Author's note: I started writing this in 2008 and it was posted between 2009-2011 on FFnet. When AO3 came around I had deleted everything off my FFnet account and switched over, starting in new fandoms.
I'm proud of this story and I wanted to give it the update/rewrite it deserves. I stuck to editing grammatical errors, spelling, and most of the rewriting is adding new scenes or replacing old stuff I was rolling my eyes at. I didn't want to alter the plot or anything extreme. Understand I wrote this a decade ago. It is something I am proud of but not reflective of how I currently write for the most part. You can read my most recent stories on AO3 at mrhiddles (link in my profile).
I appreciate reviews!
I have a brand new Dramione fic I'm planning right now that's a WWII AU. So look out for that soon!
Draco Malfoy knew something was off the moment he opened his eyes. Barely out of sleep and squinting, he rose to his elbows on the plush bed. The area next to him was rumpled and cold, meaning Astoria had been absent for some time. Instantly, he had an idea of what she was up to. He heard distant movement in his kitchen and knew it was her. Quietly he stood, pulling the blanket around his waist as he did so, and walked to the kitchen where he knew she'd be rummaging through his things. But Astoria was already heading for the front door, fully clothed and clutching her hand bag as she made for the knob.
"What are you doing?" Draco asked from his spot in the doorway. He imagined he looked a mess but didn't exactly care at that moment.
"Oh, love. You're awake." Astoria stated, a little too happily. She was dressed in her nicest robes, clean cut and deep red, fashionable. She was definitely headed on one of her shopping trips. The dark strands of her hair were pulled into a tidy bun at the back of her head, pulling her features taut and making her garish eyeliner all the more outstanding.
"Yes. Where are you going? It's barely…seven in the morning," he said, blinking at the clock on his wall. But he already had a pretty good idea.
"To Paris of course. I told you just the other day I'd be headed out with your mother. I borrowed some more galleons if you don't mind. They have this new shop that just opened and everyone's going to—"
Raising his hand, he cut her off, trying to keep his rising frustration in check, "Please, just…go. It's too bloody early for this." With a vague nod, Astoria left Draco to turn back to bed. There was no point in arguing again over the same thing.
Once he heard the affirming click of the closed door, Draco ran a tired hand past his hair and decided to sleep in a little longer before he headed off to the Ministry for another mundane day of work. Astoria certainly had a way of putting him off a good mood before his mood even had a chance to be good.
The streets of London were brisk. A chopping wind was starting up and certainly meant for another cold day. Dressed thickly and comfortably Harry Potter stood next to Ron Weasley on the apex of an alleyway, its innards dark and rank with the stench of bitter copper. Blood sprayed on the walls in oddly familiar shapes, almost letters, but it was nothing to get excited about. Simply a trick of the mind. They both looked on the scene with distaste. The body of a muggle man sat slumped in between the tight walls, his death obvious with the gash in his skull, a spattering of slash marks across his chest.
As Ron warded off the sides of the alleyway so that no passersby would be able to see them, Harry inspected the scene. Using his wand, he was able to determine it was indeed magic that had killed the man, but the wounds and clear signs of torture were done by hand. Whoever had done this wanted the man to suffer before he died. Harry squatted down and using his wand, tipped the man's head one way and then the other, revealing no wounds on his neck. Though Harry did notice a fold of white paper peeking out the top of the man's jacket to the left.
Taking it with his hands, Harry saw it was a scrap of parchment with two letters on it.
H.G.
Initials.
Dread settled low in his stomach, and he was reminded of the old days, back when things were bad, when the war seemed like it would never end. Harry quickly brought it to the attention of Ron.
"'Mione?" Ron asked, staring at the body blankly. Harry didn't answer; instead he pocketed the paper and took on a determined stance, despite the sickness mulling in his gut.
"We're going to the Ministry," Harry said simply, grabbing hold of Ron's arm and apparating them on the spot.
Hermione Granger had always been an early riser, and today was no exception. As she strode to her office, new case files for S.P.E.W. firmly in hand, she trekked the familiar hallways towards her destination. She had a lot to do today, an anti-house elf rights protest was happening in Westminster, a little too close to Buckingham for her tastes and she had to be there to take note of what happened, and should the need arise, to interfere accordingly. It would be quite rewarding if something was made of today, though Hermione knew not to expect too much of the event. She had her plans but knew not to get too ahead of herself. She had only had S.P.E.W. firmly established in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for barely six months, after all. She had the protest to worry about.
Wherever there was a protest, there were counter-protests always set against the initial subject's cause. It never diminished Hermione's determination however, rather it kept her going. She knew she had a purpose in the world, and she would fulfill it, if she had to take every high-nosed pureblood by the hand kicking and screaming along the way.
