Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Harry Potter or the Selection series. I'm just getting my fantasies out on the page.
Enjoy~
The Drawing
Chapter Two
Over the next couple of days, the Drawing was all Hermione heard people talk about. The older generations were reminiscing watching King James during his Drawing and how they knew from the first day that Queen Lily would be the one for him. The younger generations were impatiently counting down the days until the lottery was made on the Hogwarts Express and hoping and praying that they would be one of the girls chosen. Hermione really couldn't be bothered by the whole ordeal. Yes, she was excited to see how the Drawing progressed, but she was more excited about witnessing history being made rather than a gaggle of girls fight and claw their way into Prince Harry's heart.
"Ginny will not stop talking about the application," Molly lamented. She and Hermione were walking home from work Sunday evening after a ten-hour day and both of them were exhausted. "It's Drawing this, Drawing that – are we sure the royal family knows there is a girl of eligible age at our house so we can get an application? I'm pretty sure they do, they send those damn guards every month to check on us."
Hermione snorted at Molly's dry tone, shaking her head at Ginny's antics. "Do you think they'll follow through with all castes being welcome?" she asked. A lot of people seemed pleased with the new addition to the Drawing since the previous ones were only available to Fours and up, but Hermione knew there were plenty of people who were saying it was just a publicity stunt.
"I think so," Molly replied thoughtfully. "The king and queen have always kept their word so I don't see why they'd lie about something this big."
Hermione wanted to point out that it was Prince Harry who had said they would overlook the castes and not the king or queen, but decided against it. As much as Molly complained about Ginny over the past couple of days, Hermione could tell she genuinely hoped her daughter would be one of the sixteen girls selected.
"Either way, the application should be here tomorrow so we'll fill it out after work and take it to the post office. It'll be out of our control after that." Molly ran a hand through her hair before looking over at Hermione with a sly smile. "Will you be applying?"
"Me?" Hermione barked out a laugh. "No, no, no… can you really see me vying for Prince Harry?"
"Well, no," Molly admitted, making Hermione laugh again. "But I do know you're a romantic at heart."
"So I read romance stories." Hermione rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the flush she knew was on her cheeks. "It's one of the few things we are allowed to read. And besides, there's no way I could apply. If I were picked, there would be no extra income and with Dad sick and Mom… well, they'd become Sixes and I could never do that to them."
"You do know the families are given a weekly allowance for as long as the girls stay at the palace, right?" Molly pointed out.
"What?"
Molly nodded. "It wasn't mentioned in the broadcast but I'm sure it will be somewhere on the application form. Every Drawing always has some sort of stipend while the girls are there because they know having the girls leave for so long can affect their families. Of course, the money was never really needed, but I don't see them changing that rule."
Hermione hummed in thought. Having the extra money would be a great thing to have, especially since it seemed her father's medical bills kept increasing. But she would be one girl out of thousands applying. What were the chances of her being picked?
Hermione immediately slammed the door to that thought. Was she actually considering applying? She shook her head, berating herself for allowing Molly to get her swept away in the idea of it all. The idea of the Drawing was very romantic in a fairy tale sense but she was sure the reality was probably anything but.
"Doesn't it feel wrong to want your daughter to go after the prince?" Hermione asked, glancing over at the older woman. "I've heard conversations between mothers that sound like they're giving their daughters seduction advice."
"A part of me feels like it's wrong," Molly agreed after a moment's pause. "Ginny is my baby, after all. But it's just… always been done this way. Not only that, but the outcome of the Drawing would be so good for her. Even if she isn't picked by Prince Harry, she'd become a Two afterwards. She'd have choices."
Molly gave a sigh and a faraway expression came over her. "Arthur and I made our choices long ago that got us sent to Five and I do not regret that, but I do regret that our children were born into this caste. They don't deserve this type of life so if Ginny can make it to the Drawing and has a chance to become a One or Two, then yes by all means she should go for it. Percy and Ron have done well, so why can't she?"
"I can understand that," Hermione said slowly.
Molly nodded but remained silent. Hermione glanced sideways and saw that she was looking at the ground as they walked, a slight frown marring her features. "I'm sorry for bringing the caste thing up," she said softly, knowing that's what Molly was thinking about.
"Don't be sorry, dear," Molly said, wrapping a loving arm around her shoulder. Hermione reveled in the touch before Molly withdrew. "I was the one that brought it up. It's just hard sometimes."
