25th Dec 2008 - Christmas
Hermione Granger arrived at the Ministry's boardroom, her heart racing as she stepped through the large, ornate doors. She had spent weeks preparing for this moment—this meeting about the House-Elf Freedom Bill, the culmination of years of research, advocacy, and personal passion. The room was filled with senior Ministry officials, foreign dignitaries, and representatives from various magical creature communities—centaurs, goblins, and merfolk among them. The stakes couldn't have been higher, and Hermione knew it.
It was Christmas morning, and yet, there they were—attending what was undoubtedly one of the most crucial diplomatic meetings of the year. Hermione had expected a certain level of tension, but the sense of impatience was palpable. A few delegates were glancing at their watches, clearly eager to get the meeting over with and return to their families.
As she moved toward the front of the room, Hermione noticed Draco Malfoy standing in the corner, speaking quietly with a foreign dignitary. His posture was relaxed, but the smirk on his face told a different story. He didn't even glance her way as she entered, but Hermione could feel the weight of his eyes on her.
The murmurs in the room died down as Hermione approached the table. She straightened her robes, clearing her throat before beginning. She remembered her fourth year at Hogwarts when she made a resolution to free elves from the centuries of slavery. She remembered how the kitchen elves had rejected her idea then but after endless meetings and discussions, she was positive they are ready for change. Now, it was the turn of wizards and witches to reciprocate.
"Good morning, everyone. Thank you for joining us today, especially on Christmas morning," Hermione began, her voice steady, but with a hint of determination. "Your presence here speaks volumes about the importance of this discussion. We're here today to talk about a bill that I believe can change the course of history—for the betterment of house-elves, magical creatures, and, by extension, all of us in the wizarding world."
A few delegates nodded, but there was a palpable sense of skepticism in the air. Some of them exchanged uneasy glances, no doubt questioning the practicality of Hermione's bill. She wasn't surprised—this was always the case when it came to reform. She spent the next one hour taking her audience through the contents of the bills. Once she was satisfied, she had covered all main points, she concluded on a crisp note.
"House-elves have been treated as subordinates for far too long," she continued, her eyes scanning the room. "It's time for a new era where they are treated with dignity and respect. This bill will provide legal protections, employment opportunities, and the freedom to live lives of their choosing, rather than being bound by centuries-old servitude. I will now take questions."
The words hung in the air for a moment, but before any of the delegates could respond, Draco Malfoy interrupted, his voice smooth and cutting.
"Ms. Granger, the bill is certainly charming," he said with a raised eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "While it is clear the hard work you have put in but this bill is stil hardly practical. You have skipped over many practical concerns and issues. Or are we just assuming that everyone will happily fall in line with your idealistic vision?"
Hermione could sense the thinly veiled sarcasm in his question. He was trying to goad her, to unsettle her. But she wouldn't let him—at least, not without a fight.
"I've accounted for practical considerations," Hermione replied, her voice firm. "The bill includes provisions for economic support for house-elves, as well as housing, healthcare, and employment. It's about balancing their rights with the needs of our society."
Draco's lips curled into a sneer. "Really?" he mocked. "What about the families who have relied on elves for centuries? And have you consulted the Goblin Confederation on this? Or does their opinion not matter to you as well? What about the Goblin Treaty of 1783 and the understanding between humans, centaurs and merfok regarding equitable division of natural resources?" His gaze swept across the room, daring anyone to contradict him.
Hermione was taken aback. "The Goblin Confederation?" she repeated, trying to steady herself. She had indeed been focused on the ethics and broader implications of the bill, but the legal intricacies—the magical treaties, the diplomatic fallout—hadn't been her primary concern. She had assumed that her work would speak for itself. Clearly, she had underestimated the complexity of the situation.
Before she could respond, another delegate—a wizened French wizard with a long, curling mustache—spoke up. "It's true," he said, his voice slow and deliberate. "You cannot ignore the historical context of this matter. There are longstanding treaties with magical communities that govern these kinds of issues. If you're not careful, you risk violating those agreements, and that could lead to far-reaching consequences."
Hermione's stomach tightened. She knew this was coming—treaties, regulations, the fear of breaking long-established norms. "I've taken all matters into account," she said quickly, "and I've consulted legal experts. This bill does not violate any current treaties. It's about reform, but it's also about moving forward—finding a way to adapt to the current needs of the magical world."
The Belgian delegate was next, "Ms. Granger. I am given to understand that the 3 years ago this legislation was brought up, elves themselves were the first ones to oppose it. So my only question is what has changed in the last three years. Also do you have any data to support your hypothesis that elves will willingly give up their homes and enter the market?"
