Flying Lessons #7: Write about an obstacle affecting your pairing. It could be at the start, someone unable to forgive and forget. A negative impact should be caused but your pairing must get over it!
Prompt: (dialogue) "I'm sorry, for everything that I've done."
WC: 1,603
It was a relaxed day in the Ministry cafeteria - and perhaps that was only because, as word had gotten around, the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (the RCMC for short) and the Department of International Magical Cooperation were up in a frenzy over some problem with illegal hippogriffs being brought over from Russia.
Apparently, it was quite dangerous and keeping those two departments from lunch break, leaving the cafeteria relatively quiet. As usual though, Harry and Hermione sat opposite from each other as they ate.
Hermione prodded at her food, twirling her fork thoughtfully.
"Harry," she began in an impeccably accurate impression of an offhanded tone, "have you - do you remember Blaise Zabini? He was a Slytherin in our year back at Hogwarts."
Harry nodded. "Tall, curly-haired one? Yeah. Wasn't he Malfoy's friend?"
"Yes, him." Hermione tapped her chin innocently. "Have you heard anything about him recently?"
"Surprisingly, yes. Why? Have you?" Harry's green eyes narrowed at her curiously, and Hermione cursed his observant Auror skills.
She decided it was hopeless to carry on a facade of disinterest now, and abandoned it, leaning forward and asking, "Is he by chance joining the Auror department?"
"Yes, he's part of the new recruit group. Did he tell you himself?" said Harry, blinking at her rather rapidly.
"So he is?" Hermione sat back in prim satisfaction, thinking of her and Blaise's conversation outside of Gringotts. "I thought so!"
"Honestly, I didn't even know you knew him. I hardly recognized him when he came in with his application."
Hermione waved her hand in the air. "I bumped into him recently in Diagon Alley." She paused and mused, "He looks good, doesn't he?"
Harry choked on his crisps. "Are you seeing him, Hermione?"
Hermione blindly kicked at him under the table. "I meant that he looks like he's in a good place, Harry! Not - not physically -"
Smirking, Harry caught her foot between his calves, by some instinctive Auror defense mechanism that she could never understand. As she glared at him, he added seriously, "But you're only half right. Don't tell anyone, but there was a lot of debate on if we should let him in or not."
Hermione stopped struggling to get her foot away. "Why?"
Harry's face clouded. "It's because of the Zabinis' political connections to so many of those pureblood families - the Malfoys, the Parkinsons, the Greengrasses. He wasn't even a Death-Eater during the war. But he wasn't on our side either, and the admissions board didn't like that." She must have appeared extremely concerned, because Harry rushed to add, "But Kingsley himself let him in. Not in the most desirable unit, but he's still in."
For some reason, Hermione could not get Harry's words off her mind for the rest of the day. At six o'clock, she gave up on finishing early work completely, tossing her papers onto her desk and packing up her bag.
"Feeling tired today," was her explanation to Ann, one of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's secretaries, on her way out.
"You get some rest, Ms. Granger," said Ann, shaking her head. "This is the first time in weeks that you haven't stayed over time."
As Hermione waited for the lift, she thought about what Harry had said about the admission board and the Zabini family's pureblood connections. The Ministry was really a miracle - two entire years after the war based on prejudice, and yet discrimination still lurked in the magical government. She supposed it was easy to justify, though - the losses of the Second Wizarding War still impacted society today. Would a mother grieving her child really want to see a former Death Eater have control over court justice? Would a husband trust an Auror whose friend had murdered his wife?
Hermione sighed. She did understand. It was easy to understand that it made the act of standing still seem like a crime.
As she entered the lift, Hermione suddenly wondered if she was seeing things, if her thoughts about the circumstances surrounding Zabini had fashioned some illusion of him in front of her. But no, he was really in this lift, and he was staring at her with surprise gracing his features in a rather attractive manner.
Hermione was first to react, breaking into a polite smile. "Zabini. I didn't expect to see you here."
Blaise blinked, then grinned - which, to her chagrin and embarrassment, somehow brought the memory of Daphne Greengrass looking up at Blaise to her mind.
