Note: I owe a great deal of gratitude to mccargi for the time she dedicated to beta this work. Any errors are my own. This story - though short - has been a bee in my bonnet for a long time, and it feels good to finally have it out. I hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.
Hermione Granger was mad. So mad in fact, she didn't quite know what to do with herself. Her morning started as any other. She had slept reasonably well, and risen on time to the chime of her alarm clock. She bathed, had a light breakfast of whole grain toast and tea, and dressed for work. Her hair cooperated, for the most part, with her attempt to put it in a French twist, and she managed not to gouge herself in the eye with the mascara wand. All in all, if asked, she would have considered her morning a successful one. Successful, that is, until she opened her door to a barrage of flashbulbs and shouting reporters.
"What the –" Startled, she slammed the door shut and pressed her weight against it. Hermione shook her head in confusion. She lived in Muggle London, what were wizarding reporters doing at her door? As if to answer, the morning edition of the Daily Prophet was slipped under her door. The bold, shimmering headline caught her eye:
"WEASLEY PUBLISHES TELL-ALL BOOK, SECRETS AND SCANDALS REVEALED!"
She picked up the newspaper with trembling hands and began to read.
"On the eve of the ten-year anniversary of the fall of Lord Voldemort, Ronald Bilius Weasley, Order of Merlin Second Class, has revealed long-kept secrets of what truly happened on Harry Potter's wild and sordid journey to destroy the dark forces. Weasley is the only member of the so-called Golden Trio to ever speak publicly about their experiences leading up to the Final Battle, as Potter and Granger have steadfastly refused interviews. In 426 pages, he details the sex, lies, and torture that occurred between the three members.
'Who shagged who? Well, I'm not going to bleeding give it away, am I? Buy my book and see for yourself.' Weasley has been quoted as saying.
Potter and Granger were not available for comment at the time of publishing. Unsung, Unrewarded, and Unwanted: The Truth From a Fallen Hero, by Ronald Weasley, hits book stands everywhere today. Excerpt on page 18. "
Hermione ripped multiple pages in her haste to get to the excerpt, her heart hammering in fear of what she might find.
"…Things happen when you're in close quarters with people for a long time. You get comfortable with them, between all the bathing and changing and sleeping and such. Sure, Hermione tried to be private at first, but by the time we were headed back to Hogwarts for the Final Battle, Harry and I… well let's just say we'd seen about all there was to see. Hell, I looked forward to the times she'd take Polyjuice just so we'd get something new to look at!"
"Oh, gods," an angry sob tore from her throat before her vision went red. She'd kill him. She would absolutely rip him limb from bloody limb. He'd gone too far this time.
Hermione knew the last few years had been hard on Ron's ego. The three of them had been in the spotlight for so many years following the war. However as people healed, rebuilt, and restarted their lives, the press began to leave them alone. The spotlight faded. The fame ebbed. A new generation of children was born who would grow to know their names only from history texts or passed down stories. This change was a godsend for Harry and herself, the final reward of peace and normalcy after their sacrifice. It was not so easy for Ron, who had built his future around the successes of his past.
While Harry had gone on to join the Department of Magical Law Enforcement as an Auror, Hermione found a home with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, a job she was running late for. Ron, on the other hand, accepted numerous endorsement deals that paid in handsome, one-lump sums. He became the face for Fleetwood's High Finish broom handle polish and got his very own Chocolate Frog card. He was paid to appear at shop openings, celebrity functions, and never refused to kiss a baby if there was a camera nearby. The easy galleons had clearly run out.
Her main exit blocked by a herd of reporters, she stormed into her floo and out through the direct connection in Harry's office at the Ministry. She found her friend at his desk, bent over a stack of paperwork. His head snapped up at her intrusion.
"Hermione!" His chair scraped loudly as he rose to greet her. "Are you alright?" She slapped the newspaper down on his desk and pointed at it accusingly.
"Have you seen this? What on Earth has he done?" her voice was shrill, and she knew if she didn't calm herself soon she'd be hyperventilating into a paper bag the rest of the morning. She allowed Harry to guide her into a chair. Once they were both seated, he took a deep breath.
"Ron's in trouble, Hermione."
Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the arms of her chair.