Hermione nodded, understanding completely. She thought back to the stack of textbooks she was forced to keep hidden in her room. They walked in companionable silence for a while when an idea suddenly came to Hermione. "I think I'm going to visit dad this weekend," she announced.
Molly's eyebrows shot up and she grinned. "You should," she said enthusiastically, her mood brightening. "What brought this on?"
Hermione shrugged, "I feel like I should go visit him. I haven't seen him in almost three months because I've been working so much."
"And I told you as horrible as Mrs. Pince can be she would give you the time off," Molly sang.
"Yes, yes," Hermione replied, rolling her eyes. She stepped in front of Molly and went into the deepest curtsy she could without losing her balance. Speaking in her most demure voice, she said, "I am ever so sorry for doubting you, Lady Molly, knower of all things."
Molly laughed, grabbing Hermione and pulling her along the street as people began to stare at them. "Practicing for Prince Harry, are we?"
"What? No that was not what I was –" Hermione cut herself off as Molly laughed harder, glaring at the older woman. She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat and stomped down the street, leaving Molly cackling after her.
[o][o][o]
Hermione could tell Molly was distracted at work the next day - practically every female was. Letters had started to arrive that morning with applications for the Drawing and Ginny had been one of the first to get hers. Molly almost had to kick Ginny out of the house that morning to go to work she had been so excited.
Hermione was distracted for an entirely different reason. She had gathered up her courage to ask Mrs. Pince for a day off to visit her father and almost didn't believe her boss when she insisted Hermione take two days off instead. Hermione was sure Mrs. Pince was caught up in the Drawing hype and that was why she was being so generous. Still, she wasn't going to complain.
Finally, the work day was over and Hermione nearly laughed at the number of girls who practically sprinted out of the mansion as soon as they were dismissed. Molly speed walked the entire way home, saying a quick goodbye to Hermione before scurrying off.
Hermione chuckled, shaking her head. She was sure she would hear all about Ginny's application process tomorrow at work. As she turned down her street, Hermione saw the Creevey boys huddling over something in their front yard.
"Good evening, boys," she called out. The young boys jumped and spun around, their eyes wide before realizing who had called out to them.
"G'evening, Miss Hermione," Dennis called out, flashing a too innocent smile her way.
Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed, "Just be careful."
"We will!" Colin and Dennis waved at her as she passed them and turned back to whatever experiment they were working on.
Hermione unlocked the door to her house and stepped inside, not surprised to see that it was empty. She toed off her shoes and went to step into the sitting room when her socked foot slipped on something. With a squawk, Hermione fought to regain her balance, her arms wind-milling wildly as she hopped off of what she's slipped on.
"What the hell?" She turned around to glare at the thing that almost tripped her and froze, her eyes zeroing in on the thick envelope lying innocently on the floor.
The Hogwarts seal was the first thing that popped out to her, the coat of arms an intricate meshing of all four provinces that made up the kingdom. Beneath it, in elegant handwriting, was her name.
Hermione bent down to pick up the package, flipping it over to examine it. That was it; the rest of it was a blank envelope. The Hogwarts crest and her name were all that let her know this was the application to the Drawing. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if the higher castes got more of a fancier package. She had a hard time imagining a debutant Two being okay with this simple of packaging for such an elite event.
Hermione walked further into the house, flicking the light switch when she reached the kitchen. The single, low-wattage bulb flickered on after a moment and bathed everything in a slightly yellow hue. Hermione threw her bag and the Drawing application package onto the rickety kitchen table and sat down with a huff. She leaned back in the kitchen chair, her head rolling back to look up at the many water spots that stained their ceiling. Her eyes closed seconds later; it felt amazing to just sit down. Off in the distance, she could just hear the Creevey boys giggling underneath the hum of the lightbulb.
Hermione straightened up, reluctantly reaching for the package on the table. She opened the stark white envelope and pulled out a stack of papers. Her eyes scanned the first page, nose scrunching as she read.
To the Loyal Subjects of Gryffindor,
It has come to the attention of the Crown that a member of your current household is within the age range to qualify for Hogwarts' Fourth Drawing. Enclosed is the application required to apply for this highly esteemed event. If you so choose, please fill out all the paperwork and take it to the nearest postal office. The application process will be complete once a picture is taken and sent off to the castle.
The deadline to turn in your application will by no later than the first Friday of July at noon. The ladies of Hogwarts' Fourth Drawing will be selected during that evening's Hogwarts Express. If you are one of the lucky Sixteen to be chosen, your immediate household will be given a weekly stipend as compensation for having a missing family member.
