Chapter Text
June 5, 1998
It took Draco Malfoy exactly thirteen hours to disappear after the Battle of Hogwarts.
Words had always been his most powerful weapon, but after everything, after all of the things that he'd done, they seemed completely and utterly useless. So, he did something he'd never done before—he held his tongue. He left without uttering a single word. He left without sending a single letter. He left without saying goodbye to anyone, not even his mother.
All he'd ever wanted was to protect her. He had failed, of course, and now, he hoped she'd find some way to heal.
His father, on the other hand, could go to hell. There was nothing but hatred in his heart for that man. He desperately wanted to blame for everything that had gone wrong in his short, pitiful life, but he knew he couldn't. Not really.
Thirteen hours was all it took to make his decision. With absolutely no intention of ever returning, he left everything he had ever known.
Leaving Britain had been the obvious choice. The Malfoy name and signature platinum hair certainly weren't going to open many doors for him there, but his decision to hide himself away in the Muggle world would have surprised even the all knowing Dumbledore. It was, he had thought, a foolproof escape.
He had no desire to be found by anyone. Ever.
When he left, he took only his wand (although he doubted he would find much use for it where he was going) and the money he needed to purchase a one-way airline ticket to a place far, far away.
Airplanes, he found, weren't totally without their merits. Magical methods of international travel were efficient, yes, but traveling by Apparition, the Floo Network, or a Portkey were traceable. They also, he begrudgingly admitted, left very little time for self-reflection.
During his escape, Draco sat with his face pressed against the airplane window, transfixed by the world passing by below him. It was like nothing he had ever seen.
He used the time to finally digest what had happened to him over the past few years, revisiting the memories of each and every single mistake he had ever made. Then, when that wasn't painful enough, he tried to imagine a life in which he actually did all the right things, one where he had been able to free himself from the chains his father had forced on him.
The little exercise nearly triggered a panic attack, but he'd never felt so alive.
So, despite the obvious fact that he was sitting inside a stuffy, oversized aluminum can surrounded by non-magical strangers, he found himself oddly reassured about his decision to leave his former life behind.
Buses, on the other hand, Draco could do without.
They were loud and uninviting, and, in the particular instance when he decided to keep traveling north after landing in a place muggles ridiculously referred to as the "Windy City", were filled with seats that smelled horribly of rotten cheese. He wasn't sure he'd ever forget that smell.
His obvious discomfort with the situation didn't stop people from talking to him, and they certainly did love talking to him even despite his less than friendly demeanor. A young woman, dressed in flannel and denim, nearly fell out of her seat giggling when, after nearly an hour of trying to get his attention, he engaged her in polite conversation. An old man wearing a faded yellow and green baseball cap kept asking him if he was lost after taking a seat behind him. Even the bus driver, who seemed to drag out many of his vowels far longer than was necessary, took no issue with telling him, a complete stranger with his own strange accent, about his family history. It was more friendly chit-chat than he had ever had to bear, and he was relieved when the bus finally came to a stop outside a run-down gas station in an even more run-down little town. He had only hopped off to use the loo, but when he saw the collection of job advertisements taped haphazardly up to the wall, he made another surprising decision.
This will do, he had thought as he watched the bus drive away, one of the flyers clutched in his hand.
And so that was how Draco Malfoy, heir to an immense family fortune who had never done an hour of manual labor in his entire life, found himself on a small farm in a place called Wisconsin hauling a large bucket of feed to a group of annoyingly loud chickens.
He wasn't sure what the old couple had seen in him when he showed up at their front door—perhaps the look of desperation. But they had welcomed him into their home like he was one of their own. They put him up in their spare bedroom, provided him with clothes that were better suited for a hard day's work, and fed him an enormously large meal of meatloaf and mashed potatoes.
It was kindness that he had never experienced before. Kindness, he thought, that he of all people didn't really deserve.
