"Ms. Granger," Kingsley Shacklebolt said, sitting down behind his desk. "I have a proposition for you." Not even giving her a chance to speak up, he continued. "You have performed extraordinary work at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures–"

Hermione sighed, interrupting the Minister. "I do wish you would honor my request for the name change of the department. It truly is quite a horrendous name. If you'd just–"

Kingsley held up a hand and smiled. "I will get to that in a second. As I said, you are solely responsible for great law changes and while I had initially intended to make you the Department Head of Magical Law Enforcement, a more urgent matter has arisen." He was quiet for a moment as he seemed to be contemplating his next words. "I wish to offer you a position at the Department of Mysteries."

"Minister, I–"

"Hermione, I would not ask this of you unless I was convinced, without a shadow of a doubt, that you would be the only suitable person for this position."

Hermione had great respect for Kingsley Shacklebolt. As far as Ministers went, he was on top of her list, but she grew quickly tired of not being allowed to finish her sentences.

"What exactly does this job entail?"

Kingsley was quiet for a moment and ran a hand over his bald head. "Well. As you know, during the battle at the Hall of Prophecy, all the prophecies were destroyed. As such, the original Guardian of the room was moved to a different department within the Ministry.

Frowning, Hermione cocked her head to the side. "I've never heard of anyone guarding the Hall of Prophecy before."

Kingsley offered a small smile. "That's because it was a highly classified position. One only the previous Minister and Headmaster Dumbledore were aware of."

Hermione moved to the edge of her seat, eager to learn more.

"I cannot reveal who the previous Guardian was. However, I can tell you, should you accept, that I wish for you to become the new Guardian."

"M-me?" Hermione stammered. "Prophecies aren't exactly my forte, Minister. May I remind you that I dropped Divination at the first possible chance? I'm sure you understand I believe in logic. Prophecies are anything but. If Voldemort had interpreted Harry's prophecy any differently, it would have been Neville Longbottom who would have caused his demise."

"Agreed," Kingsley said. "However, the Hall of Prophecy has been empty for the last five years. That is, it was empty until this morning. A new prophecy has presented itself and the hall of Prophecy restored itself to its former glory."

"When you say, 'restored itself to its former glory,' what exactly do you mean by that?"

Kingsley stood up from behind his desk, groaned a little as he straightened his back and motioned for her to follow him. As they stepped through a door Hermione could've sworn wasn't there before, he took her by the arm and apparated them to the Hall of Prophecy.

"Lumos." He whispered the word almost delicately, as if the word spoken too loudly would disturb someone from their deep slumber.

"I do not believe it." Hermione gasped. She took a step forward as soon as Kingsley let go of her arm. "This is impossible."

The Hall of Prophecy looked as if Ginny Weasley had never unleashed the spell that caused every prophecy to smash to the ground. Rows and rows of empty shelves appeared to reach a height not even visible.

"Logic," Kingsley began, "would dictate that the Hall of Prophecy should be completely empty. He took her by the arm once more and slowly ushered her forwards. "Logic is no longer applicable. You believe in logic, I believe in knowledge. My knowledge of this room gave no indication that the room could restore itself. My knowledge has left me completely baffled as to what's happening in this room."

They came to a halt and Hermione froze at the sight of a tiny orb that hovered on one of the shelves, as if it was still deciding where to lay itself to rest. There was no tag on the orb that indicated its origin or its intended owner. There was only the orb, a faint flow surrounding it."

"Touch it," Kingsley said.

Hermione frowned and narrowed her eyes as she looked up at him. The man was impossible tall. "Minister, a prophecy not intended for me would destroy my mental well-being. Surely, you wish for me to keep my brain intact."

Kingsley grinned. "While this is true, there is one expectation to that rule."

"The Guardian," Hermione whispered. "But, I haven't accepted the position yet." Looking back at the orb she released a long breath. "Merlin, who am I kidding?"

As her hand reached out to the orb, it started to gravitate towards her, until it planted itself on the outstretched palm of her hand. As soon as her skin contacted the orb, a faint blue light began to shine through the rows of shelves and Kingsley put his wand away.

"I believe," he said. "The hall of Prophecy has accepted its new Guardian."

"The orb," Hermione said, her voice wavering. "It's not revealing the prophecy?"

"As its Guardian, it's up to you to discover the secrets of this place, Ms. Granger. Furthermore, I must ask a great sacrifice of you."

