Harry Potter 1. We Will Prevail

_Chapter __One_  
**We Will Prevail**

Cold; mind-numbing; finger-freezing cold, there really wasn't any other way to describe it. Clad in four layers of cotton and wool Hermione still could feel the bitter sting of wind against her skin. Nobody likes winter anyways, she thought resentfully. However, despite her sour thoughts Hermione knew she wouldn't have missed this moment for the world. In a few minutes time, before her and the thousands of others that had braved winter's harsh breath, she would be witnessing the man who they put their best of faith in—Tom Marvolo Riddle. The man was progressive, he was charming, suave, he was everything the Wizarding community needed in a leader._ He was a genius._

Tom Marvolo Riddle was orphaned as a boy after the unfortunate death of his mother and the abandonment of his muggle father. From there, he soon began his schooling at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where he excelled in all subjects. Riddle was a natural born leader and was subsequently named Head Boy. He graduated with top marks and thereafter immersed himself in auror training, eventually becoming politically active. This was the man who held the fate of the Wizarding World in his hands. After the failed policies of the former Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, half-bloods and purebloods alike were ready for a change.

The crowd gathered today pushed 15,000 and hundreds of thousands of wizards and witches stood near their radios listening from all corners of the world. Hermione surveyed the crowd. There truly was a collection of wizards and witches of all sizes, ages, and ethnicities. Though many came in groups, Hermione attended the event alone. Harry and Ron had opted out in order to attend a minor league Quidditch game, intending to glean tidbits of the speech off of Hermione later on. But she didn't mind. Their appreciation of intellectual triumphs had never been particularly high, and in all honesty Hermione could concentrate better without the two of them bickering by her side.

As she regarded the many faces around her, Hermione reassured herself that she was doing the right thing. Riddle was the movement, and almost everyone was behind him. But, there always were a few radicals when it came to politics, and Tom Riddle was no exception. Some thought that Riddle was brutal; cruel; and calculating, and that The Daily Prophet never bothered to dredge deep into his past. In their opinion, the media glorified him as a hero, a saviour. They criticized others for being led on by the press, and while Hermione knew some of those things were true, however she believed herself too smart of a witch to acutally be fooled by media ideology.

So what that the public really didn't know anything about Tom Riddle's past except for the fact that he was an exceptional student? Does his past really matter? Hermione had always thought that the in depth critique of public figures and their personal lives was unnecessary and intrusive. Their authenticity and their policies were what was important—not who they were climbing under the sheets with. And rest assured, that Tom Riddle was the definition of genuine, Hermione knew that for a fact.

A sudden hush fell over the crowd. The electricity in the air was palpable and the excitement was contagious. Hermione felt a wave of giddiness wash over her, seemingly drowning out the chill in her bones. Riddle was coming up to speak. Her idol and hero, this was the type of man that could change history at his mere whim. This was the type of person she wanted to be—inspirational, strong, intelligent, witty, and charming; someone who could rewrite the history books. He was perfect.

Her eyes followed him as he walked towards the elevated stage. She had to admit, he was handsome, though considerably older than her sixteen years at his thirty-six. His features were traditionally handsome, and though she could hardly see him from his position on the stage, she remembered his aristocratic facial structure and thick brown locks. Her breath hitched as he took his place and addressed the crowd. his voice fluid and smooth like a perfect draught of Felix Felicis.

"Hello wizards, witches of Britain and beyond; I am here today to humbly accept the nomination for Minister of Magic."

He paused slightly, and continued, "I am profoundly honored by this appointment. Many of you know of me as a reformer, a fresh face among a sea of familiar, though some might call me an extremist, I would personally refer to myself as a revolutionist. Britain, revolution has come."

Hermione watched his face, alive with passion as he addressed the crowd. "In the past few years there has been nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat. Before us, is an ordeal of the most grievous kind. We have before us many, many long months of struggle and of suffering.* I know for a fact that every Wizarding family, pureblood, half-blood, half-breed, muggle-born alike, has suffered in these past months. The going, I realize, has been tough."

"However, I believe we possess all the resources and talents necessary to overcome the struggles we've faced recently. I have examined where we are strong and where we are not, where we may succeed and where we may not.** Have faith, in the end we will prevail!" Riddle's voice rose in triumph.

"We will prevail!" A group of young wizards chanted towards the podium where Riddle stood, and a flicker of a smile glinted over his face before he continued.

"It is now, that I am in this position to lead that I ask of you all to walk with me down this path to the future—to trust my lead and brave the storm ahead. Mass reform must begin as soon as possible. I intend to change the way this country is run from the bottom up. Times might become harsher, crueler, and the way out may seemingly disappear. But I ask of you, have faith, in the end we will prevail."

Pausing, Riddle surveyed the crowd once more, "So, people of Britain, please, trust my path and I will not fail you. Rest assured that I will not let you fall, if you stumble, I will catch you. If you jump, I will jump with you."

His voice raised to where he was almost shouting, and his jaw was set in an expression of determination and hope. "Allow me your confidence and faith in the reforms of which I speak, and in the end, we will prevail! I hope you all will join me in the coming months and align yourselves with my cause, with the direction I hope to lead Britain toward. Place your trust in me, and I assure you, we will prevail! We will prevail! Thank you, thank you very much!"

With a few waves to the crowd Riddle retreated from the stage and seemingly disappeared into thing air. No doubt apparating to the Ministry headquarters for some peace and quiet.

"WE WILL PREVAIL! WE WILL PREVAIL!" Echoed the crowd as zealots began cheering and general elated pandemonium erupted.

Yes, Hermione was confident in her choice. This was the man would get them out of these hard times. Those that didn't believe in him, well, they were fools. Among the uproar of the throng, she knew she was not alone in her faith; and a grin spread across her face as her thoughts echoed the chanting of the crowd, _we will prevail_.  


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* Winston Churchill, May 13, 1940  
**President John F. Kennedy, May 25, 1961

Any suggestions or thoughts? Was it enjoyable, despicable? All feedback is appreciated!

Thank you _darkladyofslytherin _for editing. You're a miracle, Len, an absolute miracle! (:

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January 20, 2062


	2. Golden Age

_Chapter 2._  
**Golden Age

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March 1, 2067  
_  
Happy Birthday to you,  
Happy Birthday to you,  
Happy Birthday, dear Ron,  
Happy Birthday to you._

"Blow out the candles now, Ron! Take a deep breath and—"

"Blimey Hermione, it's not as if I haven't done this before." Ron rolled his eyes, muttering as he bent his head forward to the cake. Twenty-one candles twinkled out, trailing dainty wisps of smoke towards the ceiling as Ron silently made his wish. Hermione watched his content face and smiled to herself, happy that everyone had managed to arrive in time for Ron's birthday party.

