a/n: this is my least favorite of all the chapters (and as it stands this story is 33 chapters, so that says a lot). i'd say to skip it, but then you might get confused later... or you can skip it if you want. i won't be mad lol
Chapter Four: A Celebrity
Hermione's first official task on the job was to meet with the Youth for Equality committee at the French Ministry of Magic. The committee had been trying to make contacts at the British Ministry for months, but no one knew exactly what department they would match up best with until Hermione came along. She was glad to begin her trip with children, as they were a much kinder and more familiar audience.
Despite Draco's grumpiness the previous day, the pair had an easy morning—neither spoke to the other as they washed, dressed, and ate breakfast. She could see the next few months going smoothly so long as they didn't acknowledge one another at all.
This brief hope was crushed when Hermione pulled her one and only blazer over a pale pink button-up and a skirt that was slightly too tight on her. Draco caught her staring at her butt in the mirror, trying to figure out if her panty line was showing, and he reassured her: "You're good."
"Don't look at my arse," she snapped, immediately yanking her blazer down to cover as much of her butt as she could. He rolled his eyes.
"Not much to look at, anyway."
He wore a black collared shirt and black pants, which made him appear twice as pale as normal. She felt strange being escorted while she walked—it wasn't like walking with someone, where you stand beside them and step in tandem. Instead, Draco stayed a foot behind her, where he was better able to see everyone around them. It made her feel incredibly uncomfortable and wary, like she was being followed.
The entrance to the French Ministry was in a dilapidated public bathroom labeled 'Under Repair'. Her notes instructed her to tap the left sink handle three times with her wand.
"I'll do it," Draco said sternly. He pulled out his wand and tapped the handle lightly, as if it was a potential hazard to her safety and might explode if hit too hard.
The sink handle grew and morphed into a door handle, which he grasped. "Ready?"
"Of course."
She squinted as she stepped through the door. The French Ministry was vast: there were floor-to-ceiling windows that let in massive amounts of natural sunlight that sparkled and shined upon the largest chandelier Hermione had ever seen. The entryway was circular and there appeared to be several other doorways dotting the room through which other smartly dressed witches and wizards were entering. "They really don't spare any expense here, do they?" she said in awe.
"We need room 814, on level eight," Draco replied, all business.
"That way." Hermione pointed to a gold elevator that somehow looked elegant and not as obnoxious as Hermione would have expected a gold-painted elevator to look. The inside was quite spacious, and when they entered, the other Ministry workers in the corner of the elevator began to whisper to each other.
"They're talking about you," Draco murmured into Hermione's ear, and she flushed.
"They are not." She tried her best to ignore their stares, which were practically burning holes into the back of her head, and she silently thanked the gods when the elevator finally reached the eighth floor. However, the sustained stares and whispers only continued as she walked down the hall towards room 814. Hermione practically threw herself into the conference room, happy to escape the strangers, only to be greeted with a round of admiring applause.
"Oh, please don't—" Hermione tried to stop the clapping, but the group of young students before her was far too star-struck to care.
An older woman in the back of the room, presumably the Ministry sponsor in charge of the group, came forward to shake Hermione's hand. Her accent was thick and reminded Hermione of Fleur and her Beauxbaton friends. "Miss Granger, we are so honored to be here with you today. Thank you so much for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with us."
Hermione flushed even more red. What did these people think she did all day? They were certainly under the impression that she was far more important than she actually was.
She tried to smile in the most honest way possible. "I'm honored to be here. And please, call me Hermione."
The woman beamed. "I'm Marissa Henisky, and this is the Youth for Equality committee. They are a collection of the brightest and most dedicated young wizards and witches in all of France, and they are very excited to be able to speak with you today."
Hermione turned back to the group. They were seated around an ovular table, at the head of which was an empty seat saved for her. All of them were looing at her with respectful admiration, an attitude her Hogwarts students never had. Then again, Hogwarts students were known to lack the discipline that other wizarding communities instilled in their children; they were more relaxed, more humorous, more apt to talk back to their professors. These students were the exact opposite, rigid, proper, and poised, and the aura was intimidating.
"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger," she said in a voice that was much squeakier than normal. She heard Draco try to muffle a snort behind her. "That's Draco Malfoy. He's my… assistant." Draco made a small noise of protest, but fell silent when she glared.
