Nox

"Now there's a look in your eyes
Like black holes in the sky
Shine on, you crazy diamond
You were caught in the crossfire
Of childhood and stardom,
Blown on the steel breeze. . ."

—Pink Floyd, "Shine On, You Crazy Diamond"

Chapter Five - Underministers

    People dressed up to go to the Honeycomb, or Long Room, because that was what was polite. The true purpose of the place was for the leaders of the Magical world to meet and discuss important politics, much like the Muggle NATO and UN. It had been established in Geneva, Switzerland as a place for the European Ministries to discuss the state of things shortly after the outbreak of the Second Voldemort War in 1998. It caught on marvellously, until Death Eaters destroyed it in 1999. There was the main hall, where the seminar would be that day, and the actual Honeycomb of the Unspeakables in the subbasement. They were each the same length and narrow width, but the Honeycomb's walls curved convexly, and it was far more lavishly decorated. On the only above-ground floor was a similar room where the American Burgesses met to discuss their country's state.

    The Underministers, as the foreign dignitaries called the British former Unspeakables who were now in charge of Wizarding Britain, were divided into six pairs. The top pair was the team of Harry and Draco, Underministers for Justice and Happiness. Padma Patil and Ron were directly under them as Underministers for Regeneration and Destruction. Each pair was made up of an Underminister in charge of equal and complimentary but completely opposite extremes. Other pairs were for Anarchy and Order, Health and Defense, Ambition and Loyalty, and Intelligence and Courage. Harry Potter, as Underminister for Justice, was the top man on the totem pole. Unfortunately, despite his title, there was precious little justice in his ruling. There had been six Underministers for Ambition and four for Order since the collapse of the Ministry of Magic, all because Harry had decided he didn't like the witches and wizards who held those positions and sent them on suicide missions. Draco, as Underminister for Happiness, was the man who stood in front of reporters and told them everything was going to be alright, even when it wasn't. He was the gloss man and basically the press whore. He was also in charge of the overall welfare of the British Magical populous, which was on quaking ground after the end of the War and the Fall of Voldemort. He probably had the most duties of any of the Underministers.

    That November week, in the cool of mid-morning, dignitaries from all over Europe, as well as the twelve Underministers, and several witnesses, gathered in the huge hall under the ground. Six Hogwartian Great Halls could have fit inside that cavern. Near one white-plastered wall was a long, polished oak table. The chairs around its flanks were also made of oak, with tall, proud ladder-backs and heavenly pale blue silk cushions (with liberal Comfort Charms). There were banners and paintings hanging on all of the vast walls, all carrying the theme of white, pale blue, lavender, and cotton candy pink. The cavern was very light, but the light had no discernable source, other than perhaps filtering up through the opaque white glass floors. Much different was the gothic stylings and dark colour scheme of the Honeycomb below.

    The witches present were mainly dressed much like Hermione Granger was. Hermione herself thought she looked like a trumpeter lily, with a form-fitting white dress of fine silk that ended in a very elegant flared bell around her ankles. Her hair was piled on top of her head and woven through with gold threads, making it sparkle. The neckline of her dress dipped from the sleeveless shoulders down to the spot just above the cleft of her breasts, and then back up to the other shoulder. The back did the same, only dipping a bit farther down. A golden cord was wrapped around her waist twice and then tied at her hip as a belt, hanging down elegantly in the form of tassels. Her skin was bronzed-like. Draco told her she looked like some elaborate Greek goddess. But despite the immaculate golden eye makeup accentuating her eyes, the brown of them still looked flat and void. He was dressed in more understated robes of the highest grade pewter silk. The centre of his lower lip was pierced, and the platinum ring he was wearing had a diamond on it. She knew he hadn't worn the ring during the rest of the week she'd been with him.

    They entered together, but detached, not daring to touch one another after what he'd seen of her crying in the bathroom back in the hotel room. As Underminister for Happiness, he was expected to talk on the behalf of the Unspeakables, which was a speech he was in no mood to give. He had grown disillusioned about what was going on in England after meeting up with Hermione. All he wanted was to go home to the Manor and interrogate the shit out of Katie, to get a confession so he and Harry could put the girl in the dankest, most wretched cubby-hole they could find in the deepest bowels of the ruins of Azkaban, and formally pardon Hermione to the British people. He personally didn't see the problem with the government the Unspeakables had going, but evidently the snobbish Americans who thought they could always solve everything simply by shoving their noses into the business of other nations did and were shoving their American noses in the British business again.

    They took seats Across from Padma and Penelope Clearwater, Underministers for Regeneration and Intelligence respectively, were seated. Draco sat between Hermione and the empty chair near the middle of the table where he assumed Harry would be sitting. Padma and Penelope, a witch who Draco had long ago written off as a no-personality wet mop, were seated across from them, Padma beside a vacant seat where Ron would sit, and Penelope's partner, Viktor Krum, was seated beside her, as British Underminister for Courage. Padma glanced from Hermione to Draco, and back and forth before she said, "So, Malf, got a new girl?"

    Draco gave her a tight-lipped smile. "Nope. She's just here with me because I finally found her and Katie's in a dungeon in England."

