Chapter Fourteen:
Complex (demo) by Katie Gregson-MacLeod
January 10th, 2000
"You're never going to guess what's in the papers," Ginny's voice permeates her dream that Hermione fights to wake from.
"The paper?" she asks, Ginny is already on the end of the bed as she sits up. Hermione is still in the same clothes from yesterday, too exhausted to change when she returned from the manor. After a quick Scourgify to clean the blood, she climbed right into bed.
When she set foot into Grimmauld Place, Ginny and Harry were waiting for her in the living room. The second she crossed the threshold Ginny was up, scanning Hermione and recoiling at the sight of blood on her hands.
"I can't believe Malfoy's Patronus is a peacock." Ginny was trying to lighten the mood. Hermione collapsed onto the couch, filling them in on everything that had happened.
Harry was sceptical at first, worrying that Malfoy was skewing the truth, but he came around after she told him about the look on Narcissa's face. The look in her eyes as she crouched in front of her, the same grey eyes as Malfoy.
"She's terrified for him, Harry. You can't fake the worry a mother has for her son." He didn't push back after that and Hermione climbed the stairs to her bedroom, too exhausted to think of anything else but sleep.
"Hermione, people think you were on a date last night." Ginny holds open the centrefold of the Daily Prophet and Hermione gasps. Malfoy had strategically placed himself facing away from the window, so when she sat down the tabloids would only get a photo of her.
She scans the image, looking at herself moving subtly in the photo. Her eyes are trained on him and she wonders if this is what she looks like when she stares at Ron. She wonders if she looks that fiery, like he's drawing her in, enticing her.
The journalist, if you could even call them that, makes a snide remark in the article about how she doesn't have her ring on.
"What are they on about my ring? I don't even have a ring, Ron never gave me a ring. Now I'm suddenly engaged?" Hermione tosses the paper angrily, "Don't they have something better to report on! There are innocent people being maimed!"
She gets out of bed angrily, crossing to the closet and ripping it open.
"What are you going to tell Ron?" Ginny asks and Hermione freezes. She's been so caught up with what was going on last night. Bile rises from her gut as her teeth clench.
"That I'm angry at him. He said he would be there for me and he wasn't," she says shortly.
"You know Ron is going to have seen the papers. Are you going to tell him about Malfoy?" Hermione lets out a long breath, standing in front of her closet and looking at all of the clothing.
"No. No, I'm not," is all she says.
"Ms. Granger! Ms. Granger! Who were you with last night?" Hermione pushes past the crowd of reporters, mumbling as she goes, trying to cross the atrium with the swarm around her.
"No comment, please…no comment, let me through…" Her heart pounds as flashes go off, quills scribble on parchment and the cacophony of voices bouncing from the high ceilings get louder.
"She said no comment, now please step aside." The throng parts and to her great relief Harry stands on the other side. He reaches for her hand, pulling her from the pack of reporters and helping her to the lifts.
Once inside it's just the two of them. She tries to steady her breathing, taking big gulps of air to slow her racing heart. Her hand covers her face for a moment, as she focuses on the quiet.
"Thanks," she whispers, uncovering her face and Harry shoots her a sideways look.
"Don't thank me yet. Ron is waiting for you at your desk." He registers her look of confusion and elaborates. "Connor sent me an inter departmental plane this morning, warning me. It was actually his idea to go get you." A wave of relief washes over her, thankful for Connor's quick thinking.
Ron, who was supposed to be there for her when she needed it. Not save her, but at least be there when she called. There's a bitter taste in her mouth when she thinks of his name. Her heart rate threatens to climb once more, ribs aching as she holds her breath.
They exit the lifts together to Connor's panicked face behind his desk.
"Hermione…" he whispers, blue eyes looking around, standing in alarm.
"I know, Harry's already told me. Thank you Connor, you did the right thing," She says reassuringly and the boy, who's probably the same age as her, looks relieved. She finds it hard to relate to people her age, but a war will do that.
Harry gives her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before disappearing into the hallway.
She can see Ron standing in her cubicle, the partition barely coming to his forehead. Her palms sweat as she approaches. She doesn't know if she's angry or disappointed. His choice to come to her work of all places.
"'Mione," he says her name like it's the answer to a prayer. She stands stiffly as he hugs her, no longer disappointed or sad at his response, or lack thereof. Anger is seeping out of her pores.
"You didn't come," she says. He looks shocked, his face contorting in bewilderment. "I called and you didn't come."
"But Harry was there, and Ginny went too?" She hates that he looks confused.
"And you weren't. 'We're here for you' means we, not just Ginny and Harry, we. All of us. My friends," Her tone is strangely even, cold. She wonders if this is the switch Malfoy felt, when he noticed the people closest to him were pulling away.
