AUTHOR'S NOTE: YES! FINALLY! :D

I have infinite apologies for the delay and a handful explanations, too, but I really don't wish to delay this more than how much it already has been.

Even yet, thanks topi aap the readers! Thank you, Jade Presley! Thanks to Miranna. Thank you, G, for dropping by, but I'll adress your problem at the end of this. Zipporah363, hi-five, buddy, thank you! Finally, a HUGE thank you to MrsGinPotter for being an inspiration, whose checking up on me pushed me to write this! Buckets of love to ya!

So – read on!

6: Just a Player in Your Game

She can hear Ginny fiddling around in the kitchen – banging utensils and shutting the drawers with more force than necessary – and Hermione is not liking it. Not liking the way she is being treated by Ginny – absolutely hating the way Molly has been coddling her.

She isn't a baby. She is not even a teenager, anymore. So she is distressed. After all, she has had a devastating blow delivered to her heart, and by someone that she'd almost become certain would never hurt her.

But none of that means that she won't be able to deal with this. She is capable of getting over it – she just needs time. And space. None of which are being granted by the two bossy females of the Weasley household.

"Here," Molly intones, smiling brightly as she hands over a cup of coffee to Hermione. "I had to use magic with that… thing you make this concoction in. It's, uh, slightly confusing."

The woman's cheeks are flushed with adrenaline – an obvious result of the amount of hard work she has just done on Hermione's coffee maker.

Hermione takes a sip from the cup. "It's wonderful, Molly. Thank you," she whispers, meaning it with heart.

Molly's face splits into a huge smile. "You do? Oh, thank Merlin!" she exclaims with a laugh that seems forced. Then she sighs, sneaking a glance at the kitchen her daughter is bumping around in. "I have to be home, now, child," she tells her, making her way to Hermione's floo. "I have a very pregnant Angelina, back at home, to take care of."

Hermione smiles at the mention of George's seven-months pregnant wife. "Tell Angelina I said hi," she says, her voice sounding scratchy.

With another brilliant smile flashed at her, Molly steps into the fireplace and vanishes with a swirl of green flames.

Hermione let's out a sigh.

"You won't mind pumpkin pasties instead of a pie, would you?" Ginny calls from the kitchen. "I'm in a crisis, of sorts…"

Hermione cannot understand why this redheaded witch is even trying. She doesn't need pampering, Godric, she needs space!

"It's fine, Gin," she calls back, finally.

She gets up from the armchair she is sat in, and moves down to crouch before her fireplace. The embers have died, leaving coal and ashes in their wake. She fingers her wand kept in the back pocket of her jeans. Hesitating for just a second, she pulls it out and points it at the hearth.

Taking a deep breath, she whispers, "Incendio."

A slow smile crawls up her cheeks when the fireplace lights up.

This is an indication that she isn't nearly as distraught, now, as she'd been earlier.

"Tada!"

Hermione spins in place, without rising from her squat, and exhales when she finds Ginny levitating a plate of pumpkin pasties and a kettle in front of her. She shakes her head.

"Come on, up, now!" Ginny exclaims, rubbing her hands after she has lowered the food items on Hermione's coffee table. "Let's devour this."

Let's? Hermione almost groans at the implication. She so does not want company, right now. She sighs. "You know, Ginny, I'll be fine on my own."

Ginny clicks her tongue, moving to sit on the couch. "I'm not not buying that, sorry."

Hermione rises, finally, to retire to the armchair that she hasn't left for more than a minute, in total, today. "I'm serious, Ginny," she murmurs, rubbing a fist into her itchy, swollen eyes. "I'm just feeling tired… and maybe sleepy, even. But, I'm okay."

Ginny looks at her, skeptically. "Are trying to get rid of me? Is that it?"

However much might she have been wanting exactly that, hearing the younger witch say those words make Hermione feel guilty. She lets out an elongated breath. She has been doing that a lot, lately. "No, it's just… Alright. Stay."

She reaches forward to place her almost full, cold cup of coffee on the table. She can feel Ginny looking at her, but she doesn't glance her way.

Things are going to get better, quicker, if she goes on, along with her life and stops putting special emphasis on them. Ginny's stare is a special emphasis. She doesn't need to acknowledge that.

"Taste one," Ginny says, forwarding her the plate of pasties.

