June 17, 2002
Hermione took a long sip from the coffee she gripped. She had just entered the offices for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She began toward her cubicle in the devision that dealt with petty breaches of magical law and managing offenses.
Nodding the usual greetings to fixtures in the office, she cocked a questioning brow at the perpetually disheveled black hair of her best friend shooting toward her.
"Good morning, Harry," Hermione said, her voice a warm tone. Harry flashed her his lopsided grin and pulled the books out of her arms, so she didn't have to balance the coffee anymore. "Thanks," she muttered with a flush of gratitude.
"No problem, you know we have research here right? You don't have to collect random books from god knows where and lug them into your office like a little knowledge gremlin." Harry ribbed her. She took no offense, as it was the nature of their relationship. Harry was well and truly her brother, that meant sometimes they took the piss out of one another.
"You know, there are these interesting little devices, they help you manage your hair, what are they called again?" Hermione rolled her eyes and tapped her chin in faux introspection. "Ah, yes, hairbrushes."
Harry nudged her with his shoulder and snorted out of his nose, "Rich coming from a woman who has cultivated quite the bird's-" Harry barked a laugh and then looked at Hermione pointedly, "You know what, never mind, my news is too exciting for all this banter. We both have enough material on one another for about thirty stand up routines."
Hermione giggled unattractively. Her head snapped up to his once she realized what he said, "Wait, news?"
"Ah, if I'd known that all it took was having a bit of knowledge you don't to get you to drop a subject, I could have saved myself approximately ten years of self-righteous lecturing." Harry sped ahead of her in order to avoid the inevitable swat angled at his gut.
"Harry, matter at hand," Hermione's voice was dripping with exasperation as she followed Harry past her cubicle, "news?"
Hermione assumed Harry's affirmation from the fluff on his head bouncing, "Yes, news. I am going to need to take a meeting with you in my office posthaste." Harry put on his 'administrative auror voice', which was more of a mockery of an early nineteen hundreds radio announcer.
"Ah, I see Mr. Potter, and may I inquire about the purpose of such a meeting?" Hermione met his theatrical proclamation with her own patented 'transatlantic office voice'.
Harry glanced over his shoulder as they approached his office, "A promotion, Saoirse MacLin is already in my office." Harry paused for a moment just outside his closed door. Hermione nearly ran into him with the abruptness of his pause. He scoured Hermione with his eyes and seemed to be giving her time to process his news.
"Well, let's not keep the Head Auror waiting," she shrugged and pushed into his office, holding the door open for him. Saoirse, a witch in her late 40s rose to prominence in the ministry after the fall of Voldemort. She sat in a chair beside Harry's at his desk, leaving another open for Hermione to sit opposite them.
Harry's office was unlike the others in the department. Other administrative aurors had professional and well cultivated offices. Perhaps a single sentimental item that disrupted the aesthetic. Harry's office looked as though Grimmauld place had vomited through the Floo.
Drawings from, now two year old, James donned the walls, charmed pictures of him and Ginny, Hermione and Ron, sat strewn about any surface. A scarf and hat, definitely knit by Molly, hung from a hook by the door, despite it being early summer. A snitch in a glass case sat on the edge of his desk along with his medal from his Order of Merlin, First Class. Hermione's was on her bookshelf in her flat. Ron lost his every other week among experiments for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, which he ran alongside George after Fred passed.
"Good Morning, Auror MacLin," Hermione greeted respectfully with a bow of her head as she pulled out the chair at the desk.
"Morning, Hermione, please I've asked you to call me Saoirse," she said. Saoirse had a kind disposition but she was wickedly quick with spells and weighed issues with a strong moral compass.
Her ability to remain composed was what got her promoted. Her competition was a younger man who had a nasty temper and was much too susceptible to unethical treatment of prisoners or suspected persons.
"Saoirse," Hermione acknowledged personably, "to what do I owe the pleasure?" Harry rolled his eyes over Saoirse's head at Hermione's compulsion to please authority, as he deposited Hermione's books on the desk and took his seat.
"Well, I hope to offer you a promotion." The older woman smiled warmly. Hermione faked surprise and Harry winked at her.
"I was incredibly impressed by your work on the muggle education and Muggleborn integration program. Your drive and aptitude for leading, not to mention your ability to create a department from scratch, will be valuable on the new branch of the DMLE I have already been given the go-ahead to create." Saoirse tapped a folder that sat before her on the desk.
