Making a Choice

Chapter 16: Making a Choice

The Gilded Galleon was the newest restaurant in Diagon Alley. During the six months since its opening, it had gotten rave reviews in the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly. It was the wizarding place to see and be seen, which was why Hermione was only now visiting it at the invitation of Darius Billingsley.

"May I help you?" The young woman who was the restaurant hostess piped up as Hermione surveyed the lunch crowd.

Hermione noted that the woman was elegantly clad in a black velvet gown, leaving her to wonder how the staff dressed for dinner if the lunchtime attire was this fancy.

"I'm Hermione Granger. I'm meeting Mr. Darius Billingsley and his associate."

"Right this way, Madam Granger." At once, the hostess beckoned her to follow. They crossed the main dining area to a series of private rooms. The woman stopped before a cubicle, pulled back a green velvet curtain with one hand, and waved Hermione forwards with the other.

"Hermione!" Darius Billingsley climbed to his feet, and a blonde man who looked vaguely familiar rose as well. "Come in, come in. Right on time! This is my associate, Barry Vance."

Hermione shook the other man's hand, trying to recall where she might have seen him before. "How do you do, Mr. Vance?"

"I'm delighted to make your acquaintance," Vance said, frowning as he released Hermione's hand. "Am I correct in thinking that you are married to one of Arthur Weasley's boys?"

Ah. The answer was technically 'yes, but not for much longer'. Hermione merely nodded. "Ron Weasley," she answered cautiously.

"Ron, of course. I should have remembered. I left Hogwarts the same year as Charlie. I think I may have met you before – at Charlie's wedding, possibly."

"I believe you're right." That was it. She and Ron were engaged at the time of Charlie's wedding, and Hermione vaguely remembered being introduced to an endless sea of people after the ceremony.

Vance smiled and leaned back into his seat. "How is Ron doing?" he wanted to know.

"He's well, thank you for asking." It crossed her mind that if she intended to do business with this man, sooner or later she would have to admit that the marriage was on the rocks. Otherwise, a lot of awkward situations were likely to arise.

Darius Billingsley spoke up then, sparing Hermione from tiptoeing further around the topic of her soon-to-be ex. "You'll be pleased to know that Barry has read your book, Hermione, and is just as excited about running the story as I am."

"That's great news!" Her eyes lit up.

Barry Vance nodded. "I'm sure you're aware, Madam Granger, that any book-length piece is, of necessity, heavily edited for a periodical. I wish that it didn't have to be that way, but we publish a magazine, and there's simply no room for an entire work such as yours."

"I understand. Do I..." She hunted for the right words. "Rather, do you allow me to see the edited version prior to publication?"

"I'm afraid not. The Consent to Print form, which you'll sign, gives us permission to edit at will." Darius smiled at Hermione in sympathy. "I understand, really I do. Handing over your work to someone else to play with is a scary thought. But we simply pare down what you've written to make it adequate, lengthwise."

"And we certainly don't add things that aren't there to begin with, if that's one of your concerns," Vance put it.

"I'm sure you don't," Hermione answered hastily.

Vance fished around in the inner pocket of his robe and brought out a roll of parchment, which he handed to her. "This is the Consent form, which you'll want to read through carefully."

"Good day, sirs and madam. May I take your orders?" One of the wait staff appeared at the entrance to their private dining room.

Billingsley turned to Hermione. "Have you been to The Golden Galleon before, Hermione?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"May we order for you, then? We're rather familiar with the menu, and everything they serve is excellent."

The rather cavalier action irked Hermione somewhat, yet she told herself that the two men were doubtless pressed for time and weren't interested in letting a first-time author puzzle over the menu for half the afternoon. "I'm open to suggestions, of course," she said politely.

Darius Billingsley ordered calf and lamb skewers for each of them, then turned to Hermione. "Red wine?"

The notion of calf and lamb skewers was bad enough, Hermione thought, but red wine on top of it? She still remembered, all too vividly, throwing up in front of Snape. "If you don't mind, perhaps I'll just have a small salad and tea."

"Not a calf and lamb girl?" Barry Vance asked with a grin.

Not a calf and lamb woman, you moron. Immediately, Hermione kicked herself mentally. These men were her ticket to being in print. Just because their tastes in food differed from hers – the ability to make an offhanded sexist reference not withstanding – was no reason to take offense. Yet.

"I'm afraid not," she demurred, unrolling the contract and beginning to read.

"There is one thing that troubles me about your piece, Madam Granger." Barry Vance spoke quietly.

Hermione looked up at once. "I beg your pardon?"

"As you know, Darius was at school in Spain during the war. One reason that he delayed offering you a contract was that he wanted me to read through your work. I was here during the war, so he thought I would have a better feel for the piece."

"And do you?"

"I believe so."

"What concerns do you have, Mr. Vance?"

"Please, call me Barry. We're informal at Our World." The man folded his hands in front of him on the white linen tablecloth. "Your book is quite good. I found it fascinating. I lost family during the war, so it's especially meaningful for me."

Hermione remembered the late Emmeline Vance and nodded. "Thank you," she said tentatively, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"For starters, I wish that you had added more information about the war trials. I think the story would have been more complete had you done that."

"It's a collection of memories of the war," she reminded him. "In my opinion, the war trials are a completely separate issue. One could write a book about that alone."

"Of course, but many people have vivid memories of the trials as well."

