4.
"Granger," a familiar voice drawled from nearly right in front of her, making Hermione jerk to a halt as she jumped half out of her skin.
"Jesus!" she squeaked, slamming her hand against her chest and dropping half the contents of the file she'd had her nose buried in as she'd hurried along the Ministry corridors, heading back to her office post-lunch in town with Ginny. They fluttered to the floor like a miniature snowstorm, and she groaned inwardly. "Malfoy." She blinked her eyes into focus, adjusting from having them glued to the tiny print in the case file. "Merlin, you scared me half to death."
"My apologies." He was suave in an obviously expensive dark navy suit and pinstriped waistcoat that looked Edwardian, a muted blue shirt bringing out flecks of matching blue in his grey eyes, tie tugged loose around his neck and hands shoved in his pockets as he eyed her harried state. He looked vaguely amused, and Hermione pursed her lips together, ready to snap a retort to whatever superior remark he was clearly going to say. But instead Malfoy crouched down and began collecting up her scattered papers, flicking glances up at her as he did so. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"Oh." She stood there staring at him stupidly, in her favourite black pencil skirt and a delicate white silk top, her hair wrestled back into a neat bun that she'd poked her wand through so she had her hands free. Thank Merlin she had to dress somewhat smartly at work, she thought absently as she watched Malfoy kneel at her sensibly shod feet. "Oh, yes. Well. I shouldn't read while I walk, I suppose," she said rather pathetically, and he chuckled as if she'd been witty.
"That might be safer, yes. There are so many hazards, otherwise. Walls, doorframes, unexpected steps. Me." He stood smoothly and handed Hermione the papers, smiling down at her, the lines at the corners of his eyes crinkling.
"Thank you," Hermione said quickly as she tucked the papers haphazardly back into the folder, returning his smile with her own. Malfoy stayed there in front of her, and she swallowed and looked away, feeling awkwardness saturate her. What was he doing? Why hadn't he gone on his way? What the hell? She hoped rather desperately that she didn't look as uncertain and awkward as she felt right now, which was very.
"Do you have a moment?" Malfoy asked, and she checked her watch and nodded dumbly; she had a good hour before her next hearing. "It was nice seeing you, the other day," Malfoy said then, with an unexpected hesitancy, and Hermione's gaze flew to him.
"...was it?" she asked without thinking, full of bewilderment, and then cursed her stupidity. The corner of Malfoy's mouth turned up, his eyes crinkling slightly.
"Yeah. It was."
"Oh! Oh, I didn't mean, I mean..." she floundered and then trailed off when it became clear there was nothing she could say to save the situation. Malfoy kindly didn't comment meanly on her inability to make any sense whatsoever, waving it off instead.
"I know what you mean." He had the grace to look uncomfortable, and Hermione wondered if he was remembering back through the years to how things used to be, so long ago. She wondered if he felt guilty for the harm he'd been party to, or if his apparent changes hadn't been deep enough to make him suffer regret for the past. He took a breath and his discomfort vanished, leaving him perfectly composed again. "But I was glad to meet Rose, and to see that you don't have a problem with her and Scorpius being friends. Unless of course, you do?" Hermione frowned faintly, shifting her grip on the case file she cradled.
"Not at all. Scorpius seems like a very nice boy." She bit her lip, and nearly apologetically ventured: "I would've thought that if any one had a problem with Rose and Scorpius being friends, it would have been you."
"I was only a child myself then, Granger," Malfoy said rather grimly. "Back when all that...happened. I no longer... I am no longer quite naïve or hateful enough to buy into blood hatred bigotry."
"Oh. Good," Hermione said, surprised by Malfoy's bluntness. "That's good." She looked down at the folder in her arms, unable to meet his eyes, scuffing her shoes on the floor like a child. "I just wanted to be sure. You know. Actually, I shouldn't have asked; that was rude of me. I'm – sorry."
"It's fine, Granger. I quite understand," he said, and she looked up to see him smiling wryly. "I'm used to it. And most people don't inquire half as kindly as you did, so I appreciate that." Then Malfoy took a deep breath, and – thank Merlin – changed the topic, voice brighter and expression friendly. "Really though, I do appreciate Rose befriending Scorpius, more than you might know. First year was hell for him, and I thought that we would have to home-school him until Rose took him under her wing."
"Really? Bullying? I would have expected better of Headmistress McGonagall."
"McGonagall did what she could, but Scorpius is my son, and as I know all too well, people have a tendency to pass their hatreds down to their children," Malfoy began, and Hermione winced as she realised what he meant.
"Oh. Oh, the poor boy." Now that she had the right of it, Hermione could imagine all too well what kind of reception the son of Draco Malfoy would get – as the child of someone who had first harmed one side, and then betrayed the other, there would be no one who did not have reason to hate him.