The farm work was grueling and unrelenting, and it distracted his weary mind. There wasn't much time for idle thoughts, especially those pertaining to the world he had left far behind. He was thankful for that. Animals needed to be corralled and fed. Soil needed to be moved. Seeds needed to be planted. Fences needed to be repaired. Each night, when he might have otherwise turned to alcohol and potions to drown away his memories of the war, he quickly fell into a deep sleep, his tired body barely capable of making it to the bed.
He his work without magic, without a single complaint, and he quickly lost the urge to carry a wand with him everywhere he went. It was better that way, he told himself. And he was right. It was the only way he was ever going to unlearn everything he had ever been taught.
In the month that had passed since he arrived on the farm, he already felt more at peace feeding animals and planting vegetables than he ever did being doted on in Malfoy Manor. It was odd, feeling like he belonged somewhere so drastically different from the place in which he was made, but it was also extremely comforting. He had already spent so much of his life making all the wrong choices. Now, at this farm doing this work, he was finally realizing that maybe he was capable of change.
Perhaps one day, he could finally face the emotional scars that haunted him. Perhaps he'd be able to accept that some things, no matter how much he wanted to blame himself, were never really under his control. And maybe, just maybe, he could learn to forgive himself for the unforgivable things he did trying to defend what he had always been taught was right.
Draco really wasn't sure forgiveness would ever be an option for him, and even if it was, he wasn't sure how long it would take. But working on a muggle farm without magic in a place he had never heard of before seemed like a pretty gods-damn good place to start.
October 2, 2002
It was done.
Hermione sat at the end of her bed staring towards the door she knew wouldn't reopen. It was the logical thing to do, she knew that, but her heart still felt like it was breaking into a million tiny pieces.
In the beginning, things had been perfect—well, as perfect as anything could be in a post-war world.
They grieved together over the loss of their friends and family. They comforted each other when the nightmares brought on by the carnage they had endured became too much. He was completely devoted to her, and she was to him. They loved each other more than either of them ever thought was possible. It was the kind of love that people wrote about (the Daily Prophet certainly did), the kind of love that made people believe that their own soulmate was out there somewhere, waiting.
His family became hers. They even talked about starting one of their own, spending countless nights imagining their future and playfully arguing over baby names.
They were Wizarding Britain's favorite couple, the so-called perfect match, and nothing mattered more than being together.
But slowly things began to change.
At first, she thought he was just enjoying himself a little too much. He was still coming home every night and making it out of bed in the morning. He still loved her more than anything. They still visited his family and had fun with their friends, and so she let it slide. But then, he started going out more and more, and it became obvious that he was trying to drink away more than just a hard day's work. He began to isolate himself and started missing important meetings and deadlines. There were nights when he never came home. When he was home, he was a ghost of the man she'd fallen in love with.
Eventually, he only touched her when he wanted something, usually a shag. He yelled at her. He called her names. He laughed at her when she cried. He started locking himself in their bedroom refusing to come out for anything, not even for her.
She made excuses for him because she loved him, because she couldn't give up, not on them. She told their friends he was exhausted. She lied to his family. She promised everyone he was fine and that he just needed some time to relax. She covered for him even when he was so horrible to her, even when he told her that he didn't want her around. Despite everything he did to her as he slowly spiraled out of control, she stayed. For him. For them. For everything they had built together.
She begged him to get help. She told him that he had people who cared about him, people who would always be there to support him. And at first he would always agree, promising her he'd do anything to get better, but then he'd disappear and return in a drunken stupor. I don't need help, he would yell at her, and the cycle would start all over again.
When they had last had the discussion, she thought for a second that he had finally heard her, that he was finally listening. There had been a flicker of understanding and sadness in his eyes that she hadn't seen for years, but it was quickly replaced with rage. In a moment of anger, he took her roughly by the shoulders and threw her against the wall, his eyes filled with a hatred that made her bones tremble. Then, he raised his arm as if he meant to hit her, and she closed her eyes, bracing for the pain.
It never came though, and when she opened her eyes again, he was backing away.
