Imprisoned
The door opened and slammed closed to her relief. No doubt Narcissa was taking the fastest route to the manor in order to gather whatever Hermione had left behind to throw out with the rubbish. She was probably changing the wards so she wasn’t allowed on the property as well.
It was a good thing that Hermione had packed up everything she owned and that had survived the three long years since she'd been taken from the Granger estate the night before. Something had told her to be prepared to never come back to that horrible place because Narcissa was a spiteful woman.
She’d been right, more so than she’d realized until today.
Those lying selfish--
There weren’t enough curses wizarding or muggle to express the rage she felt. There weren’t enough words to fully dress down Narcissa to the barest, darkest part of herself and smash it to pieces the way she’d attempted to break Hermione over the last three years. She took a deep breath and looked over to Minerva who shook her head.
“I am so sorry, my dear,” she said gently. “They say the Malfoys are snakes, who would have thought how much?”
“You could always petition the king,” her lawyer said in his old trembling voice. Brilliant and kind man had done all he could to fight it, but there was nothing for it.
Surtse was in a war that threatened the very freedoms they enjoyed exploiting. The noble court would have little to say about a rule that affected them so little and benefitted them so much. The look on McGonagall’s face told her that she was right in at least that assumption.
“This came from the royal court,” Hermione said looking at the page. “There is little to do about it, but to pay it and make them pay for it later.”
Minerva shook her head looking at the calculations. It was unfair, but in the middle of war the regent had run amuck making all sorts of laws that had yet to be sussed out or reassessed. The Orphan Clause being one of them. It was a way for primarily wizarding nobility to have an assured source of income and property in case of spousal debt as well as incentivize wizards to take in muggle wards. She had no doubt that Narcissa had subjected herself and her line to the perceived shame of a common bond with William for that purpose in order to deal with her late husband's debts.
It stated that by law any person underage who was left without blood parents as a result of the war were considered temporary tenants of any house they stayed. In addition to those parties, there were people who willingly took residence in a wizard’s home for protection during the war. Upon their coming of age or the end of the war, back rent was due in full minus whatever work had been done in service to the family that they stayed with.
Hermione couldn't help but laugh when she'd found this out years ago. She had kept documentation of her service to the Malfoy Family and their wards since she arrived there. She hadn't minded the days of toil and sleeping by the dying fire to remain warm. The physical pain and mental exercise had dulled grief's edge enough to remind her not to get comfortable but to persevere. Her father's legacy was waiting for her rebuild it and grow. Her family home was waiting for her to return, revitalize and make even grander than before.
The name Granger would mean something more than an old company with dead owners once more. She'd been meant for more than to be the subject of that sniveling twit, that evil woman and her full group of high born, low class wizards.
She'd been meant for far more and when she’d pulled out the years of paperwork, she’d proven it without question. Even her family’s lawyer had been shocked at the detail she’d put into her documents. Minerva had stared along with the old man as Hermione set it all down as evidence for proof of her “service”.
She'd impressed their accountant, one Severus Snape, by her detailed record of her work signed by the house staff, signed by Draco’s hand and magic signature, Crabbe, Goyle, etc. There was no legal way to argue the worth of her work and the standard wizarding tutoring contract stated that she was paid a bonus equivalent of at least 10% of the original invoice depending on the grade. Given that Draco and his friends were at the top of their wizarding classes as well as their muggle classes, the percentage was closer to 20%. When they factored in the number of years of service, Hermione’s need to escape her grief through the seemingly endless list of chores had quickly eaten through several years of debt leaving only six months of back rent due on the little hovel of a space she’d been granted in the Malfoy Manor.
To think the list of chores had been Narcissa’s way of having a reason to kick her out of the house when she failed to complete them all. The woman flushed a deep red when Hermione pulled out every list, each of them signed by Narcissa, spelled to check itself off upon completion.
Despite her diligent record keeping, the amount remaining as set forth by what Narcissa could prove to be her portion of rent was no small amount. It wasn’t insurmountable, but it would take more work than simply taking up a sewing job.
“It is unfair,” Minerva said in a grave voice looking at the invoice that had been finalized by the court and the Malfoy accountant. “But there is no choice but to pay it. I am sorry my dear, but the timing of this isn’t favorable to your parents’ will.”
She wouldn’t receive the money meant to her and assume full control of the Granger Enterprises until after amount was well past due.
“Yes,” Hermione said.
It was a lot and having the money her parents left to her would have paid it easily, but she was a Granger. If there was anything that she could do, it was sell someone somethng.
Ma belle, you need only charm to get people to listen. The product sells itself, her father had told her once when she was just a little girl. One day, you will find your Granger and Rasun charm.
Her lips twitched as she contemplated the number. Spread out over the course of a year, it was far more than she’d make just tutoring. No doubt that Draco would black list her from any of his wizarding friends who needed house, but if not he certainly would maintain her services for himself if possible.