"This folder contains the basics of the office," she slid it to Hermione, who promptly opened it and began scanning the documents, "It will be called 'The Office of Magical Rehabilitation and Probation' and will encompass programs and measures to help rehabilitate death eaters whose sentences are ending and will enter probation, as well as other probationary sentences, and those ending sentences in Azkaban."
Hermione's interest shot through the ceiling. She'd always thought it was inhumane to expect prisoners to acclimate straight into normal life again, as well as the mental toll that Azkaban would have taken on them.
"What kinds of measures and programs?" Hermione asked while still leafing through the documents before her.
Saoirse wore a triumphant look and indulged her, "There are some things that are predetermined and must remain a part of the program, but the rest could be decided by you, should you accept."
"There will be a mandatory period of therapy, one year, in which they must attend an appointment every week, without fail. There will also be a career outreach program, where we will collect representatives from different departments in the ministry, as well as any private businesses that wish to participate, to open potential internships or jobs to those in rehabilitation."
"Other than those two items, we hoped you would flesh out the program and build a staff. Mr. Potter and myself each had you on our lists of potential directors and you were the only common individual. I truthfully have no qualms about your ability to run such a program, and Potter was insistent that you were the only logical choice."
Hermione stilled at this new fact, feeling both flattered and overwhelmed. This position would allow her to make a difference in people's lives, to influence the wizarding world for the better. She glanced at Harry in questioning but he only gave her a look of fierce pride and certainty. That was all she needed.
"I would like to accept." She spoke decidedly and set aside the folder to engage Saoirse and Harry with her full attention. Harry smiled almost maniacally and then winced when Saoirse held up a single finger.
"I must warn you, Hermione, this is a co-director position, you would share it with another bright individual with a unique perspective on the matter." Hermione cocked her head at Saoirse. Discomfort settled in her gut at the uncertainty that breezed across both Harry and Saoirse's faces.
"Draco Malfoy is our other individual." She stated cautiously.
Her blood thrummed in her ears. Memories flitted across her mind. Expensive carpet pulling at her skin as she convulsed under the cruciatus curse. The blinding pain that made her grind her teeth so hard they chipped. The cursed word still etched into her skin that felt as though acid flowed in her veins beneath it. A flash of blond hair as the familiar face turned away in disgust. Helplessness.
"He has expressed interest in the position, but we did not want to make it permanent before we met with you. I understand that there are extenuating circumstances of a personal variety and do not wish to bring you harm through this partnership. We still wish to offer you the job, should Draco Malfoy be unacceptable to work with, we can work on finding a replacement." Hermione considered Saoirse's deliberately delicate verbiage. She was leaving the decision up to Hermione.
Draco was not a horribly unexpected choice, he was a reformed death eater and Hermione had known all through school of his intellect, though it seemed absent in the unimaginative hateful rhetoric he so often doled out on muggleborn students at school. She considered her options, but felt uncomfortable denying someone of a job.
If Harry, a man who she trusted implicitly, thought the pairing would be alright and endorsed Malfoy as a partner, Hermione could respect that choice.
"I accept with no changes to my co-director. I will admit it is likely to be a difficult pairing. There is no love lost between Malfoy and I. I am a professional, however, and will of course place my personal grievances aside." Hermoine's words were meticulously flat, she tried to maintain as much professionalism as possible.
Harry's rigid posture deflated in relief and Saoirse gave her a tight smile and nod, "In that case, I will alert Mr. Malfoy of your decision and offer him the opposite position. I would like you to move to your new office immediately and start work on this project today, Mr. Troulo will be taking over your old position so please advise him of anything he may need to know." Soairse rose and extended her arm over the desk, Hermione gripped it and shook.
"Thank you for this opportunity, I will not let you down." Hermione's stare was as intent as her grip firm.
Saoirse's eyes scanned her face, "No, I can't imagine that you would. Harry will be here to help with anything you need."
The moment the head auror left the office, Harry shot out of his seat and around the desk. Hermione stood to meet him in a bone crushing hug. His glasses poked uncomfortably at her cheek and she could hear him spitting out some of her hair that got in his mouth. Age couldn't buy him grace with all the money in the world.