"Happily he was placed in Ravenclaw with Rose, and none of the Ravenclaws seemed inclined to bully him – whether for fear of losing points or because they were somewhat more rational than the other children, who knows – but children in other houses were, well, unkind would be the polite way to put it. The more accurate way, however, would be to say that they were cruel little monsters who tormented him until he. Until he –" Malfoy stopped and swallowed hard, eyes clouding and muscles in his jaw tensing. It took a moment before he could go on. "Suffice it to say, Scorpius's friendship with Rose has been all that made it possible for him to remain at Hogwarts. He's been doing so much better since they became friends."
"I feel terrible that I didn't know until just recently," Hermione said inanely, wondering dizzily at the fact that she and Malfoy were talking together like ordinary people.
"Scorpius said that Weas– your husband, hasn't exactly mellowed in his opinion of my family – according to your daughter, at least," Malfoy said cautiously, shoving his hands back in his pockets and rocking back on his heels as he watched Hermione's face for a reaction. Well he got one – she felt her face heat, and just knew she was flushing red with embarrassment right to the tips of her ears.
"Ron is like an elephant," she said with an effort at lightness, resisting the urge to press the cool backs of her hands against her flaming cheeks. "He has many very good qualities, but he also has an extremely long memory. He would never try to stop Rose from being friends with Scorpius though, regardless of the history between, erm, our families."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"Yes, well. I hate to just dash, Malfoy, but – I better, um..." Hermione waved in the direction of her office, taking an uncertain step back. "...I have a hearing to prepare for."
"Oh, of course," Malfoy said swiftly, clearly a little startled by Hermione's abrupt attempt to disengage from the conversation. She wondered just how long he would have stood in the corridor and chatted for. Merlin, it was strange.
"I'm glad we talked," she told him, offering a tentative smile as she wavered back another step.
"As am I. Good luck with the hearing, Granger." Malfoy inclined his head and smiled lopsidedly at the funny little half-wave she gave him as she clutched the case file to her chest, before he strode briskly off down the corridor, still smiling to himself.
"I need everything relating to the Usbourne case on my desk in five minutes, Mariska," Hermione said as she clacked briskly past in her low heels. She slid a coffee onto her secretary's desk with a smile as she passed, defusing her otherwise crisp manner. She always bought Mariska a coffee from the local Muggle coffee shop on her way into work, every Monday morning without fail. It had become something of a tradition over the years, as the much younger witch had a habit of coming in on Mondays hung-over and yawning, although that happened less often nowadays.
"Of course, Ms Granger-Weasley. And thank you for the coffee!" Mariska called as her superior disappeared into her office.
"You're welcome," Hermione called over her shoulder, and then settled in at her desk with her own coffee, gaze thoughtful and faraway as she slid off her shoes and wiggled her slightly squished toes. In her work in magical law enforcement she generally acted as an Interrogator – the wizarding equivalent of a Muggle Crown Prosecutor – and the Usbourne case was her main focus at the moment. She was preparing to bring the case before the Wizengamot tomorrow, and she needed everything to be absolutely perfect.
Caritas Usbourne was a big fish; a pureblood of a minor family, he had made his success as a potions developer and manufacturer. He was the biggest British name on the market, and St Mungo's ordered many of their more complex potions from his company, Usbourne Potions. 'UPwards and onwards with Usbourne Potions – always reaching for the future!' was their slogan. But for years, rumours of the mistreatment of Caritas Usbourne's employees had floated about – talk of horridly unsafe working practices and conditions, mostly. Then blurry secret photographs that seemed to show terrible accidents started to emerge, and then reports of potions that weren't yet approved for human testing being used on Squibs and Muggle indigents, often with harmful results.
But no one had been willing to come forward and give evidence against him; too frightened by his intimidation and threats, and without a witness willing to testify, hearsay, photographs that could have been taken anywhere, and suspicion, were not enough. It had taken three years before the Auror squad assigned to investigate the issue had gathered enough evidence for Hermione to be willing to take it to the Wizengamot. The clincher had been an extremely brave ex-employee, who was willing to testify despite the multiple threats that had been anonymously levelled at him. He was currently under Auror protection in an undisclosed location, and would portkey in to the Ministry tomorrow, for the hearing.
Hermione herself had gotten several threats, but as a Ministry Prosecutor, that was life as usual, and it no longer bothered her; the children were safe at Hogwarts, the house was well-warded, and Hermione and Ron were quite capable of taking care of themselves. She would have a pair of Aurors assigned to her from now until the hearing, however, just in case last minute desperation pushed Usbourne to violence – he was facing life in Azkaban, which was still not a pleasant prospect, even with the Dementors gone.
