CHAPTER 5: THE OPPOSITION
"Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre minds."
- ALBERT EINSTEIN
The camera lights, incomprehensible murmurs, the sounds of magical quills jotting down notes, and the countless eyes fixed upon her in the Ministry's conference room transported Hermione back to the days following Lord Voldemort's defeat, when she and her friends were treated as heroes and adorned with countless honors and promises of a glorious future.
The various obstacles placed in Ron's path to becoming an Auror and Harry's repeated rejections for any promotion were evidence that those promises had been empty. Ronald had chosen to join his brother in the joke shop, and Harry remained in a perpetual state of learning, awaiting an opportunity to acquire his own team. Hermione, on the other hand, despite building a career at the Ministry, had not yet had the chance to change the world as she had hoped her fame would allow her to do. Until now.
Seeing the multitude of journalists and Ministry representatives gathered to hear her announcement, she felt a knot in her throat. As they signed the authorizations for what would be an Appeals Tribunal, a higher authority than the almighty Wizengamot, Kingsley warned her that this initiative could either catapult her career or end up as a resounding failure on her record. Hermione had accepted the challenge, and the only support she requested in return was to have Harry on her team—a request the Minister had agreed to.
–Why replace the Wizengamot? –one of the journalists asked, revealing that they had not understood Kingsley Shacklebolt's earlier explanation.
–We are not replacing the Wizengamot. Our objective is to provide much-needed support to its esteemed members, considering the substantial backlog of cases awaiting their review –Hermione responded, feigning more calm and patience than she actually felt–. With this, we hope to free them from cases against the Ministry itself or appeals of sentences they have already handed down.
–Doesn't this mean the Wizengamot will have less power? –the journalist, who seemed genuinely naive, asked. But the ensuing silence, with Ministry members waiting expectantly, indicated they were aware of the loss of power this would represent for many.
–Power? –she smiled, pretending not to be aware of the implications–. The members of the Wizengamot are volunteers, impeccable Ministry officials, and prominent figures in our world. I'm sure they are not motivated by power.
She hoped the irony in her words would be understood by those who needed to grasp it. By the way the interviewer smiled, she could be certain that The Prophet would convey it to others.
–Will you participate in the trials, Defender Granger? –Rita Skeeter, with her impeccable hairstyle, expensive glasses, and a mocking smile on her face, managed to annoy her as always. As far as Hermione knew, the woman was not working for any newspaper or magazine, and she wondered if Skeeter was seeking to write another book filled with lies like her last one. If she intended to make Hermione the protagonist, she could already imagine the title.
–No. I am not an Advocate –she stated curtly–. My role here is not to participate in the defense or prosecution of anyone but to implement the tribunal and ensure it adheres to the rules.
–Who will fund this? –another question emerged–. Didn't the Minister just say that they'll have to make fiscal cuts to maintain Azkaban's continuity?
–The money will not come from the fiscal coffers, so you can rest assured. It has all come from donations by individuals interested in improving our justice system.
More than just interested... although not necessarily out of altruism.
–Do you already have a first case in mind?
–Of course –Hermione took a deep breath–. There is a complaint filed against Azkaban for its responsibility in the death of Theodore Nott.
Hermione was aware of how witches and wizards held their breath for a moment, only to explode the next in a flurry of questions, shouts, and exclamations, with some trying to maintain order.
Amid the chaos, the eyes of Cormac McLaggen met hers. He was at the back of the room, arms crossed in front of his chest, shaking his head while looking at her sternly. Hermione smiled at him.
Do you think this will ruin my chances of getting a boyfriend, Cormac? she wanted to ask. She already knew his answer.
-HP-
Harry adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, looking down, while Hestia fidgeted nervously, and Hermione paced back and forth in her office, venting her frustration.
–How can it be that they only care about money? Why can't they see the opportunity to do good for the world in this instead of... UGH! I should have considered the greed of human nature before budgeting...
–It's not stinginess, Hermione... –Harry whispered–. We all know the Ministry doesn't exactly offer attractive salaries.
–And normal people have children and bills to pay –Hestia added–. So you can't expect everyone to be driven solely by the nobility of a cause.
