Brand new chapter! I hope you like this one. We are finally leaving the 'setting' phase of the story, and getting down to the nitty-gritty of it.

Enjoy! xx


The Little Darkness Within You

Chapter 4: I fight for you.


Hermione barely had the time to step into the Minister's office, that she found herself engulfed in strong arms, and the deep rumbling of Kingsley's voice as he greeted her.

"Morning, Kings" she said, her voice muffled as it was pressed tightly against his chest. She pushed herself back and added with a smile: "Surely hope this isn't the way you greet all your staff?"

"You are hardly staff Hermione" he admonished as he motioned her to take a seat and took his own behind his massive hardwood desk, littered with papers, quills and unopened envelopes. It looked messy much like her own did, but if Hermione's desk after a long workday was anything to go by, she liked to call it organised mess, thank you very much.

Kingsley was dressed in his usual purple robes, looking younger than he had during the War, despite the weight and responsibility that came with becoming the Minister for Magic. Defeating Voldemort was the ultimate challenge, making everything that came after seeming like a walk in the park. It truly was a testament to how bad things were before, that a little bit of backlash here and there, some random disappearances as well as pushback to new reforms seemed to be the easiest thing to handle. For years during the War, people overanalysed everything that happened, trying to link it to Death Eaters and the rise of the cruellest wizard to ever walk the soil of Great Britain, leaving behind him a trail of blood and mangled bodies.

Hermione smiled as she took in Kingsley's appearance. He was in better shape than he used to be as an Auror, his robes clinging to his muscled body. His eyes twinkled with happiness, something she never thought would ever be possible for any of them as she spent months in a ratty tent whilst on the run. The end of the War was not the only thing to explain the Minister's newfound happiness. In fact, that happiness had a name, Isabella Sayre, née Fenwick. She was the youngest sister of former Order member Benjy Fenwick, who had been killed during the First Wizarding War. Her husband, an Irish Pure-Blood man who strongly opposed Voldemort's views and what his plans were for Britain, had taken an illegal Portkey to Hogwarts the second he heard on the Wireless that the opposing forces were gathered in the school of his childhood, ready to fight. Kailen Sayre died that night. Too soon, too young, only a year after marrying Isabella. Another life ruined, a future taken away, leaving behind a broken heart and the salty tang of tears.

Kingsley met Isabella at Kailen's funeral. The setting does not scream romance, and to be honest, it was the farthest thing in both of their minds then. As the newly appointed Minister, he had insisted on going to each and every funeral of the Fallen, offering his condolences to the families, swearing that not a single name will be forgotten, hailing the lost lives as Heroes. His open-door policy worked wonders in building this unique rapport with witches and wizards all over Britain and beyond, making him the most respected and appreciated Minister to have ever graced this very office. Anyone could set an appointment and be seen by the Minister himself to discuss their post-War issues and concerns with him.

Two years after the Battle that took away her husband's life, Isabella wandered into these halls, holding in her arms a little girl that was barely a couple of years old. She had been pregnant when Kailen had passed, leaving her to carry the burden of childbirth and motherhood on her own. Saoirse's big, blue, innocent eyes sucked Kingsley right in. He fell in love with her giggles as she hid behind curtains in a game of hide and seek, her feet still very obviously visible. He loved the freckles that adorned her face. He loved her enthralling, long and fictious stories that came from what he knew to be a brilliant and unique mind. He loved her strawberry blonde hair she had gotten from her mother. And he loved her mum. With a passion he never knew he could ever possess.

Hermione adored Isabella and Saoirse, they were good to Kingsley. They made him happy, and he returned that happiness ten-fold. If anyone deserved a happy ever after, it was the three of them. The War took away, but the War also gave. Like a very stubborn plant growing in the centre of a burnt down field.

"Merlin Hermione, have you been sleeping at all?" Kingsley asked, his brows furrowed as he finally took in her appearance.

And yup, here's the berating, Hermione thought. She won't deny it, she was thin again, not as bad as when she was on the run, but still not at a healthy weight despite her petite frame. The dark circles under her eyes were proof that she spent too much time working, and very little outside of that sleeping, no matter how much she tried to catch up on sleep on Sundays.

"I'm fine. Your letter mentio–"

"Why won't you take care of yourself Hermione?" Kingsley interrupted her; concern etched on his face. "Remember what I told you last year, if you don't take care of yourself, I will simply have to do it for you, and force you to take time off by banning you from the premises until I feel you can come back!"

She willed her temper not to flare at the prospect of no longer being allowed to come in to work when what she did was so important. Kingsley, as the minister, should know better than anyone that there was simply no time to saunter off on holidays when there was still so much work to be done.

