I Clawed My Way Into the Light
"I clawed my way into the light but the light is just as scary. I'd rather quit. I'd rather be sad. It's too much work. (...) I hate my friends. And when I hate my friends I've failed myself, failed to share my compassion. I shine a light on them of my own making: septic, ugly, the wrong yellow. I mean, maybe it's better if my opponent wins." - Self-Portrait against Red Wallpaper, Richard Siken
_
The week passed at the sort of numbing pace that made Hermione feel restless. She procrastinated researching for her meetings, knowing but refusing to acknowledge that she’d already failed.
After she’d given Malfoy back his books, Hermione hadn’t gotten access to any new material, and she definitely wouldn’t ask for Harry’s help again -- he became more distant each day.
Harry still acted warmly towards her. But recently, he seemed distracted, bothered by something -- he got home later and later, and while he was there in body, it was clear to Hermione his mind was elsewhere.
She figured he was missing Ginny, or upset that Robards hadn’t been pairing him with Ron for missions anymore -- he had complained about it so many times that Hermione had to tune him out, afraid she’d snap at him about the unhealthiness of their codependency.
It wasn’t until Thursday morning, when a reddish rock-eagle owl dropped that day’s issue of The Daily Prophet in their flat, that Hermione found out why Harry had been acting so strangely.
“The Boy Who Lived Takes Over the Department of Magical Law Enforcement!
By Padma Patil
Merlin’s Beard! Defeating the darkest wizard of all times wasn’t enough for The Boy Who Lived. In a surprising move, the Ministry of Magic confirmed this morning that Harry Potter has been newly appointed the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. At 22 years old, he’s the youngest wizard in history to accomplish this feat.
“I’m voluntarily stepping down to pursue other ventures in the Ministry. Potter’s journey made him the obvious choice for the position, and I have absolute confidence he’s ready for the job,” Gawain Robards told our reporter, refusing to give any further information about the aforementioned ventures no matter how much we insisted. “You will all know in due time,” he repeated.
Potter’s takeover might say a lot about the Wizarding World’s future direction, but it also made us curious about what the remaining members of The Golden Trio are up to.
Ronald Weasley, mid-level Auror, has been working as hard as he’s ever been, and enjoying his rise up the economic ladder. Hermione Granger, our muggle-born hero, can be found roaming the halls of Mental Rehabilitation Center, putting her brains to use as a new staff member of the Ministry’s successful post-war initiative. Although the rumored couple seems pretty busy, we wonder if they’ll find the time to grace us with the wedding of the ages we’re hoping for!
Hermione set the paper down on the dining table. She was so surprised that she couldn’t bring herself to feel annoyed at Padma’s quip about her and Ron.
This makes no sense , she thought to herself. Head Aurors like Robards don’t step down without a lucrative job officer somewhere else. And why would he appoint Harry to fill his place? He’s been an Auror for just three years, and the first year was training. There’s no way this hasn’t pissed off people that have worked in the department for decades without a promotion.
As Harry strolled into the room, Hermione quickly forced a smile onto her face.
“Oh, it’s already out,” said Harry, his eyes pinned to his own moving photo on the newspaper’s front page. “I’m really sorry, I wanted to tell you as soon as I heard. But Robards made me promise I wouldn’t. I only told Ginny three days ago.”
“That’s okay!” said Hermione, trying to keep a light tone. “I’m so happy for you, Harry, obviously.”
“You don’t look so sure, Hermione,” said Harry, sitting down in the chair across from her.
“Don’t be silly,” said Hermione. “I’m just surprised. This is huge for you, Gin must be over the moon.”
“She is!” he said excitedly. “She wanted to get a portkey home last night so we could celebrate, but I convinced her to come this weekend instead. We’ll all have to do something.”
“Sure, we can celebrate,” said Hermione, looking down at the headline again. “You should owl Ron about this, though, he’ll be livid if he finds out through The Daily Prophet.”
“Of course Ron already knows!” said Harry.
Hermione looked up at him again, struggling to keep her face neutral. “You told Ron?”
“Of course I told Ron,” he laughed. “He works in the department. He saw me going to meetings with Robards and Kingsley all the time and got curious, it was easier to tell him.”
“Of course, it’s Ron, ” said Hermione, swallowing the disappointment in her throat and feeling it lodge somewhere below her Adam’s apple. If she didn’t leave, she’d embarrass herself and ruin Harry’s moment. “I’m sorry, I have to go feed Crooks. Let me know what we’re doing to celebrate,” she said, waving a hand as she walked out of the room. “I’m so happy for you!” she called down the hall.
She pretended not to hear him say, “Hermione?” as she closed the door to her room.
