A/N: Sorry I disappeared for a while! I had a lot going on in my personal life... but will hopefully be back to posting regularly again following this chapter. Appreciate you all for sticking with me and hope you continue to enjoy reading!

TW: The usual discussion of sexual assault warning, but there's something else in this chapter that might be triggering that would be a spoiler if I listed it here. If you'd rather be cautious, jump down to the notes at the end of this chapter to see the additional TW.

Monday, May 29, 2000

"Good evening, Miss Granger, it's good to see you again."

"Yes, thank you for finding the time to accept me again as a client." The muscles in Hermione's face felt weak from disuse, but she attempted a polite smile nevertheless.

"It wasn't any trouble, my clients often take time off from therapy for a variety of reasons, but my door is always open."

Healer Davis stared at Hermione placidly after the greeting pleasantries ran out, clearly intending to give her the opportunity to direct the conversation. It made Hermione suddenly angry. She didn't even want to be here (Pansy had finally worn her down after three weeks of non-stop nuisance) and now she was going to be in charge of figuring out what to talk about? No, Healer Davis could do her job and ask Hermione a bloody question if she wanted her to speak.

"You seem upset, Miss Granger."

"I am upset."

"Why are you upset?"

"I shouldn't have to be here," Hermione huffed.

"What do you mean by that?"

Annoying. Annoying annoying annoying.

"I mean," Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest, "I'm only here because my friend bullied me into coming, but I'm fine now."

"I see. Why did your friend want you to come here?"

"Because she hates me."

"Did she say that?"

"No..."

"What did she say?"

"She said she's worried about me," Hermione begrudgingly admitted.

"Why do you think she's worried about you?"

"I... I suppose because I'm still not sleeping all that well, but it's fine."

Healer Davis paused to scribble something in her notebook. The sound of the quill scratching against the page, normally a soothing white noise reminding her of peaceful hours in the Hogwarts library, today set Hermione's teeth on edge. Everything seemed to set her off lately. Birds chirping, babies laughing, anyone speaking in her general vicinity...

"And how has your muscle tension been? When we first met you complained of pain and tightness in the lower right side of your body."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She was in pain, but acknowledging it would undermine her insistence that there was no reason for her to be here. It seemed that her body language gave her away though.

"If you'd prefer to stand..."

"I'll stay seated, thanks," Hermione snapped. "I'm fine."

More scribbling. Infuriating!

"Miss Granger, if you'd be so kind as to indulge me... If you feel the compulsion to say something is 'fine' take a moment to reflect and try to choose three alternate words that are more precise to describe how you're feeling. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, all right." Hermione could see the logic of the exercise and if she had any hope of this hour going by quickly, she supposed she could play along.

"Wonderful, thank you! Why don't we practice? How does your leg feel right now?"

"It's fi-- oh... right..." Hermione looked up at the cieling to marshall her thoughts. Ignoring the water stain spreading from the corner (which explained the vague smell of mildew in the office), she tried to truly take stock of how her leg was feeling. Beyond denial and even beyond the blanket statement that it hurt, she dug deep to find the right words. "My leg feels... coiled? It's stiff, and maybe a little... spasm-y."

"Have you been feeling anxious recently?"

Anxious. Was that the word for the burning feeling in her stomach that wouldn't go away? She felt unhinged, like she could cry at a moment's notice or maybe scream, but 'anxious' was a good enough approximation. She nodded at Healer Davis.

"As we've discussed previously, it's common for anxiety to manifest in victims of sexual assault, and the mind-body connection often means that there are accompanying physical symptoms such as the insomnia and chronic pain that you've experienced."

"It shouldn't still be happening though," Hermione protested.

"Why do you say that?"

"I finished the Four-Step Action Plan. That was supposed to make me better." She did nothing to filter the resentment from her voice.

"Mind Healing isn't linear the way that mending a broken bone is." Healer Davis finally set down her quill and Hermione stopped trying to grind her molars into powder. "Our last meeting was in January. At that point we'd worked together to address steps one and two: learning to talk about the sexual assault and building a strong network of support. You were eager to start step three as I recall."

"Yes, going on dates."

"And did you?"

"I did."

Healer Davis again allowed the silence to stretch on rather than ask another question, but Hermione wouldn't cave. She would only be as forthcoming as absolutely required of her.

"And you said you completed step four as well, which was about building intimacy with a partner?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me about how you built intimacy with your partner?"

"We had sex, of course." Was Healer Davis unfamiliar with the mechanics? Hermione's thoughts spiraled in a grumpy, mean-spirited loop around the theme of her Healer's ignorance.

