When Sorry Isn't Enough

by hasapi

Part One: Too Late

"You won't believe this, Hermione," Ginny Weasley gasped out as she collapsed on the edge of her friend's immaculately clean desk.

Hermione finished her memo to the Head of Muggle Relations before looking up at Ginny. The redhead was flushed and had a very distinct 'the cat who caught the canary' look on her face. "What?"

"He proposed!" Ginny squealed, throwing her arms around Hermione. She almost immediately let go, jumping up and pacing around the room. "It was so romantic, too; he got down on one knee after we ate dinner last night…"

Ginny's voice became less distinct in Hermione's mind as she stared out the window next to her desk, thoughts about Blaise crowding her mind. She remembered the night he had been about to propose. The last time she had seen him. It had been only two months earlier, but the intensity of the memory still brought tears to her eyes.

"Hermione?" Ginny prodded, leaning down to look her in the eye.

She looked at her friend, brushing the memories aside. There was no reason she needed to be thinking about the past. "Yes, Ginny? I'm sorry about that, I just have so much on my mind. We're getting a new secretary today, and I have to deal with Avery—"

"You always blame it on work," Ginny said, crossing her arms. "And what's with that, anyway? For five months you didn't give a damn about it, and suddenly you're staying late and advancing even farther than you had been in the beginning—which, by the way, is losing Ron quite a bit of money."

"I don't see why it matters," Hermione said, walking over to the file cabinets along the far wall. She opened the top drawer in the far left cabinet and pulled out the first file her hand met. "I have work to do, Ginny. I'll talk to you later."

Hermione stayed facing the cabinet until she heard the door slam shut. Replacing the file from where she had retrieved it, she walked back to her desk and fell into the chair, covering her eyes with one hand. She could not cry. There was a board meeting in less than an hour, and even though she could take care of the red eyes with a single spell, it was not such a simple matter to calm down.

It would have been easier if he had been cheating on her. Then she could have blamed him for everything and known it was not her fault.

Instead, she had been wrong. And being wrong had cost her him. She had thought that perhaps there was some chance they might reconcile, that he might come back and talk to her—but those hopes had crashed down around her when she had come home from work to find his things gone. There had been no note, but she had understood his message—it was over. They were over. And there was no going back.

She had thrown herself into work again, excluding almost everything else. She couldn't deal with it, with the pain she had caused both her and Blaise. If she hadn't been so rash, perhaps they would be married by now—

But she could not tempt herself with things that could not be.

A knock came from the other side of her door. "Come in," she said, sitting up.

"Hermione," her main assistant, said. "The new secretary is here—Eleanor Granston?"

"Eleanor Branstone," Hermione corrected her. "You can send her in. Thanks, Isabelle."

Isabelle flashed her a quick grin before disappearing again, leaving the door open. A few moments later, a brown-haired girl—she seemed little more—stepped through it, a bag in her hand. "Hello, Ms. Granger."

"Please," Hermione started, standing up. She smiled warmly, pushing thoughts of Blaise far from her mind. "Call me Hermione. I don't like to stand on ceremony here. Eleanor Branstone, right?"

The girl nodded, a smile coming to her face. "Yes, ma'am."

Hermione chuckled, not bothering to correct the girl. She would get used to the Department of International Magical Cooperation quickly. Eleanor didn't have a lot of experience, and her NEWTs had been more or less impressive, but it had been her personality that had been the winning factor for the girl. Her reference had been Professor Sprout, her Head of House at Hogwarts, and the professor had gushed about Eleanor almost nonstop when Hermione had contacted her.

"This," Hermione said, stopping right in the small room that connected her office with the busy hall out the other door, "will be your office. I will expect you to be here at eight o'clock sharp every morning…"

***

Blaise threw the glass of firewhisky on the ground, ignoring the sounds of the other patrons. He cast an apologetic glance at the bartender, Tom, and reached into his pocket for a few galleons.

Every time he thought about her, it hurt. He had been rash to reject her so quickly, but he'd been hurt. He had never done anything to make her believe he had been cheating on her, and yet she had believed he was. He had never been as faithful to anyone as he'd been to her. Hell, it had been nearly two months since he's last seen her and he still hadn't looked at another woman, let alone slept with one.

