It's funny, when people tell you something so irrevocably wrong, so utterly awful— nothing really changes. People still stroll across the sidewalks, albeit almost too casually with their faces turned in a way that could almost pass for uninterested, the gray skies retain their gloomy disposition, the trees still violently whip back and forth trapped in the vicious London wind. However, the man right in front of him, nervously twisting his wand with that look in his eyes—he changed. Harry bloody Potter. At his door step. That look in Potter's eyes—worse than the hate and disgust— pity.
"Excuse me?" Draco drawled, schooling his face into a careful mask of boredom.
"The ministry would like me to inform you that— well, the thing is— maybe you'd like to sit down?"
Draco stared impassively, "I find that I can stand just fine. Spit it out already."
"Your mother's dead."
And just like that— nothing changed. The world kept going, the wind kept blowing, the people chattering, and the man in front of him didn't move. Draco blinked. And blinked again. Glancing up at the sky and swallowing he whispered the question that would ruin his life.
"Who?"
If Hermione had known that today would be the day that changed her life forever, she might have very well called in sick after she woke twenty minutes late, or after Crookshanks left a dead rat on the outfit she had laid out, or after her hair refused to cooperate, or after she realized she had no food in her house, or after she slipped on the white tile kitchen floor, or after she reached into the bag of floo powder and remembered she had run out, or even after she stumbled up to the lobby of the Ministry. By the time she reached her shabby office, she already felt ready to go home for the day.
She worked in a small research division funded by the Ministry to improve magical forensic techniques through the synthesis of magical and muggle methods. However, despite her plethora of advancements, her job mainly consisted of fruitlessly trying to convince aurors that her techniques would work.
Yet today, instead of the empty desk she normally arrived to every morning, a leaning tower of folders was on the surface, papers floating haphazardly around the enormous pile. Her hand had only barely touched a folder when a voice behind her startled her from her reverie.
"Hermione, this is one of the highest profile cases we have received since the Neo-Death Eater murder case five years ago. It's the most bizarre we have ever faced, and I know, this case might be tough for you, so just tell me if things—"
"Harry, calm down, what's going on? And this is the first bloody case you have finally decided to use my work! I went through a war too you know!"
"That's just the problem," Harry muttered. "It's just, the victims— the victims are all former Death Eaters or affiliated with them."
Hermione snorted, "Likely story, nothing has been printed in the Daily Prophet. Those are probably false reports."
"So far all of the families have asked us to keep it out of the press to prevent the fallout. The thing is Hermione, this case is extremely sensitive. Some aurors are arguing that these people deserved to die. At any moment, the Ministry could decide to drop it. These people— many weren't even Death Eaters; they deserve justice."
And just like that, Hermione's life would change forever.