A/N: And, as is becoming routine, I'm posting this a little later than usual. SORRY! Thank you, as per usual, to all of my reviewers, readers, and everyone who's favourited so far. I live for you people. :)
NOTE: one lovely reviewer commented how Ron and Hermione seem to be unmarried. This isn't necessarily the case (which you will figure out in later chapters), but it is still a relevant part of the story. You've a great eye to detail, my dear!
On to the chapter.
Rating: Rated T for violence and coarse language.
CHAPTER FOUR: WHY IT IS ALWAYS BETTER TO SUBMIT
JUNE, 2001
"Have you taken any leave of work since your last check in with us?" asked the Ministry official. She didn't even look up at me. They never did. This had long since ceased to bother me.
"No, ma'am," I replied.
I tried my best to be as neutral and pleasant as possible – that was always the best way to get through the monthly Ministry Death Eater Regulation checkups. They were always at the end of the month. Sometimes they happened twice a month. They were always conducted by insignificant bureaucrats that only needed an excuse to cut your paycheck in half. No, it was always best to be polite, never resentful. And I wasn't resentful, for the most part.
"How many days have you worked this month?"
"Thirty. After today, thirty-one." The thought would've made me cringe if I had any dignity, pride, or self respect. But I didn't, so that was easily taken care of. "I work for Greengrass Ltd. For..." She made a tick mark on my paper. "A year and eight months."
She made another tick in my file, didn't even give me a nod as she fed it into a bin, which sent it off to god knows where. And, as usual, my heart beat sped up. I knew that I had no reason to be especially worried, not really. I worked. I was one of the few with steady employment. I hadn't broken any of the new laws or anything. But that didn't change the fact that this unimportant bureaucrat could choose to make an example of me and take everything away. Because really, let's face it, while she was unimportant, I was absolutely nothing on this food chain. And she didn't even really need a reason to make that known whenever she wanted.
But, as every month, the bureaucrat came back with a yellow ticket that was my pay for the next month and shoved it in my hands. I gave her my usual bland smile, which she did not notice, and thanked her, which she did not acknowledge. This was the usual treatment. I moved along so the next poor bastard could go through the same motions.
Once I was out of there, I finally looked at the flimsy little piece of paper that was supposed to house, clothe, and feed me. The number was ridiculously small: Sixty galleons and eight sickles. But the number at the bottom of the little stub was even more pathetic. After my Death Eater taxes, I only had 25 galleons to live on for the next month.
Does that horrify you? Twenty five galleons is almost nothing. A limited edition Celestina Warbeck record costs thirty galleons. Generally, school books for a year can cost up to fifteen galleons. My quittidch team uniforms over the years have cost hundreds of galleons. A proper bottle of good firewhisky never goes below a ten galleons. A normal family of five can have groceries that total up to a hundred and fifty galleons if living modestly.
And they expected me to survive a whole month on just twenty five galleons. Does that horrify you?
Well, it didn't horrify me. At my worst, I'd survived a whole month on just twelve sickles, a knut and a public water fountain, which I'd learned to use very discreetly. I'd been able to get ahead on my rent. Of course, I'd been very malnourished by the end of the month, but hell, I'd ate like a poor king the next month. Ice cream had never tasted so good in my life, ever. Of course, that water fountain was destroyed a couple months later, and at this state in my life, I can't really afford to lose any more weight.
I pocketed the stub without a second glance. The Greengrasses would pay me in exchange for this little piece of paper. Sometimes they were nice and threw in a few extra knuts here and there, but they couldn't afford to be too generous. Their finances were being tracked quite stringently as well. They couldn't afford undue attention to their family for the sake of some death eater scum like me, no matter how much they felt bad for me.
It's always easier to pass through life with a blank look on your face. Of course, that look in itself might offend some people – some people are just looking for things to be offended at – but most of the time, you don't get any trouble if you pretend like you're non-existent.
