The Magical Maintenance Department decided that it should be raining.
Hermione Granger, assistant investigator of the Being Division, loathed the rain.
Even though the weather was just an illusion, Hermione found herself patting her thick, curly hair self-consciously at every clap of thunder or shot of lightning. It was no frizzier than normal, but old habits died hard.
Her desk was tucked into the back corner of the smallest office on the 4th level of the M.o.M. She didn't mind the close quarters however, and quickly made the space her own. The lighting was always dim, her preferred way of reading by candlelight, and books touched the room from top to bottom. The only addition her office companion had complained about was Crookshanks, who enjoyed prowling the office space and chewing on the various plants.
Not that the lead investigator was often in office - he was sent out nearly everyday for some kind of liaison activity that had him traveling across the globe. Hermione envied him, as she wouldn't have taken the position if she knew it was synonymous with secretary.
The charmed grandfather clock by her desk chimed loudly, alerting her that someone was on their way to the office. Brushing Crookshanks off her lap, who hissed angrily, she straightened out her work robes and checked her hair once more for excessive frizz. It was rare for her to receive visitors; most days were spent signing off on court summons and filing away complaints.
Eldon Kirkby, head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, was a sweaty man. Even now, as he entered Hermione's office with a gruff greeting, he was wiping his forehead with a damp cloth. If asked, Eldon blamed the excessive perspiration on his fast metabolism, but most knew that it was simply a bad case of the nerves.
"Granger."
"Kirkby."
He held a manilla envelope,and Hermione stuck out her hand to take it. Eldon gratefully passed it off, polite enough to give her the non-sweat-stained side. A simple red 'S' was stamped into the right-hand corner, and [PRIVATE] was hastily written below it. Hermione raised an eyebrow and looked at her boss, who was kicking a mothball around for Crookshanks. If anyone appreciated having her pet around, it was Eldon Kirkby, who struggled with even the most basic human interactions.
"Are you sure this file is for me?" Hermione asked, placing the folder in front of her patiently. To highlight her point, she pointed out the red 'S', which marked it as property of St. Mungo's. Eldon shifted uncomfortably, blotting his forehead.
"Positive. You're going on a liaison trip, and that's the profile of your companion."
Hermione shook her head.
"I'm just the assistant investigator Eldon. Gregor is the one who goes on liaison trips; I just file papers." It pained her to say it, but her conscious wouldn't let her take the case. Besides, she wasn't even trained in the protocol of how to handle these trips. She knew that they often involved mediating disagreements, or assisting in the implantation of policies, but the culture and location of those under the Being division were so varied, that even the slightest mishap could result in-
"...dead. Killed by the hags out on their bloody island."
Hermione's head snapped up, and she stood up from her desk so forcefully that her chair fell back. Eldon winced at the noise, and the blood drained from his face when he realized that Hermione was making her way to his side.
"What do you mean he's dead? Gregor was one of the best ambassadors we had."
Trying his best to ignore Hermione's eyes, Eldon stared at the candles that floated above her desk and fiddled nervously with his tie.
"We don't…" he swallowed loudly, and Hermione huffed with impatience. Stooping down, she picked up Crookshanks in her arms and shoved his squished face into Eldon's.
"Just tell the story to Crooks, Eldon."
Lifting up a tentative hand, he began to stroke Crookshanks' ginger fur, and the animal's loud purr seemed to calm him.
"Gregor was supposed to return two days ago, and when he didn't, we sent an inquiry to the Hag he was assisting. When she reported that he never arrived, we simply figured him missing until we received his...ah...well, a very specific part of his anatomy this morning with a rather crude letter written in his blood."
Hermione tightened her grip on Crookshanks, who gave a warning growl that let her know he was ready to be sat down. Letting him jump from her arms, she slowly made her way back to her desk, fixing her chair with a lazy wand flick and rolling her body into it. Hermione sat quietly for awhile, listening to the patter of rain and digesting what had just happened.
"So," she began, picking up the folder. "Am I to finish this case for him?"
"More than that I'm afraid."
Eldon fished a tiny gold card from his pocket and dropped it on her desk.
Hermione Granger
Lead Investigator
Being Divison
"Congratulations - you've just been promoted."
Speechless, Hermione picked up the card and stared at it. The letters flickered a proud maroon, and her heart swelled that Eldon made it in her old house colors. She was beyond excited at the advancement, and was about to thank her boss when she remembered just how she got the position.
