Disclaimer: Nothing from what follows, save for the plot, is my legal property. Everything below, again, save for the plot, is borrowed strictly for entertainment purposes only and no form of profit was given to me, except for the spiritual joy one receives from telling a story and spreading an art to the exceptionally bored, internet obsessed, and anyone who can appreciate a good 'ole fanfic. Enjoy.
Chapter One
Black and white polished tile reflected the scene that was resting atop it. Two lifeless figures lay on the ground; the bodies completely covered with shabby, flowered sheets.
Three life-filled figures slowly circled the two on the floor. One held an old fashioned looking camera, taking pictures of the dismal scene, almost seemingly at random. Another, with a small piece of parchment clipped to a board in one hand, and a quill in the other; writing notes hastily while the last man whispered to him. All three of them bore badges that shared the same "M.o.M." symbol.
Ron and Hermione had just arrived at the scene. Ron's father heard about the chaos over at the Ministry and sent them an owl immediately, making sure they were okay. Unfortunately they found it wasn't their health they should be worried about.
The Ministry officer whispering to its clipboard-baring equal stopped in his circle, and walked towards them solemnly.
Hermione opened her eyes suddenly as her cheap, muggle alarm clock buzzed. Its overpowering vibrations threatening to push itself off of her bedside table. Snooze, she pressed. The early morning sun poured through the window from across her bedroom and hit her face with fearful accuracy. She shielded herself with her soft blue comforter until her alarm clock buzzed at her again.
This time she couldn't press the snooze button fast enough. It jerked wildly under its buzzing vibrations until it took a suicidal leap off the table and onto the ground; the inevitable sign that she had to get up now.
Unsuspecting blindness seeped into her frustrated face. Every light in her room was still on, with books piled all over the place. Her recent obsession of reading during sleepless nights followed her every now and again. Only to greaten her frustration was the fact that a reoccurring nightmare always followed once she tired herself enough with reading.
Her eyes eventually gained its sight after cool water was poured on her face above the bathroom sink. As the refreshing droplets slowly fell from her forehead, the steady and reliable portions of her brain wheeled through her thoughts. Suddenly, it shot itself to a certain thought she wished her brain would never dwell. It cut through her mind, making her lose her strength. She grasped the sides of the ceramic sink to keep her balance, her elbows shaking and knees unlocking.
"Damn Harry . . . why did you have to-" She cut off, biting her lip. The images came flooding in heaps of unforgettable memories. Tears swelled and fell into the puddle of water in the blocked sink.
"Hermione . . ? Hermione?" Her mother knocked on the door.
Hermione released a large breath in surprise, bringing her back to the bathroom. Her arms gained control and supported her weight back on her feet. "Ye-Yeah?"
"You okay, honey? You'll be late for work."
"I'm fine mom. I'm on my way."
Perhaps it was just the fact that her parents had hardly seen her during her teen years, or that they feared her leaving the nest without proper financial comfort (at least in their eyes) which brings on the fact that, yes,-she does still live with her parents.
"Hermione, I was wondering if tonight you could help sort out some things in the garage. I think we still have a couple of boxes that belong to you in there." Her father stated across the kitchen table through the newspaper.
Her mother, Nicole, turned to her husband. "Oh, Frank, Hermione was actually planning on seeing Ron tonight. Ginny is coming home from her last year of Hogwarts, and they're holding a party for her."
He rolled his eyes. "If you're going to move out into an apartment," he now looked at his daughter, "you do realize that you need to pack, right? Your boyfriend could live one day without seeing you!"
Hermione laughed at his joking remark. "I'll get it done." She waved an evident sign of 'good bye' and walked out the door.
With a short pop, Hermione was standing on a cracked, littered sidewalk, in a large neighborhood nobody really went through, unless rich, or had an unstoppable urge to visit one of the biggest collections of shops in the city; the perfect place for an old, shabby shop containing a single manikin, baring rather embarrassing and outdated attire.
"Hello. Hermione Granger, clocking in." She said simply, walking through the glass as it simultaneously liquefied before her.
