Chapter Text
Hermione Granger sat at her desk wondering how on earth her list had gotten so short. It had started on a small memo when the initial idea had sparked in her head and had now grown to a healthy length of parchment. At least, it had been a healthy length of parchment. With a rather defeated groan, she crossed the final name off of her list, perhaps much more sharply than was strictly necessary. She cursed as her quill tore through the parchment. It didn’t really matter now that the list had served, or rather not served, its purpose, but it was still frustrating. She crumpled the paper, taking out the months of stress as she toiled over what to do next. Surely then, she could be forgiven for throwing the cursed thing towards the door just as a certain silver headed ferret opened her office door, without even knocking.
Draco Malfoy stopped short and jerked back his head with impressive speed as the parchment bounced harmlessly off the wall and into the bin below. “Trying to kill me again Granger? I’ve learned a few things since we last dueled, and I’ll remind you that you violated the rules of engagement too.” The young man smirked, while many things about Draco had changed since that day, the slightly crooked nose remained from a rather well placed cross. Of course you’d never notice if you weren’t exactly looking for it, but he still loved to complain.
“Shove it Malfoy, it’s not my fault you’re a right git. And if you’d like a friendly sparring match, I’d be more than happy to oblige. But I warn you, you will end up on your ass again, and I will not be held responsible for any damages to your person.” With a little more bite than was intended, Hermione’s head slumped forward into her hands. Not looking up, she lazily waved towards the chair in front of her desk. While not the most formal, it was quite comfy and far too easy to fall asleep in. That’s why it was on the opposite side of the desk. The leather had worn almost bare in some place, but she didn’t have the heart to get rid of it. It had been a gift from the headmistress McGonagall—Minerva. Hermione still wasn’t used to referring to her in such a casual manner despite having graduated over 5 years ago. Minerva had tried many times to offer her a position as a teacher at Hogwarts, but Hermione felt she was needed elsewhere at the moment. Perhaps one day she’d retire from the ministry and take up a post at Hogwarts, but those thoughts would have to be pondered later as the ferret dropped unceremoniously into the aforementioned chair.
Draco’s eyebrows raised significantly at the sharpness of the witches words. “That bad, eh?”
“I don’t know why I bother at this point. None of them were viable candidates, and I don’t know what to do anymore.”
“What was wrong with the last one?” He schooled his tone into one of sympathy despite his feelings of exasperation on the subject. They’d only had this conversation a thousand times at this point.
“The same thing that was wrong with all of them. I can’t trust any of them half as far as I can hex them. I spent weeks on this last one, building up a rapport, getting to know them beyond the gossip, getting at the root of their motivations, ethics, and none of it mattered. How can I possibly get this project off the ground if no one is capable of being rehabilitated?” Voice rising in fervor, she ended with her eyes locked on Draco, hoping that he would have some miraculous advice to save her sorry excuse of a proposal.
It had started out quite simple really. The war was over, the biggest and baddest had been captured, and now, after five very long years, the trials were all through and sentencing was being carried out. Hermione had done her share of tracking down some of the rather big names that escaped the final battle, but to her, the war had just begun. There was no peace for Hermione Granger, and there wouldn’t be until she had seen justice done. In her opinion, the ministry had gone too far in many instances. ‘The people need to feel that those who sided with You Know Who are being properly punished.’ It was a load of shit. The ministry took too much power in the void created at the end of the war and used it to dole out retribution unchecked. No good would come of the polarization they faced in the current political climate, and who better to bring it back to balance than one Hermione Jean Granger?
Apparently, anyone would be better as progress had been so slow in coming that it was moving backwards. That’s how it felt at least. Being the ‘Golden Girl’ had its perks now and then, much as she loathed the title and ever having to throw it around. It took significantly less effort than expected to have her reduced sentencing program approved, on a probationary basis of course. The only problem was, if she fouled up, it would be in the bin faster than a Firebolt and any chance at mending the current system would go with it. People would cite it as an example of how these people couldn’t be rehabilitated and wouldn’t be worth the effort of trying again. Hermione understood the weight of what she was attempting, even if others didn’t think it worth the time.
“There is someone you haven’t considered—.”
