A Thousand Words

Chapter 1: To My Pen Pal

'...will write to them at least once a month, and they will be required to reply within a week. These letters to each other will not be read by anyone other than the eyes they were intended for, so there is no need to worry about your private thoughts getting into the wrong hands,' finished Head of the Aurors, Gawain Robards, with a strained smile at the silent women and men sitting before him. 'And now, slips of paper containing the number assigned to the person you will be partnered with should appear on your plates. Keep in mind that no one knows what number they have been assigned to, so to those curious ones wishing to ask around, there will be no point in doing so.'

A hand shot up the moment Robards finished his speech.

'Yes, Benjamin?' said Robards, his eyes closed as if praying to some higher power for patience.

'What's the point of this?' asked Auror-in-training, John Benjamin, in tone of voice that clearly conveyed his reluctance to go along with the idea. He was leaning back in his chair and absently twirling his wand between his fingers, a puzzled frown on his round face.

Robards sighed, his impatience now showing clearer than ever. 'As I've already told you several times, the Ministry feels that in the aftermath of the war, the broken bonds of trust and friendship between its workers need to be mended. Therefore, they've proposed this idea in an attempt to promote inter-departmental relationships.'

'Relationships?' repeated Ginny Weasley, her eyebrows raised in skepticism. 'Isn't there another way to establish Ministry unity, one that doesn't use up as much time, energy, and parchment?'

A few snickers arose from the Aurors sitting around Ginny, but quickly died away upon being received with a death glare from Robards.

'Kids,' said Robards, his tone of voice suddenly pleading, 'can you please go along with this? Just for once? I'm not asking too much from you, am I?'

'Of course not, sir,' said Ginny's older brother, Ron Weasley, solemnly. His blue eyes displayed nothing but absolute sincerity, but the ghost of a smirk nevertheless curled the corners of his lips.

'Ron!' hissed Hermione Granger, who was sitting right next to Ron. She elbowed her boyfriend in the side and lifted a finger to her lips, signaling that he should shut up.

'Do you have anything you'd like to add, Miss Granger?' said Robards sharply, his acute sense of hearing immediately picking up Hermione's barely-audible whisper.

'No, sir,' said Hermione quickly, her cheeks turning pink. 'I think it's brilliant idea.'

'Well I'm glad someone thinks so,' said Robards, his relief evident. 'In any case, unless anyone has further objections, the slips of paper containing your partner's number should now be appearing on your desks.'

Sure enough, a split second after the words left Robards' mouth, forty-five pieces of parchment with bold, black numbers printed on them appeared on top of forty-five desks with forty-five tiny pops.

There was immediately a flurry of movement among the previously subdued gathering of Aurors as each of them tried to grab their slip and read out their number first.

'187!' exclaimed Ginny gleefully, waving her number about in the air victoriously. Her cry was immediately followed by several others.

'165!'

'420!'

'76!'

Soon, the only person who had not yet called out her number was Hermione. Instead of joining in the excitement, she was bent over a sheet of parchment and hastily scribbling something on it.

'Hermione! What number did you get?' asked Ron excitedly, leaning over the wall that separated their respective cubicles and trying to get a glimpse of Hermione's slip of paper.

'217,' Hermione replied without so much as a glance upwards.

'You don't sound very excited,' piped up a voice from behind Hermione. Both Hermione and Ron turned around to see Ginny standing behind them, her hands on her hips and a grin on her face.

Hermione shrugged. 'You heard what Robards said; there's really no point in calling out your number.'

Ginny rolled her eyes. 'It's for the fun of it, Hermione. Come on, get in the spirit of the game!'

'I already am in the spirit of the game,' said Hermione in irritation. She had turned back to the memo she had been writing and was now furiously sucking on the end of her quill as she searched her mind for the word she was looking for.

'Do something about her,' said Ginny to Ron in a mock whisper before flouncing away to go visit her boyfriend, Harry Potter, in his private office.

'Ginny's right,' said Ron seriously when his sister had disappeared behind the door labelled "Harry Potter". 'The holiday season is coming up; you should be lightening up, not stressing out even more.'

'I'm not stressing out!' exclaimed Hermione, slamming down her quill in a way that clearly read indicated her stress. 'I just wish everyone would leave me alone so I could get some work done!'

