IV
1997
August
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale. Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Hermione opened her eyes and blinked several times. She realized she was lying in bed, her hands clenched the sheets tightly. She was safe in the Shell Cottage. The war had ended three months ago, but everything was still a fresh wound. A fresh, oozing wound that wasn't going to heal fast.
Exhale.
Her knuckles were white, her fists were clenched so tightly.
Inhale.
She closed her eyes and saw the pictures. Short, intense scenes in a blink of an eye. Darkness. Pain. Suffering.
Imperio. Crucio.
Blood, blood everywhere. Screams, pleas, groans.
Exhale.
She opened her eyes and felt her heart pounding. She could feel how she was unable to catch her breath, how the fog was stuck over her eyes, how her fingers clutched the sheets even tighter. How she wanted to scream, but her voice stuck in her throat.
Hermione went down to the kitchen in Shell Cottage and found a waiting owl from the Ministry of Magic. She took the letter with great hesitation, but decided not to read it immediately. She went outside and turned her face towards the August sun.
Inhale.
Warm sea air has filled her lungs. She could feel its saltiness, freshness.
Exhale.
In the distance, she saw Bill waving his hand towards her.
Hermione took off her shoes and stood with her bare feet on the sand; sand was already really hot. She walked over to him and stood by his side. His eyes were closed and his face was facing the sea.
"How's your back, Hermione?" The question hung in the air and she remained silent.
"They are healing." She replied casually.
"Who did it to you?"
Hermione shook her head. Bill didn't push.
Every night was the same as the previous one. She was haunted by demons of the war. She was fighting with the dreams that haunted her, the nightmares that had made her wake up screaming. Images she saw when she closed her eyes followed by a scream that froze on her lips. Silent.
Three months passed, and Hermione was horrified to discover that the Ministry of Magic was not coping with the post-war reality.
It was still a hard, dark time. She knew that although they were victorious, in fact, they had a long way to go, a long process of rebuilding society. The war tarnished everyone and everything. Only material losses were visible to the naked eye, because people hid individual losses deep in their souls. Or maybe they weren't still aware of having them?
The war in the magical world took a large measure of humanity from people - the crimes and terror they experienced left a mark on them forever. The war tried to destroy goodness, nobility and selflessness. The post-war world wasn't beautiful - it was dirty, full of pain and anger, mixed with a little bit of joy, but still uncertain. But free, in a way.
The post-war reality tried to give back to the people the missing pieces of their humanity and allowed them to fight for justice for the injured and the victims.
Except, Hermione had some doubts as to how free the post-war world really was..
Her meeting with the Minister of Magic was far from pleasant. She didn't want Harry or Ron by her side because she knew what they were going to say, or that they will try to sabotage her idea, and prevent her from expressing what she believes.
They were blind in Hermione's eyes. They didn't care about anything. They closed the Voldemort chapter as winners and wanted to be able to focus finally on themselves. This was something Hermione couldn't take. Her relationship with Ron ended before it started. She closed the topic and all hope was cut off. His and hers - or maybe only hers at the end? She felt somehow during the war it could work, but afterwards… This ruthless step for her heart was necessary. As much as moving out to the Shell Cottage and meeting with Shacklebolt.
"Hermione." Shackelbolt's gaze was no longer as welcoming as she remembered it. "Your demands are excessive." He narrowed his eyes and looked again at the parchment in his hand.
"These are not demands, Kingsley." Her voice was surprisingly hard. Unyielding. "How can you demand what is right? This is just making sure justice is done. " The words slipped out before she could stop them.
Kingsley paled slightly because she had hit the nail on the head. She touched a sensitive spot. And she was damn right.
"It would not be that easy, Hermione". He replied and she raised an eyebrow. She immediately felt a wave of anger sweep over her body.
"Doing nothing is easy for the Ministry!" She snarled. "Since May, you have done absolutely nothing. N-o-t-h-i-n-g. We have only chaos and people wandering without help. Without hope."
Hermione knew she was slowly losing control of herself and she was only seconds apart from completely blowing up.
"Fine." Kingsley's resigned voice was strange. As if she had found a side of him hidden so deeply and it released all the pain of his soul. "What are you suggesting then?"