She crumbled to the ground, looking up at him with tears in her eyes, and waited for an apology that never came. Instead, he looked down at her with disgust, his eyes dark and emotionless while he slurred his words and mumbled that this was her fault. That she shouldn't have brought it up again. That she was being too pushy. Too stubborn.
When she wiped the tears from her eyes and looked back up at him, she saw that the man she loved was gone. She knew in that moment that it was over. There was nothing more she could do for him. There was nothing more she could do for them.
I deserve better.
She put on a brave face at work and with friends, but on the inside she was falling apart. He had turned into someone she no longer recognized. The man who loved her, who protected her, and cared for her had disappeared. His addiction had destroyed him. It had destroyed everything they had dreamed about after the war. Hermione could fix a lot of things, but she couldn't fix this. She couldn't fix them.
I deserve better.
She looked down at her hands. They were shaking. Her eyes were bloodshot and tears were still running down her cheeks. He hadn't looked at her when she told him it was over. He didn't beg her to reconsider. He didn't promise that he would do anything and everything to make her happy again, to get better. After everything they had been through, after everything she had done for him, he simply stood up and walked out of their flat without uttering a single word.
I deserve better.
Hermione had repeated it to herself for weeks as she worked up the courage to finally end things with Ron. And now that she had finally done it, she realized that she was completely and utterly alone.
October 15, 2002
Draco was sitting on a bench outside of a closed door fidgeting with his hands. He didn't particularly want to be here, but then again, Potter had been absolutely relentless and so here he was, sitting on a stupid little bench in the Ministry of Magic which he had sworn he'd never set foot in again. Leave it to the insufferable Chosen One to ruin a man's only chance for a little damn peace and quiet.
A Green Bay Packers hat, a parting gift from the sweet old couple in Wisconsin, covered most of his platinum hair. The rest of his body was covered in worn, very un-Malfoy-like, muggle clothing, but his wardrobe fooled no one. People walking by still stared, their wide eyes saying it all.
Draco Malfoy was alive, and back in Britain.
Draco was busy hiding his face from a group of young Ministry workers when the door next to him opened. Harry walked out brushing his fingers through his disheveled hair, followed by the Minister, whose lips were twisted into a strange, almost uncomfortable smile.
"Welcome to the team!" Harry announced, a wide grin plastered on his face.
Draco blinked, looking between the two men standing above him. Well, this is a little fucking unexpected, he thought, realizing he had no idea what to say.
"I can't say I wasn't hesitant to allow your appointment, but Harry assured me that he's going to keep an eye on you," Kingsley explained, filling the awkward silence. "Apologies for the rather… unpleasant searching of your memories. Even with Voldemort gone, we really can't be too careful."
Draco simply nodded. Unpleasant wasn't exactly the word he'd use to describe what the Aurors had done to him when he'd first arrived earlier that day, but he wasn't really in a position to complain. Other than his memories, there was no real alibi for his disappearance. Knowing full well he wouldn't be allowed to leave until they finished their inquiry, he had quietly let their so-called Legilimency 'expert' dig around in his memories like a rabid animal.
"Thank you, sir," Draco managed to croak as he stood up to shake Kingsley's outstretched hand.
"Whatever this new look is," Kingsley said, gesturing to the hat on top of Draco's head, "I like it."
A laugh escaped Harry's throat as Draco stood there, dumbfounded.
The Minister smiled again before being ushered away by his aide, leaving Draco and Harry alone in the hallway.
"Told you," Harry said, his lips spread into a wide, toothy grin. "I'm very convincing."
Draco snorted. "Why is that not surprising?"
He watched the Minister disappear around the corner at the end of the hall.
It was Harry who had asked Draco to come back home and become an Auror. Well, demanded with stalker-like tendencies was probably the better descriptor for what Harry did, but ask him he did, over and over again. The Boy-Who-Lived sent owls, then his ridiculous stag Patronus, and on one particularly horrible occasion, he even telephoned the dodgy restaurant Draco had been snooping around in. It was enough to make Draco wish he had never run into those blithering, Death Eater wannabe idiots in that disgusting, down-trodden pub, but alas he did and it was far too late to change what happened after. He had earned Harry's trust, and there was simply no recovering from that.