Hermione knew exactly what he was going to ask of her. He had the same tone in his voice that Harry would describe as he recalled his private meetings with Dumbledore.

"I can't tell anyone, can I?"

"Afraid not. As of this moment, only you and I are aware of the restoration of the Hall and under no circumstances can this change. As far as the other departments are concerned, the Hall of Prophecy is no longer an official chamber within the Department of Mysteries."

"I will admit that I find it hard to accept that I have to keep such a secret from my friends. We've been through a lot, Minister."

Kingsley nodded. "I am aware, and I wish I wouldn't have to ask this of you. But as far as your friendship with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley goes, I would suggest giving the illusion that nothing has changed. To the best of their knowledge, you still work for the Department of Magical Creatures."

Hermione beamed. "It's official?"

"Indeed, it is. That being said. I am looking for someone to help you. I suspect that as the Hall of Prophecy connects with you as its Guardian, it's going to demand more and more of your time. I have my eyes on someone, and their status within the wizarding community would allow for you to keep up appearances as if nothing has changed. They will be given special privileges to apparate directly to the department."

Completely overwhelmed, Hermione was at a loss of what to do or say. The idea that all this time the Hall of Prophecy had had a Guardian was so strange to her, she couldn't fully grasp what Kingsley was telling her.

"What exactly do you expect me to do here? I will admit that I'm curious, but I'm not quite sure I understand what you would have me do."

"I believe the Hall will make its work known to you, as you are now its Guardian. Not even I will know what happens in here. As soon as I leave the room, you are its sole safe-keeper."

Hermione shook her head. "Why me, though? I don't understand."

"Let's just say…I had an inkling. For now, that is all I can tell you."

"More mysteries," Hermione murmured.

Kingsley smiled at her. "Even the Minister has his secrets, Ms. Granger. I promise you that you are in the right place. The room has accepted you as its Guardian. It would not do that unless it believed you to be."

"Who will you hire to help me?"

"That, too, will reveal itself in due time," Kingsley said. "I can tell you this: for the time being, you will do your work from within the Department of Magical Creatures. You oversee both training your new employee, as well as being the Guardian to this chamber and whatever it has in store for you. With time, your new employee will take over your duties and you will solely focus on your guardianship."

"Why won't you tell me who it is?"

Kingsley heartedly laughed. "For one, I am not entirely sure I can convince them to take this position and two," he paused and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I am convinced you will absolutely not approve of them." With that, he apparated away and left her behind.

Dumfounded, she stared at the orb in her hand. "I guess it's just and me." She sighed. "Now, what in the world am I supposed to do with you?"

The orb itself reminded her of a tiny, defenseless animal. It was nothing like the orbs that had previously habituated the ginormous room. Inside of it, a cloud of unknown material seemed to twirl, almost as if it was trying to find the right position before it could perform its duty."

"You can do it," Hermione said, holding her breath.

It was ridiculous, really. Talking to an orb. As if it could hear her. Still, the orb was working on something as it slowly rose up from the confinements of her palm.

"Only…"

She frowned. Not recognizing the voice at all, Hermione couldn't even tell whether the voice was a woman or a man. If anything, it sounded like a child. And surely that one word couldn't have been the entire prophecy?

"Again," she said, a bit firmer this time. She bit her lower lip as she waited.

"Only when the chosen one accepts the truth of myth, shall the banished one come forth and cause an age of temptation and kinship amidst a breakdown to end the suffering of enemies who shall be no more."

"Merlin's beard." She gasped as the orb returned to its former place on her palm, the object looked utterly exhausted, as far as objects could even look exhausted. "Ehm…well done?"

Never in her life did she feel as inadequate as she did in this moment. She was overcome with a need to protect the orb from any harm that could come to it, yet she didn't have the faintest idea what she was supposed to do with it. Just then, another faint blue light lit up on one of the shelves to her right. Walking over to it, she saw a small three-headed dragon stand and placed the orb in the middle of the heads.

"Protect it well," she whispered. As the three heads moved, she let out a small yelp. The heads knitted themselves around the orb, protecting it from all harm.

Running her hands through her bushy hair, she let out a long breath. Part of her still couldn't believe that any of this was real. Perhaps any second now, Harry and Ron would make their presence known to her and laugh at her for falling for such an elaborate prank. Or perhaps she only wished that would be a plausible scenario, for being the actual Guardian of the Hall of Prophecy seemed like a task for which she was both severely unqualified and unworthy.