"Did you discuss your experience with sexual assault with your partner?"

"Absolutely not."

"Why is that?"

"Well, it hardly sets the mood, does it?"

Healer Davis didn't flinch at the sarcasm in Hermione's voice, and instead calmly summoned several texts from her bookshelf with a twirl of her wand, directing them to land on the coffee table between them in a tidy stack. Hermione could only read the title of the volume on top, 'The Seven Levels of Intimacy'.

"Intimacy is about more than the physical act of sex. It's also about communication and connecting with someone to feel closer to them and safe with them. Usually the journey from step three to step four involves working up to intercourse with a series of intimacy developing activities outside the bedroom."

Hermione reeled as though she'd been struck. She had never in her life done an assignment incorrectly. In fact, she quite expected extra credit for moving through the steps so quickly, though when she said as much her hopes were immediately dashed.

"Well, there aren't due dates and deadlines for our work together. Actually, to be quite honest, I'm concerned that you may have rushed yourself," Healer Davis explained.

Rushed. She'd seen the criticism scrawled across her friends' homework assignments over the years, but never her own. It meant she'd been sloppy, ill-considered, less than perfect.

And wasn't that just the icing on the cake after how it had all worked out for her? She'd been consoling herself with the thought that at least the mess with Marc had contributed to her Four-Step Action Plan, but now she didn't even have that.

"So, what... what should I do then? How do I fix this?"

"Take a deep breath, Miss Granger. Would you like a biscuit?" Healer Davis proffered a tin filled with what appeared to be shortbread biscuits in various wonky shapes. "I apologize for their appearance. I'm just a hobbyist baker but I do promise that they taste all right."

She rattled the tin to encourage Hermione to grab one. It made a bit of a mess as they were covered in a light dusting of powdered sugar, and Hermione was borderline hyperventilating and blowing clouds of it everywhere, but she wouldn't mind if Healer Davis didn't. They were lemon flavored and did indeed taste much better than they looked.

"I have it on good authority that you're an avid reader, so I hope you forgive me for giving you a reading list to better inform our sessions. These books will help you establish a good foundation for a new understanding of intimacy," Healer Davis said, gesturing toward the pile of books she'd amassed. "I'd like to propose that we consider a temporary suspension of the Four-Step Action Plan and come up with a new approach. How does that sound?"

Hermione couldn't help but feel that the bald truth was being obfuscated: she'd messed up. In her haste to feel normal again, she'd arrogantly assumed she could take a simplified map to healing and navigate through it herself. But seeing this stack of books filled with expert knowledge humbled her and made her realize she needed help in a way that no amount of Pansy's nagging ever could.

Hermione pulled one of the heavy tomes into her lap with her left hand, careful not to leave sugary fingerprints on the red leather cover. "That sounds fine."

Healer Davis raised an eyebrow and waited expectantly. Right, not fine. How did she feel about essentially starting over?

"I feel a little embarrassed... I don't want to make any more mistakes so I'm glad to take a break and do some research before trying again. That feels... familiar." Hermione thought of the months she'd spent studying for her O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s, and the preparation and planning she'd spearheaded during the war. "I don't know why I didn't do this to begin with," she finished with a frown.

"Well, I'll warn you now that future mistakes are almost guaranteed. Relationships are a messy business," Healer Davis chuckled. "But we can learn and grow from mistakes."

'We can be messes together,' Hermione had said to Harry just recently hadn't she? But was she really giving herself the latitude to be imperfect? To learn and grow? She felt something in her chest unravel, the throbbing ache in her leg dull, and for the first time in a long time Hermione let go of her expectations of herself.

Saturday, June 3, 2000

Granger looked a bit better today. Or at least, she looked less like an inferius now that she'd filled her Healer's sleeping draught prescription. More importantly, she wasn't snapping at anyone for breathing too loudly. Sleep deprived Granger was a beast.

Pansy observed the booth where her friends were seated, waiting for her to return with the next round of drinks. They were at a posh bar Blaise had picked out for the early celebration of Draco's birthday. Blaise's airhead polyamorous girlfriend Quinn was surprisingly still in the picture so she was here, blinking slowly as though her brain couldn't muster the processing power required for quick movements, but Daphne had finally had enough of watching them together and sent her regrets that she couldn't join them this evening. She had preparations for her wedding to the Durmstrang douchbag to be getting on with anyhow. That was a disaster waiting to happen. Why were all of her friends so stubborn?

Pansy watched Granger laugh at something Theo was saying (a joke at Draco's expense judging by his scowl) and congratulated herself on a job well done overcoming the stubbornness of at least one of her friends. Convincing Granger to go back to her mind healer had been the right call.

