Chapter Text
ATONEMENT
“Hermione?”
Silence.
“Hermioneeeee?”
More silence.
“Huh?” Hermione looked like she had just been abruptly woken from a dream. “Sorry, I was just thinking that if I used Diffie–Hellman encryption protocols, I might be able to solve the connectivity issue I’m having.” Ron had come to Hermione’s office in the Department of Mysteries under the false guise of bringing her lunch. It wasn’t her fault that he was expecting her to have some sort of emotional conversation while her work was sitting mid-process right in front of her.
Ron looked a bit exasperated, but continued his thought. “Well anyway, as I was saying, I think it’s best we go our separate ways…”
Hermione’s focus snapped to Ron’s face. “Wait, what? Ron, I think you’re being rash. We’ve been together” she paused to count on her fingers, “almost 10 years! You’re my best friend.”
“‘Mione, do you want to marry me?” he looked resigned.
Hermione sputtered. “Well…I…I’m not sure I want to marry anyone! Ron, we’re still so young! Witches and wizards commonly live past 100, why on earth would we do something as limiting as marriage so early in our lives! We have all the time in the world to be boring and married!”
“That’s the thing, for me, I don’t think of it as boring. I think of being married and starting a family as one of the greatest adventures I’ll have in life. And that’s saying something because I’ve completed a bank heist that culminated in riding a dragon out of the belly of Gringott’s. I’m ready.”
“I’m just not ready for that right now. There is still so much I want to do, so much I want to make!” Hermione waved her arms around her office where items were strewn chaotically across every visible surface, most of which seemed to be projects that had been paused or fully abandoned mid-attempt.
“Ok, so you don’t want to marry me now. I want you to close your eyes and imagine what your life looks like 5 years from now, 10, even 15 years. Hermione, in any of those imagingings–are we married? Do we have a family?”
Hermione peaked one eye open, and her face dropped. The answer she knew to be true at her core and the answer she wanted to be true were at odds. She looked carefully down at her hands. “No. I don’t suppose we are.”
Ron nodded carefully. “Yes, that’s exactly what I thought. And, to be honest, it’s what I’ve known to be true for some time now. I haven’t even seen you in almost a month, even though I’ve been trying to have this conversation with you for weeks now.”
“I’ve just been so busy with work, I’m really on the edge of a breakthrough with this communication device…” she trailed off. “Wait. A month? Ron, is there someone else?”
Ron looked a bit like he’d been caught out. “Well…Hermione, I truly have been trying to get to you the last many weeks. It’s been impossible.”
“Ron, it’s ok. Just tell me.” Hermione wasn’t actually sure if it was ok. She should probably feel betrayed. Instead she felt nothing. Nothing at all. Maybe some more complicated feelings would come to her later on.
“There isn’t necessarily someone else, but there is…I suppose the hope of someone else.” He looked a bit wistful.
Hermione looked at her friend, her first love, the person she had shared so many dreams with the past nearly two decades. Instead of feeling heartbreak, she felt like an enormous weight had been lifted from her very soul. She hadn’t even noticed the weight of the thing, but in its absence there was a thrilling feeling of freedom. “Ron, I hope that you find all the happiness in the world. You deserve it.”
Ron reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Thanks ‘mione.” He smiled warmly at her. “That means a lot. I was so worried that having this conversation would mean the end. You can’t imagine my relief that you understand.” At that, Ron stood to leave.
“I’ll see you around?” Hermione walked him to the door of her office.
Ron squeezed her tightly. Hermione burrowed her face into his shoulder, inhaling his earthy smell one last time.
“See you around.” Ron confirmed as he slipped out the door and out into the ministry hallways.
Hermione was filled with the feeling one gets when one chapter closes, but the next has yet to begin. There was a sadness there, that things were undoubtedly never going to be the same. But there was also a hope that there was a new adventure waiting at the horizon.
