The very next day...
Hermione was thoroughly frazzled. She had been running around frantically since six o'clock this morning, on nothing but coffee to keep her going. She'd had an awful night's sleep, fraught with nightmares. Nightmares she had hoped would begin to settle by now.
She had received an owl this morning, notifying her that The Minister for Magic required her to attend a meeting this afternoon. It had thrown her entire day out of whack.
Firstly, she received this letter during her morning shower. Damn bird had scared the life out of her. Honestly! Tapping on the door of the shower like that instead of the window... Clearly Ministry owls aren't taught any sort of manners! she thought.
By the time she had scanned through the pompous summons, she had made herself late for work.
Frustrated, she threw on a pair of jogging bottoms and a plain, white t-shirt (which she would later discover she had put on inside out in her haste), and donned some mismatched socks and an old pair of pumps. She grabbed her bag and jacket as she left her flat at a breakneck pace.
She was very disappointed that she had no time to stop by the little café she frequented for her breakfast as she flew by it, glancing forlornly over her shoulder as the smell of fresh croissants filled her nostrils.
Fortunately for her, there was no one waiting outside when she finally arrived to open up. Unfortunately for her, however, her assistant had called in with a family emergency that morning and couldn't make it in, leaving Hermione all alone to see in a huge shipment of new books that had to be alphebetised and shelved, thus giving her no way of getting a lunch break either.
By the time five o'clock rolled around, Hermione was exhausted, ravenous and fed up with the day. All she wanted to do was go home and collapse on her sofa and eat a large helping of something sweet in front of her TV.
But, of course, she could not. Pulling the shutters down on her little bookshop and securing the padlock, she wandered in the opposite direction of her usual route home and into a deserted alleyway. Luckily, the autumn evening gave her the ability to remain unseen as she pulled her wand from her sleeve and apparated to the Ministry's visitor entrance.
.
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She sat on the opposite side of the desk belonging to The Minister for Magic with her mouth gaping like a fish, utterly gobsmacked at the words that had just left his mouth. She could feel her blood bubbling under her skin as the weight of his words filled her disbelieving ears.
"No" she said sharply. "No, absolutely not. I refuse."
"Miss Granger, you cannot refuse and you know it," Kingsley replied firmly. "You signed a contract, and that contract technically makes you an employee of The Ministry of Magic, no matter how much you chose to disassociate yourself with the Wizarding world. You cannot back out of an assignment we give you, simply because you do not like-"
"It's not about disliking someone!" she exclaimed indignantly. "We have a history... H-he practically... tortured me and my friends in school! He hates me... I hate him!"
"Then why, may I ask, did you defend-"
"Oh don't even go down that road Kingsley!" she spat, crossing her arms and sending him a vicious glare.
"It's Minister Shacklebolt, Miss Granger, and I am merely asking because if you have such a history then why would you bother-"
Hermione ignored his protests and jumped to her feet, angrily flinging her chair backwards. Her eyes were ablaze with anger and her body tensed at the fire licking through her veins.
"I defended him because it was the right thing to do! His family have been dragged through the mud in the pages of The Prophet now for weeks since the war ended. The publicity this case has received was almost as disgustingly bigoted as the regime under Lord Voldemort! Whilst I never stood up for his disgusting father, it does not mean that I would lump him into the same category as that pig-ignorant racist!" She leant across the desk, trying to close the distance between her face and The Minister's in order to really drive home her point.
"And Harry came to the defense of his mother, because, again, it was only right! Neither of them should have been forced to suffer the way they did under the hand of Voldemort, but they played the hand they were dealt, as anyone else would have. But let's be perfectly honest here..." she pushed herself forcefully away from the desk, squaring her shoulders and clenching her fists, practically breathing fire at Kingsley.
"Your lot weren't exactly trying to make it any easier for him in that courtroom! No-one wanted to look past extenuating circumstances, nobody on that committee even tried to understand or imagine how awful living that way must have been. Far be it for people to expect you to uphold a fair and unbiased criminal trial, totally unlike your most recent predecessors, none of whom had any qualms about punishing people for nothing more than being born on the wrong side!"
Kingsley surveyed her intently for a moment, absorbing her words carefully as he watched her panting out angry breaths through her clenched teeth. After a short while, he gestured for her to take a seat again and she did so, slowly and carefully, lowering her head and attempting to control her breathing, uncurling her clenched fists in the process.
Kingsley leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingertips together. He sighed deeply before addressing her calmly.
"Miss Granger, you are, of course, completely right in you assessment."
She snapped her head up to lock her eyes on The Minister's face, taken aback by his confession.
"There are many people that are out for blood, largely due to the losses they experienced during the war," he continued "and many of those same people were hoping for a very different outcome. Mr. Potter and yourself showing up in court yesterday was a shock for many, and a wake-up call for a few that believed there could be no doubt about Mr. Malfoy's guilt. Nobody has yet come to the defense of a convicted Death Eater, especially not two-thirds of The Golden Trio, and I don't think anyone had any alternative notions that before you both interrupted, he would be receiving a guilty verdict."
She opened her mouth to protest again but Kingsley held up a hand, effectively silencing her.