Particularly difficult times had befallen the Weasleys earlier, who, though pureblood, weren't especially known for their wealth. Now that the economy had finally re-stabilized itself, more time could be spent with family rather than working overtime. Even Charlie was able to floo to the Burrow, arriving just in time for cake.

"Ronald, old boy, we weren't sure if you had enough breath in you!" George chuckled good-naturedly, clapping Ron solidly on the back.

Fred quipped after his twin, "Getting old are we now? I suppose it's a good thing those wind pipes haven't failed you yet! What did you wish for, Ronnie dear?"

Ron sidestepped yet another smack to his sore backside as he grumbled cantankerously. "Sod off you two. Isn't there some hole that you two can crawl into and die?"

Hermione shared a sidelong glance with Harry at this. Typical Ron, and typical of the twins as well, life at the Burrow had officially returned to normal, and things were essentially perfect now. Mr. Weasley had finally gotten a well-deserved promotion last month, and by the looks of things he might be able to retire within five years, sooner if Ron and Ginny were able to find jobs within the year.

"Oh, Ronald, the only hole we'd be climbing into is yours." Fred remarked as he swiped some frosting off the cake.

"And trust me that would be a right nasty thing for the both of us."

"Couldn't agree with you more, George," Fred chirped as he dodged and ducked a wild punch thrown by Ron. "We all know how tetchy Ron can get; he doesn't need one of us crawling up his ass when he's probably got a whole graveyard up there."

"You know Fred, I bet Ron's got a hippogriff in there. That's why he's so belligerent." George nodded, stroking an imaginary beard thoughtfully. "The question is, Ron, how did you get one of those up there? Did you sit on one?"

"You two should just go—"

"Ronald Weasley! You watch what comes out of that mouth of yours young man!"

"But Mum—"

"Oh, don't you 'But Mum' me mister. You might be far from my influence now, but in my house you still follow my rules." Mrs. Weasley huffed, one had at her waist, the other brandishing a cutting knife franticly in the air.

"Honestly Ronald," Fred sighed pretentiously as he made another move towards the cake, if only to be cut off by Mrs. Weasley, equipped with the knife.

"You really should act more mature." George continued as he brazenly attempted to begin cutting the cake with his wand.

"You two!" Mrs. Weasley fumed frustratedly as she set down the knife, instead taking out her wand, and furiously began to cut the cake up into slices. "Sit! Not another peep from any of you until this cake is cut and Ron has had a piece!"

Hermione's eyes followed Mrs. Weasley's actions, taking in the little things, like how the lines on her face seemed less prominent, how the gray speckles in her ginger hair were now noticeably fewer. These seemingly miniscule details proved that times were now good at the Burrow; Hermione was happy for them.

Though her own job hunt had yet to be successful, Hermione knew that in the end she would land the perfect vocation. It wasn't that she didn't get offers. No, a witch of her caliber, her intelligence, graduating at the top of her class, she was bound to get job offers. She simply just hadn't gotten the offer that she was looking for.

After dabbling around in the prospect of becoming a healer, Hermione withdrew her application from St. Mungos. Dealing with the sick, just wasn't the path for her. Even considering a profession as an auror, through research and a much prolonged interviewing process, Hermione knew that it wasn't for her. Frustrated, Hermione considered a job as a professor at Hogwarts, and yet again she concluded that that was not the right job for her.

Finally, today she was going to her interview at the Ministry of Magic. In the past few years, hundreds of aspiring applicants swarmed the Ministry office in hopes of working under Riddle. It was a mob that no other politician had ever drawn before. After Tom Riddle had managed to turn the Ministry of Magic around, seemingly overnight, more and more wizards and witches began taking a new interest in politics. From day one he implemented new policies, and obviously they had worked, smashingly in fact. The economic slump had gradually turned around in that odd way that economic fluctuations tended to do, though most of the progress was credited to Riddle and his administration.

With the economy on the fast track forward the word on the streets was that this was a 'Golden Age,' a period of prosperity and success, all due to Riddle's policies. While she avidly supported Riddle and was ecstatic that his policies had amounted to great success, Hermione was hesitant to buy into the golden age rubbish that the Daily Prophet and those more easily swayed, were driveling about.

But in the end, Hermione had succumbed to the nagging feeling in her stomach and applied for a job at the Ministry. She had figured, if nowhere else worked, why not the Ministry? Perhaps she would have a chance to meet Riddle, possibly even talk policy with him? Anyways, the Ministry wasn't a bad place to work; she could actually see herself there long term. At her little desk job, that's where she'd start, files spread everywhere, late nights with some warm butterbeer; she could see it now. Through the Ministry she could make a difference, really change the lives of thousands of witches and wizards for the better. Plus, imagine the vast resources, the amount of books readily available for Ministry workers. The thought was inconceivably exciting.

"Hermione, you haven't touched your cake." Her eyes locked onto Harry's emerald ones as his words distracted her from her pleasant musings.

Cutting her cake, Hermione responded with a slight smile. "Sorry, I've been distracted lately. I've got my interview at the Ministry today. I need this job, Harry. It's about time that I become employed for the long term."

"The only reason you don't have one now is because you've refused every other offer you've received." Harry chuckled, taking a bite out of his cake. Hermione noted that he didn't look very sympathetic for her predicament. "Honestly Hermione, you know you're going to get the job, I know you're going to get the job. I bet even the bloke at the Ministry who's going to interview you knows you're going to get the job. You're the brightest witch of your age, Hermione. The only reason you're unemployed is because you've tried a dozen other jobs that you've only ended up not liking!" Sighing, he pointedly looked at Hermione, his exasperation evident. "Stop worrying, Hermione. Just eat your cake and you'll be fine."

"It wasn't a dozen Harry—" Hermione started in protest before pausing, a sigh escaping her lips as she noticed that Harry had been distracted by Ginny and the two were now engaged in an animated conversation.

Those two, she mused silently, it was evident how they only had eyes for each other. Hermione swept her eyes across the room, the two brown pools landing on a certain figure in particular. She scanned up and down his frame, which now was far from the gangly, boyish awkwardness she remembered from when they were younger. With age, he had matured physically, though he still had the same temper as always. He looked so happy. Noticing her gaze, he smiled and sauntered her way, excusing himself from the conversation with his elder brother.

"Hermione, you know if you don't want to eat the cake, you don't have to. There's no need to mutilate the bloody thing. It's just chocolate."

Embarrassed to having been caught staring, Hermione's cheeks tinged pink as she averted her gaze from said gentleman towards her plate.

She replied somewhat lamely, attempting to break the lull in conversation. "I've just had a lot on my mind lately…I've been a bit…distracted, what with the job interviews and all." Glancing up she smiled, "The four of us are still on for dinner, right?"

"Dinner…," he hesitated, a look of panic crossing his face, "Um…Err…Dinner, right."

The previous shyness that had taken over her dissipated, replaced by anger. "Dinner, you, me, Harry, Ginny; our friendly get together, for heaven's sake, Ron; I can't believe you forgot your own birthday dinner. How could you? We worked so hard for reservations!"

