Tarnished Gold

Hermione Granger squinted at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, barely recognizing the woman looking back at her. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her once-vibrant curls hung limp and lifeless. With a deep sigh, she tucked a stray strand behind her ear and reached for her wand. She raised her wand, closed her eyes in concentration, and murmured, "Velare Aspectum."

A soft, shimmering light enveloped her face briefly. When it faded, her reflection showed a more refreshed version of herself - the dark circles were gone, her skin had a healthier glow, and her hair appeared neater and just barely styled.

"That will have to do," she muttered, tucking her wand away and preparing to face another day.

"Mum! Mum!" Hugo's voice echoed from downstairs, tinged with frustration. "Have you seen my blue jumper? The one with the stripes?"

Hermione closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and called back, "Check the laundry basket, love. If it's not there, try under your bed."

"I already looked there!" came the exasperated reply.

"Then look again, Hugo. Thoroughly this time."

She made her way down the narrow staircase of her parents' home, each step creaking familiarly under her feet. It was the same staircase she had practically skipped down as an excited eleven-year-old, ready to embark on her magical education. Now, at thirty-seven, each step felt heavy with the weight of unfulfilled potential. The kitchen was a flurry of activity. Her mother, Jean, was packing Hugo's lunch while her father, Richard, sat at the table, engrossed in the morning paper.

"Morning, dear," Jean said, glancing up. Her eyes softened with concern as she took in Hermione's appearance. "There's coffee in the pot. I've made you some toast as well. You really should eat something."

"Thanks, Mum," Hermione mumbled, pouring herself a large mug of coffee. She took a sip, grimacing at the bitter taste. Even coffee couldn't spark joy these days.

Hugo burst into the kitchen, his red hair a shade darker than Ron's, a constant reminder of the brief relationship that had resulted in her son. "Found it!" he announced triumphantly, pulling on the blue jumper. "It was in the laundry basket, just like you said."

Hermione forced a smile. "See? Always listen to your mum. Now, eat your breakfast. We need to leave in twenty minutes."

As Hugo wolfed down his cereal, Richard lowered his newspaper. "Any exciting plans at work today, Hermione? Surely the Ministry must have something interesting brewing."

She suppressed a bitter laugh. "Hardly. Just more paperwork on cauldron bottom thickness regulations. Did you know there are seventeen different classifications for cauldron thickness? Seventeen. And I get to review every single one."

"Well," Jean chimed in, ever the optimist, "I'm sure it's all important in its own way. Safety regulations and all that."

Hermione shrugged, picking at her toast. "I suppose someone has to do it."

The truth was, her job at the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement was mind-numbingly dull. Years ago, she had dreamed of changing the wizarding world, of fighting for the rights of magical creatures and reforming outdated laws. Now, she spent her days pushing papers and counting down the hours until she could go home.

"Oh, before I forget," Jean said, reaching into her purse, "I've put some extra money in your wallet for Hugo's school trip next week. It's that science museum, isn't it?"

Hermione nodded absently. "Thanks, Mum. Yes, the science museum. Hugo's been looking forward to it."

"Can Jessica come over after school today?" Hugo piped up, milk dribbling down his chin.

Hermione handed him a napkin. "Not today, love. I've got... plans this evening. Maybe next week?"

Hugo's face fell. "You always have plans. It's not fair."

The guilt twisted in Hermione's stomach. "I know, sweetheart. I'm sorry. How about we go to the park on Sunday? Just you and me?"

Hugo's eyes lit up. "Really? You promise?"

"I promise," Hermione replied, ruffling his hair. "Now, come on. Time to go. You don't want to be late for school."

As they gathered their things, Hermione caught sight of a framed photo on the mantelpiece. It showed her, Harry, and Ron at their Hogwarts graduation, beaming with pride and possibility. The Hermione in the photo waved enthusiastically, her eyes bright with the promise of a brilliant future.

"Hermione Jean Granger," the photo-Hermione seemed to say, "brightest witch of her age. She'll go far, that one."

