Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
A/N: I didn't actually mean for this to turn into a multi-chaptered fic, but it has, and I can't say I'm unhappy about it. The first chapter of this got more reviews than all eleven chapters of my other long story, which both surprises and pleases me; when I first posted this, I didn't actually think it was that good. Guess I'm wrong, huh?
Hermione carefully closed the door of her apartment behind her, put the kettle on for tea, and collapsed on the sofa. She wept, hunched over with her arms wrapped around herself, trying to curl into herself and hide from her grief. Gasping, choking sobs wrenched from her chest. She shoved her fist into her mouth to try to stifle the shameful, incriminating sounds. She rocked slowly back and forth, her sorrow slowly receding to more manageable levels. At last Hermione was still, sitting and staring into nothingness.
It had been the first time she had allowed herself to cry since Ron. Those had been tears of betrayal and anger, but this, this was pure and unalloyed pain. She would never see him again, never be able to vindicate him, and never be able to prove to herself that her faith had not been misplaced. When the courier had come earlier that day, announcing to all and sundry that Snape, the only man more reviled than the Dark Lord, was dead, she had been unable to respond. Thankfully, it had been mistaken for disbelief, instead of the misery it was. If anyone had known, had guessed, or even suspected that Hermione felt anything but the sheerest bliss at Snape's death, her career would have been destroyed. No, not only her career, but her life in the Wizarding World would have been at stake.
The kettle whistled, loud and shrill, breaking her from her trance. She moved mindlessly to the kitchenette. She poured the water into her mug, and sat at the tiny table. Hermione gazed blindly at the photographs that hung on the wall, mementos of a happier time. Her and Viktor in their formalwear, smiling self-consciously at the camera. Her in the library, caught unawares, bent over a book. Harry and Ginny dancing at Bill's wedding. She sighed and looked away. She didn't want to think about Harry, not when she was already upset. Her eyes fell on the place where a photo of Ron had once been. She stood up and moved into the living room. Thinking about Ron was even worse than thinking about Harry; Harry may have been a threat to the wizarding world, but Ron was personal.
Her eyes narrowed as she thought of her ex-fiancé and his new wife. She should have realized that Ron would never voluntarily put in overtime; it was completely incongruous with his usual behavior. But oh, she'd wanted to believe he was trying, and she had convinced herself so thoroughly that she was actually surprised when she went to his cubicle and found him with Lavender. He had paid, of course. No matter how hard he'd tried, she'd always been a faster draw. Between that, and the 'Oathbreaker' emblazoned across his forehead, his inferiority complex had almost certainly grown to epic proportions. That had helped assuage her wounded pride, but the way none of the Weasleys would speak to her afterwards hurt.
She took a sip of her tea and squared her shoulders, deliberately pushing her pain to the back of her mind. It had been nearly a year since Snape had told her to try and make the world a better place, and it was by far the most daunting assignment he had ever given her. Her progress, or rather, her lack thereof, was frustrating, as was the lack of public recognition she had always thrived on. She knew that if what she were doing came to the attention of her superiors, she would share Snape's fate, but oh, it rankled. Working undercover was alien to her personality, and being deprived of the praise she knew she deserved was absolute torture.
Her mind flicked to the way some people looked after Harry interrogated them, and she shied away from the torture comparison. Compared to fingers bent into unnatural positions and broken noses leaning at grotesque angles, her sufferings were a mere annoyance. Compared to what Snape had gone through... well, there was no comparison. High Inquisitor Potter may have been cruel to everyone, but what he'd done to Snape, his very first victim, was terrifying. Given less than a quarter of an hour he'd reduced Snape to a moaning, bleeding heap on the floor, and he'd so done while she listened.
Hermione took a deep breath. Yes, she was partially to blame. Yes, she should have tried to stop him. But gods above, she hadn't known that he'd turn into this. She'd thought that Snape was the exception, not the rule, and look what that had gotten her. What it had gotten all of them. She, like everyone else, had expected Harry to be another Dumbledore. Instead, after Dumbledore's death, he had become a combination of all the worst traits of Mad-Eye Moody and Dolores Umbridge. With the former's hatred of Dark wizards and the latter's taste for cruelty and power, he ruled the Ministry with an iron fist. Second only to the Minister, his status as 'The Chosen One' was propelling him ever higher.
Hermione stood, taking her mug of tea, now cold, to the sink and rinsing it out. It was late and she needed to get a few hours sleep before she went in to work. The Department of Dark Magic Eradication may have been under Harry's direct control, but she knew that if she got behind, her old friend would not hesitate to replace her. Especially if she failed her current assignment, to find and destroy the last scion of the Malfoy line. She had never expected to feel sorry for a bigoted prick like Draco Malfoy. However, she wouldn't wish the fate she knew was in store for him on anyone, let alone someone she knew and had the occasional semi-civil conversation with.
Going into the bedroom, she dropped her clothes on the floor by the bed and laid down, not bothering with the covers. She breathed slowly, in and out, focusing on the sound of her inhalations, using it to drive everything else out of her head. No more pain, no more grief, no more regret. She would worry about it tomorrow, when she was ready to deal with it properly. Then, she promised herself she would begin fulfilling her promise to Professor Snape. She might never succeed, but she was more than willing to go out in a blaze of glory. The thought made her smile slightly and she relaxed further, knowing that no matter what happened, she would come out ahead. Reform or glory, they were both good.