Stop being so childish, Hermione thought, so what if he told Ginny and Ron first? She’s his girlfriend and Ron is basically his twin. I’m being stupid.
Hermione berated herself for being unable to muster genuine joy over something that was making her best friend so happy. She refused to feel jealous over something so insignificant, something that didn’t concern her.
“This is not about me,” she chastised herself.
But it feels like it, she thought, when I’m so obviously an afterthought.
_
Friday morning, Hermione found herself back in the Center’s solarium, her legs twisted in the lotus position in the chair she’d stolen from the program’s official room.
“What are we arguing about today?” asked Malfoy, grinning. She noticed he had a cigarette tucked behind his ear. She hoped he wasn’t planning to light it.
“I don’t know,” said Hermione, looking up to assess the room. Bulstrode and Parkinson looked at each other with twin expressions of confusion.
“You don’t know?” asked Malfoy incredulously. “Did you hit your head?”
“Thanks for the concern, but no,” said Hermione, crossing her arms. “None of you seem to enjoy the subjects I’ve brought up, so I figured you could pick today’s topic yourselves.”
“If this is a trick--” Rookwood snarled.
“Would you relax?” Hermione said in an exasperated tone. “I’m not here to trick you,” she said and gestured to the room. “What would you like to talk about?”
“How about nothing?” said Parkinson, examining her perfectly trimmed nails.
Hermione clicked her tongue. “That’s not an option, I’m afraid.”
The room remained silent for a full minute. The Slytherins traded increasingly irritated looks. Hermione tried to channel Cartwell’s seemingly endless patience -- I don’t have a patient bone in my body, she thought, already itching to say something.
Before she could, Malfoy raised his eyes to her face. “Let’s talk about you, Granger,” he said.
“About me?” said Hermione, matching his stare. “Why?”
“You like to talk about us so much, so why not change things up a little?” said Malfoy. He grabbed the cigarette from behind his ear and held it between two fingers. “Why exactly are you working for this ridiculous program?”
“I’m curious about that too,” said Nott, licking his lips in anticipation. “Go on, spill it.”
“This program is a legitimate post-war effort that should be taken seriously,” stalled Hermione. “I’m happy to be working for the MRC.”
“I never took you for a Ministry parrot, Granger,” said Malfoy. He twirled the cigarette in the air and pointed it towards her.
“I don’t represent the Ministry,” Hermione said patiently, “there’s a lot of reasons a program like this would be interesting to me.”
“Ah,” Malfoy stretched his chin, “you do fancy yourself a useless cause, don’t you? What was that thing you created in Hogwarts? The spew?”
Hermione rolled her eyes, “It was the S.P.E.W, and I didn’t know you paid such close attention to me during our school days, Malfoy.”
“Your failures served as top-notch entertainment, don’t let it get to your head,” Parkinson said before Malfoy could, “this time it’s just sad, though, you really think you’re onto something.”
“You do realize we are essentially in the same boat, don’t you?” said Hermione, “If I fail, so do you, and I’m not the one who will have to face the consequences.”
“It begs the question, though, why would you settle for something like this?” said Parkison, “and how pitiful your life must really be, when even Weasel got a better deal than you?”
“Maybe I have masochistic tendencies and like to torture myself with exposure to Slytherins,” she said flippantly, ignoring the mention of Ron.
Nott laughed loudly at her words, making Parkinson scowl in his direction. She turned to Hermione and raised an eyebrow. “You still haven’t answered, it seems like you're not up to playing your own game.”
“I don’t mind the question.” lied Hermione.
“Then answer it.” Parkinson pushed.
If they’d asked her weeks ago, Hermione would’ve said she had accepted the job because of the law of cause-and-effect. If she did her part now, the wizarding world would reap its benefits later, hopefully by becoming a more equal society.
Now, weeks in, frustrated and having to face her own embarrassment for failing when she had insisted she was capable of this, Hermione didn’t know if her motivations were ever that altruistic.
Finally, she muttered something that resembled the truth. “Maybe I’m just trying to understand.”
Parkinson looked dissatisfied, but Nott leaned forward, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. “Well, if that’s the case,” he said, “then let’s start by setting you straight about the festivities you had the nerve to compare to Muggle rituals.”
_
As the Slytherins filed out, Hermione started reorganizing the room. I’ll have to tell Cartwell I’m having the meetings here, she thought, putting the benches back in their original places and shrinking the chairs to take them downstairs.
“Granger,” called Malfoy.
Hermione turned towards him, a guarded look on her face.. “Do you need something?”