"Thank you so much Harry," Hermione pulled back and gripped his shoulders, "it means a lot that you have so much faith in me." Harry grinned and smacked her hands off of his arms so he could lead her to the door.
"Sincerity is gross, you were the best choice," Harry's cheeks were bright pink and he was looking bashful, "besides, I did sentence you to work with Malfoy. So don't thank me too swiftly." He smirked and signaled for her to follow as he left the office.
"Yeah," she muttered, "I wonder how that'll go." Hermione Granger had an aptitude for problem solving, aside from her own. Where her own person was involved, Hermione was lost. Her anxiety often clouded her ability to formulate outcomes to social situations. Draco Malfoy would be a problem for which she'd be blind and vulnerable, that was not a realm Hermione was particularly fond of.
"Before you worry too much, I can show you your office," Harry pulled her by her elbow and broke her internal panic. They walked through the office and came upon a hallway Hermione did not recognize.
"I know, this is going to be a whole devision of the DMLE, you were going to need your own wing so they expanded. I will never quite get over the shock of magic doing complex jobs in short amounts of time, the construction began last week and finished yesterday." Harry explained, having recognized the familiar look of cogs grinding in Hermione's mind.
"Agreed." She chuckled. Construction was grueling labor for muggles, all wizards had to do was lift a wand.
She noticed the empty cubicles and smaller offices that lined the space, but Harry led her to a corner office. The moment they approached the door, the plaque displayed the engraved letters of her name. She smiled.
The office itself was spacious, windows lined the wall and two desks sat, forming an L at the intersection. She whipped her head back to Harry and he shrugged sheepishly.
"You are a co-director, with each of you being the head of the department you will need to have very open communication. We decided a shared office would be most beneficial." Though Harry wore the face of his younger self prepared for a royal tongue lashing from his bright best friend, his voice was final and authoritative.
Hermione tasted metal, her nose scrunched in distaste. She swallowed the unsavory feelings and faced her best friend with her patented Gryffindor courage.
Bellatrix Lestrange had not broken her. The war had not broken her. Draco Malfoy would certainly not be the one to break her.
Draco sat in the spacious living room of his flat reading a book on potions. Potions was always his favorite subject, it was a soothing habit of his to drift into the study.
His Floo came to life suddenly, but not startlingly. He'd been informed of the meeting Auror MacLin had slated with Hermione Granger this morning, as well as the fact that she was one of their top choices. They hadn't explicitly told him they were offering her the job, but the caution with which they warned him that if they offered him the job, she may be his co-head, made it clear.
"Mr. Malfoy, are you there." Auror MacLin's voice came through as her head appeared in the flames.
He stood and came before the fire, "I am, Auror MacLin." He stated.
"Mr. Malfoy, you may call me Saoirse," she paused to gauge his response.
"Then you may call me Draco," his words were stilted, but not rude.
"Very well, Draco, I call with an offer. Miss Granger has accepted our offer and is aware of your involvement as her potential co-head. Would you like to accept at this time?" Her decision was not unexpected, but glancing at the clock, he noticed it hadn't taken Granger long to accept. Even with his involvement.
"I accept, Saoirse. When should I come in to begin working?" Draco's voice betrayed no emotion, just as his mother and father taught. If people can infer your thoughts, you are ineffective at controlling your own narrative.
"Tomorrow morning if possible?" Though it was a statement, the lilt at the end informed Draco of the question.
"Tomorrow then, thank you for the position," Draco made sure to express his gratitude. Dismissing thanks for something done for you is unbecoming.
After exchanging goodbyes, Draco stumbled back to his couch.
Picking up his book, he tried to read. The words didn't look like words, instead all he could see was the raw expression of pain on Granger's face as she spasmed on his drawing room floor.
Would she look at him with disdain? Would he look at her with disdain? His heart-rate began to jump. He thought of all the times he called her that dreadful word. That hateful word.
Bile rose in his throat. All these years he'd hidden away. Gone to therapy, rejected the sins of his childhood, hated himself for all he was and is. Healer Casey had mentioned amends, he'd begun them.
He sent letters to Luna Lovegood for the time she spent in his dungeon and any cruelty he did to her while in school. She was more charitable than he deserved. Luna still writes him every week and has deemed him her "pen pal". Draco was too awkward, and if he was honest with himself, too lonely, to squash her good natured optimism.
