Chapter 13
January 9th, 2004
On Monday morning Hermione Granger, for the first time in her adult life, called in and took off an entire week from work. It was weak, she knew, hiding from the possibility of seeing Bill. They didn’t even work in the same department, avoiding him was as simple as making sure the coast was clear before entering and leaving the bank. But she just knew that if she happened to look into those beautiful blue eyes and tried to walk away again, she would fail. Perhaps hiding was cowardly, but she needed time to build up her defenses. To push down the feelings of heartbreak and longing that were threatening to tear her apart.
The days flew by all too quickly, in a haze of cheap red wine, butter pecan ice cream, and her favorite muggle movies. She hadn't drank so much in years, but desperate times called for desperate measures. More than once Hermione woke up incredibly grateful that wizards relied mostly on owls for communication; drunk calling someone was quite easy, but drunk writing-a-note-and-attaching-it-to-the-leg-of-a-live-animal was a good bit harder. She had been unable to get any sort of message to Bill begging him to take her back. Sober Hermione knew all too well what Drunk Hermione easily forgot: leaving Bill was in everybody’s best interest. Perhaps not her best interest, but then Hermione had never been one to put herself before others. Sacrificing her own desires to protect the people she loved was second nature at this point. She had been doing it for Harry and Ron since their early days of Hogwarts and in all the years since, and things had always worked out well enough, hadn’t they?
Friday afternoon descended on her far quicker than she wanted, and Hermione was locked in an internal debate: go out and get properly wasted, preferably with something that tasted a little better than the wine she’d been drinking. Or, she could stay in and read her father’s copy of Crime and Punishment. The hundreds, if not thousands, of annotations he had made, and the thoughts he had scribbled in the margins, made her feel closer to him every time she read them. She missed her father so much in moments like this, when what she needed most was the quiet but unwavering support he had provided all her life. But she only had herself to blame for the loss of that support.
Thinking of her father sparked something in her mind, and she realized she had been slacking. She hadn't been down to the Ministry once this week to request a status update on the Wizarding Library books. Guilt flowed through her, and for the first time in a very long time, Hermione was tempted to crack the bottle of Firewhiskey Harry had given her a few years ago. On the rare occasions she allowed herself alcohol, she always chose wine. It mellowed out her emotions in such a way that she could still feel them, just not as much. Firewhiskey, on the other hand, always made her completely numb. The combination of emotions running through her were heavy, desperately so, and the idea of being able to shut everything out completely, just for a night, had her walking across her kitchen and pulling it down from its hidden place in the cabinet above her stove. But the second she popped the cork, the scent washed over her, and she nearly vomited.
Memories flashed through her mind: Ron, stumbling into her arms the first time he had stayed out too late and had too much to drink. His hands wandering, pushing, insisting that she give in to his advances. Ron, sobbing in their bed the next morning, still reeking of Firewhisky and begging Hermione for forgiveness. The night in Gryffindor Tower during sixth year, when she found Cormac Mclaggen coming onto Luna Lovegood, who was drunk out of her mind on the alcohol that had been flowing freely all night. It had taken two Pepper-up potions to get Luna sober enough to make sure the oaf hadn't hurt her. The night Ron had nearly burned down their flat, curses flying indiscriminately from his wand, and the next morning needing three rounds of shampoo to get the scent of whiskey and smoke out of her hair.
She was so lost in the past she didn’t feel her grip on the bottle loosen, didn’t realize what was happening until the glass was shattering on the floor, spraying her feet and the cuffs of her sweatpants with the cool amber liquid. Well, she thought, snagging her wand from the countertop to vanish the mess, I suppose that answers that. No getting pissed, but no staying in and wallowing in her misery either. It was time to go to the Ministry. Summoning some clean clothes, a vial of Pepper-up potion, and her beaded bag, Hermione dressed quickly, throwing her hair into a knot atop her head and downing the potion in one go. Satisfied that the evidence of her weeklong pity party was sufficiently hidden, she once again grabbed her wand, tossed the strap of her bag across her body, and stepped into her fireplace with a handful of Floo powder.
It took three Floo transfers to get into the Ministry, since she was entering the building when most of its occupants were exiting, and by the time she landed in the Atrium Hermione was thoroughly irate. Her hair was ashy and smelly, the heat and constant spinning had kicked her hangover into overdrive, and no fewer than a dozen people had tried to stop her along the way for a chat. She really didn't understand how Harry had dealt with all of that for years. She stormed to the lifts, slammed aside the golden grate when an empty one arrived, and rather aggressively thumbed the button for floor nine, "Department of Magical Records and Archives" ringing out in the usual cool, female voice.