Harry nodded in agreement with the woman's comment, and Hermione refrained from saying more because it was true. She had made the mistake of budgeting expenses based on Ministry officials' salaries. But no Defender was willing to work for that salary, and since they had announced the Appeals Tribunal a week ago, requests for case reviews had skyrocketed, as had complaints of various kinds, leaving them short-staffed and overwhelmed before they even started.
–In the meantime –Hestia continued–, and since we need to start somewhere, I've reserved the interrogation room for the afternoons, and I've taken the liberty of summoning some ex-convicts willing to testify. By protocol, we only need the presence of one Ministry official and one Auror, and as far as I know, that's the staff we have.
She smiled and handed Hermione a list of names before donning her coat to go home.
–I thought you said Hestia was a monument to bureaucratic inefficiency... –Harry muttered after the blonde had left the room.
–She was... But since we started with the Azkaban issue, she's undergone a transformation I still can't fully explain –Hermione said, smiling incredulously.
–We all work better when we find purpose in what we do, right?
Hermione couldn't agree more with her friend.
–As for the other issue, maybe we can ask Ron to recalculate based on what is typically paid for these positions. He's the one handling the finances for the joke shop, so he's familiar with the numbers...
–And then what?
–Maybe I can cover the rest. I still have enough money in Gringotts to...
–No, Harry... You already gave up the money Sirius left you by passing it on to Teddy, and at the rate you're donating what your parents left you to different causes, you'll soon be as in need of a salary as the rest of us.
–And what will we do?
–There will be no choice but to go to Malfoy and explain that I may have miscalculated...
–I doubt he'll have any issues transferring more money, Hermione. You saw the amounts he handed over to the guards when...
–It's not that... I know the money isn't the problem, but it bothers me to admit to him that I might have made a mistake.
Hermione still remembered the mockery on Malfoy's face when he told her that amount wouldn't be enough and that it amused him that the "brightest witch of a generation," as he sarcastically called her, couldn't "add two and two." She also remembered the arrogance with which she had responded that the calculation was correct, and with luck, they wouldn't have to see each other again for a long time. That's why admitting her mistake hurt even more.
–Why is Malfoy's name crossed out? –Harry asked, reviewing the list of witnesses Hestia had given them.– He's our main witness.
Hermione shook her head.
–I told Hestia to forget about it... Malfoy said he would cooperate with anything except that... He's not willing to testify.
–But Nott is no longer in Azkaban. What's his fear now?
–I don't know, Harry... I don't know.
Hermione thought there was no way to explain the blonde's refusal now that there was no risk to Theodore Nott. But from the look of horror that had crossed his face before he resorted to Occlumency, preventing her from reading anything more in his features, there must have been powerful reasons, which had increasingly occupied her thoughts when it came to him.
Malfoy is an enigma, she thought, and perhaps, precisely for that reason, she found herself increasingly drawn to the irrational need to understand him better.
-HP-
–Are you sure this is necessary? –Ron asked for the umpteenth time, and Hermione squinted at him.
Although she understood that the redhead wasn't entirely on board with the idea of meeting Draco Malfoy, she hoped he would comprehend, just as Ginny and Harry did, her determination to show the blonde that they were all making an effort to make the plan work. That he wasn't the only one called upon to make sacrifices in this endeavor. That was the reason she had gathered them in her flat that afternoon.
If Hermione had been honest, she would have admitted that after sending an owl to Malfoy, asking him to meet her at her home to discuss an important matter, and receiving a terse note in response indicating a date and time, the overwhelming panic she felt about the possible outcomes of that meeting—him mocking her for the miscalculation of the initial funds, or berating her for misusing the money, even if just to make her feel guilty—made her realize that she needed the support of the others.
If he finds me accompanied by them, he might think twice before mocking me, she thought.
And although she felt some guilt about the uncomfortable situation this would put Ron in, she silently thanked the stars that she had them by her side, especially when knocks on the door announced Malfoy's arrival.
The first thing Hermione noticed upon receiving him was how the gray color of his turtleneck sweater made his eyes stand out, revealing darker hues she hadn't noticed before. His hair, although clearly styled, looked less flattened than usual, allowing some platinum strands to grace his forehead. He wore tailor-made black trousers and exclusive-looking shoes. In his left arm, he held his coat.
