Hermione buried her face in her pillow, trying desperately to stop crying.

It was over. It was… should she have… maybe it…?

It had gone something like this:

"Are you saying you don't love me?"

"No, Ron, that's not at all what I—"

"Then why don't you want to get married?"

"I just don't see why we need to rush things like—"

"We've been together for nearly four years, Hermione! I don't understand how that's rushing it! My parents got married right after they left Hogwarts, you know."

"I don't see why that means that we have to—"

"And Harry and Ginny are getting married."

"Is that what this is about? You don't want your younger sister to be married before you?"

"No. Merlin. Look, we've talked about this - getting married and having kids - and now all of a sudden you're saying you don't want to! I just don't understand."

"Ron. I love you. I want to marry you and have children. But not until I've got a life of my own, until I've grown up and worked out who I am. I'm only twenty-two. I need some time for myself before I devote it all to starting a family."

"Time for yourself."

"Yes."

"…Fine. Have it. I'll leave you alone, then."

"Ron…"

"No. It's fine. Obviously we're just… not compatible. Let's just leave it at that, shall we? End it now before we have any more… misunderstandings. Goodbye."

"Ron!"

…But he'd gone, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione sobbed into her damp pillow again at the memory. How had that happened? She loved Ron; he loved her, and it had all just… blown up in their faces. Just like that.

She had to find a way to fix it…

The alarm clock rang.

…after work.

She wouldn't normally have put work first, but she was only a week into her new job at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and there was rather a lot going on. Besides, Ron was probably still asleep. He didn't have to be behind the counter at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes until nine o'clock.

She would go and see him after lunch, Hermione decided, and try to sort this whole mess out.

Right now, she needed to get to the office.

"Ah, Miss Granger! Excellent. Just the person I want to see," said Constantine Flavius, Head of Magical Law Enforcement and Hermione's new boss. The tall, fair-haired and slightly wrinkled man turned from a conversation with a group of Hermione's fellow employees and grinned at her as she stepped into the office.

Hermione forced herself to stop thinking about Ron and smile back. "Oh? What for, Mr. Flavius?"

"Come, come…" He beckoned her towards the far end of the room, where she had recently been given a desk, and reached for a blood-red folder someone had left on it. Sitting on the desk, he handed it to her with a flourish. "I have an assignment for you," he said, still grinning. Hermione was starting to find that grin unsettling.

Opening the folder, she leafed through the contents. Each sheet showed the name, photograph and short profile of a witch or wizard. Hermione looked up questioningly.

"The first batch of prisoners is being released from Azkaban as we speak," her boss explained. "Each of them has been ordered to report here for an interview later today. You," he said, his grin widening still further, "will be conducting these interviews."

"Me?" Hermione was quite taken aback. "But I've only been working here for a week!"

"Precisely." Flavius' eyes twinkled. "I always say it's best to throw a new recruit in at the deep end. Besides, the rest of us are busy with this wave of thefts we've been having, and really, these prisoners are hardly likely to be dangerous; after all, they're the ones who got off lightly. Nevertheless," and here his tone grew serious, "I want you to make it absolutely clear to all of them that we will be watching them. If they put so much as a toe out of line, we will know about it." He grinned again. "Keeping an eye on them will be your next task, as a matter of fact."

"…Right." Hermione was too stunned to say anything else. Wasn't this rather a lot of responsibility to be giving to someone who'd been working there for less than a fortnight?

"There are forms at the back of that folder for you to fill in during each interview. Those will tell you what questions to ask. I believe your first interview is at eleven o'clock. You may wish to prepare by looking at the prisoners' detailed files, which I believe you will find in the Department of Magical Records. You will have the use of an office on the third floor in which to conduct the interviews."

Mr. Flavius grinned once again and hurried off to distribute tasks to other unsuspecting employees.

Hermione sat down at her desk and looked through the folder again. It contained information on just over a dozen witches and wizards, most of whom Hermione recognised at least by name if not from their photographs. In the year following the end of the war, the Daily Prophet had been full of reports on trials, verdicts and sentences, and Hermione had tried her best to stay informed. As far as she could tell, most of the trials had been fair, though of course there were a couple whose verdicts had surprised or annoyed her. Still, nothing terribly bad had happened in the intervening years, so she supposed the end result had been satisfactory.

The questions on the forms she had to fill out seemed straightforward, she was glad to see. Perhaps this wouldn't be so difficult after all. She looked at the schedule. Start at 11am, right…

…Ah.