“I have a plan.”
*
Narcissa screeched throwing a vase to the ground and watching it shatter. It did little to make her problem, her very curly haired, dark skinned problem, go away, but it made her feel a little better.
Lucius had loved that vase and he was the reason she was in the state that she was. Why the Malfoy name was in the state that it was-- barely hanging on by a thread.
Numbers swirled. Invoices, back due debts, repossession slips, tax documents, closed accounts, the back invoiced list of Hermione’s service--
“I will not be ruined by that muggle wretch!”
Draco watched her throw a fit feeling a bit frightened. It seemed that Narcissa had picked up her late husband's rage. Not to mention he would have to find another person to do his work and tutor him until the end of his wizarding schooling.
Narcissa froze and as if she’d been hearing his thought, she turned on him. Her usually loving eyes were dark and horrified. Her eyes darted to the list in her hand, glaring at the line that read “Wizarding Tutoring”.
“She did your wizarding homework?”Draco gave her a slow nod and she cursed, “That wretch is a witch?”
Draco nodded and flinched as she shrieked again, letting out a harsh breath. That wench had known all this time? Maybe not about inheriting the estate, the reasons for being taken away from the estate, but she knew that whatever she'd inherited Narcissa planned on taking it. The sly bitch wouldn’t get away with this. Granger Enterprises would be hers one way or another--
She choked on a breath and let out another scream.
Damn you William, she thought.
How was it that even the best men seemed to screw her over? How was it that she didn’t think about it for not even a moment? Hermione’s keen eyes, William’s choice to stay with her even after finding out her infidelity. It hadn’t been for the magical connections she came with-- it had been for his precious daughter.
Harboring a muggle-born witch in plain sight of a wizarding family! Narcissa paled. She couldn’t let this out. She couldn’t be implicated in the reveal of Hermione’s magic. For god’s sake the Malfoy name was already in danger? She’d thought William had been too deep in his melancholy, too honest, too noble to be such a snake to use her not only for her connections but for the guise the Malfoy name allowed Hermione to live under.
If only William hadn't had that will, she wouldn’t be fretting like this. They'd fought about her keeping the Malfoy estate, of not changing her name, about her own assets and they'd agreed, more or less, to keep their assets separate. It had been an agreement made primarily because of his muggle name and every drop of her pure blood screamed in protest of relinquishing the Malfoy name for the muggle Granger. It was bad enough that she was bonding to a muggle rather than being married to another wizard.
Unfortunately, all other wizards worthy of the Malfoy status knew of her husband’s debt.
It had been fine until he'd caught her with a general. She'd been trying to get the Malfoy debt cleared away, part of their agreement, and it had been such a little thing, a meaningless thing. Curse William for have such a strong sense of right, wrong and legal proceedings. Curse him and his honest smile while he played her!
Debts that had to be paid still from the Malfoy estate would remain so. The war had kept them from breathing down their necks because of the influx of tenants that had come to the Malfoy manor with all of its magical warding and space. She'd almost hoped that the Granger Estate would have been destroyed, but it had remained untouched, the land around it more or less abandoned since she dismissed the household, but no worse for wear than when she left it.
“She won't be able to do it,” Draco said.
Narcissa sighed looking at her son, He looked just like his father with his platinum blonde hair and silver eyes, but Lucius had never worn that expression on his face. Draco cared. Draco wanted to assure her. Draco was young, inexperienced and frightened at seeing her like this.
“Never underestimate a woman in distress,” she said as she straightened herself and vanished the broken vase away.
Draco wasn't sure to make of that statement, but he left and headed back to his room a little shell-shocked. In the morning, Narcissa is gone and Draco went into town to clear his head.
As he walked down the main street, he saw Hermione coming from the library. Her satchel full of books bumped against her thigh as usual. Her wildly curly hair was in loose spirals, held back by a thick braid along her hairline. Her nose stuck in one of them,walking hard and fast in her dress across the cobblestone street. He recognized it as once that she’d been mending and sizing up for year. It seemed to have been given a new skirt maybe, cleaned and presentable for casual appearances.
A man handed out newspapers about the war to passerbys. She paused for a moment to take one before hurrying on into a shop that Draco had never noticed before.
Essence Care, he thought curiously.
Draco can't help it really. He watched through the window as she spoke briefly with the woman inside. They chatted amicably and Hermione took notes. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, nor read their lips, but when it was done they exchanged hugs and Hermione left the shop. She tucked her notebook into her satchel, opened the book she’d been reading and carried on.
Draco followed her around town the rest of day, deciding that this was a better use of his time than going to class. Whatever Hermione was doing was something that his mother needed to know about and would affect how Hermione’s ability to pay back the debt.
