Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to it. Never have. Never will.

Notes: In this story, I took the personalities/characteristics of Hermione's parents into my own hands. In the course of the series, all we really learned about them was that they worked as dentists; we didn't even know their first names. Just wanted to let you know. Thanks, and please enjoy the story!

Warning: This story contains rape/sexual harassment. I chose not to go into vivid detail about it (it is more implied than shown), but I know many people are uncomfortable reading about the subject, so I felt the need to warn you. Please proceed with caution.

Further warnings: Rating wise, I was torn between rating this story T or M. I decided to go with T, because, while it is not intended for younger readers, I did not feel the content was strong enough to place in the M section.

This story was written by request for SpockWA168. I absolutely loved your idea, and I thank you for asking me to write it. I hope you enjoy your belated birthday present. :)

Bittersweet

a Harry Potter fan fiction

by TheAmericanWeasley

Chapter One

The stack of papers that greeted Hermione Granger that afternoon after a half hour lunch break was not a pleasant sight. She sighed, draping her jacket over her chair and examining the damage. The stack was not as big as usual, maybe several centimeters shorter in height—an improvement at the very least.

After the war, Hermione had momentarily disappeared to track down her parents, lift the enchantment off of them, and return them to their home in England. Following that, she began pursuing her career at the Ministry of Magic, specifically in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, in hopes of significantly bettering the lives of house-elves. She had been so excited at the time that she did not anticipate all the training she would have to endure, which currently reduced the young woman to the status of a paid intern. Her job was to proofread all documents before filing them away, or sending them to the appropriate person. How exciting.

As she began reading, a familiar voice sneered at her from the desk across: "Morning, Granger."

She jerked her head to let Draco know she acknowledged his greeting, but was in no way in the mood for chit-chat. To this day, she had no idea why her luck was so bad that she got placed in the same office with her natural enemy. Of course, after Voldemort's downfall, tensions has ceased to be as hostile as they were in their adolescence, yet they still held a general dislike for each other. Now that they were in a professional place of business, their expressions of mutual dislike was limited to occasional glares, and smirking whenever the other failed at a task—which, for Hermione, was a rare occurrence.

Hermione settled into her work, allowing the atmosphere around her to evaporate in order to concentrate; it would be nice if she could actually finish her work at work today, as opposed to taking the last dozen papers home to finish. She rubbed her temples, now regretting her decision to stay up late that previous night in order to finish that Muggle novel she had been so enthralled in.

"Stressed, Granger?" Draco's voice was half friendly, half taunting.

"Tired," she replied stiffly.

"Oh, did Weasley keep you up all night?"

He had crossed a line. After checking to make sure no one was looking, Hermione picked up her sharpest quill and flung it at him. Draco noticed just in time, for he ducked and barely missed it.

"I was joking!" he insisted.

"For your information, my relations with Ronald Weasley are none of your concern. But, to avoid you making jokes like that again, I might as well tell you that we are not together. Just friends."

It was at that moment that a loud chirp began emanating from Hermione's pocket. She reached in and produced a small mobile phone, which she flipped open and spoke: "Hello?"

She sat and listened for another several seconds, not speaking. Then, she flipped the phone shut and stowed it away in her pocket before standing up and throwing her jacket on.

Draco was alive with questions. "You use a Muggle phone?"

She was already stuffing the unread papers into her briefcase to be finished later. "For my parent's sake. It's easier to communicate with them that way."

"Where are you going?"

"My Mum said she needed to see me right away." She spoke quickly, running over her own words.

Draco stood up from his seat. "Well, what the hell—you can't just leave!"

"I have to. My family is important to me. I'm taking all my work with me, so don't get mad and think I'm dumping it on you. If anyone asks tell them I had a family emergency. You're considerate enough to do that, aren't you?" Her question was dripping with sarcasm.

He rolled his eyes. "Just go."

"Glad to." And she disappeared in a blur of wild, chestnut brown hair.

In less than a minute, Hermione was frantically knocking on the door of her parents' house. Her mother had remained disturbingly vague on the phone, only asking that she come over immediately.

Her mother opened the door after her third knock: a short, middle-aged woman that had Hermione's facial features.

"Oh Mum," she said, and engulfed her mother in a hug. "What's wrong? Why did you call me over?"

Suddenly, a chorus of "SURPRISE!" erupted within the living room. She stepped away from her mother, examining the sight before her: her parents, along with Ron, Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and several other familiar faces all clad in decorative clothing and holding up bottles or glasses of varying alcoholic beverages. A plump Mrs. Weasley emerged from the kitchen holding a double chocolate, book shaped cake. In white frosting were the words: Happy 21rst Birthday!