At least, that had been working out well enough for me thus far.
Exiting the Ministry used to be the worst part of all of this. People would know who you were because you were exiting the "Death Eater offices". They knew you were being humiliated in there and they all wanted to be a part of it, really. You could see them whispering behind their rich little hands as you made your way to the back entrance. And really, how was I ever supposed to hold my head up high when high meant nothing anymore? Truthfully, I was just glad to have that measly piece of paper. I was glad that I got to walk out of here at all.
And then I saw Granger.
It was really just out of the corner of my eye. I hadn't meant to spot her, though my addled brain probably did. It wasn't a rational choice to do a double take, or open my mouth and attempt to say hello. Why the hell would my brain want to say hello to someone like Granger? I had always thought that self preservation was the thing that motivated me beyond everything else. But that day, that stupid day, I found out that Granger had somehow wormed her way into my consciousness and changed me.
Maybe it was because I was still deathly curious over why she would be on a street, walking along with workers like me. Honestly, it was costing me some few precious hours of sleep, pondering that. Or maybe I was just curious to see if she really was as good as everyone claimed. Maybe she would stand up and change things around here. I certainly couldn't and no one wanted to. But she hadn't had me investigated or thrown in prison, at least not yet. Maybe I just wanted to ask her why.
Why Granger are you like this? Why can't you ever seem to tame your hair? I'm poor and I still manage to tame my hair. Why can't you? Why do you always have a smile on your face? By gods, why do you smile at me?
It was crazy. It was stupidity. It was by far the worst decision I made in my life to look up into her eyes. And perhaps it was smart of me to look down and hurry off in the opposite direction, even though I knew she knew that I had seen her and chosen not to acknowledge her. Maybe I should've ran for it before she could catch me in such a public place. Maybe I should've just nodded at her to let her know I'd seen her there or whatever the fuck the girl was after. Maybe I should've slit my own throat after the war.
But hell, when I realized I'd looked at her with my stupid face and when she saw me looking and smiled, I just turned around and walked away as quickly as I possibly could. As if it was the last good thing I could've done. Maybe it was. Maybe that could've been the last good thing I ever could've done. But it wasn't. Now I know it wasn't.
She called after me, the stupid woman. Right in the middle of the Atrium of the Ministry of bloody Magic. She was Hermione freaking Granger. I couldn't just keep on going like I hadn't heard her. Everyone had heard her. Everyone was looking at her, then at me, then at her again. They were expecting Aurors to appear to drag me to Azkaban. I knew better. I knew she was a wild card. I knew she didn't need any Aurors to take me anywhere. She could do it herself. I was powerless, after all.
"Malfoy," she acknowledged when she reached me. She was a bit breathless. "How are you?"
How was I? I was mortified. People were lagging around watching us. Important people. The guards had their hands on their holsters, ready to draw their wands in case I harmed the precious woman. My heart was pounding, I was ready to throw up. I could feel my face flushing and no doubt I was trembling like a leaf. But I couldn't let myself faint here. I couldn't really do anything but respond politely. Because if I didn't, I'd be stuck inside this horrible Ministry for the rest of my short and filthy life.
"Fine," I responded, hoping she would walk away. Couldn't she see what she was doing. She looked at me with that smile on her face. Why was she doing this? Surely she knew. Surely she wasn't daft. "How are you, then, Granger."
It wasn't a question, but she still answered it.
"I'm good, Malfoy, thank you for asking," she responded pleasantly, as if we didn't have a hundred armed witches and wizards watching our every move, waiting for me to explode. I was waiting for me to explode. It seemed Granger was the only one who wasn't concerned out of all of us. "Any particular reason you're here at the Ministry? I know you threw away my card-"
So she'd seen that, had she? I blankly pointed to the offices behind her.
"Death Eater checkups, Granger," I muttered gruffly.
She blushed.