The story went like this: Two years after the war, Draco appeared suddenly on Harry's doorstep levitating two bound men behind him.
"Potter," Draco said after nearly kicking down the front door.
"Malfoy," Harry replied uncomfortably, the shock clear on his face. He readjusted the glasses on his nose. "To what do I owe this… pleasure?"
"I believe the Ministry is looking for these two," Draco told him, stepping aside to reveal the men floating behind him. He knew it probably wasn't the relaxing Saturday night Harry had been hoping for, but he didn't quite trust anyone else. "Something about blowing up a few muggle villages in Scotland. I thought you might want them."
Harry's mouth fell open. "You—um, what?" he muttered, looking back and forth between Draco and the two disheveled men.
After his time in Wisconsin, Draco decided to take back up his wand and use it for some good. He traveled around, tracking down criminals, some muggle some not, and eventually crossed paths with these idiots. It hadn't taken him long to break into their minds, and when he did, he discovered that they were Death Eater sympathizers of the worst kind and that the Ministry was after them.
He had groaned, wishing that he still had it in him to only care about himself, but he didn't—especially not when innocent people had been killed. He knew what he needed to do, and there was only one person at the Ministry who wouldn't hex him on sight.
"I ran into them in a pub," Draco offered, shrugging as if it explained everything.
He knew it didn't.
Harry opened his mouth to say something, but promptly closed it.
"By all means, Potter, keep gawking while I stand on your doorstep restraining two of the Ministry's most wanted men."
Draco had tried to make the words and tone more reminiscent of the old him, but he knew Harry could see his heart really wasn't in it.
"You're... different," Harry muttered before ushering him inside.
And that was really all it took.
They didn't speak much after Draco handed the men over, only enough for Draco to say that Harry needed to take the credit because he wanted to go back to being lost. Things to do, Draco had told him as he walked back out of the front door.
Of course, it had been a mistake showing the golden boy his good side. Because in that moment, Harry decided that Draco was exactly the type of Auror the Ministry needed.
Draco received the first owl from Harry the next morning, and the man didn't stop. For two years, Harry reached out using every method at his disposal, each time with the same proposal—join the Ministry, become an Auror. It wasn't until Harry called him—actually fucking phoned him via a mob leader's untraceable phone, that Draco gave in. He apparated to Harry's doorstep, his heart still thundering after narrowly escaping the resultant gunfire.
"Four months," he growled. "Four months I've been working on bringing that monster down."
"And?" Harry asked, looking at Draco like he had already won.
"Yes," was all Draco said as he walked inside.
Now, Harry looked far too pleased with the outcome of his meeting with the Minister. Draco, on the other hand, wasn't quite ready to thank him for pulling him out of his self imposed isolation.
"Does this mean I have to forgive you for Italy?" Draco asked, rolling his eyes dramatically.
"Oh please, you were bored," Harry replied, waving a hand nonchalantly in the air. "I did you a favor."
A favor indeed.
Not only was Draco Malfoy alive, but he had made friends with the bloody Chosen One.
April 15, 2004
Hermione glanced down at her empty cup and sighed. Her neck ached from bending over to read the pile of papers and her eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but she knew she wouldn't be able to relax until the report was finished.
Relax. She almost laughed.
She would have rather worked in her office, alone and sequestered from the rest of the world. Harry, though, would have had a fit if he caught her working into the weekend again, and so, she had packed her things up and settled into the small, busy café near her flat.
A few unruly curls fell in front of her face, and she brushed them behind her ear. For the first time in hours, she looked up, motioning for the waitress to bring her another cup of tea. It was 7 pm on a Friday, and most people around her were grabbing a quick bite to eat before heading out for the night.
It certainly wasn't abnormal for Hermione to be working late on a Friday night—or any night for that matter.
