Chapter 2: Des lettres (Letters)

Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt,

Thank you for your kind words, it was a pleasure to hear from you. To answer your question, I've been doing rather well in Bordeaux. It feels exhilarating to not be recognised daily, or asked a quote regarding rumours and trysts of which I have no knowledge. I'll be sure to bring you a bottle of wine, it's what you deserve.

To the core of your letter, the contents of which were rather surprising, I say yes. I accept your summons and I agree to testify in the trial of Draco Malfoy as a defence witness. Though he is a bigoted prick, he was a child (we all were) pulled into war without any choice. He does not deserve Azkaban. I will testify my truth, and with good hope, it'll keep him out. Though, I will ask you for a favour, from one Order member to another.

Give me a room with him. One hour, total privacy. I want to talk to the man whom I'll be defending in over a week. I would like to discuss this further with you, if time permits, tomorrow, July 10th, 11:00 in Kensington Gardens. There's a small coffee shop by the Palace grounds called The Greenhouse. I will be waiting there if you confirm.

Kindest regards,

Hermioné Hélène-Jeanne de Bonnegrâce.

'It's a sufficient letter, Hermione.'

Hermione looked away from the Ministry official casting spells over her fireplace to Narcissa who sat outside. Though the woman was still wearing elegant clothes, at least they were Muggle haute couture.

'You really think so, Cissa?'

Narcissa smiled wryly. 'There are some words I personally wouldn't use, but you're the one writing. I believe it to be sufficient.'

Hermione scoffed. 'I still can't believe he'd send it less than two weeks before the trial.'

'He wasn't expecting you to answer, I understand him completely.' Narcissa placed her tea cup and looked away to the fields. 'Hermione, you don't have to do this. You shouldn't do this for my sake.'

'Narcissa, I'm not doing this for you, I'm doing this for him. No matter what I think of Draco, he was only a child like us when this bloody war happened. Besides, I've lost my family. I'm not going to let you lose yours.'

Narcissa laughed. 'Oh dear, you're far too kind for your own sake.' She shook her head. 'Gryffindors.'

A man in a suit approached them. 'Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce, Madame Malfoy, nous avons connecté vos maisons au réseau des cheminées. Nous espérons que notre service a été satisfaisant. Si vous avez d'autres questions, n'hésitez pas à nous contacter (Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce, Madame Malfoy, we've connected your homes to the Floo Network. We hope our services have been satisfactory. If you have any more questions, don't hesitate to contact us).'

Narcissa and Hermione stood up, with Narcissa shaking the hand of the man. She replied, 'Nous contacterons le Ministère des Affaires Magiques s'il y a des problèmes, mais nous nous y attendons pas. Merci beaucoup M. Villeneuve (We will contact the French Ministry if there are any problems, though we don't expect any. Thank you so much, Mr. Villeneuve).'

'Merci beaucoup aussi, M. Villeneuve, pour votre travail (Thank you, Mr. Villeneuve, for your work).'

The man exited the premises and Hermione examined her now-functional Floo fireplace. With it, she could go to Narcissa's house in Lyon in seconds, though Narcissa would come to her house way more than vice-versa. The two women then resumed their tea time, which was now occurring twice a week.

'Okay, so let's see. Floo is done, paperwork is finished, the tickets are ready, hotel bookings, letters are ready…'

'Do you plan everything so meticulously, Hermione?'

'It's what I had to do to survive. You?'

'We don't do that, Hermione.' She took a sip of her tea. 'We see what happens and plan accordingly. To be adaptable is key in survival.'

'Honestly, agree to disagree, Narcissa.'

Narcissa looked to the late afternoon sun and released a long breath. She turned to Hermione, smiled, and stood up. 'I will see you next week, Hermione. I don't expect Andromeda or Draco to accept my words, I just pray they'll at least listen. Good luck, sweetheart.'

