry and Ginny for dinner and-"
"You never bring Ronald over anymore," her mother said quietly, breaking off a piece of sponge from the slice on her plate, and popping it into her mouth.
Hermione rolled her eyes, and slumped back in her seat. "Mum, I told you. Ronald and I are just friends. It's all we ever have been, all we ever will be. And anyway, I don't need fixing up with a boyfriend. I've got too much on my plate with work at the moment."
"You're never too busy to find love."
"What if I don't want to find love?"
Hermione was tempted to kick the table leg, but no. She would not throw a tantrum like a child. This wasn't the first time that the conversation had been had around the dinner table, and the answer was always the same. She had grown used to be being the odd person out, she always had been, and supposed she always would be. Out of all of her girl friends, Hermione was the only one not to have a steady boyfriend - in fact, she didn't have a boyfriend period. She was perfectly happy as she was. And anyway, she lived vicariously through Ginny Weasley, who was only too happy to discuss her relationship with The Boy Who Lived. And although Ginny often mentioned her dear brother, there was no future for Hermione and Ron.
Mrs Granger glanced at her husband, who was still engrossed in the newspaper. A smile played about her lips, before she looked back at her daughter. Her brave, intelligent, beautiful daughter. "Someday love will find you, and it will be when you least expect it. Now come on dear, finish your cake, you're looking too thin for my liking. And then, I'll show you the new colour scheme for the living room. I've seen some lovely patterns, you'll love them all, I'm sure you will! You've done wonders with this dining room dear, much better than your father could."
"Bloody magic," Mr Granger mumbled, and held the newspaper higher to hide his grin.
In a Wiltshire manor house, a different type of Sunday lunch was being held. The dining room was now seldom used, and remained closed off, until a House Elf wandered in to open a window for a breath of fresh air. The same could be said for most of the rooms in the house, even though the House Elves dusted, polished and cleaned every day. Their work was never done, but the whole place neglected a woman's touch. They were forbidden from entering one particular room on the second floor - the door remained closed at all times.
Lucius Malfoy sat alone in his study. The starter of garlic mushrooms and main course of venison that a House Elf had brought him remained untouched. He had nibbled on the hard cheese and a few crackers at the insistence of the Elf, and when she had been about to leave, satisfied at least that he had tried some of the pudding, he had pushed aside the plate and poured himself another large glass of red wine. The Elf had frowned, her eyes downcast, but left Master Malfoy alone, lost to his thoughts. Again.
Outside in the hall, Cuba the Head House Elf, sighed and dropped her face into two frail hands.
"Not to speak ill of the Master, but what does he do in the room?" a young male Elf squeaked, tugging on the corner of Cuba's tea towel dress.
Cuba sighed. "He is sad. He is always sad."
"But why? Why should a wizard be sad?"
Cuba wiped a tear from the corner of her golf ball like eyes. She had been a personal House Elf to Master Lucius Malfoy since he had been a boy, and she had seen many changes come his way. His journey from headstrong handsome teenager, to a strong Ministry member, to eventual a husband and father, and finally into a discredited war criminal had been difficult and now, even more so.
When the lady Narcissa had left and decided to go back to using her maiden name, Black, Lucius had broken.
When the fateful news, heavily publicised trial and eventual entombment of young Draco in the wizard prison Azkaban, Lucius' soul had shattered even further.
The drinking was going to get out of hand sooner or later, and then, he would be gone. The Malfoy Manor would be left to rot, or to perhaps, the Ministry of Magic would turn it into a tourist hotspot on wizarding tours of England.
Cuba shuddered. She could only hope for change. And that it would happen sooner, rather than later.