Sure, she was friendly enough with the people who surrounded her on a daily basis, and yes, she did occasionally accept an odd invitation out, but she was mostly content to keep to herself when she wasn't at the Ministry. She had Harry and Ginny of course, but she was seeing less and less of them now that they were parents. Occasionally, she would meet up with Neville and Luna, but they too were busy with their own lives at Hogwarts.
She was alone most of the time, and she tried not to let it bother too much. It was preferable, anyway, to ever becoming emotionally involved with someone else.
Sometimes, though, the loneliness became too much. There were days when she felt like she could drown in it, barely capable of keeping herself afloat. It was only when she was most vulnerable, most overcome with her solitude, that she searched for comfort in the arms of someone else.
She would use them as she needed, but they were never more than a temporary distraction. She had given up on love, or at least that's what she told herself, convincing herself that she had used up her one and only chance.
The waitress glided by with another warm cup of tea, and Hermione inhaled the sweet steam before returning her attention to the large pile of papers in front of her.
On this specific Friday night, she wasn't feeling particularly alone. She wasn't worried about spiraling into a dark place. She didn't jump when she heard the bell on the front door clang as two bodies moved into the cafe. But when she heard his voice, a wave of panic washed over her.
From where she was perched, she could see he was with a woman—an unbelievably beautiful woman, with silky blonde hair and long legs. She nearly forgot to breathe. Her mouth went dry, and she quickly hid her face behind her papers, hoping they wouldn't see her.
This used to be their neighborhood. They used to share a flat a few blocks away. It stung to see him introducing it to someone else, someone so clearly different from her, and she shifted awkwardly in her seat wishing she could just disappear.
I deserve better.
She repeated her old mantra as she sat there peeking around her papers, watching them from afar. She heard Ron order some chips before whispering in the woman's ear. The woman started giggling, and he pulled something out of his pocket. A flask. He shared it with his companion and then took a long pull himself before stashing it away somewhere along the inside of his coat. They kissed, the kind of kiss he used to reserve for her, and then moved to a table on the other side of the café. She continued to watch even when she saw him plant a kiss on the woman's neck, even when the woman wrapped her body around him. It was too much, too painful to witness, but she couldn't look away.
I deserve better.
Finally, after what seemed like an hour, she saw a flash of bright red hair head for the door. The door shut behind them, and she inhaled deeply, trying to settle her furiously beating heart. She lingered in the cafe for a few minutes longer, making sure to give them ample time to walk away, before packing her things up, tossing money on the table, and walking out into the chilly night.
I deserve better.
Hermione quickly made her way home, lost in a torrent of self deprecating thoughts. She barely paid attention to the walk, and she didn't even notice she had made it into her building until she was standing at her front door. She pushed the door open and threw her things down, her heart pounding and her brow glistening with sweat. Her eyes closed for a moment, and she tried, she really did, to forget what she had just seen. But when she opened her eyes again, she looked around at her dark empty flat and her body began to shake. She fell to the ground as a debilitating wave of loneliness crashed over her.
Alone, she thought as a tear escaped down her cheek. Still fucking alone.
June 20, 2005
Draco ducked as a large book flew at his head.
"What is your problem?" he shouted.
Another book came flying, just missing the side of his face.
"My problem!?" Astoria yelled, her hands tightly gripping another heavy leather bound book that she had ripped off the book shelf behind her. "My problem is you!"
Draco grimaced as he heard his favorite copy of Lord of the Rings slam against the wall behind him. That one's signed, he mumbled to himself.
Astoria was angry, that much was obvious. It was as if she had been waiting for something, anything, to release the anger that had been building up inside her. Apparently, coming home from dinner and finding Draco reading by the window had been exactly the something she had been waiting for.
"You waste your days reading these," Astoria continued, gesturing to the wall of books behind her. "And you continually refuse to join me and my parents for dinner. I'm sick of having to make excuses for you. You haven't even seen your own parents in months."
She wasn't entirely wrong. Draco had declined to meet with her parents and he hadn't been to Malfoy Manor since they started dating, but what she failed to see was that Draco didn't go out to see anyone anymore. He wasn't the least bit interested in rejoining high Wizarding society, especially after it had failed him so miserably once before, and he wasn't about to change his mind just to appease her social calendar.
