Chapter III: Theoretically speaking
(about a hospital, fish and an invitation)
Draco really did feel sorry for the healers in St. Mungo. The morning shift was always shitty – or so as he heard from their private healer when he was formerly employed by the hospital –, but with his mother commanding the employees as if they were house elves of their Manor, it must have made the morning shift even more elevating. Not that he was empathic or something. It was just an errant thought.
"Please, Mrs. Malfoy, calm down for the sake of your husband's health and let the healers do their work," a particularly brave nurse or an assistant (whatever) tried to do her best, but even she couldn't ignore the cackles and streaks of lightning flashing in between Narcissa's golden curls of hair, her magic hardly contained and threatening the poor chit with its sheer force. She looked positively dangerous.
Mrs. Malfoy, we are sorry to inform you and we humbly apologize for our carelessness in this given situation. Your husband is currently under the care of the St. Mungo's and…
"I don't care," she whispered in a chilling voice, cooling the blood of several people around them. All she wanted was to get back his husband, alive and in his right mind, screw the reporters and the Daily Prophet. When it was the matter of family, Narcissa didn't care about maintaining images or bad journalism.
"Heal him and I would not cause any problems to the hospital," was all the verdict she said before storming to the other end of the aisle with her head held up and her back alarmingly straight.
It was a promise. A dangerous one at that.
If they dared to do anything out of line, possibly and all by accident, murdering her husband, Narcissa made sure they knew she would wreck them with trials and fines just because the Malfoys had more gold then the damned government could resist to.
"Well fuck," Draco said in frustration, trying not to feel underdressed in the middle of a busy hospital aisle in his sleeping robe. He hardly had the time to slurp in his coffee before his mother rushed them to the hospital right after hearing the news. "You did it again, Potter," he mumbled to himself, blaming the saviour of their world for all of his current miseries.
Of course Potter needed to be the deliverer of the news. Who else, really? From all the cursed acquaintances they had, surely, it had needed to be Potter, yes?
With a roll of his eyes, he listened to his mother commanding officials and healers to rush to the aid of his father. They said Lucius was unconscious, probably shocked, severely bruised and he lost three of his fingers, the little finger on his left and the right index and ring fingers.
The worst part? All they could do was watch and pay the healers generously – former Death Eaters still not got a heartfelt welcome in the wards of hospitals, after all.
"He will get better," he whispered to his mother, his small and lithe mother, dressed only in her silky morning robes, her hands latched on the door frame as she soberly watched the healers work on her husband, lest they take a step out of line.
"Malfoys are strong," she said in the end, her fingers whitening on the frame. She seemed to tremble a little, like a wilted flower in the wind, ready to lose its petals to it. "I know. But it still gives me concern."
Blue orbs met with silvers and Draco nodded. He understood.
"We don't know what happened or why it happened. If they are after us, or Death Eaters or money or power… there are a lot more options, Draco. Be careful, my son," she said, and Draco silently vowed to her.
"He was called there for business. Must be the money," he predicted and his mother just shook her head, her eyes not wavering from his father's weakened form, buried under pearly white sheets.
She huffed a laugh, her voice gentle and cautioning, "If something I learned during my years and the two wars I survived is, that to not always believe in the given options. We don't know the other people well enough to understand their motives, but we can figure some things out with observation and galleons. Be careful, my boy," she repeated and let her lips curve into something like a bitter smile, "because I have nothing without you and your father."
Draco heard what was unsaid, looking at his mother wearing her façade, hiding her emotions from the eyes and ears of the outsiders. The sudden feeling of melancholy seemed to drill into his very bones.
They survived two wars. They lived by craft, and he knew that they sometimes cheated on each other, but they held their backs for the other. His parents weren't perfect as a married couple, they were never good with showing emotions and speaking about the matters of the heart, but they were equals in every meaning of the word and without Lucius, it was only so long Narcissa could go on.
Nevertheless, they were deeply in unconfessed love and Draco was the ultimate proof of it.
"I'll look into it," he assured his mother with a sharp nod, deciding to pay a visit to motherfucking Potter to figure out what the heck happened to his father.
"Check-mate," he claimed emotionlessly, not even pretending to be surprised that he had managed to best her. Again.
Even though it happened rarely. Sometimes it happened when Pansy was too invested in her own thoughts to pay attention, sometimes when she needed to pay a visit to Gringrotts and handle those foul goblins or sometimes, when she needed to find loopholes or solve puzzles in formal documents and who to sell her information.
