Five years after the war, Draco Malfoy is no longer under house arrest and the Malfoy vault is back in his possession. Riddled with guilt, he attempts to atone for his family's sins the only way he knows how - with money. Unfortunately for him, Hermione Granger can't be bought off.
A/N: This chapter is being uploaded on September 1, 2017, when the epilogue takes place. I was going to hold off on posting, but it seemed like the perfect day to start a new story in the HP universe. Hogwarts has officially welcomed me home.
Hermione stared at the clock adorning her office wall and sighed, internally begging it to go faster. She knew that, technically, she could use magic to move the hands forward, but she suspected the incredibly dull man in front of her wouldn't even notice.
The man - Mr. Smith, if Hermione remembered correctly, and with a dry note that even his name was unremarkable - thanked her for her time and told her that his secretary would be in touch. Hermione had barely mustered up a smile before he was gone.
"Thank Merlin," Hermione muttered under her breath, jotting down a brief summary of the forgettable meeting that she was sure was important in some way or another.
There was a polite knock on her door but Hermione didn't bother answering, since the person she was expecting was Harry and he never waited for a reply.
"Did I just see Smith leaving your office?" Harry asked, amusement evident in his tone. "No wonder you look as though you want to crawl into a hole. The man's a dreadful bore."
"That's a rather polite way of putting it," Hermione said wryly.
"I almost forgot how grumpy you get when you're hungry."
Hermione rolled her eyes and tossed a balled up piece of parchment at Harry, who promptly ducked. "Wanker."
"Language," Harry teased, only to be met with another ball of paper. "Now if you're done being a bully, lunch?"
"That'd be great. Is Ron joining us?"
Harry shrugged. "I think he's on a mission right now, actually. Should be back in a few hours."
"Nothing dangerous?" Hermione asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern. While she and Ron had had a mutual parting, they remained friends, and she still fretted over his well-being.
"Wouldn't require Aurors if it wasn't dangerous," Harry replied with a cheeky grin. "Don't worry, Hermione. Ron can take care of himself, and he has a team with him besides."
Hermione huffed and shook her head. "You two are going to give me gray hairs."
"Oh, like the war hadn't already."
Mood significantly improved by good food and company, Hermione walked back to her office. She fully expected to return to another pile of paperwork on her desk and scowled at the thought. While she was truly passionate about what she was doing in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, having to work within the restrictions of the Ministry could be discouraging, and boring.
She might have been a swot at school, but Hermione didn't mind breaking the occasional rule, especially if it meant not having to drown in proposed legislations and complaints against centaurs.
Hermione didn't like it, but she had come to expect it. She did not expect, however, to be greeted with a rather gigantic basket sitting on her desk.
"What in Godric…"
She cast a quick charm to scan the basket for any curses or hexes and slipped her wand back into her pocket. One could never be too careful, after all.
"Who would send something as ostentatious as this?" Hermione wondered aloud. It couldn't have been Harry, whose idea of a gift was a quill and chocolate frogs, or Ron, who always enlisted the help of Hermione for Yule shopping, and there wasn't anyone else who came to mind that would even think to send a gift to her office.
Hermione sifted through the flowers, sweets, assorted teas, books, quills, and Merlin knows what else (she suspected the sender had employed the use of an extension charm) before plucking out a card with a victorious smile. Her smile vanished as soon as she saw that the sender had not signed said card with anything as helpful as a name. Instead, it simply read I'm sorry.
How odd.
"I wonder what the mystery sender is apologizing for."
Then again, maybe it had been Ron. They hadn't ended their relationship on bad terms, but whenever he started dating a new girl, he usually made an extra effort to be a good friend to Hermione.
Hermione picked up one of the books, Anna Karenina, and brushed her fingertips over the cover. No, not Ron, then.
Hermione frowned at the basket. She carefully picked it up and set it down on the floor behind her desk and tried to focus on the paperwork in front of her. Every so often, she glanced back at the basket, until finally she caved and attempted to use several spells to track down the sender. She had never been able to resist a puzzle.
Whoever had sent it had good taste in literature, she had to admit. More than that, they seemed to know her fairly well. All of her favorite sweets had been included, as well as her favorite teas (both caffeinated and non). The sender had known that she wasn't fond of coffee, and partial to sugar quills. Hermione chewed on one contemplatively as she eyed the books. Classics, every one of them, and each one written by a Muggle. Her friends, who she loved dearly, were wonderful, but none of them were avid readers, and they wouldn't have heard of any of the books that had been sent.
So, not one of her friends.
Perhaps a Hogwarts classmate? A co-worker, even?
Hermione couldn't imagine any of the people in neighboring offices caring enough to send a gift.