Still, there was a strong urge within her to protect this chamber at all costs. Even if she had no idea how to go about it. It had been so much easier travelling around with her best friends, trying to find the Horcruxes. That had mostly come down to nothing but logic and if there was one thing that Hermione thrived on…it was logic. But this…this was something else entirely.

"Now what?"

She hoped the chamber would provide her with another clue as to what role she was supposed to fulfill. When nothing happened, she followed her gut and wanted to focus on something over which she had actual control.

Whilst Kingsley had apparated from his office into the chamber, she wasn't quite sure if she had been granted the same privileges to apparate back to her own office. The last thing she wanted was to get splinched and having to explain how that had exactly happened.

Closing her eyes, she focused on her office and its decorum. Barely being able to breath, she could feel the ground disappear beneath her feet. Harry had told her once that apparition had felt like being forced through a very tight rubber tube and she couldn't disagree. No matter how many times she performed the ritual, there was always the moment right after she had apparated to her desired location, where she wanted to puke her guts out.

It was no different this time and as soon as she felt the ground reappear beneath her feet, she opened her eyes and murmured a soft, 'Accio chair,' before letting herself fall on it.

Hermione Granger, Guardian of the Hall of Prophecy.

Trying to sound it out in her mind, it still seemed surreal.

"It would make one hell of a business card title, though," she said to the empty room.

The rest of her day was not nearly as entertaining as her morning had been. Finding it hard to focus on her work, she was determined to banish and all thoughts of the Hall of Prophecy from her mind. Having to write a letter to the Headmaster of Hogwarts had helped her tremendously.

An elf by the name of Cinder had been working for more than the allowed eight hours, when she was injured in the kitchen. It had taken Hermione three days to convince Cinder that this wasn't per the arrangement she had so carefully negotiated with Hogwarts. Despite the wizarding's school great improvement, they still could do so much better and Hermione wouldn't rest until the last elf was satisfied with their job and more importantly: until they were safe.

She tied the letter around her Ministry's owl's leg. "Find Headmaster McGonagall and try not to bite her this time." She smiled as the owl flew off and closed the window behind her feathered friend.

Pacing through her office, she found it hard not to think of the prophecy. What did it all mean? Where did it come from and more importantly, who was it meant for? Her preliminary research had given exactly zero results. There was no information whatsoever on the Hall of Prophecy that was helpful to her in any way.

Just as she was about to march to Kingsley Shacklebolt's office, the door to her office flew open and an excited Harry practically came running in.

"'Mione!"

"Harry, to what do I owe this pleasure?" She couldn't help but notice the look in his eyes that she had long learned to interpret as nothing but trouble. "Shouldn't you be out with Ron, raiding some poor pureblood's dungeon for illegal artifacts?"

Harry shrugged. "Probably, but I had something more important to do. Sit down, please."

"I'd really rather not," she said. "Out with it." Her eyes grew wide as Harry dug deep in his pockets of his Ministry robes and pulled out a small box. "If you are going to propose to me, I'm afraid it's a no from me." She grinned when he rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying. Don't get any ideas."

"Ron would hex me into oblivion," Harry murmured.

Hermione flinched. Ron still hadn't quite forgiven her for breaking up with him almost three years ago. It had been a decision that had caused her grievance for several weeks until she decided that it was time to break the news to him. Their relationship had been going nowhere and now that they were away from Hogwarts, it became more apparent each day that they were two entirely different people. Too different to maintain a healthy relationship, anyway.

"Ron needs to get out and get himself a new girlfriend," Hermione said. "I hear Pansy is still available."

"I doubt Mrs. Weasley would allow it." Harry grinned and walked closer to her, popping the box open. "It's not actually for you. What do you think, though? Think Ginny will appreciate it?"

"Oh, Harry," she said, her eyes welling up with tears. "It's beautiful. She will love it!"

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely." She shook her head and smiled. "I can't believe you are actually going to propose! When will you?"

"Tonight," he said. "I've been to Mr. Weasley and got his blessing and then some. We actually got into a two-hour discussion about muggle weddings, I think he was disappointed with my lack of knowledge in muggle marriages actually."

"I will send him some muggle literature," Hermione said.

