Thursday, May 16th, 2003.
Hermione received the last meeting summary she would before the Foster trial she was to chair. Last details were incredibly important and most thankfully keeping her mind off of things non-work related. When she finished reading it that morning, Tracey only arrived. They discussed the matter together, Hermione was in great need of an outsider point of view.
She'd been buried in this case for several months on, and even if her personal issues had never, ever, altered her working pattern, she still felt like the recent events or more scenes she'd made, might have gotten her to overview something.
She doubted it, Tracey too, but still. Last checking wouldn't hurt anyone.
After three hours of reviewing, reading, cross checking, list making, etc., she didn't really thank Merlin for Tracey Davis any longer.
Although the witch had proved pragmatic and clever beyond anything expected of her, also very good at her jobs, her knowledge in Laws revealed limited.
As one who worked for Improper use of Magic, Astoria had a vast knowledge of Laws, she didn't make them but she made sure they were applied, and if she were to have a spare lunch, Hermione would kill to review the case with her. Whether the legality of such a thing could be considered questionable.
So, for the first time, she sent a note first.
Fancy an early working lunch with me? Would use your opinion.
It was when he received the second threatening letter that morning, that Draco started to bitterly regret not having spent his previous lunch with Blaise complaining, instead of trying to somehow do something for Hermione sodding Granger.
The long awaited meeting with his father's past associates had only seemed to go smoothly. While he'd only offered to hire one of them, the others had pretended to take the dismissal the proper civil way.
It had, of course, only been for appearances.
Now, as the charmed letter, presumably written with a magically inking quill, burned into ashes in his office fireplace, Draco had no precise knowledge of who wanted him dead.
Well he had, but they were eight suspected people, all registered as questionable associations in Granger's archives and also a whole bunch of random people from the war.
Nonetheless, as well as not feeling threatened at all - his security wards at the manor AND at his office were the best that could be bought - he still felt so tired of it all, it went beyond the imagination of Nicolas Flamel.
Living under the obligation of managing this Salazar forsaken company was his damnation. Draco had enough money in his personal vault at Gringott's to live a good ten lives without worrying about anything but which bottle of firewhiskey to drink from.
Yet, he was stuck in this bloody office. His father remained his nemesis even in death.
Maybe he'd try again setting his sodding portrait on fire. He snorted at the thought, like that would work. When he'd tried, all he'd managed to do was set his wardrobe on fire. He'd had to buy a whole new one and shopping with Blaise was definitely not his thing.
Plus, the definite inevitability of the binding contract he was under, only made him dread every single day spent there. His father may have been the worst corrupted scammer of the country, he had also been undeniably clever and calculative. While he'd wished to disown his son upon his death bed – only because Draco had chosen that very moment to tell him what he thought of him – he had nonetheless planned Draco's future meticulously.
When he'd thought Draco had been worthy of his estate, he'd made him sign a contract that would make him the sole heir and owner of his company, shall Lucius die. Draco had only been seventeen by then, and upon the end of a war, as any other young adult full of hopes, he'd trusted his father not to scam him too.
Well, too bad he hadn't read the contract.
Now, he was obligated by oath to lead the company, up until he had an heir of age to take his place.
Draco could, though, have delegated about half his duty to anyone of his choosing but … Upon taking leadership in this office, he'd discovered how rotten the company was, and decided to recast it entirely, not in an ounce willing to perpetuate his father's ways.
The job was tremendously horrid but he hadn't been able to leave things how they were, to keep sullying his name. The war had done that perfectly well already.
So, he'd fired, hired, met, read regulations, booked controls, followed Laws scrupulously ever since.
All these days spent working until he couldn't feel his eyes for what? Receiving death threats. Having to fire more incompetent people. Feeling brainless and so tired at the end of the day that he couldn't keep going without drinking at least two glasses of firewhiskey.
That lunch, he drank three. His day quota was outdated and it wasn't even one o'clock yet.
If only he could find a solution to escape his ordeal. He couldn't even sell the company it was forbidden. The only solution was to bring an innocent child – from a suitable marriage of course – into the world, and to leave the burden on his shoulders instead.
What kind of monster would do such a thing? A very tired and depressed monster probably. Draco wasn't there though, not yet.
