Chapter Text
A buzz drifted through the air as colleagues chatted cordially, most with a drink in one hand and food in the other. Cherubs floated lazily on their clouds in the tall corners of the room as snow fell from somewhere in the ceiling, unseen. A large, overly decorated tree stood boldly in the middle of the room, surrounded by small, individually unnoticeable fairies, each looking for the right branch to settle on and giving off an encompassing, twinkling glow in the process.
Hermione stood with a group from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, joined as well by Harry and Ron, as they talked about their holiday plans. She was trying to stay engaged, laughing when it was appropriate, smiling, making eye contact…but she couldn’t ignore the fact that she’d been distracted all night. There wasn’t a logical reason for it, it was just one of those evenings that was more difficult than others to push unwanted thoughts from her mind. It happened from time to time, but she’d have preferred it not happen tonight.
She’d been getting ready for the event earlier, slipping into a sleek crimson gown she’d bought the weekend prior, and adorning herself in the string of pearls her parents had given her on her seventeenth birthday, along with the matching bracelet and earrings. She’d run Sleek-Eazy Potion through her mane until it had fallen just right over her shoulder and down her back.
She’d grabbed her wand from the counter, taken a deep, steadying breath, and performed a quick glamour charm on her forearm to cover the tracks of the word Mudblood that was still etched there as though it had been carved just yesterday. The problem, however, with masking a cursed scar was that it burned. It burned like you’d poured scalding water directly into the wound, because it did not want to be covered. But for nights like this, where her bare arm would be front and center, she dealt with it. It subsided after a minute, anyway, from a scalding, burning feeling to a faint throb that lasted until it was removed. But it was bearable, and it kept wandering eyes from staring, and tactless coworkers from asking questions they had no privilege to the answers of.
Although it served its purpose, the throbbing tended to invade her subconscious thoughts well after the process of masking the scars. It slipped in when she’d catch a glimpse of her bare arm as she lifted it for a drink; protruded her mind as it gave a more pronounced throb in the middle of a laugh; Pierced her conversations with a tingle if someone brushed past her in the crowd.
But she did her best to ignore it, like she always did, and she wore the facade of an easy smile as she joined in with Ron and Harry to talk through their normal Christmas Eve routine at the Burrow.
As Ron tried to recall the name of the book his dad always read to the Weasley grandchildren, a glass was knocked unceremoniously off the bar and shattered somewhere in the distance. Something in Hermione jolted, her breath catching uncomfortably in her throat and her mind flashing a picture of the chandelier in Malfoy Manor crashing to the floor. She drew in a shaky breath as inconspicuously as she could, trying to blink away the image.
“Hermione?” Ron’s voice momentarily broke through the haze, “Do you remember what it was called?”
“Hm?” she was trying to hone back in on him, knowing he was trying to pull her attention from the sound of glass, but her arm was throbbing even more prominently beside her, almost like it sensed the memories she was trying to ignore.
“The book my dad always reads?” he asked again, skillfully masking the urgency in his voice for her to refocus. His voice came through a little clearer this time, but it didn’t quite mute the sound of her own screams that were dominating her thoughts.
“Sorry, I...I don’t. Excuse me for a moment, I just—I need some air,” she tried to flash an unburdened smile to the group but was positive it came off as a grimace. Harry and Ron would understand, though, she knew they would as Ron nodded in acceptance that he hadn’t been able to block it out and turned the attention back to his story as she headed for the bar, finishing the drink in her hand and placing it on the counter.
“Firewhiskey, neat, please,” she hastily told the bartender, who summoned a glass and a bottle as she pushed back with all of her mental power on the voices in her head.
“I think we’re going to have a little chat, girl to girl.”
“Here you go.”
She took the glass with another distracted attempt at a smile and headed for the doors, bursting out into the hallway as a breeze of cool air whipped across her face. She tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t quite pull it in far enough. She walked the hall in a daze until she found a door that was cracked, opening it and scanning for inhabitants before she pushed the door shut again behind her, walking to the window and trying again for a breath. It was labored and still not full and she clamped her eyes shut as they stung.
“WHAT ELSE DID YOU TAKE FROM MY VAULT?”
She threw back the glass of amber liquid in her hand, swallowing the double shot in one gulp. She sputtered a little as it burned down the back of her throat, but it was welcomed. It was needed. It was pulling her ever so slightly from her memories and giving her something else to focus on. If only she had another.
O-o-o-o-o-o-o
“Malfoy, Malfoy,” Bernard Griswald, the Head of the Auror department pulled him aside with a pat on the back, “I’ve been wanting your ear tonight.” Bernard was in his early fifties, burly but fit with a jovial wryness about his personality that persisted no matter the intensity of a situation. He’d also been in Slytherin at Hogwarts and was the type of man who understood risks but always assumed things would work out in their favor from sheer willpower.
“Of course, sir. How are you?” It wasn’t a warm question, but rather a professional one to pass the time as Draco allowed the man to lead him to a quiet area of the room as he took a small sip of his drink.
“Very well, Malfoy. But there is something I needed to tell you.” It was clear he was looser than normal, a few drinks in, if Draco had to guess. There was unintended strength in his grip on Draco’s shoulder, which likely meant the news he had to share was not good; Something he’d had to prepare for and was finally ready to release.
“Yes, sir?”
“So I’m sure you know a Lead Auror position is open again and we’ve been considering names, yours being at the top of the list.”
