A/N: I can proudly present this little story, written as my submission for the Strictly Dramione 18+ movie fest (fb group). It was my first fest, and I claimed the Mr and Mrs Smith prompt. I hope you all like what I made of it! All three chapters of this story are already written.
Warnings: mentions of torture and murder, includes violence (also domestic) and sex
Disclaimer: This piece is meant as a transformative work and no profit is made from this. Characters, places, etc. belong to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. and whoever is responsible for 'Mr and Mrs Smith'. The exception is Morgana's Touch - that's mine.
A huge shout out and tons of beta love to my awesome friend MrBenzedrine! Hugs to LondonsLegend for some priceless vocabulary.
Hermione arrived at home in a hurry. Once she had exited the fireplace in the master bedroom of Malfoy Manor, she slipped off her sneakers, casually removing the bloodstains from her black, leather chucks.
Her assignment had resisted, and she hated that because it made her late. Consequently, she didn't have time to change her clothes in the department like she usually did when she came from one of her messier operations. And now, she was also late for the dinner party at the Potters. The only good thing was that she knew Draco wouldn't be at home, as he had told her that he had an important meeting with the board of Malfoy Inc. tonight. Maybe she could make up a believable excuse to him, preferably one she hadn't used too much in the past.
Yes, Hermione had a stressful job within her under section of the Department of Mysteries, the Book Restauration Of Extremely Disastrous Potential, or, short: B.O.R.E.D. At least, that was what the plaque on her door and her paycheck said. But as much as she was a scholar, she was even better at something else. Working only with a small team directly under the Minister's orders, Hermione was the witch they called when someone was so dangerous, detrimental, or sometimes only dubious that they had to disappear - discreetly - from the wizarding world. Often, 'disappearing' meant being hunted down, having their magic purged and their memories replaced by a unexplainable amnesia and a nice muggle background. Sometimes, it meant releasing the safety catch of her muggle sniper rifle and taking them down from the distance. Much better than poison. Very clean when you did it right. Occasionally, like today, her job got messy because she had to whip out her wand and engage the person in a duel. She hated it, because what her made so infamously successful was the inclusion of muggle technology - and the fact that her assignments expected an Avada instead of muggle hightech.
Of course, her husband didn't know what she really did, and, at this point of their marriage, he probably wouldn't even care, Hermione surmised. Things between them had somehow cooled down; what had been a blazing fire for a short time was now an ice desert.
Shrugging off her distracting thoughts, the brunette quickly changed into sensible heels, a flowered skirt, and a red blouse. Now, she looked like everybody expected from a bookish know-it-all. The perfect cover for her double life, even if her outfit was constantly frowned upon in her husband's elitist circles.
She smirked every damn time she saw one of them through her scope.
Draco hated to be late. Not that he particularly cared about the 'event' he was invited to, but there was a difference between fashionably late and arriving in a rush.
His last case had resisted, and he hated that. Consequently, he was late for the dinner party at the Potters. The only good thing was that he knew Hermione wouldn't care when he was late, as he had told her that he had an important meeting with the board of Malfoy Inc. tonight. Knowing her, she had left her office late and Apparated to her best friend's house straight away. Walking through the front garden, he checked that his priceless Italian dragonhide shoes were free of blood stains thanks to the added Repelling Charms he had imbedded in them.
Yes, Draco had a stressful job as the co-owner of Malfoy Inc., the most successful potions company in Europe. While his father still managed the official branch, Draco was responsible for the more succint part of the family business. It was a very well kept secret that the Malfoys were more than blond hair and irresistible grey eyes; in fact, they were the best private assassin agency in the wizarding world and had been for centuries. Their arsenal of helpful curses and artifacts was extensive, and after a series of bad decisions (Death Eater wasn't a good cover), Draco helped greatly to bring the company back on track. He led a small team (the lesser people, the better) with Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini and held a spotless track record so far. In public, he was the perfect business man, and the marriage with Hermione had done wonders to open certain doors, even if she would never know that. However, all good things came to an end, and recently it became apparent to Draco that the relationship with the smart witch would probably be one of the next victims of his job. While they had started out so passionately, they rarely talked to each other now, and where the sex had called for dozens of Reparo for the manor's interior in the past, it was more of a duty one fulfilled after Quidditch on Saturdays. If at all.
"Draco, what a surprise!"
'A surprise, indeed,' Draco thought and replied, "Hermione, I thought you'd long be here." He gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek.
"Well, some things couldn't wait until tomorrow," she said and knocked at the door without slowing just because she met her husband.
"I understand." And understand, he did, at least from the perspective of his work. One couldn't very well postpone the disposal of a body or the Obliviation of some wizard just because the dinner was on the table or one of Hermione's friends had decided it would be wise to procreate.
As if on cue, the door opened.
Harry swung open the door, worry evident on his face. After a casual handshake with her husband, he hugged Hermione.
"Everything alright?" he whispered against her mass of curls, and Hermione hoped it had gone unnoticed by Draco, but sometimes that man had a hearing rivaling her own.
"Was anything special scheduled today that the Head Auror was informed?" Draco laced his voice with a carefully measured dose of concern.