He hoped for something concrete and useful, but she did nothing more than stop in to say hello to various people who all seem excited to see her, hugging her tightly. She pulled out her notebook more often than not and sometimes pieces of parchment to take notes on and to mark up. Sometimes, she poured over it with the owners of the shops. They nodded enthusiastically and smiled at her as she scribbled away. She always hugged someone and shook someone’s hand before she left the establishment. When she was outside, she tucked her notes away, opened her book again and kept walking.
Draco took note of all the establishments that she’d visited. At the very least he knew what contracts and negotiations meant. Perhaps Narcissa would be able to make more sense of what she could be doing given some information. When he arrived home, Narcissa pulled him into the office with Severus and the lawyer to talk business. Business that he was training to learn, had been tutored by Hermione to know. Business that he only comprehended marginally beyond the fact that whatever Narcissa stood to gain from Hermione’s failure was something she desperately needed.
“Well, how likely is it that she can pull this off?” Narcissa asked with a withering sigh.
“That would be a question for her accountant, Narcissa,” Severus said in his usual monotone.
She glowered at him then looked to the lawyer, “Tell me something, Zabini.”
“There isn't a sensible merchant alive who would entrust their business to a seventeen-year-old girl. She's barely of wizarding age even if she was a wizard.”
Narcissa looked at him, “You're certain of that?”
“As certain as I can be.”
“Mother,” Draco started offering her a list. “I think perhaps you should see this.”
*
Narcissa hadn’t been livid as he thought she would be, but had gone deathly pale. She kissed his head, hissed at Zabini and went to go find her most trustworthy salesmen to go to every shop on the list. Never mind that she didn’t know what Hermione went in to try and negotiate, but even being turned down could be valuable information.
Draco saw Hermione again a week later, guiding a wagon from the port in a work tunic and breeches. Her usually bushy hair tamed into a thick braid beneath a hat. She greeted the man coming out to meet her with a smile, a hug and bright Italian, before helping him unload.
“Stop! Your mother would have my soul!”
She laughed and put her hands up in surrender before yelling for his sons to come help. They all greeted Hermione as she stood with their father and tallied up the bill. He handed over the pouch, she counted it out recorded it and handed him a receipt with a smile.
“Easy, Brego, love,” she said kindly petting the horse. “You've done well.”
The horse nudged her as she swung up onto its back, riding side saddle and waved the family goodbye, heading back to the port.
Within an hour, he's exhausted from just watching her work. Walking everywhere, making deliveries, large and small, visiting, reading. How she kept going he didn't know, but he left her to go home before dusk.
Hermione didn't go back to the estate until closer to midnight after the last delivery to a bar. She hadn't been back because she'd been staying at the library or at the office where Minerva worked. Tonight would be the first time she would lead Brego home since hiring herself as a sales representative and delivery a week ago.
Her feet had not forgotten the gravel path, nearly overgrown from lack of use. She'd have to trim it before moving everything back to the estate, including Minerva’s office. She put Brego into the stables, bedded him down and walked towards the house, taking a shuddering breath with her bag on her shoulder before opening the front door.
“Maman, I'm home.”
She waited a beat before closing the door.
“Is Papa home yet?”
She heard the wind and nothing more as she walked through the foyer, past the hearth and further into the house. As classic and beautiful as ever, the foyer had lost none of its elegance in the years she’d been gone, nor any of its wonder. Every inch tugged on her memories.
She’d learned to crawl, to walk, to run, to sew, and think on these hardwood floors. She followed her memories up the stairs to where their bedrooms had been once. A little girl with her smile and eyes, her bushy brown hair, racing up the stairs to wake her parents for breakfast. She turned from the door towards her old bedroom.
The door creaked with age as she pushed it open and stepped into it. Her bedroom was still the way she'd left it. Books on the shelves were covered in dust, the bed positioned just so and the daybed by the window had yellowed from the years of sunlight.
She could almost hear her mother reading to her from those cushions. A younger version of herself curled in bed, lulled by the sound of her voice.
For she was not a woman to be forgotten...
She smiled and recited the rest of the line, “They would rue the day they crossed her. They and their descendants would feel her rage. They would look upon her grave centuries later in despair and beg her forgiveness long after she had left the world.”
She chuckled at the memory. It was truly a story not meant for a five year old, but one that she had loved and still loved into her teenaged years. Hermione turned from the room and went to the room she and her mother would spend hours together: the library.
Her father told her once that they’d met in the library and that she had inherited her love for books from the late Lady Granger, but she never quite believed him.
It was just as they'd left it, a bit dusty, but just the same. The throw colored like twilight still lay across the couch. The other furniture was all covered in white sheets including the smaller bookshelves. She opened the window and shook out the throw before sinking onto the couch and wrapping herself with it. The dust burned her eyes as she lay down, burned her throat, but she couldn’t feel it beyond the sobbing.
She dreamt of her parents that night. Her mother singing, her father stroking her hair gently and carefully.
May it be when the wind blows…
You hear my song to you.
Should it be when your heart is dark,
It leads me to you...