But beyond the obvious elegance and the cost of his clothing, it was the expression on his face that captured Hermione's attention next. His gaze conveyed curiosity, and his lips formed a half-smile, which, contrary to her expectations, did not seem predisposed to mock her.
–May I come in? –he asked suddenly, broadening his smile, and Hermione nodded, perplexed, as she opened the door and invited him inside. The blonde didn't take more than two steps into her apartment before coming to a sudden stop, and all traces of his previous tranquility vanished.
–Malfoy –she heard Ronald speak just a few steps from them. And even though Hermione could only see the back of Malfoy, she knew that his lack of response to the greeting was confirmation enough of his irritation.
–Has the cat got your tongue? –Ginny interrupted, and although her tone carried a certain cordiality, the comment didn't seem to amuse anyone.
–Welcome, Malfoy –Harry, ever polite, tried to lighten the atmosphere, while Hermione covered the short distance between them. The blonde didn't even turn to look at her, completely absorbed in studying the three guests seated at the table, each with a teacup in hand.
–Can I offer you some tea? –Hermione attempted to divert their attention from their mutual antipathy, but a shake of the head was all the response she received before Malfoy changed the subject, turning to her.
–May I know the reason for the invitation?
Hermione took a deep breath and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
–You see... We wanted to show you that we're all doing our part to make this work, but...
–But we lack money –Ginny interrupted, wearing a deliberately fake smile–. What? Don't look at me like that, Hermione. Malfoy clearly doesn't want to waste his time on a myriad of explanations that boil down to that.
She turned to Malfoy, while Harry, beside her, scratched his head uncomfortably.
–The Defenders turned out to be more ambitious than Hermione budgeted for, and now the Ministry needs to improve the salaries it offers. But since the Ministry has no money, Hermione needs your help.
The blonde's eyes watched Ginny closely, hardly blinking, his irises darker than before. He was using Occlumency.
–How much? –he finally said in a deep voice that hinted at annoyance.
–I want you to know it's not for us. In fact, I can stop taking a salary while we finish this, just so you don't think I'm taking advantage in any way. And Harry isn't charging for the support he provides with the investigation either.
A mocking snort escaped from Malfoy's lips, which, in some inexplicable way to her, seemed to have ignited Ron's anger.
–Come on, Malfoy... Say it! –the redhead exclaimed, and the blonde's eyes narrowed.
–I'd appreciate it if you could enlighten me on exactly what I should say –his voice was cold, distant, defensive.
–I know you want to say it, Malfoy. Or are you really not going to make any comment about me being a Weasley and, as such, needing the bloody money?
Hermione opened her mouth in disbelief as Ron continued his explanation.
–For your information, I don't need it.
–Did you really expect me to make a comment like that? –The incredulity was clear in the blonde's expression–. How old are you, twelve? Get over it, Weasley.
A muffled laugh from Ginny caught everyone's attention. She was sitting with her eyes fixed on the mug in front of her, but clearly amused by the situation. Malfoy watched her for a few seconds with an unreadable expression, while Hermione tried to figure out how to steer the conversation back to the important matter, but she was interrupted again by Ron.
–Ferret!
The blonde blinked a couple of times as if he couldn't believe the new insult.
–Idiot... –he muttered, turning on his heels, apparently ready to leave.
–Enough already! –she intervened.
–Damn flying ferret –although it was just a whisper, the redhead's comment had been clearly audible to everyone, causing Malfoy to stop where he was.
Hermione glanced at Ron, who was suddenly engrossed in examining his nails, pretending that nothing had been said. Did he really resort to such a ridiculous insult? Ginny and Harry, sitting beside her, weren't helping matters with their poorly concealed smiles. Meanwhile, Malfoy stared at Ron, his expression shifting from incredulity to disdain, and then into something that almost resembled a smile. Almost.
—I just won a hundred Galleons from Blaise,—he drawled, breaking the silence.—We had a bet on whether the insult would be 'flying ferret' or 'bouncing ferret.'—He tilted his head back, fixing Ron with a sharp gaze and a twisted smile.—I bet on the less ingenious one.
Ron shot to his feet, anger etched into his face and fists clenched so tightly at his sides that the tea mug in front of him nearly toppled over. Ginny instinctively steadied hers, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and exasperation.