The real Hermione turned away, her chest tight. How far she had fallen from those lofty expectations.

"Ready, Mum?" Hugo called from the door.

Hermione plastered on another fake smile. "Ready," she replied, stepping out into another day of mediocrity.

As they walked to Hugo's school, her mind wandered to the evening ahead. She had plans to meet Cormac McLaggen, her married... she scoffed internally at the word 'boyfriend'. He was hardly that. Just another poor decision in a long line of disappointments.

"Mum," Hugo said, breaking into her thoughts, "when's Dad coming to visit?"

Hermione's heart clenched. "I'm not sure, love. Your father's very busy with his shops. But I'm sure he'll try to visit soon."

She thought about Ron, successful with the joke shop empire he shared with George, barely involved in Hugo's life beyond the monthly child support payments. It was easier this way, she told herself, but the loneliness still stung.

"It's just..." Hugo hesitated. "Jessica's dad picks her up every Friday. And Timothy's dad coaches his football team. I just wish..."

"I know, sweetheart," Hermione said softly, squeezing his hand. "I'm sorry it's not easier."

They reached the school gates, a sea of children and parents surrounding them. 

"Bye, Mum!" Hugo said, his momentary sadness forgotten as he spotted his friends. "Love you!"

"Love you too, sweetheart," Hermione replied, watching as he ran off to join the others.

For a moment, she stood there, surrounded by other parents – successful, put-together parents who seemed to have it all figured out. Hermione Granger, once the golden girl of Hogwarts, now just another face in the crowd, struggling to keep her head above water. With a heavy sigh, she turned and began the walk to the Ministry, steeling herself for another day of unfulfilled dreams and quiet desperation. The weight of her wand in her pocket felt like a mockery of the magical future she had once envisioned for herself.

As she walked, her phone buzzed. A text from Cormac: "Can't wait to see you tonight. The usual place?"

Hermione stared at the message, contempt and self-loathing warring within her. "Yes," she typed back, hating herself a little more with each letter. "See you at 7."

She pocketed her phone and quickened her pace, as if she could outrun the choices that had led her to this point. Another day in the life of Hermione Granger, former golden girl, now tarnished beyond recognition.

Hermione arrived at the Ministry, the familiar hustle and bustle of the Atrium doing little to lift her mood. The click of her sensible heels echoed on the polished floor as she made her way to the lifts, squeezing in among the crowd of witches and wizards heading to their respective departments.

"Hold the lift!" a familiar voice called out. Hermione's stomach dropped as she recognized the speaker.

Harry Potter, looking every bit the respected Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in his smart robes, slipped into the lift just as the doors were closing. His eyes widened in recognition.

"Hermione! What a surprise," he said, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I'm here for a meeting with the Education Department. How have you been?"

Hermione forced a smile, painfully aware of the fatigue that even her glamour charm couldn't fully conceal. "Fine, Harry. Just busy with work. How's teaching?"

Harry's eyes lit up. "It's brilliant, honestly. The students this year are especially keen. Just last week, I had a third-year successfully cast a Patronus! Can you believe it?"

As Harry continued, Hermione felt the familiar ache of envy and regret. His passion for his work was palpable, a stark contrast to her own feelings about her job.

"That's wonderful, Harry," she managed, her voice strained. "I'm sure you're an excellent teacher."

Harry's smile faltered slightly. "Thanks. Listen, Hermione, we really should catch up properly. Why don't you come to Hogwarts for dinner sometime? Neville and Luna are teaching now too, it could be like old times."

The lift doors opened at Hermione's floor. "That sounds lovely," she lied, relief washing over her at the escape opportunity. "I'll check my schedule and let you know. Have a good day, Harry."

She hurried out before he could respond, her cheeks burning with shame and frustration.

Hermione made her way to her tiny, cluttered office, nodding curtly to her colleagues as she passed. She sank into her chair, eyeing the towering stack of parchments on her desk with dread.

