Wednesday, April 30th, 2003

Hermione felt like she'd been hit on the head with a brick. Fumbling around with a hand to set off her alarm clock, her head buried deep in her pillow and a thick strand of hair in her mouth, she growled loudly, and not in the most feminine of ways. She was still in her clothes from the day before and had passed half the night emptying every bottle containing alcohol she'd been able to get her hands on. She'd even finished an old box of liquorish chocolates.

Ron loved those treats, she hated them, she'd bought them out of habit. What a failure anyway, five poor years with Ron, only a rough fucking patch apparently, and gone. It was all gone. Ron would sell the cottage they'd bought, write her a check for her share and it would be completely over.

It could have been different. If only. Too many ifs actually. So many that Hermione had to screw both her eyes with her thumbs to shake the thoughts away. It was over, why would she dwell on it?

After a very long shower and a clean set of robes, Hermione was out on the wet pavement again. That morning she contemplated the idea of just leaving. To never return. Call gibberish in the chimney as floo powder would take her far away from where she was heading. Or going the muggle way and simply buy a ticket for the next international flight at the airport.

The entrance hall of the ministry was full of people coming and going haphazardly, pushing and bumping into one another. She crept along the walls to avoid being pushed or walked on the feet again, but had to duck and turn around to avoid Caroline, the crowd seemed less annoying.

When she reached the secretary desk, the receptionist, Judith, gave her a sympathetic smile that vanished when Hermione scowled.

"Morning. Any messages?" She asked.

"Yes, two Mrs Weasley." Judith's eyes widened and she winced.

"Don't bother." Hermione cut, before she could say anything, and snatched the papers she was handing her from her hands. It was the least to say that Hermione GRANGER was not in a good mood that day.

Draco woke up in a strange position. It was the second time that month that he woke up like that. His neck cracked as he lifted his face from his desk, his muscles cramped and his back ached. The thin track of the quill he'd slept on felt like a scar on his cheek, his head was pounding furiously, and his mouth was as dry as sandpaper. He'd fallen asleep in his chair, and apparently had dropped his glass of firewhiskey on the carpet in the process. He snatched his wand from the desk and shot a tergeo at it. Rubbing his face with both hands, twice, didn't help him clear his vision, this hangover would be a hard one. He stood, went to the bathroom to take a shower, and brushed his teeth three times, the pasty feeling on his tongue a persistent parasite.

He got back to his office fastening his tie, grabbed the pile of papers he'd ended up sleeping on, and disapparated to the Ministry. Re reading the crumpled letter from the night before, he headed to the Law Enforcement department, the glow of his visitor's badge sending jolts of pain through his forehead each time it flashed.

The secretary desk was empty when he reached the right floor, nausea pointing its dirty nose from the brutal lift journey. Scowling and putting a hand to his stomach he sat in one of the chairs that lined the wall. After two minutes his patience was draining off and he stood to take a look at the corridor left to the desk. The door at the far end was ajar, and he could picture long and straight brown hair, atop a tight grey skirt. He took a few wary steps forward to get a better look, thinking he'd might as well knock or something to finally get the bint's attention.

On the office door a golden sign with black letters read:

Hermione Granger Weasley

Head-management

Department of Law Enforcement

Right, the book-worm was head. Draco had forgotten that under his annoyance at the letter he'd received from whatever subaltern of her department. All the other doors were closed though, and he needed to get to work, so he took a few more steps.

"Right, I'll take these documents then, call MacMillan at Regulation and Control he'll want to have a look at this. When is my next appointment?"

"In about a half hour, it should leave you enough time to go through these. The Prime Minister called on your attention again about the Foster case, he states it's a priority."

"I know Judith, I'll have an answer from the auror's department this afternoon. I'll go through it with him personally right after, so you'll need to cancel anything past four, I won't be able to attend."

"Noted. Is it everything Mrs Weasley?"

There was a pause. A too long pause for it not to be awkward. Draco's left eyebrow lifted in a question he couldn't form, but got an answer anyway:

"I'm sorry … I'm truly …."

"Don't. Quit treating me as a charity case Judith. I don't want nor need pity or puppy fucking eyes." Wow.

"I'm sorry Miss Granger it's just … you look …"

"I just said enough with the misplaced pity!"

"It's not I swear! You just went through a divorce it's …"

"A divorce is not the end of the world, and it's none of your bloody business anyway."

"I know, I'm just worried." The poor bint was trembling.

"I couldn't care less Judith. We're not friends, and what happens in my personal life is none of your concern. Now get out." Harsh.

"Right Miss Granger, I'll see myself out. But just so you know, people are starting to talk. You look like you're about to cry all the time."

"GODRIC'S FUCKING BEARD! Why can't everyone mind his own fucking business around here? I fought in a bloody war and was the brain to kill VOLDEMORT! I'M NOT A FUCKING PORCELAIN DOLL! NOW MIND YOUR OWN SHIT FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE!"

