"Harry, house elves are not field hands! Their skin burns too easily to stay outdoors for much longer than an hour," Hermione protested early in the morning in Harry's office at Witwick Commons, the safe house that was now brimming with former death eaters. "I vividly remember their panicked screeching when I suggested that maybe they should go out and frolic, carefree in the sunshine." Hermione shuddered.
"Look. I know that, but we are quickly running out of options. Your savings won't see us through another month if we continue to feed the everyone from the grocer in Northallerton," Harry pinched the bridge of his nose under his glasses. "None of us can get into Gringotts; not them, not me.
"I know. But we can't just toss them to the street, Harry. I won't do it. Maybe I could get a job down at the pub. I know how to sling shots. My cousin's catering service had me help out last summer so I could pay for my books. You know how I hate taking my parent's money, Harry. I don't know if I'd even be able to access it without them in the country now. And they are getting on in years, they'll need it for retirement if ever we get through this and I can return their memories."
They heard a noise in the library just outside the office door, a sharp tap like a single stiletto or a cane on the hard flagstone.
"Come on in Mr. Malfoy," Harry invited. "We heard you."
The heavy wooden door opened with a slow, grinding squeal. Mr. Lucius Malfoy stood in what was fast becoming his early morning wardrobe, a flouncy white shirt under a silver damask vest over charcoal wool paired with soft boots and a cane. He'd begun to wear his naturally platinum hair pulled back in a low tail with a small ribbon. Hermione wondered if this was his normal look in private or if he was trying to appear less imposing. Either way, it seemed to her that his flair for the dramatic was no less and he still used that cane.
He sauntered into the small office regally, taking in the pair's unkempt, and rather plebeian clothing. His sneer only lasted a second, but Hermione felt the sting of his disapproval over her attire. She'd tried, really, to wear robes when in public places ever since they came. She wanted to be accepted and respected, after all. Seemed like it was all for naught, though. 'Well, let him try to find the blasted horcrux, and try to look amazing after an overnighter in a dusty library,' Hermione's mood was already bitter with fear and laced with dread, so he really wasn't getting any brownie points for spying and then looking down on her attire.
"What did you hear, Mr. Malfoy?" Harry asked civilly, a warning in his brow.
Lucius was conciliatory, however. "With the estate that you have here, we did not consider the strain our presence has been on your finances. We assumed the estate's farming charms would have arranged for greater production once we were added to the tenancy roster." Talking about money always made Hermione uncomfortable and she began tugging at her shirt cuff.
"It isn't that, we just have another three months before we can expect to rely on the gardens for everything. And since Harry, Ron, and I are not permitted to walk into Gringotts for the remainder of our days and none of us are capable of making a withdrawal remotely due to the war and our minority status, we find ourselves needing to use my muggle account for most purchases," she said with a decidedly nervous twitch in her foot.
"Besides, Hermione's only gotten halfway through the journals outlining the operations of the estate. We only came across the need to even add ourselves to the ledger a week ago," Hermione flushed in embarrassment as much at Harry's joking tone as at his additional explanation.
"Hmm," was all he said before he nodded and exited the office with a flourish that only pureblooded males ever seemed to achieve. Some days, Hermione really wished they'd stop it because it was all rather too attractive. She kept thinking of Jane Austen's Mr. Darcy or some such dark, romantic hero that her mother always said was the epitome of high born masculinity.
Ron stumbled into the library with a sleepy look in his eye and three mugs of coffee in his hands. He looked just as disheveled as his friends in his rumpled homespun sweater and heavily patched jeans that were two sizes too big. He'd slept the night before mostly because he kept snoring and drooling on the books by the time two am rolled around and was sent to bed. The hair on one side of his head was sticking straight up into the air, lending him the last note of comedy that Hermione needed to break down in giggles.
"Thanks, mate," Harry said, accepting the proffered beverage, slumping back into the deep couch on the side of the office. Within minutes, Hermione was setting his mug down on the desk while Ron picked him up to take him to his bedroom.
Harry needed the sleeping draft in his coffee because of the trip he and Ron would need to take within a few days to retrieve the recently discovered horcrux. The mounting pressure was weighing on him, as was the possibility that he might not survive the final battle. Hermione had been feverishly searching for any means to remove the horcrux without killing him, but he'd made her promise to do the job right if all else failed. That possibility, more than any other, wore her down and made sleeping a losing proposition. She'd lived on stimulants and a prayer.
It wasn't as if she had time to sleep anyway. There was an estate to run, food to buy from the the Northallerton supermarket every day, wards to renew with her blood, and correspondence that had to go out to the other Order members. Wiping her hands over her face with vigor, she set to work at Harry's desk to send out updates and finally figure out how to explain their new house guests. She knew they'd freak out, thinking she was Imperioused or lying or in mortal danger. But she had to do it. A week of silence on the issue was all the more secrecy they'd really allow before calling into question her motives as well as her allegiances. It wasn't as if she had much choice in the situation, being a muggleborn.
Still, she wished that she had the choice. She wouldn't have been a Death Eater, but she might have agreed with the political aims of the Knights of Walpurgis, the group that predated the Dark Lord and his bastardized ideals. They'd originally only wanted to maintain their cultural heritage and feared the 'daughters of Canaan,' much like the Hebrews. And they were right to do so. She, the brightest witch of her age, was still so obviously a muggleborn, right down to her choice in underthings. She thought she could make up for it, finally assimilate, by studying so very hard in school. These last few months at Witwick Commons and the other various safe houses and boltholes that Dumbledore left her, gave her a clearer view of the scope of her ambition. There was simply no way to become the lady of the magical manor without living it from birth. And she, being partial to her upbringing because her parents were great, didn't want to completely discard her roots. It was a mess.