"I'm fine Kings, truly. Can we skip this part and move on to the reason of my being here?"

He sighed deeply, looking at the ceiling in a 'why am I being bossed around when I'm the fucking Minister' sort of way.

"This conversation isn't over," he said as he searched for a letter on his messy desk, missing completely the way Hermione rolled her eyes so far back that only the whites would show. Finding what he was looking for, he handed Hermione the letter, setting his face in his hand as he rested his elbow on the chair's armrest.

Hermione opened the envelope quickly, taking out the thick parchment within. She snorted in a very unladylike manner when she looked at what was presented to her. The letter was entirely written with cut out words from newspapers and books, making it look ridiculously childish. It took away a lot from the content of the letter, that was obviously meant to be threatening.

Minister

This will be our last warning to you

End the rehabilitation programme now

Death Eaters belong in Azkaban

Hermione Granger is destroying our society

Put an end to this and she gets to live

Watch your backs

Concerned citizens

Hermione dropped the letter on the desk, her shoulders shaking in silent laughter. She shook her head, mirth present in her eyes.

"Well Kingsley… I sure am shaking," the apparent sarcasm lacing her words.

"I would be a very bad Minister if I did not take these threats seriously, Hermione. Especially when your name is mentioned, which never happened before."

"I'm not worried."

"Maybe you ought to be this time. I would hate myself if something happened to you and I've done nothing to protect you."

Hermione sighed again, feeling a headache beginning behind her eyes. She knew Kingsley meant well, and maybe she should be taking these threats seriously, but she could defend herself. People in the shadows have been holding secret vendettas against her for years. At this point, she felt that nothing she could do, one way or another, would appease everyone. If she stepped down from her Rehabilitation Programme, people would criticise her. If she packed up and left England to live out the rest of her days in another country, they would also find a way to follow her there and call her a coward.

She survived smear campaigns against her name since she was in her fourth year at Hogwarts – courtesy of one Rita Skeeter. She was used to people starting rumours about her, using any and all opportunities to drag her name through the mud. You can be hailed as The Golden Girl, the brains of the trio, the very reason Voldemort's defeat became a reality and not just a utopian dream, the impressively strong and smart witch, and still get your character judged on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Hermione held a constant position on page 4 of said newspaper, sometimes even getting a double or even a front page if she happened to smile to a waiter during a Ministry function. This constant scrutiny and duality of the press did wear her down, and she had hoped that she would have left the tabloids by now, ten years after the fact. Harry and Ron only ever appeared when it's about something positive. And even then, they manage to drop her name in it, as if she would be jealous that Ron's expecting a baby, or that Harry has gotten a promotion.

It was a load of dragon dung.

"Do we know who sent this?" she asked as she took out her wands and started drawing intricate patterns and runes over the paper, wanting to decipher the magical signature.

"No, we've ran all the tests, nothing came of it."

"Huh," Hermione said as she raised her eyebrows, surprised by what the reading came back with. "The words weren't sticked with a charm, they used muggle glue. At least they were smart enough to try and hide that. Did it come through owl post?"

"No, it was deposited on my secretary's desk last Friday, we are thankful it wasn't cursed."

"Well," she said as she pocketed her wand. "Probably came from someone who knows a fair bit about muggles or has lived amongst them to know to use glue and not a Sticking Charm."

"My main concern is your safety, Hermione. We will find and catch whoever sent that, but until then I want you to lay low."

"I won't lay low," she huffed, offended that her friend would suggest such a thing.

"We don't know who sent this, we don't know how many of them there are, neither do we know how dangerous they can be. Until we have a solid lead, please just…"

"I won't, and I don't care. Anything else you wanted to discuss today or am I free to go back to my work?"

"Uhhhhgg you're so bloody infuriating Hermione!" he said as he dabbed the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead with his handkerchief.

Hermione smiled, looking like the Kneazle that ate the cream, seemingly highly amused at Kingsley's distress with her unbearably stubborn self.

It was no use trying to convince Kingsley that everything would be okay, that she felt that the threats were just that, threats, and that nothing would happen to her. And even if it did, she had proved herself to be not only very proficient with a wand but could also give a tongue-lashing that could make the Master of quippy remarks – Severus Snape – very proud, if such an emotion was ever present in his slim repertoire.

Their back and forth continued for the better part of an hour, until Hermione exasperatedly threw her hands in the air.

"Alright Kingsley, if anything weird happens to me I will make sure to notify you. I put my limit at having an Auror following me everywhere, I do need my own privacy after all, and would rather not take a gamble on whether or not said Auror would be reporting my every move to the Daily Prophet."