Malfoy didn’t answer her. Instead, he pulled a hand out of his pocket, exposing a thick, black leather book -- its cover didn’t have a title, but it was locked with a golden latch. Hermione stared at the book. After several heartbeats, Hermione looked up at Malfoy. He had his nose in the air.
“Malfoys aren’t known for owing anyone anything,” he said frostily.
“You don’t owe me anything, Malfoy,” said Hermione.
Malfoy let out a sharp breath. “Take the book, Granger.”
Even as he stared her down, Malfoy looked deeply uncomfortable. Malfoy is such a child , she thought..
Hermione held out her hand for the book. He handed her the book, being careful not to let their fingers touch. It felt heavy in her palm. She brushed a finger down the hard cover, then tried to open the latch, but it didn’t budge.
“It has a protection charm,” he said. “ Secretum anguis.”
Hermione muttered the unlocking spell. She heard a faint click, and the latch opened. The book flipped open to its first page, which was embossed with the Malfoy black, silver and green crest. “You’re giving this to me?”
“I’m lending it to you,” said Malfoy with pursed lips. “That’s the only copy, so you better take care of it.”
“I’m always careful with books,” said Hermione. “But I don’t understand--”
“You kept going on and on about things you have no clue about,” said Malfoy. “It gets boring, and I don’t like being bored, Granger. Take the book.”
“You’re giving me this book so I can argue with you about it?” asked Hermione with amusement. “That’s your kind of entertainment?”
“I’m lending it to you,” he repeated.“You can do whatever you want with the information.”
“This is strangely nice of you,” she said. Malfoy opened his mouth to respond. He looked like he was about to say something unpleasant, so before he could speak, Hermione continued., “Thank you, Malfoy.”
Malfoy hesitated, his eyes flickering between Hermione and the book. She wondered if he already regretted giving it to her.
“Whatever,” he finally said. Then he left her standing in the room.
Hermione glanced at the book again, then closed its latch. She put it carefully in her purse. Before leaving, she gathered the shrunk chairs in her arms.
As she made her way down to the Center’s first floor, Hermione consciously ignored the unfamiliar feeling fluttering low in her stomach.
_
She should’ve argued her way out of this. If Hermione hadn’t felt as guilty as she did about how she’d reacted to Harry’s news, she would have argued her way out of this. Waiting with Harry and Ginny to leave, she wondered if it was too late for her to argue her way out of this. But she didn’t, and the three of them soon arrived at the Burrow.
The Burrow used to be loud, regardless of the time of day. Her first time there, Hermione got the impression that the Weasleys moved in a rhythm that only made sense to them, bodies bustling around every corner of the cramped house, somehow sidestepping each other and making the place seem bigger than it was.
In more recent years, the house had become emptier. Sound traveled further, and sounded duller, like an out-of-use church bell, or a song someone forgot to sing the chorus of.
But some things hadn’t changed. “My children!” squealed Mrs. Weasley, pulling Ginny and Harry into her arms. She squeezed the couple to her chest before releasing them, then did the same to Hermione. “Oh, dear, did you get skinnier?” she said, patting her hands down Hermione’s body. “Sit down, lunch’s almost ready, but I’m going to get you a slice of the plum pie I baked yesterday. You need to fatten up.”
“That’s okay, Mrs. Weasley. I had breakfast before we left,” Hermione tried, knowing she was going to be ignored.
“Nonsense, there’s always space for pie,” said Mrs. Weasley, scurrying towards the fridge.
“Mum! You didn’t offer me any pie,” complained Ron as he slouched into the kitchen.
“Because you would have eaten the entire thing!”
“Blasphemy!” he said, walking towards Hermione and pulling her into a side hug that lasted a beat too long. “Hi, I missed you,” he whispered, mouth moving against her hair.
“I missed you too,” she said with a light smile, moving away and causing his arm to fall back to his side. “Should we sit?” she said to Ron, now behind her as she walked towards the table and sat herself in a chair.
“No greetings for your sister, you wart?” Ginny said to Ron, nudging his side with her elbow. He swatted at her, which she ducked. She moved to sit in the chair beside Hermione’s. Harry and Ron sat across from them.
“I’m not greeting you after you bailed on me yesterday to suck face with this one,” he said, nodding towards Harry.
“Our celebrations went for longer than we expected, if you know what I mean,” said Ginny, waggling her eyebrows. Ron pretended to gag, and Harry’s entire face flushed red.
“Ginevra! That’s not how a lady behaves,” scolded Mrs. Weasley, flicking her ear as she passed to set a plate and a fork in front of Hermione. “Here you go, dear.” she said, ignoring Ginny’s outraged yelp.
“Thank you.”
“Where’s Mr. Weasley?” Harry asked.