The woman opened her eyes wide, to be honest she was not prepared for such a quick win.
"Trials of former Death Eaters. The survivors. They must be punished. " She gritted her teeth as she spoke the last sentence. "They did so much wrong."
Shacklebolt was silent and watched her closely until she felt uncomfortable. The Minister of Magic's eyes were tired, as if he himself was straining under the weight of his duties. As if he had been sleeping badly in the last few months. Or maybe he wasn't sleeping at all?
"So we give them bread and circuses." He summed it up briefly, accurately, and Hermione nodded. "Give me a month."
"I am going back to Hogwarts in September." Hermione felt obliged to let him know.
Kingsley sighed heavily and asked one last question: "Who should I start with?"
"Yaxley, Dolohov ..." She hesitated. "Malfoy."
1997
September
Inhale.
Hermione gritted her teeth from the pain. Last night was beyond terrible. She couldn't sleep, and when she fell into a light sleep, she had seen all these faces. She had heard screams, moans. She could smell blood.
Exhale.
Hermione gathered all the books into her bag and got dressed. Looking in the mirror, she saw her pale, tired face. Dark circles under the eyes.
The brightest witch of her age.
As she had previously told Kingsley, from the Trio only she made the decision to return to Hogwarts. Hermione returned to Hogwarts for two reasons, first of all, she knew she needed to graduate sooner or later. Second, she had nowhere to live. The Burrow was no longer a choice for her. Shell Cottage was gorgeous, but she spent months in it after the war and didn't want to abuse Bill and Fleur's hospitality anymore. She could always stay at Grimmauld Place, but it didn't seem appropriate anymore. Hermione knew she needed to rent her own apartment, but for that she needed money. And to get money, she needed a job. Kingsley offered her a job with the Ministry and she accepted the offer. She was supposed to start work after graduating from Hogwarts.
The Great Hall at Hogwarts looked gloomy. Debris had been cleared away, but the walls were still clearly reminding everyone what had happened quite recently. Minerva was doing her best to restore some sense of normalcy here, create an atmosphere of safety and security.
For the needs of the new year, makeshift tables for individual houses were organized. Hermione sat down at the table and waited impatiently for the mail. And information from Kingsley. Fortunately for her, owls flew in a moment later and she received two packages. One was a letter from the Ministry, adorned with a large, sealed red letter M. The other was a newspaper that Harry had sent her. Hermione put down the rolled-up newspaper and smoothly tore open the envelope.
Hermione, I have delivered on my promise. The trials will start next month. Everything under the supervision of the Ministry of Magic. KS.
She put the note back in the envelope and, with her heart pounding, untied the ribbon from around the newspaper. The Daily Prophet screamed at her in huge letters from the front page. She noticed familiar faces in the moving photos. She groaned inwardly.
"The Ministry of Magic coordinates the accelerated trials of ex-Death Eaters. The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, reveals that there will be no mercy. The Wizengamot is to pass the sentences before Christmas."
Hermione glanced at the photos and saw three portraits: the flash of a lamp and the face of Corban Yaxley flinching as the picture was taken. A flash of a lamp and the mouth of Antonin Dolohov, grinning in a mocking smile. A flash of light and Lucius Malfoy's cold, empty eyes that stared straight into the lens.
Right into her eyes.
1997
December
Another issue of the Daily Prophet landed near her breakfast. She was due to go to the Burrow for Christmas in two days. She did not believe that the Ministry would keep its promise.
She unfolded the newspaper and the headline dismissed her doubts.
And yet.
She bit her lip as photos of the three ex-Death Eaters flew to the front.
"Wizengamont decided. Guilty of crimes against humanity. Further processes planned for the New Year. The Minister of Magic is proud …"
Her hand trembled as she realized that Yaxley, Dolohov, Malfoy would rot in prison. Hermione ran her hand over their photos and one element caught her eye.
Both Yaxley and Dolohov weren't standing still at the time of their sentence; they were furiously shouting out obscenities. But Malfoy...Malfoy stood there, with a solemn face. As if he was reconciled with the sentence and looked like...