“I do, yes.”
“Well, my boy, I know you’ve worked hard for this, and frankly you’ve done everything right.”
Draco tilted his head, thinking for a moment that perhaps he’d had his initial assumptions backwards.
“But ultimately, we’ve decided to give the position to Reid. Politics, you know.”
Draco nodded slowly, his hopes firmly extinguished, “Sir can I just ask—” he hesitated a moment, but Bernard was adequately inebriated anyway so what harm could it do besides to his pride, “Can I ask if it’s because of my past?”
Bernard gave a long hum before he patted Draco’s shoulder again, “Politics.” He repeated, “But yes, yes I’m afraid it is. Hard to shake that kind of reputation, unfortunately. We know your loyalties of course, and your hard, dedicated work. But there’s just more to it than that. I’m sure you understand, being inundated with Ministry politics your whole life under your father.”
Draco felt his jaw tighten, but this wasn’t the place to react, “Thank you for the courtesy of telling me before the announcement,” he said, “If you’ll excuse me, I need to step out for a moment.”
“Of course, we’ll catch up later, Malfoy. Enjoy the party.”
Draco headed for the nearest door, his head pounding in mounting frustration as he walked the halls until he’d finally grabbed a doorknob that turned. He pushed it open, slamming it behind him before casting a Muffliato charm. He turned to the dark, open room, his thoughts screaming through his head before he tipped his glass back and finished his drink. His breath was heavy and he could feel the anger replacing the frustration.
Politics, you know… Politics.
“FUCK!” he screamed as the hurled his glass across the room, watching as it smashed against the wall, “Fucking bullshit. ” He grabbed the next closest breakable item to him, a plaque of some sort, and chucked it in the same spot, “Here’s how much I care about your fucking politics.”
He leaned his hands against the desk in front of him, trying hard to catch his breath. In the corner of his brain that wasn’t raging, he heard a soft patter across the floor and closed his eyes with a frustrated sigh, “You’ve got to be fucking joking me,” he muttered to himself before allowing his voice to strengthen, “Don’t take another step.”
Hermione paused, an arm's length from the door, as she teetered on her feet, trying to quickly slow her hyperventilating breathing into something casual. She took a deep breath, count to ten and let it out.
He turned slowly, pointing his wand at the line of torches atop the walls as he ignited them to see who his untimely companion was.
“Granger,” he muttered sardonically as the light illuminated her face, “What in Merlin’s name are you doing creeping around a dark room during the holiday party?”
She let the breath out slowly through her nose, “I could ask you the same thing,” she said with her head high, happy to hear her voice sounded much stronger than she felt. She’d been hoping to slip out without him noticing after his glass stunt had triggered her anxiety all over again, but clearly that wasn’t an option anymore so she squared her shoulders to him, he would not hold the power over her right now, “At least I wasn’t destroying the place like a child having a temper tantrum.” Her forearm was throbbing again worse than before and she had to fight with every ounce of strength to dim Bellatrix’s voice in her subconscious. Just a few more seconds. She could hold it off just a few more seconds.
They stared at each other for a moment before he walked closer—too close, “You will not breathe a fucking word of this to anyone or you will regret it.”
“Happy holidays to you, too, Malfoy,” she said evenly.
This close to her, and highlighted by the torches above them, he could see the tear stains that ran down her rosy cheeks. But that absolutely was not his problem, “Fuck you,” he turned from her again and grabbed the doorknob, pulling it open harshly and walking from the room.
Hermione let out another shaky breath she’d been holding and shut the door with a flick of her wand, locking it this time and collapsing in the chair by the desk as the tears began to fall again, the same crazed, high pitched voice overtaking her thoughts. Draco Malfoy was the last person in the Wizarding World that she had any interest in exchanging words with tonight. How a git like that had ever ended up on one of the top Auror teams in the department, she didn’t have a clue.
To be fair, he wasn’t usually as unbearable as he’d been a moment ago, what had caused that, she’d likely never know. But she’d heard stories of his work and occasionally they’d had to cross paths as their departments worked cohesively on one case or another. She wouldn't deny he was a talented and driven wizard, but that didn't change the fact that he wasn’t a pleasant human. He wasn’t evil or cruel, as he had seemed at Hogwarts, but he was serious and blunt with an undeniable coldness to his exterior.
The remorse she’d seen after the battle seemed to have hardened after a stint in Azkaban and now he seemed to have an outer shell that he used to keep people out while he got on with his day to day life.
What a luxury that must be; to shut it all out and get on with it. She felt a pang of bitterness towards him that he could just do that. Just be his unpleasant self and still excel in life while everyone else had to put on a brave outward appearance of contentment and happiness; cordiality and camaraderie.
Well sometimes she wanted to throw a glass at the wall too, but she couldn't. Not just because the sound of breaking glass tended to send her into a spiral as it had earlier, but also because she couldn’t be angry. She could barely get away just to cry for a moment. She was Hermione Granger, and people expected better from her. In fact, people expected a lot more than she had to offer most days.
And so, with a few more calming breaths, she stood, conjuring a mirror to fix her makeup as best she could and smoothing her dress of the wrinkles she’d created during the evening. She shook her arm out, the throbbing reducing back down to its normal dullness. With one more breath, she ran her fingers through her hair, put a forced easy smile back on her face and returned to the event hall, stopping for another drink at the bar before she rejoined her friends.