His Royal Highness Prince Harry James Potter, Heir to the Throne of Hogwarts thanks you for your time. He is excited for the opportunity to meet his future wife – maybe you will be the one!
The next page was the actual application. At the top of the page there was room for her name, province and caste number, followed by a space that was obviously saved for a picture. A list of questions filled the rest of the paper, each question followed by a blank space for the answer.
What are your likes?
What are your dislikes?
In your opinion, what are some of your best qualities? What are some of your worst?
List any talents you have.
Describe what you are looking for in a partner.
What would be the perfect date?
That was it. The entirety of the application was six questions. Hermione snorted with disgust and threw the package onto the table. Hogwarts' future queen would be decided by a random lottery and a handful of generic questions.
Hermione's stomach growled loudly and she got up, pushing all thoughts of the Drawing out of her mind. She went to the cupboards and began to root through them. They were running low on food – Hermione was always too tired to go to the market after work and her mother had been in the city for a couple days – but there had to be something edible to eat somewhere.
"Hello?"
Hermione turned in surprise at her mother's voice. The front door slammed shut and seconds later her mother appeared in the kitchen, her arms loaded with grocery bags.
"Mum!" Hermione exclaimed, hurrying over to the older woman and grabbing a few of the bags. She looked pale and tired, with dark circles under her eyes. "I thought you weren't back until tomorrow."
Hermione saw her mother's shoulders stiffen for a second. "I figured I would use my extra days off to help around here," she replied softly, placing the bags onto the table.
"Okay," Hermione said slowly. "Is everything okay?"
Her mother turned and smiled weakly at Hermione. She noticed with a start that her mother's eyes were red and puffy; it looked like she had been crying. "Mum, what's wrong? Is Dad okay?"
"Your father is fine," she insisted fiercely, pulling cans of soup out of a bag. "We just had a bit of an argument. Nothing to worry about."
"An argument?" Hermione stared after her mother as she began to flit around the kitchen, putting things away. Her parents never fought. "What did you fight about?"
Her mother gritted her teeth and closed the fridge door with a snap before she turned to her, "Why didn't you tell me Mr. Masen gave you a job?"
Thrown off, Hermione could only frown in confusion. "What?"
"Mr. Masen," she repeated, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. "You've started working for him on top of working for Mrs. Pince."
Hermione suddenly felt like she was a child again, knowing that no matter what she said next it would be the wrong thing to say. She licked her lips and shrugged a shoulder. "I thought you knew?"
"Well, I didn't," Mrs. Granger snapped. She turned her back to Hermione and continued putting the groceries away.
Hermione was at a loss of what to say. She couldn't understand why her mother was getting so angry or how it fit in with her parents fighting. Starting to worry, she placed a hand on her mother's shoulder and forced her to look at her. "Mum, what is going on?"
"Did you know that Mr. Masen visited your father at St. Mungo's this morning?" Hermione shook her head, not understanding where this was going. "He came to visit because he was worried about you."
"Worried about me?"
"He told us how hard you've been working the past few months," her mother continued. Hermione's heart broke when she saw tears start to pool in her eyes. "Not just with him but with Mrs. Pince's company as well. He said that he could see how tired you were getting and that he knew you haven't had a day off in months."
"Well, it's not like we can afford to take any days off," Hermione protested weakly. It was now slowly starting to make sense; her parents had fought about her. "St. Mungo's isn't exactly cheap." She immediately regretted saying that when she saw her mother's face fall.
"I am such a horrible mother," she moaned, putting her face into her hands. "I should have never let you handle all those bills when this first started."
"What? No! You are not a horrible mother." Hermione pulled Mrs. Granger to her and hugged her tightly. She could feel her own tears prick her eyes as her mother sniffed into her shoulder. "You were so out of it when Dad had to be admitted that there was no way you would've been able do that on your own. And I get it, he's your husband."
"But you're my daughter."
"I took responsibility of handling the bills because I knew you'd run yourself into the ground if you began to worry about them," Hermione said firmly, pulling back to look her mother in the eye. "Plus, it gave me something to do to distract myself." Her mother began to protest again. "Mum, it's okay. I don't blame you for taking time off to see Dad."
"Well the trips into the city won't be happening as often," her mother said. She straightened up and wiped the tears from her eyes. "I've already spoken with the salon and they're giving me back my hours."