    Penelope raised her eyebrows. "Hermione Granger, I presume?" she asked. Even her voice was static and plain, with a touch of derision. Hermione raised one eyebrow at her and smirked, making a small snorting noise in her throat.

    Padma, however, squealed. "Is it really you, Mione?" she asked, leaning forward, her eyes large and hopeful. Hermione nodded curtly, tossing another glare towards Penelope who tossed a piece of curly brown hair over her red shoulder-padded shoulder. She pursed her lips and turned to talk to the woman who was on Krum's other side.

    "Herm-own-ninny?" he asked, calling her by the same, familiar nickname he had since he had mastered pronouncing 'Hermione' correctly in her Fifth Year. For some reason the name had stayed even though he could actually pronounce her name.

    For one of the first times since she had joined Draco, Hermione's face broke out of the cemented mask of gravity and into a true grin. "Oh, Viktor, it's wonderful to see you again." Realizing her previous rudeness, she turned to Padma. "And you, too, Ravenclaw."

    Relieved, Padma smiled, "Right back at 'cha, Gryffindor." Padma stood up and smoothed her black velvet dress out over her abdomen and hips. She was probably about six months pregnant. Hermione raised her eyebrows questioningly, and Padma grinned again, presenting her left hand, where there was a yellow gold ring with a diamond on it the size of a pea. "Ron and I are married. Didn't Malf here tell you?"

    Draco raised the index finger of his right hand from the table and pointed at Padma with narrowed eyes. "No, I didn't tell her because the subject of Ron never came up."

    "Yes, because all you talk about is Harry," Hermione snapped. "I wouldn't be surprised at this point if there was some secret anal liaison between those two. I must say, it does sound intriguing if it's there. . .what with you two being Underministers for Happiness and Justice."

    Padma and Krum dissolved into peals of laughter at Hermione's blunt statement. Even Penelope chuckled a bit, though when Hermione looked at her, she made her face stoic. Draco sat there, his jaw lowered in outrage.

    "I resent that!"

    "Very vell," said Krum dismissively. "Ve vill stop." Padma, Hermione and he shared a look and dissolved again. Finally, Hermione glanced at Draco, and stopped, sensing his agitation. That was one beast she didn't especially want to fuck with. Without a wand anyway.

    The doors at the end of the room opened and in walked two forms in long black dusters over spiffy-looking robes. Hermione sank down in her seat. Draco subconsciously leaned somewhat towards her and away from the vacant chair next to him. Padma jumped out of her seat and threw her arms around her husband, who hugged her back. Hermione was overjoyed at the love on his face. Ron, above anyone, deserved to be happy, in her opinion. But then again, he'd stood there silently as Harry accused and convicted her of murder of all things. Blood before friendships, she supposed, because Ginny was the one dead, but shouldn't Ron have been her prosecutor if that was the case, and not Harry? Hermione tore her eyes away from the embracing couple, and towards Draco. Her breath caught in her throat uncomfortably when she noticed Harry was standing behind his chair and was socializing with a wizard two chairs to his other side.

    Padma pulled back from Ron and a look of disposition crossed her face, which Ron picked up on. She jerked her head a little across the table, and Ron looked over. "Oh, 'lo Malf," he said. Padma closed her eyes and opened them again. Draco cleared his throat, and Hermione refused to look up.

    "HOLY FUCK!" Ron screeched, making half the people in the Room turn and look at him. He just stared at the girl sitting beside Draco in something like shock. Then he dropped onto his chair, looking limp. Harry glanced away from his conversation with the Argentine wizard at Ron. Ron looked utterly shattered, completely and absolutely shattered. In all of two seconds, his grey eyes turned a septic shade of blue, clearly overridden with guilt and remorse. Hermione's lips twitched into a small smile.

    "Hello," she said in a shaky, uncertain voice, sounding like a peace offering. Ron just stared at her. Padma and the Underministers for Intelligence and Courage looked at one another uneasily.

    As Hermione and Ron stared at each other, saying too much without saying a thing, Harry abruptly ended his conversation with the Argentine and leaned over to whisper, "Why'd you bring her?" in Draco's ear.

    "I was supposed to do what else with her?" Draco replied. "Now shut up." Harry looked mutinous, but listened for once.

    "I've missed you," Hermione said.

    Ron took in a breath sharply. "How could you miss me?" he asked incredulously. "After I just stood there?"

    She shrugged. "I don't know." Perhaps it was the years of being a second-class citizen, but Hermione had realized she couldn't carry around the baggage her past had dumped on her, and she'd let go of a lot of things a person outside her situation might have held on to with both hands. But then again, sanity and love are like sand; the tighter you hold onto them, the faster they slip between your fingers, but if you only hold them loosely, they're yours forever. She forgave Ron, just as she didn't Harry. In her mind, she knew Ron hadn't done anything. However, doing nothing is also a choice. More often than not, that choice has worse consequences than its alternatives, as with Hermione's instance. "But I forgive you. Isn't that enough?"

    Ron looked torn. "I don't know if I can accept your apology, after I was such a stupid prick back then. I've beat myself up so often the past seven years because of my route of action, my soul must be scarred from bruising. Mione, I'm so fucking sorry it's not even funny."    

