Let me be your freedom
Let daylight dry your tears
I'm here, with you, beside you
To guard you and to guide you

Envy is the only one of the seven deadly sins not rooted in selfish joy. In glutton, your belly is full. You have dined on rich foods to your hearts contents and your stomach's capacity. In greed, you bathe in luxury. Gold bars and coins and jewels that, while can't buy happiness, certainly can get you a comfortable home or a holiday anywhere from here. In lust, you know of the pulsing and aching pleasures of sex. And you crave it insatiably.

In envy, there is a lack of something. Your belly isn't full, you are not living in a comfortable home, the one you lust after is not yours.

In Greek mythology, it is Hera's envy for Aphrodite that sparked the Trojan War. In the Bible, it is from envy that Cain murdered Abel. In the Hindu Mahabharata , it is from envy that Duryodhana waged war against his cousins the Pandavas. In real life, it is from envy that Hermione Granger will wring Harry Potter's neck.

You want your friends to be successful, but sometimes only to an extent. You want them to be successful, but not overtly more successful than you.

Like a friend announcing a pregnancy just after you've miscarried. Or an engagement after a particularly nasty breakup of yours.

So while Harry gestures widely and excitedly about his wife and his new home and the impending birth of his first child, Hermione is happy for him. But only to an extent.

"Ginny's aversion to food is getting worse, though. One minute she's craving egg drop soup and only from the Chinese restaurant down the road and by the time I've made it home, she wants to throw up at the sight of it."

"Hm."

"I think I've eaten three gallons of egg drop soup in the last month alone. And it's not bad, but I wish her craving would be something besides soup."

"Mhmm."

"She's getting bigger, too. She's always been so skinny it's odd to see her with a belly, but I love it."

"Mm."

"Mrs. Weasley mentioned it the other day and I think Ginny almost hexed her for it."

"Wow."

Harry, who had been talking while focusing his gaze on the arrangement of his salad suddenly turned his eyes up to his friend who sat stirring her coffee absentmindedly, gazing at the cafeteria around them and not paying attention to the recounting of his wife's pregnant woes.

"Hermione?"

"Hm?" The twin stirring sticks paused in the liquid and her eyes snapped to meet his.

"Were you even listening to me?" Harry shook his head.

"Of course!"

"Oh really, then what is it Ginny has been craving this month?"

"I… Peanut butter?"

Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes under his glasses. "Not even close. Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"

"Nothing!" Hermione huffed, sipping her coffee indignantly.

"There's something pulling your attention from me…" Harry paused, "Is it Ron?"

Yes. No. Most of it… Some of it.

Harry sighed, "I know it's hard with him on the road all the time-"

Hermione snorted. It was not hard with him on the road all the time as the Keeper for the Chudley Cannons. In fact, it was decidedly pleasant when he was on the road. It was quiet in the apartment. No loud games over the radio or constant visitors. She could go to dinner and not be cornered by groups of pubescent girls awestruck by not only the other male figure in the Golden Trio, but also their prized Keeper.

"Harry, it's- It's beyond Ron."
Harry bit the cuticle of his pointer finger. "Okay. What's beyond Ron?"

Hermione was silent. Harry took one of her hands in his across the table. "You used to tell me everything. Before, you know. Remember every Thursdays in sixth year when Ron had detention and we'd sit in the library and you'd tell me about your crush on Ron and I'd tell you about Ginny and we'd complain about Snape and you'd confide in me about your parents… I miss that."

Hermione watched with thin lips as Harry shoved his salad to the side of the table and reached into his satchel to remove some files and spread them onto the table. He produced a dry quill and readjusted his glasses.

"So… pretend we're in the library."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. This was her Harry. He was her family, the only family she had left.

"Alright, alright," she laughed as Harry pretended to take diligent notes with his quill. "It's not just Ron I should say. He's great. He's sweet and caring and he loves his family… But when he's home it feels more like entertaining a guest, you know?"

Harry nodded.

"I feel like I have to be constantly paying attention to him because I don't know when he'll leave next. Then when he does leave, I just feel so drained of energy. He tells me he wants to propose and start a family of our own, but I can't imagine having a baby, or babies as he'd like, while he tours so much. Especially not with this job."