Hermione stood and hugged her. Nestled in her neck she whispered, 'Your son is in safe hands, Cissa. Don't worry, Andromeda's your sister. She'll listen. They both will.'

The two women were locked in a longing embrace until it was time for Narcissa to go home and Hermione's portkey to activate. July 9th 17:00, one hour left. After Narcissa departed, she hastily sent a message to Emmanuelle writing that she went away for the weekend, and might not come home until the middle of next week. Once 17:00 arrived, the silver medallion glowed blue. With one press, Hermione and all of her luggage was carried hundreds of kilometres away to Wizarding Britain. She checked into the small hotel and sent off the letter to Kingsley.

From the balcony, Hermione gazed at a slumbering London. Just several kilometres away, she could imagine the bustling shops of Diagon Alley closing down for the night, Ministry workers finishing their paperwork and going home. Yet, they were only a small part of London proper, a little speck of dust compared to the continent. It was only a few months ago that she, along with countless others, were fighting for Britain, for goodness, for life, and the whole world at large would never know. She thought about being a part of the masses, unknown and unrecognised. She wouldn't be Harry Potter's Muggleborn Best Friend, Girlfriend of Ronald Weasley, or the Brightest Witch of Her Age; just Hermione Jean Granger. What she wouldn't give for—

A knock on the door surprised her. Within milliseconds, her wand was drawn and pointed to the door, lips poised to utter the first syllable to Expelliarmus. A muffled voice came from the other side.

'Miss de Bonnegrâce? There's a message for you.'

She lowered her wand and exhaled a breath long held. She sauntered over to the door and retrieved the message from the bellboy. The message was embossed with a large M; a Ministry letter. She opened it and read the contents.

Hermione,

I accept your invitation for coffee tomorrow at 10:00 in The Greenhouse. Scheduling a meeting time for the young Malfoy may be difficult, but I'll see what I can do. Consider the favour repaid if you could convince the Malfoy boy from Azkaban.

Sincerely,

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Hermione folded the letter again. It was time to start strategising. She slept soundly that nice, waking up around 8 AM. Ordering room service, she ate her breakfast inside her room. A few minutes afterwards, energy coursed through her, ready to take the day. That was until the bellboy arrived once again to take the plates and give her the day's Daily Prophet.

There, on the front page, was a large picture of Harry and Ginny surrounded by the rest of the Weasley family outside of the Burrow. They were all smiling while their youngest showed off the glitter on her finger. In big letters, the header read:

THE WEDDING OF THE CENTURY, HARRY POTTER HAS PROPOSED!

Media. Wedding, Proposal. Ring. Weasley. Red hair. Ron. Molly. Ring. Knee. The imagery latched itself on Hermione's mind, and resentment bubbled inside of her. She marched to the bathroom and took a long shower before reemerging to meet Kingsley. Grabbing a taxi, she quickly arrived at The Greenhouse 15 minutes before their meeting.

Hermione looked away, admiring the gardens when she heard the door open. A man sat down next to her.

'I see France has done wonders to you.' He spoke in a deep and reassuring tone that once resonated in the dingy halls of Grimmauld Place.

She turned to see the wizard normally robed in purple wearing a three-piece suit. It exuded regality. Hermione said, 'It has.' She then pulled her bag containing two bottles of wine. 'It's also done wonders to these bottles of wine. They're one white, one red. I was planning on giving you the red and keeping the white but it seems a lovely couple could use it for celebration.'

Kingsley chuckled. 'At least you didn't have that.'

'No, all I've got are tens of articles accusing me of infidelity, infertility, selfishness, and a whole host of other things.'

'How long are you staying here?'

'Only a few days. I'm returning to Bordeaux after this trial. I'm thinking of pursuing my interests in France, away from the prying eyes of the media.'

'I must say, Hermione, at first I didn't expect you to reply, let alone agree.'

Hermione replied, 'Is that why you decided to send the request less than two weeks before the trial itself? Besides, this case is personal to me.'