A knock came at the door, and Hermione straightened in her seat and set her coffee down, pushing the shorter bits of hair coming out of the haphazard up do she'd fixed it into by shoving her wand through the thick twist of hair, back off her face. Growing out a fringe was so frustrating. "Enter!"
"The Usbourne file, Ms Granger-Weasley," Mariska said with a smile, holding the bundle of thick folders up for Hermione to see and hurrying across the office. "The full files –" Mariska said, laying them down on the desk " –and the review folder," she finished, handing Hermione the still dauntingly thick file. Hermione took it with her thanks, flipping the heavy thing open and heaving a sigh. Merlin, she had so much to review. "You'll do fine at the hearing tomorrow, Ms Granger-Weasley – no, wonderfully. You'll do wonderfully, I'm sure."
"Is it that obvious?" Hermione asked her secretary ruefully, and Mariska smiled apologetically and shrugged a slim shoulder.
"Only because I know you so well. I'm sure that no one else would notice."
"That's very kind of you, Mariska, but I wouldn't be surprised if it were obvious to everyone. I'm tied in knots over this damn case. The Auror unit has spent so much time collecting the evidence, and finding a witness to come forward...well, I don't want to be the one who loses the case and wastes everyone else's hard work by mucking up something simple, or forgetting a fact, or appearing –" Hermione stopped herself from spiralling into a fluster, shutting her eyes, taking a deep breath, and letting it out again, slowly. "See, look at me? I'm panicking," she said sheepishly, half-laughing at herself.
"You've never once mucked up by doing something silly in the whole four years I've been here," Mariska said patiently, well used to her boss's occasional fits of nerves before a big case. "I am sure you will manage just fine tomorrow. You should go home early, and have a glass of wine and a hot bath, and relax. It'll do you the world of good. Then get an early night, and leave reviewing the case for tomorrow morning, when you're bright and focused."
"Oh Merlin, that does sound nice." And Ron would be home tonight, and Hermione supposed a relaxing evening would be far better for their relationship than one where she sat in the study reviewing the case until late, leaving only the time and energy for them to engage in a quickie before they fell asleep. "I think I'll take your advice, Mariska. If I'm not out of here by four, you have my permission to boot me out, by any means necessary." Her secretary laughed and agreed to do so, and then hurried back out to her desk, closing Hermione's office door quietly behind her.
Hermione did precisely as Mariska said, and the bath was lovely when paired with a huge glass of elderflower wine and a squeeze of Hugo's jellybean scented bubble bath. She wallowed contentedly until she began to turn into a giant prune, and then wrapped herself up in a cosy dressing gown and gave the local Chinese takeaway a ring. Ron had a portkey sorted to come home again tonight, but Hermione really didn't care if he turned up or not, and certainly wasn't going to go to any trouble after last week's disaster. She'd officially given up trying, at this point. It was Ron's turn to make an effort.
Which he hadn't made yet; not a single call or text since he'd left early the last Monday morning, giving her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek goodbye. She hadn't said she'd still been mad at him, but it had been pretty obvious; she'd rolled over after sex and shrugged off his attempts to cuddle, giving him the cold shoulder. Ron hadn't been bothered enough to ask her what was wrong though, and she wouldn't be telling him 'til he asked. Hermione had the creeping suspicion though that he just wouldn't, and at times during the week she'd felt herself on the verge of tears, wondering how and when it had gotten to this.
Ron flooed in while Hermione was sitting curled up on the couch in the sitting room, still in her dressing gown with her Szechuan chilli chicken on her lap, sipping from a can of fizzy drink as she flipped through the channels on the telly. She heard the fireplace in their small, formal lounge flare up, and then Ron mumbled something grumpily under his breath – he'd probably gotten all sooty. "'Mione?" he called out a moment later, as Hermione settled on a rerun of the Vicar of Dibley, and tucked into her Chinese. "You home?" She finished chewing her mouthful before she answered, and by then Ron was already popping his head into the sitting room, a smear of soot on his nose.
He looked rather adorable, if she were honest.
"Obviously," she said, and smiled coolly, standoffish despite herself. "I wasn't really expecting you home."
"I can tell," Ron muttered under his breath as he eyed her, and Hermione bit her tongue and let the comment slide. First he didn't even notice her glamming up, and then he was complaining that she hadn't bothered with all that? Merlin, why couldn't he just make up his mind? But it wouldn't help anything if she were rude and argumentative, so instead Hermione swallowed down her anger and breathed deeply.
"How was your week?" She tried to infuse her voice with genuine interest, and Ron relaxed visibly at the change in her tone, shrugging and flopping down in the armchair near the couch.
"Okay. Same as usual, really. Practice, working on tactics and teamwork, and seeing a few of the sights around the wizarding parts of Turkey, when we get a chance."
