Hermione sat at her desk and tried to block out the sudden rush of memories from that horrible day. Her gaze caught the edge of the desk where she knew a hidden compartment existed. It was her hidden pleasure, her guilty secret. Sometimes the only way she could even get through a day was to reach into the small drawer when no one was looking. A small vial was usually all she needed to alleviate some of the stresses she'd been under. She recalled vividly leaving the interrogation room when it was evident there was no more useful information to gather from its occupant and heading straight for her desk. One vial would take care of all of her worries. Two would make her feel invincible. Three would help her forget. When she'd downed the fourth vial, she didn't even allow herself the opportunity to worry what that much would do to her body. Or her mind.