Truth Is

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"Truth Is"

(Chapter 2)

     "Rodion, please get me some coffee and tell me when the Minister arrives," Hermione said as her Russian assistant placed an armload of files on her desk.

       Hermione was Britain's International Confederation of Wizards Negotiations specialist, she had taken the job right after the war and had experienced a level of success that many before her had not. She enjoyed her job, especially some of the places it sent her, there was nothing more enjoyable to her than to try to decipher some of the double meanings behind the memos sent by top diplomats.

       However, now that the former Minister Pro Tempe, who had been Minister ever since the arrest of Cornelius Fudge, had resigned due to health complications, she had to deal with the newly elected Minister of Magic. Which meant that he had to be, thoroughly, briefed on every aspect of her job. How could you negotiate with International Diplomats, on Britain's behalf, without the Minister of Magic?

       Hermione had been deep in thought when Rodion returned with a mug of steaming hot coffee. He handed it to her silently and placed another file atop the file that he had previously delivered. She frowned, asking, "What is that?"

       "The results from the Brazilian primary," he replied quickly, as he bit his lip and proceeded to open the blinds in her spacious office.

       Hermione looked down at the manilla file with a wary eye. "I don't want to handle that, send it to the Minister's office. I told his cabinet member, Frederick Bletchly, Blotchly or something, that I was totally against getting involved with such a volatile Wizarding community."

       "I'm two steps ahead of you, Miss Granger," Rodion retorted quickly, his faint accent kicking in with the pronunciation of her name, "but they sent it back, something about the Minister wanting you to handle it personally."

       Hermione sat back in her chair slowly, a thoughtful frown twisting her features, as her finger tapped softly on her bottom lip. "That bastard!"

       Rodion's eyes widened in something between horror and surprise, he had never heard her address anyone so harshly before. "Who is a bastard, Miss Granger?"

       "The first foreign Minister of Magic in England, the youngest Minister of Magic in 150 years, that's who!" she answered loudly, her brown eyes were ablaze with some murderous emotion that had Rodion eager to flee.

       "I don't understand? I know that there is a difference of opinion here but I don't understand the name-calling," he questioned as her gaze softened and she ran her fingers through her hair.

       "We have a long and extensive history," Hermione began, "but he's making brazen suggestions at spending more time together than I’d ever opt for."

       "It can't be that bad," said Rodion good-naturedly, trying to persuade her to engage in a better mind set about the situation.

       "It's worse," she sighed, closing her eyes as she felt the onset of a huge migraine, "much, much, worse."

~*~

       "So," began Draco Malfoy as he sat in the leather chair in front of his friend's desk, "how do those stats look, from Brazil?"

       "I don't know," replied Blaise as he stood in front of a small mirror, buttoning a cufflink, "I wouldn't let anyone open them before I sent them to the ICW."

       "You know she's going to fight you tooth and nail, don't you? She was -- if I may say so myself -- a formidable opponent," Draco replied, watching the small smirk appear on Blaise's face.

       "I don't care how she fights," Blaise retorted, as he sat behind his desk with a satisfied sigh, "I want her to work with me, she could be a great asset to my administration, whether she wants to or not."

       "I think I can safely answer for her here, I don't think she's going to want to," Draco grinned, as Blaise flipped through the parchment on his desk. "I wonder how Miss Carrington is going to react to this little revelation?"

       Blaise glared at his blonde friend. "Draco, let me disabuse you of any romantically ignorant notion in your head. I don't harbor any feelings for Hermione, I just know that I couldn't do any better."

       "If you asked Victoria you could do a lot worse," Draco baited, throwing Blaise a smirk that only he could create.

       "Let's just say, Draco," Blaise answered quickly, as he signed a scroll, "that Victoria has no say in my business decisions."

       "Fletchly, says she disagrees with getting involved Brazil. She thinks their government, at the moment, is too volatile to get involved with and here you are jumping head first into a relationship with the country," Draco said as he propped his feet up on Blaise's desk, waiting for the appropriate outburst from other man.

       "Well, Fletchly shouldn't care what she has to say on that! She's not the Head of Liaisons for the Ministry of Magic. He is!" bellowed Blaise, he began to feel the effects of Draco's constant baiting, as he threw his Quill on the desk, splattering the parchment with little puddles of ink.

       Draco smirked, holding back a hearty laugh. "Still, weren't you just saying how she would be a great asset to your team?"

       "Damn you, Draco," he growled as his secretary came in to pick up the papers he'd signed, "but the fact that Fletchly is considering her words shows what an asset she really is."