Even to this day, it was second nature to solve any problem that Harry, or Ron encountered. She was often annoyed with how long it took either of them to come up with a solution to a problem that could be so easily fixed, that she would just fix it for them. Saving her the trouble of having to hear about it endlessly. Her impatience had grown since the Second War and it was a trait she wasn't proud of in the least.

"Thanks, I appreciate that. It's been a long time coming, huh?"

Interrupted from her thoughts, Hermione nodded. Her heart was full of love for her best friend. He had been through such an ordeal after Voldemort had been defeated. For months on end he had sat through trials as a main witness for the crimes that purebloods had committed against the wizarding community. She knew it weighed heavy on his heart.

He had sat on her couch several times during that time, ranting and raving about how tired he was. How he wanted to leave it all behind him. But then there was Ginny. There was always Ginny. Ginny who loved Harry, who grounded him, gave him hope that all of it would come to an end one day and he could live the life he wanted to life. One where he was in charge, and not some lame prophecy made by Sybill Trelawney.

"Do you think she'll say yes?"

Hermione laughed and – Merlin – it felt so good to laugh until her belly ached. "Harry, that woman is crazy about you. There's nothing on earth that can stop her from marrying the man she loves."

"Will you come 'round for dinner tonight?"

"I thought you were proposing? Do you wish for me to be there and hold your hand?"

Harry stuck out his tongue and for a moment Hermione ached for that innocent gesture to mean that they were still in their first year of Hogwarts, before everything had changed for good. It wasn't the first time she longed for the innocence of those first days, where her biggest worry was to get Harry and Ron to like her.

"Harry Potter," she said, stabbing a finger against his chest. "Take Ginny to that Observatory Dining Room in London. Ever since she's heard about it she's been wanting to go. It's a beautiful setting to propose to her."

"Thanks, 'Mione." He regarded her with a curious look. "What's going on with you, anyway? You're pacing, it means trouble is on the horizon. Want to talk about it?"

Hermione hesitated. There was nothing she would love more than to talk to her best friend about the events that had unfolded that morning. Knowing she couldn't, felt like the ultimate betrayal and she hated that.

"Kingsley is hiring a new employee. There's too much paperwork for me to do it all by myself," she said. It wasn't a total lie. She couldn't imagine it wasn't okay for her to tell him that. With the amount of times he barged into her office, he would find out sooner or later.

"Who?"

Hermione shrugged. "He wouldn't say. Though, he did say I wouldn't approve it."

Harry snickered. "Maybe it's Pansy and you can start grooming her to date Ron. Merlin, can you even imagine? You and Pansy locked up in here eight hours a day?"

"Not a chance." Hermione shook her head. "I'll quit my job if it's her."

"Right," he said. "Like you actually would."

"Probably not, but there's not one person on this earth who'd be worse to spend my time with. She will never set a foot in this office for as long as I live."

She had been wrong. The smartest of witch of her age, and she had never been more wrong in her life. She wanted to beg Kingsley to hire Pansy instead, anyone¸ but the look on his face made it clear there was no arguing to be had.

"You can't possible expect me to work with her," Hermione spat out. She refused to look her new employee in the eye. Her outburst surprised both Kingsley and if she was honest with herself, it surprised her too. "She's a traitor. I was tortured, and she did nothing."

Taking deep breaths, Hermione forced herself to calm down. In the last five years, she was experiencing more and more panic attacks. They were triggered by the strangest things and as it turned out, Narcissa Malfoy was the biggest trigger of all.

"Ms. Granger, I profoundly apologize for the events that unfolded that night," Mrs. Malfoy said. "I was hoping we could put it in the past for the sake of us working together."

Angrily, Hermione rolled up her sleeve and held out her arm. "Put in the past? Your sister carved mudblood in my arm! How do you propose I put that in the past?" She swallowed thickly as she saw the woman visibly flinch. She still wasn't convinced that Draco's mother wouldn't throw a hex her way whenever she got the chance. It didn't matter how much Kingsley trusted her, as far as Hermione was concerned, Narcissa Malfoy was the scum of the earth. Even if she was the only reason that her best friend was still alive.

Mrs. Malfoy pointed to her arm. "I might be able to do something about that."

Hermione scoffed and rolled her sleeve down. "Don't even bother. The word is cursed, and the owner of that curse is dead. There's nothing you can do."

"As you wish," Mrs. Malfoy said. "Should you ever change my mind, all you have to do is ask."