Ron's eyes widened, then narrowed. 'Fine,' he said shortly before sitting back down in his seat so that Hermione could no longer see him.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. She had not meant to blow up at Ron like that. He was right; she was particularly uptight nowadays. She didn't know why, either. Every little sound and movement around her seemed to get on her nerves lately.

'I'm sorry, Ron,' she meekly said to the wall dividing their cubicles. Ron didn't respond.

Grinding her teeth together in frustration, Hermione forced her attention to return to the unfinished memo sitting before her. Ron would come around...eventually.

---

Later that afternoon found Hermione bustling down the aisles between the cubicles in the Aurors' office as quickly as possible. It was 1:15, and she had only 45 minutes to drop by the Hit Wizards office for some records she needed, grab some lunch for her and Ron, and apparate back to the Burrow to copy down a few phone numbers before she had to return to the Auror Headquarters for a mandatory meeting Robards had scheduled. She had not given a second thought to the inter-departmental unity challenge since that morning.

So engrossed in mentally sorting through everything she needed to do that afternoon was Hermione that she didn't even notice when she entered one of the Ministry's lifts - that is, until she walked right into someone else.

'Oh!' gasped Hermione as she stumbled backwards, nearly losing hold of the stack of papers she had in her hands. Luckily, the packed lift meant that there was not enough empty space for her to fall into, and that the witches and wizards standing behind her would prevent her from tipping over.

A few people grumbled and stepped away from Hermione, but she didn't notice. Instead, she was busying herself with picking up her fallen wand from the ground and saying to the stranger she had bumped into, 'I'm sorry, are you alright?'

'Never been better,' came a frosty voice from above Hermione.

Hermione's shoulders stiffened and her heart sunk in dismay. She could recognise that voice anywhere.

The person did not seem to notice her discomfort, and said calmly, 'You might want to stand up; the people who come in these lifts have a habit of not caring where they're walking.'

Bristling, Hermione stood up and turned to glare at Draco Malfoy. 'I wasn't paying attention; I didn't mean to bump into you.'

'Of course not,' Draco replied smoothly. His cool grey eyes were fixed on a point straight ahead, and did not once betray a flicker of emotion as he spoke to Hermione out of the side of his mouth.

Feeling that it was hopeless to pursue a conversation with Draco, Hermione sighed and turned away, wondering, as she did so, why it was that even so many years working alongside each other hadn't managed to narrow - much less repair - the rift between them. Then again, there was much about Draco that Hermione did not know.

He had definitely turned good; that much was certain, for Hermione had seen with her own eyes a seventeen-year old Draco leading Harry to safety and risking his own life in his process. But after that night on the Hogwarts grounds, things were fuzzy. Draco had disappeared from, it seemed, the face of the wizarding world. No one knew where he had gone, and no one had a clue what had happened to him, for the Dark Lord had already been vanquished.

Then, four years after his disappearance, Draco had reappeared at the door of the Ministry, gaunt, pale, and cut and bruised beyond recognition. Now, a year after that incident, Draco was still as gaunt and pale, though the two long scars that ran down each of his cheeks and distorted his aristocratic features were a significant improvement from the mangled, mutilated appearance he'd had when he appeared without warning the previous year.

When at last the lift arrived on the first floor and the golden grilles slid open, Draco and Hermione both made for the door at the same time. The moment she saw this, Hermione stopped in her tracks, knowing that she would be better off letting Draco get his way.

However, after a few seconds, Hermione found to her surprise that Draco too had stopped and was waiting for her to step out first. Hermione's mouth fell open slightly, but she nevertheless took advantage of Draco's mysteriously courteous gesture and exited the lift.

Once outside, Hermione did not continue on. Instead, she waited at the door of the lift, determined to question Draco about the motive behind the display of kindness he had just put on.

It took longer than expected for Draco to step out of the lift. When he did, he did not surprised to find Hermione waiting for him.

'What took you so long?' asked Hermione, momentarily forgetting her main purpose in staying behind.

'You dropped something,' Draco replied simply. He held out a hand. In his palm lay a small, crumpled slip of paper.

For a moment, Hermione stared in confusion at Draco's hand. It took her a while to remember the - for lack of a better term - pen pal challenge.

'Oh, thanks,' she said with an uncertain smile once the memory returned to her. She reached out to take the piece of parchment from Draco's hand. As she did so, her palm grazed Draco's. For a split second, Hermione saw Draco's fingers twitch as if they were about to close; then, they were still.