She'd only been allotted half an hour for lunch.

Factor in time to get there and back, then time to make sure she was ready for the next interview when it was supposed to begin, and she would have all of ten minutes to talk to Ron, at least three of which would probably be spent convincing him that he actually wanted to have a conversation with her.

Seven minutes was cutting it a bit fine for the resolution of an argument like the one they'd had last night.

Probably best not to try, then.

She could go now… but no, she really did need to prepare before she conducted these interviews.

Hermione sighed. Ron was going to have to wait until the evening.

Her first interviewee was a middle-aged wizard named Ichabod Graf, who had been serving time for letting Death Eaters use his country house as a base of operations.

Hermione took an instant dislike to him. Mostly because he seemed to take an instant liking to her.

"So you're Harry Potter's Mudblood, are you? I don't believe it. You're far too nice to be a Mudblood." He leaned forward over the table and leered at her.

"Mr. Graf," Hermione said firmly, trying not to squirm in her seat. "Please can we concentrate on the questions?"

"Oh, there are things of yours I'd like to concentrate on much more than your questions, m'dear…"

"Nevertheless, I must insist."

Mr Graf grinned. "Anything for you, love."

"Right." Hermione glared at him over her paperwork, trying to make sure he got the message that she was not at all interested, thank you very much… "Now, do you have somewhere to stay?"

"I do think I've still got that house they say I hid those Death Eaters in. It's a very nice house, assuming the House Elves have been keeping it tidy. You're welcome to come and stay any time you want…"

Probably best to ignore that, Hermione thought. "Do you have the means to support yourself financially?"

"Oh, I should think so. I'm quite well off, you know." He grinned.

"And what are your plans for the immediate future?" Hermione ploughed on.

Graf's grin widened as he leaned forward, and Hermione recoiled as she felt his hand on her thigh. "Right, thank you, that'll be all," she said quickly, jumping to her feet and glancing at the guard stationed by the door, ready to intervene should she ask him to. "Thank you, goodbye now," she said, gesturing at the door.

"Goodbye, my lovely," said Mr Graf, taking a theatrical bow which brought his eyes level with Hermione's chest. "I do hope we meet again."

Hermione waited until he had left and exchanged a relieved glance with the guard.

Oh, please, she thought, I do hope that was the worst one…

"And what are your plans for the immediate future?" Hermione asked. This was her penultimate interview. One more and she could go home and fix things with Ron…

Pansy Parkinson, slouched in the chair on the other side of the table, shrugged. "I dunno. Try to find a job, I suppose."

Hermione smiled politely, trying not to let it show how much she still disliked Pansy. Three years in prison didn't seem to have changed her a bit, unlike some of the other people Hermione had met today. She shuddered. Some of them really didn't seem quite… normal anymore. Not that she really knew that they had been normal before, of course.

"Can you be more specific?" she asked Pansy. "What kind of job will you be looking for?"

"Anywhere they'll take an ex-convict like me. I'm probably not going to be the most desireable of employees, am I?"

Hermione made a note on the form in front of her. Almost done… "Right. Miss Parkinson, before you leave I'm required to inform you that your actions will be monitored closely by the Ministry." By me, more specifically… "As long as you don't do anything suspicious or unlawful you won't notice us at all, but if you do… well, you could end up regretting it."

"Is that a threat, Granger?"

"Miss Parkinson, it's a simple statement of fact." Smiling once more, Hermione stood up. "Thank you, you're free to go."

"Good."

And Pansy left.

Only one more to go… and she still had a couple of minutes beforehand. Time enough to go to the drinking fountain and top up her glass.

Nodding to the guard, Hermione stepped out into the corridor.

She almost walked right into Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy!" she said, in a voice a little more high-pitched than she would have liked. "What are you doing here?"

Which, she realised as she looked around, was a stupid question. Narcissa Malfoy was standing just behind him, wringing her hands. Narcissa Malfoy just happened to be Hermione's last interviewee. Her son must have met her when she was released and accompanied her to the Ministry.

"Granger," he drawled. His characteristic tone of voice hadn't changed a bit in the years since Hermione had last seen him. "I take it you're going to be my mother's interrogator?"

"This isn't an interrogation," Hermione tried to explain. "It's only an interview."

"In my experience, those are just two words for the same thing." Malfoy glanced at his mother. "Well. Shall we?" He led Narcissa into the office.

Hermione started to protest, then decided against it. After all, the sooner she started the interview, the sooner it would be over.