Tired of thinking of all these complicated but inconsequential things with a fuzzy brain on a mostly empty stomach, Hermione set her head down on the desk to rest for just a moment.
Narcissa Malfoy was a staunch advocate of pureblood society and of perfection in general. But she recognized strong attempts as a close second best. She never really thought that killing was the best way to deal with the muggleborn problem, but she wasn't very strong or politically minded. So when she walked in on Hermione sleeping in the office to pick up a spare quill and pot of ink to make a lessons schedule for the children, she noticed the dark circles under her eyes and the pale, underfed look the girl wore like a shroud of fear and exhaustion. Hermione seemed to be trying so very hard to figure everything out, all while fighting in a war over the right to live. And since the purebloods set up court in her home, she'd taken to wearing robes, or at least vest robes over her regular garments. Narcissa approved of Hermione's attempts to uphold wizarding culture.
Hermione shifted slightly in her slumber, trying to find a softer edge on the desk amid the bank statements, warding records, menu planning guides, personal notes on The Knights of Walpurgis, and Witwick Commons: A History and Guide. Smiling gently, Narcissa pulled out her wand and set a cushion charm under Hermione's head and raised a magical guard rail on the side of the chair to which Hermione was leaning, and stoked the fireplace. She grabbed the quill and ink and retreated from the slumbering muggleborn whose face was so childlike in its repose.
Lucius Malfoy caught sight of his wife leaving the office with a soft smile playing on her lips. He had certain worries on his mind, worries he'd never really entertained before. Potter and Granger both explained that first day that they would have difficulties keeping the mass of ex-death eaters in food, but he never thought they were flying so much by the seat of their pants. Every child learned from an early age how to keep a magical house running. There were ledgers to let the charms know what to produce, what the house elves should do, when wards and charms and various maintenance should be performed. Every child was taught that if you invest your time in your home, it will reward you and your future loved ones by taking care of your needs. Miss Granger was right; there were obviously things she and other muggleborns needed to know that weren't being taught in classes. It wasn't the fault of the child who'd been accepted as part of wizarding society; it was the fault of those adults who invited them in but kept them at arms length when they should have been warmly embraced. For truly, a pureblood child, hidden and raised in the muggle world, has the same trouble acclimating to society as do muggleborns.
During his inner musings, his wife approached him, claimed a kiss and then his hand. She gently tugged him to the office doorway to view the Granger girl. "She works too hard, Lucius. She's trying so hard to figure it all out. We owe her. Not only for our own sakes, but for that of our son. You know very well that Draco would be dead this day if she hadn't accepted us into her home."
"Yes, very well do I know that, my dear. And that is not all we owe her," he agreed. "It seems that she is only just getting though the estate journals outlining its operation and maintenance. Being the youngest male, I am not surprised that Weasley doesn't know much about household care, and with their upbringings, Potter and Miss Granger fared even worse. It appears that all three are banned from Gringotts for life. She's been using her childhood, muggle savings to pay for our food at a muggles' green grocer's. In fact, she's due to run out at our current rate of consumption within four weeks."
Mrs. Malfoy gasped. "You can't be serious."
"Indeed, I overheard her and Potter brainstorming for ideas to support us through the interim just this morning as they wrapped up yet another long night of searching."
"That's another thing, I don't know what they search for. Wait, what interim?"
"I have some idea, and I wish them godspeed in their search, but I have no real information that they do not already have," Mr. Malfoy hinted. "They just came across the reference to vegetable production charms in the journals and estate handbook. It seems there will be a two-month gap between her funds running dry and the charm's first fruit bearing out. She means to go get a muggle job as a barmaid to make up the difference."
"Certainly not! She'll do nothing of the sort. We'll find another way."
"Hmm."
"We cannot get the produce from our lands, it will be watched, but perhaps from a green grocer we trust?"
"Are there any that we trust with knowledge of our continued existence? Wait my dear," Mr. Malfoy paused. "There is one. The Pips came with us. Dagbert Pips holds share in a green grocer market that operates from fields her personally owns but does not live on. No on will be searching those fields. They would look for missing animals, but a row of vegetables here and there will not be missed."
"But you know, darling, it isn't just the vegetables. Of course it would have been better if she'd known about the produce charms, but she's doing this all alone. There's no teacher guiding her and even her parents are in hiding."
"My dear, there's something about that which seems somewhat odd. Remember our first meeting, she comforted you by asking you to rejoice in the family that you did have with you? Do you recall her mentioning that they had no recollection of a daughter? She mentioned it again to Potter, saying she had to save her parent's money for their retirement if she can return their memories. My dear, I think she sent them away without their consent or even knowledge."
"Well, that's quite a Slytherin approach, is it not?" Narcissa was quite proud of the girl, if that was actually the truth. Self sacrificing, but also quite cunning.
"Father, Mother? The others are gathered in the parlor and asked me to fetch you," Draco Malfoy interrupted. He gathered the ink well and the quill from his mother and began toward the parlor before seeing Hermione sleeping in her office chair. He sneered at the sight of her seeming laziness and the sheer impropriety of her falling asleep in such a public place. He walked away in disgust.
"We taught him too well, beloved," Lucius said, regarding the back of his son.
"Yes, love, we did," Narcissa agreed. "And if he is to learn any differently, it will not come from us. He won't trust us with such as lesson."
"Perhaps there is yet hope," Lucius said, glancing back at the sleeping embodiment of all they had thought they hated.