Chapter 13

Spring 2002

The rain was no longer coming down in the torrential storm as it had been the previous day; a calming soft mist was visible and the rising sun cast rainbows in the sky. Despite the very poor night of sleep that she had gotten, Hermione felt a bit upbeat and hopeful thanks to the promise a new day always brings.

Theo and Draco had slept through multiple meals and she needed to make up for the loss of nutrition by making them a filling breakfast. She'd have to make certain that they didn't miss any more meals under her watch, as they could hardly stand to do so seeing as they were both so thin. Neither of them was more than skin and bones. It was truly tragic the shape they were in. Not just not talking because that was horrible in and of itself, but their entire being had been thoroughly neglected by the very prison charged with their care.

As she prepared the eggs and toast for breakfast, Hermione let her mind wander over the state of things. She'd come to the unsurprising realisation that the Ministry was not truly the good and just entity it liked to pretend to be. The ease at which Voldemort had taken it over during the war should have been a good indication of that.

The Ministry was corrupt in its policies and laws were passing every day to benefit those who were sitting at the top. There was no such thing as the Light when it came to bureaucracy.

The truth of the matter was that those in power did not care. It bothered no one if inmates in Azkaban were being starved or denied visits and critical medical care. This was especially true in the DMLE where Hermione had worked since the war. There was no belief in rehabilitation, and it had grown even more worse since Kingsley took over as Minister of Magic. Kingsley had become a hardliner, something Hermione reasoned that she should have expected from the older Slytherin. He needed to set himself apart from the rest of his house as though fighting for the Order hadn't been enough. His War on Dark Magic, as he called it, was a huge push at all levels at the Ministry. It reminded Hermione a great deal of the Muggle War on Terror.

He had personally made sure the heirs to several of the Ancient and Noble Houses of the Sacred 28 were serving hefty Azkaban sentences. It was a move that would have effectively ended their lines, and if it hadn't been for these paroles it would have succeeded.

The galleons that were seized when a line was completely ended and a search of 18 months uncovered no heirs were the total amount of the vaults. Possession of any kind of dark artefact could send anyone no matter how well connected to Azkaban for the rest of their lives.

The Ministry was engaged in corruption and the most important part of that was the manipulation, control, and use of the vaults of the prisoners. Huge restitutions had been taken, but they still tried to charge fees for all kinds of outings and activities. It was fifty galleons to travel more than ten miles from the parole supervisor's home and it got progressively higher after that.

Narcissa had been offered a deal to have her five years of house arrest reduced if she had been willing to pay fines that would have depleted the Malfoy vaults nearly to non-existence. Needless to say, she had refused.

The Ministry had started billing outrageous amounts to the vaults of Death Eaters for their housing and care while at Azkaban, which was a cruel joke. Hermione, for one, wondered who those funds were actually going to, because they certainly weren't being used for food and medical care based on the condition of her boys. She hadn't heard from the other parole supervisors yet, so she was still hopeful that the others who had been released were in better shape. Although she did try to push down the jealousy at that thought, the others deserved their loved ones to be well as much as she did.

The only reason that the younger Death Eaters were being released on parole was due to an uptick in terrorist violence amongst both new Pureblood Supremacist groups as well as Muggleborn extremists. It was the worst kind of sectarian violence in the London streets, with Muggles getting caught in the crossfire.

Hermione was grateful that she had used the money from selling her parents' house and the payout from her Order of Merlin to buy this cottage in a small wizarding village far away from any that. It also helped that she'd kept her cottage's exact location a tightly guarded secret, no one would be able to find her here except the Aurors but so far she wasn't concerned about the level of corruption there, no one she worked with would sell out her location. They all kept their home addresses equally protected. She'd have to keep an eye on that risk though as the plan continued to roll out. The wards could always be tightened further.

Helping Draco and Theo each dress for the day in light grey joggers and soft black jumpers, she led them out to the set of chaise lounges she had put on her back deck. The low deck looked over her small plot of fenced land. She had built raised beds by hand to distract herself from their imminent homecoming and now with the state of everything it would give her something to do.

Hermione brought the boys breakfast in her back garden, sitting their plates on their laps. She sat books and tea on the table next to their chairs, but while they drank their tea mechanically, they didn't touch the books.

After she was satisfied that they were both going to be able to eat without her watching over them, Hermione moved herself into the bare garden and began to work the ground. Upturning the old dried soil on the top, and mixing it into a new layer so that her flowers would be able to flourish.

As she worked on her task, Hermione felt someone watching her multiple times. Whenever she would look up from her task, she'd find that either one or both of her boys were staring at her. Both of them had blank stoic expressions, but there could be no doubt that they were watching her, her knees in the soil, her hair pulled up in a messy ponytail.

She'd smile and wave each time, and when they wouldn't react, she'd move back to her task, and let them be. This was a really hopeful sign of improvement and at this point, Hermione would take what she could get.

She hid her little smile while she planted purple columbine on the edge of her flower bed because she was resolved to win.

The flower's secret message came from the Victorian Flower Language book that Narcissa had sent her for Christmas.

It's too bad the Wizarding World would fail to get the message written in petals and stalks of how far the Golden Girl was willing to go.