—There's no point with you, is there? Can't you just respond like a normal person without sarcasm?
—Do you want me to set aside my sarcasm?
—Would you like me to use it with you?
—You couldn't.—Malfoy smiled fully now, turning to face Ron directly.—Sarcasm requires a certain level of intellectual competence.
—Intellectual my ass!—Ron's fists remained tight, his cheeks puffing out as he struggled to suppress the next insult. Finally, he turned to Hermione.—You know, Hermione, I really try. I know you need him for whatever it is you're doing, and I really do my best, but he's still the same spoiled brat as ever.
—Ron...
—And you, Malfoy,—he pressed on, glaring at the blonde,—I can understand it's in your blood, but you don't have to put so much effort into being like your father, you know? You don't even try to do the right thing.
—I don't try?—Malfoy's voice was dangerously low, his eyes narrowing.—How easy for you to say, Weasley. It must be nice to feel proud of your father when the only thing anyone can say about him is that he's poor, but still a 'good' man. I can't imagine it was hard for you to try and do the 'right' thing when you and the people you love all agreed on what that even meant.—Ron blinked, clearly taken aback, while Ginny and Harry looked at Malfoy with growing curiosity. Hermione, for her part, was too stunned to speak.—You didn't grow up with your entire family viewing you as a failure, as a stain on your damn surname, because you couldn't kill someone. You weren't forced to do things you didn't want to, just to avoid being cruciated. You have no idea what it's like to love your father and hate him at the same time for all the crap he condemned you to with his bad decisions, all while biting your tongue when others speak ill of him.—Malfoy's lips twisted into an expression of pure rage.—And you know what? I hate myself for it. Because sitting here, surrounded by all of you, without breaking your face when you insult him, feels like a betrayal to my father. So, yes, the sarcasm stays, Weasley. The hair stays. If it's the only thing I inherited from him that I can wear without shame, they stay.
—And the eyes...—Ginny interjected softly, drawing everyone's attention to her.
Draco blinked, his anger flickering into confusion. He stared at Ginny for a moment, his expression unreadable, before grabbing his cloak with a swift motion of his wand and heading toward the door.
—Malfoy...—Hermione started, but he cut her off.
—Granger.—He locked eyes with her, his voice cool and sharp.—You don't need to bring me here to witness how much effort you're putting into this.—The disdain in his words was unmistakable.—And since money is all you need from me, a letter to Zabini indicating the amount will suffice.
Without another word, he slammed the door shut behind him.
For a moment, the room was silent. Hermione bit her lip, unsure how to proceed. The tension in the air hung heavy, and no one seemed ready to break it.
—The eyes?—Ron finally asked, frowning in confusion as he turned to Ginny. He seemed unwilling to fully understand the nature of her earlier comment.
—They're very beautiful eyes,—she replied with a shrug, her gaze fixed on the table as she sipped her tea, leaving her brother's perplexed expression unanswered.
-HP-
–I had nothing to do with Nott's death –were the first words from Neil Laughalot, one of the few names on the list of former Azkaban convicts who, in Hermione's opinion, could provide information–. I got out long before he even got there.
Hermione simply nodded, watching the man as a magical quill took notes beside her. Harry observed them as a silent spectator, sitting by the door of the interrogation room.
From the list provided by Hestia, the younger brother of the former Hogwarts Quidditch captain had seemed like a good starting point for gathering statements. At forty years old, he was described by all as a kind man with good family connections who had made the mistake of importing illegal Manticores, more out of ignorance than intent, which had earned him a year in Azkaban, entering just a month after Malfoy. His lack of connection to the other Death Eaters made him an ideal witness.
–Mr. Laughalot, we are well aware of that –Hermione began–. We've brought you here because those who did share Azkaban with Theodore Nott are not very willing to talk. Some of them might not even be able to, out of fear.
The man's eyes narrowed slightly, enough for Hermione to know that he was the right witness.
–That's why we're seeking information from those who have already been through whatever Theodore Nott had to endure in there, to understand what might have led to his mysterious death.
–He didn't die from Dragon Pox, then? –Laughalot said, smiling with a hint of mockery in his tone, and Hermione remembered that he had been in Slytherin at Hogwarts.