Hermione tried to use her descent to regain her composure. She had already made enemies with just about every employee in the DMRA office with her constant visits and demands, but she didn't know who worked Friday afternoons. She silently prayed that she'd get lucky and it would be someone she hadn't met before. Sadly, that hope died almost instantly upon arrival, when she stalked down the sterile white hallway to the reception area, and found none other than Theodore Nott sat behind the desk.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't the Brightest Witch of Our Age! What can I do for you, Granger?" Nott smirked at her, and Hermione barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes as she took him in. He hadn't changed much since school; still long and lanky, with curly brown hair and those hazel eyes that had had more than one witch clamoring for his attention. She herself had never seen the appeal, viewing him only as a threat to her, since he held second position behind her in nearly every class. Besides, she had always had an affinity for redheads, so while she could admit Nott was certainly handsome, she found him more irritating than anything else and she knew he felt the same about her, resenting the fact that she beat him for first place year after year. So it wasn't with much hope that she offered him a tight smile and tried to make her request.
"Hello, Nott. I was wondering if you cou-" He interrupted her before the question was even halfway out.
"Could give you a status update on the Alexandria project? Sorry, no." Hermione was taken aback by his curtness, and she knew that later on she would feel rather ashamed at the way she gaped at him in that moment, probably looking like a fish with her mouth hanging slightly open. Feeling the rage she had been swallowing down since she got to the Ministry bubbling back up, she really did try to answer him politely, but could only get out a sharp: "Why?"
"Why? Because it's a Ministry project now, not a Gringotts one. Honestly Granger, my coworkers warned me about you, but they could've saved me the trouble if they'd just told you the truth." Hermione gave him a questioning look, and he huffed out a mocking laugh. "Nobody told you, apparently, that the Ministry has no intention of letting anybody besides the archivists and Ministry-employed researchers have access to those materials." He said with a dismissive shrug. Hermione felt like she'd just been slapped across the face.
"Honestly, love, don't look at me like that. It's not like it was my idea!" Nott held his hands up in surrender, a clear "don't shoot the messenger" signal, and she realized he had interpreted her expression as murderous, which she supposed it probably was now.
"No, Nott, I know." Hermione said angrily. "I know it's not your fault. I'm just furious. This was a waste of my time." And just like that, tears were coursing down her cheeks, and Hermione realized she was having a breakdown, in the middle of the DMRA office, and in front of Theodore Nott of all people. She swiped harshly at her face and turned away swiftly, starting back down the hall towards the lifts and praying that he hadn't caught sight of her tears. But, of course, none of her hopes for today had panned out, so why should this one?
"Hey, Granger. Granger! Wait!" He called after her, and after a moment's hesitation Hermione turned to find him jogging around his desk, concern flooding his delicate, boyish features.
"What?" She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest impatiently.
"It's just... well, I don't know what you're hoping to find, and I'm not going to ask!" Nott raised his hands defensively again when Hermione shot him a vicious glare. "But, we do have a position open right now with the research team. I could put in a good word for you."
Hermione was fairly certain her eyes were bugging out of her head. "You? Put in a good word for me? Why?"
"Because this isn't Hogwarts anymore, Granger. I quit resenting you over grades a long time ago, and you have your nickname for a reason. We could use someone like you down here." Nott shrugged nonchalantly. "And if you happen to find what you're looking for, well, then that's just an added bonus."
Hermione was stunned. "I-Nott, I don't know what to say..." She trailed off, trying to wrap her mind around the opportunity he was offering her.
"Then don't say anything. Just think about it, and if you send in an application then I know I have a new coworker." He gave her a mischievous smile. "Oh, and call me Theo, by the way. Nott is what people called my father." He shuddered dramatically, and for the first time all week, Hermione laughed.
"Theo it is then. And you can call me Hermione, if you like." She hurried to add. Theo nodded, the smile on his face shifting from impish to sincere.
"I will. I hope we hear from you soon, Hermione." Hermione smiled back but didn't respond, simply turning away again and walking slowly down the hall towards the lift. Maybe it was time for a career shift.
January 20th, 2003
"What do you mean, 'she quit'?" Bill demanded. Linkfin shrugged apathetically.
"Exactly as I said. Miss Granger handed in her resignation on Tuesday. A pity, to lose a good Curse Breaker like her, but-"
"Where is she going? Did she say what she was planning to do?" He cut the goblin off, not caring that the creature before him was his boss and could fire him in a second for being rude. Goblins weren't known for tolerance among their employees, but he was beyond caring at the moment. Linkfin narrowed his yellow eyes at him in irritation.
"I believe she said something about taking a job with your Ministry. As a researcher, I believe, though I can't be certain." Bill took a breath, trying to take in the new information without offending his superior any further.