At least he had the decency to be embarrassed, Hermione bitterly noted as Ron's cheeks flushed and his eyes darted everywhere in the room, noticeably avoiding Hermione's. However, that hardly was any consolation for what he had forgotten. Harry, she, and Ginny had pooled some of their savings together to purchase the newest, best, and most expensive broom currently on the market, the Thunderbolt 2067. At first, Harry had offered to buy the broom on behalf of all three of them, but Ginny and Hermione had insisted to pay their share. After all, it was only fair. The three of them had then planned a nice gathering at one of the most prestigious Wizarding restaurants, the Entourage.

Part club and part exclusive eatery, _Entourage_ was renowned for its assortment of alcoholic beverages and strictly VIP access. Harry had to call upon a few favors just to get on the waiting list. Luckily, they had managed to snag a table just in time. They had planned on surprising him; whisking Ron off to this great place; covering the tab for the assortment of throat tingling, nose burning, and stomach turning drinks they were bound to order; and presenting him the gift of his dreams, but of course, Ron had forgotten.

"Dinner." Hermione muttered more to herself than toward Ron.

Still averting his gaze from Hermione's, Ron mumbled quietly. "Um, sorry I guess. I sort of forgot."

Sort of forgot? Hermione thought wildly as she glared at Ron, letting her anger build up, washing over her until all her other emotions were blocked out.

"You _sort of forgot_ now did you?!" Hermione's voice was that of a harsh whisper as most of the others had filtered out of the dining room and into the living room. Only she and Ron were left in the room. "Now why don't you tell me, what was so important that you forgot this? You're absolutely incorrigible!" She fumed, her hands poised on her hips, an impossibly haughty expression on her face as she surveyed Ron critically.

"Well, uh, err…" He faltered, his eyes wandering to the doorway out of the dining room, Ron was noticeably uncomfortable. Suits him right, Hermione thought sourly, the git. "I, uh, made plans with Lavender."

"Lavender?" Hermione's eyes widened, their brown depths were tinged with many emotions: surprise, anger, hurt, and…disgust. "_Lavender Brown_? Ron, why in your right mind would you plans of any sort with her? She's a walking, talking nightmare."

Her mind raced, a course of unstoppable, tumbling emotions, her thoughts were scrambled, and her brain was fried. Anger was the predominant one, and she could feel her temper flaring. Of all the people in the world, why Lavender? Why not her, what was wrong with Hermione Granger? Lavender was shallow; she had no substance, depth. What did he see in her?

"What's wrong with Lavender?" Ron inquired hesitantly.

"Lavender! What's wrong with her? Everything!" Hermione roared, ignoring Ginny who had returned to the dining room after the outburst. "How could you forget us, your best friends and your sister and make plans with her? You," Hermione jabbed her finger into his chest, so hard that Ron staggered back a step, "are a foul, slimy, incorrigible, selfish idiot."

With that, Hermione turned abruptly, gathered her things, and brushed by Ginny to exit the room, leaving a startled Ron sheepishly watching her go. Ginny sighed despondently as she started after her friend, but not before she left her brother with a piece of her mind. "Ron, you are a blubbering fool." Exiting, Ginny made her way towards Hermione who was ranting angrily to Harry. Ron still stood rooted to the spot, contemplating the deep nature of women. Odd creatures, he thought dejectedly.

Hermione was still fuming over Ron's blatant insolence when she left the Burrow for her interview. She knew that her forthcoming performance would not be her best; her mind would be on other things, and she would be far from amicable. Standing in the garden, the breeze tickling her face, she closed her eyes. The uncomfortable sensation of apparation was one she most likely would never get used to. But at least now, it was bearable, and the vomiting sensation she used to have afterward was long gone.

Finding herself amongst the constant throng in the Ministry entrance hall Hermione fell into the steady flow of traffic entering and exiting the Ministry. Weaving her way through the crowd, she passed security with ease and soon was making her way towards the interview room. She would be meeting a Remus J. Lupin in a matter of minutes. Briskly entering the lift along with two wizards and three witches, Hermione held the résumé in her hands to her chest, it was a tight fit. Awkwardly, she maneuvered around the rotund wizard wearing lime green robes, and pressed the floor button, watching the little four light up.

The lift smelled musky from the massive amount of foot traffic it was subjected to each day. No doubt the odd combinations of people who travelled through its metal doors contributed to its odd odor. The carpeted floor was plush, though an unseemly brown color. Thankfully, the ceiling was quite high, a good four feet above her head, undoubtedly due to magical enhancement. But it provided lofty feel to the otherwise crowded lift. The enlargement charm must have been defective, Hermione considered, ignoring the memos that fluttered above her head.

The speakers chimed melodically as the doors opened, and the lift cleared out, leaving only a thin-lipped woman with long, flowing hair, and a dutiful fluttering of errant letters above. Leaning against the wall Hermione patted her hair down absentmindedly. She had learned the hard way that first impressions always made a difference. Just as the lift doors made their way closed, a slender hand reached in. By looking at such pale, manicured fingers she presumed it was a woman at first. However as the doors parted once more, she discovered she was mistaken by far.

Tall and slim, he had not changed much in the past four years. With age, he could have been described handsome though it wouldn't be in the traditional sense. His demeanor and the way he held himself left no doubt to Hermione that he still presumed his spot on the altar. Arrogant, was a trait she had appropriately deemed him when she was younger, and she could tell this characteristic still held true.

In all honesty, she had almost forgotten him. He and his lackeys were insignificant pests from her otherwise great experience at Hogwarts. She had heard rumors of his accession to power within the Ministry through his father's convenient connection to the Minister. But rumors, as always, were rumors. The inconsequential gossip rag in the Prophet was as it always was, useless. However now at this encounter, she wished she had paid more attention to the dirt on him, just so she could see his expression when she threw it back in his face. I bet Lavender would know all the shit that's been written about him, Hermione thought bitterly.

"Granger," his one word greeting encompassed the seven years of prejudice, dislike, and bullying that she had endured from him and his friends, "Astoria," he nodded in the other witch's direction.

She held eye contact with him as he entered the lift and the doors slid closed behind him, but gave no other inclination of noticing his presence. Remaining passively silent, Hermione listened in on his conversation with the other woman, allowing her thoughts to stray as she listened in.

"Draco! We haven't spoken in ages. How are you?" The woman referred to as Astoria preened.

Turning to face her, Draco's voice warmed slightly, no doubt due to the opportunity she had opened for him to gloat. "Satisfactory, working for the Ministry is great. Riddle's amazing to work with; I'm off to a meeting with him right now."

Astoria's eyes widened and her smile grew wider, Hermione noted that she had inched closer to Draco throughout the conversation. "You know Tom Riddle? I've heard that he could charm a Gringott's goblin into giving him galleons. Is that true?"