The lighted orbs of St. Mungo's were lit brightly as it accepted its employees and new arrivals of the morning.
"Good morning, Miss Granger." said the women at the front desk.
Hermione opened her mouth to reply but stopped dead when something else caught her eye.
"What is that?" She turned to Doris, behind the desk.
"Uhh. . ." she looked confused. "What is what?"
"That!" She pointed across to the main hallway. "That isn't me is it?" Hermione had her eyes fixed on the large collection of portraits, one in particular that looked too familiar. She walked closer to the portrait in question only to find that she was unfortunately right. "What is a portrait of me doing here?" she turned back to Doris, now no longer behind the desk.
"Uhh. . ." she started. "Well. . ." At a loss of words she merely pointed at the engraved text below:
Hermione Granger
Present Healer Specialized in Potion and Plant Poisoning
First Healer in History to be accepted into the St. Mungo's staff
without the required N.E.W.T exams
"Dear god. . ." Hermione's embarrassing grin smiled back from the canvas. "This is just-"
"Well, do you like it? They put it up this morning." Doris turned, but Hermione had already rushed through the crowd into an elevator.
As an available elevator shot open in the main hallway, Hermione thankfully stepped in. The doors closed in front of her with a soft thud as a young coworker she paid no notice to stepped in and stood alongside her.
Hermione's thoughts played back and forth the image of her portrait. The picture of her was horrific; the text was unwillingly confessing her education status (or lack there of); and the whole thing was put up without one notification to her. . .She wondered why she even tried to be an average witch without having to be reminded of her seventh year at Hogwarts (or, again, lack of).
It was for Harry. We wanted to help fight his battles, only to find there was nothing to be done, but allow him to fall on his own, like the mortal everybody knew he was, but publicly imagined he wasn't.
A calm womanly voice shot through the elevator, signaling its readiness, and Hermione routinely pressed the button that would lead to Level 3. In her trance of thought, she unknowingly pressed it slightly to its side, chipping her nail against the hard metal wall.
"Damn." She whispered, repairing it with her wand.
"Having some trouble, Miss?" Asked the stranger standing beside her, sounding as if he was desperately trying to conceal a laugh.
"And how is that any business of your-" She turned, annoyingly, but stopped short when she noticed the comment came from none other, then Neville Longbottom. "Oh my god, Neville! How are you?" She quickly hugged her old friend.
"What are you-" she stopped short again. She had a pretty good idea why Neville would be at St. Mungo's. Surprisingly he didn't seem embarrassed at the thought of his parents.
"Actually, I just started working today. Can you imagine? Me! Getting good enough scores to reach this high!" He gleamed in his pride.
"You're-You're working here? That's great! What's your department?"
"I'm working in the herbology greenhouse, studying plant poisons and remedies."
"Wow, Neville, that's great! We're in the same department!"
He swiftly looked down at the floor, as if an uncomfortable thought suddenly went through his mind.
"Um . . . Hermione?" She looked back up at him. "I'm-um . . . I'm sorry about the whole Harry thing."
It didn't surprise her that he would have known all about Harry's death, despite the fact the ministry worked hard to keep a majority of the details well hidden. Word always somehow found a way into Hogwarts during that time, probably then more then ever.
She lifted her hand and touched his arm gently. "Don't worry about it, Neville." She fought to get the thought of that night back off her mind. "Besides, it's not like you had anything to do with it."
He nodded, avoiding her eyes. "Right."
The elevator door opened wide. "Level Three." The cool voice sounded. The two of them got off on the same floor.
"Well, maybe I'll see you around Neville."
"Yeah, of course. Say hi to Ron for me then."
She assured him she would, and walked toward her office, leaving him to move across the hall to the greenhouse.
At the end of the day, Hermione returned her clipboard with the progress of her patients to the front information desk and excitedly moved into the front hall of the hospital and appareted instantly.
In half a second she had her high heels slowly sinking into the dense weeded lawn of the Burrow.