"Nonetheless, you both provided a great deal of evidence to the contrary and I strongly believed this is what initially swayed the vote. I chose a sentence that I thought would offer the best chance for him to reinvent his character. Sending a child to Azkaban would have been a serious misstep. It is not a message we should be sending to the community, that we punish barely-legal wizards and witches with an almost life-long prison sentence. It is also not something that I wished to carry with me into the start of my term as Minister... That, and the evidence provided by yourself and Mr. Potter, seemed to me at least, to be that of truth, rather than a mere attempt at playing the heroes, as so eloquently put by The Daily Prophet."
Hermione averted her gaze to her lap, her cheeks heating at the idea that people believed she would do something so pretentious.
"Despite all of that, I'm afraid that when you agreed to volunteer to help as part of the Reform program, you signed a magically binding contract, effectively bidding you to do anything we deem within a reasonable arrangement. The plans have been enacted and there is nothing you, nor I can do to change it."
Hermione sat quietly seething, her fingernails digging grooves into her palms as she absorbed Kingsley's words. She couldn't believe she had gotten herself into such a ridiculous situation! She did not realise that volunteering for The Reform for Muggle Empathy program would entail... this! She assumed it would be more along the lines of attending meetings, brainstorming ideas on reform or proofreading some papers.
"A ministry official will be escorting Mr. Malfoy to your property tomorrow morning at nine sharp. We will send someone to your home this evening to altar your rooms and place the appropriate wards. I shall contact you via owl, requiring you to meet with me for regular updates and progress reports."
She remained perfectly still and staring, tears beginning to collect at the corners of her eyes.
"I'm sorry Hermione." said Kingsley sincerely. "That's my final word."
Hermione did not deign to answer as she stood slowly and nodded, blinking away the tears burning her eyes, collecting her bag from the floor and stalking out of his office towards the floo network.
.
.
When Hermione arrived home, she dumped her bag on the floor by her door, not even bothering to remove her shoes as she threw herself onto her sofa. She let out a strangled cry and allowed a few tears to slip past her lashes. After a fifteen minute round of silent crying, she sat up, taking a deep breath as she fingered the sodden strands of her hair from her cheeks.
Wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket, she collected her thoughts and gave herself a reassuring peptalk.
"You can do this Hermione. It's just one year and you won't even be here most of the time. You'll have your wand... you survived a war... you can survive this..."
She trailed off as she heard a knock on the door of her flat. Rising from her sofa, she dragged her feet to the door to allow the invading Ministry official in to charm away at the insides of her once isolated reprieve.
.
.
Earlier that same day...
Draco stood in the vestibule of Malfoy Manor the afternoon after his hearing, freshly showered and changed into some comfortable grey slacks and a black tee, he scanned the parchment he held in his hand that he had just received from the Ministry official stood at his front door.
Why they didn't send it via owl, he didn't know. He supposed it was to ensure that he actually read the damned thing. He had felt much better having showered, though that familiar weariness was beginning to creep back into his bones with every word he perused. The Ministry official huffed every few minutes, clearly indicating his impatience at the time Draco was taking to read over the letter.
Draco sent him his signature Malfoy scowl over the top of the parchment, causing the man to visibly clamp his lip shut and avert his eyes. He flexed the letter in his hands, reading it over for the third time.
.
FAO: Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy
The Wizengamot has explained to the convicted, in ordinary language, the sentencing received under Chief Warlock and Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt at Courtroom 10 on 15 OCTOBER, 1998 at precisely 3.43pm.
Below is a thorough outline of the sentencing, detailing the specifications required of the convicted to undertake:
The convicted (MR D L MALFOY) will be required to present himself at 67 HARLEY STEET, GREATER MARYLEBONE, LONDON at approximately 9am on 17 OCTOBER, 1998.
Permission to bring clothing has been accepted in this case but it is not permissable to bring personal effects.
The convicted will be required to submit any unauthorised belongings to the Ministry official acting as an escort. A full-body search will be mandatory.
The sum of 5 million galleons has been extracted from the account named: MALFOY INDUSTRIES on date 15 OCTOBER, 1998 and transferred to Ministry holdings.
The Auror Office seized Mr D L Malfoy's wand on 15 OCTOBER, 1998: one HAWTHORN wood, UNICORN HAIR core, 10 inches.
This will be returned to the aforementioned upon completion of sentencing.
The convicted shall remain at the above address for ONE YEAR (365 days) starting the date of arrival at the specified property and he shall not be permitted to leave under any circumstance.
Any questions may be submitted in writing to the Auror Office.
Panos Proudfoot, Senior Auror
Department of Magical Law Enforcement
.
Draco scrunched the parchment in his hand. He had less than a day to pack up his things and head to a random settlement in some back-alley part of London, with absolutely no magic and no kinds of personal keepsakes. He grit his teeth and scoffed loudly, anger beginning to set in, startling the Ministry employee who turned to face him.
"You understand the letter, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco lifted an eyebrow, a sneer gracing his aristocratic face "Do I look like an idiot to you?" he snapped.
"N-no! No sir, I-I-"
"Yes, I understood the letter, no matter how ridiculously it was articulated. Was there anything else?"
"No sir, I was just told to make sure-"
"That I can read English apparently." Draco finished for him. "Leave then. Evidently, I have some packing to do."
He made a show of slamming the door in the man's face before he threw the balled up parchment to the floor. He made a low growling sound in his throat and began his ascent to his quarters to pack a bag, and to drink his father's liquor cabinet dry.
Not truly knowing what tomorrow would bring, there was no question in Draco's mind that tonight would be another sleepless one.
