Chapter Text
Okay, yes, Hermione found her job as the Ministry’s Welcome Witch boring. It was ridiculously easy, too easy, even though her training in magic didn’t go beyond what the British magical community called second year. So she read everything she could on magic, hoping to eventually sit for her OWLs.
She did like her job despite the boredom. She was able to people watch (or she thought, “witch and wizard watch”) since she had not spent a lot of time in the Wizarding World. Witches and Wizards were fascinating and she had a lot to learn about them. Watching them helped, along with reading about them of course.
One big reason Hermione liked her job was because of “him.” He always smiled at her when he came in and left for work at the Ministry. He was an Undersecretary, so very important. He had all the qualities she found attractive in a man: tall—check, a ginger—check, glasses—check, smart—check, she heard he’d been Head Boy at Hogwarts—check, check, check! When he smiled, he really seemed to look at her, not just in passing and she looked forward to it everyday. (Of course, a lot of people smiled at her—although some were decidedly rude—but they weren’t “him.”)
What Hermione didn’t like about her job was that she was working on Christmas. Her boss had begged her. He didn’t actually say, “you don’t have anyone to spend Christmas with,” but the implication was there and heavily felt. She sighed as she made her way to the Ministry entrance, glancing at the empty shops in Diagon Alley.
But then “he” came, rushing around the corner—pausing at the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes shop strangely enough (Hermione would have thought he was the Flourish & Blotts type). He smiled at her and said “Merry Christmas.”
Hermione smiled back, which she was used to doing, but then froze when she tried to return his “Merry Christmas.” It should’ve been simple to say but all she got out was “Mah.”
He seemed fine with the smile as she headed towards the entrance when suddenly two wizards appeared from Knockturn Alley with their eyes only on “him.”
“Oh look, a blood traitor.”
“Fought against his fellow purebloods in the Battle of Hogwarts.”
Before “he” had a chance to pull his wand, one sent him an unforgiveable curse, the Cruciatus Curse. While she’d never done defensive magic in real life before, she’d read the theory. She sent two stunning spells to each of them, which to her pride worked. She then conjured ropes and tied them up—another spell she was performing for the first time.
She ran over to “him”—his eyes opened briefly. Now she could say it, “Merry Christmas.” She tried not to take it personally when his response was to pass out.
She didn’t have a way to send a magical message and she didn’t have an apparition license yet so she conjured a stretcher and floated him to the Ministry (again thrilled with another successful spell she was trying for first time). Once in the Ministry she flooed him to St. Mungo’s, yelling to the night security witch to call the Aurors and that she wouldn’t be on her shift due to an emergency.
At St. Mungo’s she floated him in and said he’d been crucioed which led to multiple healers descending on him and telling her to get out of the way.
She tried to follow them. “Are you family?” asked her counterpart, the St. Mungo’s Welcome Wizard. “Family only.”
“No, you don’t understand--” she said.
“Family only. You, wait there.” He left her alone.
“I was going to marry him,” she said to herself louder than intended. She knew that wasn’t true and would never be true if she couldn’t even say “Merry Christmas” to him except when he was passing out.