    Hermione looked very serious all of a sudden, through tears that were forming against her will. "Apologies are never funny, Ron. Ever. . . okay, so I take that back. Some are." She reached out towards him, and he took her hand.

    "But how can you forgive me?" he asked, searching her eyes. He was struck, as was everyone else who met her, by the apathy in them. It crashed over him like a tidal wave, crushing him with its significance.

    In that moment as they sat, hands linked, nobody else existed. Not Harry, who looked hung over and incredibly sad; not Draco in his perpetual state of haughty blamelessness; not even six-month pregnant Padma. Padma herself watched Ron and Hermione's exchange and suddenly felt she came as a second choice when the first was made unavailable. Second choice to a Muggleborn who lost her wand privileges. Even for her intelligence, Padma knew if Hermione stayed in Ron's world, Padma and his own child would be forgotten in the undertow below the glorious crest of Hermione fucking Granger and her perfection and virtue. But Padma was never one to be jealous, so she swallowed it down and bottled it up inside. She labelled it 'contents under pressure' and set it on the back of a shelf full of other hazardous materials in the back of her mind. A single spark would ignite them, would make her snap, but that was the least of Padma's worries.

    Then the moment ended, abruptly broken by Draco clearing his throat. Hermione shook her head and retracted her hand almost violently, flicking her eyes towards Padma (whose lips seemed to have disappeared into her mouth) before dropping her gaze to her hands folded in her lap.

    The seat to her right, having previously been unoccupied, was suddenly filled when a beefy man with sandy-brown hair sat down and said his hellos to the others sitting around Hermione. "'Ello, Ron. Maggie wants you to owl her when you get home. Padma, Nell, Viktor. Oh, Draco. . .an owl from your mum came to your office. Doesn't she know you're on this side of the pond? Potter, your girlfriend left a message on my machine for you to call her. I know you carry a phone. And I am not a secretary, I'm Underminister for Loyalty. Fuck you if you can't hire one." His accent was faintly Irish.

    Draco laughed, a most unexpected reaction, even to the muscular man beside Hermione, who appeared to be quite a jokester judging by his eyes. "Well, then you'd better lube up, Finnigan, because I'm not hiring a secretary," he said promptly.

    The sandy-haired man, who was surely Seamus Finnigan from Hermione's own Hogwarts year, wrinkled his nose and drew back. He hadn't expected that reaction, either. "Eh-huh. No." He rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "Oh, hello," he said, noticing Hermione sitting beside him. "I'm Seamus Finnigan, Underminister for Loyalty. I see you're here with this immature wanker. Have you no self-respect?"

    Hermione grinned, in spite herself. "I know," she agreed. "But I assure you, it's only for sex."     As soon as she'd said it, she regretted it, "But we haven't. . . you know. . ." she tried to cover.

    "Oh, come on," said Draco lowly, setting a hand on her arm in mock reprimand.

    Hermione, fuming at his constant fucking arrogance, turned back to Seamus, who looked marginally confused. "I'm Hermione Granger, but I think we've been introduced before, don't you, Seamus?" She finished sweetly, showing teeth with her smile. All the muscles from the tip of Seamus' head to his toes tensed up. She was clearly revelling the discomfort simply introducing herself caused, the sadistic bitch, Draco thought. She was glowing, she was enjoying it so much. Then again, the glowing part might have just been the film of glitter she was coated with. Most of the witches in the Long Room were dressed as elaborately as she was, Penelope and Padma being the exceptions. Many of the wizards were, too.

    Hermione's radiance, however, seemed to shine even when she was at her lowest. Even the night Draco had picked her up, on the cracked streetlamp-lit street behind a barred-window souvenir show selling fake Oakleys and Washington Memorial shot glasses, she had seemed luminous in her own way. Maybe that was what possessed him to pull over and rescue her, but he didn't even know himself. That was it. There was just something about Hermione Granger.

    She leaned towards him as Ron and Padma spoke in low voices, Padma looking just this side of pissed, and whispered, "What's become of my parents?"

    "Um. . ." he trailed off, scooting his chair somewhat away from her out of nervousness in the present situation. She hadn't seen him nervous like that yet that week, and she adored it. He looked vulnerable, and that was definitely his colour; all his defences made him look horribly grey. "This isn't really the time for me to tell you, and I'm not really the person who should tell you."

    Hermione snorted. "They're dead, aren't they? It's okay, I don't care. They disowned me. They sent me to America with a hundred thousand pounds and told me never to come back. I didn't." Draco was taken aback at her statement. How could she be so utterly flippant?

    "Hermione," said Padma shakily, "are you all right?" Her face was the colour of week-old porridge.

    "Why wouldn't I be?" Hermione snapped. "Seriously," she repeated, looking around at all of their faces, "why wouldn't I be? It isn't as though they've done a whole lot for me since my exile, right?"

    Harry nodded curtly and sat down beside Draco, signalling the end of the conversation and the start of the meeting. Hermione swallowed her anxiety, and Draco rubbed his temples with the tips of his index fingers in an attempt at relief from the throbbing behind his eardrums.