Hermione shrugged and glared at Harry. "A particularly vicious book was on our plate today. It resisted a bit, but, in the end, I could wrangle it down without so much as cutting my finger on the paper." Harry appeared hardly convinced. But that may have had to do with the fact that he knew what she had really been up to. Her raven haired friend was one of the few people who was aware of what her her job entailed. And he worried constantly, mostly of what could happen to her and what he would say to her husband in such a case.
The brunette witch rolled her eyes. "Don't worry. I survived, didn't I? A glass of red wine would be nice, Harry."
Thirty minutes later, Hermione nursed her second fill of a decent Bordeaux and tried to ignore the meaningless chatter of the witches around her. Because, naturally, the group had divided, and by default Hermione had been sorted into the ladies group.
Pure boredom.
Some years ago, she and Draco tended to escape for a little tryst in an empty room or a dark corner behind the house, and that alone had made tolerating those gatherings worth it. Such glory days. Essentially, that was how they had established their relationship in the first place. At least, that what was Draco believed.
It was all Astoria's fault. Partially, at least. It had been Astoria's assignment to fulfill the Minister's wish of keeping a close eye on the Malfoys after their role in the Second Wizarding War, and the intelligent Slytherin had been the perfect candidate for this: pretty, pureblood, and loyal to the new Minister, she was tasked to gather an insight of the Malfoys' affairs from the inside of the family by seducing the handsome heir. Only it didn't work. No matter how low her neckline, no matter how witty and flirtatious her attitude - nothing could land her in Draco's arms.
Kingsley was adamant about the importance if the task, so he filtered through his special ops team, but in the end, he decided against Parvati, or Hannah, or Susan, and for Hermione. After all, Draco Malfoy was known to be attracted to vibrant witches - and who would be more fitting than Hermione Granger? After weeks of heated glances and smirks, one thing had led to the other at the annual Hogwarts War Memorial ball, and they had spent the night in the restricted section of the library doing very unrestricted things with their bodies. One of the best nights of her life. She continued her assignment with ease after that because she had truly been in love with the snarky man. And when she had confessed to Kingsley that she had become emotionally involved, he had merely cocked one eyebrow and congratulated, mumbling that the Malfoys clearly weren't involved in anything shady when they welcomed Hermione in their middle.
Still, the young Missus Malfoy had no idea when the marriage deteriorated or when things had become so boring between them. She suspected they got too invested in their respective jobs. Hermione knew that her priorities lay with her responsibilities for the wizardkind, and Draco...well, he thought that potions were important, as well as making a lot of money with them. Putting her work first was what had ended her relationship with Ron, and she started to think it would end that with Draco, too. She would have spent more time pondering her private life, but Ginny held a pink bundle in front of her eyes, one that giggled and flailed its stubby legs around.
"Here, hold Lily for a while," the temperamental witch commanded.
Hermione had no other option than to grab the baby before it kicked her into the face.
"Why?" she asked back, holding the toothless nappy destroyer at arms length. Merlin, but she had defused bombs with less hazardous potential - and less fear in her veins.
"So that your ovaries kick into gear and you and the ferret finally start making blond, curly haired bookworm babies."
Without any idea what to do with the baby girl, Hermione looked at the other women in the room with something akin despair - and realized she seemed to be the only adult in the room that wasn't either pregnant or had popped out some children. Yet, she had no desire whatsoever to follow them into motherhood. Then, Lily must have found out that she wasn't exactly welcome in her current company and promptly started wailing.
"I guess Silencio isn't the accepted reaction here?" Hermione frowned. The other witches laughed at her comment, thinking she was joking and hiding her upcoming brooding instinct behind a mask of indifference. But they were wrong. Hermione inwardly shook her head at them: she was a fighter, not a milk bar!
Meanwhile, Draco had a polite conversation with Harry, Ron, and George about Quidditch. An easy, safe topic that didn't ask for a big portion of his brain. And what else should he talk to his wife's friends with if it wasn't accepted to use a pimped Dreamless Sleep potion or a modified Stupefy to switch someone off for an hour or two?
They spoke about Oliver Wood's scores in the ongoing season when the two older Potter spawns stumbled in. Rude as he was due to his upbringing, James addressed his father, "Where did Lily come from?"
Draco snorted, actually looking forward to Harry's answer.
"From mummy's tummy. You know that, James, just like you and Al. That was why mummy's tummy was so big."
The child seemed to think hard about that and came to an earth-shattering conclusion. "Does that mean there's also a baby coming from Aunt Katie's tummy?"
Harry nodded, causing his glasses to slide down his nose. Did he make so few galleons that he couldn't even afford new glasses?
"And from Aunt Luna's tummy?"
Harry nodded again. Whether the child asked for more tummies or not, Draco didn't pay attention, for he was distracted by the smaller boy fingering his shoelaces with his undoubtedly snot covered fingers. Just when Draco wanted to shoo the nasty creature, his wife's name fell.
"Also from Aunt Hermione's tummy?"
"Salazar, I hope not!" Draco involuntarily exclaimed.