–We think it's unlikely that he did –Hermione replied, and she saw the man's eyes shift from her to Harry.
Hermione had her fingers crossed on the table as she watched the man sink into his chair, wearing an expression that was difficult to interpret.
–Auror Potter is here as a witness to whatever you may say, but, like me, he is not allowed to disclose anything you tell us without your consent.
Laughalot nodded.
—And what exactly do you want to know?
—Do you have reason to suspect that some prisoners in Azkaban are being mistreated by the guards?
—How confidential will this be?
—Unless you permit us to call you to testify at some point, it will remain confidential.
The man hesitated, visibly uncomfortable, before speaking again.
—Not everyone. Those of us who weren't Death Eaters were left relatively alone.
—And the Death Eaters?
—At first, it was what you'd expect. Nasty stuff in the food, shoves in the corridors, or longer punishments than the others.—He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his tone darkening.—But after a few months, rumors started circulating about torture and spells from the guards. Some of the Death Eaters seemed genuinely terrified of them. There were only a few who dared to confront the guards, and it didn't go well for them.
—In what sense?
—Does the name Lucinda Farley sound familiar to you?
Hermione shook her head.
–She was the mother of a girl a bit older than you. You must have crossed paths with her at Hogwarts. She worked at the Ministry when you-know-who took control of it, and I understand she accepted the Dark Mark shortly afterward. She had her own ideas, of course, but she wasn't a bad person. –The man twisted his lips in a way that suggested he knew the woman well and was pained by whatever had happened–. It's not known how she managed to file a complaint against the guards for mistreatment. Shortly afterward, she was transferred to St. Mungo's after falling down a staircase with a magical trip jinx, and she never came back. When I got out, I wanted to check on her, and I found out she's still on the fourth floor of the hospital.
–The fourth floor? –The same floor as Neville's parents.
–A fall down the stairs doesn't mentally unhinge someone, Miss Granger. But there are a couple of spells that do. Still, her complaint was never processed. Neither was any other. So, they stopped making them.
—Do you know of any other cases?
—When I heard about young Nott's sudden death, I assumed he must have suffered a similar fate, but I have no way to prove it. It seemed strange to discover that he wasn't a Death Eater. Maybe they're not limiting it to that particular group anymore.
—Did you hear about physical beatings or other forms of physical abuse being used in Azkaban?
—Nothing that left a permanent mark, as far as I know.
Hermione leaned back in her chair, frustration gnawing at her.
—And Draco Malfoy?—she asked.—I saw some photos of him in which...
—Any photo you've seen is nothing compared to what that must have been like... His case was unusual.—The man sighed heavily, his gaze distant.—I must say, I didn't particularly like the Malfoys. Lucius Malfoy was an arrogant man, unwilling to help anyone unless there was something in it for him. When I met the boy in Azkaban, he didn't seem very different from his father. He looked at everyone like we were scum and kept to himself, refusing to socialize. That didn't win him many friends, and all the Dark Lord's followers were biding their time to settle scores with him for what his mother did. They were convinced she was the reason the Chosen One survived.—His eyes flicked briefly to Harry, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
—The guards didn't stop the beatings?
The man let out a mocking laugh.
—Stop them? It was their entertainment, Miss Granger.—The man's tone was grim, laced with bitterness.—Only when he was on the brink of death did they bother to intervene. And I won't claim that the boy's attitude earned him much goodwill in there, but at the end of the day, he was just a frightened kid, not much older than my own son. Many of us doubted he would survive the two years. Honestly, even I breathed a sigh of relief when his release was moved up.
—According to the reports, they stopped beating him after a while...
—Rumor had it that he struck a deal with the guards. That wasn't uncommon among the wealthier prisoners. But it only spared him from the beatings by other inmates. The guards never stopped tormenting him.—The man's voice hardened.—Nothing visible enough to send him to the infirmary, perhaps, but cold showers and prolonged confinements don't warrant medical attention either. It wasn't unusual for him to miss meals in the dining hall for a couple of days. And you must know there are plenty of spells that cause pain without leaving marks, but that doesn't make them any less real.
—And which guards were involved?
–In Malfoy's case? I can only give you one name: Amos Dogwood.