Hermione sighed, focusing again on stirring her coffee. "Mr. Burk is an absolute slave driver. He'll leave by two and expect us to stay until seven when we're supposed to be out by five. He gives me impossible projects and hints at promoting me upon completion but then takes all the credit when it goes in front of the board so I can't even reference my accomplishments because they're all his."

Harry gave her a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I know that situation must feel impossible but try to believe me when I say it'll get better soon."

She could try. But what was the point? It had been five years of this. Five years of a hopeless romance with Ron. Five years of an empty flat. Five years of being stuck in the same job, in the same position, in the same office.

Instead she nodded, thanked Harry for being a good ear, and finished their lunch in peace. Harry recounted his story of the egg drop soup which did make Hermione feel better, just for a moment, to imagine Harry begrudgingly slurping on soup so it didn't go to waste. They parted with promises to meet for dinner (anything other than Chinese food) over the weekend.

Hermione was weaving through the new influx of ministry employees when she ran into a wall with an ooph.

Only it wasn't a wall, but a big, tall ferret.

"Granger."

Hermione smoothed out her skirt of invisible wrinkles, lifting her chin to look him in the eyes.

"Malfoy."

Draco Malfoy, although not a ministry employee, was a common figure in the building. Malfoy Medicines with an apothecary started by Draco after his graduation using the money left over after reparations and the imprisonment of his father and death of his mother. Being out from the thumb of his parents agreed with him. In just a few short years his one apothecary in Knockturn Alley (the only real estate that would allow the Malfoy heir to own a business) turned into two in Diagon Alley, turned into 52 across wizarding Europe and one the United States. He had regained his wealth and then some, all ethically and legally.

Even Hermione was a loyal patron.

He often came to the Ministry to request licenses for ingredient extractions and unfortunately, it always fell in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in which Hermione worked as many of his requests for ingredients could only be found on protected lands.

It wasn't that he was rude or condescending or intimidating as he had once been. In fact, he was perfectly pleasant. Even to Hermione's squib secretary he was polite and charming during his visits. He didn't boast his wealth and, if Hermione wasn't constantly looking over his proof of income forms, she wouldn't have even known how far his apothecary's financial success went. The first time she saw the number, and all its zeros, she had spit coffee all over it.

The real reason Hermione hated seeing him was envy. She never thought she'd ever be envious of the Malfoy boy, but here she was. It was so hard not to be. He was always so sure of himself. Hell, he started an entire company when the wizarding world had turned their backs on him. And still he persevered. And here Hermione was, rubber stamping his forms.

She didn't realize how long she had been standing there until she watched an eyebrow quirk in her direction.

"What?"

"Well," he gestured to her form. "You're sort of in the way for me to enter."

Hermione wanted to die. And go to hell to drown in the freezing water of her seventh deadly sin.

"Oh-I-sorry about that."

She quickly turned to the side to let him pass, shifting her face down so he didn't see her blush. She felt his arm graze her chest as he moved past.

"Not a problem, Granger. I'll see you around."

Home was a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment above Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. There were many pros and cons to living above a sweet shop, but as she walked through the door licking pistachio gelato from her bottom lip, she couldn't quite remember the cons.

She sighed as she took in the sight of her- their - flat. Ron had just come home for a short period of time while the Cannon's had a home game versus Spain. Initially she had been thrilled to finally spend some time with her boyfriend, but it quickly turned into dread.

She wanted to read. In silence. She wanted to go to bed at a sensible hour. She wanted the flat to be clean. Not pristine, she wasn't particular about it, but clean.

And the bottles and scattered crumbs on the coffee table was a testament to the time Ron had spent at home.

Hermione picked up the note on the table waiting for her.

Hermione,

I tried to wait for you to come home but you were running late from work, again. The coach wants us to get a headstart on practices so we're traveling to Belgium a little earlier than expected. I'll owl you when we've gotten settled in the hotel. I'll be home on Wednesday. Let's get dinner when I get back?

Love you,

Ron

Hermione sighed in both relief and frustration. She used the note to collect the crumbs and disposed of the empty bottles before settling herself into bed, letting herself spread out on the extra space and wished to dream for a better life. One that she would envy.