Hermione rolled her eyes; there was loads of gibberish like that floating about. The stories that people could come up with, outlandish exaggerations that were absolutely ridiculous. It annoyed Hermione to no end that this Astoria character seemed to buy them. How dense of her, Hermione mused to herself, sure Malfoy's father was in a position of power but there's no need to simper. Decidedly ignoring the rest of their idle chat, Hermione watched the lift lights gradually climb up, slowly making their way from 'three' to 'four.'

As the lift doors chimed open she briskly exited, surveying the large windows letting in cheerful rays of sunshine. Immediately, she loved the atmosphere within the office. A countless stream of memos and letters wove their way above her head, streaming to and fro, from desk to desk. There were countless desks and cubicles, and to be honest the whole expanse was a bit intimidating. Making her way past rows of cluttered desks and cubicles, she made her way idly to a little office, hid between ceiling high bookshelves and an array of upturned desks and papers before it.

At first she thought she was mistaken, and had arrived at the wrong room. Though on a thin plaque it clearly said Remus J. Lupin, Room 1378, Head of Public Relations with Magical Creatures, Hermione was hesitant in her next actions. Should she knock, call out? What if it's not him? What if she simply entered—no that would be quite rude. However before she could decide in her next course of action, the door swung open.

A flustered man, tall with a medium build, stood before her. His hair was speckled with gray, though he appeared quite young in age, and his robes were shabby, patched haphazardly in places. He was speaking animatedly, obviously taking Hermione's arrival as that of another's, as he rambled on.

"I knew you were there, Kingsley. I'll get you the report as soon as I can, don't rush—Oh!" He halted; obviously startled that Hermione wasn't the head auror, Kingsley Shacklebolt, who he was referring to. His voice was raspy, and it reminded her more of a texture rather than a sound. It was like the feel of tree bark to the touch, natural yet distinctly coarse. Stepping back, he ushered her in. "You're early, sorry I came out and jumped on you out there. I thought it was Kingsley; he's been riding me all week for this report."

Glancing at the mess outside his office he remarked nonchalantly, "Don't be alarmed, it usually doesn't look like that outside. Nox was having one of his fits." With a quick flick of his wand, the desk quickly righted itself and the papers that were lying in disarray on the ground organized themselves into neat piles. Closing the door behind them the room was soon illuminated by fluorescent lighting from the ceiling.

Remus Lupin's office was surprisingly large when compared to how it had looked from the outside. It still was considerably small, and the walls showed obvious signs of wear and tear, cracks ambling their way across here and there. In the office itself, was a littering of books and papers clustered here in there in an attempt to make disorganization look organized. There was a larger desk which had folders splayed across it, and a smaller one at the opposite corner of the room, presumably that would be hers if she were to obtain the job. The walls were plastered with images, maps, paintings, and an array of pictures.

Conjuring a chair from thin air, Remus Lupin cleared an area for Hermione to sit amongst the clutter as he went behind his desk and took a seat himself. "I apologize for the clutter. I apparently haven't managed to get to my spring cleaning." His attempt at a little humor was met with a half-hearted chuckle from Hermione as he continued. "Would you like anything to drink? I believe I have water, butterbeer, and some hot tea."

Slowly sitting down, the simple chair he had conjured for her was cool, but it was more unexpected than uncomfortable. She straightened her robes, fidgeting slightly. "No thank you. I'm fine."

"Suit yourself." He shrugged affably, pouring himself a sizeable cup of tea. Hermione watched the steam idly rise from the mug, swirling its way up towards the ceiling. It was a nice mug Hermione noted, there was an intricate emblem stamped onto its surface. Mr. Lupin raised the mug to his lips, taking a long sip. The silence rang thick in the room as Hermione fiddled with her robes uncomfortably.

Appraising her quietly, he set his mug on a dainty red handkerchief almost entirely concealed by the folders overflowing on the desk. "Miss Granger, is it?"

"Yes," Hermione responded simply as silence overtook the room yet again.

"Well, to be honest Miss Granger, I'll share a secret with you. I've never done one of these before." He grinned, leaning back in his chair, one leg propped up over the other. "How about we just…go with the flow, what do you say to that? Call me Remus."

She knew immediately that she liked Remus Lupin, no doubt about it. Returning a smile, Hermione replied, "That would be fine by me, Remus. You can call me Hermione, by the way."

"Why don't we begin then," opening her résumé Remus inquired, "what brings you here to the Ministry?"

Grinning, Hermione responded. "Well, I believe what drew me to the job was my passion to make a difference. I've always been interested in politics, and the policies applied by the government. So, I thought, rather than simply reading about such reforms in the "Prophet," why not help out with something I'm enthusiastic about? I want to help people, and I believe that through the Ministry is where I can make my difference." Wistfully, she added, "that, and I admit, that I wish to one day work under or with Tom Riddle; he has done wonders for our country."

Nodding, he straightened up in his chair, closing the folder which held her résumé. "What can you bring to the job specifically?" He arched an eyebrow and settled back into his chair.

"Well, I'm responsible and dedicated in accomplishing the task at hand. You can count on me to get the job done. I graduated top of my class, and I'm particularly apt at potions, charms, and transfiguration. I believe in this job, and I will bring everything I have to it. Working for the Ministry is something I care deeply about, and that in particular, is why I believe I'm right for this job."

Remus surveyed her in silence, before simply asking, "When can you start?"

Baffled, Hermione stuttered, "Wh-Wha-What?"

Smiling, Remus repeated slowly, "You got the job, when can you start?"

"But, you only asked me two questions. That's hardly a decent interview, I mean we barely went through my credentials—" Hermione rambled before he cut her off abruptly.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you to count your blessings?" Remus chuckled as Hermione blushed. "Why don't you let me decide whether this is a decent interview, and whether you're qualified or not; I say you are, so why don't we leave it at that."

Grinning, Hermione replied, "Thursday, does that sound okay?"

"I'll expect you at nine in the morning. Don't be late."

Hermione nodded, smiling back at him as they both rose, she stuck at her hand and Remus firmly shook it before settling down again. Making her way towards the door she opened it, pausing before looking back. "Thank you for this opportunity, Remus." She beamed at him.

Acknowledging her with a nod, he opened a case file before him as he set upon his work once more.

Nodding cordially in return, she shut the door behind her, once more making her way past desk after desk towards the lift. Finally, she thought with relief, a job she was actually giddy about going to. With that, she sighed, leaning against the wall of the lift, the doors closing behind her. She was skeptical about calling this time of prosperity a golden age for all of Britain, but damn right this time was going to be hers. _Cheers_, to a golden age for one and perhaps for all!