"That is an excellent question, Mr. Jugson." Hermione shuffled through her papers to find the relevant information. "Three years ago, the biggest fear of the elves community was the fear of ostracization and marginalisation from the magical society if they dared rebel. In the last three years, my team and I have worked day and night to resolve that. We consulted representatives and stakeholders of various magical communities, markets and nations to understand their concerns and develop inclusive ecosystems for elves. Furthermore, the delegates of the elves community welcome our efforts and report many elves to be ready to leave their current homes. I can't give you the exact numbers as we have not carried out extensive surveys so far but the response has been extremely positive from their end."
The room was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Some delegates shifted in their seats, exchanging wary glances. Draco, who had been silent for a few moments, saw his opportunity and pounced. "Ms. Granger. I am sorry but not extremely positive response doesn't make up for lack of numbers. How are we supposed to pass legislation on the words of a few? Let's not forget the Goblin Rebellion of 1612, shall we?" His voice was dripping with mockery, and the room stilled, every eye on him. "A small oversight like this could spark another diplomatic disaster. And how, pray tell, are you planning to handle? You must have done your homework, haven't you?"
Hermione froze, her mind racing. She had no answer. The Goblin Rebellion of 1612 was a historical incident she hadn't considered. She'd been so focused on the moral and ethical aspects of her proposal that she had failed to consider the full diplomatic fallout of her actions.
Draco's words hung in the air like a taunt, and Hermione could feel the blood rushing to her face. Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She had nothing to say. She looked around the room, the weight of every pair of eyes on her, waiting for a response. There was no escape. She had failed.
Draco leaned forward slightly, his smirk widening as he watched her flounder. "Go on, Granger," he prodded, his tone now honey-sweet. "I'm sure you've got a clever answer for this one."
The tension was suffocating, and Hermione could feel the room closing in on her. Some of the delegates were now visibly losing patience, their eyes glancing toward the exit, eager to return to their holiday plans.
"Well, just as I had thought. Shall we end this quickly, if you don't have all the answers?" Draco said, his voice cutting through the silence. you could've saved us all some time if you'd admitted from the start that you have no idea what you're doing. Some of us have families to get back to. You wouldn't know anything about that, though, would you?"
Her breath caught, the words striking like a physical blow. She froze, her nails digging into the table as her mind spiraled.
Ron's voice echoed in her memory. "Unlike you, mate, I have a family to return to!" It was what he'd said to Harry during the war, his tone dripping with bitterness. But it was the aftermath that truly haunted her—the sight of Ron's lifeless body, his screams still ringing in her ears, and Molly Weasley's anguished curse: "You'll never have a family of your own! Never!"
Lucius's laughter, his sneering remarks, the sinister hissing of Nagini and the oldly familiar laughter of a female echoed in her mind completely immobolising her. Before she could reorient herself and reply, the centaur representative, who had been silently observing, snorted in disdain. "Ignorance of treaties involving magical beings is an insult to our communities," he said gravely.
Hermione's heart sank as the murmurs of agreement grew louder. The French dignitary sitting near the center tapped her fingers on the table impatiently. "This is a waste of time," she said curtly. "If this draft is incomplete, why are we here?"
"I concur," said Mr Reginald, the head of the British delegation, his tone clipped. "Granger, you should've ensured this bill was airtight before presenting it to such an audience." Addressing everyone, he said, "I regret the inconvenience caused to you'll today. We shall dismiss now. "
The first few delegates began gathering their things, signaling the end of the meeting. Draco stood up, his smirk never fading. "It's been enlightening, Granger," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I don't think I'll be sticking around for the rest of your... presentation."
Hermione's heart hammered in her chest. She couldn't believe this was happening. She had been so certain of the bill's success, so certain that her work would speak for itself. But now, it was clear: she had underestimated the political landscape, and more importantly, Draco Malfoy.
As the last few delegates filed out of the room, Draco made his way toward her, his steps slow, deliberate. Hermione couldn't move. She was frozen, humiliated, her mind spinning with what had just transpired.
And then, without warning, Draco closed the distance between them and, with no regard for her, kissed her forcefully. It was a brutal, mocking kiss—one that left her breathless and stunned, her mind reeling from the sheer audacity of it.
When he finally pulled away, his smirk was triumphant. "Unlike you, I like to not keep things incomplete. Merry Christmas, Hermione," he sneered, his words cutting through her like a dagger as he read her mind easily through her vulnerability and moment of weakness. "I'm sure you'll have a lot to think about."
Before she could respond, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving her standing there, alone and humiliated in front of the remaining few delegates.
Her boss, who had been silently observing the entire scene, shook his head. "Miss Granger," he said, his tone cold and disappointed. "This was a failure of epic proportions. You need to discuss all points with Mr. Malfoy before the next meeting. And don't come back to me until you've fixed this."
The words stung, each one more painful than the last. The humiliation was complete. She had failed, and now, worse Draco Malfoy would decide her fate.