"Well, he had better be, because if he isn't I'm in the right mind to put him there myself!" She made to rise, but Harry raised a hand to stop her.
"No, that's not what I mean," he removed his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "He's sick. He's been drinking heavily, becoming delusional. I don't think he ever really got over the Order of Merlin incident."
"But it's been ten years, Harry. Ten!"
"I know, I know, but you know how he is."
She did.
Ten years ago, after the last of Voldemort's ashes blew away with the wind, and the physical carnage of war had been cleared, the Wizengamot held a special session to discuss the awards of Order of Merlin for the heroes who helped rid the wizarding world of darkness. It came to light – though no one was quite sure how – that in the midst of the most trying part of their journey to destroy Horcruxes, Ronald Weasley had abandoned his best friends in a fit of selfish rage. Despite his eventual return, the witches and wizards of the esteemed Wizengamot found the incident to be a suggestion of poor character and, consequently, decided that he should be awarded an Order of Merlin, Second Class. This esteem came with a smaller medal and a much smaller purse. On the evening of the award ceremony, Ron accepted his medal on a stage flanked by his two best friends, each receiving their medals for Order of Merlin, First Class, with a grim scowl marking his face.
That night, he drank more than ever before and had to be carried home after passing out under a banquette table. His behavior was a great embarrassment to the Weasley family, and Arthur refused to look his youngest son in the eye for days.
At the time, Ron's attitude had reminded her of his antics in their fourth year at Hogwarts, when he and Harry nearly came to blows over Harry's name coming out of the Goblet of Fire. And again in sixth, when he was denied entrance into the Slug Club, and his jealousy nearly dissolved their trio of friendship a second time. After a lifetime of friendship, Hermione couldn't deny Ron had a propensity for throwing tantrums when he didn't get what he wanted. She had always found it annoying, but as they grew older, she found she no longer had the patience for it. It was just one of the reasons they weren't as close as they used to be, and though it pained her, she would not stand around and wait for him to grow up. She hadn't seen him since last Christmas, only catching a glimpse of him through the frosted Hog's Head window.
Anxiety and dread ate away at her from the inside, while fury bloomed at the surface.
"What do we do, then? Why did no one know about this book? He can't possibly have written it himself. Who is he working with?" she demanded. Harry sighed and shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm afraid I don't know." Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes.
"You don't know? You don't know! You're an Auror, Harry! Head of your department! How can you not know?" she stood up and placed her palms on his desk. When she spoke again, she hissed so vehemently that for a brief moment Harry thought she might be speaking in Parseltongue.
"There are Merlin knows how many copies of this book – this book of lies – circulating throughout the Wizarding world as we speak! By lunchtime, we'll be the laughingstock of our community! Our peers –"
All at once, the wind seemed to leave her sails as she realized what she was saying. Her eyes wide and mouth gaping, she collapsed back into her seat.
"My job," she said weakly. "My credibility, my reputation…" Harry could only return her gaze sadly as her eyes turned glossy. He stood and walked around to place a hand on her shoulder, squeezing encouragingly, as she buried her head in her hands.
"Mione, I promise we will figure something out. In the meantime, why don't you take a personal day? Go home, get some rest. I'll send Bletchley with you in case the paparazzi give you any trouble," he offered.
"No," she sniffled, steeling herself. "I have work to do. I'll get through today, but you find him, Harry. Find him and bring him in. We three need to talk." She patted her hair and straightened her blouse. Now was no time to be a ninny, although she desperately wished she could run into her mother's arms and cry.
She tucked the newspaper under her arm and walked over to the Floo.
"I'll expect an owl from you just as soon as you hear anything," she tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace as Harry nodded.
"Good luck out there, Mione. I love you."
"I love you, too. Now, please, go find our idiot!"
She was gone in a rush of green flames. Harry could just make out the sound of her calling for Newt Scamander's office before the fire reduced to a smoking crackle.
A very aged Newt Scamander sat stoically behind a heavy mahogany desk in the fourth-floor corner office overlooking the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures Department. He was a tired man, indeed. In front of him lay the daily paper, one of his hardest working case agents slathered across the front headlines. It simply would not do, but he did not yet know if he had the energy to deal with it.
By the time Hermione came tumbling through his floo without so much as a may-I-please, he'd already decided to take a half day and spend the afternoon with his kneazles and a cuppa.