There is excitement spread over her freckled face, and Hermione can tell that the girl is really wanting a review. Well. Hermione doesn't doubt her skills. She is Molly Weasley's daughter, after all; who would question her cooking skills?

She picks up a piece, anyway, and breaks off a chunk to place it in her mouth. It's delicious. "It is really lovely, Gin."

Her expressions must give something away because Ginny visibly eases back in her seat. "Thank you."

Hermione's thoughts have galloped off to farther grounds, however. She is back to the place she doesn't wish to be at – the memory lane.

But, she couldn't exactly help it, could she? This, right now, is something that used to happen with her and Draco, all the time. After a long day of staying apart, at work, she would prepare some special dinner for him, without magic―because she never really could get confident with her pies baking in ten seconds and soups brewing in five―and he would look into her eyes and tell her how she didn't need to put in efforts to please him; how he was more than content, more than pleased by her mere presence in his life – before he would get down to enjoy the meals, feeding small bites to her between the sweet, loving kisses that they shared.

Theirs had been a relationship of love. Pure love. No misunderstandings, no scope of mistrust. Well – at least on her part. He, as it is evident, now, has had other plans―

"Hermione?"

Hermione blinks, acutely aware of the constriction in her throat and a comforting hand on her back. Then she feels the wet warmth on her cheeks, and she swallows back a sob.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, 'Mione," Ginny mumbles into her hair, gathering her closer against her chest. "You've lost something precious. It's okay to cry. It would be an outlet to your grief – not a display of weakness."

Somehow, it's as if Ginny knows exactly what to say. Hermione wraps her hands about the petite woman's waist and sobs loudly into her shirt.

"It's okay, it's fine," Ginny whispers into her curly hair. "Let it all go – nobody is going to judge you. Everyone knows how strong you are. Everyone knows you are capable of dealing with anything. A moment of weakness does not mean you're fragile. You are strong…"

Hermione cries louder, her mind full of the moments she has spent with the one live of her life. The impromptu dates he used to take her for, whenever he had time to visit her at the Ministry during her lunch hours. The innumerable times he had surprised her with tickets to Muggle concerts. The innumerable times he'd taken her to the Wizarding parts of other countries, for weekends, so that they would have time to themselves.

The way he loved her – the way he would express it; the way he would say it.

The way she would feel it.

"It's okay, 'Mione."

Ginny's voice breaks her chain of thoughts, and Hermione pulls away, rubbing at her face to wipe away the wetness. She gives Ginny a tremulous smile. "Tha―thank you, Gin," she breathes out. "I need―needed that."

Ginny smiles back at her, using the sleeve of her shirt to pat under Hermione's eyes. "I know."

Hermione sighs, leaning back in the armchair. Although she doesn't feel completely rejuvenated, her heart feels decidedly lighter. Well. She should give herself some credit, she decides; being fully over everything won't be that easy.

"Narcissa had come by, this morning," Ginny suddenly says, sipping at her tea. Hermione notices that she has poured out a cup for her, as well. "Did you know?"

She nods, slowly. "I heard her and 'Dromeda talking."

"Yeah, well, she's staying over with Andromeda." Hermione looks up at Ginny in shock. The redhead shrugs. "I don't know the details. Just that she had a spat with her son – and possibly her husband, too – and left the Manor."

Well, that is quite a shock. Hermione wonders if this has something to do with her. Knowing Narcissa as much as she does, Hermione wouldn't put it past the blonde woman to walk out on her family if she's upset with them.

"And Padma came by, too? Mum told me."

Hermione nods, again, this time with a little twist of gaiety on her lips when she recalls the overenergetic, Indian witch. "She did."

"What did she want?" Ginny asks with a frown, surprising Hermione.

"Why do you―she's a friend of mine, Gin!" she exclaims, confused. "She was checking up on me."

Ginny gives her a guilty smile, nodding. "Sorry, I didn't… I thought you two were just co-workers. You know, 'cause you sort of disliked her sister at school."

Hermione actually smiles at that. "Don't be so sure about that. I still might."

Before Ginny can respond, though, an alarm goes off in Hermione's cellphone. Confused, she fishes it from the coffee table. It's a reminder, which is repeating for the eighth time. Her eyes widen.

Grab stuff from office – Seminar with Padma.

Gasping, Hermione stands up. "Oh, jeez! I had some business to care of, at the office, and I completely forgot!"

Ginny looks at her askance before standing up, as well. "What?"