"It doesn't feel right, but thank-you sir."
Eldon waved his hand.
"This is how the title has been passed down for the past century, so don't worry too much about it. Gregor knew his time was going to come eventually. It's just how things are done around here."
"Well," Hermione replied briskly, standing up to shake Eldon's outstretched hand. "I don't plan on dying anytime soon."
His grip was sweaty, but firm, and Hermione found herself too giddy at the idea of actual work to care.
"I look forward to seeing that Miss. Granger."
They smiled at each other for a moment before Eldon realized their position and dropped her hand hastily.
"The uh, the uh case file will be delivered to you by this afternoon. For now, feel free to look at your companions folder. I hear from the folks downstairs that he's capable, if not prickly. Rather like a Runespoor, I imagine." He paused to clean his face, and Hermione took the opportunity to pull out a leather notebook that she bought years ago when she first started working here. Dusting it off, Hermione beamed at the cover, and was about to start searching for quill and ink when she heard Eldon cough. Turning her attention back, she gave an apologetic smile.
"Just one more note before I leave. You'll be investigating the murder of your former superior, and since we want you to have all the tools for the job, you'll be accompanied by one of the most proficient Healers St. Mungo's has to offer. Lucky for us his speciality is spell damage, which, if the research on this mailed appendage is anything to go by, is starting to look like the cause of death. You will work together, but there is no doubt that you are in charge of the investigation. He'll just be along to assess evidence, and hopefully to stop you from dying in the same manner."
Eldon's shirt was thoroughly soaked by the time he finished, and Hermione tried to not to stare, as he seemed so proud of himself for talking to a human for nearly a minute.
"Thank-you Eldon, and if that's all…?"
He gave a tight smile and headed towards the door. Pausing, just as he turned the handle, he faced her, expression serious.
"Ah, yes, and please remember to do some research on hags. Evidently they're quite critical of mistakes."
"Of course."
"Well, that's a penis alright."
Draco Malfoy twitched at the blunt wording of the Healer, who was tapping the severed appendage with his wand. Rot had begun to set in, and it seemed to curl into itself with defeat. The point of incision was jagged, and dimly sparked orange. Whatever spell had removed it was used poorly.
Normally the staff of the 4th floor of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries spent time assessing spell damage on (largely) intact bodies, with patients who were (mostly) alive. The peculiarness of this case had drawn the attention of every Healer on the floor, who at some point throughout the day made sure to show themselves and offer Draco their personal expertise on what might have happened.
"Thank-you for the insight," Draco drawled, creating a mock note inside the case file. "I'll be sure to alert the next of kin with information that they..." he paused, pretending to scrutinize the profile, "...already seem to know. Incredible that we made the deduction without your help."
The man huffed, crossing his arms.
"No need for rudeness young man."
Draco rolled his eyes, flicking dirt from underneath his nail. Not bothering to remember anyone's name, he usually just nicknamed them after noticeable traits they had.
"With all do respect, sir, I believe I was only responding in like, as I don't know of any self-respecting household that teaches time wasting as politeness."
Asschin flinched, looking every bit the pathetic whelp that Draco viewed him as. Trying to recover, he flashed Draco a smug smile, puffing up his chest with what Draco assumed was his last shred of dignity given how pitiful the whole ruse made him look.
"I heard you got moved to field duty because of your poor bedside manners."
Draco raised a fine eyebrow.
"Oh? It that why you were moved to working in administration? Ah!" Draco shook his head, mock shaming himself. "But it couldn't be the same because that's a demotion, right? How careless of me."
Asschin turned to leave then, head bowed, the battle lost. Slamming the door shut behind him, Draco waited until the footsteps retreated to the far side of the hall before wheeling his chair over to his desk, and looking over his field placement file.
The elderly Gregor had died before Draco could ever be placed with him, so he had no face to attach to the name that was hastily marked out under the Leader Investigator title. He reeled back with revulsion however, when he read the name written in neat cursive below it.
Hermione Granger.
This had to be a mistake,
A cruel joke, made by someone who knew both of their pasts.
Draco flipped, opened, and all but threw the file in his haste to find the name of the Healer who assigned them together.
On the inside of the file was a picture of Granger, who stood straight, hands folded in front of her, with a modest smile. Flipping past it quickly, he scanned her resume, his heart skipping a beat at Participant of the Battle of Hogwarts.