He also sent letters to some of the people he'd terrorized at school. Some never answered, some sent back humble forgiveness, and some sent howlers that cursed his very existence.
He'd even contacted Pansy, Theo, Blaise, and Gregory Goyle. He apologized for the way he treated his friends like servants, for not being a better man. Pansy chastised him, saying he was only a boy, but was thankful nonetheless. She'd also cryptically told him she was not the one who needed his apology.
He knew he deserved no one's forgiveness, but they more than deserved his apologies.
This process of amends was the antithesis of his very being. Draco Malfoy used to be prideful, certain of his position above others. Now, he drifted in the depths of guilt and sorrow, of survivor's guilt.
His old identity was scorched by fiendfyre that boiled in his gut and mind, and was as unrelenting as it was consuming. He wasn't sure who he was now? At best, he was an awkward man with rigid manners and anxiety to boot. At worst? A bigot, a monster, something to be destroyed.
There were some amends Draco could not bring himself to make. Not because he didn't believe they were deserved, but because he was so thoroughly and completely a coward.
How could he face the Weasley's and apologize for their dead son? For all the times he called them dirty blood traitors? For the cursed book his father so callously gave an eleven year old girl to be consumed and nearly killed by?
How could he face Harry Potter, the insufferably good man who sacrificed himself for a cause. A good cause, for the betterment of others. How could he apologize for the treatment he gave him, for the bullying and cruelty? For barely lifting a finger when he was captured. Not identifying the boy was nothing close to actually aiding him. Simply not turning him over when the dark lord asked? A blip on his dark timeline.
After all he'd done, the small acts of defiance toward the Dark Lord and in aid of Harry would never be enough. He'd slyly thrown curses to aid the rebellion during the final fight, but as he was still a coward, he stunned rebellion fighters any time a death eater was watching. It made him sick thinking about it.
How could he apologize to Ron and Ginny Weasley? He'd given them more agony than he had Potter, though Granger got the worst of it. He'd made fun of their home, their money, or lack of it, their very features.
And finally, Hermione Granger. Words would never be enough to repent for the pain he'd inflicted on her. For the nasty slur he called her time and time again. For the venom with which he spoke to her. And certainly not for his passive aggression when he let his aunt torture her in the most inhumane way. She'd been crucio'd and worse, given a cursed scar of the very slur he threw. That cursed blade would cause continuous pain and suffering.
He was most afraid, most reduced to the cowardly rodent he was, when he thought of facing the brightest witch of his age.
June 18, 2002
Hermione wrung her hands under her desk. She arrived nearly two hours early to work. If she wouldn't be able to plan or envision the outcome of her first encounter with Draco Malfoy since testifying at his trial, she would at least have the home field advantage.
Harry asked her when he came in if she wanted him there when Draco arrived. She declined. It would be more prudent to begin this as adults, without a babysitter to mediate.
She'd already left a binder with all her replacement would need to know, on her old desk and begun decorating her half of the office. A few photos of her parents, Harry, Ginny, and Ron, as well as of James, her godson.
Her favorite photo, the one from the day Harry and Ginny brought James home from St. Mungo's. They were exhausted and passed out on the couch. Hermione was in the arm chair cooing to James, she placed a kiss on his forehead. Ron got in on the magical camera. She adored watching the loop of the sleeping couple as Hermione looks at her nephew and godson with love and kisses him.
She was admiring the photo when a stiff throat cleared. Shit, by getting distracted, she was caught just as off guard as she would have been otherwise. She'd lost her stable ground of preparedness.
Draco Malfoy stood in front of her. He was dressed impeccably, in a sharp muggle suit instead of wizard's robes. Puzzling.
His features had only grown more handsome. Though she didn't like him, she could understand aesthetic appeal. His hair was impeccably styled, as though he'd run his fingers through it and it magically stayed there. Though, that was probably the truth. His face's hard planes had smoothed a bit and now were just the strong, sharp features of a handsome man. The only thing out of place were the deep purple bags under his eyes.
His expression was what was most unfamiliar. Instead of a sneer, or open disgust, he looked cautious. If she were someone else, or knew him less, she'd think he looked almost afraid.
"Malfoy." She greeted pleasantly with a nod.
His expression only confounded her further as a look of bewilderment sprang forth.