Hermione stared at her mother and nodded. She knew this change in her was more than likely caused by her father, but was still pleased to hear this. She didn't want to voice her relief out loud though, afraid it would set her mother off. Working ten plus hours every day for months really had started to take its toll on Hermione. "I'll be seeing Dad on Thursday," she announced, trying to change the subject to something a little brighter. "Mrs. Pince gave me two days off."
"Your father will be so happy to see you." Mrs. Granger pulled away from Hermione and turned back to the groceries. Hermione looked away, allowing her mother some time to regain her composure.
Dinner was started once everything had been put away, the two of them working in companionable silence. Hermione was at the stove watching over the potatoes when her mother spoke up, "Hermione, what's that?"
"What's what?" Hermione turned to see her mother pointing at the scattered papers on the table. "Oh, that came earlier today."
"Is that the application for the Drawing?" she asked excitedly.
"Sure seems that way." Hermione grabbed the lid and placed it on the pot, reaching out to turn down the heat.
"What do you say after dinner we work on this together?"
"Mum, I'm not applying for the Drawing."
"Why not?"
"I don't want to, for one thing," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. She sat back down at the kitchen table and watched as her mother read through the papers. "Plus, the idea of trying to get to know a guy who is actively dating other women at the same time is not exactly my definition of romantic."
Hermione's mother stared at her with wide brown eyes before going back to the application. She wants me to apply, Hermione realized with a start. "You do realize that there's a one in a million chance of me getting to picked, right? Not that I'm thinking of applying," Hermione quickly added once she saw her mother's hopeful look.
"But Hermione," she protested, pushing the introduction letter towards her. She tapped the sentence that talked about compensation. "Think of how helpful the extra money would be."
"Yes, the money would be amazingly helpful," Hermione admitted. "But me going down to the post office and applying doesn't guarantee that I'll be picked. It's a lottery, Mum. People will be picked randomly."
Her mother got a dreamy look on her face and she sighed. "We could afford to have your father home with us. You wouldn't have to work as much."
"Mum," Hermione began slowly, reaching over and tapping a finger against the application. "This is a fantasy. We cannot start believing that all of our problems will go away if I apply."
"But –"
"It would be amazing to be able to bring Dad home, I'm not arguing that. All I'm saying is that getting our hopes up for something that I'm not going to do will just end up hurting us in the long run."
Her mother sat back in her seat with a huff, looking annoyed. Hermione could feel herself start to get irritated with her mother's attitude. "Why are you pushing this so hard?"
"Because it could really help us!" Hermione leaned back in surprise at the sudden ferocity of her mother's tone. "Can you tell me that you're okay with us living in this shithole? That you're fine with your father being hours away – alone – while we work ourselves to the bone?"
Hermione's surprise bled into anger and she stood up, her chair flying backwards from the sudden movement. How dare her mother accuse her of that? Hermione was the one who spent the past couple of months working herself ragged to help pay for their bills while her mother took more and more time off.
"Of course I'm not okay with that!" she growled, slamming her hands down on the kitchen table. A breeze blew through the kitchen. "I would do anything to be able to get Dad back home or for us to have a better life. But I refuse to put everything I have into some stupid, worthless competition that doesn't even guarantee me anything!"
"You could be picked!" Her mother countered, standing up as well. "There's a chance –"
"There is no chance!" Hermione shouted. Her mother flinched back. "The Drawing is nothing but a way for an entitled, selfish prince to be able to date multiple girls at once and not have to face the consequences and I will not be a part of that!"
The sound of the pot beginning to boil filled the kitchen as the two women stared at each other, both unwilling to back down. Hermione couldn't understand what her mother was thinking. Her mother was a rational woman, always telling Hermione to keep her dreams realistic. This was not realistic.
"I'm not hungry anymore," Hermione muttered, glancing away. She suddenly felt exhausted. "I'm going to bed. See you in the morning."
[o][o][o]
The morning of Hermione's trip to visit her father came quickly and she was one of the first ones on the bus. Her knee bounced anxiously as she watched people slowly make their way to their seats. Why were they walking so slow? Clearly the bus was getting ready to leave. How self centered are these people?
Finally, everyone was seated and the bus left for the city. Hermione allowed herself to doze on and off; she was exhausted, not being able get a good night's sleep since the fight with her mother. Every time she closed her eyes, Hermione would see her mother looking at her defiantly. There was something that Hermione wasn't being told and she was sure it had something to do with her father. Whatever that was, Hermione didn't know and, if she was completely honest with herself, she didn't want to find out, either.