Most of the time that was why she spent her free time – willingly! – with Percy Weasley, chief Interrogator of the Magical Law Enforcement.
They liked playing chess, discussing political matters and occasionally fuck mindlessly on her ancient furniture just to rile up the spirits of her forefathers who detested the Weasley family even more than their generation did during their Hogwarts years. It was a method of cooping, and it was a way to get rid of the stress which was satisfaction enough on itself for both party.
"You're distracted, Parkinson," he said wisely, leaning back in the chair.
Pansy rolled her eyes, "Of course I am. Otherwise, you wouldn't stand a chance. Not in chess, not even in anything else," she said scathingly, but her venom seemed to take no effect on Percy.
"Figured so much," he shrugged, "Though you're shit with paperwork and finances."
Pansy flicked her hand in irritation, "And that's exactly why you are living with me, in the St. Michael's Mount, the well-known and ancient Parkison family estate just to get away from your own family. And what I get in return? You keep the goblins off my back. And do the fucking paperwork. That's worth it," she toasted with her champagne glass mockingly.
It didn't matter it was eight in the morning. She just needed to use her head and it was appropriate drink with her breakfast. Salmon just screamed champagne as a side.
He was used to drunk pureblood princesses, so Percy didn't even question it.
"What's got your screws moving now?"
Pansy smiled and with a flick of her wand, she accioed there one of the many stolen letters she smuggled out of the Ministry. One, which interestingly enough, wasn't opened yet, hence it bugged her to no end.
"I cannot crack the seal," she confessed and threw it to Percy. "I tried everything but potions. It wasn't really my subject."
"Well, no wonder you are shit at cooking too." He somehow managed to catch Pansy's vengeful toss of the letter – as if that would cause any harm –, but when reading the names on it, he nearly dropped it. "Warlock Reid and Kingsley? They should have plenty things to hide." Pansy confirmed with nod, that much, she also gathered. "Why do you want to know?"
The woman sighed and downed her champagne in one go, entirely forgetting about their rematch of chess. "Theoretically speaking, what would you do when you smell something fishy? And I'm not talking about the salmon I had for breakfast," she cast him a meaningful glance, and burning coals met melting caramels. "I haven't heard any rumours in the Ministry about their involvement with each other. They don't even greet each other outside of the office! They loath each other – Reid is obnoxious and Kingsley is too proud to pounce on provocations. I have no inkling to what they need to discuss this privately."
"So theoretically speaking, it might be a government secret. The seal is strong and tricky, they really didn't want anyone to know about this business of theirs. Besides, have you tried a library?" he inquired as he carefully scratched the wax on the luxurious paper. It spat sparks on his fingers.
"You confuse me with Granger and I need to warn you: I am very much offended," Pansy snorted, waving for an elf to refill her glass. "You're an arsehole, Weasley."
Not if Percy Ignatius Weasley could be fazed easily with the commentary. He was too absorbed in the mystery of the letter to pay any attention to Parkinson. "Theoretically, it can be a big fish," he nodded towards her plate, "And not like the salmon you had for breakfast, of course."
"Oh wow, your flouted jokes are a crime against wizardry, Weasley," she commented drily. "But back to the catch: might be or might not be a big fish, but it definitely does smell. And I'm curious," she scrunched up her nose in thought, "This letter was in the double-bottom drawer. I needed the code to open it up… Our Minister had probably not read it yet, nevertheless he didn't risk anyone finding this piece of paper. He usually has investigation papers and law legislations lying around the whole office…"
"But this one was under locks, yes?" Percy asked, looking up at the enormous glass chandelier, as if asking the heavens for an answer. "So it must be important. They are leaders in the Ministry, one is the Minister and the other is a Warlock, member of the jury of the Wizengamot. They control everything, and their potential ally could just be to get the remaining Sacred Twenty-Eight under control. They have been trying to prosecute the Malfoy's seats ever since the war ended."
That was also a possibility, Pansy thought, thinking sourly that if it wasn't for sacrificing her money for her somewhat-freedom she would have an empty seat in Wizengamot waiting for her too. But she didn't and she was nothing but a whore right now.
It was kind of ridiculous.
The Ministry still didn't have enough control to root out the old money and prestige from there. Victorious families like the Weasleys, non-participants like the Greengrasses and families deeply involved in the Dark Arts still all had seats in the jury.