Narcissa Malfoy took her place in the chair in front of the table and her son sat down in a spare seat in the corner. Hermione took her own seat and sought out the appropriate form.

"You will allow my son to stay with me, won't you Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up. She hadn't really thought about it. But she didn't want to prolong the interview by causing a fuss, so she nodded. "Yes, that's fine." She looked at Malfoy. "As long as he doesn't try to answer the questions for you."

Both Malfoys seemed to find this arrangement agreeable, so Hermione began.

"Mrs Malfoy, do you believe yourself to be rehabilitated?"

Narcissa glanced sideways at her son. "Oh, yes. Absolutely."

"Do you regret the actions which led to your imprisonment?"

"Of course."

"Are you planning to contact any other ex-convicts now that you've been released?"

"I don't see why I would. Most of the ones who were my friends and family are dead." She glared at Hermione, as if she were somehow personally responsible for this situation.

Hermione did her best to remain professional "Do you have somewhere to stay?" she asked.

Narcissa smiled, though Hermione doubted there was any mirth behind it. "I've got all of Malfoy Manor to myself, my dear. I think it will meet my needs."

To yourself? What about Draco? Hermione stole a look at the Malfoy in question, but his face was impassive. "Do you have the means to support yourself financially?" she said, turning back to Narcissa.

"Of course. What kind of a question is that to ask someone who's just told you they own a manor?"

"It's on the form, Mrs Malfoy; I have to ask it. What are your plans for the immediate future?"

"To go home and live the rest of my life in peace."

"Can you be more specific?"

Narcissa looked at her coldly. "No."

Hermione decided not to press for further details. "All right. In that case, Mrs Malfoy, all that remains is for me to warn you that the Ministry will be keeping an eye on you to make sure you're not engaging in any criminal activities, and to bid you goodbye." She stood.

The Malfoys got to their feet as well. Narcissa headed for the door without a word, so Hermione turned to Draco. "See?" she said. "It wasn't that bad."

Malfoy nodded. "You're quite a skilled interrogator, Granger. Well done." It was very difficult to tell by his tone of voice what exactly he meant by this. "Goodbye." And he followed his mother out.

Hermione gathered the paperwork from the desk and headed downstairs to get it all filed away properly. So… Draco Malfoy. She hadn't seen him since before his trial, where he'd been found not guilty of all charges. Ron had been livid, but Hermione hadn't really minded him being given a second chance. After all, perhaps without his parents breathing down his neck he might actually turn out alright…

However, judging from his behaviour today he was still quite vile.

And now… home. No, strike that, not home – she would go straight to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.

Grabbing her coat, Hermione ran downstairs and Disapparated.

Apparating outside the shop in Diagon Alley, Hermione was confused to see the Closed sign already up in the window. Still, the lights were on and she could just hear voices from within, so she pushed open the door and went inside.

George and Ginny were deep in conversation at the counter, but they both looked up when she entered.

"Hello," Hermione said brightly, glad to finally be here and able to do something about the mess she had left things in. "Where's Ron?"

The expressions on the two siblings' faces changed to something Hermione couldn't help but think of as ominous. "What's the matter?" she asked slowly.

Ginny bit her lip. "He told us what happened," she said.

"Oh." Well, that would explain the uncomfortable expressions… "I need to talk to him."

George winced, and walked towards her from behind the counter. "That's just it. You can't."

Hermione blinked. "I… don't understand."

"You see, he's sort of… left the country."

Hermione really wasn't sure what it was exactly that this made her feel, but she didn't like it. "What?"

Ginny stepped forward. "He told us what you said, and we were trying to get him to understand what you were telling him, and… he sort of decided that if you were going to go off and find yourself he'd better go away too. So he's gone to America, to promote the shop there. Um. He wouldn't tell us exactly where he was going. Or how long for. And he said you weren't to come looking for him."

Suddenly feeling faint, Hermione leaned against the counter to steady herself. "Oh my God."

"I'm sure he'll be back soon!" Ginny said desperately.

"How could he be so… so—"

"Moronic?" suggested George.

"So dense! It was just a stupid argument, I never meant that I didn't want to be with him! I wasn't going to go anywhere! Oh, God…"

George produced a small stool from behind the counter and set it down just before Hermione would have otherwise collapsed on the floor. "What do I do now?" she moaned as Ginny knelt down next to her.

"You wait for him to come back," said George. "He will, he's not that dense." He paused and then added, "I hope."