"I apologize for my rudeness, Linkfin. I need to head to my office and handle a few things. Oh, and I'm taking a few days off next week" He added. When the goblin nodded, Bill offered a deferential dip of his head as protocol demanded, then turned on his heel and stalked away. He needed to have a talk with his sister; if anyone knew where Hermione was working now it would be Ginny, and there was a fireplace in his office connected to hers. The nearly-full moon was causing a rage that was nearly blinding him as he stormed towards his office, and it was a blessing he knew the bank as well as he did. The curse breaker offices were located on the first level beneath the main floor of the bank, and the carved-out stone halls were known for having horrible lighting, sudden drops in the height of the ceiling, and very few markers to guide the way through the maze-like tunnel system. It was only years of muscle memory that kept him from knocking himself out cold or losing his way in the darkness.
When Bill finally reached the wooden door, his name and title scratched onto a golden plaque (William Weasley, Senior Curse Breaker), he was stunned to see an envelope stuck to it. As he approached, he could just make out his name in Hermione's looping cursive script, so familiar from the piles of research journals they had created together in Egypt. Immediately, all thoughts of calling Ginny fled from his mind when he saw the note. Hermione had clearly put it there with a Sticking Charm that was now failing, and he guessed that she must have left it there on her last day. Bill cursed himself silently for taking so much time off, but it couldn't be helped. A few days after Sunday dinner, Mum had Flooed him and insisted on a Weasley family vacation to try and patch things up between everyone. Naturally, it had been an unmitigated disaster, but at first he didn't regret it, since he could at least say that he had gone and tried his best to make amends. Now, though, regret was pouring through him as he realized that he had missed his chance to see her completely, since she had called in for the week before he left.
Carefully tearing the envelope off the door, trying not to rip it in the process, Bill then pushed open the door to his office, intending to read the letter inside. The room was rather bare, since he spent hardly any time here even on desk rotation. Usually the goblins had him running all over the bank, helping customers or assisting teams sent out on excursions, so it had essentially become a storage room for his work. But despite its rather empty state, nearly everything Bill saw reminded him overwhelmingly of Hermione. The large brown desk was one piece of a set, the matching coffee and study tables used to furnish his tent in the field. It was far too easy to conjure up an image of her sitting on the dark mahogany, scribbling away in one of the many journals that were now stacked neatly on his desk. The tall bookcase that took up the wall to his left, only just transfigured back to its proper state after his trip to Turkey, was full of the tomes they had worked through together searching for answers in Egypt. Bill knew that if he just opened one up to a random page, he would find the markings she had made in them. But perhaps worst of all, to his right was the little sitting area he kept for guests or in-office study sessions, made up of his two armchairs and the coffee table. He could still picture Hermione sitting there, sipping on the tea he'd made her, laughing at him or lecturing him as they talked the night away.
Bill knew as soon as he took a step into the room that he couldn't be here right now. It was too painful. Tucking his letter away into one of his jacket pockets, he then took out his wand and sent a few cleaning spells around the room, tidying it up. He didn't watch as the dust vanished, or as the few pieces of trash deposited themselves into the bin, and he waited only to be sure that the little broom he kept down here, just for this purpose, finished the quick sweep of the room before he stepped back out into the hall. Locking the door behind him, Bill tapped his wand against the thick wood, inscribing a message that would reveal itself to his coworkers when necessary, letting them know he was out for the time being. Satisfied that everything was in order, he made his way as quickly as possible onto the cobblestone street of Diagon Alley, then turned on the spot and apparated away to his new flat. As soon as he was inside he refreshed the wards to keep visitors out, then eagerly tore open the envelope. His heightened senses instantly carried her scent to his nose, diminished as it was by time in the musty stone passageways, and Bill had to fight to keep his composure as his eyes roamed over her words.
Bill,
I really shouldn't be writing you this note. It's incredibly selfish, really, because I'm doing it just because I want to say that I love you, again. I want to write it over, and over, and over, just to make sure you know. I never wanted to hurt you, and I know that I did by leaving. But this is what's best for everyone, and I will happily sacrifice myself for you and your family. It's the least I can do after everything you've all done for me. I want you to go and find somebody that makes you and your Mum happy, someone who won't create conflict and tension in your family the way I do. (All I care about really is that you find happiness again, but in an ideal world that woman will also please your Mum). I really, really hope you find her. I'm leaving Gringotts; Theodore Nott offered me a position with the DMRA, and I've accepted it. It won't be nearly as exciting as curse breaking, but it will hopefully allow me access to the books we found in Alexandria. I'm going to find my parents and bring my family back together. If you care for me, please don't come after me. I need to do this. I need to fix this mess I've made, and that includes allowing your family the space from me that they need to start healing. I wish you nothing but success and happiness, Bill.
All my love,
Hermione