"Morning, Granger," came a voice from the doorway. Hermione looked up to see her supervisor, a portly wizard named Bartholomew Higgins, peering at her over his spectacles. "I'll need that report on cauldron thickness variances by end of day. And don't forget the interdepartmental meeting at two."

"Of course, Mr. Higgins," Hermione replied, her tone carefully neutral. "I'll have it on your desk by five."

As Higgins waddled away, Hermione pulled the first report towards her, fighting the urge to scream. She dove into her work, desperate to lose herself in the mind-numbing tedium of cauldron regulations.

Hours passed, and by lunchtime, Hermione's eyes were strained from squinting at tiny print. She considered skipping lunch, but her growling stomach protested. Reluctantly, she made her way to the Ministry cafeteria. As she picked at a wilted salad, she overheard snippets of conversation from nearby tables.

"Did you hear? Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is opening a branch in New York!"

"My daughter can't stop talking about Professor Potter's classes. Says he's the best teacher Hogwarts has had in years."

Hermione hunched lower in her seat, wishing she could disappear. A voice startled her from her misery.

"Mind if I join you?"

She looked up to see Percy Weasley, looking as prim and proper as ever in his Ministry robes.

"Oh, hello Percy," she said, gesturing to the empty chair across from her. "Please, sit."

Percy sat down, his posture rigid. "How are you, Hermione? It's been a while since we've caught up."

Hermione shrugged. "Oh, you know. Busy with work. How about you?"

"Quite well, thank you," Percy replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "I've just been promoted to Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

"Congratulations," Hermione said, forcing enthusiasm into her voice. "That's fantastic news."

Percy beamed. "Thank you. It's been a lot of hard work, but it's finally paying off. How's Hugo? Ron mentioned he'll be starting Hogwarts next year."

At the mention of Ron and Hugo, Hermione felt her chest tighten. "He's doing well. Excited about Hogwarts, of course."

Percy nodded, oblivious to her discomfort. "I'm sure he'll do brilliantly. With you as his mother, how could he not?"

Hermione managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Percy. I should get back to work. It was nice catching up."

She hurried away, dumping her half-eaten salad in the bin as she left.

The afternoon brought the dreaded interdepartmental meeting. Hermione found herself zoning out as her colleagues droned on about budget allocations and procedural changes.

"Ms. Granger? Do you have anything to add about the proposed changes to the Experimental Charms regulations?" A voice snapped her back to attention.

Hermione blinked, realizing she hadn't been paying attention. "I... well, I think we need to consider the potential impact on small businesses," she improvised. "Perhaps a gradual implementation would be more effective?"

Higgins nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good point, Granger. We'll take that into consideration."

As the meeting finally adjourned, Hermione rushed back to her office, determined to finish her report before leaving for the day. The hours ticked by, and before she knew it, it was past six. She hastily packed up her things, her stomach churning at the thought of her upcoming rendezvous with Cormac. Part of her wanted to cancel, to go home and spend the evening with Hugo. But the thought of facing another night of her parents' concerned looks and Hugo's questions about his father was too much to bear.

Leaving the Ministry, Hermione caught sight of her reflection in a window. The glamour charm had faded, revealing the tired, worn woman beneath. She barely recognized herself anymore.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Cormac: "Running late. Meet at 7:30 instead?"

Hermione sighed, typing back a quick "OK." She found herself wandering towards a nearby park, not quite ready to head to the pub.

As she sat on a bench, watching families enjoy the early evening sunshine, her phone rang. It was her mother.

"Hermione, dear? Are you on your way home? Hugo's asking about dinner."

Guilt washed over her. "I'm sorry, Mum. I've got to work late tonight. Could you make sure Hugo eats? I'll be home to tuck him in, I promise."

She could hear the disappointment in her mother's voice. "Of course, dear. Don't work too hard, alright?"

Hermione felt tears pricking at her eyes. This wasn't the life she had imagined for herself. Not even close. With a heavy sigh, she stood up and headed towards the pub where Cormac would be waiting, each step feeling like a further descent into a life she never wanted.