It made me think, really. Had she meant to humiliate me like that? Surely her memory was perfect. She knew I worked for the Greengrasses as an errand boy. She'd seen it on my identification card. I'd told her it myself. What else would a poor ex-Death Eater be doing in the middle of the day at the Ministry of Magic? Certainly not working here. They didn't want people like me working at such a prestigious place like this, the pigs that they were. I didn't belong here. What could possibly have been going on in that pretty little head of hers? That I'd willingly have sought her out?
"I'm sorry, Malfoy," she almost whispered.
I just nodded. What else was I supposed to do? Thank her? Walk away? Say nothing? I didn't know. I could feel eyes boring into the back of my head and I really didn't want to turn around to face the crowd. So I nodded again and she just shook her head like she was a flimsy leaf. And I couldn't bear to see the pity in her eyes.
It was one thing to be humiliated and scorned, another thing to be felt sorry for. I could hardly stand it. I almost wanted to grab her by the throat and make her say sorry. I didn't need the pity. She did. She was the one who was going around walking on the streets and pretending like everything was just bloody fantastic. At least I knew what life was really like. She'd never know what life was like from the bottom, because even though she was a mudblood, she'd never seen what the bottom really looked like, had she?
No, she was luxurious and I was just dirty.
I had to wait for her to mumble her apologies and leave me alone. I didn't say anything – what the hell was I supposed to say to someone like Granger in front of all those people? And eventually, she let me go, figuring I didn't ever want to see the likes of her. Which was partially true, especially at the time. I almost wished she'd followed me out of the back exit of the Ministry of Magic, so that I could ask her all the questions on my mind, so that I could force her to tell me what it was like being on the top and still do such stupid, stupid things.
Like talk to someone like me.
As I exited into the back alleyway that was meant for me and the other Death Eaters, I sincerely wished I had a cigarette. But I couldn't even afford those, could I. All I could afford to do was kick around the trash that was littering the grimy floor. And even that I could only do quietly. It'd be my life if a guard came out here and caught me at it. Maybe they'd make me clean it all up for free, and then I truly would be starving.
I let out a shaky breath. I didn't do so well under pressure anymore. I wasn't as strong as I used to be. While there were a million benefits of being complacent, it really shakes your nerves to be the centre of attention again. I really cursed myself for saving Granger and asked myself again: Why would she approach me in front of all those people? Why would she single me out like that? Did she really not know or did she hate me that much?
I wouldn't blame her really. I just really wanted to know so I could rip it up into little pieces like her stupid little card and throw it all over my shoulder. Life was hard enough without someone like Granger keeping me up at night.
"Waiting for someone?" I heard behind me.
They'd snuck into the alleyway while I'd been preoccupied. There were four of them, big brawny specimens, and I wasn't sure I'd ever seen them before. The one that had spoken was wearing Auror training robes. The other three were just plain clothed. Maybe they'd been heading home when they'd caught Granger talking to me. Maybe they were just bored.
"No," I said, shaking my head, hoping my voice was even.
I didn't really feel all that even, but I wasn't that scared. It wasn't that odd that these four were here and that the one on my right was flexing his knuckles. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. It probably wouldn't even be the last. The last time I'd had to spend two whole hungry weeks at home from three broken ribs because I couldn't afford a trip to St. Mungos just then. It had been painful. I had never missed having a fully functional wand than I had then.
I had the sense to protest when two of the goons held my arms back. I also had the sense not to scream too loud when the one that had spoken punched me in the gut, then pummeled me like I was a punching bag. It wouldn't do if they left me silenced in this alleyway. As much as I sympathized with Ex Death Eaters – they were my people now – you really didn't want an ex-con to find you. I didn't want to be robbed and beaten to death.
"Think you can just talk like that to a Hero and walk away, hm?" he spat in my face. Then he punched me in the jaw. I would be lying if I say I wasn't crying by that point, but believe me when I say I didn't sob. Not once. "Think you can just act like you own the place, you little prick?"