It certainly hadn't been easy though. In the end, she'd had to agree to go see a mind healer herself in order to get Granger to go back. It wasn't exactly a hardship given than Pansy didn't have the same hang-ups about seeking help that Granger seemed to, and it was nice to have someone objective to vent to about her parents. She should have known that a Gryffindor would be weaker to a gesture of solidarity than bribery and extortion. She probably could have saved herself weeks of trouble if she'd tried that from the outset.

Now, if only she could figure out how to bend Draco to her will. She narrowed her eyes at the man, who was sitting close enough to Granger for their shoulders to knock together despite there being plenty of room to spread out. Ever since Granger had broken up with Marc, he'd been looking at her the way he had at Pansy's New Year's party. Draco was undeniably attracted to Granger.

Maybe it was selfish, but she didn't think she'd know how to handle it if Draco and Granger started dating. She hadn't been subtle about her disapproval. Anytime Draco's pining gaze landed on Granger while her back was turned or his touch lingered on her arm a little too long Pansy made sure to scowl fiercely enough that he got the message. Not that it changed his behavior in the slightest.

It wasn't jealousy - despite what all her friends seemed to think. Sure, she and Draco had dated for a couple years, but they'd been children at the time. She cared about Draco the same way she cared about Theo and Blaise now and she truly hoped he'd find happiness with another woman. Any woman... except Granger.

Honestly, it wasn't so much the thought of them being together that was upsetting. She knew Draco would treat Granger well and vice versa. It was more the fear of what would happen to her friendships with each of them if they got together only to one day break up. Maybe it was slightly irrational and fatalistic to think that far ahead, but Pansy couldn't help it.

Fuck. Maybe she needed to bring this up with her own mind healer.

Pansy downed a shot of Gigglewater and swished her wand to levitate her friends' drink orders back to the booth.

"That's enough, Theo!" She heard Draco growl as she floated butterbeers, whiskey tumblers, and a glass of elderflower wine to their proper places. Presumably, Theo had finally crossed the line in whatever needling he'd been subjecting Draco to so far.

"What?" Theo asked with a faux air of innocence. "I was just asking after Narcissa. It must be lonely for her with Lucy away," he waggled his eyebrows for emphasis.

"Too far, mate. That woman practically raised you. Show some respect." Blaise's admonishments were infrequent (it took a lot to offend his libertine sensibilities), but they always reigned Theo in when others failed. True to form, Theo immediately looked chastised, but recovered quickly and changed the subject.

"Fine, since Narcissa's love life is off limits, and the birthday boy's in a committed relationship with his hand--"

"Theo!" Draco looked close to physical violence, so Pansy nudged his glass closer to him. Alcohol might make the whole situation more volatile, but in the near term it would at least give Draco something else to do with hands other than strangle their irreverent friend.

"--then let's hear about you, Granger," Theo leaned away from Pansy's attempt to swat at him with a grin that would rival a leucrotta.

"Nothing salacious on my end, sorry Theo," Pansy watched as Draco's foul mood towards Theo cleared upon hearing this news. If Granger was in a sharing mood though, she knew his good humor would be short-lived. "I'm on a bit of a romance hiatus right now actually." And there it was. Draco once again looked like he'd been force-fed stinksap.

"Why?" Blaise asked, looking truly perplexed. He probably hadn't been on a 'romance hiatus' since puberty. Sleeping around came as naturally to him as breathing.

"After the Marc debacle, my mind healer and I agreed that I needed some time to sort myself out," she explained patiently. "Haven't you ever felt like you needed space to be alone?"

"I suppose... but you could still be having casual sex." Now Draco's ire was directed at Blaise.

"Not really my cup of tea..." Granger gave a feeble smile, oblivious to the nonverbal argument being waged over her head. Draco apparently won as Blaise didn't ask any further questions.

"Bo-ring!" Theo chanted. "Let's play truth or dare."

"Are you twelve?" Pansy turned her nose up at the suggestion.

"He's probably at least nineteen since he was in your same year at Hogwarts," Quinn said with a straight face.

"What house were you in again?" Pansy couldn't help but inquire.

"Ravenclaw," she answered guilelessly.

"Fascinating..."

"It's my birthday, and I say no immature party games," Draco intervened. "Granger, tell us more about your HELP Act."

Everyone (excepting Quinn, who looked as pleasantly vacant as always) groaned. Only a man with a crush would want to hear more about Granger's house-elf crusading and that only described one person in this bar.