His father had even ruined his chances of having a happy marriage and building a family one day. Right, he would never impose such a fate on an innocent being. He wouldn't get married either. What woman would ever want of him, except for his money, if he wasn't even able to give her a child anyway? Draco would never have a child. He would never be a father.
His thought suddenly drifted to Granger. Unexpectedly, she'd been out of his head since his lunch with Blaise. Granger had lost three children.
Draco was still lucky in some twisted way. He would never have a child to loose.
He guessed it was less horrific to simply not make them – and not ruining any life doing so – than to have them, and then be ripped off them even before holding them.
Draco took a fourth drink. He was miserable. He needed a break. He needed Blaise, again.
Hermione only allowed herself to start fidgeting when four o'clock came, and Astoria had still not answered her note. Surely she was busy, and having to spend a lunch alone reading for the thousandth time the same thing wasn't the worst thing that had happened to her. That day.
Well, she didn't so much allow herself to over-think, than she couldn't help it. Astoria had always initiated their lunches, and Hermione had always responded positively. And the complete lack of response was unnerving. Whether she rationalised and told herself it was stupid to even mind it, she seemed to have lost all control on her nerves.
Had, what she'd thought had been a start of friendship, been only a shallow one-sided thing? Surely not, logic told her, surely yes you pathetic little alone thing, a nasty, annoying and probably evil voice told her.
Her decision to get over her personal shit suddenly felt to rely only on Astoria Greengrass' character.
How pathetic was that?
Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, war hero, head of a ministry department, reduced to a depressed little alone thing that relied on a single acquaintance as for soothing her mood swings.
Pathetic.
Pitiful.
No wonder people had been only pitied stares and whispers around her. No wonder they'd given her only honeyed words and cautious faked smiles.
Surely the very healthy face she sported those days wasn't arranging things either.
It must have been reason enough for Judith to try be cautious around her. Caroline too. Those bitches had been the ones talking at her back though. The one spreading the news that the golden stupid girl was no longer as shiny as gossip magazines had tried to make her look for years.
How shattered was the picture then?
Surely the magazines ought to have a few pictures of her stumbling out of Hog's Head by then. They must have some of Ron's speech at commemoration too. The link they surely made between the two must be funny to read.
"Hermione Granger: alone and drunk head of law enforcement."
"Nasty divorce. Who cheated on who?"
Ludicrous. How long before they started attacking the only constant in her life now? Her job was all she had left.
She didn't even have any friends any more.
She had no hope to ever get married and build a family either. It was irrevocable. She would never be a mother.
Pitiful.
Healer Bradley looked at the ugly but tiny scar closely.
"You should have told me sooner. It can't have nothing to do with your issues. I'm sorry but I'm pretty sure your uterus suffered from the impact of the curse."
"I thought so."
"Usually the caster aims for the chest as it's more effective when it blocks the breathing. The curse spreads through the nerves, if they're tense it is even more efficient. Targeting the lower abdomen is uncommon. Most of the time it's due to a bad aim, therefore the exposure is never this severe. It must certainly have impacted your reproductive system. I am really sorry miss Granger. If only you'd come to me sooner …"
He'd only come with a complete diagnosis the next day.
"I am afraid that I can only confirm our suspicions. The damage is permanent. The curse was really powerful. Plus, the presence of multiple impacts seems to have only aggravated the situation. Adding the fact that it wasn't healed properly … I am very sorry."
"Not your fault."
"May I ask …"
"Bellatrix Lestrange."
"Oh. I see." He seemed suddenly fidgety. "Em if you'd like I can explain the situation to your husband."
"No, I'll … I'll tell him myself."
Yes it had been pity spreading on his face. Fallen war heroine. Unable to bear a child.
Alone.
Hermione snapped back to reality when a note came flying through her ajar door. A note labelled personal. She wiped tears she hadn't realised had been rolling down her cheeks with a sleeve, then she unfolded the piece of parchment.
I was out of the Ministry today! I only just saw your note! Let's delay to tomorrow, usual time. I have things to tell you anyway.
The relief was almost overwhelming until it was replaced with another strong feeling. Hermione felt so stupid now. Mounting her head up all by herself. Over one single unanswered note. Astoria had been busy. If only she'd listened to her logical brain, and not her depressed and dejected heart.