He earned reproachful glances from the three fathers in the room. Yeah, maybe Draco had avoided the responsibility of continuing the Malfoy line so far. And, looking into the living room where his wife held a baby like a dangerous object, he and Hermione were on the same wavelength on that topic.
He was a respectable assassin, not a nappy-changing Hufflepuff!
Three weeks later, Hermione entered the lobby of a posh hotel. Time was running for her to get her assignment fulfilled. This time, it was an extraction of information concerning a drug dealer ring. The highly dangerous substance, Morgana's Touch, was en vogue in some circles, and the Minister worried it would spread, but they had a reliable informant telling them one of the key persons had a room here. She was to investigate the role of a certain individual, Jacque Lafleur, in the selling and production of said drug and Obliviate him afterwards.
Of course, the French wizard resided in the finest hotels, and that was why Hermione slipped into the role of the busy business bitch as a cover. That kind of woman she usually snarled at when she encountered them, a high heels, tight dress, and lipstick wearing, platinum blond woman. In short: the kind of woman she usually found prowling around her husband. With precise, elegant steps she strolled through the lobby and addressed the witch at the reception without greeting, "Liz Bennet; I booked a room some days ago."
The woman behind the counter was a professional and smiled politely, "Good afternoon, Miss Bennet. Welcome to our hotel. Yes, we have a reservation under your name."
Even if her instinct was to make some small talk, Hermione firmly stayed in her role, criticised that she had to levitate her luggage herself from the Apparition point and that she had already been to hotels in her life, so she didn't need an introduction of how to open and close her door with a password. The reception witch was endlessly patient and ended her speech with a little chuckle. "You know, Miss Bennet, your reservation has caused quite some amusement among the staff."
Hermione raised her perfectly groomed eyebrows. "And why, pray tell, may that be?" she snarled in her best imitation of her father-in-law. Though, it didn't do anything to stop the woman's cheerfulness.
"The same day your reservation came in, not even an hour later, we had a reservation from a gentleman named William Darcy. Isn't that a strange coincidence?"
Without so much as a nod as reaction, Hermione spun on her heel and walked over to the elevators, deep in thoughts. A strange coincidence indeed. She often chose fictional characters as cover names when she checked in somewhere on her missions, and this time it had been her favourite novel Pride and Prejudice she had picked. But to find someone in her hotel also bearing a name closely related to the same book made the hairs on her neck stand up in alarm.
There had been rumours that someone else was also on Lafleur's heels, and that they were even closer to him then she and her team. It had happened once in a while in the past that their competitors (and, without a doubt, they had some) had won the race, or that they had caused an explosion or another ruckus to hold her team back. But who they were, the Ministry didn't know, for they covered their traces expertly.
"Focus, Hermione!" the witch mumbled to herself. A distraction was the worst thing that could happen, short of being uncovered, of course.
One hour later, after she had unpacked her things and had had a refreshing nap, she stepped out of her room to pay a visit to the bar, where she assumed Lafleur met with his clients, sipping expensive firewhiskey and making flat jokes. She threw a short glance down to her cleavage to check whether the neckline of her black dress plunged deep enough to catch a man's attention (because Hermione wasn't too ignorant not to realize that this tactic worked in some cases), and smiled, pleased when someone grabbed her upper arms.
"Careful, lady!"
She was about to apologise for almost running into someone, lifted her head -
-And had all of her instincts screaming red alert in the next second. The face she was staring into was so dreadfully familiar, yet so different from what she saw every day. The tall wizard in front of her had short, brown hair and deep brown eyes, and a smirk that had once dampened her underwear instantly.
"Draco? What-" Her insides turned cold.
"Hermione?" The smirk disappeared. "I thought you were on a book restoration conference in Paris!"
"Well, honey, and I thought you were on a Potions Club meeting in Aberdeen!" Her husband still had the hands on her arms, though the grip was much tighter now. Did he want to restrict her? And why was he Glamoured?
"Oh, look, whom we have here! What a pleasant surprise!" Another familiar voice came from her right. She glanced into the direction from where now slow, deliberate claps could be heard, followed by Draco's groan.
"Pansy. What the fuck are you doing here?"
"That should be obvious, dear Draco, shouldn't it?" A dramatic pause followed. Adrenaline started to run through Hermione's veins. Something wasn't right here. Even entirely wrong. "I'm observing the most successful couple in the wizarding world in action. Nobody else has a higher track record than you two."
Hermione's brain needed a second to process the new information. No, that couldn't be true...could it? Then, things happened in quick succession: she freed herself from Draco's grip and produced her wand in a precise movement. Though, at whom she should point it? Pansy still leaned against the wall; her lips curled into a devilish smile and her arms folded under her breasts. Draco, on the other side, had his hawthorn wand unmistakably directed at Hermione's head. Consequently, she aimed hers at her dear husband, who seemed to have withheld a tidbit or two about his life from her.
"Darling, we should have a nice, long chat at home," he sneered, and she wasn't even shocked at the cold his voice held, for she replied in the same tone, "That we should, love."
Casting all plans to fulfill her assignment aside because there were obviously more important issues at hand, Hermione spun on her heel and Apparated to the manor.