I couldn't tell you how long it lasted. I can say for sure that they all took turns until I vomited on one of them. It wasn't anything different than usual, really. They kicked me where it really hurt and spat on me. Then they left, figuring there wasn't too much more damage they could do. By that point, I really couldn't care because I really couldn't feel anything. It was all just numb.
So I rolled over, curled up, and went to sleep.
/
It wasn't easy getting up let alone getting home when I regained consciousness. For a second, I forgot who I was, where I was, and where I was supposed to be going. It was dark, I was bloody and aching and sore, and laying in the gutter of an abandoned alleyway. It didn't take me long to figure out what had happened. I hadn't gone back to work, so the Greengrasses probably thought I was dead or in jail. It wasn't that uncommon. Maybe they would have to fire me tomorrow for skipping work.
It was agony to move, but that was something that I had become accustomed to.
You know, it's really funny. I could tell you all about how I forced myself to get up, clinging to the dirty brick walls of the Ministry alleyway. I could tell you exactly how painful it was to walk all the way home. It wasn't like I had access to the floo network. I couldn't apparate. I didn't have money for a muggle cab. It was a really painful walk, yes, it really was. I could even tell you about how much I bled out until I was able to go home, sit in my pitiful little shower, and cry like a little baby.
But really, why would you care about something like that when even I don't care? I really didn't care, not when the sun rose up and I hadn't slept at all. Really, that night was nothing remarkable. In fact, I'd had a lot worse and a lot worse would happen in the future. It was all just routine and when you have a routine, you should submit to it. You never deviate because if you do, you'll end up like I did, right here, right in this bloody mess.
No, what was remarkable about that night was that I didn't regret a second of it. Sure, I'd gotten beaten to a bloody pulp and I'd had to set my own nose without any magic and only cheap firewhisky for painkillers, and I'd degraded myself to crying like I was that boy from sixth year told to kill the greatest wizard who ever lived. But I didn't regret any of that happening because I realized that something different had happened to me.
I hadn't been arrested. I had talked to a member of the famed golden trio and hadn't been hexed or cursed. I'd exited the Ministry. I'd woken up with my pay and identification papers still in my pocket.
And Granger had smiled at me.
She had smiled at me.
You get pissed on all the time if you're a Death Eater and you're poor. You're going to get harassed and thrown in the street, just because of who you are. And they're going to do whatever it is they can to ruin your life. But she didn't. She hadn't. It was stupid of me to engage the idea, but she had smiled at me. Maybe it was the firewhisky, but when I fell asleep at dawn, all I could think about was her. And her smile. And the fact that she still couldn't tame her bushy hair after all of these years.
I allowed myself to dream, which is the most dangerous thing a person in my position could ever do. You can never dream because then you'll have hope. And hope is the slowest poison of all. Because if you let it grow, eventually it will fester. And if it festers and spreads and dies, there is no god and no magic that can save you.
You see, that night while I was all bloodied and bruised, I let myself hope. And really, it's because of that stupid hope that I got into any of the mess in the first place. First, it was curiosity.
Then, even after those four stupid men tried to kick some sense into me, I allowed myself to fall for it. For Granger of all people. For the one person who I should never have set my eyes on. I began to hope Granger would smile at me again. It was stupidity. It was the worst possible thing that could ever happen.
But nevertheless, the seed had been planted. And it grew.
Continuously.
Really, I should've just quit while I was ahead.
A/N: Of all the chapters I've written for this and of all my planning, I think this one was my favourite to write. I'm not too sure why. Please drop a line and let me know what you think! I'd really appreciate the feedback before I start writing the next chapter.
Until next week, here's another spoiler:
"Malfoy," she gasped.
Yes, Granger, I wanted to say, it is I. Voldemort. Risen from the dead! Fear me, you little chit! Shake a fist at her for emphasis. Gods, what had come over me? But I didn't engage in such ridiculous behaviour, obviously. That would've been the dead of me, quite literally.