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**A/N** - Oh goodness, the ending seems so lame *covers face in shame.* Do tell me if you thought it was utterly cheesy because reading over it, it sure sounds lame to me. Thank you everyone who has left wonderful reviews about the story so far. I edited out some of my Americanisms, swapping 'elevator' for 'lift.' I'd like to extend a special thank you to the always fabulous **Len**, darkladyofslytherin, for being the best beta in the world! :)


	3. Expect the Unexpected

_Chapter Three  
_**Expect the Unexpected**

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Hermione's flat was a little over a mile walk from the Ministry of Magic's notable red telephone booth. It was a quaint little place, simple and relatively small. However, it was stylishly furnished and it accommodated Hermione's needs perfectly. Though living in Muggle London hadn't been her original plan, her flat wasn't too far from prominent Wizarding sites such as the Ministry and Diagon Alley, so she had consented to her parent's wishes. They, much to Hermione's chagrin, were financing most of her living expenses while she was between jobs.

Initially, Hermione had refused to accept any financial support, but as one job after another left her unsatisfied she eventually accepted their aid. As dentists her parents had made quite the living, and were retired now with a sizeable amount of savings remaining. They doted on their only child, trying to understand her attachment to the Wizarding World, if not succeeding. From time to time they would check up on her, questioning her career and, at times to Hermione's mortification, her romantic activity. She truly appreciated the love they showered her with; despite that some of the healthy treats they brought along mysteriously found their way to the trash. This Ministry job was one way she would be able to stop relying so heavily on them, as well as opening an opportunity for her to treat them with something in return.

Before stepping out of the obscure alley which held the entrance to the Ministry of Magic, Hermione quickly transfigured her Wizarding robes into a simple briefcase. She had learned long ago to have a respectable Muggle outfit on beneath her robes. There was nothing more awkward than having to wander the streets in clothing which Muggles would befit appropriate for someone beyond sanity. As Hermione rounded the corner in her simple lavender blouse and skirt, she melded into the bustling crowd of London's foot traffic.

Though spring was just around the corner, the weather was still fairly chilly, and the cement was wet and slick, a reminder of last night's showers. The looming buildings of downtown London towered above, a blend of grandiose classical elegance, sleek contemporary design, and of Britain's past legacy and its future. As Hermione walked the perfunctory path home, she marveled silently at the architectural masterpieces created with no magical aid whatsoever.

Passing store front by store front, Hermione finally arrived before the familiar oak door which served as an entrance to her flat. Stepping in, Hermione sighed once more and made her way into the modest family room, intending on napping for the rest of the afternoon. It had been a long day, she surmised. However, after tossing her belongings absentmindedly on the couch, Hermione looked up. Startled at the sight before her, she gasped in shock.

"H-h-how did you get in here?"

Rolling her eyes, Ginny answered nonchalantly, "Alohomora, Hermione. You've been spending too much time around Muggles."

Hermione offered a noncommittal shrug in response as she strode toward the kitchen, Ginny trailing behind her. "What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting up at seven."

Ginny leaned against the counter, watching curiously as Hermione opened the refrigerator. "I just wanted to stop by. I haven't been here for a while. What is that thing?" Raising an eyebrow, Ginny reached over to touch the refrigerator, mildly fascinated by the Muggle contraption.

"It's a refrigerator. Muggles use it to keep their food fresh." Pouring a cup of juice, Hermione offered Ginny a glass.

"Muggles and their devices," Ginny mused, "you know, I still don't quite understand why you bother to live here. I mean Harry and I would be thrilled if you came and lived with us." Ginny smiled, taking a dainty sip from her glass.

"Ginny…" Hermione sighed, setting her glass down and folding her arms across her chest in exasperation. "We've had this conversation all too many times. Muggle London is conveniently near Diagon Alley and it puts my parent's minds at ease."

Ginny rolled her eyes, "You don't even have a job to support yourself, if you came to live with us there would be no cost at all…" she trailed off as the realization dawned on her. "Oh goodness, I totally forgot, Hermione! How was the interview?"

"It went great," Hermione smiled whimsically; "I got the job."

"That's great, Hermione! We told you that it would go smashingly." Ginny exclaimed cheerfully. "When do you start? Tell me everything!"

Blushing, Hermione said, "I start on Thursday. My boss, Remus, seems nice enough." She sipped her drink before setting the glass back on the counter. "Even still, there's not much to say, honestly. What about you? Holyhead Harpies, right?"

Still smiling, Ginny replied, "Yeah, tryouts are in two weeks." The pair made their way towards the family room as Ginny confidently stated, "I'm pretty sure I'll make the team. They need a decent chaser-- no offense, but Bristwood is a bit past her prime now." She grinned cheekily as Hermione chuckled softly at her remark.

"That's great, Ginny! You'll have to fill me in once you've made the team," Hermione exclaimed, settling down on one of the beige couches that her mother had purchased. The hours she spent searching for the perfect matching shade for the pillow covers were those which Hermione would rather not revisit.

"Yeah…" Ginny started, her wide smile slowly disappearing, replaced by an awkward expression unusually shown by the youngest Weasley. "Err… Hermione the real reason why I came here was to tell you something so you wouldn't be unpleasantly surprised later on." Pausing somewhat awkwardly Ginny continued, grimacing slightly, "Ron's invited Lavender to have dinner with us."

"La-La-Lavender…?" Hermione sputtered, visibly shocked at the turn of events.

Ron always had the unfortunate habit of surprising Hermione in the most unpleasant manner possible and this was no exception. Groaning inwardly, Hermione looked up at Ginny whose expression echoed her own thoughts.

Yes, Ron was a mastermind of performing moronic feats previously presumed impossible, namely because of the sheer idiocy needed to carry them out, Hermione recalled bitterly. It wasn't as if he was totally unaware of what had gone down between Hermione and Lavender! That is, unless he managed to forget their entire fourth year! As much as Hermione hated to say it, such was a likely cause.

"I know," Ginny sighed, speaking Hermione's thoughts aloud. "He can act like such a fool sometimes. You'd think that by now he'd know the history between the two of you."

It was in their fourth year at Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament when Hermione first met Viktor Krum. His international stardom had merited him quite the fan base from all houses. When Viktor had turned his interest towards Hermione, Lavender in particular, had taken this to heart. The ensuing drama was one which Hermione would rather not relive. She knew her hair had never quite recovered from a particularly nasty incident when some potion _accidentally_ slipped into her evening tea. A bald spot just behind her right ear, which refused all magical treatment to grow back the lost hair, was testament to that.

"Why is he with her?" Hermione muttered with slight vehemence.

Ginny snorted with disdain, "How the hell am I supposed to know? You know just as well as I do that Ron can be so daft. How he managed to absolutely forget that the three of us aren't exactly best of friends is beyond me!"

Ginny's resentment toward Lavender Brown was a mixture of her own grudge and the resentment she held on Hermione's behalf. Lavender, though most likely good at heart, had made numerous social blunders when she was younger—one of those being that she was a chronic gossip. She had stepped on many toes during her years at Hogwarts. And after a particular incident where she commented quite rudely on the nature of Ginny's many boyfriends, the relationship between Ginny and Lavender had turned from chilly to below freezing.