Oh yes, it was her birthday.

Though Hermione was elated by the surprise, there was small part of her that was saddened by the sudden realization. Had she really let work consume her whole life at such a young age? So much, in fact, that she would forget her own birthday?

"Merlin . . ." she said to the crowd. "This is . . . great, but, my work . . ."

"I called ahead of time. Your bosses knew you would be leaving today," her mother smirked. "They agreed that you need at least half a day off. Especially to celebrate your birthday."

"Oh Mum," she repeated, this time hugging her for a whole different reason.

Naturally, Hermione was showered with gifts and compliments for the next few hours, despite wearing her plain business clothes. Though she was never materialistic, she couldn't help but enjoy the various gifts she received, including new perfume, informative books; and, courtesy of Ginny, a few pairs of sexy underwear. Hermione blushed and quickly stowed them away before either of her parents could raise their eyebrows.

The party came to a close around eight. Hermione had hugged all her guests goodbye, thankful to have some time alone to properly thank her parents.

"Mum. Dad, I—"

"You deserved it," said Mr. Granger.

"Don't mention it," her mother said, patting her daughter's arm.

"Oh, but I do," Hermione insisted, "I've been focusing too much on work. I try to stay close, but—it's hard. Why, it feels like ages since I've even been here!" She looked around her old home with wide eyes. "It's starting to feel alien to me."

"Don't say that," Mrs. Granger said, "Hermione, you should move back in. Your old room is just the way you left it. Better here than that lonely old flat you live in."

"I would suggest that too," said Mr. Granger, mostly speaking to his wife. "But I don't think Hermione would be quite comfortable given the circumstances."

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Granger, her face falling.

"I don't understand," Hermione chimed in, "Circumstances?"

"We have a guest," her father informed, "He's occupying our extra bedroom. He sleeps most of the time; but, still, we understand if you would not be comfortable living with a stranger."

"Sleeping? You mean he's in the guest room right now?"

"Yes," her father continued, "He chooses to keep to himself."

"Who is he?"

Her father began slowly, hesitantly: "You see Hermione, during our time in Australia, when we thought we were different people, our Head Boss at the dentistry, Mr. Joshua Jacobs, was convinced we had been murdered, or disappeared from the very face of the planet. When we returned, naturally, it was a bit of a shock for him. And, well—" He shared a worried glance with his wife. "—we had no choice but to tell him what happened to us."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "But he's a Muggle! Do you have any idea how many rules you broke—how much trouble all of us can get in?"

"We were afraid you would react like this," said her mother.

"But, Hermione, it's okay! He was going to find out anyway!"

"How do you know?" Hermione was bordering hyperventilation. She fanned herself nervously.

"Joshua has recently found out that his daughter is a witch. His wife informed him when he came home that very day."

"So this bloke has a wife and family—why is he here?"

"Hermione," her mother began slowly, petting her daughter's face. Hermione didn't appreciate being treated like a child. "Some people have . . . difficulty accepting that the wizarding world exists, especially if they find out it runs in their family. Some people take it . . . badly. And, well, Joshua is one of those people. All we are doing is providing food and shelter while he works things out in his head."

"Wouldn't it be better for him to do all that with his own family?" said Hermione, crossing her arms. When her parents avoiding answering, she spoke again: "Are you implying something? Did . . . did he put his hands on his wife?"

"No," her father said sternly. "It's nothing like that, nor is it any of our business."

"It bloody well is your business if he's living here!"

"Enough," her mother intruded. "I will not have this rancor in my house. Hermione, the bottom line is that we were nice enough to allow our boss to temporarily stay here while he works out a rough patch in his life. That's all there is to it."

"Excuse me if I'm interrupting anything," a new voice spoke suddenly, coming from the hallway entrance. "But may I ask for another blanket?"

Hermione turned to look at the man.

Joshua Jacobs was, appearance-wise, the last person one would expect to be going through a "rough patch". A man in his late forties, he was average height, average weight, and seemingly average in every sense of the word. While he was not exceptionally handsome, there was a certain charm in the manner he presented himself.

"Ah, you must be Hermione," he said, showing off a set of gleaming white teeth. He held out a wrinkled, tanned hand.

For the sake of being polite, Hermione gave him a firm shake. "How do you do?" she said dully.

"Great, actually. Your parents have been treating me wonderfully."

"So I've heard." She gave a forced smile to her parents and Joshua, smoothing out the creases of her shirt. She wanted nothing more to leave; to go home and start on the work that, unfortunately, would not magically disappear.

Hermione excused herself from the house then, sharing a brief "Goodbye" with her parents and Joshua. She had not an inkling that this stranger would soon be the source of all her pain.