As the bus entered the city limits, Hermione sat up in her seat and stretched. She felt slightly more refreshed than she did earlier and now had a fluttering of butterflies in her stomach. This would be the first time she would see her father in months. How did he look? Did he lose weight? Did he still have all of his hair? What if there were bruises?
The bus reached the depot and Hermione darted up from her seat, pushing past the people that were taking their sweet time getting up. They glared and grumbled but she ignored them – they didn't matter.
Once off the bus, Hermione took off down the street, dodging in between clusters of people. She turned the corner and froze, eyes widening at the sheer amount of people before her. Apparently, there was a post office on the way to St. Mungo's although she couldn't actually see the building. The extremely long line of woman waiting to drop off their application almost wrapped around the block entirely. Setting her shoulders, Hermione continued on down the block. She could feel eyes on her from those that were waiting in line, whispering about how ragged she looked.
"Do you think she's going to apply?"
"You would think she'd put in a little more effort."
"I wouldn't be caught dead in those clothes!"
Hermione clenched her teeth as she felt her face heat up. She hated coming to the city. At least in their smaller town there was a higher number of Fours and Fives. Here, especially downtown, the upper class came out in droves.
Thankfully, the large green building of St. Mungo's came into view. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably and she wiped her suddenly clammy hands on her pants. She pulled open the door and stepped inside the hospital.
"Miss Granger!" A pretty young nurse called out pleasantly as Hermione approached her desk. Hermione recognized her as one of the main nurses who had looked after her father when he had first been admitted. "It's so nice to see you again. We were wondering where you were."
Hermione ignored the stab of guilt that hit her and gave a weak smile. "I've been pretty busy working lots of over time," she explained. She knew it was a horrible excuse.
The nurse waved her off, smiling kindly and standing up. "Well you're here now and that's what matters. Follow me and I'll show you to Mr. Granger's new room."
"How is my father doing?" Hermione asked, quickly walking around the desk and following the nurse as she walked down the hall.
Although the nurse was quick, she wasn't able to hide the flash of uncertainty that went across her face. "He has his good days and his bad days," she replied diplomatically. "Lately there have been more good days than bad, which is promising."
Hermione nodded, unsure of how she should respond. "Is it possible to speak with his doctor sometime today?" she finally asked.
"Of course," the nurse agreed readily. She stopped outside of a closed door and turned towards Hermione. "I'll tell the doctor you're here and he'll come find you as soon as he can. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."
Hermione thanked the nurse and pushed the door open. Her father was lying on a hospital bed, his eyes glued to the Telefloo that was situated in the corner of the room. He had lost weight, too much weight, Hermione noticed. His skin took on a sickly hue and his face was gaunt. Tears sprang into Hermione's eyes and she released a shaky breath, alerting her father of her presence.
His brown eyes widened as his head turned, giving Hermione a beautiful smile, "Hey Princess!"
In that moment, Hermione became a little girl again and ran to her father's side, hugging him tightly. "I'm so sorry it's been so long, Daddy," she whispered into his neck. "I am so sorry."
Her father shushed Hermione, his arms surprisingly strong around her. Pressing a kiss to the side of her head, he sighed, "Don't worry about it, love. I've been told how hard you've been working lately."
"Still," Hermione protested.
"Still nothing," her father cut her off. "I am so proud of you and if anyone should be apologizing, it's me. You shouldn't have to work this hard because of me."
Hermione shook her head, wiping away the stray tear that slid down her cheek. "You know I won't stop working until you're home."
Her father pursed his lips but instead of arguing, pulled her into his side. Hermione snuggled into him, sniffling. "So," he began, "tell me what I've been missing."
"Not much." Hermione drew circles on her father's blanket with her finger. "You know that I've been working with Mrs. Pince and Mr. Masen."
Her father let out a grunt that made it clear he wasn't happy with that.
"Ron got a permanent job with Oliver Wood," she continued quickly, not wanting to ruin his mood.
"Really?" Her father perked up at this news. "Good for him."
"Yeah, Molly is really proud of him."
They fell into an awkward silence. Hermione sighed, shifting so her head was resting against her father's shoulder. "I…" Hermione cleared her throat and licked her lips. "The application for the Drawing arrived for me earlier this week."
"Did it, now," her father replied. He kept his tone even, not giving away how he felt about that. It made Hermione uneasy.