"Thanks for the support, guys," Granger glared at everyone who'd reacted less than enthusiastically. "You might not have to suffer through hearing any more about it soon anyway."

"Oh no. Why not?" Pansy attempted a neutral voice despite her secret glee over the potential end of listening to elf-rights diatribes.

"There's only one remaining member of the Wizengamot that might sponsor my legislation. I'm meeting with him on Monday. If he says 'no' I'm out of options."

"Who's the target?" Theo asked with genuine interest. He was no more an advocate for house-elves than the next pureblood, but he could get behind political intrigue.

"Marcus Flint. Slytherin Class of '94. Were you all friendly with him? What do you think of my odds?"

Blaise shook his head. "I only played quidditch after he'd graduated. Draco, wasn't he captain your first couple years on the team?"

"Yeah, but I didn't spend any time with him off the pitch. Sixth and Seventh years don't generally hang out with underclassmen." He scratched his jaw in thought. "You saw our games, Granger, you know he likes to play aggressively."

"Is that your euphemism for blatant fouls?" Granger joked with a playful smirk.

"Just be on your guard, all right? I can't say for sure whether or not he'll go for the sponsorship idea, but it wouldn't hurt for you to be prepared for him to ask what's in it for him. I remember him being selfishly motivated."

Pansy was impressed. A stern warning to be careful was far more restrained than Draco's typical reaction to Granger's antics. He usually took a yell-first-ask-questions-never kind of approach. Apparently, he'd taken her feedback about his overbearing behavior to heart. That or he too had started seeing a mind healer. (She wouldn't bet on that though.)

"All right. I'll think about it. Thank you," Granger replied evenly, further shocking Pansy. Draco's recently developed gentleness seemed to be bringing out a whole new side of Granger as well. It was weird seeing her be agreeable rather than feisty and contrary.

Pansy sensed danger. If their oppositional personalities couldn't be relied on to keep them romantically uninvolved, Draco's crush suddenly felt a lot more...manifestable. Granger may be on a dating hiatus right now and not yet showing signs of reciprocal interest, but if Draco became determined it was only a matter of time.

Pansy would definitely be putting this on the agenda for her next mind healer session.

Monday, June 5th, 2000

It was nearly 9am, and Melinda the office admin popped her head in to ask whether Hermione wanted any breakfast (someone had brought donuts), but Hermione waved her away. She had already been in her office for three hours, and imbibed as many cups of coffee while she paced and rehearsed, so her caffeine-induced nausea rejected the very thought of sweets.

Besides, it was time to head down to level seven for her meeting with Flint. He was a Team Liaison for the British Quidditch League with the Department for Magical Games and Sports. Being a Wizengamot member was hardly a full-time job with meetings only taking place once per month, nine months per year, so most representatives held other positions. Hermione suspected that work at the DMGS hardly qualfied as full-time either though, as she often noticed employees on that level chatting and tossing quaffles to each other more than working.

She didn't care if Flint worked four hours or forty though, as long as he would be willing to use some of that time to help her.

Straightening her No-Nonsense black skirt and donning her matching I-Mean-Business blazer, she felt ready to plead her case to her last hope.

"I'm here to see Mr. Flint. I have an appointment," she announced herself to Flint's secretary upon arriving at level seven.

"Miss Granger?" She nodded. "One moment please." Then the secratary prodded a memo with her wandtip, sending it flying into the office behind her. Hermione took a deep, calming breath before adjusting her thick folio of HELP Act related data to rest on her hip, which freed a hand to tuck an errant curl behind her ear. She pushed down the anxious urge to bite her nails and waited.

"Mr. Flint will see you now," the secretary confirmed after recieving a return memo that wiggled out from underneath the closed door.

"Right, thanks," Hermione's heels clicked on the marble flooring as she advanced, but were muffled as soon as she stepped onto the plush carpet of Flint's office. She was irked to note that it was twice the size of her own.

"Hermione Granger," Flint smiled with all his teeth and waved her to a guest couch near the window. The door clicked shut behind her as she moved forward to shake his hand. "It's such a pleasure to meet you in person. I don't believe we ever crossed paths at school."

"Not directly, no..." Hermione confirmed genially, although she was nearly certain that Flint had been present the very first time Malfoy had ever called her a mudblood. She brushed that unpleasant thought aside. "I appreciate you making time to meet with me."

Flint surprised her by sitting next to her on the couch rather than on one of the armchairs, but she supposed it would be easier to review the materials she'd brought this way rather than presenting them upside-down.

"Of course!" he beamed, both rows of teeth still on display. "You're an icon. I was intensely curious to learn what you could possibly need from me. I'd love to help however I can."