"Astoria-" a book slammed into his chest, knocking the words out of his mouth.
She looked like she wanted to cry, her dark hair falling over her face, but Draco knew she would never show that kind of weakness in front of him. Vulnerability had never played a role in their relationship, and he didn't really expect it to start now.
"Bloody hell, Astoria," he stammered, picking up the book closest to his feet. "I told you I wanted no part in my old lifestyle. I didn't come back to Britain to make the same mistakes I did when I was younger."
"Oh, so I'm a mistake," Astoria accused.
Draco's eyes narrowed. "You know that's not what I said."
It was the same argument they always had. She wanted him to go out. He wanted to stay in. They had been brought together by a chance meeting outside of the Ministry, much to both of their parents' delight. Neither of them, though, had learned to understand each other. The sex was really the only thing still holding them together, and it obviously wasn't enough anymore.
"This isn't working," Astoria said quietly.
"Clearly," Draco replied coolly, glaring at the books that were strewn around him on the floor.
"I'm leaving you," Astoria declared simply, her hands brushing the skirt of her dress.
He knew it was coming, it had been for a while, and so he didn't flinch as the words left her mouth. "I know," he answered, his eyes flickering back to her face.
There weren't any tears. Honestly, there was nothing really to be sad about and they both knew it. Whatever sadness Astoria might feel when she made it home, whatever tears she might eventually cry, would no doubt be the result of losing her perfect-on-paper match, her story-book ending. He knew she would never really be sad about losing him because he was never much of a catch to begin with. She would find someone better, they always did.
Draco watched as Astoria collected her things and stormed out of his flat for the last time. He felt the same way he always felt—alone, and deservedly so.
Present day: September 14, 2007
Hermione clutched the crumpled piece of paper in her hands as she held back tears building in her eyes. It had been five years since she ended things with Ron, and she felt like she had moved on with her life, but she definitely hadn't been expecting this.
Ms. Pansy Parkinson and Mr. Ronald Weasley cordially invite you…
She hadn't been able to read past the first line.
"Hermione?"
Harry stared at her from across the table, his eyes filled with concern.
"Hermione, are you okay?" he asked again.
Hermione looked up at him, her eyes blinking furiously. He was a good friend. After she ended things with Ron, he sat with her while she sobbed, confessing to him everything that had happened. Harry had been horrified when she told him and was so angry with himself for not realizing how bad things had gotten, but she never blamed him. She had gone through extensive lengths to hide Ron's behavior, and so if anything it was her own fault for being too stubborn to ask for help. After all these years, she was happy to still have Harry in her life, and she was forever thankful that he chose to remain friends with her despite the stress it put on his own relationship with Ron.
"Oh… yes. I'm alright. I didn't realize—I didn't realize they were so serious," she stammered, her hands shaking slightly.
Harry squeezed her hand as she handed the crumpled invitation back to him.
"It's okay not to be, you know," Harry assured her. He slipped the paper back in his pocket.
"It's been a long time, Harry," she said quietly, casting her eyes away from him. "It doesn't bother me like it used to. I'm just surprised, that's all."
Truthfully, Hermione wasn't sure if she really was okay, but she'd rather not unravel in front of her best friend. He'd done enough to support her through her separation with Ron, and she didn't want to burden him anymore.
"You're taking this a lot better than Ginny," Harry offered, attempting to cheer her up. "She nearly lit the house on fire when we got the invitation."
Hermione forced out a small smile. When Harry told Ginny everything that had happened, he apparently had to hold her back from flying to the Burrow to throw every curse she knew at Ron. Ginny barely spoke to Ron outside of family gatherings for a year, and it had nearly broken Molly Weasley's heart. While she was back on relatively cordial terms with Ron, Ginny was still adamant that her brother was a bloody idiot and constantly told Hermione that losing her was the biggest mistake he'd ever make in his pathetic little life. Hermione deeply appreciated Ginny's support, but as with Harry, she hated that it affected her relationship with Ron.