Sharing a tired glance with Ginny, Hermione sighed as she ran a hand absentmindedly through her hair. She was tired and wanted a nap. This school girl drama was tiresome and she had already used up all her anger at Ron earlier in the day. At this point, Hermione was frustrated with Ron, but if Lavender could act like a mature woman, she and Ginny sure could as well.

Sighing once more, Hermione responded, facing towards the window. "We'll just have to wait and see how this goes…"

* * *

Hermione and Ginny had arrived in the heart of downtown Muggle London's night scene. The streetlights dimly lit the pavement, which was littered with discarded cans of beer and candy wrappers. Stragglers leaned against brick buildings, cigarettes caught between thin lips, half empty flavored vodka bottles held limply in hand. It was an odd time of day—not quite time to go clubbing yet past the dinner rush.

Halting before the flickering sign of _Ernie's Mechanics_, Hermione tugged on Ginny's coat as the two slipped into a dim alleyway between the downtrodden auto mechanics shop and a lonely teriyaki restaurant. Ginny and Hermione made their way past the fading light cast by the streetlight down the dark alley. Hermione stepped up towards a large green dumpster and rapped sharply on the graffiti covered bin. The two girls exchanged a glance when there was no immediate response.

"Is this the right dumpster?" Ginny whispered, fidgeting slightly in her red high heels. "Damn, these shoes are uncomfortable."

The founder of _Entourage_, Geoff McMillian, had a renowned quirky sense of humor. He had found it only appropriate to have the entrance to his prestigious club for the elite to be through a dumpster. And though various Wizarding elites had disputed it originally, they had soon discovered that no one argues with Geoff. So, all opposition had passed and Geoff was left to do as he pleased.

"This is the right one! I'm sure of it!" Hermione nodded, her hair rising up and down as she bobbed her head.  
Suddenly, a deep voice interrupted Hermione and Ginny's conversation.

"Hermy-own-ninny?"

Hermione gasped as she took a slight step back in surprise. Her shock was evident as she responded almost breathlessly.

"Viktor?" She grinned at her long time friend and ignored Ginny as she elbowed Hermione subtly in the side. "How have you been?"

It had been nearly ten years since she had last seen Viktor in person. Obviously, as seeker for the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team his picture had appeared in numerous magazines and on occasion in the Daily Prophet. Hermione had loosely tracked his career and from the little that she knew of Quidditch, she knew that he was still quite successful and skilled as a player. But, seeing him in the newspaper and seeing him in person were two entirely different things; when they met in person, she was reminded of how tall he was. He towered over both Hermione and Ginny considerably, and he had filled out considerably from the fairly lanky youth she remembered.

"It has been a vhile Hermy-own-ninny. You did not respond to my last letter."

Hermione's cheeks tinged pink as she saw Ginny's eyebrows raise. She had not told her friend that she still kept in touch with Viktor, and Hermione knew that Ginny would not hesitate to bring this newly discovered fact up later.

"I'm sorry, Viktor. I've been busy trying to find a job." Hermione smiled sheepishly as she toyed with the simple diamond bracelet dangling around the wrist.

"That's okay." He smiled at Hermione as he hesitantly extended his hand towards Ginny. "I do not believe ve have been introduced before." Smiling charmingly, Ginny extended her hand as Viktor shook it. "I am Viktor Krum."

Ginny quickly glanced sideways at Hermione before replying, "My name is Ginny. Ginny Weasley. I've heard many things about you, Viktor."

He blushed slightly as he shifted from foot to foot. Viktor's dark hair was shorter than Hermione had remembered it and he had let a slight five o'clock shadow grow on his face. He was dressed sharply in handsome navy dress robes made of a fine velvet material.

"So Viktor, what brings you to London?" Hermione inquired casually, wrapping her own silk maroon dress robes around her as a sudden breeze passed.

Viktor shifted once more before smiling sheepishly, "I vas asked to be the Bulgarian delegate at a Ministry get-together tonight at this club called the _Entourage_." The deep baritones of his voice rumbled as he continued, "My Ministry escort should be here soon. He vas with me but had to run a quick errand, so I am meeting him here." Glancing behind him towards the lit street, Viktor shrugged.

Ginny inquired casually, "Have you been to _Entourage_ before?"

"No I have not. I have heard it is not a bad place to go, though." He shrugged again, "My Ministry friend has, though. He said ve enter through a," Viktor paused, his brows furrowing together in a mixture of incredulity and amusement, "dumpster?"

Chuckling slightly, Hermione replied with a smile. "Apparently so," Hermione glanced at the green bin before continuing with a frustrated sigh, "however, it appears the way we were told to enter was incorrect—"

"Viktor!" A dark shadow quickly entering the alleyway interrupted Hermione as the group of three turned towards the emerging figure. Chuckling slightly the man said, "I see you've found yourself some company—." He broke off sharply, and a silence fell over the four wizards. Only the din of the Muggle traffic nearby could be heard as the newcomer's pale face came into view. Hermione could feel Ginny tense up beside her as she glanced at Viktor.

"Granger, Weasley," he said tersely.

His pale faced gleamed as it was illuminated by a slim shaft of moonlight which streamed past the dark buildings looming overhead. Sharp, aristocratic features and a cool calculating gaze greeted Hermione's own unwavering stare. She noted he had not changed clothes from when she had seen him earlier in the day, still donned in a perfunctory pair of black robes, only of the finest quality, and a pair of slacks—notably and uncharacteristically underdressed.

Hermione held his gaze, "Malfoy," she nodded.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Ginny's fist clench. The Malfoys and the Weasleys were two old Wizarding families with plenty of history and dislike between one another. Even during their early years at Hogwarts, Hermione recalled the terse exchanges between the two feuding families. Not only was it an argument of status, wealth, and influence, but it was a battle of ideals—old tradition versus new. Hermione noted that the mutual dislike was evident as Ginny and Malfoy glared at each other, a long silence once more stretching the seconds.

Viktor coughed awkwardly and Hermione smiled as she saw the sheepish grin appear on his face once more.

"I have a small cough," he chuckled slightly, "It vas not a good idea to go svimming last veek."

Hermione grinned, sharing a smile with the Bulgarian seeker. Despite his internationally stardom she had to admit he had a humble charm to him.

"When I was very little my mother used to tell me that if I wasn't feeling well, then I would have to drink the magical potion to feel better."

Viktor chuckled heartily, his eyes twinkling with genuine mirth.

Hermione laughed with him, continuing, "Really it was just an excuse to make me drink the nasty cough syrup, but little did she know—"

A loud cough interrupted Hermione, as Malfoy stepped forward, his pale face looking particularly gaunt in the moonlight.

