Chapter Text
“Please state your name and the reason you’re here.”
She looked expectantly at the three men in front of her.
None of them spoke.
“Let’s start with you, Draco.”
“Oh, you do remember my name.” He smirked. “I almost thought I’d left no impression on you at all.”
After a brief pause, he added, “Glad that’s not the case.”
He winked at her.
What the—?
“Of course, I remember you. We are in different circumstances now, however, and it’s important that—”
“Alright, just this once, then." He cleared his throat. "Draco Malfoy,” he said, followed by a dramatic bow. “I was considered ‘not remorseful enough’ to pass the therapy plan.”
To his left, Theodore Nott started laughing loudly.
Blaise Zabini kept his eyes fixed on his fingernails, a slight curve on his lips.
Draco smacked Theo in the arm.
“What are you laughing about, you git. At least I didn’t set the therapist on fire.”
“Just the carpet,” Theo corrected joyfully. “She wasn’t hurt—I’m not a lunatic.”
Hermione coughed.
“Draco, please continue. Do you agree with your therapist’s assessment?”
Theo tried to hold back his laughter, but failed miserably, huffs escaping every few seconds.
Draco’s smirk grew wider. “I’m remorseful—the most remorseful person I know, really.”
“So, you disagree?”
“I suppose it all went downhill when I told her my alliance to the Dark Lord was simply a strategic miscalculation.”
Theo roared.
Blaise exhaled through his nose loudly.
“What? It was, wasn’t it?” Draco asked. “Anyway, she took a bunch of notes on that and a few days later I was told I’d failed the plan.”
Draco looked at her and gave her a once-over.
“Perhaps that was a good thing,” he told her, his words as slick as his hair.
Hermione cocked her head.
That was… never mind.
“Blaise, how about you? Could you tell us why you’re here?”
Blaise slowly turned his head toward her, meeting her eyes.
He offered an easy smile, crafted carefully.
“My therapist never understood what I was trying to say, as if it was too hard for him.”
“Understanding you was hard for him?” Hermione asked.
Blaise raised one eyebrow. “Among other things.”
“O-okay,” Hermione said.
What do you even say to that?
“My name is Theo,” Theo abruptly offered.
“Like Draco here said, I set the therapist’s carpet on fire during our last session.”
“What made you do such a thing, Theo?” Hermione asked, trying to sound like someone who wasn’t reconsidering every decision she’d ever made in life.
“She said I had to show her I’m aware that my actions have consequences.” Theo shrugged.
“I thought a demonstration would be best. There’s this neat trick with a magnifying glass and sunlight…”
Draco snorted.
“The thing is,” Theo continued, “I kind of forgot about it and then the carpet caught on fire. But it was completely controlled.”
“And you genuinely thought that would be a good idea?” Hermione asked.
“It’s because he’s a fucking idiot,” Draco supplied.
“I had to, Hermione. One does not make science wait. She calls for us when she wants,” Theo said, speaking over Draco. “Besides, I figured my therapist would appreciate the practical example.”
Blaise glanced at Theo. “Apparently she didn’t appreciate you getting her carpet that hot.”
“No,” Theo said sadly. “She was oddly protective of her carpet.”
Blaise grinned.
Draco looked bored, his eyes still shooting glances her way every now and then.
Hermione cleared her throat once more. “Let’s move on.”
She had been trying to ignore it since they entered, but now she had to address it.
“We cannot leave before we fix your clothes.”
“Muggle casual, right?” Theo asked excitedly. “Me and Blaise did our shopping together.”
“I-I can see that, yes,” Hermione uttered.
Identically dressed, both Blaise and Theo wore bright yellow joggers. Below, pink trainers that lit up with each step, colourful rainbow lights in the heels.
How did they even get those in adult sizes?
Most… interesting, however, were their identical black hoodies.
The large text on the front read: “Call Me Daddy.”
Theo pointed at the text proudly. “I figured I could take up a leadership role. I’m well equipped for it.”
Blaise grinned again. “Well equipped, indeed.”
Each word they spoke had Hermione questioning her choices more.
“Those hoodies need to go. You two look like you’re part of some questionable street gang,” she said.
“What about me?” Draco asked her. “You like what you see?”
Hermione turned to him. His expression was serious, an eyebrow raised—daring her to resist him.
Draco had dressed… deliberate. Like he’d researched Muggle casual for weeks and had settled on whatever this was supposed to be.
A sharply tailored charcoal overcoat. Perfectly fitted dark trousers. Gleaming trainers that had clearly never seen a street. On his head, a tiny, angular beret perched like it had a purpose. On his wrist, a chunky digital watch blinking nonsense numbers, disrupted by the magical environment.
And on top of it all, a neon green T-shirt that read “Good Vibes Only”, like someone had lobbed a glow stick into the middle of his otherwise somewhat sensible outfit.
“Err—”
He looks like the CEO of a roller-skate rink.
She sighed. “I think it’s best if I supply clothes for each of you, but err—good effort, guys.”
Draco seemed rather disappointed as he pulled the beret from his head.
“Does that mean no one will call me daddy?” Theo asked, sounding upset.