       "Makes you wish you didn't have such a keen interest in liaisons a couple of years ago, huh?" Draco teased, finally letting go of the laughter that he'd been holding back. He had spent his entire childhood -- or at least his years at Hogwarts -- teasing and baiting his best friend like that and as they got older it seemed to get easier and more enjoyable.

       "Draco don't you have a job to go to?" Blaise asked exasperated, knowing that being an investor meant that Draco could show up at his office whenever but that knowledge didn't relieve his yearning for his friend to leave.

~*~

       "Miss Granger," Blaise countered, even more tired now than he had been when he been orally sparing with Draco earlier, "I beg you to think over your decision. There is no denying how important this could be!"

       "Look," she said, in a tone that implied that she had long ago lost her patience, "I'm going to try a technique that I'm sure you know little of, honesty. I don't want to get involved with this because it would mean working closely with your administration -- which I'm sure you already know -- for the duration of your term and I'm not prepared to be that involved with you."

       "Miss -- Hermione, I'm begging you," he pleaded softly, as her brown eyes looked away from him and he was flooded with memories of things he hadn’t remembered in years.

       "I can't," Hermione answered decisively, as Rodion entered the office with a small envelope. "Who is that from?"

       Rodion handed her the envelope quickly, answering, "It came on the St. Mungo's official owl, it requires an immediate answer."

       Hermione raised an eyebrow as she looked questionably at Rodion, saying, "Excuse me, Minister Zabini, I believe this is urgent."

       "That's quite all right," Blaise replied, watching her open the envelope, and sat back in his chair watching her eyes sweep across the page in some unseen emotion.

       Hermione opened the letter and forced back a smile as familiar handwriting met her eyes. It was a rare occasion that Ian ever contacted her at work, well, either of them rarely had the time. She had to reel her mind back to the letter as she started to drift off into thought about the evening she had the night before, Ian was about the most gracious lover a woman could have and she wasn't shy about admitting it.

       Liebe,

                      Darling, I'm quite obliged to offer my apologies on interrupting you, for I am aware on the magnitude of your day to day. On which I do offer my wishes of luck, I'm quite sure you need them. I took time from father's babbling to extend an invitation to dinner tonight to celebrate the pending celebration of our anniversary. What celebration, I'm sure you are asking. Well, that's what dinner is for, darling, because I have come up with an ingenious idea. An idea that I will present over a candlelit dinner at Mother's favorite Russian restaurant, Dostoyevsky's. I will arrive at your flat approximately at 8:15 tonight. I am impatiently awaiting our meeting and the vision of you before my eyes once more.

       All my Love,

             Mr. W. I. Knight IV

       "Rodion," Hermione began, her tone almost indifferent, as she folded the letter and sat it in the top drawer of her desk, "send a reply, I don't think I need to dictate to you what to say to the sender."

       "Yes, Ma'am," Rodion replied as he took leave of her. On the rare occasions that the two did communicate while in the office Hermione usually never said anymore than that she was happy to attend, for it was usually nothing more than a dinner invitation.

       "Is everything going all right with Mungo's?" Blaise asked with an inquiring air, as Rodion closed the door behind him softly.

       "Fine," she replied curtly, looking back into in his alluring eyes, "great, actually."

       "It's been a long time since we've seen each other," he remarked, suddenly. They had been in that office for an hour and a half and he hadn't tried to speak to her in any other way than as a professional, he didn't know where this sudden urge had come from.

       "Don't try me with your small talk," Hermione snapped, as she threw a folder at him, he barely caught it, "it's been far too long since there was anything between us to talk about."

       Blaise sat up in his chair, sitting the folder in his lap, stared her in the eyes, and whispered, "Don't you think there is still something between us?"

       "No," she answered as she stood up and walked toward the window, determined to put a little space between them.

       "Are you sure?" Blaise asked, surprising even himself at the brazen attitude he had taken.

       Hermione stiffened as he approached her, she found her voice suddenly and turned to him, anger a blaze in her eyes. "You know, I do wish there was something between us -- a continent!"

       "Hermione," he whispered, reaching a hand out to touch her, which she swatted away, "there is this huge, beautiful, history between us that we cannot ignore. If we try, it will hinder us professionally and personally."

       "I think you ignored it some years ago," she snapped as she walked back to her desk, brushing her hair away from her face quickly, "and I don't think it will hinder my personal life."

      "Hermione," Blaise began, leaning on her desk, his eyes pleading with her to stop and listen to him, "please try to understand --"

      Hermione interrupted him suddenly, her eyes telling him that his attempts were more than futile. "Is this some attempt at an apology that is three years too late?"