"Now that would be a problem," she echoed, the thoughts running in her head with the speed of the lightning. A quite quick and destructive one at that, ready to cause eternal chaos. "If the Sacred Twenty-Eight got wind of it, half of the ministry staff would be dead in an overnight. All together we stoked up more money and estates than muggle aristocrats ever had the opportunity to. Alchemy was in our hands, we had magic and wizards had control over the Kings and Queens for centuries. We certainly have our puppets too that did and still do the dirty work for us."
"At least families involved with Dark Arts do," Percy quipped and Pansy squinted at him with amusement. "The Minsitry only chooses to overlook it, as I am sure. Sadly, I have no knowledge of these things so far, and these secrets are not really in the curriculum of Hogwarts, you realize."
"Theoretically speaking," Parkinson started, leaning over the table eagerly, her eyes laughing with mirth at him and that alone, didn't let his gaze wander off, "what if I said the puppets weren't humans at all? You must have an idea why wizards generally detest magical creatures, right?" Percy's brows knotted in confusion, watching the crafty woman smile at him condescendingly. "They lived only to serve us, wizards. You can remember the teachings right? Magical creatures are below us," there was no need to sugar-coat it. "Elves are still here to serve, dragons can be tamed, vampires can be easily fed merry and werewolves can be broken to the point that they do not resist. There's only so many species who managed to resist to the tyranny of wizards, you realize."
Understanding flashed in his eyes, "Unicorns, centaurs and mermaids. They are still free." The Weasley needed a moment to gather his thoughts to properly answer, "So, theoretically speaking, the Ministry has no chance if they want to get rid of the Twenty-Eight's influence in the government."
"Theoretically speaking," Pansy continued with a smile she used for seducing those arrogant ministry workers, "They have no fucking chance to overthrow a system that has been on the go ever since Hogwarts' Founders were living on the British Isles."
The fireplace roared to life in Harry's office with the poison green flames and the figure of Draco Malfoy emerged from them like a soulless wanderer from the pits of Hell. The only thing ruining this aesthetic was his sleeping robe.
Well, no one can be perfect, Harry noted to himself as he was already well-armoured for the incoming whiplash that was the prick demanding information and a throughout investigation. But who was he to fail him, really? He would have reacted in the same, were it his own father. That is, if he had had a living father.
"Don't even start with the speech, I know," Harry cautioned much like in the fashion of an elderly man, in lack of his beauty sleep, but certainly not of his cigarettes. "You don't look particularly energetic today either, Malfoy."
"And you look positively terrible Potter, but do you see me complaining?" came the scathing answer as he threw himself down on one of the chairs. He had no interest in actual tongue-lashing as it seemed. "I need some more details about the attack against my father," he said, but by definition, it was more likely to be a demand than a casual conversation starter.
Harry blew the smoke out of his nose, "I've pulled an all-nighter because of the damned paperwork. Read it if you want, but it truly is a bore," he carelessly tossed it towards him and Draco gladly received it, his eyes eagerly running through the gibberish formal sentence of the first page.
Ah, he planned to stay. Fantastic.
Not that he didn't expect Malfoy, ever since he had Floo called them in the morning, and thus, informing them about Lucius' hospitalization. It was a miracle in itself that Malfoy didn't trot in his office earlier, wrecking havoc. At the very least, he didn't scare away his new assistant.
"Father was there for two days? Hanged unconsciously and no one found him?" he hissed, not even looking up from the documents and turning pages.
"Well, you weren't really worried before either," Harry shot back and Malfoy rolled his eyes.
"Because he shouldn't even be back to England until next week. When he had business, he tends to forget to Floo back ho—" he suddenly fell silent, his eyes widening as he reread the paragraph. "What do you mean you haven't found any trace of anyone being there?" he questioned hotly, looking up from the third page, the grey of his eyes alive with the flames of anger. "That's just whimsical," he hissed and squared his jaw with the force that his teeth were on the verge of breaking, "If your fucking department would do its job thoroughly…"
"There was a golem there, but we didn't recognize the magical trace that was left on it. It's not in the international records," Harry answered patiently.
"Oh yes, good thing we know that it wasn't just an anonym attacker, he was fucking powerful too!" Draco snapped, knowing full well how it was no small deal to animate mud into an actual breathing creature with personality traits. "Marvellous work Potter, really, I'm bowing before you."