"Hey, Blaise." A hand came down on his shoulder and he shrugged it off. "Blaise, you need to get up."

"Go away, Draco," Blaise muttered, leaning over the table and holding his head in his hands.

"You're a mess, Blaise," Draco said, putting his hand on Blaise's shoulder again. "It's been two months. Either make up or move on, but you can't go on like this."

"You don't know what it was like," Blaise rasped.

"You're right I don't, because you never bloody well told me!" Draco hauled him out of his chair, tossing a few coins at the bartender. Tom nodded at him gratefully. "Can you Apparate?"

"Sure I can Apparate. I'm twenty-three years old."

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, I meant: do you think you'll splinch yourself if you Apparate?"

Blaise blinked up at the bright sky. "The sky's blue."

"It's always been blue, Blaise."

"No, it's really blue today. Like that day."

"Blaise, come on," Draco said, sighing. He dragged his best friend to the fireplace at the beginning of Diagon Alley, shoving some Floo powder into Blaise's hand. If there was one thing Blaise could do, it was Floo in his sleep. "Now, say 'Malfoy Manor.'"

"Aye, aye, cap'n," Blaise said, throwing the powder into the fireplace and yelling, "Malfoy Manor!"

Draco flinched. He could only hope Blaise arrived safely. He followed immediately, stepping out of the fireplace with nary a bit of soot on his robes.  Blaise was collapsed on the floor. Draco sighed, pulling his friend up again. He wished he didn't have to do this. Why couldn't Blaise have just pulled himself together? It couldn't be that hard. "Wake up, Blaise."

"Draco, leave me alone," Blaise said, trying to lie back down on the carpet.

"Fannie!" Draco yelled for one of the house elves.

She appeared almost instantaneously. "Yes, Master Malfoy, sir?"

"Fannie, bring him to the kitchens. Get Gerry if you need help."

"Yes, sir, Master Malfoy, sir." She immediately yelled for Gerry and began to pick the black-haired man up by his legs, while Gerry grabbed the other end. Draco followed them as they walked, thinking. He had only done this because Ginny had asked him to do it. They weren't dating anymore—in fact, if he had heard correctly, she and Neville Longbottom were now engaged. Imagine, anyone dropping him for Longbottom. But even he had to admit that Longbottom wasn't the same as he'd been at Hogwarts.

Ginny had explained that Hermione was miserable, and Draco knew that Blaise was. So they had decided that they would both attempt to get to the bottom of their break-up and hopefully get them back together. And at the very least, they wouldn't have to deal with miserable best friends, which really were horrid things. Draco helped the house elves prop Blaise up in his seat, and waved them off, mentioning, "Please get the potion bottle numbered 5-3."

He tuned out the answering 'Yes, sir,' and concentrated instead on his friend. He looked like he'd been pulled out of the dumpster—not at all a good look for a Zabini. They weren't quite as old as the Malfoys, but they were a Slytherin family, and Slytherins should not be mooning over Gryffindor Muggleborns, no matter how smart they were.

Not that he was completely opposed to his friend dating Hermione Granger. In fact, he had been rather supportive of it. But ever since they'd broken up, Blaise had changed dramatically—and he still had not told Draco why they had broken up. He didn't even know who had initiated it.

"Here yous go, Master Malfoy, sir," Fannie said, holding the bottle of potion and a spoon up to him. He took it, muttering a short thank you to the house elf. He'd had to admit that Granger had a point when she had published that paper about house elves. They certainly performed better when given encouragement, even if it was small encouragement. Granted, he wasn't about to go free his elves or ask them for things, but he supposed a 'thank you' every once in a while wouldn't hurt.

Draco unscrewed the bottle, pouring a bit into the spoon, and tipped it down Blaise's throat. He coughed and sputtered, awaking almost at once. "Wha'd you do that for, Draco?" Blaise demanded, coughing into his hand.

"Trying to get you sober," Draco said, closing the bottle again and sitting down across from his friend.

"Why the hell would you want to do that?" he demanded. "I like being drunk."

"Blaise, snap out of it!" Draco yelled. "I don't know why you and Hermione broke up, but if you don't tell me I'm going to beat it out of you because you're driving me up the wall!"

Blaise blinked at his best friend. "She thought I was cheating on her."