"Alright, I messed up, but you seem to be fine. You even apparently went on a date last night," he bites back and she doesn't even flinch. Of course he would be petty enough to think what The Prophet says is true.
"So you're going to believe what the papers say over your own girlfriend?"
"I don't know who to believe anymore."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you don't care! I come home to see you and it's like I don't exist. You don't listen to what I have to say, what I'm excited about, what I'm doing—"
"You're not innocent either when it comes to that. What do I do, Ronald? What is my job?" Hermione cuts in and watches as he opens his mouth, leaving it there for a moment before closing it, "Exactly."
"Where was I, this past week? What was I doing?" He tries, crossing his arms and leaning against her desk. It's ironic, he's right in front of a newspaper clipping of the four of them at the New Year's party. Their faces smile back at her as she scowls at him.
"You were in Ireland. The Cannons were knocked out of the tournament on Monday, but you stayed…even though I sent you an SOS, you stayed." He blows air out of his nose, turning away, avoiding her gaze.
"You're here, aren't you? You've made it into work, because your job, your put-together image is more important than your mental well-being," he spits. He's right, partially right. Her job is so tied to her self-worth.
The promotion she's been trying so hard to get, the one she's technically an expert in but has only been shortlisted for an interview for. So much of her confidence hangs in the balance of being able to prove that she can do this. Her need to prove that she doesn't need anyone. She can do it all on her own. All alone.
"Leave." She schools her expression, careful boredom and venom.
"'Mione, I—"
"Leave. Now." He tries to touch her arm, caress it but she pulls away, closing her eyes tightly. "I SAID LEAVE," she shouts. The office quiets, the scratching of quills stops, the muttering of notes ceases.
She can hear him shuffle around her, eyes still closed because if she opens them she's afraid she might give in. Afraid she won't be able to hold her ground, that she'll fall back into complacency.
Hermione opens her eyes, clearing the tears that have gathered with the backs of her hands before collapsing into her chair. She feels weighted with exhaustion, defeated and disappointed.
The noise of the office slowly starts up again, everyone no longer gawking at the row between two thirds of the golden trio. She pulls her chair into the desk to focus on her list of things to do today.
"Uhm…Hermione…Beatrice would like to see you." Connor's timid voice comes from behind her and she has to stop herself from rolling her eyes.
Oh no.
Hermione slinks into Beatrice's office, her previous anger dissipating into shame. The grey walls offer her no comfort.
Beatrice sits behind her desk, hands steepled in front of her mouth and she's reminded of Malfoy with his calm cool demeanour. She wonders if Beatrice was in Slytherin.
"Please sit." Hermione does as she's told, rolling her shoulders back and trying to remain calm. "Quite the show out there." She motions to the open door to the rest of the office.
Hermione remains silent, not knowing where this conversation is going.
"I cannot even begin to fathom what it is like being you." This takes her by surprise and she knows it's written all over her face. "The pressure of who you are, going through a war and now—" Beatrice clears her throat, "—boy troubles."
She stands, coming around the side of her desk and levelling Hermione with a stare before leaning back. For all the terror Beatrice has caused, she runs a tight ship, expects everyone to have a keen eye for detail and takes note of everyone's wellbeing.
Perfect for the job, Hermione knows that Beatrice started in the same position she now holds, an evidence clerk who moved all the way up and now runs the entire department.
"Is this really what you want?" Her question catches Hermione off guard.
"What?" she asks, rather impolitely.
"Do you really want to work in this department? I know you're shortlisted for the interview for muggle laws, but is that really what you want?" Hermione thinks for a moment, she honestly doesn't know.
She bites her bottom lip, fiddling with her bracelet before catching herself. At the time that's where she felt she needed to be. Fighting for the muggle-borns who are forgotten or not set up for success. For those who are thrown into this new world with no safety net, ostracised from their own families.
The laws within the wizarding world seemed to be her enemy, but now she doesn't know. Malfoy's terrified face flashes before her eyes.
How could they do that, how could the law be so cruel and unforgiving?
"Your interview for the promotion is next Thursday." Hermione does her best to subdue her shocked expression, "I know you probably won't take my advice… I think you should take the day off, enjoy yourself. Do something for you."
Hermione, rendered speechless by the kindness bestowed upon her, leaves the office without saying a word. She manages to get out of the ministry without anyone casting another glance at her.
It's cold when she exits, the January air biting her exposed skin as she walks down the streets of London. She wanders, her feet taking her on a familiar path as she turns into the café she's been frequenting.
They have her favourite plain scones with strawberry jam and she orders a cup of tea along with it. She takes a seat by the window and pulls her book out of her bag.
She's partway through a riveting chapter when something catches her eye. Peeking over the top of her book, she can see a familiar sight.
Draco Malfoy stands in the door of the coffee shop and he's staring straight at her.