"Are you sure you're okay? Just because it's been a long time doesn't mean..." His words trailed off.
"Harry, I'm fine. I promise," she lied, hoping he wouldn't catch the tremble in her voice.
She knew it was silly to think she could hide anything from him. He knew her better than anyone, but that didn't stop her from trying. She didn't want to talk about this anymore and was thankful when he caught on and quickly changed the subject.
"James and Albus have been absolute terrors the past few weeks," Harry told her. "I didn't think it was possible for anyone to be more stubborn than Ginny, but they certainly are giving her a run for her money," he paused, shaking his head, and laughed. "I swear, they are becoming more and more like her everyday."
Hermione, always happy to hear about her two favorite troublemakers, chuckled. She loved those boys. They looked so much like their father, wiry and dark-haired, but their personalities were all Ginny, headstrong beyond belief. When the boys were finally old enough, Hogwarts wouldn't know what had hit them.
"Ginny and the boys miss you." Harry twisted the cup in his hands.
"Oh, I miss them too. Tell them I'm sorry I've been so busy," she replied guiltily, realizing that she really needed to be better about visiting. "How's Ginny doing?" she asked after swallowing her last gulp of tea. "I can't imagine chasing after those two with another one the way." She hoped the boys, Harry included, weren't making it too difficult on her.
"I think this pregnancy has been easier on her than the first two," Harry told her with a smile. "She hasn't hexed me yet."
"There's still plenty of time for that," Hermione replied, chuckling. Harry just shook his head.
When Ginny was pregnant with James, she had used the bat-bogey hex on Harry after she had spent a particularly long morning regurgitating everything she had eaten the previous night. And then during her pregnancy with Albus, Harry had been subjected to more than one angry cast of the leg-locking curse. It was a wonder Harry had gone unscathed for so long this time.
Hermione was happy for them. Their family was growing, and she was appreciative they still included her despite how things had ended with Ron. Her parents still couldn't remember her (not that she hadn't tried many times to reverse that), so they really were the only family she had left.
Hermione looked up, noticing the time. "Kingsley told me about the attack on the young muggle boy," she said, furious with herself for taking up so much of Harry's time. "You're probably desperately needed back in the office." She was sure Harry had a lot of work to do. He was Head Auror now, in charge of running an entire team of talented (and often exceedingly opinionated) individuals, and his responsibilities had tripled since taking on the role.
Harry nodded.
It had been over nine years since the Battle of Hogwarts, since they had defeated Voldemort, and while the Ministry had been operating under relatively peaceful conditions, they all knew the calm could only last if they continued fighting the dark. Their new lives didn't involve horcrux hunting or bloody battles, but there were still Death Eaters and new dark witches and wizards to find and bring to justice, and it appeared they finally had a lead on one of the worst.
"Yes," he admitted solemnly, "it appears to be our first solid lead on Rodolphus in nearly seven years." He paused, rubbing his temples with his thumb and middle finger. It had clearly been a long couple of days. "I should probably head back before he sends Dennis out looking for me."
Hermione nodded, pushing herself out of her chair, and Harry threw some money on the table.
They walked together in silence, making their way across the busy street to the Ministry entrance. Letters rushed at Harry as soon as they stepped inside, but he ignored them long enough to give Hermione a hug.
"I'm here if you need anything," he told her.
Hermione smiled and nodded before her friend rushed away.
She walked to her office slowly, and the news of the engagement seeped back into her brain. She hadn't spoken to Ron since she ended things. She had seen him a handful of times, and each time she couldn't help but wonder if he had gotten better. Sometimes, she desperately hoped things could go back to the way they had been before. But every time she thought she might muster up the courage to say hello, she would notice the drink in his hand or the woman under his arms and it would stop her in her tracks.
I deserve better.
She knew he had dated other people after her, and she certainly hadn't lived a life of chastity either. However, something about the finality of that chapter of her life brought her back to an emotional plane she thought she had left a long time ago.
Ron was getting married. And she wasn't the bride.