Wow. Draco ducked just in time to let pass a crying secretary. She ran to the lift as Draco didn't dare peek inside Granger's office. He was still wondering what to do, or if it was even wise to try to move, when Granger stormed out of her office too, banging the door closed behind her. She was about to stride past him angrily when she came to an abrupt stop, turned around, retrieved her wand so quickly Draco wondered if they were attacked, and pointed it at her own office door. The name Weasley vanished. Then she turned around, her hair flying everywhere in the process and after a step she stopped. She seemed to only notice him now, recognition hit her eyes and she frowned.

Blaise was right, she looked like shit. Draco hadn't seen her in almost a year, the last time being at commemoration. Back then he hadn't really paid her any attention, now, well, they were about a meter away and face to face. Her eyes were still red and bloodshot in what he thought to be anger, circled with a thin purple stain and her mouth set in a straight line.

"Over here." She said and strode past him, her Ministry robes brushing his cloak.

Hermione turned back around, heading downstairs to get a well deserved cup of coffee, when she realised someone was there in the corridor, his back to the wall. A tall lean figure in a dark green tie and unbuttoned heavy cloak, with a sharp nose and almost white blond hair. Malfoy? She paused.

What was he doing here? He'd probably heard the shouting from the waiting area. Whatever. Judith had probably left and she would have to handle him, since no one on that bloody floor had dared poke his head out their door to see what was going on anyway.

"Over here." She said in a strained voice and went to the secretary desk at the end of the corridor. She reckoned asking Martin to send the usual request for the regulations checking of Malfoy's company. If she remembered correctly, he had a few papers to sign, to warrant that he was still within said regulations. She usually had no contact with him whatsoever, as it was just paperwork and she had a mountain of more important cases to take care of. And a few trials too.

Scowling, she searched the drawers behind the desk, without even checking if Malfoy had followed. After a minute of rummaging through the M section she finally found what she was looking for and turned to the desk. She sat behind it and finally lifted her head to check if he was there. He was frowning and watching her warily. He'd heard, it was a certainty.

"Sit, you have to sign three of these, and since my secretary's absent, I'll wait to assert you took the time to read them." He nodded sharply, apparently having gathered his bearings. He sat facing her and she pushed the three documents to him, as well as Judith's quill and ink pot.

She studied him a few seconds while he read, his face crisped in a tight frown. She didn't think she'd ever had the opportunity to see him from such a short distance. He was, as expected, perfectly dressed and groomed but she caught a few hints of well-hidden tiredness. His eyes were rounded with a sheer purplish shadow, his neck stiff and held straight under a too tightly knotted tie, and he was gripping the paper he held so much it was crumpling under his fingers. His frown was deep, maybe he also had a headache. As she waited for him to be done, her eyes drifted to the lift, the gold from its shut doors a bit too bright for her own headache. After three minutes she propped her elbows on the desk and held her chin with her right hand, watching blankly at the mail Judith had stacked under a weight.

"Here." He said, his voice too flat for her not to notice the change. She hadn't heard it in probably years, but it was oddly devoid of its usual coldness or sneering. She cocked an eyebrow but still took the pages he'd lifted to her.

"Can't your office send these by owl?" He asked, as flatly as before.

"The law stipulates that a ministry official has to be present through your reading and I'm afraid we don't do deliveries." She simply stated.

"So, it's a no. How often is it already? Every three months?" No longer, she thought. His company had followed regulations so strictly for the past years that he'd been granted some respite, at her own initiative.

"Six, from now on." He nodded and stood to go. Hermione did the same and went the opposite direction without further talk, when she remembered her coffee.

"Hold it." She called as he was about to speak his direction in the lift.

Draco had never thought he'd see the Gryffindor book-worm so drained. It was unsettling, and had kept him from being nasty. He was still reflecting on Blaise's comments from the morning before, when she quietly called from him to hold the lift.

He did so and she joined him inside, gripped a handle and, looking at her feet, asked:

"Going off?"

"Yes."

"Atrium."

She kept her gaze low and pinched her nose between her thumb and index, frowning hard. Draco had just done that less than a minute before. Headache? Maybe she was just sick after all. That would explain the snap in her office, the secretary's unwelcome pry had surely been misplaced. Granger, whatever flaws she had, and the list was long, hadn't climbed the Ministry ranks by whining when there was work to do after all.

"Headache?" He presumed. She jumped a bit and gave him a questioning eyebrow. After about two seconds, she seemed to believe he wasn't mocking her, which surprisingly he wasn't, and lowered her face to her shoes again. She stated in that strained and slow voice:

"Hangover." Just as the lift landed in the atrium.

He was so surprised that he stayed in for a second after she'd walked off, and watched her turn right towards the cafeteria.

He had to tell Blaise. The commemoration promised, indeed, to be interesting.