      "I don't know, Hermione," he replied, with a sigh as he turned his back and sat on the side of her desk, crossing his arms over his chest, "I don't know."

       Hermione resigned herself to sitting in her chair, looking at his back for a moment, before she spoke softly, "Well, if so I wish you would forget it, I don’t need it nor do I want it. Now, if you would just open that folder you will find that I agreed to work with you, I know that's what you wanted."

       "That's not what I wanted to hear, Hermione," Blaise replied, looking down at the folder that had fell to the floor when he had stood unexpectedly.

       "I wish you would leave," she whispered suddenly, running her fingers through her hair with a sigh.

       "Hermione --" he began, turning half his torso so he could look at her, but she interrupted him before he could get an entire thought out.

       "Blaise," Hermione said as she interrupted him, her eyes begging him to just do as she asked, "I've come to realize how things that you expected to work out don't and you've just got to deal with the facts, everything doesn't work out, it's a funny twist to life sometimes. Shit happens and you have to move on."

       Blaise stood, used his wand to send the folder to his office and walked toward the door, and saying soberly, "I would like very much if you would agree to meet my cabinet sometime this week, I'm sure there is something interesting that we could all discuss."

       "Fine," she replied as she rose to show him out of her office, "just have your secretary contact Rodion, I'm sure they will find some space in both our schedules."

       "Good," he said, simply, looking down at the woman that even now had an effect on him. Hermione looked away, trying to avoid his eyes and the way he made her feel.

       "Good," she mimicked softly, as she watched him walk out the door, sighing loudly as he shut the door behind him.

~*~

       "Is it possible, for our wedding, we could invite the entire Wizarding world? Maybe have American and Britain traditions, something along the lines of a taste of both worlds? What do you think?" Victoria rambled excitedly as she leaned on his desk, her.

       Blaise had arrived back at his office in less than amiable spirits, she had agreed to work with him but he couldn't get her out of his mind. After he had walked out on her he had pledged that all of the feelings, that he had once felt so openly and honestly for her, were gone and obsolete. Yet now that they were interacting so closely he was plagued the vision of her that rainy night, three years before, and he wasn’t so sure about his pledge.

       When he had left that day he had rearranged his life so he would not run into her more than a few times a year. However, when he began his bid for Minister, the thoughts of her became more frequent. Then he had overcome the controversy over his heritage -- with a statement made by the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation saying that even considering it a problem was violating the Wizard of Code of Ethnic Equality -- he had his first sight of her that lasted more than ten minutes. His entire thought process had been clearly skewed since then, everyone could see it, even Victoria, although she'd never admit it.

       "I think it's a bit much, Victoria," he answered plainly as he continued to read a memo from the Department of Mysteries.

       She frowned, her blood red suit fitting at all the right places as she leaned over to touch his hand, affectionately. "Don't you want me to be happy, Blaise, darling?"

       "Darling," Blaise replied, his blue eyes finally looking up at the fair skinned blonde, "I thought you were happy, you're marrying me."

       "Oh, stop being so arrogant," Victoria whined, looking down at the battered looking piece of parchment with a wary eye, "my happiness also depends on how well this wedding goes over."

       "I do not doubt that," Blaise mumbled, as he looked back at the memo before him.

       Victoria ignored his sarcasm as she looked toward the window with glazed eyes. "It will be the wedding of the year, no the decade -- no, that won't do -- it'll have to be the century! Daddy always told me the sky was the limit and not I truly understand, don't you see, Blaise, dear?"

       "Yea," he mumbled as he fingered through a scroll from a cabinet member, "I wish you would understand that my back account is now the limit."

       "What darling?" she cooed questioningly, turning to glance at him, her eyes speaking nothing that was unsaid between them.

       "Nothing," Blaise denied, with a pained smile, "I was just agreeing with you."

       "Aren't you tired of those endless memorandums?" Victoria whined, as she made her way over to Blaise to place her dainty hands on his shoulders.

       Blaise had found the endless barraged of papers an excuse to keep his mind off the past. The meeting with Hermione had not been completely worthless but it did nothing more than bang his heart against guilt's door. He looked at Victoria, getting a whiff of her expensive perfume, his eyes couldn't see past the outside of her perfect features and long, silky, blond hair. He wondered where was the substance that filled most women's eyes, the longing of motherhood, the endless ambition, the blind compassion, and the ambivalent emotion of the women he grew-up admiring. Victoria was nothing short of magnificent, on the outside, but where were the things that they were to build their relationship on? Blaise pondered this for a moment before placing his hand atop hers as it rested upon his shoulder for he had no answer for his questions and in his sub-conscience he realized that there were no answers, only questions.