"Granger." His voice was gravelly, deeper than she remembered, and her name was unlike he'd ever said it before. No undercurrent of malice or hatred.
"Have you had a chance to see the office yet or is this your first time here?" Her question almost seemed to fall on deaf ears as he just stared at her.
"First time," the answer was quiet.
"Alright, well why don't you get settled at your desk, and when you are ready, we can discuss our ideas for the branch?" She glanced back down at the pile of papers in front of her, proposals for positions and protocols.
Malfoy was still in the doorway when she looked up, his face now twisted in frustration.
"What game are you playing at?" His question was a rumble.
She looked at him with utter confusion and shook her head, "No game, Malfoy," she spit back, a little too venomous. Her protection instinct overriding her hope for civility.
"You aren't going to tell me what a loathsome git I am? How I'm a right bastard and I deserve to burn in the worst circles of hell? I'm sure you have all kinds of creative insults stored in that impossibly brilliant brain of yours!" He was a little more manic now, his tone increasingly pitchy. A crack in his mask of nonchalance, a glimpse of his fear. Of how he worried she'd receive him.
She was oblivious, "What Malfoy? Don't you want to tell me how downright insulting it is to have to work at the same level of someone with such dirty blood? Wanna call me a mudblood?" Her voice got quieter the angrier she got, more steady. It was utterly unsettling to Draco.
At her final word, his face fell. That word, the one his aunt carved into her. The one she so readily associated with his voice. Hearing her say it, he wanted to shrivel into dust.
Hermione noticed his bizarre change of mood.
"No, I would not like to call you that." His voice was small, but final.
Hermione shook her head and took a deep breath, "Let's start again," she gestured to his desk, "please sit, and when you're ready I'd like to discuss ideas."
Draco heeded her instruction in silence, with a nod.
After about twenty minutes he was ready and facing her to discuss structure, staff, and other planning items.
"Alright, I would like to begin with planning all the facets of the program, then I think we should examine hiring employees, agreed?" She looked to him expectantly, he nodded.
"Good, then I was thinking, therapy is great but we should add an advocate. The advocates can be designated to up to five participants. I was thinking they would play the part of being a listening ear, shoulder to lean on, and help with career issues like resumes, interviewing techniques, as well as other things. Maybe they could be interns with our program-" Hermione hadn't realized she was monologuing until Draco held up a palm, indicating her to be quiet.
"I don't believe interns will be tactful enough to handle this, the people who will be in this program won't be easy to deal with, at least not all of them. I don't want to throw fresh graduates to the wolves." Draco spoke with certainty.
Hermione tilted her head and gazed at the ceiling, "Hm, you have a point. I would like to make room in the department for interns but I suppose you are correct, this would not be the best role for them. What if the roles of advocate begin as hired workers, but as people graduate the program they can apply to do it, sort of like sponsors for AA, oops muggle organization, anyway, and they can receive a stipend as it would be more of a freelance thing?"
"I believe that is a solid solution," Draco said simply. Hermione couldn't stop looking at him like he was a bizarre creature at the zoo, perplexing her at every step.
"Alright, good. Did you have any additional programs you can think of?" She wanted to give him the floor before she launched into another monologue.
"Perhaps group outings? I was thinking that getting them to a common space that they don't feel persecuted in might be good. Especially if we take them to muggle spaces. I don't think they should be mandatory but they may help," Draco marked down something on the parchment before him.
Hermione blanched again, "Um, yeah. That actually works well because I was hoping to implement a mandatory sensitivity training program. They would learn about prejudice and bias and ways to break them. They would have to learn about muggle life and experience as well as understand what it is like to be a muggleborn and suddenly be dropped into this world, as long as you agree," she amended the ending, remembering they are co-heads.
"Yes, I agree." His words were so surprising she genuinely wondered if he was under the imperius curse.
From there, things became slightly more amicable. Draco was still stilted and robotic, and Hermione couldn't shake the expression of bewilderment but they managed to compromise on most everything. With only small amendments on the ideas of the other.
Their views were surprisingly harmonious.
They came up with plans to add additional instructors to the therapists, advocates, and business liaisons for career opportunities. They added a position for an art therapy workshop, magical creatures therapy, and lawyers on retainer to represent them, rather than ministry appointed ones. Hermione agreed to reach out to all the department heads at the ministry to tell them that they had three months to designate a liaison to represent their office, the ministry would be required by a new law to give opportunities to members of the program.