"There's a bit of a chill out here," the sarcasm in his voice oozed from his lips, "and while I would love to stay out and reminisce on childhoods long past," he sent a pointed look towards Hermione, "We have a party to attend."  
Without waiting for a response, he strode briskly towards the garbage bin, withdrawing his wand as he walked. He halted before the bin and with three raps of his wand and an inaudible incantation, a set of stairs suddenly appeared before. Malfoy began climbing down the staircase, descending into the garbage bin, beneath the ground.

Viktor hesitated slightly before following his lead. Before his head disappeared from view, he glanced back at the two witches left standing in the alleyway.

"Are you coming vith us?"

Shrugging stiffly, Ginny, who was still slightly seething at the brief encounter with Malfoy, followed Viktor with Hermione in tow. The narrow stairway was cramped and dark; the air itself seemed to press down on them, squeezing the breath from their lungs. However, as abruptly as the staircase had appeared, it disappeared and gave way to a grandiose lobby, ornate marble paneling lining the walls, with a shimmering crystal chandelier hanging overhead. Hermione let out a small indistinct sigh as she marveled at the luxurious waiting room.

Viktor edged closer to Hermione, whispering as if he was telling her a secret, "Very fancy for a garbage can, no?"

Ginny, who had heard Viktor's loud whisper, laughed along with Hermione as she tossed her long red hair over one shoulder. Hermione could see Malfoy raking a hand through his hair in exasperation. Good, she thought, let him be frustrated that his Bulgarian ambassador is fraternizing with a Mudblood and Pureblood trash. Jealousy was the best look for a Malfoy, damn prejudicial bastard.

"Reservation?" A gruff voice demanded, shaking Hermione out of her musings. She turned toward the source, a dark heavy set man with drooping eyes and a balding head. His head was disproportionately small in comparison to the broad expanse of his back and shoulders, while his ears, abnormally large, stood out from his peculiarly shaped head.

Malfoy's slim manicured fingers discreetly slipped a small bag of coins into the bouncer's palm. Hermione glanced at the other two to see if they had noticed but they were caught up in their own discussion as Hermione watched the exchange.

"Malfoy and guest, Krum." He gestured casually at Viktor, "for the Ministry event."

Malfoy called Viktor over as the two were ushered through a large set of French doors in the opposite end of the room. The bouncer turned towards Hermione and Ginny, his voice still set in a flat monotone.

"Reservation?"

Ginny replied, "It's under Potter."

Moving aside with a peculiar grace that Hermione would never have tagged him with, the bouncer ushered the two witches towards the extravagant French doors as well. Once Ginny had turned the intricate handle of one of the doors, the two were immediately struck by the rhythmic beat of the music which assaulted their ears. The lights were dim and colorful strobe lights were positioned careful at various angles across the room; a pungent smell of liquor—sweet, bitter, sour—rose to meet their nostrils in a mixture that could only truly identify the room as that of a nightclub.

Speaking near Hermione's ear, over the music, Ginny half shouted. 'Where are they?"

Hermione surveyed the crowd before them. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she caught sight of the various house-elves weaving their way through legs clad in luxurious fabrics, arms laden down with drinks and appetizers. The room was divided into three sections—one was a seated dining area, equipped with all the luxuries befitting the Wizarding World's higher class; the other an elaborate bar with every possible alcoholic concoction created; and the final, and the area where Hermione and Ginny now stood, a dance floor, for those who still thought the night was young.

It was Ron's mop of red hair, illuminated by the multitude of hanging chandeliers that caught Hermione's eye.

"Over there," Hermione pointed across the dance floor and towards the formal dining area, "Ron, Harry, and Lavender are all already there. C'mon." Hermione began weaving her way through the mass of bodies with Ginny right behind her. As she walked by, Hermione recognized a number of Ministry faces, most of which were high up on the food chain. They were extremely fortunate to have snagged today of all days.

"Hermione! Ginny!" Hermione smiled as Harry waved them over to their table. Ginny quickly sidled up to him, giving Harry a brief peck on the cheek as she did so.

Taking a seat around the small table where they sat Hermione met Ron's gaze, his expression sheepish and awkward. Lavender sat beside him, her delicate features pronounced with just enough makeup and her hair done up in a sophisticated up do. Hermione could detect a shimmer of glittery thread woven into Lavender's golden locks, presumably as a new fashion statement. Noticing Hermione's gaze, Lavender met her eyes putting a forth a tentative smile that Hermione somewhat half-heartedly returned.

"Err…Hi Hermione, sis." Ron acknowledged, slightly late, "Lavender," he gestured towards his companion as if the two witches did not already know who she was.

"Hello there!" Lavender waved slightly, showing the numerous rings adorning her fingers, her voice high and child-like, just as Hermione had remembered. "Long time no see." She laughed a tinkering little giggle that could have been called musical if it wasn't so annoying. Ron and Harry joined in with awkward chuckles that were clearly forced. When both Hermione and Ginny however made it apparent that they would not be participating in the festivities, Harry and Ron quieted uneasily, leaving Lavender to giggle obliviously on her own.

"Your orders have arrived." A man appeared seemingly from thin air, dressed sharply in all black, before quickly bowing and disappearing into a nearby crowd once more. A line of house elves came in, carrying silver platters above their heads, as they walked precariously towards the table.

"We took the liberty of ordering for you two." Lavender smiled sweetly, her voice cutting through the silence that had taken over. "Hope you don't mind."

Hermione honestly could have cared less at this point, but Ginny looked positively murderous. Red head temper, they always said.

"Tell me now," Ginny said through slightly clenched teeth, sending a viscous look at Ron, "what exactly did you order for us?"

Lavender replied, oblivious once more to the palpable tension, "Oh, some Italian noodle thing! The waiter told us it was marvelous, and after all who _doesn't_ like some good Italian food now and then?" She continued acting as if she was telling Ginny a secret, "They say Italian food's like Italian men. Overindulgence makes you sick, but now and then it's heavenly." Lavender laughed, unbeknownst to the fact that once more, no one laughed with her.

As Lavender continued to talk about some topic or another, Hermione's attention wandered farther and farther away from the discussion at the table towards the setting around her. Though the dining area was far more sophisticated and formal when compared the club floor and bar area, the whole room felt cohesive; there was an air of elegance throughout with the intricate molding on the walls, delicate chandeliers over head, and the looming windows which showed a brilliant night sky through their curtained panes. There was a small lounge between the dining room and the bar which Hermione had missed at first glance.

From what Hermione could tell, most of the people in the room were Ministry types except for a few stragglers here and there like themselves. Most of the faces she didn't recognize but there were many others who notably had had their fair share in Wizarding politics. If she got lucky, later tonight Riddle would be there.