"There's, uh… I have to collect some files from my office." She hurriedly peeks at her phone, gasping again when she notices that it is past five of the evening. "Damn!'

"Hermione – Hermione!"

She stops, halfway across the hall, headed towards her bedroom.

"Slow down!" Ginny chides, looking at her with wide eyes. Then she sighs, and purses her lips for a moment. "You're going to the Ministry?"

Hermione nods.

"Right now?"

"I know it is late, but―"

"Hermione, all the offices close at five! And it's fifteen minutes past!" Ginny yells, incredulously. "You don't think it is slightly unsafe to visit such an enormous building alone, when it's practically empty?"

Hermione scowls at her. "Shut up, Gin. I'm more than capable of protecting myself."

Ginny rolls her eyes, though she seems to have calmed down. "You… You're absolutely sure? You could always do it tomorrow?"

"And waste the remainder of today?" Hermione squeaks. "No way! Not when the seminar is on Wednesday."

Ginny frowns. "Today's Friday."

"Exactly!" she shouts back, and twists in place to continue towards her bedroom.

"Hermione, wait!"

Groaning, she stills in place. "What now?"

"Harry's working late, today," Ginny says in a small voice. "If you need… if anything goes wrong, send him a Patronus, okay? He'll be with you."

Hermione turns around to give the redhead standing in her fireplace a smile. "I will be okay, Ginny. But, thank you "

Ginny smiles back before vanishing through green flames.

Sighing, Hermione is about to move towards her room when a tapping noise catches her attention. She frowns, looking around, and her eyebrows shoot up when she realizes that it is an owl. Speeding back into the living room, she finds a Ministry owl perched outside one of the windows.

Taking a breath, she moves towards it, confused.

The owl doesn't even wait for a treat, and is soaring up in the sky as soon as Hermione detaches the note tied to its leg.

It is a simple, yellow piece of parchment with a Ministry seal on it. But, ironically, Hermione can recognize that the parchment itself, along with the thread tied across it, does not belong to the Ministry.

Regardless, she cracks it open.

Dear Miss Granger,

I hope you're having a miserable day. I mean, of course you should be!

I ensured that, didn't I?

But!

Do not rush to presume that the only threat I posed was to your relationship with your boyfriend. (Which I have successfully on that, by the way!)

Anyways, that isn't what I want you to think of, right now. I want you to think about 'him', but.

Because?

Your boyfriend's reputation is my next target.

What problem do I have with 'Draco Malfoy', you might think. I would placate you: nothing, other than his intimate acquaintance with you.

Sound creepy, do I?

How about this: I have a beautiful, three-minute clipping of his intimate times with a lady that isn't you. What more, she doesn't even quite consent to his activities.

Do you catch my drift?

No?

Oh, come on Hermione! I'm talking about him raping Laura Caterina, of course!

But you know what else?

You can prevent it. I am giving you an opportunity to.

So – it is really simple: get down to your office, right now, or else…

Well, nothing much, just some juicy details about a loathsome deed committed by the renowned Malfoy Jr. (with his current girlfriend, no less) get scattered all over tomorrow's Daily Prophet.

From,

You know, don't you?

Her breath caught in her throat, Hermione's wide eyes scan the letter, again, and she stumbles a few steps back.

A blackmail? About Draco? What the hell is going on?

And...

She sucks in an abrupt breath. Of course she knows exactly who this is! She doesn't recognize the handwriting, but she can practically hear the woman's voice. Caterina's voice.

Thinking as quickly as she can, Hermione grabs her wand with shaky hands and casts a few detection spells on the letter. It seems safe. Letting out a breath, she clenches her teeth shut to hold back the sobs that threaten to break out of her.

Now is not the time to dwell on her relationship with him; it's the blame she needs to save Draco from – a blame about a crime that she can bet her life on Draco's innocence in.

Moving fast, she Apparates to the top floor of her apartments, which houses the owlery. There's only one utility of the letter that she can think of.

Apparating back, once she's sent it off, Hermione drags her sleeved forearms over face to clear it off any remaining tear stains, and steps into the fireplace after cupping a fistful of floo powder in a hand.

"Ministry of Magic!" she yells.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the expressions of childlike wonder on her co-workers' faces, as Ricky Rogers went on with his presentation on Billboards. In fact, along with the topic of discussion, the projector that used, seemed to amaze these people, as well. Honestly, how come the wizarding population was this backward?