“No, no absolutely not, I will not hear it.” She stood up from her chair and began pacing as if she could walk out of this conversation and into a solution if only she tried hard enough. He had tried several times to broach this particular subject, but Hermione would have none of it. There was one name that she had refused to even put on her list and for good reason. It wouldn’t be worth the time it takes to apparate really. What would be the point? As soon as they saw it was Hermione knocking on the front door, she’d surely find the door as good as welded shut.
The frustration was clear in his voice at this point. “If you’ve exhausted your list, why can’t you at least think about it until you have a better idea?” He truly thought it could work, and he understood why Hermione was so reluctant. ‘Most Stubborn Witch of Her Age’ was a more fitting title in his most humble opinion.
“I’m not having this conversation with you, not right now, not ever. Why are you here Draco? What did you come to my office for? Surely not just to harass your favorite person in the world, charming as I am.” She slumped back down into her chair, willing the stress of the day to leave her body with a large, slow exhalation.
He looked as if he very much wanted to push the issue, eyebrow cocked and lips pursed together. Appearing to think better of it, Draco’s face relaxed into his ever-present smirk. “I’ve been sent to make sure you’re still coming for dinner tonight. Harry is very excited for you to try his new recipe.” That pulled a genuine smile out of Draco, something Hermione was now much more used to seeing. It had been rather rocky starting out after the war. So much had changed since then. When Hermione had first joined the ministry, she was working as a Hit Wizard, specifically tasked with tracking, apprehending, and, if necessary, eliminating Lucius Malfoy. Draco was required to assist with intelligence, and while he was more than willing to help, that didn’t male the situation any less awkward. It had taken quite some time for Draco to unlearn certain prejudicial practices, but he had truly made an effort and still did. He had come into himself, much less self-absorbed and more self-assured. Hermione was glad to know him as he was now and even happier to have him as a genuine friend.
“Yes, of course I’ll be over for dinner, seven o’clock still fine?’ Hermione took a moment to run through the afternoon in her head. Finish work at five exactly because it’s Thursday and that means weekly tea with Andy, although, tonight was shaping up to be a Firewhiskey kind of night, stop off at home to change, and off to Draco and Harry’s for dinner. And maybe if she was lucky, a hot bath with a good book before bed would be in her future.
“Seven is perfect,” he pushed himself up from the chair and moved towards the door, “but not a minute late Granger or that’s 10 points from Gryffindor.” He smiled as he waved and stepped back out into the hall.
Not bothering to dignify him with a response, Hermione turned back to the waiting paperwork on her desk. A quick glance at the clock told her she had only a little over and hour and a half remaining until she needed to head out. She would forget the list for now and fill out these neglected forms to have some semblance of productivity until she went to see Andromeda. Hermione rolled her shoulders and pulled a few reference texts off the shelf next to her desk. They were well worn, and she surely had them memorized a dozen times over, but it was comforting and grounding to run her fingers across the pages that were now soft from continuous use. There were many things in Hermione’s life that she did for that same reason now. It felt good to do things for the sake of doing them, for the sole purpose of keeping her present. A small, content smile sat on her face as she set to her documentation.
A resounding pop echoed much too loud in the small office as Hermione stretched her neck. Glancing back up at the clock above the door, it was now about ten minutes until Hermione needed to leave. Rubbing her eyes, she determined that no more reading was going to get done in the little time she had left. She stood and stretched out her aching limbs, sending off the last few memos for the day, folding themselves up and zipping out the door. Hermione stepped towards the fireplace in her office, grabbing her coat off the hook. She slid the familiar fabric over her shoulders, not wanting to get floo powder on the blouse she was wearing. This was her favorite coat, she had bought it two years ago as a little treat for herself to celebrate her transfer from the Hit Wizard squad. She rubbed the tan material between her fingers and was thankful her career had progressed beyond that. Back then, she hadn’t been quite ready to let go of the war, but Hermione was proud of the considerable progress she had made. One didn’t heal from the kind of scars she had overnight if one could ever heal completely from the things she had experienced. All that mattered, however, was that she made progress.
Making one last cursory look around the office, Hermione stepped into the flames with more than five minutes to spare. She stepped into Andromeda’s parlor, casting a quick scourgify as she took off her coat and hung it on the coat rack to her left. Hermione paused for a moment, hearing Andy speak from the other room but clearly not to her. “Andy?”, she called out. There was a sudden quiet and then the unmistakable crack of apparition.