"Right," Kingsley said, clapping his hands. He looked a little too eager to leave the tense atmosphere of her office. "I will leave you two to get more…acquainted. Try not to hex each other, please." With that, a loud pop was heard, and he was gone.

Hermione shook her head. How on earth was she supposed to work with the woman who had allowed all those events to unfold? The only reason Mrs. Malfoy wasn't currently in Azkaban was because she saved Harry's life and had not participated in the Second War. Her husband had pleaded guilty to his crimes and was confined for life in a temporary prison while the Ministry searched for a replacement for Azkaban now that the dementors were gone. Lucius Malfoy was, for all intents and purposes, no longer a threat. His wife however, was a whole different story.

From the moment the witch had been cleared of all charges, something Harry had fought for with all his might, Mrs. Malfoy had become an acolyte to the wizarding community. Well, the pureblood side of that community, anyway. Not a day went by where her face wasn't on the front of some wizarding magazine, bragging about her work for the community. Hermione had no idea what that work entailed. As far as she was concerned, Mrs. Malfoy was an outcast. Though it was her sister that carved the word into her skin, she could not get the image out of her head that was it the blonde woman in front of her that had stood there and had done nothing to stop the monster as she carved away.

"Ms. Granger?"

"What," Hermione sneered.

She hated this side of herself. Hated the anger that she felt, the outbursts she could no longer control. They didn't come along often, but when they did, she missed the person she used to be. The Second War had changed the Golden Trio and while the other two seemed to cope with us just fine as the years went by, Hermione couldn't cope at all.

Her days were spent at the Ministry and her nights were spent trashing around in bed, battling nightmare after nightmare. Most nights it was Lavender Brown's pale face that haunted her in her dreams. Other nights it was Bellatrix carving the most offensive word on every inch of her skin, until she slowly bled out on the cold floor of Malfoy Manor.

She hated who she had become; robbed of her innocence by a monster, dubbed the Golden Girl after the war. If only people knew the truth. As far as Hermione was concerned, the 'golden girl' had died in that Second War.

"I understand that you're hesitant–"

"I'm not hesitant. I am furious."

Mrs. Malfoy nodded. "I understand that too. But, your Minister asked for my help and I gladly offer it. We will have to find some common ground if we're going to be working together."

Hermione laughed and even the sound of her laughter sends a chill down her spine. It no longer sounded like her. "Our common ground is your sister," she said. "How do you propose we make that work, hm? Why even accept this position? Isn't this beneath your…" Hermione waved her arms around. "I don't know…your status?"

"And what exactly is my status?"

This was the Narcissa Malfoy that Hermione recognized. The woman who had a bite in her voice. Not the woman was trying to make nice as if they were long lost friends.

"Aren't you the wizarding world's unsung hero? The pureblood who saved Harry Potter from his ultimate death? The woman who defied the Dark Lord himself?"

Hermione balled her hands into fists and squeezed as tight as she could, willing the tightness in her chest to go away. No matter what, she was not going to fall apart in front of this woman.

"What I did," Mrs. Malfoy started, "I did for my family. You're not a mother, so you couldn't possibly understand. I did was I had to do to keep Draco safe. I lied to the most powerful–" Mrs. Malfoy stopped herself at Hermione's furious glance. "I lied to the Dark Lord in order to survive."

"And what of your status? Do you not have parties to attend?"

Mrs. Malfoy shook her head. "You're being foolish, Ms. Granger. I'm as much an outcast in this world as you are. Just because my face appears on fancy magazines, doesn't mean that people treat me accordingly or that I even wish to be on those pages. People still go out of their way to avoid being seen in the same vicinity as me."

"Is that all?"

"No," Mrs. Malfoy said. "It's not. There's more, there always is. But as of right now, it's not important. What is important is the job that the Minister offered me within this department. The job that I accepted and that I fully intent to carry out to the best of my abilities. We will have to find a way to work with each other."

Hermione felt utterly defeated. Moving across the room, her shoes scuffed the floor with every step she took, until she let herself unceremoniously drop into her chair. Her body and mind were so incredibly tired, and she longed for the warmth of her bed. Finally, she looked up at Mrs. Malfoy and gestured for her to take a seat.

"What do you know of this department?"

"There are three divisions and you are in charge of those."

Hermione nodded, taking over from Mrs. Malfoy. "Being, Beast and Spirit. One of my current projects is to establish two Liaison Offices. One for Goblins and one for Centaurs. We cannot hope to improve the relationships between us and them if it's the wizards who oversee making the rules."