Hermione counted to ten inwardly. "What else, Barry?"

"Your story seems to have a few glaring omissions."

"Omissions?" she echoed, suddenly wary.

Vance shrugged. "Your story seems heavily biased in favor of those who fought against Voldemort."

"That's the point."

"But there's no controversy."

"No controversy?" Hermione truly had no idea where Vance was taking this. Had he expected her to go to Azkaban to interview the remaining living Death Eaters? They'd be halfway along the road to insanity by now, if not already arrived. "I'm afraid you've lost me completely."

"Take Severus Snape, the former Potions instructor at Hogwarts. He was still there when you were at school, wasn't he?"

"Yes..." Where is this leading?

"You didn't include him at all. Where are his memories? The son of a bitch murdered Albus Dumbledore, yet he managed to walk free."

The polite expression that had taken residence on Hermione's face froze. "Mr. Snape preferred not to be interviewed."

"I'll bet he did," Vance snorted with a smug smile. "Darius, you really missed it by attending school on the Continent. You can't imagine what Snape's classes were like. I never could stand that bastard. Detested him at Hogwarts, detested him even more when I learned that he killed Dumbledore."

"He had a magical contract," Hermione began, her voice sounding very unlike her own.

"That's a convenient excuse, isn't it? It automatically absolves someone of cold-blooded murder. I wish I could have seen the bastard swing, I really do."

Hermione looked to Darius Billingsley, silently beseeching him for help. But Billingsley looked clueless. Of course he's clueless. He wasn't in the country during the war.

Vance continued. "So Snape would give you nothing?"

"He did give me a little, but –"

"Great! What do you have? Can you include it?"

Words failed Hermione. Barry Vance looked like he was ready to salivate at the idea of gritty, incriminating information, while she suddenly wanted nothing more than to turn and run. "Is it really necessary?"

"Necessary?" Vance hooted with laughter. "This is the kind of stuff that sells magazines! I mean, what you've written is all very nice, but it needs a bit more kick to it if you want it to sell! You give me a chapter on Snape, and we've got a deal!"

The breath went out of Hermione in one silent, deflating swoosh. She looked once more from Billingsley to Vance, then at the contract unrolled in front of her. Tonight, she was supposed to meet Severus at the Plaid Pony to celebrate the contract signing which would make her a published author. How, exactly, was she supposed to explain this to him?

* * *

Hermione stood in her mother's conservatory and watched Julia Granger as she re-potted a Chinese evergreen. Gardening was supposed to be therapeutic, and she wondered if she might give it a try. But then, she'd never truly enjoyed Herbology, never took pleasure in working with her mother outside in the garden, never understood why Julia insisted on all the houseplants dotting the Granger home. Right now, Hermione would have dearly loved to dig in some soil, preferably to hurl it in Barry Vance's face.

"So they wouldn't agree to print your story unless you added information on Professor Snape?" Julia commented as she patted the dirt around the stem of the Agleonema.

"That's right."

"What's the problem? I thought you told me that he had given you some of his recollections."

"He did, but that wasn't really what they were looking for. They wanted the ugly sensational stuff that would sell more copies of their precious magazine." Hermione toyed with a spade that lay on the potting bench in front of her.

"And you wouldn't give it to them?"

"Of course not, Mum! If it was simply a question of putting together a blurb from the written material Severus gave me, I could have done that easily. He gave me more than that, though. He shared some very personal memories that I wouldn't dream of publishing."

Julia glanced out her daughter out of the corner of her eye and smiled. "You're rather indignant about this, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't you be?" Hermione countered.

"Yes, I would." Julia paused before asking, "Is this a question of journalistic integrity, or is it something more?"

Hermione met her mother's brown eyes, so like her own, and sagged visibly. "Something more," she admitted miserably.

"So you've fallen in love with him."

"Yes, I think so."

"He's not like Ron at all, is he?" It was more comment than question.

Hermione laughed nervously. "Not in the least."

"You never cared for him much when you were at school, as I recall," Julia pointed out.

"No."

"Are you certain that you're not rushing where you ought not go?"

"I'm not rushing anywhere, Mum. I like him, I don't know why. I wouldn't call him a likeable person. But the more I get to know him, the more I care for him."

Julia raised an eyebrow. "You will give this time, won't you?"

"I said I wasn't rushing into anything, didn't I?" Hermione said testily.

"Sorry. What did he say when you told him about the editor's demands?"

"I didn't tell him."

"Hermione!" Julia stared at her daughter, amazed. "You say you care for this man, yet you won't explain to him why you refused to let your story be published?"

"I told him that I wouldn't meet their demands," Hermione said defensively. "It's true."

"What would he say if he knew your reasons?"

"I don't know." Pulling up a nearby stool, Hermione perched on it, sighing deeply. "Severus would either tell me that I was being far too noble and Gryffindor, or he'd think me an idiot for refusing my chance to be published."

"Are you sure that he wouldn't be grateful for your silence?" Julia asked pointedly.

Hermione made a face. "He might be grateful, but he'd never admit it."

Her mother stripped off her rubber gloves and surveyed her plant. "There. Aggie looks much better, doesn't she? Much more room to grow."

"If you say so, Mum."

Julia gave her daughter a fond hug. "Is there anything your father or I can do to help, dear?"

"I don't know." Hermione rested her head on her mother's shoulder and wished, not for the first time, that Julia could solve her problems as easily now as when she was small.