"Hermione, do you not like what we chose for you?" Lavender asked, returning Hermione's attention back to their table. She had been oblivious as to when the food had been placed before her. It sat, untouched, on the silver plate. The dish itself appeared exquisite, overdone, and delicious as well as the same cost as her monthly rent. Groaning inwardly, Hermione reached for her fork and took a bite. The morsel was savory and delectable but Hermione hardly had finished chewing for she stood up abruptly.

"Oh," Lavender cried out quietly, "Do you not like it? I was sure—"

There, by the bar across the room, stood the man himself in all his glory and greatness—Tom Riddle.

Hermione interrupted Lavender impatiently, "I…err…have to go to the bathroom," her eyes focusing on the Minister. She stood quickly from the table, ignoring the questioning looks that both Harry and Ginny sent her. Brushing down her robes she began to walk away, however just as she began to merge into the crowd, she felt a hand around her arm.

Spinning around on her heels, she came face to face with Lavender. Hermione turned her head slightly, but Riddle had disappeared from her line of vision as the crowd surged around her.

Startled and slightly dismayed, Hermione began to speak, "Oh, Lavender—" but soon stopped as Lavender hurriedly cut her off.

"I know we don't always get along," Lavender started, a sheepish expression crossing her pretty face, "and I know I haven't always been the nicest person. But I really appreciate that we've managed to breach our differences." Hermione's eyebrows lifted slightly as she merely nodded at Lavender, shocked at the level of maturity that was being shown by her former foe. However, Lavender soon fell into a fit of giggles before she continued, "Oh, you're so understanding Hermione!" embracing a taken aback Hermione, she laughed once more before taking off. "This is great, especially now that Ron and I are dating!"

Hermione stood there, slightly dazed, as Lavender disappeared beyond a particularly rotund woman wearing a stuffed bird on an overly ornate hat. Shocked would be one way to express it, and despite that Hermione had been thoroughly frustrated with Ron earlier in the day for inviting Lavender, five years was a long time to hold a grudge. She could deal with Lavender at this point, eccentricities and all.

With a resound sigh, Hermione turned around, her eyes focusing in on Riddle as she weaved her way through the crowd towards where he stood. There was a mob of people surrounding him that simply wouldn't budge. The man to Riddle's left; a slim, dark fellow was idly chatting with the Minister as he sipped from his amber beverage. He was handsome, his skin the color of mocha, and he was somehow notably familiar, though Hermione could not place her finger on the resemblance.

As she tried to push her way past a pale man with a large beard and a woman with a pronounced moustache, Hermione turned towards her left as she once more heard the ever-so-familiar call of "Hermy-own-ninny."

Turning towards the Bulgarian seeker with a smile, Hermione greeted him cheerfully. "Viktor! Now, how's your evening been so far?"

He returned her smile whole heartedly, "It has been good so far, ve vere enjoying the bar" gesturing at the drink in his hand he stated good naturedly, "Draco Malfoy has shown me many fine liquors tonight."

Hermione grinned back, laughing with him, "They say it's the best here, after all."

"Have you had the Bloody Ghoul yet?" Viktor questioned, gesturing once more at the bright red drink, as he took a long sip, wincing as he swallowed.

"Can't say I have," Hermione replied lightly, "I haven't quite had the opportunity to try it yet."

"Vell then!" Viktor exclaimed more loudly than he generally would have, the alcohol obviously loosening his tongue, "ve must correct that immediately!"

Grabbing Hermione's hand, he barged into the crowd. As he pushed people aside, angry faces soon dissipated into expressions of awe, most likely because of his stardom as a Quidditch mastermind. Viktor strode confidently to the bar, a few feet away from where Riddle stood with his posse. Hermione, now far distracted from the drink, stared at her idol, closer than she had ever before gotten to him. He was even more imposing and handsome in person than he was on paper, Hermione mused.

She turned back towards Viktor, as he gripped her arm tighter. Smiling at him, she could feel him leaning closer as he grinned. However, before anything happened, Hermione heard a loud crash. Viktor's drink had slipped out of his hand, spilling all over the floor. As Hermione looked up at him, she could feel his grip tighten before suddenly slackening.

Hermione let out a shriek as his limp body crashed to the floor, wizards and witches by them gasping as they jumped back in shock. She was helpless as she bent down to help him. Hermione's eyes met his, empty chasms, without the life and love they had just shone resiliently with. Pulling out her wand, Hermione whispered all the minor incantations for poisoning that she knew, but without a potion…

"Help!" She screamed, "My friend's been poisoned!" Her eyes were wild as she spun around, the others by her merely standing stiff with shock.

His body began to spasm, movements jerky and uncoordinated, as if he was possessed. Hermione bent down once more, frantically trying to stop his body from moving from mere force. She scooped his chest into her lap, as if hugging tighter would cure him of whatever ailment came to be.

Despite her efforts, however, Viktor's body still moved on its own accord, jolting against her as she heard is teeth clatter. Bystanders had now begun to close in as they surrounded Hermione and Viktor, voices calling out suggestions, hands reaching to help. Hermione, oblivious to the hectic scene around her, began to feel his body cool and heat rapidly as his skin rose to burning hot, down to freezing cold. Viktor's forehead glistened with sweat, his regal clothes damp.

Without cause, Hermione suddenly felt Viktor still beneath her. He began jerking sporadically, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as she felt him stop. The crowd stilled once more as a large man with a balding head began muttering incantations over Viktor's body.

However, she had spoken too soon as suddenly and viciously Viktor's body lifted out of her arms, tossing the man who had bent before him back. Viktor elevated two feet above the ground as he began to spin rapidly in the air. An ear-shattering scream tore out from his body, as his head was thrown back, arms and legs spread wide. His cry resonated off the walls, tearing into Hermione's heart and soul as the bitter animalistic pain colored the intonation of his howl. It was as if she could feel the pain he was in through his cry, as if the mind-numbing, body-splitting horrors which were occurring to Viktor were happening to her as well.

But, as soon as it started, his wails of pain ended as he dropped toward the ground, a resounding _thud_ as his limp body hit the marble floors. Hermione scrambled over, concern etched across her face as she frantically pressed her fingers along Viktor's neck, searching for a sign of life.

She could sense a tall shadow fall over her and Viktor's body once more as she bent forward, tears escaping her eyes. Though the crowd had surged forward once more, hands grappling here and there, voices escalating in panic and fear, Hermione remained oblivious. Slowly, she held up Viktor's head, his hair damp with sweat. Hermione bent down, planting a soft kiss on Viktor's temple as a sole tear hit his eyelid.

Looking up, tears streaming down her face, Hermione met the cold calculating gaze of Draco Malfoy. His figure loomed overhead, the lighting casting ominous shadows across his face. His expression didn't change at her next words.

"He's dead."

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait, this chapter was shockingly long and I was very particular as to how it was written. The middle was by far the most arduous section to write. Edits will be coming soon once I hear back from the fabulous Len!

:)


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Harry Potter, Drama, Suspense