"We keep crashing into each other. I suppose you're getting off work?" He waved a black folder in the air. "I had to file one last paper."
"Oh yes. I hear you're joining the Auror department."
"Have you been doing research?" Blaise looked pleased at the idea.
"Well, you wouldn't tell me. I had to." She suddenly peered up at him curiously. "I am wondering, though. What made you want to be an Auror?"
Blaise turned his gaze up at the ceiling of the lift, drumming his fingers against the metal handrail. His facial expression slowly turned serious - and then he turned to her, corner of his mouth wryly quirked upward. "You would believe me if I told you, right?"
Hermione frowned. "Of course."
"Ah, if only everyone was as morally stubborn as you." Blaise shook his head. "It was the war memorial, if you must know. When they set up that whole event in Diagon Alley. I remember seeing the faces of everyone who had died in the war - but people like Theo's brother and Daphne's uncle weren't included."
She remembered the memorial too, on the first anniversary of the war. Black flags had swung above the streets of Diagon Alley like a cloud, and on every flag was a picture of a person who had been lost in the war. Fred, Remus, Tonks, every death that still impaled their hearts today. But Blaise was right. None of the deceased on the Dark Side had been honored that day.
"They were Death Eaters," she murmured. "That's why."
"That's why," Blaise agreed. He clucked his tongue. "At first it made me angry to know that they didn't acknowledge half the friends and family members who died in the war."
His dark eyes found Hermione's as the lift shuddered to the stop, announcing, "Basement Level 8. The Atrium." Neither of them moved, even when the door creaked open; Hermione met his gaze levelly, wanting him to continue even as words sat on the tip of her tongue.
"But they were Death Eaters," repeated Blaise slowly. "Could even you forgive them for what they did? It made sense that people on your side wouldn't honor the people who had killed them. Or even the people who stayed neutral and didn't fight the Dark Side." He paused. "Do you remember when the school was attacked in sixth year, the year Professor Dumbledore died?"
She nodded.
"I think that was around when I told you that my position in the war was neutral." Blaise scratched his chin. "I still remember the look on your face. Granger, it was like you had seen something revolting in me in that moment."
He grinned. "Anyway, so after that day at the memorial, I thought about that look on your face, and how you were always getting into trouble because you took Potter's side all the time. I decided no more neutrality and, voila, Auror." Blaise finished and cleared his throat.
"It seems a bit more complicated than voila," she said slowly. She moved to get out of the lift, and slowed her pace as they stepped into the Atrium side by side.
"Have you forgiven those people who were Death Eaters? Because you're right," she added truthfully, "I can't."
"Of course I have." Blaise didn't hesitate, but managed to wink at her lightly as he said, "And I know I'm right."
She shook her head. "And have you done the same for yourself? For staying neutral?"
He paused and then smiled at her, in the way that told her he knew that she understood enough, and that she could figure out the answer in the sad curve of his lips. "Voila," he said as way of explanation.
They stopped at the base of the Ministry statue, an improved version that was neither the gruesome image when Voldemort had controlled the Ministry, nor the hierarchal one before that. This one Hermione actually approved of, as it painted the wizard, the centaur, the goblin, the merman, and the giant in balance with one another. It was the image of equality, said the silver plaque signed by the Minister.
"You know that I'm sorry for everything I've done, Granger." Hermione glanced at Blaise through the corners of her eyes as he exhaled, gaze fixed on the statue. "More like haven't done, actually."
She felt a sudden rush of warmth and sympathy for him, the boy who had remained neutral despite everyone else choosing sides, the young man who didn't blame those who had chosen darkness instead. She did not understand all of it, and she certainly did not agree with all he had done. Yet…
"It wasn't all your fault," Hermione pointed out. "Besides, hope isn't lost. You have your… voila now."
A smirk spread across Blaise's face as he turned from the statue to her. He looked pleased, Hermione thought, pleased and relieved. She had never seen his eyes so clearly as to notice the flecks of gold in his dark brown pools.
And perhaps it was the sincerity that was making his eyes shine as he nodded at her with a dazzling wink. "Voila."
I'm really glad at the direction this chapter took. :)