Kingsley raised an eyebrow. 'Oh? I had no idea you've taken a liking to the Malfoy boy. Should've guessed that when you also requested a private visit with him.'

Hermione huffed. She whispered, 'He was a child, Kingsley. We all were. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Padma, George, Luna, me, and countless others. He doesn't deserve this. I'll talk to him.'

'Well, good luck to you, Hermione. The boy's obstinate, won't listen to a word me or others have said. I can't convince the Wizengamot of a lighter sentence without an admission of guilt on his part, even with your testimonies.'

Hermione's eyes narrowed. 'Testimonies? Who else is testifying for him?'

'Aurors-in-Training Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.'

Hermione's emotions, long gone ever since her shower that morning, reared their ugly heads in. She knew she would have to confront her two best friends about rejecting the proposal, her being missing for months, Harry's proposal to Ginny…

Kingsley quickly backtracked, saying, 'I know, I should've informed you, but I had, you wouldn't have come—'

Hermione instead chuckled. 'I should've expected underhanded tactics from a Slytherin. Just make sure I'm the last to testify and first to leave. What about my visit with Draco Malfoy?'

'Tomorrow, 10 AM, Azkaban Upper Level 3, you'll have one hour. I've registered using your old name.' He rummaged inside his pockets and pulled out a medal; one side gold embossed with the Ministry of Magic logo, and iron on the other embossed with Azkaban. 'It will Apparate you to the rally point where an Auror will escort you to the premises by boat. You'll be escorted through the whole way but left alone during the visit.'

Hermione nodded. 'Understood.'

'I do hope you know what you're doing, Hermione. I would not want to stand in that courtroom, and sentence Draco Malfoy to five years in Azkaban.'

Hermione simply stood up and smiled. 'Don't worry, Kingsley, I have Harry Potter's Secret Weapon.'

Kingsley stood up and smoothed down his robes. 'Which is?'

'Love.' Kingsley smiled and they shook hands. 'Adieu, Monsieur le Ministre.'

'Adieu, Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce.'

The both of them then walked out of the cafe with Kingsley returning to the Ministry down below Whitehall and Hermione going to her first visit of the day: Ollivanders. Hermione's stomach lurched at the thought of returning to Diagon Alley. It was sincerely a magical place, literally and figuratively, for 11-year-old Hermione Granger as she went there to pick up the materials for her First Year at Hogwarts together with Professor McGonagall. Though blackened by burned bricks and marred marble, Diagon Alley was the definition of magical.

That was the feeling Hermione got when she entered Diagon Alley for the first time since Gringotts. No longer dominated by the dark, the once-empty corridors and paths were swarming with wizards and witches re-emerging to continue their peaceful lives. She often wondered about these wizards who, like the Muggles she ogled in France, had their own lives and stories to tell. Unfortunately, she came not for stories. The crowd allowed her to blend in, to be sighted only through blinks and shadows of the eye, as if a mere figment of imagination. With her nimble feet and spellwork, she quickly made it into Ollivander's.

A curious voice bellowed from the distance, 'Ah, Miss Granger.' Ollivander himself walked out with a smile on his face. 'Or, should I say, Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce?'

Hermione chuckled. 'You know, then?'

A hearty laugh came from the man as he walked closer to her. 'When a young British witch visited the three disciples of the famous Cosme Acajor only to find them all confused, word travels fast. Your reputation, Mademoiselle, precedes you.'

'At least this time I'll be known as the witch who had thousands of wands rejected for some odd reason or another.'

Ollivander chuckled. 'Too many words, Mademoiselle. Better keep it short. May I inspect the wand?' He asked, extending a hand. Hermione nodded and gave it to him. Ollivander ran his hand over the wood and looked down the end. He placed both hands at each end and flexed it. 'One of Acajor's Verdunois wands, made in August 1916. Much blood was spilt for this wand.'

'Verdunois? He named them?'