Memories of cruel laughter, running, and clutching the hand of his mother ran through his mind, and he threw the folder across the room, Hermione's picture landing at his feet. Rubbing his temple, he looked down at the young witch, who was still composed after the ordeal. She seemed to be judging him now however, eyeing him with distaste. Draco grunted, and leaned down to flick her picture over.
"Not the best reaction to have to your assignment."
Draco looked up, and his scowl deepened once he realized who his visitor was.
"This was your plan, wasn't it?"
Bastard, aside from being the resident Healer-In-Charge, was the largest thorn in Draco's side since his residency began. He was a tall, jarringly thin man, with a bald head that didn't help his skeletal appearance, and whose robes never quite went past his ankles.
He opted to not reply, instead flicking his wand to collect the strewn papers and float them back to Malfoy's desk. Draco was tempted to push them back off again, but the glint in Bastard's eye told him that he was already on a thin line.
Bastard moved to stand over Draco, who pushed out of his chair, refusing to be looked down on. They smirked at each other, as if tempting the other to throw the first spell.
"It was me," he whispered, hand over his wand.
Draco was positively fuming at this point, his breath coming out in sharp puffs.
"Explain yourself." It was a demand made from a worker to a superior, by a man who was always used to getting what he wanted. This seemed to delight the Healer-In-Charge, whose smirk turned into a genuine smile.
"I'm helping you."
"How is it helping me, by setting me up with that Mu-Granger?"
"The fact the brightest witch in our era happens to be of Muggle descent is preciously why I chose her for you, Mr. Malfoy." He paused dramatically, and began to pace the large office, glancing at the third member in the room with minimal interest.
"There have been rumors, you see, that you still haven't reformed, and hold some rather...antiquated views."
Draco flexed his hands.
"Has the Ministry been by?"
He knew Bastard couldn't answer that, but the way he looked away all but confirmed it.
"I need to prove to them that you're better than that. You're a good talent, and a sharp boy when you feel like it. A proficient Healer is a rarity, and I won't lose you to a hunt for bigots."
Bastard turned on heels to glare at Draco from the door.
"Which is why you'll work with Ms. Granger, figure out this damn case, and come back with a solid reference of working with someone who isn't a pureblood."
His tone brokered no argument, and Draco stared at the wall above him, shocked into silence.
"By your leave, Mr. Malfoy."
He shut the door with a quiet snap, and Draco fell back into his chair, rolling it over it his desk once more.
There the folder was, as if he had never opened it before.
Heart pounding, he picked it up, and taking out the contents, began to read.
Hermione's hand shook the file folder.
Relax, she reminded herself.
Just take a deep breath and read his file. He's a coworker like any other.
Flipping open the folder, she found herself staring into the steely eyes of Draco Malfoy, who still managed an air of pomp despite the drab Healer uniform. She noticed with a smirk that he had bullied his way into not wearing the traditional Healer cap, and instead fastened his pin on his coat lapel. While the professional photographs were ordered to stand as still as possible while being observed, she noticed that he couldn't help but fidget under her scrutiny, and when she giggled, he scowled with a subtly that Hermione didn't know was in him.
It was hard to believe that the dapper young man was once a school bully. Even with his affluent behavior, he still managed to be charming. Well, he as in the photographed Malfoy. Hermione had no doubt that the original was just as rude and immature as he was three years ago.
Turning his page, (noting picture Draco slumping against the frame when he thought the coast was clear), Hermione scanned his profile quickly.
Trying to read his accomplishments and talents objectively was incredibly difficult, and Hermione had to take frequent breaks to catch her breath and recover herself. Her first instinct had been to owl Harry and Ron with the news, but gossiping about work was a habit she generally frowned upon, and decided that this would be a topic not up for discussion outside the professional space. She was sure that Draco was handling this just as badly she was, and was hoping he would be as discreet about the news as she planned on being.
She read over his date of birth, N.E.W.T scores, and organization affiliations; her interest growing the further down she got. He was, she rather hesitantly admitted, a rather capable wizard. To her utter delight, she soon realized that in an effort to make their Healers seem more approachable, they included data on interests and hobbies.
Interests: Oenophilia, Genealogy, Alchemical Manuscripts
Hobbies: Antique collecting, Quidditch
Genealogy, she supposed, was a smarmy way of saying that bloodlines were important to him, but the antique collecting came as a surprise to her. A brief memory of Harry retelling the story of meeting the Malfoys in Knockturn Alley quickly soured that thought however, and she could only imagine how many dark artifacts he must have collected over the years.