This was a warmer reception than Hermione had dared to hope for and she felt a genuine smile light up her face. "That's very generous of you, Mr. Flint."

"Please, call me Marcus."

"Marcus," she smiled a bit more thinly at the informality though he leaned back and hummed his approval. "You might have heard that I'm working in the DRCMC these days."

"And may I call you Hermione?"

"Er... yes, I suppose." She gave him an odd look, but didn't want to be distracted by such frivolities. She only had an hour before she was expected at her next meeting. "Anyway, I'm working on a piece of legislation called the House-Elf Labor Provisions Act and--"

"Hermione," he interrupted, leaning forward now and speaking in low tones as though they were confidants. "I already know why you're here."

"You do?" She blinked. She thought she'd been exceedingly discreet in her actions to garner sponsorship so far. Who could he have heard from?

"I know you don't care about quidditch, so I figured you must need my help as a Wizengamot member. Not a difficult deduction."

"I see..." Hermione sighed with relief that she wasn't the subject of inter-departmental gossip.

"You either need sponsorship or my vote. I don't care which. And I've already said I'm eager to help..." He lowered his voice a bit further and added, "The only question I have is how can you help me?"

Hermione's relief redoubled. It was exactly as Malfoy had predicted and she had prepared accordingly.

"Yes, of course." She pulled several sheaths of parchment out of her folio and fanned then across the coffee table before them. "A direct result of the HELP Act I'm seeking sponsorship for is that house-elves will have discretionary funds for the first time. As it turns out, most of them are fanatic about quidditch and I anticipate great opportunity in catering to this new market with merchandise and ticket sales. This chart here shows profit projections over the next five years if--"

"Hermione," Flint cut her off again. "I don't want us to misunderstand each other. If you'd like my help, I want something in return."

"Yes?" She didn't think they were misunderstanding each other at all. She'd done her research and knew that his annual bonus was partly influenced by how profitable the British Quidditch League was each year.

"I don't want money," he continued in response to her visible confusion.

"What do you want?"

His only answer was to reach out and put his hand on her knee, stroking the side of it with his thumb.

Oh.

"You're a beautiful witch, Hermione. I'm sure we could come to an arrangement."

Hermione's brain fired into overdrive but all she could think of was her mind healer's voice telling her about the fight-flight-freeze reponse.

She didn't want this. The door was closed. She didn't have her wand. Flint looked like he weighed about 15 stone. She didn't want to freeze again. She wouldn't.

Without any further thought Hermione stood and ran for the door. Flint made a jerky movement as though to stop her, but he was too slow. She dashed past the bewildered secretary, bypassed the lifts, and raced up the stairs back to level four.

Even after locking her office door behind her, her heartbeat refused to calm. She scrambled towards her desk drawer where she'd left her wand and clutched it to her chest, feeling only minutely reassured by its solid presence in her hands.

What next? What should she do? She couldn't report Flint for inappropriate behavior because then she'd be exposed for going behind Macnair's back for the HELP Act. Could she send an anonymous report? Did she trust the Ministry to truly respect anonymity?

Definitely not.

Technically, nothing had happened. Maybe she could just forget about it? Would Flint just forget about it? Oh god... would he retaliate?

She was spared further agony over this prospect by the arrival of a memo. Like normal memos it was folded into the shape of a paper airplane and fluttered around her office until she reached her hand out to retrieve it. Unlike normal memos though, it was pink. She therefore knew its contents before opening it:

Notice of Termination of Employment

Effective (June 5, 2000), your employment with the Ministry of Magic in the (Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures) will be terminated for the following reasons: (Insubordination).

Immediately upon receipt of this notice, please sign your acknowledgement on the line provided below.

With a shaking hand Hermione picked up her quill, dipped it in her favorite purple ink, and scribbled her name on the parchment. The ink glowed in recognition of her signature and then there was a bright flash. Suddenly her personal belongings were flying through the air in a vortex of office supplies before settling messily into a conjured box. The box then floated to Hermione, nudging her into holding it. Once her arms were firmly supporting the box's weight, her termination notice landed on top of the pile of her things, glowed once again, and then she felt a familiar pull behind her navel.

Finding herself unceremoniously transported via portkey onto the sidewalk in front of the ministry, Hermione sat down and cried.

TW: Sexual harrassment in the workplace

A/N: I consider this the end of Act 1 and kind of a rock-bottom for Hermione. I promise things start getting better for her after this! Ironically, one of the things in my personal life that has prevented me from posting is that I am in danger of being laid off at work... does life imitate art? This economy is the worst... hope all my readers stay safe, healthy, and employed!