Chapter Text
“Mr. Potter! Aren't you just the dinkiest little thing I've seen all morning!” Gethsemane Prickle cooed excitedly from behind her electric violet bifocals, mouth still modestly full of tuna and cucumber sandwich.
Harry smiled kindly in return. “Ms. Prickle. How are you?”
“Swamped and nauseated, dear. You?”
“That seems about right.” Harry chuckled, perking up with his usual politeness at addressing the senior members of the Ministry staff. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us for lunch? It's turkey and buttered onion day.”
The click-clacks of the thick, plastic hoops of jewellery around her wrists dismissed him. “I’ll do just fine with my own snack. Wouldn’t want to intrude into two young lovers' bonding time!”
Harry still wasn’t used to the woman's attempts at matchmaking by then, his voice quivering with embarrassment. “Oh, no, no. Nothing of the sort. I, uh – have a girlfriend, actually.”
“Hm. How could you not? With such plump, rosy cheeks. And those glasses to top it off...”
Before he could stutter some more, Hermione emerged from behind the file cabinets. “So, my dinky, rosy-cheeked pal, ready to go?”
They left the department with an approving, knowing nod from Prickle. Hermione, for her part, muffled her laughter as best as she could. Thankfully Ginny found his awkwardness as amusing and infinitely endearing as she did.
“You reckon I should get a pair of those new elevator Oxfords?” he asked when they stepped into the lift.
“I think anything short of kitten heels won’t make much of a difference, Harry.” Hermione nudged him and barely scurried out of the way when he tried to poke her ribs. “How was the training this morning?”
“Brilliant. I'm two Episkey's away from snapping my own wand and going back to Muggle London to be a dishwasher,” he groaned.
Hermione reached for two of the wrapped sandwiches while Harry grabbed the juice chalices. “Pumpkin for me. You've had to regrow all the bones in your arm, you'll be fine.”
“That’s not comforting,” Harry complained. “Oh, and we're going on an assignment for a couple of days with the Delta Unit next week or so. Something about a ring of Muggle women trafficking. Suspected Snatchers. Joy.”
“You’ve always liked hands-on work,” she tried to cheer. “Is Ron going too?”
Harry sat in front of her, sheepishly avoiding her gaze. “Uh – yeah. He promised he'd have lunch with us sometime before that...”
Hermione inspected him with curiosity and rapidly pinpointed his discomfort. “Harry, it's fine. If he's dating her it's only natural he'll want to spend time with her.”
He absentmindedly rubbed his forehead. “I'm not even sure they are dating. If it's serious, I mean.”
“Regardless. I'm only skeptical about her being Rita Seeker's apprentice now. I hope she doesn’t take advantage of her connection to Ron. If I have to put her in a jar too, he'll think it's because I’m jealous.”
Harry snorted into the juice. Something caught his attention as he clumsily wiped his chin. The vacant table next to theirs had a forgotten copy of the Prophet which he quickly snatched.
“Speaking of which, what's Lucius Malfoy doing on the front page?”
Hermione stopped nibbling on her sandwich and leaned forward to read the bold title of the featured piece.
LUCIUS MALFOY'S SENTENCE REDUCED FOLLOWING THE LAST HEARING OF DRACO MALFOY'S YEAR-LONG DETENTION
By Lavender Brown
The telltale tapping of fingers on wood spoke of his annoyance. “Thank Merlin it's the last. I'm pretty sure Malfoy still has a shopping list of names. If every Death Eater they caught thanks to him trimmed Lucius' sentence by a year, he'd end up walking out scot-free.”
She turned the paper towards her. “And Draco's free to go now?”
Harry shook his head, skimming his index under the section where it mentioned the probation period he'd be under while working for the Ministry.
“Well, that's – interesting. Where do you think they'll place him?”
He took a big bite out of the sandwich. “No idea. Department of Petty Pillocks and Generally Awful People?”
Hermione bit a smile before lowering her eyes to keep on reading. The bottom left corner of the page featured a picture of their former classmate, one she was sure had been taken in the few months that followed the end of the war, one year ago. He'd looked sunken. The same crestfallen expression she'd seen at his trial marring the overly confident features she'd grown up with. Even that, however, didn’t stop Lavender from lightly poking at the prospect of yet another heir being back in the market, she noted with disdain. Maybe for her Hermione would consider a very small vial.
“Uhm – do you think we're gonna get to find out?” She looked up at Harry to see his big, emerald-green eyes locked somewhere behind her, hands hastening to wipe his mouth and robes.
Hermione turned her neck and immediately did the same as Narcissa Malfoy gracefully made a beeline for their table. Blasted timing.
“Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry greeted politely as Hermione flipped the paper down.
“Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger.” The woman who stood about a head taller than both of them offered them a smile. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
That was an understatement if she ever heard one. The last time she'd set her eyes on the only member of the Malfoy family who had evaded conviction was at the woman's trial, where they had spoken in her defence. The light summer robes showed the pale, unblemished expanse of her forearms, and Hermione remembered how the lack of ink had played out in her favour.
“It certainly has,” Hermione added nervously, her eyes fidgeting to Harry, unsure of where to take the conversation. “Would you like to sit down? Hardly a premium feast, but…”
Narcissa's lips pursed with a smile again. “You’re very kind, dear. But perhaps another time, if we can reschedule. I happen to have an appointment with the Minister. Thought it'd be best if I readied myself with a flask of water. The man will chatter for days if you get him going.”
It was Harry's turn to supply her with pleasantries. “Of course. If you ever do come by again, feel free to join us.”
“I trust I will continue to have the need to. A certain – monitoring of the Malfoy estate and any endeavours we may partake in will still be required from here on out. At least until Draco's probation is over,” she said, a knowing glint in her eyes – like she'd caught them doing something naughty – as her hand reached for the paper and flipped it back. “Never did like this Brown girl. Of course, I have nothing but Draco's description of a 'shrill dimbo who clings to Weasley like she has any chance of competing with Granger' to go by. But, no matter, his assessment of her intelligence clearly stands, at least.”
Hermione's eyes trailed to Harry, who looked equal parts amused and confused. That Malfoy had ever paid her any sort of compliment, however backwards the context may be, was newsworthy in and of itself. Perhaps she could tip Lavender off.
“Alas, I must be going.” Narcissa smiled kindly and directed her attention to Hermione. “I really hope we get to catch up. Have a nice day, the both of you.”
The woman turned on her heels, her robes trailing behind her like a peacock's tail. They watched her take the corner before meeting each other's bewildered gazes.
“What do you know! We do share beliefs with the Malfoys,” Harry joked, earning himself a snort from her. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
Two minutes later and Harry sat back down with their usual order. Hermione got up to ask for her lemon peel.
Throughout the rest of the day Hermione had successfully kept at bay the feeling of dread that lately settled on her belly whenever she got invited for dinner at the Burrow. Standing in front of the tipping dwelling now, her tummy churned without her consent.
“I miss those yams.” Harry's stomach grumbled, very obviously for a different reason.
Although she'd parted amicably and by mutual agreement with Ron, Molly had taken it as a personal offence, it seemed. Not that she ever treated her poorly. Just differently. The mashed sweet potato platter would be pushed to her, but she wouldn’t insist on a bigger scoop like before.
“Hermione!”
Thankfully, the warm delight she felt at seeing Ginny Weasley skipping to her for the first time in months and taking her in her arms pushed that uneasiness aside.
“Potter,” Ginny punctuated the bored drawl of his name with a punch to the shoulder. Harry couldn’t look more disoriented if he tried. After a few seconds of puzzlement, Ginny's lips broke into a grin and she tangled her hands around his collar to pull him up for a kiss. “Kidding,” she chuckled.
“Don’t give the bloke a heart attack, Gin.” Ron appeared from the kitchen to pat Harry on the back and lace an arm around Hermione's shoulders in a quick side hug. “Well, go on. Show them!”
Looking like an odd cross between disinterested and downright shaking with giddiness, Ginny rushed to the table to pick up a piece of parchment. Hermione saw the Gryffindor crest before anything else.
“Congratulations, Ginny,” she breathed, running her fingers through the younger witch's name written in ink. “I’m so incredibly happy for you!” she cried, pulling the redhead into another bear hug.
“Aren’t we all?” Molly emerged from upstairs, a huge smile plastered on her face. “I was about to give up hope. Finally, another Hogwarts graduate! We haven’t had one since Percy, you misfits. Goodness me!”
“Yeah, but have you ever had an Auror in the family?” Ron grinned, clearly taking a jab at his tendency to bring the attention to himself.
Harry laughed but shoved him nonetheless. “Brag about it once we make it out alive.”
Molly started pushing them all inside. “Hurry along to the table, will you? We're all here, then? Lavender isn’t coming, dear?”
Hermione cheered herself for not flinching.
“Uh – no,” Ron blurted out, chancing a glance at Hermione. “She has to work late again.”
“Right, of course. Duty comes first,” Molly agreed, rather uncharacteristically. “Wonderful work that girl is doing at the Prophet. Wonderful.”
Well. That ship had clearly steered in an unfamiliar direction.
“I saved you the crispy layer.” Ron handed her the small bowl of rice with a genuine grin and Hermione missed him for a heartbeat.
Bill and Fleur were already at the table and George arrived about ten minutes later. Naturally, the conversation shifted to teasing the eldest brother about his rather obvious wonderment at his unnaturally beautiful wife. Bill fought back with a grumpy 'I'm a ginger, I redden easily' and Hermione realized she would never fit in with the Weasleys, seeing as the joke had derailed faster than her brain could process, and suddenly Harry and Ginny were on the verge of becoming engaged.