'That he did. Monsieur Acajor was known for cataloguing his wands after cities, countries, eras, etcetera. One of his most prized catalogues was the Verdunois, a collection of 13 wands all made from April to December 1916. They're notorious for rejecting many wizards and witches. I'm glad it's found a home in you.'

'I know the wand accepted me, I feel it, but sometimes it… resists me.'

'The wand accepted you, but you have not mastered it. Thestral tail hair, like hawthorn wood, is quite contradictory. Thestrals are only sighted by those who've witnessed death, yet they themselves are not creatures of death. Hawthorn is suited for healing magic but also curses. Moreover, Verdunois wands were created during a period of bloodshed. Conflict. Turmoil. Intense emotions.' Ollivander handed the wand back to Hermione. 'Your wand, Mademoiselle, requires it.'

'Thank you, Mr. Ollivander, for your advice. If I may ask a favour, tell no one I was here. My presence back in Britain could be… disastrous.'

Ollivander simply bowed. 'I yield to my customer's desires. Until next time, Mademoiselle. Good day.'

'Good day, Mr. Ollivander.'

Hermione slipped out from the shop, blending into the even-larger crowd now in Diagon Alley. With a few nimble steps and turns of the head, she managed to escape Diagon Alley and the Leaky Cauldron with only one confused look of a stranger. The sun was already stepping down from its high throne, which means it was mid-afternoon. She only had a few hours, at best, before Harry came home and visited Teddy. So, she went to the house surrounded by a large pond. Lilies sprung from the tranquil waters with sunlight filtering through the high trees, shrouding the area in pale greens. As she stepped through the fences, the wards accepted like an old friend, and she hoped the occupants inside would act the same.

She knocked at the door, opening just after the scuffle of feet. When it opened, Hermione's breath exploded in her throat. Bellatrix Lestrange was right in front of her with the same high cheekbones and angular jaw she remembered. Once her mind caught up with her heart though, the image became smaller and the black hair turned brown, and her eyes became full of life instead of empty.

'Hermione! Where have you been?'

Hermione whispered, 'Hi, Andromeda. May I come in?'

Andromeda nodded quickly. 'Sure, come in, I've just brewed some tea if that's alright.'

Hermione smiled. 'Sure, yes, I would love some tea.'

Hermione quickly squeezed in the cottage where she lived for a few weeks after the Battle as Grimmauld Place was being searched and renovated. As Andromeda shuffled around the cottage, she noticed how slightly messy it was with crumbs of food hidden under couches and faded handprints on random furniture. The house was empty, without Teddy nor Dora's muffled sounds.

Hermione asked, 'Is Dora not here?'

Andromeda shook her head. 'She went to the Ministry with Teddy. She's bringing him to Harry.'

Hermione followed Andromeda to the dining room table where two warm mugs of tea were placed. Hermione sat next to Andromeda, who herself sat at the head of the table.

Hermione rubbed the mug and spoke first. 'Andromeda, before we go on, I should apologise to you. We were all stressed and grieving after the Battle, and I shouldn't have let it out on you.'

Andromeda replied, 'No, no, it's fine, Hermione, really. Harry himself almost hexed me when he came by. I used to take pride in looking a lot like my elder sister, though now I'm sure it's a struggle for you.'

Hermione shook her head. 'Even then, I shouldn't have taken it out on you, of all people. She died; you made sure of that. I'll always be grateful to you.'

She sipped her tea but found it was too hot, so she pulled her wand and summoned a little vortex of wind to cool it down. Andromeda's eyes focused on it.

Andromeda said, 'You've finally found a wand that works, eh?'

Hermione glanced at her new wand and chuckled. 'Yes. Would you like to see?' Andromeda nodded and inspected the hawthorn wand in her hand. She looked at it, gazed at it, and made the same comments as Narcissa did.

Andromeda asked, 'Where did you find it?'