As she turned a corner, her hair bouncing out of the corner of her eye, a nameless coworker grabbed her arm and stopped her. Hermione was somewhat affronted by this because she certainly never yanked on the arm of a random passerby. She focused her attention on the person who grabbed her, a young blonde female with freckles gracing her cheeks, just underneath a set of pale blue eyes. Her eyelashes blended into her skin so perfectly, it was as if they were not there at all. She reminded her of Luna.
"I am told to bring you to the Minister, miss," the small girl said in a delicate voice.
Hermione nodded, though wondered at what the Minister could want. "I'll follow you, then," she said, readjusting her files in her arms.
The pale girl nodded and led her to the main meeting room, which was simply just an extension of what Shacklebolt's office was. The chairs were high and neatly set beneath the long rectangular table. Hermione and the pale girl—who was practically jumping out of her skin—shared a short awkward silence, before the girl nodded to her and closed the door, leaving Hermione to fend for herself. She took a seat towards the front of the table, setting her files down in front of her.
As the moments dragged on, her curiosity of the situation grew. Perhaps her recent success in diminishing pureblooded prejudice in the ministry from her suggestion to integrate more muggle-born witches and wizards in different departments was receiving recognition. She could only hope.
About another five minutes passed before the ornate wooden door opened to reveal a very stiff looking Harry, followed a moment after by a worried Ron.
After a moment of pleasant surprise, Hermione sent them both a smile; Ron wasn't really looking at her though, he had his eyes set on Harry. Her smile faltered, it was going to be like this was it? It had been almost a year since things had ended and he was still acting weird. They had barely had a chance to get together, the three of them. Work had consumed their recent lives, and she yearned suddenly for a chance to talk to him. She huffed out a puff of air in irritation and smoothed her skirt where she sat. Harry and Ron stood at the front of the table, not talking.
This was tedious.
It really showed how much things had changed between the three of them. Harry had Ginny now, and his work as an Auror hardly left them any time to talk or see each other. And Ron…was well, being his usual self—pigheaded and childish. And she was tired of dealing with that. Still, she had managed to keep her friendship with them as much as she could, and she hoped she would be able to repair it to its fullest one day soon.
Just as Hermione was about to say something, the Minister walked in, saying, "So, Mister Potter, what do you have for me this fine day?"
Harry shifted and handed the Minister a normal looking manila file folder with a muttered, "Nothing good, Kingsley."
He quickly flipped through it, apparently not having much to read through, and finally took hold of a small piece of paper. He glanced at it, then at Hermione, and placed it back inside. With a frown set firmly in place he nodded, and set the file down on the table.
Hermione was beginning to get anxious, what was going on?
"Potter. This is only a hunch?" Harry nodded and cast a worried look at Hermione, which was returned with a fiery stare from the brunette.
Harry said, "Hermione, Ron and I were called to investigate a homicide this morning. A shopkeep discovered a muggle body this morning in an alleyway. It was the killing curse, but he had obviously been stabbed through with a short blade multiple times, and his skull was caved in."
Ron shifted his weight around and said, a little choked, "It wasn't subtle either, 'Mione. There was blood, everywhere…" Harry opened the file folder and took out the piece of paper, handling it a while before he finally handed it to Hermione.
"We found this in his collar."
Hermione, grateful for finally getting something of an answer was stopped short, two letters were written on the paper. Her initials. Immediately her mind raced of what this could be, a muggle killed by magic; obviously a Voldemort supporter or an anti-muggle wizard. Hermione was the most popular muggle born witch in the world, the brightest of her age as Rita always loved to tout. But H.G. could be anyone or anything. It didn't have to mean her.
But it was the set of Harry's shoulders and his blanched stare that had her doubting the theory.
"What do you need me to do?" she asked, all business. It wouldn't do to get upset.
Harry shook his head. "We need to do some more field work before we can make a sound conclusion—"
"But we need you to be protected, just in case the initials mean you're target after all," Ron interjected. His eyes bore into hers, all concern. Hermione didn't say anything, now was not the time to argue with him.
"I don't have a problem with that, though I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I assume you're assigning Harry or Ron to be my knight in shining armor?" she said, brows raising. She didn't like the idea of being protected but she trusted the two of them implicitly, no matter the fact her and Ron were on the outs, and Harry was always swamped with work.
There was a beat of silence before she saw Harry's eyes flick from hers to somewhere behind her. His lips quirked and a muscle twitched in his jaw, like he was trying to keep his face even and she knew that damnable look.
"I don't believe I've ever been referred to as such, but I'll take it," a familiar drawl called from the doorway. Hermione snapped her head around in disbelief.
Draco Malfoy stood unenthusiastically in Kingsley's doorway, staring her down as if she was the most boring thing in the world.
No fucking way.