–Is he the only one who was involved in the mistreatment? –The man shook his head–. I thought you said...
–He's the only one who refused to take part. That's why he didn't last long as a guard in Azkaban.
-HP-
Of all the reasons Hermione could conceive for Kingsley Shacklebolt to call her to his office, almost at the end of the day, none explained the presence of Tiberius McLaggen, much less Cormac, alongside him.
–Go ahead, Hermione –the Minister murmured, with an expression that didn't reveal much, but she knew him well enough to sense, from the way he clenched his jaw, that something was amiss–. You remember Tiberius, right?
Hermione remembered the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation quite well. They had crossed paths a couple of times at the Ministry, and although the man had always been charming, she had always felt that his exaggerated cordiality hid deep disdain.
–Of course.
–A pleasure to have our heroine among us –Tiberius said, and Hermione couldn't help but notice the change in inflection in the last word. It seemed Cormac had noticed it too, as he let out a little laugh beside her.
–Cormac –she greeted him.
–Hermione.
The smugness evident on Cormac McLaggen's face confirmed to Hermione that the reason for her summons wasn't good news, and she clenched her lips.
–I've called you here, Hermione, because Tiberius has raised concerns about the source of the funds that will be used for the Appeals Tribunal –Kingsley informed her. From the way Kingsley pursed his lips when speaking, she knew this meant there was a problem over which he had no control.
–I'm not sure if they taught you in Magical Law School, Miss Granger, but...
–I didn't study Magical Law –she interrupted through gritted teeth–. I'm not an Advocate. But that doesn't mean I'm ignorant of the law.
–Well… then you must be aware that donations received by the Ministry for any project must pass the approval of the International Confederation of Wizards.
–Only for projects with international impact, Mr. McLaggen. This is not the case.
–You're mistaken. A change in the structure of our justice system is an international matter, as decided by the Council this morning.
Hermione knew, from the concern on Kingsley's face, that she must have paled. As much as Hermione had reviewed the law, a Council's decision escaped any regulation. It was an agreement. But the Statute did give power to that agreement.
Damn sabotaging parasites...
–And from the analysis we were able to conduct on those 'donations,' we have a well-founded suspicion that they come from followers of you know who.
–Voldemort. –The man opened his eyes wide, clearly annoyed by her boldness–. A member of the Ministry who feels empowered to thwart a good initiative shouldn't fear the name of a criminal who died years ago.
Although Hermione kept her gaze fixed on the man, she noticed the smile on Kingsley's lips and, to her surprise, also on Cormac's, while the man in front of her clenched his jaw.
–And since nothing I can say or do will change the honorable Council's opinion, what shall we do with the donations? Return them?
–Of course not.
Hermione clenched her teeth at the man's response.
–They can be used for some other initiative that isn't necessarily aimed at freeing more former Death Eaters.
–Not only former Death Eaters are in Azkaban, Mr. McLaggen, but with the fear you show at the mere mention of a name, I can understand your concern about the idea of letting any of them go.
Hermione expected Kingsley to reprimand her at any moment, but he didn't, which only intensified Tiberius's barely concealed expression of hatred.
–If you'll excuse me, I'll go inform my team of these... developments.
Hermione took special care not to slam the door to hide her frustration but regretted not doing so when she noticed that Cormac had followed her out.
–Granger –he called after her, and she quickened her pace, but the next moment, he was by her side.
Damn his long legs.
—Hermione...—this time he used her name, walking alongside her to the elevator.—I want you to know that what you did was very brave.—She couldn't help turning to look at him.—I wouldn't even dare to contradict him ever, and you... well... you've always been a special girl.
—A 'special' girl?—Stupid sexist.
The elevator finally opened in front of them, and to Hermione's frustration, it was empty, meaning she would have to endure another trip alone with Cormac.
It's only three floors, she reassured herself mentally.
—I want you to know that I had nothing to do with that decision,—he continued, standing much closer to her than necessary as the elevator doors closed.—But if you remember, I warned you that something like this could happen if you defended Death Eaters.
Hermione refrained from saying anything. Responding would only lead to a conversation she didn't want to have.
—And this might even be good for your career... Now you can go back to the issue of house-elves, and if you behave, I could help you with that...