'Armand Gaultier's shop on Rue de Godefroy, La Place Cachée, Wizarding Paris. It's registered with the French Ministry.'

Andromeda's eyes rose in curiosity. 'You're living in France?'

Hermione nodded. 'I'm living in my grandmother's house. I started living there after… Australia.'

Andromeda put her mug down and asked, 'Hermione… What happened?'

Hermione looked down and rubbed her forearm. She whispered, 'I failed, Andromeda. I failed. The Australian healers, they said that the memory charm had been in place for too long and too deep. We could reverse them, but it would take years of near-constant work, untangling everything. Even then, since they've already lived with their new identities for months, they're settled. If I were to break the charm, the old memories might reassert themselves. I'd be harming them more.'

A tear fell from her eyes. Andromeda hugged Hermione and Hermione clung on to her like she was her own mother. With her head burrowed in Andromeda's neck, she remembered the realisation she had when leaving Australia. It was one thing to think about it, but another to actually say it.

'I have to let them go, 'Dromeda. I have to. There's no other way.'

'Oh, you sweet girl. Why didn't you go to us?'

Hermione stopped her tears and pulled back. She whispered, 'What… What do you know?'

Andromeda smiled. 'That you were not being a complete moron by rejecting the proposal since he knew you didn't want to marry early.'

Hermione chuckled. 'I feel so lost, 'Dromeda. It's like… It's every girl's dream, isn't it? To have the love of their life fall on one knee and propose, to live happily, to-to… I don't know now. For the first time in a long time, I'm aimless.'

'Hermione, you've given so much for everyone, all three of you did. You deserve some selfishness every now and then.'

'I-I just… I miss my family. I miss going down the stairs and seeing Dad on the porch with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. It's always the same cup: black, no sugar, a splash of milk. Mum would be in the kitchen, humming her Beatles tunes, making breakfast with bacon and eggs. The bacon would just be a little bitter, but that's how Dad and I loved it. I miss all that. I miss my family.'

'I miss my family too, Hermione. I still feel a pang of sadness when I wake up with clean sheets and untouched pillows on his side of the bed. I miss my childhood where Narcissa and I would play in our gardens, acting up the fairytale stories we read. I miss them all, the good and the bad.'

'Were you close to her, Narcissa?'

Andromeda smiled subtly. 'Very. We were closer to each other than either of us to Bellatrix. She was just older and rather… imposing.'

'Do you miss her, Narcissa?'

Andromeda's eyes met Hermione's. 'Every single day. A part of me regrets not coming to her trial, but I had a husband and son-in-law to mourn plus a newborn grandson. I hoped Cissy disavowed her racist beliefs, wherever she is.'

Hermione replied quietly, 'She did.'

Andromeda raised an eyebrow and leaned slightly forwards. Hermione let out a deep breath. She rummaged inside her trench coat, pulling out a sealed envelope. She slid the envelope to Andromeda, who was looking at her with dinner plate eyes.

Hermione whispered, 'She only wants you to read.'

Andromeda could not utter a word except, 'H-How?'

'We met in France. It wasn't anything planned, only a mere coincidence. She apologised for what she's done, though she already admitted her guilt at court. I asked her for tea, and things just… developed from there.'

Andromeda opened the envelope and unfolded the three paged letter. A gasp came from her lips. Her eyes widened. The letter trembled in her hands. As her eyes scanned the page, revelling in every line like it was a narcotic, several tears fell. The house, once animated with conversation, was now filled by the loudly silent sound of a heart breaking open. Afterwards, she folded the letters as one and held them to her heart. Sobs openly flowed from her.

'Where… Where is she? How is she?'

'Lyon. She's… broken, Andromeda. She's lost her husband, her home, her sisters, and now on the verge of losing her only son. She's said it herself.'

'Why did she entrust this to you?'

Hermione shrugged. 'I don't know, honestly. She's honest with me and I'm honest with her. I don't have expectations talking to her. She doesn't have expectations talking to me. We're each other's fresh air.'