Maybe a fan? It was Harry who was primarily in the spotlight, being the Boy-Who-Lived and all, but Hermione had had her share of interviews and lost track of the autographs she'd signed. She did her best to avoid that all now, and the initial stardom that had been thrust upon her had faded a bit over five years, but she still got the occasional witch asking for an autograph from the Muggle-born who helped take down You-Know-Who.
Years later, and there were some who were still afraid to say a dead man's name.
It wouldn't have surprised Hermione if it had been a fan who claimed to know all the intimate details of her life. To the Wizarding World, it was as though her part in the war made her not a person, but a figurehead, meant to be scrutinized and picked apart wherever she went. At least she didn't have a lightning bolt scar on her forehead - she had never envied Harry that symbol of his notoriety.
All someone had to do was pick up a copy of The Daily Prophet and they'd know what Hermione Granger's favorite candy was, as well as her favorite color, her current position at the Ministry, the number of O.W.L.s she had and what subjects they were in, and so much more. Hermione didn't even know how the Prophet had obtained some of the information, but she knew from experience how terrifying reporters could be.
A fluke, then. The gift basket was a one time thing. While Hermione would have liked to know who the sender was, if not just to send a thank you card back and possibly inquire about the strange note in the basket, she was content with her conclusion. Hermione leaned back in her chair and finished the sugar quill with a smile, and went back to work.
"Did she get it?" the pale blonde asked, slipping into his friend's office and closing the door behind him.
"I put it on her desk like you asked," Blaise Zabini drawled, looking up at the intruder with disdain. "Though I'm not sure why you have such a peculiar need for secrecy. If you want to send Granger a gift, send it through the post like a normal person."
Draco Malfoy scowled and sunk into one of the chairs across from Blaise's desk. "An owl is traceable. I need to make sure none of this can be traced back to me."
"May I ask, for what has to be the hundredth time, why you are doing this? It's not as though she's poor. I'm sure she's more than capable of purchasing her own tea," Blaise said sarcastically. In truth, he was far more curious than he ought to be, but he wouldn't let Draco know that.
"Does it matter why?"
Blaise snorted. "Of course it does, you wanker. Aside from me, people will start to wonder if you fancy Granger."
Draco blushed scarlet and sputtered. "I do not fancy her!"
"Then you won't mind telling me why you're sending her ridiculously large gift baskets," Blaise said, leaning forward and resting his chin on clasped hands. "Unless you're trying to compensate for something."
Draco glared at the other man, a full-time Ministry employee who hadn't even needed a trial since he'd been determinedly neutral in the war. Draco, on the other hand, had required the interference of Harry bloody Potter at his trial to keep him and his family out of Azkaban. He hated being in anyone's debt, but he especially hated the idea of being a part of Saint Potter's charity.
"I'm not compensating for anything, you git. I merely feel bad, is all," Draco muttered miserably.
Blaise raised his eyebrows. "This doesn't have anything to do what I told you last week, does it?"
"It has everything to do with what you told me."
"If I had known it would make you do this, I wouldn't have told you," Blaise said dryly. "I doubt Granger wants it to be common knowledge."
Draco sighed, his eyes downcast as he remembered Blaise's drunken admission.
"You drink like a girl," Blaise commented, taking a sip of his whiskey as Draco slid onto a seat next to him. "That's what Granger always orders."
"Hermione Granger? The Mud - I mean, Muggle-born and insufferable know-it-all in our year at Hogwarts?"
"That'd be the one."
"Since when did you drink with her?" Draco asked, his nose wrinkling in distaste at the mere thought of associating with a Muggle-born.
Blaise shrugged. "We work together. Both went back to Hogwarts to finish our seventh years. Got to talking back then, and now we go out once a month to get sloshed and complain about our department."
Draco let out a disbelieving hmph at that, and was only momentarily distracted by the bartender sliding his drink across the counter. "And what, pray tell, did you and Granger have to talk about when you went back to Hogwarts?"
"I don't think you want to know."
"If I didn't before, I surely do now. Spit it out, you tosser."
Blaise leveled him with a glare and swirled the amber liquid in his glass. "Seriously, Draco, some things are better left unsaid."
"Tell me."
"Don't say I didn't warn you," Blaise said, tipping back the rest of his drink. "There weren't many who went back, you know. For seventh year. The winning side went right out into the workforce, like Potter and Weasley, becoming Aurors or other Ministry workers. The ones who should have been in their seventh year then either opted out or, you know, died in the battle." They both grimaced at that. War hadn't been kind to either side.
"Anyways, there were even fewer students who qualified for N.E.W.T. level Potions, and Granger and I were unfortunate enough to be paired as lab partners. I saw the scar one day, the one that your aunt, you know," a stiff nod from Draco was all the answer Blaise needed to continue, "and when she caught me looking at it, she tugged her sleeve down so fast I'm surprised she didn't rip the thing. I found her in the library, later, sniffling to herself in a back corner and we ended up talking. She told me she still had nightmares, and to my knowledge, they haven't gone away since."