"I came here today with a brief presentation on some of my work, to speak briefly on a few of my personal experiences, and to gather your input on transnational magical justice. I want to reserve most of our time together to hear from you, answer questions, and discuss some of the wizarding world's most pressing contemporary issues." Hermione pulled a small metal box out of her purse and tapped it with her wand. The box sprang to life and levitated in the air. A shutter opened on one of its sides and it began projecting a hologram-like screen in the air above the table. Silvery box letters spelled 'Magical Justice and Wizarding Politics" on the screen. The students' eyes were wide in fascination; they had never seen such a device before. In fact, it was one of Hermione's own inventions, inspired by Muggle projectors. She grew tired of blackboards and chalk whilst teaching and decided wizarding classrooms needed an upgrade.
With every flick of her wand, a new screen popped up in the air. Hermione lectured about the papers she published detailing the various Ministry failings that left England vulnerable to infiltration by dark wizards. She discussed her brief fling with teaching and her decision to leave the classroom to pursue policy. She shared her experience researching and writing books on wizarding democracy and the long journey towards true equality that the wizarding world had just begun. Towards the end, she told stories of her SPEW days and how they helped her find what she was really passionate about. The students laughed when she described how her house-elf liberation movement's biggest protestors were the elves themselves.
"It was through that experience that I discovered what I had the most passion for," Hermione recalled warmly. "It was magical justice, but more specifically, it was magical justice for those who are voiceless. There are so many members of society who are marginalized by a system governed strictly by wizarding norms, and unfortunately it usually takes an individual from a position of privilege to speak on behalf of those who cannot stand up for themselves."
The students listening intently to her words, engaged by the genuine fervor in her voice. At the end, she was met with applause even louder and more embarrassing than the first round.
"So that's pretty much all I have to say," she said quickly, wanting to halt the clapping. "Now I want to hear from you—what are your goals? Your ideas?"
The round-table discussion started well: the students eagerly debated and discussed different viewpoints and ideologies. Hermione was impressed by their extensive knowledge of Muggle government, something that certainly wasn't covered as much when she was in school. However, the discussion took a turn when a cocky boy with black hair and sharp eyes raised his hand.
"What about the war?" he asked. "Did your heavy involvement with the war affect your political views at all?"
Hermione was taken aback by the forwardness of his question. She had been careful to discuss the effects of the war indirectly during her presentation. The topic was a sensitive one, and she always avoided talking about it if she didn't have to. Marissa noticed her hesitation and spoke up: "Christophe, that's an inappropriate question."
"No, no," Hermione said, not wanting to disregard the boy's question, which she considered to be valid if not slightly insensitive. "It's okay. The war did change me, just as it changed everyone. It made me more… compassionate. Thoughtful. We sometimes forget to imagine situations in a complex way. We live in a world of gray, you know? Things are not black and white. We should always strive to understand why things like a war happen. So now, I think before I leap. I always imagine the consequences to my actions."
"What about the recent attack on you and Harry Potter?" Christophe continued. "How do you feel about that?"
Hermione saw Draco tense in his seat from the corner of her eye. She tried to keep a tight smile. "There is an ongoing investigation with regard to that incident, one that I am not going to discuss. I will not comment on a subject I cannot give accurate information about, and I certainly will not comment on anything irrelevant to our discussion."
Christophe opened his mouth again, but Marissa cut him off sharply with a hiss. He sunk into his seat, staring Hermione down. She pretended not to notice and moved on to another question.
The meeting ended a short fifteen minutes later. The students filed out one by one and Marissa shook Hermione's hand again, thanking her over and over for her time and patience. Hermione smiled graciously, thanking her back for the opportunity.
As she was packing up her levitating projector, one last student stayed behind to approach her.
"Miss Granger?"
The girl, who couldn't have been older than fourteen, was short with curly blonde hair that stopped at her shoulders. Her clothes were ill-fitting and not as sharp or fashion-forward as her peers' outfits were. She had a notepad open upon which lines and lines of narrow notes were scribbled. Hermione was reminded of herself at age fourteen and immediately felt a kinship with the girl.
"Yes?"