“Is that gonna be your excuse too when we tie the knot, Gin?” Harry quipped.
“You keep taking that Dreamless Sleep potion, Potter. It clearly hasn’t taken effect yet.”
Molly stopped dicing the meat. “What do you mean, Ginny? Aren’t you planning on marrying?”
“Sure, I am,” Ginny said. “I meant me blushing like a schoolgirl at the mere sight of him.”
“I was blushing like a dragon tamer,” Bill said, fork pointed at his sister.
“Ah, but wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Molly mused, eyes lost somewhere. “It’s been so long since we've had a celebration like that.” The woman stopped carving the piece of meat. “Wait, why don’t you?”
“Why don’t we what?”
“Get married, of course!”
The room stilled. They could hear Errol crashing into something upstairs.
“What?” Someone asked, she wasn’t sure who.
“Ginny’s graduated and of age. Harry's just starting a brilliant career…”
“Yes, exactly!” Ginny said, her pitch a bit higher than usual. “I graduated today. Harry's just starting a brilliant career.”
Molly searched the table for supporters. “With your father's promotion at the Ministry the timing couldn’t be better, dear. Who knows what tomorrow's bringing? We'd be able to throw together something a bit fancier.”
Ginny huffed. “Mum, this is ridiculous…”
It took another look around at shell-shocked faces for Molly's chirpy mood to dampen. “I’m sorry, dear. I just – thought we could use a ray of sunshine around here…”
From that point until the moment they caved, Harry had the same lost expression he'd worn through all six years at Hogwarts, when he'd end up tangled in something he never asked for. She could see the confusion swimming in his eyes like a big, neon sign with the words 'Have I just been guilt-tripped into marriage?', even as he nodded along.
They finished dinner a couple of hours later and Harry offered to walk her, as usual, from the Apparition point to her flat, which she promptly declined.
Like a broken record, her 'Bye, don’t faint' was answered with an 'All I wanted was yams'.
It didn’t take long for Ginny's owl to arrive.
I can’t believe it's been twenty minutes and you haven’t invited me for lunch and freaking-out time tomorrow! I'll be there around noon.
G.W.
Hermione gave it a treat and sent it on its way with a scribbled request for the other witch to bring any leftovers from dinner. She noticed her pile of signed, wand-verified parchment was running out, and made a mental note to take care of it tomorrow.
Crookshanks was lounging on the couch, a paw stretched in the air waiting to be thoroughly groomed. She fully planned on doing the same, with the aid of a tub, naturally. The week had been long and she had earned herself a nice, scalding bath and a book. Separately, of course, because she wasn’t an anarchist.
Just as she was about to head for the bathroom to soak her troubles away, a faint smell of smoke stopped her in her tracks.
“What the – ” Hermione immediately shuffled to the kitchen. Quieting down to look for the sounds of possibly faulty wiring, she picked up on a muffled beeping instead. “It’s coming from outside?”
Probably a bit of an overkill, but her wand was coming along.
The flat in front of hers had been vacant for a few months, after the Muggle couple had decided to move to a smaller, more affordable place. Clearly, someone had moved in today, if the muffled sounds of a shower running were anything to go by.
It was the tune of crackling flames and a smoke alarm that troubled her.
She rang the bell once. Twice. Thrice, and still no blimey answer.
“Uhm, hello?” She realized how utterly idiotic she sounded, deciding to bang on the door instead. “Is anyone home?”
Were the floor's smoke detectors connected? Probably. Would she end up being dragged out by firemen in the middle of the night should she ignore it? Most likely. Was she focusing entirely on the wrong issue here? Without a shadow of doubt.
Hermione tried to call out to the tenant a couple more times, but they didn’t answer, the shower kept running and her hand slipped to her wand. A quick look around the empty hallway gave her the green light to cast a whispered Alohomora. If cornered, she would claim the door had been unlocked.
Sure enough, the curtains of the living room window that mirrored her own were ablaze.
Her eyes trailed over the scene, instantly spotting a small table with the offending ashtray next to a pack of cigarettes and a wristwatch, as the wind blew steadily from the balcony.
“What kind of arsehole…?” she groaned, already moving to tuck in her wand. “Not electrical, then. Water it is.”
“Have I Apparated to hell?”
All her muscles became taut like she'd been hit with a binding curse, the familiar voice resounding in the room.
Well, I must certainly be a sight of nightmares right now, Hermione realized as she whipped around, wand at the ready, with raging flames at her back.
And Draco Malfoy on the other end of her 10¾ inches of vine.
She stood petrified for what felt like forever. It was his horrified gaze, which momentarily shifted to the inferno behind her, that brought her to reality. She turned – casting a semi-powerful Aguamenti, a disabling charm for the alarm and a purifying one to clear the smoke – and spun back around.