"I take it the Goblin Liaison Office is different from the one that manages our economy?"

"For now," Hermione said. "My hope is that we can eventually combine the two and make it into one office. But, we have a long road ahead of us before that can be established."

"Forgive my ignorance," Mrs. Malfoy said. "But I was under the impression that Centaurs wanted nothing to do with the Ministry. Have they had a change of heart?"

"Not exactly. Therefore, it is one of my top priority cases. I would love for the 'being sent to the Centaur Office' to stop being used as a euphemism for being sacked." She squinted her eyes and looked Mrs. Malfoy straight in her eyes. "Perhaps this is a project you could invest your time in. Would that be an issue?"

"Only time will tell."

"You never did answer my question," Hermione accused. She wasn't exactly sure what it was that she accused the woman of.

"Which question?"

"Why accept the position?"

Hermione almost missed it. If she had looked away as she had intended to, she would have, but it was undoubtedly there on Mrs. Malfoy's face, if only for a mere second. The faltering of a face before it restored itself to its stoic form. It was the first sign of emotion that Hermione had seen and had believed to be true. It was the first crack in the icy coldness that radiated from her.

Mrs. Malfoy seemed to be deep in thought and Hermione took that moment to study the woman in front of her. She had never understood the hair. It wasn't black enough to fit in with that of her sisters and it wasn't blonde enough to make her a counterpart of her husband and son. As far as her hair was concerned, Mrs. Malfoy didn't belong to either side of the family. And her eyes, god. Hermione had never seen eyes that were as expressionless as Mrs. Malfoy's. Everything about her radiated cold, from her appearance to her posture. It was all so very…stiff.

"Before I answer your question," Mrs. Malfoy said. "I want to make it perfectly clear that I did not nor have I ever agreed with Bellatrix's actions on that night. What happened was tragic and I am truly sorry that you have had to endure it and are undoubtedly still dealing with sub sequential consequences."

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It's simple, isn't it?" Mrs. Malfoy said. "Dark magic comes at a price. It took my sister's mind." She leaned forward and hovered a hand near Hermione's arm. "May I?"

Hermione swallowed but nodded.

Carefully, Mrs. Malfoy rolled up the sleeve and traced the word with a finger, never actually touching the skin it was engraved in. "I can feel the magic radiating from it. It's a powerful curse. I can't tell you what it is, though. What I can tell you is that the discomfort you feel is mostly fueled by this mark."

"D-discomfort?"

"Hm, yes," Mrs. Malfoy said. "Nightmares, I suspect. Bella poured all her hatred into this one word, and that hatred is within you now, it flows through your blood. She gave you a curse you cannot control. I think in a way…" Mrs. Malfoy paused and looked up at her. "Well, in a way, my sister gave you a piece of her."

Hermione snatched her arm away and angrily pulled the sleeve down. "Wonderful," she said. "I've always wanted a psychopath roaming through my blood."

Mrs. Malfoy flinched at the word and sat back up. "I can help you."

"How?"

Shaking her head, Mrs. Malfoy didn't immediately answer. "I need time. For research."

"And my other question?"

"Right," Mrs. Malfoy said, straightening her back and patting down what would otherwise have become a crease in her dress. "I won't lie and pretend there's not a part of me that hopes I can somewhat redeem myself for my actions that led to the Second War. You may not believe it, Ms. Granger, but I too carry demons."

Hermione didn't know what to say. As far as she was concerned, her own demons came directly from the Malfoy and Black family. She couldn't possibly imagine what demons Mrs. Malfoy carried around, and she would rather eat slugs than ask what demons the woman was referring to.

"More importantly, though," Mrs. Malfoy said. "Working at the Ministry gives me a chance to focus my energy on something useful. Despite what the magazines may have led you to believe, I'm confined to the manor most days and it's…" Mrs. Malfoy's voice trailed off.

Hermione didn't need her to finish the sentence. She knew exactly how dreadful the loneliness was. Life after Hogwarts had been nothing like she envisioned all those years ago. When she was younger she had been enthusiastic, wanted to change the world, yet these days, when she came home after a long day, she just wanted to crawl in bed and forget the outside world even existed. Carefully choosing her words, she looked up at Mrs. Malfoy.

"I understand."

Whether Mrs. Malfoy would understand as well, was not any of her concern.