But, even though this current scenario was frustrating her, Hermione was very happy on the inside. As happy as she'd been at the time of Voldemort's fall, in fact. This entire department was an example of how much the Ministry was trying to promote Muggles and their technology, and that was everything she could have ever wished from this Ministry, and more.

She sighed, fighting the loud yawn that was threatening to tumble out of her mouth for quite a long time, now.

A knock at the door disrupted the flow of discussion. Hermione looked up, too, and her eyes widened when she found her assistant knocking at the door. Cecilia's own hazel eyes were trained on her.

Ricky Rogers cleared his throat. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione snapped her attention back to her boss of six months. "Sir?"

"That's Miss Morris, over there, isn't she?" he questioned with an expressionless face.

Hermione stood up, suddenly feeling mortified – and utterly mad at her assistant, too – when all the eyes in the boardroom focused on her. She kept her gaze locked with Rogers' obsidian one. "That's right, sir."

"Would you kindly go, tend to her?"

Exhaling in relief, Hermione nodded quickly and leapt off her seat, straight towards the glass partition which Cecilia Morris stood across.

"What?" she hissed as soon as she was out of the room.

Cecilia nervously swallowed, gesturing to her left.

Hermione directed her angry gaze in the direction, and―

Didn't believe her eyes, at first. Four years of Quidditch had done him some good – okay, a lot of good – and, dare she think, four years of living on his own had groomed him up, as well? She wouldn't have recognized him, had he not been her best friend of more than ten years.

When his fidgeting hands became obvious and his bright smile began to falter, she flashed him a brilliant one of her own. "Ron!"

The tall, redhead smiled again, sheepishly. "Hey, Hermione."

Hermione marched towards him, her eyes wide. "What―when did you come back?"

He shrugged a shoulder. "About an hour ago, I guess. Listen, 'Mione, can we talk?"

Hermione blinked, taken aback. They said the British had an accent? They were wrong. Ronald Weasley, a British, had caught an accent when away from home!

Her chuckle earned her a pair of raised, red eyebrows. Hermione cleared her throat. "Sure."

They moved down the hallway, and settled on bench in the atrium at the end.

"How have you been?" Ron asked without missing a beat.

Hermione smiled, sadly. "Been better," she said. His face immediately fell, and she felt guilty. "Hey, I didn't mean to blame you," she rushed to explain. "It's just… everything, really, Ron. This new job – the new, irritating boss, and no time for myself."

Ron seemed to ease slightly. "Yeah? Well, I haven't been exactly peachy, either, then," he mumbled. "Quidditch takes the majority of my energy. I'm left with practically no time for myself, as well. Of course, except meals and the workout."

Noticing the quirk to his lips, Hermione smiled back. "So, um… found someone?"

His face immediately became guarded.

"I mean… you know… it's―it isn't a bad thing, if you have," she stuttered out. "It's good, in fact."

Ron let out a long groan. "This is awkward, 'Mione!"

Hermione slunk back in her place. He wasn't wrong. "I think," she started, fiddling with her fingers, "it might become less awkward if we dealt with the grand elephant in the room. You know, instead of skirting around it."

He let out a resounding breath. "Damn straight," he exclaimed, sitting straight. "Actually, that is one of the reasons why I came to see you."

Hermione nodded. "Good. That's – good. So…"

"So, Hermione," he began, blue eyes fixed on her, an urgency shining in them. "Our breaking up was all… I don't know, tears and snot?" Hermione pursed her lips to hide a smile. Again, he wasn't wrong. "So… it calls for a closure, aye?"

Hermione sniffed. "We have to be practical, yes. I can't quit serving the Wizarding society that we worked so hard to build up."

She paused, frowning slightly when she didn't feel particularly agonized by what she was about to say. There was that slight sense of sadness in her that came with loss, in general, but nothing extreme. The previous time they did this, she had been all over the place, for a while. Hell, Ron had wept!

Maybe time really did heal wounds. She took a breath. "And you cannot quit Quidditch for my sake," she stated. "I guess―"

"I guess," he cut her with a small smile, "that this would be our closure."

And, just like that, a weight was lifted off her chest, taking her by surprise.

She stood up when he did, and eased herself into his embrace. "Friends?" she mumbled into Ron's decidedly more muscular shoulder – that was covered by a woolen clothing that was not a Weasley jumper, for a change.