Hermione arrived at the pub, a dingy establishment called "The Rusty Nail" in Muggle London, far from the prying eyes of the wizarding world. The smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke assaulted her senses as she pushed open the heavy wooden door. Her eyes scanned the dimly lit interior, finally spotting Cormac at the bar. His once-boyish good looks were now marred by the signs of a man clinging desperately to his youth - a receding hairline poorly disguised by an expensive haircut, and the beginnings of a paunch straining against his designer shirt.

"There's my girl," Cormac said with a roguish grin as she approached. He leaned in for a kiss, which Hermione reluctantly returned, feeling a twinge of guilt and the scratch of his five o'clock shadow against her cheek.

"Don't call me that," she muttered, sliding onto the barstool next to him. The worn leather creaked under her weight. "I'm not your anything, Cormac."

He chuckled, signaling the bartender. "Firewhisky for me, and a glass of red for the lady."

"Just water, please," Hermione corrected, ignoring Cormac's raised eyebrow.

The bartender, a middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache, nodded and went to fetch their drinks.

"Come on, Hermione," Cormac cajoled, his hand finding its way to her knee. "Live a little. One glass won't hurt."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, moving her leg away. "I told you, I have to get home to Hugo later. I need a clear head."

Cormac rolled his eyes. "Always the responsible one, aren't you? How is the little tyke, anyway?"

"He's fine," Hermione replied curtly, not wanting to discuss her son with Cormac. "How's work?"

Grateful for the change of subject, Cormac launched into a long-winded account of his latest exploits at the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Hermione nodded along, only half-listening as she sipped her water.

"...and then I told Wimple, 'If you can't tell the difference between a Quaffle and a Bludger, maybe you should stick to Gobstones!'" Cormac guffawed at his own joke.

Hermione forced a laugh. "That's... quite something, Cormac."

He drained his Firewhisky and signaled for another. "So, how about you? Still pushing papers in Magical Law Enforcement?"

"It's not just pushing papers," Hermione bristled. "The work we do is important for-"

"Yeah, yeah," Cormac cut her off with a dismissive wave. "I'm sure it's fascinating. Listen, why don't we get out of here? I've booked us a room a few blocks over."

Hermione hesitated, checking her watch. It was earlier than she'd expected - she had time, but only just. A part of her wanted to leave, to go home to Hugo and forget this whole sordid affair. But another part, the part that craved validation and escape from her mundane life, made her nod.

"Alright," she agreed reluctantly, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't stay long. I need to get home to Hugo."

Cormac grinned triumphantly, his hand sliding to the small of her back. "That's my girl. Let's go."

They left the pub, stepping out into the cool London night. Cormac led her down a few blocks to a nondescript hotel, the kind that rented rooms by the hour. Hermione felt a flush of shame as they entered the lobby, avoiding eye contact with the bored-looking receptionist. As they rode the elevator to the third floor, Cormac pressed Hermione against the wall, his lips finding hers. She returned the kiss mechanically, her mind already detaching from what was about to happen. The room was small and impersonal, with generic artwork on the walls and a bed covered in a floral duvet that had seen better days. The air smelled faintly of cleaning products, barely masking the staleness beneath.

Cormac wasted no time, pulling Hermione close as soon as the door clicked shut. His hands roamed her body, his lips insistent on hers. Hermione closed her eyes, trying to lose herself in the sensation, to forget who she was and what she was doing.

"You're so beautiful," Cormac murmured against her neck. "I've been thinking about this all day."

Hermione didn't respond, couldn't respond. She focused on the physical sensations, on the warmth of his body against hers, on anything but the guilt gnawing at her insides. What followed was a brief, unsatisfying encounter. Cormac's movements were hurried and self-centered, his whispered endearments feeling hollow and rehearsed. Hermione lay there, going through the motions, her mind anywhere but in that dingy room. When it ended, Hermione felt a wave of emptiness wash over her. She turned away from Cormac, sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to him. She could hear him moving behind her, the rustle of clothes as he dressed.

