THE LOAN

Chapter 7

If someone had told Hermione Granger that six months ago, the Ministry would be overtaken by has-been Death Eaters and fanatical wizards and witches alike, Minister Shacklebolt killed in his office, and the Wizarding World forever changed, she would've laughed that person out of the room. It was, however, exactly what had happened. Over clandestine meetings and through whispers carried by the grapevine, an uprising had occurred, and no one had been prepared for the systemic warfare it brought with it. Antonin Dolohov had elected himself new Minister, and had strung along a large number of purebloods and half-bloods with an overarching promise of finding a fix to The Reproduction Problem.

The Reproduction Problem, as people had begun to call it, had crept up on the magical community- first in languor, and then all at once, fervently. The maternity ward at St. Mungos had become suspiciously empty as days passed, and the few cribs with the good fortune of having a baby placed within them, had to put up with the fact that most of those newborns would be without any real magical abilities. Peaceful protests outside the Ministry called upon Minister Shacklebolt to launch a detailed investigation and the results of the enquiry had been a slap to the face, albeit an expected one.

The study revealed that centuries of breeding within family connections had muddied the bloodlines, so to speak, and the only couples who were conceiving healthy, magical babies were Muggleborns (and the occasional half-blood women, although that, too, had become somewhat of a rarity those days.)

Pandemonium had ensued, and Dolohov's order had started to gain a real footing even among skeptics. He bided his time, and one day, armed with his cronies, he had stalked into the Ministry, throwing curse after Unforgivable curse at security before aiming the final deadly blow towards Shacklebolt's chest.

Hermione remembered this, and much more, but most of all, she remembered the horrified look on Ronald's face when she had read the letter sent to them by Harry aloud.

Shackebolt is dead. Dolohov has taken over the Ministry. We need your help.

The rest of it all had been a blur. They had tried to fight, to no avail. Dolohov had assembled a shockingly large number of supporters over the past few years, and it was strange to see people she had worked with and passed by on the street, now stand guard, ready to hurt her if she tried breaking the rules. Then, the newspapers had come, directing all women to submit blood swatches to the healers at the Ministry so that fertility tests could be carried out upon them.

They had been packing their bags to go on the run and regroup with a concrete plan to eject Dolohov from power, when the guards had shown up outside her door. She had been separated from her friends, from the man she loved, but she had been granted an audience with the Minister. In a final bid for hope, she had tried to make him see reason. When that failed, Hermione had tried to run. She didn't get too far – someone she encountered a few days into her time on the road (a Dolohov loyalist, no doubt) had given up her location and she had been found within the hour. The battle scars that were a result of that altercation were brandished on the skin of her back, and she had never been the same.

Hermione thought of that, and everything else, when she took in the sight of Hannah Abbot and Blaise Zabini at the entrance of Gringotts.

Hannah enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug when she recognized her, and Hermione had to bite her lip in order to prevent herself from sobbing on the shoulder of her old friend.

'Oh, Hermione, I'm so glad you're okay,' Hannah gushed, pressing the brunette closer to her chest.

You mean you're so glad I'm alive,Hermione thought to herself, but just smiled as she pulled herself back from the embrace of her light-haired school friend.

Hannah was wearing the same robes and choker as Hermione. Despite being a half-blood, Hannah had been one of the few women who had successfully conceived and delivered a healthy baby boy "Lester" (with fairly good chances of the baby having magical powers) with Neville Longbottom. Hermione choked at the implication of her friend's matching wardrobe. It meant that Hannah had been snatched away from her home as well and that she was living without her child.

Malfoy and Zabini, Hermione noticed, hadn't said much to each other except the proverbial hello and this took her by surprise. As she recalled, the two had been more than friendly during their time at Hogwarts, and she hadn't heard of any reason for them to not be friendly now.

Her quiet musing was interrupted by Draco saying – 'Zabini, do you mind staying behind for a minute here? I need to run up to the vault, and I'm sure Granger and Abbot wouldn't mind having a chat.'

She turned sharply towards him when she registered the meaning behind his words. It was surprisingly considerate of him. Then again, she reckoned that the house elves had probably let him in on the fact that she had started talking to herself in the Manor, and she doubted he wanted a nutcase on his hands.