“What in the world are you doing here?!”
He was startled enough to stumble back. “Wha – Are you mental, witch? You break into my flat in the middle of the night, point a wand at my face, and have the gall to demand to know what I'm doing here?! This is just the epitome of Gryffindor ridiculousness. Just when I thought you people couldn’t outdo yourselves! Bravo.”
Hermione had the decency to lower her wand arm, even if the wand itself remained tightly clasped in her fingers.
“Oh, I do apologise. I could have sworn your flat was literally on fire just twenty seconds ago, but I promise next time, I'll leave it be!”
“Next time? What in Salazar's soul are you even – how did you even end up here, Granger?!”
Hermione fumed. “I happen to live across the hall! I've been knocking on your door for the past ten minutes!”
“And do you tend to make a habit of breaking into your neighbours' homes and setting them on fire when they don’t answer the door?! Because if you do, tell me now, if you please! Maybe I can still go back on the purchase agreement.”
“I didn’t do it! I smelled smoke and heard the alarm, you impossible pillock! Would you rather I had let you die?!”
Malfoy seemed to be having a stroke and she didn’t plan on helping. “Right now? With the headache I'm currently sporting? Yes, I would.”
Hermione took a deep, soothing breath that accomplished exactly nothing as the shriek was still embroidered in her rant. “What are you doing here, Malfoy? In Muggle London, no less?”
He winced at her high-pitched demand, pressing his fingers into his temples. “Oh, what kind of fresh torture is this? Is it because I evaded Azkaban?” he mumbled to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as his eyes shut tightly.
She proceeded to ignore him. “What were you even thinking? You can’t smoke inside! And what in Godric's name were you doing for so long in the shower?!” She gestured wildly to his naked torso and her line of sight fell on the angry, blotched skin of his left forearm.
Skin which he immediately covered with a dark blue jumper that had been discarded on the couch.
“Would you like to time me from here on out? I can jot down my bathroom schedule, if you'd prefer. Or, you can, you know, just barge in here whenever. Please, don’t let my presence discourage you from strutting about at leisure.”
“Look,” Hermione bit her tongue, a semblance of an apology that for some reason didn’t feel quite right dancing on her lips, “do you mind explaining, please? I'd like nothing more than to go home and scream into a pillow, but the thought of you two doors away left unsupervised makes me uneasy.”
He sneered at her, just like old times. “What do you want me to explain, witch? We bought the place. I'll be living in it,” he explained slowly, like you would to a child. “It’s part of the settlement for my probation. No magic for a year.”
She examined him with a frown. “Easier to take your wand and have you live at the Manor.”
“My wand was taken, long before the Wizengamot could get hold of it in fact, if you recall, Granger. And they're going through the Manor with a fine-tooth comb. Only my mother is allowed entry,” Malfoy explained, clearly irritated. “Not to mention the Floos, Elves, and whatnot I'd have access to. Like I said, no magic whatsoever.”
Hermione raised a brow. “But weren’t you supposed to start working at the Ministry?”
“You’re pretty up to date with my life, I see,” he tutted.
“Don’t flatter yourself. It was your father’s face that made the front page.”
The blond wizard snorted at that particular jab. “Not so much at the Ministry. I'm expected to report there every day, but I'll be out and about in your Muggle world. The wand I was given has only a handful of spells I'm allowed to use. During working hours, of course.”
She studied him for a grand total of three seconds. “Obliviator?”
Malfoy smiled snarkily. “Ever the fastest broom in the cupboard.”
Hermione glared at him with resigned annoyance. This was hardly how she'd envisioned her Friday night playing out, but she doubted Malfoy had planned to have his house broken in either, by her of all people, while standing at wandpoint with nothing but a towel covering his lower half. She should apologise. Were it anyone else she would be doing just that. Instead, “Oh.”
“Oh? I'd expect something a bit more eloquent from that big head of yours, to be quite honest. Like I am so very sorry, Malfoy. I'm deranged, and paranoid, and borderline psychotic.”
Of course the – being in front of her had a knack for making her rethink any sort of apology, truce or proposal of peaceful cohabitation she might have been considering.
“Don’t count on that,” she snapped and headed out. “Let’s just go on with our separate lives pretending the other doesn’t exist, alright?”
“You know that’s not gonna happen, Granger.”
She whirled around. “Pardon me?”
Malfoy eyed her with distaste. “You know that's not possible. It's us.”
Hermione rubbed her forehead, exasperated. “I will try my best.”
“Oh, so will I. Believe me.”
She couldn’t get to her flat fast enough. Crookshanks greeted her at the door and she remembered her well-deserved bath. Perhaps she would take a book with her to the tub. Desperate times called for radical measures.
“Your cat is still ugly as sin, Granger.”
Two books. She would take two books.