The 5th Annual Muggleborn Scholarship Gala was well underway when Hermione arrived through the floo of Malfoy Manor. The receiving parlour had been magically altered to accommodate an influx of guests for the event, with four fireplaces burning bright ready to receive gala attendees. A house elf in a smart tuxedo rushed to each guest as they exited the fireplaces and dusted floo powder from their evening finery. The fireplace behind Hermione flared to life and Isolde Fawley stepped out.
Isolde quickly waved the house elf away, “Don’t worry about me, I’m not here for the event, just here for some last minute adjustments.”
Isolde did a 360 revolution around Hermione, adjusting her gown here and there as she traveled around. Finally, she placed a bejeweled sphere in Hermione’s hand.
“Thanks Izzy. I think you’ve really outdone yourself this time.” Hermione looked up and down the sparkling red, orange, and yellow gown. The fabric was magically enchanted to give the illusion of a crackling fire, but the real magic of the look was still to come.
Isolde blushed, but nodded in agreement. “I actually got the idea from a muggle novel that I’ve been reading. I’m excited to see how it looks in situ, and even more excited for the press. Ok, just as we practiced. Are you ready?”
Hermione nodded and made her way to the entrance of the ballroom. There was a sweeping staircase that led into the main ballroom and she could hear chatter from the crowd below. She’d decided to arrive an hour after the start of the event to maximize the impact of her entrance. Hermione learned quickly after the war that if she didn’t set the story herself, then a story would be made up by the bottom feeders masquerading as serious journalists at the Daily Prophet. She found that being intentional with her wardrobe was one way she could set the narrative and ensure it remained on the things she could control and not her personal life. This was as important as ever today, given that she and Ron had chosen to end things. Or rather, that Ron had finally made her see that maybe they’d been at an end for quite some time.
Hermione always prioritized Muggleborn designers in an effort to create something positive from the nonstop media shitshow that was any public appearance by her or the rest of the Golden Trio. She had been collaborating with Isolde for nearly a year now on all of her appearance looks as well as her workwear. Isolde had gotten quite a lot of positive press from the partnership, and Hermione had been able to shift most of the narrative away from any engagement ring/when are they getting married nonsense.
Hermione hated this event. She obviously believed in the cause, the Muggleborn Scholarship Fund supported the entire Muggleborn Assimilation Programme (MAP) that Hermione had worked with Minerva McGonagall to create following the war. She simply loathed returning to Malfoy Manor every single year. She had worked through most of her traumatic flashbacks and panic attacks with a mind healer in the years that followed the final battle, but she’d be damned if she’d ever forget the feeling of the cool marble tile floor of the Malfoy Manor drawing room as she screamed in agony. Hermione also felt that Narcissa Malfoy had chosen to champion her cause in order to resuscitate the Malfoy name, rather than any true change of heart about the place of Muggleborns in their society.
Hermione shook her head, trying to free herself of the negative feelings associated with this damned place. She would have fun tonight and drink a glass of champagne with her best friends, using her presence here as a sort of spiteful reminder that Muggleborns did, in fact, belong in this world.
Hermione stood at the top of the grand staircase that opened up to the ballroom below. As her name was announced as a new arrival, the partygoers glanced to where she had entered. As the room quieted a bit, she threw the bejeweled orb down at her feet in a fluid motion. The orb burst into a thousand pieces and floo powder ignited the skirt of her dress, producing a huge plume of black, sparkling smoke that engulfed her. Hermione emerged from the cloud in a shimmering, deep emerald silk dress. The gown’s plunging neckline and gossamer-thin straps revealed a flapper-style drop back. A silken drape coiled about her hips, parting into a daring central slit, while the skirt cascaded in a Grecian sweep that seemed to ripple with its own quiet magic. The silk was so delicate, it looked like any wrong move might irreparably tear the garment.
Hermione tried to stay away from green as a rule; unfortunately, being a high-contrast brunette meant that green was one of her best colors. Isolde told her that she was wearing the green and there were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Isolde had placed gems throughout her voluminous curls that sparkled with blue flame, giving the impression that Hermione was truly made of enchanted fire.
As Hermione entered the ballroom, Parvati Patel flocked to her side. She had taken up as the fashion correspondent for Witch Weekly, and always made sure that Hermione got a fair story. “Another Isolde creation?”