"I had just a few more questions for you, if you wouldn't mind."
Hermione smiled. "Of course not."
"I was wondering—given that your career path thus far as seen several changes, what long-term goal do you have for yourself? I, myself, am looking forward to a meaningful and impactful career in government, and I was wondering if you had a particular plan in mind?"
Her question was one that Hermione had been asking herself all too often, and one she hadn't yet come up with an answer to. "You know, it's a little embarrassing, but I don't really have a plan right now," she admitted. "I usually do, but I've been learning lately to take things as they come."
The girl frowned. "Would you say that's a result of your… past experiences?"
"Um... I suppose."
The girl leaned it closer and eyed Draco, who was busy inspecting his fingernails in the far corner, and whispered. "I also wanted to say that you're such an inspiration. The ability to work with someone like Draco Malfoy after what happened to you in the past… It's an admirable testament to your ability to forgive and your commitment to equality, even when the same privileges weren't extended to you in the past."
Hermione blinked, taken aback. "I, um, I… Thank you?"
The girl nodded, smiled brightly, and extended her hand. "Thank you again, Miss Granger."
Hermione shook the girl's hand and she took off, running to catch up with the rest of the group. Draco sighed. "Merlin, that took forever. I was going to kill myself if I had to hear the words 'human rights' or 'magical equality' again. Are you ready to go?"
Hermione shook her head slightly, trying to refocus herself, still thinking about what the girl said. "Yeah," she said after a moment. "Let's go."
After their meeting, the pair grabbed sandwiches at a small shop and strolled out into the streets again.
"I was famished," Draco said, groaning as he took a large bite of his sub. "That meeting took forever."
"Get used to it," Hermione said without a hint of compassion. "Look, I really need to go shopping for some new professional clothes. I thought I had more, but I guess I overestimated my wardrobe."
"Good," said Draco, eyeing her outfit. "The ones you're wearing are hideously out-of-date."
Hermione ignored him. "Anyway, you can head back to the hotel and I'll meet you there in a few."
Draco wagged a finger. "No-no. I'm coming with you."
"I get an hour alone every day, that's what we agreed on. I'm invoking my hour."
"Granger, trust me, this is going to take longer than an hour. Look at what you're wearing—there's a hole in the side of your skirt."
Hermione twisted her blazer to the side, trying to cover the small hole, which she had hoped no one would notice. "I—it's—" she spluttered defensively.
But Draco was already walking away and towards a store down the street. As he walked, Hermione couldn't help but notice (to her endless disgust) how well his clothes fit him. She had always thought men's fashion was fairly straightforward, but Malfoy made it look like an art. His shirt was tight in the right places, defining his broad shoulders and chest but loose enough that it wasn't feminine. His pants fit snug around his arse, defining it quite nicely. Hermione hated herself for letting her eyes get anywhere near Draco Malfoy's arse, but she had to admit—the man did know how to dress himself. Reluctantly, she followed him into a small boutique that was intimidatingly clean.
Draco was by the back shelf holding up a delicate white blouse with a thin collar and elegant pearl buttons. "Avez-vous ceci en une taille supérieure?" he said to the shop's only employee.
"You speak French?" asked Hermione, surprised.
"You don't?" he said lazily.
"I do." She took a moment to translate what he said in her mind, and realized he asked the woman for a size medium. "Wait, how do you know what size I wear?"
"I was trained well in the art of gift-giving, which requires knowing how to gauge women's sizes from nothing more than a quick glance. Your waist says small, but your breasts and shoulders say medium."
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't talk about my breasts."
The slim, blonde shop employee, who introduced herself as Marie, returned with the blouse and several other articles of clothing. "Should I start a fitting room?" she asked in a heavy accent
"Yes," said Draco.
"Stop speaking for me!" hissed Hermione. She took the clothes from the woman and gave her a tight smile. "Yes, I would like a room, please."
"Try those on and Marie will find you some more pieces." Draco turned to the woman and smiled knowingly. "Elle a besoin de beaux vêtements. Elle ressemble á une femme sans-abri."
"I took French in grade school!" Hermione yelled over her shoulder as she stalked off to the fitting room. "I can understand you!"