He chuckled, nodding against her head. "Always."

Hermione feels as if she is on autopilot.

It doesn't make any sense, if she thinks about it. He broke up with her – tore her apart in the very worst way possible. Why the hell is she so concerned about him?

She shouldn't have been bothering, right now. He doesn't deserve it.

But, that utterly loathsome threat in the letter has struck a nerve in her. Draco – the Draco she has known; the guy she has loved with all her being – is not capable of such a crime. She can smell conspiracy and her heart threatens to come to a stop when she thinks of the possibility of Draco being manipulated.

She has to know what is going on.

She walks down the Ministry Atrium, ignoring the people she passes on her way.

"Hermione?"

She jumps, taking a step back as she comes face to face with the last person on earth she wants to see, right now. Well, not The Last, but close enough.

"Mister Rogers," she breathes out, mentally cataloguing her emotions so that her boss doesn't catch a whiff of her mental state, or worse, her private life.

But looking at the almost pity reflected upon his tan face, Hermione suddenly feels suffocated.

"I'm sorry," Ricky Rogers says, pressing his lips into a thin line and shaking his head in what Hermione supposes is sympathy. "I read. It is despicable what happened, Hermione. Because I'm fully certain that you didn't do anything wrong―"

"Sir!" Hermione interjects, her blood curdling at all the scenarios that prop up in her mind at his words. "What did you… read?"

Rogers frowns. He looks genuinely baffled. "Today's Prophet, of course," he exclaims, drawing attention of some passers-by.

Hermione, though, feels nauseous. "The… Prophet," she croaks out in a barely recognizable voice, her focus on the surroundings losing as she concentrates on getting lungs-full of air in.

"Yes," Rogers states with a shrug. "The report was about Draco Malfoy breaking up his two-year long relationship to get together with Lucius' secretary. Honestly, Hermione, I'm reconsidering the offer these Malfoys have given me. This seems like a lousy lot, the Malfoys, and…"

Hermione tunes the idiot's rants out. She wants to smack his face, actually. And, in fact, why isn't she doing that instead of merely standing there and thinking of the sources that could have leaked such a personal event of her life, overnight. And what more the said source can leak after tonight…

She swallows her panic when she notices how the already small number of people in the Atrium is thinning further by the minute.

"Sir," she snaps, eyes fastened over his shoulder, at the Ministry's lift. "I'd better make a move."

She stalks off, then, not bothering to respond to his calls. Then, after taking a place in the elevator, and ignoring the weird stares she's getting because she's going into the building, at closing time, she glances back at the place where Rogers had stood, only to discover that he's already left. She sags back against the wall in relief, and reaches up to clench her fist about one of the supports.

There is a jolt, and the lift begins to descend backwards. There is another jolt, and the lift falls down.

Hermione's unoccupied hand traces the shape of her wand, tucked in her left back pocket, as her surroundings begun to grow darker. She has fought through a war that she hadn't been certain she'd come out alive of, and yet, right now, she can feel her nerve endings tensing up.

She realizes, with immense surprise, that the knowledge of Harry being present somewhere in this building is calming her down, in a way.

The elevator stops, not five seconds later, and she steps out on jittery feet.

Her office isn't too far away from the elevator; just the second door, on the right, in the corridor that joins the lift to the atrium.

She takes a deep breath and plucks out her wand. "Lumos."

She steps forth and gazes at the door to her office. Her name in gold, over a black nameplate, gleams back at her in the dim, wand-light. A shiver of revulsion travels down her spine at the possibility of her bring here – of that bitch meandering about her office.

"Alohomora," she mumbles before stepping through, and―

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Silencio!"

Blood freezes in her veins, and she stands, at a loss, when her wand falls from her motionless fingers.

She wasn't alert enough! What is she―

"Well, well, well," drawls a voice in the pitch black room, making the hair at the back of her neck stand at end, "glad you came, Miss Granger."

Hermione's heart stops beating.

The voice does not belong to a female. The voice belongs to someone she knows…

Not a Grand Suspense, but a cliffhanger, nonetheless.

So. Someone asked me to continue with the present and cut the past short. Guess what? I ain't doing that! This is how I planned this story – this is how I'm keeping it.

To compensate the large – ungodly – gap, I've made this, by far, the largest chapter of the story.

Drop your thoughts!

Do tell me what length is more preferred, though. I'll try to stick by it.

xoxo,

Aishwarya!