...he had expected such an ending.
It made no sense at all, but Hermione couldn't shake it off.
Lucius Malfoy stripped of his dignity, stripped of privileges, sentenced to Azkaban. Broken.
1998
The period at Hogwarts, though short, gave her space to rearrange her life. To think about who she was, who she is and who she should be in the future. And of course, her plans didn't have much to do with what happened next, they nevertheless gave her time to regain minimal control of herself.
She never went back to that Hermione from before the war, she was never able to see the world as if nothing had happened. She was too painfully reminded of it by the burned scar on her arm and the scar on her back.
She finished Hogwarts and the last day was bittersweet for her. On the one hand, she spent her best moments here, but on the other ... it was a place that made her soul broken.
Hermione Granger, the brightest witch of her time, joined the Ministry of Magic. She became the right hand of the Minister of Magic.
In the post-war reality, the rules had to be redefined. Something that was once permissible under the prevailing circumstances now had to be prohibited with stipulations or prohibited altogether. And that's what Kingsley asked her for.
Hermione struggled frequently with serious situations in which she had to judge the mindset of the people and decide if the spell had been cast legally. More than once, reading reports of misdemeanors, she thought back to the war.
The moral code did not exist during the war, there were no prohibitions. Death Eaters used Unforgivable spells. Even the Order of the Phoenix fought sometimes without looking at what was right.
Now, in the new reality, there was no room for leniency. All were equal in the eyes of the law, and the guilty ones had to atone.
Working in this department brought out some instincts that had been dormant in Hermione - almost as if she was participating in a new war. Only this time it was within herself.
The whirlwind of work and the constant occupation had put her nightmares to sleep. She was feeling much better, but she knew it could be deceptive.
She was assigned to create new processes in the magical world. The kind that would once and for all put in order everything that had not been resolved since the end of the war. It would finish the clean up and enable everyone to focus on rebuilding society, creating new bonds and establishing trust.
This project was much darker than anyone could have ever suspected. And Hermione's task was to find a solution that would efficiently bring order and ease the chaos at the same time.
She did it, working beyond her strength and trying to prove her worth.
But, Hermione couldn't control everything. And the upcoming events were to surprise her even more.
1999
While she was working hard on the law, Kingsley showed up in Azkaban.
"Mr. Malfoy." Kingsley's voice was aloof and haughty.
"Mr. Shacklebolt." Lucius Malfoy's cold reply did not phase the Minister of Magic.
"You wanted to see me." Shacklebolt cleared his throat. "So I'm listening."
Kingsley transferred Hermione wordlessly to the Department of Mysteries and changed her responsibilities. Hermione did not protest; her work on the law was practically finished. Actually, she was looking forward to new challenges. But such a turn of events could not be expected.
2000
Twenty-year-old Hermione Granger entered Azkaban unsure of what would happen to her. She had spent the last three years being haunted by demons of the war. She was fighting with the dreams that haunted her, the nightmares that had made her wake up screaming. Images she saw when she closed her eyes followed by a scream that froze on her lips. Silent.
She had no idea why she was the one chosen of all the people that worked in the Ministry of Magic.
"Miss Granger." Lucius Mafoy's cool voice greeted her as soon as she stepped over the threshold.
"Mr. Malfoy," she replied, keeping a similar timbre.
"What brings you here, Miss Granger?"
She dared to look at him and all she could see were his eyes. Pale blue, slightly silver irises.
Present
His skin smelled like sun, tasted of sweat.
She knew every inch of him.
"Kiss me," she whispered, and he granted her wish. It was a long, wonderful kiss.
She felt hot tears trickle down her cheeks and she began to tremble.
He grabbed her tighter and pulled her in, running his fingernails over her skin. He grabbed her waist and looked deep into her eyes. Tearful, large brown eyes.
"We can do it, Hermione. We can make it."
He kissed the earlobe of her ear and slid down her neck. He kissed the hollow at the nape of her neck. He caressed every inch of her skin. She shivered and knew Lucius was smiling.
"Are you still stressed?" He purred against her skin. She licked her lips and nodded.
He picked her up in one graceful movement and carried her out of the office.
The letters had to wait.