Once inside the dressing room, Hermione was reminded of the several reasons she didn't go shopping. The lights made her skin appear an unflattering shade of yellow, and the mirror seemed to highlight every insecurity she had on her body: the way her nipples didn't line up quite evenly enough, the baby hairs that grew just under her belly button, the stretch marks that marred the curve of her butt.
She quickly threw on the first blouse and pair of pants to cover her body and was immediately impressed by how they transformed her. Suddenly, she was commanding, powerful, even sexy. The blouse was cut just low enough to flatter her cleavage without being inappropriate, and the pants hugged her hips just right. She pulled up her hair and admired herself: she could rule the world in these clothes. Is this why Ginny enjoyed shopping so much?
"Granger?" Draco's voice, deep and echoing, drifted over the fitting room door.
"I'm still trying the stuff on."
"I have more things for you. And take those pants off, I know you put those on first. You need to wear skirts more often, air everything out down there." Hermione twisted her face in disgust and hoped Marie didn't understand English. The man was downright embarrassing.
They spent next two and a half hours in the store, nagging and arguing the whole time, and practically driving Marie insane. By the end they had a pile two feet high of clothing on the checkout desk.
"Which ones are you buying?" Draco asked.
Each article was nice quality, a few were even designer brands, and thus were quite expensive. While Hermione never wanted for much—the wizarding world paid her, Ron, and Harry back for their wartime efforts with gifts, donations, and even a few advertising gigs Hermione would never live down—she didn't feel comfortable paying so much for clothes. It felt wrong to spend so much money on something as trivial and unimportant as a blouse.
"Um… I think I'll go with these." She separated half the pile. Draco frowned.
"You don't want this?" He held up the first blouse she tried on, the one she liked best. But after looking at the price tag, she knew she couldn't buy it—it felt practically immoral to spend so much on one shirt.
"It didn't fit quite right," she lied.
"That's not true, I saw you in it." He studied her face, and when he realized the true reason, he smirked. "Ah, I see what's going on here." He looked at Marie knowingly. "Granger likes to pretend like she can't afford nice things. It makes her seem more relatable to us common folk."
Marie, a Muggle who also spoke very little English, was confused, obviously not understanding what he meant.
"She's something of a celebrity," Draco continued in an irritating drawl. "But she likes to feel just like the rest of us. No matter, we'll keep pretending like it's a sin for Hermione Granger to buy herself nice things. I'll get the blouse." He placed a shiny credit card on the counter.
Hermione's forehead creased in the center as she frowned.
"Don't think of it as a gift," said Draco, answering her question before she could ask it. "Think of it as a very generous hint to clean yourself up."
She harrumphed, but admittedly felt far more comfortable knowing the gesture was really an excuse to insult her. She wouldn't know how to react if he did something truly kind.
When they finished paying, Hermione watched Draco carefully place his credit card back into his wallet. "How do you know what a credit card is?"
"Part of training."
"It is?" As far as Hermione could remember, the Ministry tried to keep Muggle training to a minimum as to not mix the worlds too much.
"Potter's idea. Said it would foster a respect for their world as well as help us seem legitimate when we're undercover."
The idea definitely sounded like Harry's. He had done a lot of progressive work in the Ministry since becoming a head Auror, much to the older employee's displeasure.
"And what do you think of credit cards?"
He shrugged indifferently. "It's convenient, I suppose. You don't have so many coins jostling around."
"But it's also more dangerous," she pointed out. "Someone could easily steal it and spend more of your money."
"Are you saying something negative about Muggle technology?"
"Are you saying something positive about it?" she countered with a grin. "Careful, Malfoy, you don't want to sully your pristine pureblood reputation."
Draco's expression turned from playful to cold in a second. He shoved his wallet back into his pocket and quickened his pace, leaving her a step behind. "Never mind, Granger."
She furrowed her brow. He was like a moody adolescent, constantly shifting between mildly irritating prat and brooding, hostile enigma. She had half a mind to keep irritating him as revenge for his rude behavior at the shop, but decided she'd be the bigger person. She was Hermione Granger, after all. Like he said, she was something of a celebrity, and she certainly needn't be bothered by the mood swings of Draco Malfoy.
A/N: Should get more interesting from here (; Also sorry for the French, I used Google Translate, try not to be too offended.