'You might want to be more careful of your possessions next time,' said Draco quietly before letting his arm drop back to his side. Then, with a curt nod to Hermione, he brushed past her and began striding briskly towards the fireplaces where Ministry workers were Flooing in and out.

'Wait!' Hermione called out, reaching out a hand and grabbing Draco's forearm. He stopped and turned around slowly, raising a pale eyebrow at the arm Hermione had in her grip.

Hermione promptly let go of Draco, blushing furiously. 'I - er - thanks for picking up the slip for me,' she stammered. She had forgotten entirely what she had intended to ask him.

Draco shrugged and said blankly, 'Was that all you wanted to say to me?'

'No,' said Hermione, quickly searching her mind for a plausible excuse for stalling Draco. Then, a thought occurred to her. 'You're one of the Hit Wizards, aren't you?'

'Yes.'

'Well, do you know if your Head is in today? I need to retrieve the Bulstrode file; I left it there the other day so he could examine it.'

'I have it.'

'You do?' said Hermione, surprised. 'Can I have it?'

Draco surveyed Hermione stonily. Then, he reached into one of the pockets of his robes and extracted a neatly folded paper crane. 'Everything should be there.'

'A crane?' said Hermione, unable to keep the astonishment out of her voice. 'I never would've expected that you'd -'

'Is there anything you needed from me,' interrupted Draco, his voice cold, 'or is that all?'

Hermione bit her bottom lip. 'No,' she said weakly, 'that's all. Good day.'

'Good day to you as well.'

And with that, Draco swept past Hermione for the second time and began to make his way towards the fireplaces, this time undisturbed by Hermione.

---

When Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Harry returned to the Burrow from the Ministry later that evening, they were greeted with two surprises: Fred and George had returned home, and, even more shocking, with their new wives on their arms: Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet.

'Angelina, Alicia!' squealed Ginny, snatching her hand out of Harry's and running over to hug her older brothers' spouses. 'I had no idea!'

'We still don't,' said both of the Quidditch players in unison, grinning at each other. 'It's great to see all of you again,' added Angelina. 'How's Quidditch going for you, Harry?'

'I don't have much time to play,' Harry explained as he stepped forward to shake hands with both of his old teammates. 'Work takes up all my time.'

'Don't be silly, Harry!' exclaimed Alicia, rolling her eyes. She punched Fred lightly on the arm and said, 'Him and George don't have much time outside of work, but they still come practice with us every night.'

'Well, they'd have to, wouldn't they?' Ron piped up, letting go of Hermione's arm (sure enough, he had completely forgotten about their argument earlier that morning when Hermione returned with an armful of soup and sandwiches) and going over to join in the conversation. 'I mean, marrying two famous Quidditch players...Blimey, my brothers must be up to their ears.'

'We're still here, Ronniekins,' said George, mussing up his younger brother's hair. Ron let out a squeak of indignation at this and ducked away from his brother's reach. Fred and George grinned at each other at this.

The next hour or so was filled with playful discussion about the twin brothers' business, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

'It's been thriving ever since the end of the war,' said Fred eagerly. 'George and I have come up with loads of great new items with Alicia and Angelina's help. Of course, Harry, you can take as many as you want. We're only at the trial stages at the moment, though...'

'What about me?' Ron cut in indignantly.

'Ah, we'll see, little brother, we'll see...'

While everyone else was distracted by the conversation, Hermione quietly excused herself, saying that she had work to finish, and escaped to the soothing silence of her small attic bedroom.

Once Hermione was in the cool darkness of her bedroom, she sighed in relief and collapsed on her small bed. She had never approved of Fred and George's joke store, and the loud chatter about it downstairs was more than she could take at that moment. She wanted to be alone, and her room was the only place in the house she could think of at that moment to turn to.

With nothing else to do, Hermione turned on the single lamp dangling from the ceiling with a flick of her wand and pulled the Bulstrode file from her pocket. For a moment, she examined the crane shape Draco had charmed it into with great interest.

It was not uncommon for Ministry workers to charm records and letters into shapes. It was a simple spell, and it was used more often than not due to the fact that it helped distinguish files from one another and made them more convenient to carry around. Each wizard or witch had his or her own distinct shape. Hermione never would have dreamt that Draco's would be a crane.

Hermione rubbed her eyes tiredly before unfolding the paper crane and spreading out the stack of parchment that had been magically compressed into the shape of the bird. She picked up the top sheet and tried to focus on the tiny print, but instead found her mind drifting to other things: the conversation downstairs, her argument with Ron, her encounter with Draco...