“I’ll call you daddy,” Blaise offered.
“Thanks, Blaise!” Theo exclaimed happily.
“No problem, Daddy.”
Theo beamed.
Her brain refused to engage.
“Right. Okay. I will find you suitable clothes before we head out,” she told them.
“But first, I’m supposed to read the Pilot Programme description to you.”
Draco coughed, side-eying the men next to him.
“That’s a good idea. I’m not entirely convinced literacy is universal in this room.”
Hermione smiled faintly. “It’s mandatory for every pilot.”
The room fell silent as she took out a parchment.
Hermione parted her lips, but before she could form a word—
“EVERYONE, SHUT UP! She’s trying to read to us!” Draco looked at her and nodded. “You’re welcome.”
A self-satisfied grin was stuck to his face, as if the situation had been perfected by his intervention.
“Thank—thank you, Draco.”
Hermione tightened her grip on the parchment and tried again.
“As a result of failing your court-mandated therapy plan, you are required to participate in the Pilot Programme.
The Pilot Programme is a six-month process in which you will fully immerse yourself in the Muggle world. You will engage in a series of tasks designed to help you learn about Muggle life, including their—”
“Muggle women wear crop tops,” Blaise interrupted. “Let’s find out more about that.”
Draco shoved an elbow between Blaise’s ribs.
Hermione went on, “—their behaviours, customs, and everyday challenges. Completion of each task will be assessed by your assigned Pilot Counsellor, who will determine whether it has been successfully completed. You must successfully complete at least 70% of all assigned tasks in order to pass the Programme.
During the duration of the Programme, the use of wands or any other magical abilities is strictly prohibited—”
“Booooo!” Theo called.
Draco and Blaise joined in.
Hermione continued, now speaking louder, “—Only the Pilot Counsellor will retain access to a wand, and only for emergency situations.
By signing this parchment, you acknowledge your understanding of the Programme’s requirements and agree to participate fully under the outlined conditions.”
“Wait, you get to keep your wand?” Draco asked.
“For emergencies only.”
“Don’t worry, Draco—Daddy is here for you,” Theo reassured him.
Draco decisively took a large step away from him.
Hermione felt her lips twitch into a smirk that she hid immediately.
Stay professional. This is your pilot. Stay professional. Stay—
“Where do I sign?” Draco stood in front of her suddenly.
Entirely too close.
“Err—here.” She handed him the parchment and her quill.
He placed his signature theatrically, while Theo and Blaise formed a queue behind him.
Draco set the quill down and looked up at Hermione.
“What is the sleeping arrangement going to be? Can I bunk with you instead of Creep and Daddy over there?”
Hermione peered at Blaise and Theo and understood his concerns.
“We’ll go over the housing situation later,” she said. “Which brings me to my next point. Where is—”
“Pansy? Right here, of course.”
Pansy Parkinson casually strolled into the room and glanced at the parchment Theo was signing and/or molesting.
“If you are looking for my name, it will be at the top, where it belongs,” Pansy said to no one in particular.
She walked over and stopped beside Theo. “I thought I told you to gasp whenever I enter a room?”
Theo considered her words for a moment and nodded.
He gasped loudly.
“Not now, you idiot. It’s too late.”
She dragged her eyes over his clothes. Then Blaise’s. “What’s with the ridiculous get-up?”
Blaise’s lips curved, no doubt about to say something ridiculous. Theo beat him to it.
“Hermione said she will get us all new clothes, but Blaise will still call me Daddy.”
Pansy herself was dressed immaculately, Hermione couldn’t deny it.
Unlike the others, she had nailed Muggle casual. A fitted blouse, a high-waisted leather skirt, and sleek ankle boots that caught the light with every step. Every detail screamed effortless couture.
“You won’t need—” Hermione started to tell Pansy, who cut her off.
“She is going to dress me?”
Pansy gave her a once-over, the feeling distinctly different than when Draco had done so.
Hermione felt Pansy’s eyes burn into her, inspecting each piece of clothing she wore and passing judgement.
She couldn’t blame her, either. Hermione herself had opted for black denim jeans, trainers that had seen better days and a Dire Straits T-shirt. She’d never felt more self-aware than in this moment.
“You can wear your own clothes, Pansy. It seems you understand Muggle clothing,” Hermione said.
“Damn right, I do,” Pansy replied. “I’m fashionable in any and every culture. Perks of the Muggles? Their clothes tend to accent my assets,” she said, dropping her gaze to her chest with absolutely no subtlety whatsoever.
Blaise, Draco and Theo each followed her gaze and lingered.
Aware she caught their attention, Pansy looked back at Hermione and grinned, satisfied.
“Don’t worry, Hermione. I’ll help you find something nice.” She almost sounded kind.
“T-thanks, Pansy.”
Hermione gathered her composure.
Don’t show weakness. You are in charge.
“Now that everyone has signed,” she said clearly, “It’s time you part with your wands.”
She took out her own and flicked it once. A large wooden crate appeared.
“Place your wand in the slot with your name on it. It will be safely stored at the Ministry for the next six months.”
Hermione watched them reluctantly approach the crate and wondered if she had just made the worst decision of her life.