"That was amazing," Cormac said, his voice filled with satisfaction. "You're amazing, Hermione."

She nodded silently, not trusting her voice. Her hands shook slightly as she buttoned her blouse, her fingers fumbling with each button.

"Here, let me help you with that," Cormac offered, reaching for her.

Hermione flinched away. "No, I've got it. Thanks."

An awkward silence fell over the room. Hermione could hear Cormac humming contentedly as he finished dressing, the sound making her skin crawl. She kept her eyes fixed on the generic landscape painting on the wall, anything to avoid looking at him or catching her own reflection in the mirror above the dresser.

"Same time next week?" Cormac asked, his tone casual, as if they'd just had a business meeting.

Hermione swallowed the bile rising in her throat. "Maybe," she managed, still not looking at him. "I'll... I'll let you know."

She could feel his eyes on her, could sense his confusion at her coldness. But in that moment, she couldn't bring herself to care about his feelings.

"Hermione," he started, his voice softening. "You know this means something to me, right? You mean something to me."

She closed her eyes, willing the tears not to fall. "I know," she lied, her voice barely audible. "I have to go. Goodbye, Cormac."

Without waiting for his response, Hermione grabbed her bag and hurried out of the room. As she rushed down the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator, she could feel the eyes of a couple in the hallway on her, judging, knowing. She burst out into the night, gulping in the cool air, trying to wash away the feeling of Cormac's hands on her skin, the taste of him on her lips. She felt dirty, used, disgusted with herself. This wasn't who she was, who she wanted to be. Walking briskly towards a secluded spot where she could safely apparate, she made a silent vow. This was the last time. It had to be.

But even as she thought it, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered, "Until next time."

Hermione apparated to a secluded spot near her parents' house, taking a moment to compose herself before walking the rest of the way. She cast a quick freshening charm, hoping to dispel any lingering scent of Cormac or the pub. She slipped inside, hearing the faint sounds of the television from the living room.

"Hermione? Is that you?" her mother called out.

"Yes, Mum. I'm just going to check on Hugo," she replied, already halfway up the stairs.

She found Hugo in his room, engrossed in a book about magical creatures. Her heart swelled with love and guilt in equal measure.

"Hey, sweetheart," she said softly, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Hugo looked up, his face lighting up. "Mum! You're home!"

Hermione forced a smile, pushing away thoughts of her earlier indiscretion. "I promised I'd tuck you in, didn't I? What are you reading?"

"It's a book about dragons!" Hugo exclaimed, holding it up for her to see. "Did you know that Hungarian Horntails can shoot fire up to fifty feet?"

"Is that so?" Hermione said, genuinely interested despite her emotional turmoil. "What else have you learned?"

As Hugo excitedly told her about the different dragon species and their habitats, Hermione felt tears prickling at her eyes. This was what mattered. This was what she should be focusing on.

"Alright, love," she said after a while, gently taking the book from him. "Time for sleep. Big day at school tomorrow, remember? You have that science project to present."

Hugo's eyes widened. "Oh yeah! I almost forgot. Do you think the other kids will like it?"

"They'll love it," Hermione assured him, tucking him in. "You've worked so hard on it."

She kissed his forehead, inhaling the clean, innocent scent of his shampoo. "I love you, Hugo. More than anything in the world."

"Love you too, Mum," Hugo mumbled, already drifting off.

Hermione lingered in the doorway, watching her son sleep. In that moment, she made a silent vow. Things had to change. She had to change. For Hugo, and for herself. With a heavy sigh, she closed his door and headed to her own room, the events of the day weighing heavily on her mind. As she changed into her pajamas, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. The woman staring back at her looked tired, worn, a far cry from the bright, ambitious girl she'd once been.

"Tomorrow," she whispered to her reflection. "Tomorrow will be different."

But as she climbed into bed, a part of her wondered if she had the strength to make that change. The thought haunted her as she drifted into an uneasy sleep, her dreams filled with dragons, disappointed faces, and the echoing laughter of a younger, happier version of herself.