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Chapter One

Retribution

Ms. Granger,

We all seek retribution. It almost feels like it's the reason we are here. Some of us live to make mistakes, to hurt, and suffer, cause pain, to turn around, and take the blunt punishment we feel we deserve. That is me. You, on the other hand, are quite different. You are the one who does good, and suffers the injustice later. Most would give up, but you kept going. There can be no words, not even in poetic symbolism to say how greatly I admire that.

This is my attempt at retribution, something only you can give me a chance at. I'm deeply sorry for being the cause of so many problems, for careless, and thoughtless words. Sorry isn't enough to repair the damage I've done, but it's the best I can do for now. I'd blame my linage if I could, but I can't stand being a hypocrite. In addition I'm sorry that I can't sign my name. I won't insult your intelligence, somewhere inside of you, you know who I am, but forgive me, I'm not ready to reveal myself. Retribution is a long road, after all.

You're not obligated to write me. In fact I don't expect a response, but this is my first step to reconciliation. Granted it's not with you, I could never hope for that. I'm being selfish asking for things I shouldn't, and the wish to forgive myself one day. Writing you is only hope that someone, the very person that shouldn't, may be able to forgive me, too.

An Old Enemy

Hermione Granger read the letter ten times, the curved emerald words gleaming. The stranger was right, she did know who it was. She thought she did at least. She touched the scar on her neck. It was white, not fading in the least since that night. Absentmindedly she shook her head. The idea was insane. It couldn't be him.

She sat at her beautifully engraved desk in her room. It was her favorite place in the world. In front of her a gentle breeze ruffled the lacy curtains of the arched window. Spring was passing quickly. The sun threatened to scorch them with summer, but the wind held promises for next year. She ran her hand thoughtfully over the designs of her desk, inhaling the awakening scent of her rose candle that burned lively by her bottle of ink.

She considered writing the stranger. Everyone should be given a second chance, even if the person was who she thought. She could look past it if he was indeed searching for retribution.

Out of her top drawer she laid a single piece of parchment. She gave herself a moment to change her mind. What harm could it do, writing someone who obviously needed help? She picked up her quill.

My Old Enemy,

If you mean what you write then I'll be happy to oblige. Whatever you may have done to me in the past is forgiven. It shouldn't be so easy, but it is. My adventures have taught me that hate is a wasted feeling. It can be felt, and may take no work at all, but to dwell on it, and let it eat you is a foolish thing to do.

I know you. Maybe not well, and maybe not at all, but on some level. I can guess a name, and mind you, I'd probably be right, but I won't try. We all deserve to have some anonymity through life. It's a way to let go of the expectations a name may bind you to.

So with that in mind, feel free to write me. You can simply write about you, or your day, or nothing at all. If you'd like I'll be your confidante, but only if you choose.

Granger

Hermione folded the letter, and held it out to the small owl waiting patiently on her desk. He had arrived early that morning rousing her from bed with his insistent tapping at the window. She watched as he flew out gradually fading into the clear horizon.

She checked the watch she left on her nightstand. She had plenty of time before she had to be at work. Mr. Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic had personally told her if she showed up for work an hour early again he would force her to take a week off. Explaining to him the importance of putting the houselves rights in movement didn't sway him. He thought she worked too much. She hadn't taken one vacation in her three years of working as a lawyer.

Hermione didn't need a vacation, it was the last thing she wanted. The day that houselves took days off was the day she would too. Unfortunately her friends Ron Weasley, his sister Ginny, and their friend, and Ginny's husband Harry Potter didn't believe that day would come soon, and they were siding with Mr. Shacklebolt.

She shed her modest white nightgown, and dressed slowly in pressed blue slacks, and a matching vest over a white button blouse. She pulled her hair into a bun at the base of her neck. Ginny always teased her for it, calling her an old maid, but Hermione thought it did make her look older. People took her seriously as shallow as it sounded.

Out in the hallway filled with numerous pictures of family members, and friends on the walls, and down the staircase to the quaint lounge she turned left into the small kitchen. She placed a kettle over the cooker, and waited for the whistle. She glanced at her watch again. As much as it would thrill her boss if she was late, she wasn't going to ruin her perfect record. She turned the cooker off. She would have tea later.

She snatched her briefcase with her name embossed in gold on it, and headed for the fireplace in the lounge. Throwing a handful of powder into the hearth she walked into the bright emerald flames.

Hermione walked into the large Atrium. Shiny black tile floors, and walls with fireplaces built into them shooting up green blazes, wizards, and witches walking out for a days work. The ceiling resembled the one in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, only instead of showing the sky outside golden symbols rotated, and swirled in the blackness. A giant fountain that used to hold sculptors of a wizard, with elves, centaurs, and the like in a inferior way was now only a simple fountain with glittering gold specks.

It never got old for her. She walked through the bustle under a golden archway to the elevators joining a small crowd inside one, the grate shutting behind her. It slowly made its way to the fifth floor, making plenty of clanging noise, but thanks to the chatter it was barely heard. When she reached her floor she saw Mr. Shacklebolt, nodding as she came up to him. He made a show of looking at his watch.

"Are you checking up on me," she asked the huge man.

"Right on time. I suppose that'll do. Get to work Ms. Granger, I'm sure you're anxious."

Hermione went to the right stopping at a door displaying her name on a polished plaque. Inside there were wall to wall bookcases, and a desk piled with official papers. Many co-workers told her that her office belonged in the dungeons of Hogwarts. She happened to like the dark features, and the quiet. It was much easier to concentrate here than it was in the Gryffindor common room, but then there had been George, and Fred firing dungbombs off every night.

Three years later Fred was still dearly missed. He always would be. Hermione never thought she'd miss his antics, and jokes. All those house points she took away in Hogwarts seemed useless. They brought laughs in the darkest times they had known, and in the wake of the joke shop that George ran, with some help from Ron, and Harry they were still bringing laughs.

Hermione sat at her desk, and began rifling through the paperwork that had to be done. She was just getting started when a chipper red-head poked her head in. "Hermione!"

She jumped up hugging her friend. "Ginny, you just get back?"

Her friend nodded ecstatic. "Oh, Glasgow was beautiful, and so much fun."

"Beautiful? How would you know, did you two ever leave the room?"

Ginny playfully slapped her arm. "Of course we did. Not saying that Harry doesn't have the stamina -"

"Okay, okay, I get it. Would you like hearing about any of your brothers?"

She made a face, "please, no."

Hermione smiled, and moved back to sit. "You can tell me all about your honeymoon today at lunch. Right now, I have a lot of paperwork."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Mr. Shacklebolt will gladly give them to someone else so you can see Glasgow yourself."

"We've been over this, I'm not taking a vacation."

"You don't have to suffer because others are."

Hermione was reminded of the letter. 'You are the one who does good, and suffers the injustice later.' She didn't see it that way. She loved doing what she did. She loved defending the ones that did suffer the injustice. "I'm not suffering, Ginny. I happen to love what I do."

"I know... Sometimes you remind me of Harry. If something's not right he has to take it all on his shoulders. You should've learned from him, Hermione, you don't have to do it that way. There are those that are more than willing to help. I'm not saying that you're not the best lawyer there is, because you are, you just don't have to take it all on."

"Lunch, half past twelve?"

"I'll see you then, but don't think that this conversation is over!"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Once the door clicked closed Hermione buried her head in her hands. She wasn't suffering, she was perfectly happy with her life. What did they all know anyways?