"Mum wants me to apply," she said quietly. Again, the look her mother gave her flashed through her mind. "She thinks that there's a… chance."
Hermione pulled back from her father and stared at him, trying to see if she could see anything in his expression. He just seemed tired. "What do you think?" she asked.
Her father didn't respond right away, his eyes drinking in Hermione. Finally, he sighed. "I think that Hogwarts would be lucky to have you as their queen."
"Daddy." Hermione couldn't help the laugh that escaped from her as she rolled her eyes. "I'm serious."
"So am I."
"Do you think I should apply?" she pressed. She really didn't want to, but if her father thought it was a good idea than maybe Hermione would consider it. "Mum's been wanting me to try because of the money we would get. What do you think?"
"I don't think anyone would disagree that the money would be nice," he said, shifting on his pillows. "But I want you to apply only if you want to. Don't worry about the money or what your mum wants – if you want it than go for it."
Hermione smiled at her father but couldn't ignore a nagging feeling in her gut. That answer felt forced to her; it felt wrong. She decided to let it go and snuggled back into her father's side. He grabbed the Telefloo remote. "When I get out of here we're buying one of these," he insisted. "Money be damned."
Hermione giggled.
Over the next hour, she and her father curled up together on the small bed and watched different programmes. Her father flipped through the different channels, explaining to her the plots and purposes of all the different shows. Eventually, they settled on something her father called a 'sitcom' and within minutes, his breathing evened out.
Hermione slowly sat up and looked down at her father. He looked like he had aged almost ten years and his once thick, brown hair that was so much like Hermione's was now dull and wispy with streaks of grey running through it.
A knock at the door made Hermione jump. The door opened and an older man poked his head into the room. Hermione recognized him as Doctor Quill, her father's doctor, and stood up. "Good afternoon, Miss Granger," he greeted quietly, taking note of the sleeping man behind her. He opened the door. "Do you want to step out into the hall so we don't wake him?"
Hermione nodded and quickly followed him out of the room, gently shutting the door behind her. "So how has he been, really?" she asked immediately.
Doctor Quill sighed and Hermione watched as a range of emotions flickered across his face. He stayed quiet, seeming to struggle with how to put what he wanted to say. Hermione's heart began to thud in her chest.
"Your father has a cancerous tumor in his stomach." Hermione's breath hitched and her eyes began to water. Cancer? No, that couldn't be right. The doctor was wrong. Her father just needed more rest and then he'd be able to go home. "It was discovered earlier this week."
"Earlier this week?" Hermione shook her head. "Why's my father been in the hospital for so long, then?"
Doctor Quill looked down at his shoes with a disgruntled look on his face. "We'd been having trouble getting the funding for the testing when it came to…" he paused again, his eyes darting around the corridor as he did so, "people from the lower castes."
Hermione could feel her breathing start to increase. Doctor Quill put a hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry, Miss Granger," he said. She could tell from the tightness around his eyes that he was being genuine. "I fought to get his tests done when I first suspected it was cancer. But…" He trailed off.
"What do we do now?"
"The tumor is growing and your father is going to need surgery – soon."
Hermione froze, staring at the doctor in shook. "What are you saying?" she whispered. They couldn't possibly afford a surgery. "Will my father be okay if he doesn't get the surgery?"
Doctor Quill had a pained expression and shook his head.
Hermione's vision blurred and it was suddenly very hard to breath. As she struggled, a hand was placed on her arm and she was herded down the corridor and forced onto a bench. "Miss Granger, I need you to calm down," Doctor Quill instructed. "Listen to my voice and focus on taking deep breaths."
It took a couple of moments but Hermione took deep, gasping breaths and slowly was able to breath normally. She blinked, tears running down her cheeks as she looked at Doctor Quill. He was leaning over her, looking concerned. "Thank you," she gasped.
Doctor Quill nodded and sat down beside her. He produced a napkin and she took it, wiping at her cheeks. "So," she began. It came out as a squeak and she cleared her throat. "So, where do we go from here?"
Again, a frustrated look went across the doctor's face. It looked like he was struggling for a minute before he heaved a heavy sigh and looked directly at Hermione. "Miss Granger," he began seriously, "may I be completely honest with you?"
"Of course," she immediately replied.