"Mr. Scamander, my apologies for barging in like this, but there has been a terribly false and downright salacious accusation made about me in the papers this morning, and I just needed to tell you –"
"It's a load of drivel, yes, yes, I know, Granger. Sit down," he grunted. She faltered momentarily, her thoughts now jumbled from having been cut off. She felt clumsily for the chair behind her and sank into it.
"I'll tell you one thing, this is not what I agreed to be dragged out of retirement for," he continued.
"No, sir, of course, and I am terribly sorry for the trouble this –"
"Stop talking, Granger."
"Yes, sir."
"As I was saying, this kind of attention leaves a stain on my department, and I won't have it. I have no patience for schoolyard gossip, and frankly, I haven't got the time left on this earth to waste on it. I'm old, Granger. They brought me back to manage house elves and hinkypunks, not bankrupt degenerates and an excitable public! Damn kids."He reached into his breast pocket and took a pull from his flask.
"Sir, if I could just –" He silenced her with a glare and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He pointed to his office door.
"I have over thirty case agents just like yourself outside that door. Do you think they're wondering how they can be the best worker they can be, today? Do you think they are lining up their interviews, or putting in their paperwork?" Hermione shook her head, downcast.
"No, they're not. All anyone wants to talk about is why Granger isn't at her desk this morning, and if maybe it has to do with this lovely piece of journalism," he spat the word as if were dirty and foul tasting, shaking the paper in his hand as he did so.
"I don't know about you, Granger, but I'd rather not spend my day listening to confounded theories about whether the reason we won the war is because you fucked your way across Western Europe!" Her head snapped up, and her eyes bulged.
"What did you say?" She cried. "Are people actually suggesting that I –"
"Merlin take me, I said shut up!" Scamander exclaimed, coming out of his chair. Hermione shrank back in her seat. Scamander sat back down and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was a reasonable man, a calm man. He did not yell.
"I need field reports, Granger. I need cases closed; I need my employees to be focused on their tasks, but most of all I need you to get back to work."
Hermione felt the first pang of hopefulness all day strike through her, and she looked at him with tentative optimism.
"I'm not fired?" She asked.
"Not today, young lady, but for the love of Merlin, get this shite out of my hair."
"Yes, sir!" She righted herself.
"On the record, I'm sending you on assignment this week. If anyone asks, Rolf was with you. Off the record, you get the hell out of my office and clean this up. Discreetly."
"I will; I promise I will! Thank you, sir." She went for the door, but he barked at her before she could reach the handle.
"The floo, Granger, if you please," he said. "Unless you wish to be met with flashbulbs. Weasley's book has turned my department into a campground for reporters."
"Of course, sir." She was gone as abruptly as she had come, and Newt was alone once more.
"That girl is trouble," he muttered to himself, draining his flask.
She had been home for quite some time, alternating between pacing her living room floor and bending over her writing desk to scribble down ideas as to how she could stop this madness. She didn't have much, and most of what she did have was either illegal or strongly frowned upon. They had to find Ron. Maybe there was nothing she could do about the books ready to hit shelves, but if Ron changed his mind, maybe they could stop any reprinting? She was rich enough; she'd buy them all if she had to. Normally she would never condone book burning, but she would make an exception this time.
She sat on her sofa and buried her head in her arms, trying to will the thundering in her brain to stop. How had they gotten to this point? What could have possessed him to take down his two best friends, all in the name of a few galleons?
Well, more than a few, surely.
Hermione knew firsthand how many galleons booksellers were willing to throw at all three of them for their secrets - true or not. She, herself, had received more offers than she could count on both hands over the years. There would be a signing bonus for agreeing to write the tell-all, and a stipend for each chapter submitted to the publisher. At the end, there would be full payment, and then royalty checks. It would likely be enough money to fuel Ron's lascivious lifestyle and liquor supply for years. She briefly thought of trying to match whatever they offered him, but he couldn't be trusted not to take her money and allow the publication anyway. She desperately wanted to cry, and scream, and yell. She wanted comfort. She wanted... for Merlin's sake, where was he? He must have heard by now.