"Is it pretty?" When the children had been little and Hermione hadn't been working, she had occasionally left them at the Burrow for a few days at a time while she'd travelled to wherever Ron was for a visit. They would sightsee, and take photos, and spend time just the two of them in beautiful places before she went back home. But they hadn't done that in years. After she went back to work, Ron stopped asking, despite the fact that she had told him she'd be able to organise time off for a holiday. He resented that she was better paid than him; everyone knew it.
"I guess," Ron shrugged, toeing off his trainers and stretching out in the armchair with a yawn. "You prob'ly would've loved all the historic stuff, but I didn't find it that interesting. Just old buildings and the like. Hey, is there any food for me?"
"Sorry...but I can order in some more Chinese for you?"
"Nah, I'm good with eggs and toast or something," Ron said dismissively, and it took Hermione a long moment before she realised he expected her to cook it for him. She gritted her teeth and tossed her carton of Szechuan chilli chicken on the coffee table.
"Eggs and toast?" she asked very, very sweetly as she stood. "And how would you like those eggs, Ronald?" Somehow he didn't pick up on her brittle sarcasm.
"Fried, thanks, 'Mione love." Hermione felt a muscle in her temple jump, and chewed the inside of her cheek furiously as she stalked through to the kitchen, Ron trailing in her wake. She made him eggs as he sat at the breakfast bar and rambled on about what he'd been doing in Turkey, and then told him all the children's news while he ate. Not once did Ron ask about her week. He didn't remember that she had the Usbourne case coming up before the Wizengamot tomorrow – in fact, he didn't ask how work was going at all. It hurt, that he could be so thoughtless, when he'd said that they were supposed to be trying and she had.
"I've been busy at work, " she started, as Ron finished polishing off his meal. "I've got the –"
"You're always busy," he said through a mouthful of egg and toast, swallowing it and going on, getting angrier as he went. "Always locked away in your study at nights, reviewing cases instead of coming to bed. Missing dinners at the Burrow because you're too tired from work. Away at work during the day when I'm at home and we could be spending time together. Sending Hugo off to Honeywell Infants when you got your first damned job in that stupid Ministry experiment. I'm sick of hearing about it, when all it is to me is the thing that takes you away from us!"
Hermione flinched beneath the sudden onslaught of complaints and stared at him wordlessly, not knowing what to say. He was technically right in more ways than she was comfortable with, but he was also so wrong. Hermione needed her work to give her fulfilment and intellectual stimulation – she would be miserable without it, and if she was miserable she wouldn't be any use to Ron or the children. It wasn't fair to expect her to sacrifice something that she loved so much – something that paid brilliantly – just because Ron would prefer it that way, and the sudden up-welling of his resentment made her feel sick.
"I have the Usbourne case tomorrow," she said quietly, clearing his plate away. Ron was silent. She went on as she scrubbed his dishes by hand: "The biggest case of my career as Interrogator. If I manage to convince the Wizengamot to convict, it could be the clincher to assuring me the head of division position when Higgins retires next year. And I want that position, Ron, so badly. Of course, even if you'd remembered I have the hearing – and I know you didn't – you probably wouldn't have wanted to hear about it, would you?" She was brittle and cuttingly-sharp, and Ron just sat there eyeing her tiredly; as if she'd beaten him down, as if he'd stopped caring enough to care. For a moment she thought he was going to argue the point – take back his complaints and say he did and he was sorry he'd forgot, but he didn't.
"No," he said at last on a sigh, shoulders hunched and eyes on his hands, folded together on the kitchen bench. He looked broken-down and worn, shaggy head of hair strewn through with white, lines around his down-turned mouth. Hermione's heart wrenched and ached as though it were going to burst, and for a moment she wanted to grab Ron and apologise frantically for everything she'd said, to kiss him until things were how they used to be again. Only they couldn't go back, and she thought he knew that too. Or maybe he just knew that was how she felt, because there was defeat in his voice as he spoke. "No, I suppose I wouldn't have, Hermione."
Hermione stood motionless at the kitchen sink in her fuzzy robe, staring out the window at the streetlight, feeling her world begin to crack and splinter as she clutched Ron's dinner plate in her hands.
"I'm going to bed," Ron said, breaking the spell at last, and Hermione clattered Ron's dinner plate to the draining board, looking up at him with wide, startled eyes. "You should get an early night too, what with the hearing and all," he added stilted and apologetic as he stood, and Hermione nodded automatically, feeling heartsick as she watched him smile unsteadily and then retreat with shoulders bowed, like a weight was on him. When she went upstairs sometime later, their bed was empty, and she found him asleep in Hugo's room, under the covers snoring gently. Hermione watched him a moment, a part of her wanting to wake him and tell him to come to bed, but in the end, she slipped back to their room alone.