As her thoughts unwillingly wandered towards the last of these, Hermione remembered the slip of paper he had picked up for her. With a jolt, she realised that she could start on her letter to pass the time.

The idea appealed to Hermione, so she put down the record she was holding, made a mental note to get back to it at a later time, and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a quill from one of the drawers in her bedside table.

Hermione settled herself in the most comfortable position she could find before laying out the parchment before her. For several minutes, she stared blankly into space as she tried to figure out how to start out her first letter.

At last, Hermione decided that she would write about herself. If she and this person were going to be pen pals for the next few months, it was best that he know everything about her before her second letter. Pleased with this decision, Hermione took her quill in hand, dipped it in the ink bottle, and began to write.

To my pen pal (well, okay, we're not quite pen pals but it's the best I could come up with),

I'm not exactly sure how to address you, seeing as all I know about you is your number. Unfortunately, I can't write it down, as tempting as it is. But in a way, not knowing who these words are being sent to is more thrilling and mysterious, don't you think? To make it easier on the both of us, though, maybe we could make up nicknames for ourselves, and we could use those to address each other. If you like this idea, feel free to come up with a name for yourself and send it to me in your next letter.

It took me a long time to decide what to write. I mean, there are so many things I want to tell you. I've never really had anyone whom I could tell all my secrets to. I've had diaries and journals, but it's different saying all of this to a real, live person. Different in a good way, that is. But after thinking for a long time, I decided that I would just tell you a little about myself, so you can get to know what kind of person I am.

I could write about my favourite things here, but that would be boring, so I'll cut the introductory techniques and just get right to it. Have you ever felt like you were hiding a part of yourself from the world because you were scared that no one would accept you if you showed that side? That's sort of how I feel. It's funny; the people I've known for eleven years think they can read me like a book, but they haven't even finished the cover page. Sometimes I wonder why it is that I'm so afraid of letting myself shine. There's nothing for me to be afraid of. Call me cocky, but I don't have a dark side, I don't have any skeletons in my closet. There is nothing about me that would repulse people, so why do I immerse myself in my work instead of spending my time having drinks with friends like every other normal person?

Maybe it's because I've always been more comfortable with paper, parchment, books, and quills, but right now, I'm not afraid to reveal a part of my hidden side. For instance, I'm a good person to confide in when you're having problems dealing with life or relationships. I suppose it's partly because of my ability to look at things in a logical way, but also because I have a way of understanding people when no one else does. I'm not like other people, always demanding answers. I observe until I'm sure I've seen everything there is to a situation or person.

Again, at the risk of sounding egotistical, I get along with everyone. Well, almost everyone. There is one person...I don't know him very well, even though I've known him ever since I studied at Hogwarts. I remember the first time I saw him, I disliked him immediately because I saw him bullying around some other students because of their blood. I'm a Muggle-born, you see, so it really hit me hard and it scared me that there would be people out there who'd attack me for what I was. As I grew to know this boy a little more, though, I began to pity him. He always acted like a jerk towards my friends and I, but it's not his fault; his parents, after all, raised him to be that way. I can almost understand why he's so rude to everyone, even if I don't like it. Nevertheless, he hates my kind, so I never attempted to befriend him ever since that first day I saw him.

As I look back on the last few paragraphs, I'm surprised I even wrote that. So far, this challenge is going easier than I initially expected it to. I thought it would be hard to tell a stranger secrets I can't even tell those close to me, but the words seem to be flowing out of my quill on their own accord. Maybe the Ministry is right...maybe this will help mend broken friendships between people. I can only hope it will.

Oh dear, time has flown by since I sat down and started this letter. It's already been over an hour. I think my boyfriend is calling me down to dinner, so I'll tell you one last random fact about me before ending this letter. When it snows, I love to sit on my windowsill and look out the window. Watching the flakes of snow drift through the air is so beautiful that I can't put it into words. It gives me a sense of serenity that is hard to find anywhere else in my busy life. Plus, there's something about snow that's just so romantic and dreamy, and I'm a very romantic person.

Now I have to end this, because I think someone is coming upstairs. I'm sorry about this first letter being so short. Please write back as soon as you have the time to. I look forward to reading your letter.

Sincerely, your pen pal (I'm still thinking of a name)