As if she'd conjured him up, the floo burst to life, and suddenly he was there, standing tall in all his handsome, powerful glory. His face was hard and determined but fell at the sight of her. Her chin wobbled, and a whimper escaped.
"Oh, my darling," he said soothingly. In three long strides, he had her in his arms as she cried into his chest. He rubbed her back as she sobbed. "I should kill him for working you into such a state."
"I-it's n-not t-true! None of it is t-true!" she hiccuped.
"Shhh, there now, love. I know it's not. I know," he murmured. "Won't you sit down?"
"Bunch of bloody r-rot," she sniffed. She said something else, but it was muffled by his shirt, and he couldn't understand her.
"What was that?"
She pulled away from him and wiped her face on a clean corner of her robes.
"I said I'll cut his useless, ruddy balls off." He chuckled.
"There's my girl, always such a fighter you are." She looked crestfallen.
"Not always, it would appear. What am I to do? I've got no ideas, and no time to figure anything out. If Harry and I speak out to deny it, who would believe us? The media will sensationalize everything. Reporters will be everywhere - "
Harry's large, tawny owl swept through her open window and landed on the back of a wingback chair; letter clutched in its beak. She snatched it with impressive speed. It was not a long missive.
No sign of Ron but discovered his ghostwriter -
She gasped painfully at the name underlined in Harry's hand. Her vision swam, and her fists shook.
Skeeter.
"No!" The cry ripped from her throat. "That poisonous bitch!"
"What is it?" he asked. She thrust the note at him, his face going grim as he read. She thought she might have heard him growl. "I'll put an end to this right now. I'll call a - "
"No. They don't deserve that kind of attention. It could ruin your career."
"You don't deserve this kind of attention! It could ruin your career!" he argued. "You shouldn't be dealing with this right now, Hermione! Not while you are - "
She pressed a hand to his chest to stop him.
"We will find him, and we will fix this. I don't know how, but I will make this right. I need to know you believe I can."
He softened, bringing her palm to his lips and pressing a kiss to the center of it.
"Of course I believe you can."
"Then let me."
She felt dangerous, like she could fall an entire nation, or perhaps one rogue gossip columnist who had gone too damn far this time.
"I'll give you some time, but if I don't hear from you soon, I'm stepping in. I won't have you worked up and in a state." Hermione hesitated but nodded her understanding.
"What are you going to do about Skeeter?" he asked.
"I don't know yet," she answered distractedly as she rushed to gather her things.
"What are you going to do about him, once he's found?" She halted briefly before moving towards the floo.
"Hit him. Hex him. Either, both. I'll figure it out."
He caught her by the arm before she could leave and cupped her face in his hands.
"I love you." His first kiss was sweet, followed by a fierce, demanding kiss that ended with a nip of teeth to her bottom lip. His large hand struck her backside with a sharp sting. "Give him hell." She nodded, adding lust to her myriad of tangled emotions.
The note fluttered to the ground, face up.
Burrow. Manhunt is on. Won't be long now.
He didn't bother picking it up before returning to his office. He had work to do.
The Burrow was abuzz with activity when she arrived. An outside observer may have remarked on how much the scene resembled one of war, and this must be headquarters. A map of London had been spread out across the dining table, dotted with red and yellow flags. Scraps of parchment littered the area. People were apparating in and out so fast it would have made her head spin was it not firmly secured to her shoulders. She spotted Harry in the sitting room, bent over two directories with quill in hand. She moved to approach him when she was startled by Bill Weasley appearing directly in her path, out of breath but determined.
"Nothing at the Cod and Wallop. What's next?" he asked Harry. Harry struck out something in one of his books.
"Tippy's Tup Cup, in Knockturn," Harry replied without looking up.
"Righto." And Bill was gone.
Hermione advanced two more steps before being obstructed again, this time by Ginny.
"The bar back at the Gin and Jingle remembered seeing him before closing last night, but no sign of him today. He didn't pay his tab, so they've asked if they can have him once we're finished."
"Typical. Try the Liquor Flicker."
"Righto!" She, too, was off with a quick salute.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. "What is all this?"
"Well, I couldn't very well mobilize the Auror Department, could I? I would be fired for misuse of resources. So, we've got the Weasleys."
"We do?"