Hannah was more than happy to keep Hermione company, and she led her to a worn-out sofa by the galleon-dispenser as Zabini remained by the entryway, out of earshot but still at a watchful distance.

'How are you doing, Hannah?' Hermione asked, as the other witch took her hands in her own.

'It's not been easy, love,' she replied, shaking her head. 'I miss Neville and Lester to death. The Ministry won't let me see them, but Zabini has a few connections up in the Ministry, due to his work, so he's been able to arrange a few exchanges of letters and baubles, but nothing that isn't completely proof-read by the wankers before, mind you.'

Hermione's eyes widened. 'You mean you've been able to write to them? That's wonderful, Hannah, I'm glad. Has Neville ever mentioned, you know, Ron or Harry?'

A look of pain crossed Hannah's face for a millisecond, but Hermione, ever so observant, caught it in an instance.

'What is it? Shit, Hannah, are they alright?'

'I'm so sorry, Hermione, I thought you already knew,' Hannah said, her voice hoarse and uncomfortable.

'Please,' Hermione pleaded, tears welling up in her terrified eyes. 'Just tell me.'

'Harry…he didn't make it, Hermione. They caught him trying to sneak some women out, and brought him in for questioning. They say he was tortured for the location of the women he helped escape, but he wouldn't budge. They killed him then, Hermione. I'm so sorry.'

Hermione could do nothing but nod as a ringing began to take place in her ears, its volume increasing to a deafening hum with each passing second. She faintly registered Hannah rubbing her back reassuringly, as her breath started to take place in fits. She wanted to heave. She wanted to smash something. She wanted to cry. Her eyes, however, had suddenly gone dry, along with her mouth, and the rest of her.

With as much strength as she could muster, she whispered – 'And Ron?'

'I don't know, love. Neville isn't allowed to disclose any personal information in his letters. We only got to know about Harry through Zabini's acquaintance at the Ministry. I really am sorry.'

Hermione nodded, and the ringing in her ears took up once again, as she saw Malfoy walk up to where they were sitting.

'Shall we go?' he asked, as he searched her face.

Hermione said nothing. She muttered out a hasty goodbye to Hannah, and before she knew it, they were out in the harsh illumination of the sun again.

They walked a little way, Malfoy at her side, when he slowed their pace down and said, without looking at her, 'Are you alright, Granger?'

'I –' she started, clenching her fists, nails pressing down painfully into her palms, at a loss for words. She couldn't bear to be outside, surrounded by those men, those Protectors for even a minute longer. 'Can we just go?' she somehow replied, and he complied, whisking them back to the strangely familiar confines of the Manor.

-X-X-X-

Draco didn't know what had transpired between the two women in the short span of those fifteen minutes, but it had been enough to impact her in some indescribably painful way. He had seen such a hollowed out look of shock and hurt only in the aftermath of the war, as people counted and identified bodies, and he had something of an inkling then as to what had been revealed to her.

He sighed as she bounded up the steps and went straight to her room as soon as they got to the Manor.

She had heard, then, of old Boy wonder.

Draco had despised Harry with all his might for the entirety of their time at Hogwarts, and although the dislike had ebbed to a begrudging respect and only mild dislike in their years after the war, he hadn't necessarily shed any tears at the news of his passing. He had, however, been anxious to not let Granger know when the news had reach him a couple weeks back. He didn't want to make her already bleak existence at the Manor even more horrifying by breaking the news that her best friend had been killed. She would know when she had to.

That decision had, undoubtedly, now come back to bite him in the arse. She would soon recover from the initial shock and turn on him for keeping it a secret.

The young Draco, he reflected, as he poured himself a glass of water at his desk, would have derived a most certain pleasure at breaking such harrowing news to one of his childhood nemeses. He had, however, matured a certain extent, and could now admit to himself in all honesty that the practice of calculated cruelty had just stopped making much sense to him. It was not, he assured himself, because he felt anything (other than pity) for the witch.

I know, alert the presses he thought.

So, he sat in his study, peering over letters and documents from work, as the clock in the room ticked on, awaiting a fiery response from the bushy-haired resident of his house.

-X-X-X-

A/N – I will never stop apologising for how erratic these uploads are. If you're still following along – I'm sorry, and I appreciate your patience.

Do let me know what you thought of this chapter!