—If I behave?—Hermione hoped her glare conveyed her anger, but whether it did or not, there was no visible effect on McLaggen's features. His green eyes roamed her face with an expression that in other times might have seemed charming. But at that moment, she found it repulsive.
—You know... if you were nicer to me...—His hand moved to her face, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. Hermione noticed how close he was. The next moment, the tip of her wand pressed against Cormac's neck, and his eyes widened as he realized it, but even then, he didn't stop laughing.
—I told you once, McLaggen, and this is the last time I warn you. Touch me again, and your face won't be so pretty anymore. Do you understand?
The elevator doors opened at that moment, and after pushing him against the wall, Hermione rushed down the corridor.
—I love that fierce side of you, Granger,—she heard Cormac say behind her, but the elevator door closed before she could hex him.
If it weren't for the fact that Hestia was still in the office when she entered, Hermione might have given in to the tears welling up in her eyes, frustrated by the anger the situation had provoked.
—Is something wrong?—the blonde asked, surrounded by a series of folders spread out on the table, her eyes tired from what seemed like a long afternoon of reading.
—It's late, Hestia. Shouldn't you be home?
—The kids are in a drama workshop. They won't be back for another hour, so I decided to go through today's statements in case we find new names. I made some calls to locate Amos Dogwood.
—Dogwood?
—You know... the guard Laughalot mentioned. It might be a good alternative for... Is something wrong?—Hestia lowered her glasses, as if looking at her without the lenses might provide better insight.
—The Council considers the donations funding our project to have a questionable source... I was just informed that we can't use that money for this.
Hestia blinked a couple of times, processing the meaning of the words. Her eyes widened before she covered her face with both hands and collapsed into her chair, much to Hermione's astonishment.
—Hestia... this doesn't mean we'll be fired; it's just...
—No... it's not a dismissal, it's worse.
—Worse?
—Do you know how many years I've been working as an assistant without ever doing anything that made sense to me? Something I could be proud of? Ten years, Hermione, ten years of filing folders and organizing schedules for international collaboration projects that never made any progress! And when I tried to take the initiative and do something worthwhile, they transferred me here as a punishment, and for several months, it was punishment... 'Liberation of house-elves,' for Merlin's sake! As if those poor creatures wanted to face such a horrible fate! And now, just when we finally had a chance to do something good for wizards and witches who are really suffering, something that truly inspires me, something I can speak to my children about with pride, and of course, it couldn't last! It was logical that they would put obstacles in our way! I don't know how I let myself get excited that I could finally do something that would really make a change in the world, you know? Something that didn't feel like a detestable job but like a change I was a part of. I finally felt like I was a part of something, Hermione!
She buried her face in her hands again, crying, to Hermione's astonishment.
—So... they sent you here as a punishment...
Now she understood the change in Hestia's attitude in recent times—her dedication to the case and her collaborative spirit. Something that really inspires me, she had said, and Hermione couldn't agree more.
It wasn't just Hestia's opportunity to do something meaningful that inspired her. What they were trying to stop from the Council was the change—the change that threatened their power, the change she wanted to see in the world too.
—Hestia,—she said, placing her hand on the woman's shoulder. Hestia, who had taken out a box of tissues to wipe her tears, looked up, and Hermione realized that they both shared the same desire. Both wanted to do something good for the world.—We'll fix this,—she promised.—Because you're right. This is worth it. If it weren't worth it, there wouldn't be people trying to take it away from us.—She smiled, encouraged by the woman's hesitant smile.—We'll fix this because we don't want to keep accumulating folders.—The smile that escaped Hestia's lips was a clear indication that she was considering the offer.—And we'll fix this because it's our chance to do some good in the world... and we won't let anyone take that away from us.
To Hermione's surprise, the hug Hestia enveloped her in with her words didn't feel uncomfortable at all. And she really needed it. Because despite the promise she had just made to the blonde, she had no idea how to fix this. But she would find a way.
-HP-
The first thing Hermione noticed when she arrived at Grimmauld Place was the renewed wallpaper, the change in curtains, furniture, and rugs, and the absence of shouts from the Walburga Black portrait.
To her surprise, where the portrait had spent decades, impossible to remove, there was now a mirror that beautified the space.