"Aye, of course you do," replied George, who appeared out of thin air and kissed her on the cheek. "He's our bloody mess; we'll clean it up. No sign of him at the Porky Pussy Pile. Next?"
"Medusa's Seduce'ahs." George made a face, which Harry returned.
"I know, just go." Another pop, another disappearing Weasley.
"Care to catch me up?"
"The men are checking the gentleman's clubs, the women the bars and pubs. Molly is sitting with the children at home. We should have him soon; we've been at it for hours. We've checked nearly every establishment in London, and he can't have gone far."
"What can I do?" she asked.
"Grab a quill." Harry nodded to a stack of supplies on the table. "You can start highlighting all the establishments he may have gone in that muggle directory over there." She did as she was bid, and together they poured over pages and pages of listings, calling out new destinations to each Weasley as they returned from their fruitless searches.
Dingle's Dangle, The Witch's Tit, The Salty Centaur, Two Witches One Broom - from seedy, back-alley holes-in-the-wall to exclusive private lounges, they checked them all. The sky turned dark, and the grandfather clock in the hall read half seven when Arthur arrived with a basket of sandwiches from Molly, and the group broke for supper. Hermione took her triangle of roast beef and settled into a quiet corner of the sitting room while the rest of the family dined in the kitchen. She took a few thoughtful bites before the food turned to ash in her mouth, and she found herself unable to eat another bite. She set it aside and sighed as her insides fluttered and churned with unease. The sofa groaned as Harry sank down next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She didn't hesitate to fall into his side, her head resting in the crook of his neck.
"Why is he doing this to us, Harry?" she whispered. "How can he hate us this much?" Harry was quiet for a while.
"I don't think he hates us," he said. "Not really. I think he's angry and desperate. Skeeter has been pushing him for years. I think he just ran out of reasons to say no. Ran out of coins. Maybe ran out of his self-respect, too."
"How do you know that? That she's been pushing?"
"Because she's been after me, as well. I reckon she knows better than to come after you."
"Why didn't you tell me?" She raised her head to look him in the eye. His left brow quirked behind the round frame of his glasses.
"It didn't seem relevant before now. Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what?" A tick of silence passed between the pair.
"I had an interesting visit to the records department today, looking for a lead on Ron..." he trailed. She flushed to the roots of her hair.
"I was going to," she started. "It's an election year..." she said as if to explain.
"I understand." He pulled her closer. "Are you happy?"
"Incandescently. Today aside, of course."
"Course," he agreed. He kissed her forehead before he released her and made to stand. "I'll be off now, just to see the children to bed, then I'll be back. You should try to rest. I suspect it could be a long night." Hermione nodded, but knew full well sleep would not find her tonight. She watched him retreat before closing her eyes and rubbing her aching temples. Taking deep, steady breaths, she inhaled, and the scent of bergamot filled her senses. A cup of tea was being held under her nose.
"Come on then, while it's still hot," Ginny said. Hermione curled her fingers around the handle. "That's a girl."
Two hours later, Bill Weasley popped back in, his younger brother in a body bind and held firmly by the ear. Hermione snapped to attention; Harry leapt to his feet. Apparation wards were thrown up and a silencing spell placed on the room. Bill released Ron long enough to push him into a chair and bind him to it, before tactfully leaving the room. Her rage returned at the sight of him, and Harry made no move to stop her as she closed the distance between them and slapped Ron across the cheek with all her might.
"Ow!" Ron cried. "What the fu - OW!" Unable to control herself, she hauled up and slapped him across the other cheek for good measure. Her voice was positively glacial.
"Give me one good reason not to blast your worthless, drunken arse to Kingdom Come," she spat. "How dare you, Ronald Weasley? How bloody dare you?" Ron looked around her to Harry, who stood stoically behind her, arms crossed.
"Are you going to let her threaten me like that?"
"I didn't hear a damned thing," he replied coolly. He gestured to Hermione to continue. When she leaned in closer, she could smell the alcohol permeating from his person.
"I have spent an unhealthy amount of my life cleaning up after you Ronald, and hear me when I tell you this shall be the last time I do it. I will never understand what possessed you to work with the only person on this planet who has made it her life's work to bring me down, but I promise you, you will live to regret that decision for the rest of your miserable life," she hissed. "I want a public retraction of every line of that so-called autobiography even if I have to Imperius you to get it!"