Draco and Hermione both agreed to reach out to their half of an agreed upon list of privately owned businesses like those on Diagon Alley for a liaison if they are willing to participate, the law couldn't extend outside of the ministry.
They also agreed that every employee of the program would have to undergo sensitivity training both for muggles and muggleborns, and for not discriminating against the members of the program. Remaining impartial and professional, with everyone's best needs in mind.
Hermione would run the muggle and muggleborn sensitivity training, as she already had it outlined from her Hogwarts program. She offered to send a copy to Draco to approve, he promised he'd have it back to her by the end of the week. Draco would draft the prisoner/probationary one and submit to her for review in turn.
Otherwise the ministry had it's own training that they required of every department and that would be included as well.
Their first day wrapped with Harry coming in and awkwardly congratulating them, then inviting them to a celebratory dinner on Friday. He explained it was actually an invitation from Saoirse, but she had to step out. Apparently, she took any new administrative workers to dinner after promoting them.
Draco and Hermione both accepted.
June 21, 2002
The dinner wasn't horribly eventful. Hermione and Harry arrived slightly later than Draco and Saoirse. They found them already seated and engaged in painfully awkward small talk, propelled by Saoirse.
Draco observed how Hermione and Harry subconsciously glanced at each other throughout conversation. Studying the little glances and trying to translate what they meant. There were moments of humor, where their eyes crinkled just slightly. When they were uncomfortable it seemed to be a darting glance at the other.
He'd never noticed how close they were before. Obviously, they were two thirds of the Golden Trio, but he'd never really sat down and seen them as people, without judgment.
Saoirse asked them about the progress over the week, and they reported their agreed upon amendments and program additions. She was incredibly impressed at the work they'd done in such a short time and the fact that they would start interviews next week, mid-week.
Harry observed the interactions of Hermione and Draco. He noticed how Hermione seemed to glance uncertainly at Draco after every statement. As though she was waiting for him to suddenly disagree or throw a fit. He didn't.
Harry noticed how quiet Draco was the whole night, how every answer and movement was careful premeditated. He spoke few words and only when necessary. He dabbed his mouth and ate in controlled and graceful movements. Harry was stumped, and Hermione's uncertain expression and skittishness around Draco was making more and more sense.
At the end of the dinner, after Saoirse excused herself. Hermione and Harry moved to go outside and side-along home. Harry would drop her off and see her in safely, something Hermione insisted he didn't need to do, but that he would feel sick if he didn't, when Draco asked her to stay a moment.
Harry looked on in suspicion as Draco drew closer to Hermione, who was looking up at him with eyes like saucers. He leaned in and whispered something Harry couldn't hear and then pulled an envelope out of his suit jacket and gave it to her.
Draco straightened then and bid her a goodnight before striding past Harry with a polite nod and disappearing from the restaurant.
"What was that?" Harry asked Hermione, joining her side as she moved for the doors.
"I honestly have no idea, guess I'll find out." She waved the letter and looped her arm through Harry's.
Once Harry dropped her home, she sat on her couch and pulled out the letter, thinking of his whispered words: "It isn't enough, but it is the truth."
She tore into the envelope. Impeccable script greeted her.
Granger
I am not a man of many words these days, however I wish for you to know something.
The way that I treated you in school was despicable and cruel, if I could go back and do it over I would. You were bright and kind and a muggleborn. You were everything my parents said you could not be. Why did someone of "lesser blood" outrank me in every subject. I became angry at what I did not understand.
I was taught that muggleborns were dirty, unworthy. My family believed they did not belong in wizarding society.
I was wrong. I was hateful.
I apologize to you, but also to the little girl who was greeted with hatred and malice instead of open arms in a world all new to her. I made your life hell, and I deserve all that has, and will come to me.
I need you to know that I can never forgive myself for standing back. For watching you, tortured on my own drawing room floor, for the pain you were caused and the trauma you endured.
That day haunts me and always has.
Of all my deeds, I think not helping you, not protecting you from my aunt, looking away from what I could not bear to see, but did not make an effort to stop, was my absolute worst.
Sorry cannot begin to cover the damage, but I am without a more apt sentiment.
I am deeply and truly sorry.
D.M.
She read the letter five times before the tears came, and when they did, they did not cease.