“Oh, he received an owl this morning about some Muggle trinket that was charmed to burst into flames and kept turning up in random shops in Godric's Hollow. Stupid little prank, but it’s going to take him away for the rest of the day,” she said, her hands on her hips. “He sends his congratulations, Harry! We’re so proud of you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” said Harry.
“But it’s a Sunday!” grumbed Ginny.
“You know the Ministry doesn’t care about things like that,” said Mrs. Weasley, turning to check something on the stove. “You better start getting used to it, Harry! It’s going to be even worse for you.”
“It’s already bad,” said Ron. “Even low-level Aurors get called away for missions all the time.”
“A Head of Department has more responsibilities,” cooed Mrs. Weasley. “Youngest one in Ministry history!”
“It’s not a big deal,” said Harry, still blushing.
Hermione set her fork down to look up at him. “It’s a huge deal, Harry. You should be proud of yourself.” Harry gave her a tight smile.
Ron looked back and forth between them, frowning. “How’s your work at the MRC, Hermione?” he asked.
“It’s been okay, it keeps me busy,” she said, taking a bite of the pie to avoid looking up.
“What do you do there, exactly?” asked Ginny.
Hermione didn’t answer for a few seconds, toying with her fork. She glanced at Harry, but he wasn’t looking at her. It’s not the right time
“I’m working with Edina Cartwell,” she said. “She’s a Mind Healer. I assist her and get to do some research as well,” she said. Half a truth is still a truth.
“It’s really cool you’re working there, Hermione,” said Ron in a low voice. “If we had the MRC right after the war, then maybe George-”
“Ron!” snapped Ginny snapped. She shot a pointed glance at her mother. “Shut up.”
“I’m just saying,” Ron licked his lips guilty, “It’s a noble cause.”
“I think so too,” said Harry, nodding.
Hermione frowned. “That’s not what you said when it opened up,” she said to Harry. “Remember? You insisted it was a political cover up.”
“I changed my mind,” Harry shrugged, “I know more about what’s happening behind the scenes now.”
“So now you’re just going to support everything that the Ministry says?” said Hermione.
“I’m not the one who works at the MRC, Hermione, you are,” Harry snapped.
“It’s not about the MRC, Harry.”
“That’s what we were talking about, Hermione.”
“I just think you should be more cautious,” continued Hermione. “Don’t you think it’s weird Robards is stepping down without announcing what he’s doing next?”
“I think I know more than you do, Hermione,” said Harry in a firm voice. “I’m the one who works with him, and just because we’re not telling everyone about our next steps--”
“We?” she asked, growing more exasperated. “Who’s we? You and Robards? Or you and the Ministry?”
“Hey!” hissed Ginny. “Lay off him, Hermione. We’re supposed to be celebrating.”
Hermione flinched. She looked up, her eyes travelling over her friends’ faces. All three looked back at her --- Ron seemed confused, Harry subdued, and Ginny ready to yell at Hermione for it.
What’s wrong with me? she thought.
“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I didn’t mean to interrogate you, Harry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” She pushed back from the table. “I’m going to the restroom,” she said. She stood up and quickly marched out of the kitchen.
In the restroom, Hermione locked the door behind her and hunched over the sink, turning the tap all the way on. She splashed her face and neck with cold water, drops soaking the wooden floor. She stared at her reflection in the crooked mirror -- her braided hair tied into a knot at the nape of her neck, frizz framing her face. Her eyes were wet -- she hadn’t even felt it. How long had it been since she took a proper look at herself?
Someone knocked at the door, Hermione turned the tap off, muttering a spell to clean up the mess she’d made.
“Hermione?” called Ron.
“I’ll be right out,” she said, steadying her voice.
She blinked a couple of times, trying to get rid of the tears threatening to surface. She hated crying. There was no reason for her to cry.
Hermione cracked the door open, looking up at Ron. I still love him, she reminded herself. I will always love him.
“Are you alright?” he asked carefully. “I’m sorry Ginny snapped at you, you know how she gets protective. Harry’s a grown man, he can handle himself.”
“I was out of line, Ron, it’s okay,” she said. “We’re supposed to be celebrating Harry, and instead I’m cornering him.”
“I think he was just surprised,” said Ron, stepping back to give her space to move. “Don’t worry. He’s already laughing at Ginny’s training camp stories.”
“I’m glad I haven’t completely ruined the day,” she said, stepping out of the bathroom.
They were standing close. Too close. The closest they had stood in months. It made the distance she had forced between them even more obvious. Hermione ducked her head to hide her burning cheeks.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” he said quietly. “We should hang out more.” He looked at her. His gaze felt hollow.
“Yes, we should.”
Hermione couldn’t even tell if she was lying.