"You can't stop it! They've already paid me! There's nothing you can do to me now." Ron announced proudly. Harry stepped in.
"What could be worth it, Ron? After everything we've been through together? We were family long before I married your sister. How could you do this to us?" There was silence as their inebriated suspect refused to speak. Until…
"Old Voldy was right about a thing or two," he said with a slur. "Least loved by my mother, least loved by you," he directed to Hermione. "Harry Potter's stupid friend. That's what I am. How do I live up to that?" When neither answered him, he let out a humorless laugh. Hermione shook her head.
"After all the love you've received in your life, that's how you feel?" she asked. Ron nodded once, his eyes hard. "Well then, that's quite sad. I daresay you never deserved what you did get. Only a fool would throw his two closest friends under the bus, ruin his family, ruin himself, for the admiration of complete strangers. When they forget you, Ronald, and I promise they will, I hope you realize it wasn't worth it."
A heavy silence fell over the trio. After a time, and with an uneven sigh, Harry spoke.
"You should leave, Ron." His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. "Leave, and don't come back."
"I plan to!" Ron spat, "The sooner you release me, the sooner I can walk away from this Burrow!"
Harry shook his head sadly.
"No, you misunderstand me. You need to leave England. Leave us. I don't trust you to be anywhere near this family."
"Fuck off, mate. This is my home! I'm not leaving my home!" Ron argued. A knock on the door interrupted before Hermione could argue. The door opened a measure, and George's head poked through. His face was grim, immediately putting her on alert.
"George? What is it?" she asked.
"We need to get down to the ministry immediately. The Minister for Magic has called an emergency press conference. We've all been summoned."
By gods, she was going to pass out. She swayed on her feet, and Harry was at her side in a moment, steadying her with a firm hand on her elbow.
"What about him?" Harry gestured to Ron, who spat on the floor in response.
"The Minister sent service agents to watch him. We need to hurry."
Hermione's eyes whipped to Harry.
"Harry..." she whispered nervously. "I have a bad feeling about this." He gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.
"It'll be okay. Come on."
The entire Weasley clan, minus Ron, escorted Hermione into the ministry atrium where a bevy of reporters, ministry officials, and the curious public were already gathered. Within moments, the Minister himself swept out of a nearby lift and onto the hastily provided podium. She caught his eye and gave a small shake of her head, her lips mouthing a silent, please. His face was impassive as he began speaking.
"I would like to extend my gratitude to you all for meeting at this late hour, and I offer my apologies to those of you who were taken away from your families this evening. It is with deep regret that I call this press conference tonight to discuss that very issue - a sensitive family matter."
Hermione wanted to close her eyes and disappear, but she couldn't tear her gaze from the man.
"I have failed in my oath to lead you with full transparency, and I must be honest with you now. It was my greatest honor to be quietly married last year."
A din of voices collided at once, echoing off the vaulted marble. Flashbulbs burst furiously, but the Minister maintained his composure. Excited murmurers of 'married?' sparked through the crowd as a reporter from the Magik Gazette shoved his way to the front.
"Minister Malfoy, who is Mrs. Malfoy?"
"I do hope she will forgive me for announcing our union in such a fashion, Mr. Pippin, but you see, I love her far too much to see her harmed. I humbly ask understanding from my constituency this election season as I face my transgression, but it was out of respect for her career that we chose to keep it private. However, this morning my wife and one of my esteemed peers have come under a most vicious slander attack."
A sea of eyes turned to Hermione in an instant, and she was shocked to find Harry of all people gently pushing her towards the podium.
"Hermione, darling, won't you come up here a moment?"
The crowd, still momentarily stunned, parted for her to pass. When she was within reach, he snaked a protective arm around her waist.
"Draco Malfoy, what in Merlin's name do you think you are doing?" she hissed under her breath.
"Generating outcry. Now smile for the cameras, sweetling."
She did her best to manage a weak smile but imagined it looked more like a grimace. Draco turned to address the crowd again.
"I must express my extreme displeasure for the tasteless reports printed by the Daily Prophet earlier today, as well as my disappointment in Goblin Publications for printing this drivel. I will not tolerate the undue stress to my wife's health." He paused as Hermione's eyes narrowed into slits. He would undoubtedly pay for this later. His hand slid from her waist to her abdomen. "You see," he continued, "stress is bad for the baby."