As she walked further, she found that the sofa in front of the fireplace had been removed, and in its place was a large table covered with various disassembled clock parts. Theodore Nott, in a perfectly fitted green shirt, seemed determined to assemble them.
—What happened to the portrait?—Hermione asked without warning of her arrival. Nott raised his head so fast that one of his chestnut curls bounced against his forehead.
—The old Walburga? Draco convinced her that she'd be bothered less if she were in her old room, so the witch told him how to counter the spell that kept her stuck to the wall. She had us on edge, especially Blaise.
—Draco convinced her to reveal the counter-curse?
—Draco can be charming when he wants, you know? And being a Black himself certainly helped soften the old lady's heart.—Nott took a seat on a stool next to the table, turning a piece over in his fingers.
—And where did he put it?
—In the room that belonged to the woman. The house-elf helped him carry it there.
—The house-elf?
—Kreacher... You know, the elf you sent to spy on us.—Hermione felt her cheeks flush but refrained from saying anything.—Apparently, he has a special fondness for Narcissa, so now he kisses the floor where Draco walks. He calls him "the little Malfoy."—Theodore smiled from ear to ear, clearly teasing the blonde whenever he had the chance.—He also helped us with the decoration. His only condition was that we respect the green color, which apparently was Regulus's favorite. You'll understand that as former Slytherins, we had no problem with that.
—And all this decoration... without Harry's permission.
—I don't think he'll mind the improvements. Draco's not charging him for them either.—Theodore asked in a lower tone, his attention returning to the parts in front of him.
—Talking about Malfoy...
—Do you really want to talk about him?—The young man raised both eyebrows, his expression shifting to clear disdain—a sharp contrast to his usual joking demeanor. Hermione realized she really knew very little about Theodore Nott and sensed a volatility she didn't want to provoke.
—I need to speak to him.
—He's currently out of London.—Nott resumed his focus on the devices on the table, his tone almost dismissive.—Zabini needed him to close a deal in Marseilles. And I'm not sure if he's planning to return soon.
—I really need to talk to him, Nott. It's important.
—If it's about money, you just have to send an owl to Zabini. He'll take care of it. After all, it seems to be the only thing we're good at, right?—Even though his tone was softer than his earlier comments, Hermione sensed a pointed bitterness in his words.
—What are you talking about?
Nott left the pieces on the table and turned his eyes to her with an unusual seriousness before answering.
—Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, Draco might want to support you in this with something more than money?
—It's precisely why I need to talk to him. We might need more than just money.
—Taking him to a house full of aggressive Gryffindors and making it clear that you only want his Galleons, not him, wasn't a good way to show it.—Hermione blinked, momentarily thrown by the accusation.
—Did he tell you?
—What do you think we do when he comes here? Stare at each other's faces?—He scoffed, rolling his eyes.—If Draco were a girl, we could certainly entertain ourselves with something else, but... damn!—He paused, narrowing his eyes as if realizing something important.—That's what I get for not foreseeing that I'd need a female friend... Granger, isn't it too late for us to be friends?
—I don't usually sleep with my friends.
—Isn't that what you did with Weasley?—Hermione's eyes widened, stunned into silence by Nott's mocking tone.—No! In any case, it wouldn't work. No matter how much time you spent with Weasley, judging by the way you blush every time we touch on the subject, I'm sure you don't have much experience. And I need someone with experience. One inexperienced person in a relationship is more than enough, and unfortunately, I'm stuck in that position.
—Nott.—Hermione crossed her arms, glaring at him.—I really regret that you're stuck without female company that meets your standards, but I really need to talk to Malfoy.
The young man narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, his expression calculating.
—What's in it for me?
Now I understand why he was in Slytherin...
—I'll find you some company so you don't get bored so much,—Hermione replied with a grin.
—I don't think it's as simple as just bringing someone here, considering I'm dead.
—I'll take care of that,—she said confidently. Strangely, the boy seemed to hesitate.
—Chances of red hair?
—I think I can promise red hair,—Hermione replied, her tone light. His smile widened as he mulled over the offer.
—All right. If you explain what it's about, I'll try to get Draco to help you.
And Hermione smiled.
- End of Chapter 5 -