Lifting up her hands, Hermione patted her cheeks lightly.
You can't do this, she reprimanded herself. He is a professional, you are a professional, and we have to trust each other.
Still, it was hard to trust the man who taunted her with the moniker, 'Mudblood' for most of her school years.
Flipping past the seemingly endless information on Draco, she paused when she came to a picture of the note that was sent with Gregor's appendage.
The parchment was made of recycled materials, and was torn roughly at the edges from whatever notebook in came from. What was written was indiscernible, and a note was tacked onto the bottom of the picture saying that Draco had the original should she want to look at it in person.
She squinted, trying to gain as much information from it as possible. It was obvious that the letter was written in a...unique ink, and the lettering was already beginning to fade from oxidation. The words weren't the only thing that was making it illegible to Hermione - the punctuation (non-existent), and seemingly random capitalization of symbols looked unlike anything she had seen before. This was either a language she had never encountered, or the attempts of someone illiterate to mimic written language.
Throwing Draco's folder back on her desk, which Crookshanks sniffed curiously, she leaned forward to picked up the case file which had been pushed under her door moments ago. Heels long since kicked off, Hermione curled up in her chair, and opened up the file as if she was beginning a new book.
The first page contained information on the Isle of Hagatusjon - the heart of hag culture, and the only "official" hag dwelling. Beings who are notoriously solitary, the population of the isle is extremely small, and sees little to no tourism, with cannibalism being a strong deterrent. The Isle is protected by the M.o.M with spells, similar to Hogwarts and other magical locations, but every now and then a Muggle will slip through and "mysteriously disappear." The Isle was established in an effort to isolate the Hags from the rest of civilized society (called a gift to save face), but this has been met with mixed results.
Hermione frowned after reading this, and decided that the wording used in the file was rather ignorant, and the tone suggested bigotry.
Throwing the file back down on her desk, she picked up her leather-bound notebook, and decided that she would update the information herself with sources from the file and academic texts.
Crookshanks looked over at his owner and mewled piteously. Scratching him under the chin, Hermione couldn't help but grin with excitement.
"It's been a long time since I've had actual work, hm?"
He purred in agreement, drooling slightly at her ministrations.
"It's unfortunate that I have to work with that horrible man, but he can't still be that bad, right? People mature!"
Crookshanks opened one eye and stared at her blearily. He didn't seem to believe her.
Hermione sighed, and stood up with a stretch.
"Well, I suppose we'll find out soon enough, won't we?"
Hermione tapped her foot impatiently.
He was late.
Very late.
She's supposed people didn't change after all.
She checked her watch for the upteenth time, and decided that if he wasn't here in the next five minutes, she was going to leave without him. Their mode of transportation to the Isle was very specific, and moved on a tight schedule. They needed to be at McFicher's dock by nine, and at this rate they'd be arriving by the skin of their teeth.
Without realizing it, she had been giving off an aura so malicious, that the bustle of the atrium had maneuvered its traffic around her, placing her in the eye of the storm. She looked at each of the faces of the businessmen who passed by her - some of whom greeted her with reverence. Yet none of them had the distinguished, aristocratic features she was looking for.
"Granger."
Hermione twisted around at her name, and saw him strutting towards her, moving against the flow of people. They too, parted for him, as if Draco was royalty. His lime green healer robes were fashionably cut, and his thick, slate grey topcoat had it's collar popped around his neck. She fought back her gut instinct to turn and run, so used to associating his face with cruel words and dark spells.
The rest of the world continued to move and dance around the two of them, as they stood only a few paces apart, eyeing the other up.
Here was the man who taught her the word Mudblood.
Who was originally meant to kill Dumbledore.
Who watched her be tortured for hours.
Who was, for the moment, her coworker.
Hermione stuck out her hand.
It wasn't an apology, and it wasn't exactly a greeting either.
Draco looked at her hand for so long, that Hermione's face began to heat up. Finally, slowly, he grasped it; his hand dwarfing her own. Where her palm was warm and dry, his was cold and clammy.
They shook, amicable, before dropping each other's hand.
Bravely, Hermione tilted her chin up, and looked up at Draco, who seemed altogether indifferent to the situation.
"I look forward to working with you, Mr. Malfoy."
Draco inclined his head, just a smidge, and his trademark smirk played across his face.
"For now, Ms. Granger."