'I… I would like to talk to her. Could you help me do that, Hermione?'

Hermione smiled. 'Sure.' She pulled out a piece of paper and wrote down her address there. 'I block most magical mail so you'll have to send it through Muggle means. Send it to 12 Rue du Champion, Bordeaux; address it to a Mademoiselle de Bonnegrâce. Since it's Muggle, it may take a week or two, so write a lot.'

Andromeda wiped her tears. 'I will.' She glanced at the clock and stood up. 'It's getting late, Dora and Harry might come home soon. You should go.'

Hermione nodded and gave one final hug to Andromeda. Just as she opened the front door, Andromeda called out to her.

'Thank you for this, Hermione. You have no idea how much you've brightened my day.'

Hermione replied quietly. 'I know.'

Hermione immediately Apparated back to the hotel and rapidly took off her clothes. She stepped into the bathroom, turned on the hot water, and cried her heart out. She wanted to have that cathartic moment with her parents. All she wanted at that moment was to have her mother comfort her. To say it would all be okay. To say good things about the world. To sing her lullabies. To embrace her. To calm her. To make her happy. But Helen Amelia Granger did not exist. Only Monica Wilkins. She would never know her mother's last words. Her mother would never think of her in her last moments. They would die without ever knowing they had a daughter.

She snapped out of it when the water slowly became more and more tepid. She cleaned herself and saw red dominate her. Her skin cried out in pain like her heart. She could have burned herself, but that was worth it. At least she would feel warmth. She put on her sleeping clothes and slid into the soft bed.

/ / / / /

No dreams molested her in the night. Instead, tears streaked down the pillow. She woke at 8, leaving her an hour or so to get ready for the visit. She quickly showered, put on her best clothes, and waited for the medallion to glow. A few minutes later, it did. She pressed, and the whole world disappeared. In the blink of an eye, the hotel room turned to a large freezing field. In front of her, a man with greying hair stood.

'Good morning, Miss Granger, my name is Auror Richards. I've been ordered by Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt to escort you to Azkaban.'

Hermione nodded. 'Good morning, Auror Richards. Shall we?'

Auror Richards nodded and the both of them stepped into a small boat. If it weren't for the imposing structure in the background, she would've thought she was stepping into Hogwarts for the first time. Instead of majesty and mystery, only terror and horror resided. Hermione kept her eyes scanning the premises, Expecto Patronum poised on her lips.

Auror Richards noticed this and said, 'The Dementors are no more, Miss Granger. Minister Shacklebolt replaced them with human Aurors. We're perfectly safe here.'

Blood rushed into Hermione's white knuckles as her grip lessened. Within a few minutes, the two alighted from the boat and made their way inside. Squads of Aurors were walking along the perimeter and inside the building. She headed inside, gave her wand, and entered. Though there were windows in the complex, the area gave off such a dark energy that even sunlight did not dare enter far into the hallways. If it weren't for the windows, she could've been convinced it was night. Soon, they stopped just outside of a room with the number 11.

Auror Richards said, 'He's inside. I will leave you now but if you need assistance, there will be a button you can press that will alert me and other Aurors here. As mentioned before, do not touch the prisoners. See you in one hour, Miss Granger.'

'Yes, thank you, Auror Richards. I'll keep that in mind.'

He smiled as he opened the door, the bright sunlight washing in. As the sunlight faded, Hermione could make out a figure sitting in the centre table. His cheeks were gaunt, bones protruding. His silver hair extended far beyond his nose, shielding his face. He moved so slow Hermione wasn't even sure he was breathing. Yet, when his eyes opened, the hatred reemerged. His silver eyes were still as intense as they were. Bloodied, but unbroken. Defeated, but not vanquished.

His voice scratched the room as if it had not been heard for years. 'Granger.'

Hermione only smiled. 'Malfoy.'