Was it how depression worked? She'd thought she was stronger than that. She'd thought she could overcome all this.
Yet she was still able to make herself feel miserable and pathetic in the course of a single day.
She was smarter than that! Merlin forbid she'd herself be the reason of her constant dreary mood.
She was stronger than that, she'd outlived a bloody war!
She was strong, talented, smart, witty and err … maybe a bit too skinny but it was out of the subject.
She didn't have friends ? So be it. Who cared when there was a very important trial to chair soon, Laws to update, a Wizengamot to convince?
Plus, if she weren't mounting her head again, there was also a bunch of very witty Slytherins around that even if she'd tried to avoid she kept seeing everywhere.
Astoria was brilliant and funny and even if no friendship resulted of their lunches and going out Hermione saw no reason not to enjoy her time with her.
As for what people thought, fuck them. As long as no one questioned her work she didn't care.
She smiled, if she were to go out with Astoria again surely the gossip papers would find that more interesting than Harry and Ron's speeches. Unusual associations always had the upper hand on old boring discourses everyone had heard a thousand times.
She couldn't wait to read that article. Maybe she'd buy her first witch weekly soon. If she was going to feel like crap anyway she wouldn't spare herself a good laugh.
Blaise had been promptly sent back home way too early to his taste by a very pissed off Astoria Greengrass the previous night. He hadn't even been able to negotiate an angry round in bed. Or a thank you one. When they'd reached her front door, after about forty five inhuman minutes of walking, she'd invited him in, to the condition that he told her right away why he was really there.
Trying to charm her into giving in before would have been useless, but he'd thought the little smile at the corner of her lips had meant that she'd comply after.
He never could have guessed she'd be pissed off to no end once he'd told her. She'd sworn under her breath for a good ten minutes, and then started plotting something supposedly nasty, watching the wall blankly and counting something on her fingers.
Blaise had patiently waited, until she'd asked the question:
"Why tell me this?" He'd been so bored and impatient that he'd told the truth without the need for torture from her part:
"Draco asked me to. He wanted her to be warned."
"Why no do it himself?"
"Because he expects you to do something about it. It's not like there's something he can do."
"Good. I have a few calls to make, if you don't mind … I'll see you later."
And he'd been dismissed, shoved towards her front door, just before she'd banged it, pestering angrily for herself.
Blaise had had no idea Astoria liked Granger this much. Draco had hit right. As always. The lad was the most depressed and angry – although he hid it perfectly – lad in England, but he never did something without knowing for sure it would work.
And the one screwed in all his mischievous scheming, was Blaise Zabini, not shagging that night.
Well, he'd gotten rid of Sherry as a price. Now, he only needed to convince Astoria to welcome him past her living-room.
He guessed he would have to wait for her to complete her promise of keeping him posted, so he could report to Draco and invite himself at her place to say thank you.
His patience was draining off when he finally received an owl that afternoon. She had managed something nasty that Blaise needed to tell Draco about absolutely. A lunch with his best friend was in order. Surely the lad would be pleased. Maybe he would smile for once.
And it wasn't even the best part, she wanted to thank him on Saturday night.
Blaise was about to write to his best friend when Draco's owl tapped his window glass. How convenient.
I need a break. Tomorrow, usual time, usual place.
Damn. Blaise hadn't expected another break until at least Saturday. Draco had to really need it. Oh right, he had forgotten about his friend's meeting the previous day. He hadn't even asked. Seeing Draco think about anything but work and all about Granger had been distracting.
Blaise had naively thought that Draco had his mind off of things. The past weeks spent talking about Greengrass or the golden trio had seemed to shift his mood.
He'd been wrong apparently.
Maybe Astoria's letter would shift things again. Right. Maybe. Blaise only had that anyway. His presence wasn't enough to lift the lad's mood any more.
They used to meet only maybe once or twice a month when Draco had started working under Lucius' oath, but soon their breaks had occurred more often and lasted longer.
Seeing his best friend loose himself like that was sickening. If Draco refused to find a solution, and if the Granger-Greengrass-Potter-Weasley case proved to not be enough, he would find one himself. He didn't even need to answer, Draco knew he'd come so, instead of writing, Blaise spent his evening role playing Granger: researching a solution to a contract issue.