The hall erupted in chaos, and Hermione fainted dead away.
"She's going to hex you when she comes to." Harry nudged Draco's shoulder as they tended Hermione's bedside. Draco sighed.
"I know."
He'd managed to catch her as she went limp in his arms, and the army of Weasleys, loyal as they had been all night, formed a protective shield as he rushed her to a floo and home to their flat. She woke briefly, as Molly examined her and proclaimed her healthy, just overwrought, and then slipped into a peaceful sleep.
"She's had a frightful day, poor dear," Molly fussed from her perch on the side of the bed, smoothing curls away from her temple. "She must be exhausted." She rose and clasped one of Draco's hands in hers.
"I'm going to leave some dinner for you. She'll likely be peaky when she wakes." With one last motherly squeeze, she left the two men alone in the bedroom. They waited for the door to snick closed before they spoke.
"It appears I owe you my congratulations, Minister," Harry said with a smirk. "Though I can't say I'm pleased you married my best friend behind my back and knocked her up."
"I wanted her to tell you, you know. She didn't feel ready. And I think she was worried about my career."
"I know."
"Do you?"
Harry guffawed.
"Of course I do. No one can force Hermione to do anything. If she'd wanted us to know, we would have." Before Draco could speak, he went on. "I also would like to thank you for your help. You did the right thing. I know she didn't want to involve you, but eventually, she'll realize that working the press against Ron and Skeeter is going to be the only way out of this bloody mess. This ought to keep them busy for a while."
"Let's hope."
They watched over the soft female form as a companionable silence stretched between them. After a time, Harry broke it.
"What do you suppose we'll do about Ron, then?" A hard expression shuttered over Draco's face for a moment.
"It's taken care of." Harry looked at him questioningly. "I may not be Minister of Magic much longer, Potter, but while I am still afforded certain authorities, I plan to take full advantage. He's been sent to France to dry out. I've signed control of his exile over to Molly and Arthur. If they should ever deem him fit to return home, I trust their judgment." Harry nodded in agreement, and a hush fell once more until Draco elbowed him and leaned to whisper in his ear.
"She's faking."
"Hmm?"
"She's not asleep."
Harry bent to examine her face, which appeared to be masked in slumber.
"How do you reckon?"
"She snores like a mountain troll with sleep apnea."
"I do not!" A flushed and frustrated Hermione sat up and exclaimed. Draco grinned in triumph, while Harry pursed his lips to keep from laughing.
"This does not appear to be my fight," he said. "Glad to see you're up, Mione. I'll be heading home now." He kissed her head and nodded to Draco as he left.
"Minister."
"Potter."
Draco moved to sit next to her, cradling her cheek in one hand, and the small, barely there bump of their child in the other.
"You scared me, darling. Don't ever do that again." He touched his head to hers and felt her yield against him.
"Draco, what have you done? What if this kills your campaign? What if it makes the frenzy worse?"
"Nothing matters, Hermione. Nothing but this, right here. They won't remove me from power from sheltering my family from the public. Even if I lose re-election, no one can take this away from me. It was right, and I stand by it." He moved to claim her mouth in a kiss, but she wasn't ready to concede just yet.
"You promised you would let me handle it on my own," she complained.
"And so I did. I warned you I would intervene if he wasn't dealt with quickly."
"Impatient man."
"Stubborn witch."
"If you're wrong about any of this I'll taunt you forever."
"I look forward to it, Mrs. Malfoy." He tried again for her lips but was evaded once more.
"But what about Skeeter?" she asked. Draco smiled.
"Don't you worry about it, sweetling. Don't you worry one bit," he drawled, finally capturing the kiss he sought.
RONALD WEASLEY EXILED IN DISGRACE! - Daily Prophet
GOBLIN PUBLISHING DECLARES BANKRUPTCY AS INVESTORS PULL OUT AMID MINISTRY BACKLASH! - Magik Gazette
FAMILY VALUES INCUMBENT MALFOY SOARS OVER BACHELOR McLAGGEN! - Wizard Tribune
RITA SKEETER MISSING OVER 100 DAYS - Witch Weekly