He seemed pleased by the compromise, but if Hermione knew anything, it was that Kingsley was just as stubborn as she was, and he will probably not drop the subject for long.

"Now that we are done talking about my supposed threats, there's actually something I'd like to talk about with you," she said with a mischievous smile that to him meant that she had a plan.

Hermione discussed the results from the Healer's analysis on the semi-freed former Death Eaters, highlighting the need for them to be eased back into society, and able to meet people outside of their original circles so to better integrate and show that they were harmless.

And thus, the idea of organising a ball for all of them was born. The Minister initially refused, waving the letter probably put together by a literal child in front of her, saying it was reckless and could be dangerous especially if she attended. After yet another bout of verbal sparring where she reminded him that these people were still humans and had earned the right to be treated as such, he finally bent to her will, but still refused she come.

"If I don't go, what would people think Kingsley? You can't believe for one second that people would not be sceptical if the person behind all of this did not even show up? They will think I am scared of the Death Eaters!"

Strands of frizzy hair had escaped the high bun she wrestled her hair in that morning, making her look positively insane. Her eyes were narrowed to slits on her friend, cheeks red from the shouting match. She kept her eyes trained on Kingsley, who yet again sighed deeply, rubbing his face with his hand as if willing himself to stand his ground. Except he never did. He always bowed to her wishes, especially when she got all twitchy with her wand-arm and started shouting. Hermione smiled internally knowing that she had won yet again.

"Alright, okay, fine. When do you want this ball to happen?"

"I was thinking next month, end of June, as I would count it as a major faux-pas to have it any sooner, what with the anniversary just passing."

And so it was decided. Hermione added yet another thing to her long and ever evolving list of responsibilities, but she felt great about this. This was a good thing to do for her programme, and everyone and their mum will be invited. The risk was always that things would get out of hands, but Kingsley had assured her that security would be tight, with only Aurors allowed to carry wands inside.

She walked to the work canteen as the clock deep in the bowels of the Ministry chimed twelve, she had just spent half her day in Kings' office making him bend to her will, and she was currently famished. She ate a sandwich in a park outside the Ministry, enjoying the rare, nice weather. Her mind was whirring as she began planning the ball in her head, starting with the most important bit, settling on a date for the event. June would be a good time, before everyone got super busy with kids returning home from school, or going away on holidays abroad. The weather could still be unpredictable then, but they could find a venue where they could relocate indoors if needed. That's when the realisation struck her. She had put herself in a situation where the issue she was now faced with was finding a date. She was hardly involved with anyone and hasn't been in a while. She knew no one that could fill the shoes of being her escort for such a big event. Maybe she could do away with the backward and misogynistic belief that it would look 'sad' if she showed up alone, and just own it. Her mind flitted to the anonymous pen pal she had gotten to know over the weekend and wondered if he would be keen to accompany her. The thought sent butterflies straight to her stomach as she went back inside, already mourning the sunshine.

She never asked anyone on a date before. Viktor Krum was the one who approached her and asked her to be his escort to the Yule Ball. Even after her messy breakup with Ron and the ephemeral relationships that followed, she was always asked, she never did do the asking.

She walked into her office, finding two notes from the very man that was currently haunting her thoughts, waiting for her. She settled on her chair behind her desk to read the first one.

Kitten,

I'll never be anything but amazed by how Muggles navigate this world without magic. You're telling me, they can Floo call without having to sit uncomfortably in front of a chimney? They can send letters without waiting for a response from an owl? I'm guessing this In-and-Out is a lot like what you have described, though if I'm understanding the Muggle ways correctly, no paper or ink is involved. Maybe I should get a Muggle phone, wouldn't that be great? I would have no one to speak to, though, as you might be the only person I… know… that uses one. Will you teach me?

I just don't think I can wrap my head around the fact that you can hear and see a person that is not next to you! It's bloody brilliant is what it is, and I'm pretty sure there is Magic involved. Maybe not the same as ours, but definitely something there that is not readily available in nature.

Consider my mind blown.

How's work going?

Yours,

Handsome

Hermione smiled widely. It was not every day that wizards have shown interest in anything that had to do with Muggles, and she definitely did not expect it from someone she strongly believed came from a Pure-Blood background where anything that's not made by or for wizards would have been dismissed and frowned upon. Or at least, blood status aside, he was not someone who was introduced to the Muggle world as a child.

She picked up the second note and her stomach did a summersault that threatened to expel the dry sandwich she just ate.

This… she never expected to read.


Thanks for reading! Any guesses on what that second note might say? ;-)