Draco's mouth dropped open. "She what?"

"Shut your mouth, Draco," Blaise muttered.

"She broke up with you because she thought you were cheating on her?" Draco asked. "Er, you weren't, were you?"

"Of course I wasn't! And I broke up with her, thank you very much!"

Draco raised a brow. "You broke up with her, just like that."

"Just like that," Blaise repeated.

"Why?"

"Because she didn't trust me, you idiot."

"Blaise," Draco said, frowning, "I don't claim to know how people's minds work, but I'm pretty sure there was more to it than just you. Maybe she had a bad relationship in the past or something—I don't know, but I think Hermione loved you."

"Maybe, but she didn't trust me, and that's what matters."

***

"Hermione," Ginny said, leaning against the doorway to her office. "Come on, you have to come with me. I want you to be my bridesmaid."

"You know what they say, Ginny—three times a bridesmaid, never a bride. I was bridesmaid at Luna and Harry's wedding, as well as my cousin's. This would be my third. I can't very well throw my chances of marrying to the wind, now can I?" Hermione said playfully.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "You know very well that's just superstition. Besides, Parvati was a bridesmaid at Lavender's, Padma's, and Laura Madley's wedding, and she was married less than a year after the last one. So that just goes to prove that it isn't true."

Hermione laughed, picking up her purse and checking the wards on her office. "All right, all right, let's go shopping for those dresses then."

"Wonderful," Ginny said, putting her arm through her friend's. "Do you know, I had actually thought at this time we might be looking for your wedding gown, and I'd be the bridesmaid."

"Why would you say that?" Hermione asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

Ginny shrugged. "You and Blaise seemed so close, and everyone was betting that he was going to ask you to marry him soon. It came as such a surprise when you broke up—"

"Ginny, don't," Hermione interrupted.

"Hermione," Ginny said, stopping in front of her friend and crossing her arms. "You never told my why. Why did you two break up? What happened? You two were the best couple, always laughing and seeming so happy together."

"Why does it matter, Ginny? It's over."

"But it obviously still matters to you, Hermione, and you haven't told me a thing."

"It hurts, Ginny," Hermione whispered, thankful it was late enough that most everyone had already left the Ministry building. She couldn't bear to let anyone see her like this.

"That's why you need to talk about it, Hermione. That thing with Riddle in my first year was never truly off my chest until I told Neville about it in my sixth year. He never told anyone, and I won't breathe a word if you'll just tell me what happened."

"Let's go to your apartment first, okay, Ginny?" Hermione said, blinking back tears.

Ginny nodded. "Sure."

They arrived fairly quickly, as Ginny had a Floo connection. "Er, Neville won't be here, will he?" Hermione asked, glancing around.

Ginny laughed. "Don't worry, he won't. Come on into the kitchen; I'll fix you some tea."

"Thanks," Hermione said. She looked around, sighing inwardly. Ginny was changing, she could tell. She was becoming more outgoing, if that were possible, and she was obviously a woman in love. Hermione dimly remembered herself like that just two and a half months earlier, before she had been overcome by the fear that she wasn't enough, that Blaise was cheating on her.

"While the water is warming, why don't we begin?" Ginny asked, motioning to the kitchen table.

Hermione chuckled nervously. "You sound like you do this often."

"Well, I am working on becoming a Wizarding psychologist, you know."

Hermione smiled. "Yes, I know. It's a wonderful job for you."

"Thanks," Ginny said, her voice sincere. "So, why did the two of you break up?"

"Do you remember the two weeks before we broke up?"

"Very dimly."

"I was a nervous wreck. I'd started noticing Blaise was absent a lot, and that he seemed to put things away when I came into the room. Three days before we broke up, I found an address he had left on the table, with 'Alyssa' scrawled on it. I assumed he was cheating on me.

"So I confronted him three days later—and it turned out I was wrong." Hermione let the tears she had been holding back fall, feeling Ginny come over to hug her tightly. "He was going to ask me to marry him, Ginny! The address had been for 'Alyssa's Flowers and Things,' a shop in Diagon Alley."

"Oh, Hermione," Ginny whispered, hugging her tightly.

"I made such a huge mistake, Ginny," Hermione sobbed, "and there's nothing I can do to take it back. It's too late. Much too late."