"Why did she tell you, of all people? No offense, but you're not exactly a witch's idea of a shoulder to cry on."
Blaise shrugged again, a careless gesture that did nothing to hide the very real sympathy he felt for Hermione Granger. "Her reasoning escapes me, but I've a feeling it has more to do with her insane Gryffindor nobility than anything to do with me."
"What do you mean?"
"It's not like she'd talk to Potter or Weasley about it. Granger might be a swot, but she's selfless. Wouldn't want her friends worrying about her if she could prevent it, and those two idiots would die for her. She's not close enough to anyone else to have another person to talk to, and she wouldn't risk a crack in her reputation of 'Hermione Granger, the brilliant Gryffindor and the glue that held the Golden Trio together in their darkest hour,''" Blaise mocked with no real malice. "I was dispensable to her. She didn't care about my opinion and I didn't give a rat's arse about her, and I guess that was enough to let her tell me."
When Blaise looked at Draco, his childhood friend's eyes were downcast, studying the drink in front of him with more intensity than alcohol warranted. Blaise had known Draco for the better part of twenty years, but he was certain that this was the first time he'd ever seen him look guilty.
"I didn't know she had nightmares."
"No one expected you to," Blaise said, his look turning pitying as he heard the self-loathing in Draco's words. "There's nothing you could have done."
"I could have said something. Done something. Even that stupid Weasley begged to take her place. All I did was watch."
"You did what you had to do to survive."
"That doesn't make it right."
"Granger's proud, you know," Blaise said, snapping Draco back to the present. "She won't like the idea of being your charity case."
"Well it's not as though I can go back in time and prevent Aunt Bella from torturing her, now is it?" Draco snapped. "For now, this is all I can do."
"As much as I hate to admit it, money can't buy forgiveness."
At the word forgiveness, Draco's defensive posture disappeared, and he slouched in the chair with a defeated air.
"I don't deserve forgiveness."
Blaise studied him for a moment before scoffing. "Don't you get all melodramatic on me, now. It's too bloody early in the day for that. Get over yourself, Malfoy. If you feel bad, do something about it, but don't expect to buy your way out of your own self-induced guilt."
Hermione pulled the books out of the slowly shrinking gift basket one at a time, slipping them onto her bookshelf according to her sorting system of the month. She ran a finger down the spine of each one, allowing herself to briefly wonder who had gone through the trouble of researching Muggle literature in order to gift it to her.
The basket as a whole had obviously had so much thought and care put into choosing its contents that Hermione couldn't help but imagine the sender had been a secret admirer of some sort. Unlikely, she knew, but it was a nice idea to entertain.
The note fluttered to the ground as she put the last book away. Hermione picked it up, studying the two words written on the card as if they would reveal who had written them. The pretty cursive seemed vaguely familiar, but Hermione went through so much paperwork in a day that she couldn't possibly identify the handwriting.
Just as well, Hermione mused as she arranged the flowers in a vase. This way, she could keep imagining she had a mysterious suitor.
An owl tapped on her window and Hermione let it in, summoning a treat for the animal as it perched on the sill. It was a gorgeous creature, its feathers golden brown and its demeanor rather imperious, even as it accepted the treat and let Hermione stroke its chin.
"What have you brought for me, you beautiful thing, you?" Hermione murmured, the owl preening at her compliment. It waited patiently as she untied the cord securing the package to its foot and flew away as soon as she was done.
"How odd," Hermione said to herself. "It didn't wait for a return note."
Hermione unwrapped the parcel and gasped. Laying in the paper was a leather-bound copy of Hogwarts: A History, a first edition that she had been coveting through the window only a few days prior. She hadn't been able to justify spending so much money on one book, and had regretfully left the shop behind, but someone must have seen her do so and cared enough to purchase it for her.
She held the book almost reverently, her touch light as she opened the cover to reveal another card, written in the same hand as the one in the gift basket.
I know this doesn't make up for it - nothing can - but I can at least try.
How very peculiar.
The gifts were far too personalized to have been sent to the wrong person, so that ruled out a mistake on the post's part. Hermione hadn't had any disagreements with anyone lately, and certainly not any that would require such expensive trinkets as way of apology. Still, the sender seemed to think they had something to apologize for.
Figuring out who the sender was would be difficult without even their initials, but Hermione had always loved a challenge.
A/N: It feels so good to be back in the Harry Potter universe, and I absolutely love writing Blaise. I was partly inspired to start writing Dramione again by Colubrina - if you haven't read any of her works, she's a dream. I highly recommend reading everything she's written. This chapter is more of a test run than anything, but hopefully I can stay on track enough to see the idea through.
As always, review?