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, spitting out the last of his cigarette. That was the last thing he needed after today's work.
"SHUT UP Malfoy," it just burst out of the too sleep-deprived auror who was already through three migraines and half a pack of Marlboro. And it wasn't even nine o'clock. "Just shut up for a minute."
It was like fuel to the already blazing fire and Draco exploded, cheeks red and fists trembling with anger as he gripped the damned paper he, otherwise, wasn't even entitled to read.
"I don't know if you had noticed," he spat back with enough sugary venom to rot out his teeth, "but shutting up usually doesn't help when one is incapable of doing their jobs rightly, for which, might I add, they even get paid. My father is in St. Mungo's, my mother already threatened half of the hospital and if someone is out for our blood, we, most certainly, are fucked as former Death Eaters do not receive any protection from the Minsitry, thanks to the modern law system, all fucking heil Kingsley. Do you have any idea how serious this issue could be?" he questioned, his voice quiet and ending with a threatening hiss. He wasn't just playing.
So in the end, it was, ironically, Harry who promptly and effectively shut up while Draco kept going on.
"I needed to keep a blank face all through this morning and I didn't even get my usual chocolate croissant and as you see, I didn't have the time to dress myself properly, so do me a favour Potter and make you department do its job!"
Both knew he wasn't that angry over the croissants, but still, it flabbergasted Harry how he twisted his worry to suit his conscience.
But his conscience be damned, before Potter could have thrown back any well-earned insults in the blonde's face, the fireplace yet again roared to life, this time delivering a jolly-looking Hermione Granger in an oversized pink sweater. Well, she was jolly-looking until the general drop of temperature, unrestrained tension and the unconcealable flare up of testosterone registered in her brain.
"Should I leave?" she asked cautiously, her eyes jumping in between the two males, daring each other to continue their quarrel with intense contest of holding the others' gaze. She speculated, they were this close to whipping out their wands for a duel.
Hermione discretely sniffed the air, and quietly noted, no massacre happened during her absence. But that didn't mean she would be inclined to leave them alone just for the sake of freely continuing what they had started.
"No," Harry said after a minute or so, suddenly leaning back in his leather chair, his hands massaging the back of his neck. He decided not to pursue victory, deeming the towering papers more of a pressing matter. "No, you should not leave, Hermione. Why did you pop over?"
"Oh well, if you're busy it's nothing," she blabbered, not knowing where to put the image of Malfoy being in the Minsitry in his sleeping robes. She had never seen him look so human in the recent years. He had black circles under his eyes and his hair was dishevelled. It was a casual reminder that always proper and peacock Draco Malfoy, was too, in fact, a human being. "I just wanted some breakfast and some company. Thought I would ask you," she said in the end.
"Sorry Hermione, but—," Harry gestured weakly towards his messy desk, but before he could have continued the blonde terror interrupted them.
"Yes, freaking amazing idea, Granger. Breakfast," Draco rolled it on his tongue as if that was the world's sexiest word. The tension from his stiff shoulders seemingly dissipated."I'm coming with you," he declared absent-mindedly, surprising the other two war heroes.
"I—What?"
It felt like she had a sudden brain freeze as all she could do, was most certainly, gaping at the man clad in his sleeping robes and craving after delicacies.
"You heard me," he shrugged casually, as if casualty was one of his personality traits. Where was his aloofness, to start with? "I am hungry after all. And anyway, we still have some details to work on considering the funds and I need my chocolate croissants. We're going to the French bakery on Diagon. Any objections?" he continued before she could have opened her mouth for weak protests, "Thought so. Then you're coming."
So he stood up, expectantly casting a gaze on Hermione.
"You're in your sleeping robes."
"Fantastic observational skills," he said with an eye roll with more of a bored undertone of his words than a cruel one. He didn't just look like an actual human being; he was almost behaving like one too. "Now, are you coming?"
She couldn't really understand his reasoning (well, beside the papers), but still, they were nothing but distant acquaintances who most certainly, did not go on Monday brunches together. But she was way too curious not to accept his nonsensical offer.
So she nodded, leaving Harry baffled in the middle of a mess he called office.
Okay so after months of struggling with writing something (literally anything), I feel it's comint back! I actually want to continue and finish this story! So I won't promise weekly updates, but I'll try my best. Hope you liked it with these characters and their placements in the story. Thank you for reading!