"The surgery is expensive – very expensive, even by Three standards. I'm sorry if this offends you but I'm not going to sugar coat it. A Five will never be able to pay for the surgery. You and your mother affording to pay for your father's accommodations is a huge feat all on its own, but the surgery would cost at least ten times more than what you're already paying. And then he would have to have recovery time."
Tears flooded Hermione's vision yet again. She felt humiliation, despair, anger.
"I am very sorry, Miss Granger," Doctor Quill said. "I wish there was more I could do."
"No, you've done a lot," Hermione replied shakily. Her lip quivered and she tried to not completely break down. "I'm not stupid. I know some doctors would never be this attentive towards my father because of his status. You and your nurses have been so kind and helpful."
Doctor Quill looked taken back as Hermione spoke. "T-thank you," he stammered, sounded awed. "There still is so much we can't do, but you have to believe me when I say we've been trying."
Hermione nodded. They had heard of the doctor's kindness towards the lower castes just before her father had to be taken to the hospital. It was one of the reasons why they decided to send her father so far away and work so hard pay the ridiculous medical fees. "There wouldn't happen to be a payment plan or something that could be set up after the surgery?"
Doctor Quill hissed through his teeth and she knew she wasn't going to like his answer. "We do," he admitted, "but the plans only extend to Fours and up."
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and again anger chorused through her. In that instant, Hermione completely understood why her mother had pushed so hard for her to apply for the Drawing. It all made sense now. Yes, the chances were not in their favor, but there was still a chance.
Doctor Quill stayed with her as she started crying in earnest, grabbing clean tissues for her as she sobbed. Once she was able to compose herself, she managed to ask, "What do you suggest we do now?"
"Right now, I would make sure he is as comfortable as possible. If you believe he would be more comfortable at home then we can discharge him, but I don't recommend it."
"No, keep him here," Hermione sniffed, wiping her nose with the soggy tissue. Another clean one was offered to her and she gave a watery smile. "He's being cared for the best here. Does he know?"
Doctor Quill nodded sadly, "He knows."
Hermione felt a fresh onslaught of tears hit her at that information. She bowed her head, trying to keep them at bay. There was one more question she wanted to ask and was absolutely terrified of the answer. But, it had to be asked; she knew that. Licking her lips, she steeled herself, "How long does he have?"
"With the way everything has been progressing, I would say about four months."
Doctor Quill apologized again but Hermione waved him off. The man was doing everything in his power to make her father as comfortable as possible; she was already in debt to him.
The time came all too soon for Hermione to leave so she could catch her bus. It was hard to leave her father, especially knowing now that he was terminally ill, but she knew she couldn't afford any hotels in the area. As she hugged her father goodbye and promised she would visit more often, he said nothing about her obviously puffy eyes and bright red nose. A kiss, a thank you to the nurse and doctor, and she was on her way.
Tears flowed freely once Hermione was situated on the bus. She leaned down, resting her forehead against her knees as powerful, silent sobs wracked her body. The raw pain was overwhelming and suffocating to her. Her father was dying and there was nothing she could do to help. What got to her the most was that there were obviously some ways to treat her father, but the caste system prevented the doctor from doing so.
Hermione's pain slowly grew into anger and she had to restrain herself from kicking the seat in front of her. Her father was a living, breathing person – they all were – but it was a number that they had to identify by.
Hermione's mind went to the Creevey boys, the youngest – Dennis – in particular. She remembered the day the boy had been caned for stealing a loaf of bread because he was hungry and his parents couldn't afford to eat that day. She remembered his screams and how she and Molly had to console Mrs. Creevey when she realized she couldn't afford to take her child to see a doctor. A child, not yet ten, bore terrible scars all because he was a Five.
With renewed resolve, Hermione sat up and wiped the tears from her cheeks. She reached down into her bag and grabbed the small stack of papers that seemed to weigh the bag down. She pulled them out, grabbing the pen she had tossed in as well, and straightened the papers out on her knees.
She began the Drawing application process by writing down her name, that she was from Gryffindor, and was a Five. She stared at the questions, her pen shaking in her hand as she thought about the answers.
Hermione's mother was waiting for her when she returned home that evening. The guilt that Hermione felt was overwhelming and she rushed into her mother's waiting arms. "I'm sorry," she sobbed as they collapsed to the floor. "I'm so sorry, Mum. There's a chance. I'll take the chance. I'm so sorry."
Her mother shushed her, pressing her lips against Hermione's curly hair. "It'll be okay," she reassured.
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A/N: Second chapter down! Let me know what you think!
Cheers,
HP