“Of course,” Hermione beamed “the design is meant to be representative of the way that magic can take something benign and transform it. It represents the journey from the mundane to the realm of magic. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some friends I have to meet.”
Hermione made her way to Harry and Ginny who were standing near the bar. Ginny looked her up and down, letting out a low whistle as she handed her a glass of champagne. “Isolde really aced it this time. You look hot. Pun very much intended.”
Hermione batted her dismissively. “Honestly, I’m just happy that Isolde is getting attention for her designs. You know how I hate dressing up for these things, I don’t feel myself at all.”
Harry tinked his glass against Hermione’s in a quick cheers. “Well, here’s to separating these rich bastards from their wallets in honor of the greater good, eh?”
“Here here to that!” Hermione said as she took a large gulp of champagne. She always needed at least one glass before she felt up to talking up all these random donors.
After two hours of mind-numbing conversation with press, ministry politicians, and potential donors, Hermione was absolutely knackered. She decided that now was the perfect time to break away to the loo and take a moment for herself. She wandered out of the main ballroom and headed off the bathrooms that were just down the hall. The bathrooms were just inside of a large sitting room that featured a number of vanities that women from the party were using to freshen up their glamour charms. Hermione made her way into one of the small rooms to use the loo. Just then, she heard a shrill voice utter her name.
“I mean, did you see that dress? Slytherin green. She should just accept she’s never going to belong among us.”
The voice sounded somewhat familiar, but certainly wasn’t anyone Hermione knew well. She rolled her eyes, sighing and feeling annoyed that she was going to have to deal with this shit tonight. Fucking purebloods.
Hermione made her way out into the main sitting room and took up the vanity nearest to the owner of that annoying voice, a petite brunette that she recognized from Hogwarts. She seemed to remember her being in the years below them, Sytherin most likely. One of the Greengrass sisters maybe?
“I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Astoria Greengrass.” The woman looked to Hermione with all the false warmth in the world. Like she wasn’t just badmouthing her to whatever lackeys had surrounded her.
Oh, so this was how we were going to play this game, Hermione thought to herself. “Charmed, I’m sure. Stacy was it?”
Astoria looked peeved. “Astoria. I was two years below you at Hogwarts.”
Hermione stared blankly at her. “Well, lovely to see you….” she paused for effect and appeared thoughtful “....Stephanie. See you out there!” At that, she disappeared out the door and into the hallway.
Hermione could have sworn that she had gone down the same hallway from which she had entered the bathroom. But, she found herself quite lost. Nothing looked familiar and the sounds of the party were notably missing. If she didn’t know better, she would think that the house itself had reconfigured to lead her away from the party. Where? She didn’t know. To what end? Again, Merlin knew.
Hermione opened a door at random and found herself in the most beautiful library she had ever seen. She was lost, and truly a bit panicked. But that wouldn’t stop her from worshipping at the altar of her eternal choosing–books. Shelf after shelf of old, leatherbound tomes unfolded in front of her. Thousands of candles floated above the stacks, providing a romantic soft glow, as she fell in love for the thousandth time with the smell of ink and parchment. If the house was trying to apologize for her previous encounter with its drawing room, this was a good start.
After the war, all the old families were forced to remove any Muggleborn and/or Muggle-specific curses from all their properties and belongings. Bill’s cursebreaker division at Gringotts had even been farmed out to the ministry to help navigate the crushing wave of curses that needed to be broken and removed. For this reason, Hermione felt she was most likely safe from any nasty Malfoy curses that may have once haunted these pages. She opened one after another of the ancient tomes, secretly hoping that she might happen upon some information she could use in her work.
She must have lost track of time, when all of a sudden she realized that her friends were probably looking for her. She cast a tempus and cursed as she realized how long she’d been gone. Just as she was slotting a book back onto the shelf, an irritated cough sounded from behind her causing her to startle and drop the book onto the floor.
She whirled around, wand at the ready, to find a very familiar sneer. Draco sodding Malfoy.