Chapter 4

Full Circle

-oOo-

"My friends, we are going to get rich!" Weasley spread out the latest issue of the Prophet on the table, proudly pointing at its headline "Muggle Devices Take The Wizarding World By Storm". Hermione barely managed to whisk away her cup of tea before it was swept to the floor, and Draco had to sneak his hand below the paper to grab a pain au chocolat.

"Where d'you get that from?" Weasley asked Draco as Hermione commandeered the newspaper. Draco took a large bite from the chocolate part, waving apologetically towards his mouth as he chewed slowly.

"'Several household names are keen users of the appliances, but they remain tightlipped about the supplier. Miss Parkinson, who recently split up from the darling of the Quidditch pages, Mr Viktor Krum, refused to answer the reporter when quizzed on her mysterious musical player,'" she read out loud.

"Let me guess, Rita Skeeter?" Draco hadn't known about Pansy, but the news did explain why she hadn't turned up for dinner last Friday night.

"Oh, yes. Listen to this: "'In a fearless pursuit of information to keep you, my dear reader, abreast with the latest trends in the Wizarding world, this reporter managed to get access to a home featuring one of the machines. They play an amazing variety of music, rather like the Wizarding Wireless, but the choice and ability to switch between a large number of high quality channels sets it apart from everything else available on the market.'"

"It's very complimentary." Draco frowned. "Suspiciously so."

"Indeed. I didn't know Rita could write a paragraph without slipping in a snide remark about someone." Hermione looked at the waving byline with distaste.

They turned to Ron at the same time. He shrugged.

"What can I say? It took a large chunk out of the marketing budget, but I'd say it was worth it."

"Ronald!" Hermione said at the same time as Draco remembered one of his failed business ventures a few years ago:

"The fucking cow! She told me she had to stick to journalistic ethics when I tried to get her to promote my racing syndicate!"

Weasley tutted. "Ethics? Rita Skeeter? Surely that should have tipped you off it was just an excuse."

"Rita may have the ethical standards of an Erumpent in heat, but that doesn't excuse your behaviour. You bribed her, Ron!" Hermione was clearly revving herself up for a lecture, but to give Weasley his fair dues, he stopped her in her tracks.

"Nonsense. There's nothing shady about sponsored content. Look here." He tapped the paper with his wand, hitting the bag with pastries hiding underneath. While Weasley snagged a croissant, a small "S" in a circle flashed blue before fading away. "It's marked and everything. Did you really think Rita wrote all those articles about Krum's brooms out of the goodness of her heart?"

"No. I believed she wrote them because she's obsessed with celebrities," Hermione snapped, but she was sufficiently mollified to extract the bag Draco had brought and place it where everyone could see it, taking the fun out of munching pastries in front of a hungry Weasley.

"It's only visible if you know the spell, which is available on application from the editor," Weasley mumbled in Draco's ear as Hermione primly selected a scone. "You have to send your own owl, as well. No one is going to notice."


They were taking the wizarding world by storm – after weeks of patient prodding by Weasley, Rita Skeeter had finally broken the story behind FOWL and 'the unlikely partnership making their presence known in most wizarding homes, or at least in those with aspirations to follow the zeitgeist'.

"You shouldn't have got her to use that word. Zeitgeist is a step too far for the average British wizard."

Draco had insisted on getting a proper workshop once the revenues started coming in, complete with a dinner table for occasions like this. He had had enough of draughty warehouses for a lifetime.

"Hmm." Hermione was reading the newspaper on the far side of the table, surrounded by piles of books for her current project. Draco had glanced at them, but titles like How To Build A Gaming PC: A Beginner's Guide had not captured his attention. They sounded both Muggle and difficult; an off-putting combination at the best of times.

This wasn't a particularly great time; Hermione had cancelled their standing arrangement for Friday night two weeks in a row, and she had only turned up this afternoon because Draco had sent her an owl threatening to bring Mr Weasley instead.

The thought of letting the man loose in her carefully organised workspace had guaranteed the appearance of a flustered Hermione, clutching her copy of their original agreement where it was specified that Weasley Senior was not to be brought anywhere within a mile of their testing facility. Desperate times called for desperate measures – Draco was beginning to get the impression his comfortably arranged existence was slipping.

He hadn't been able to put his finger on the precise reason, but as he noticed the fine dust gathering on Hermione's workbench (he should really bring the house-elves in here more often, now that they were paid and all) it finally dawned on him it had something to do with the witch sitting opposite.

The long pale fingers of December sunlight filtered through the venetian blinds Draco had chosen over the more utilitarian steel favoured by Hermione, turning her hair into a golden halo, and suddenly, Draco realised he was the biggest idiot in Britain. Despite his larger-than-average intelligence, he seemed to possess a remarkable talent for screwing things up (he would blame his Black blood, but that would let his father off the hook).

He had done it again – at least there wasn't a compulsory tattoo this time.

Draco had barely taken stock of his calamity (why was Hermione allowed to to walk around making everyone believe she was a walking textbook until it was too late?) when the next blow struck.

"There's a photo of you and Viktor Krum here," Draco found himself saying, before his brain had made contact with his mouth. Everything was a bit numb at the moment, so that was probably why his reflexes were so slow. Severus Snape was probably turning in his grave.

"Yes. They do that a lot, take photos of people and put them in the paper. You were in one with Pansy Parkinson yesterday, if I recall correctly."

"I see Pansy at least every week. As far as I'm aware, you haven't met Krum since we were pimply-faced teenagers." Somehow, he managed not to sound accusatory, although Merlin knew what he thought he was accusing her of.

Hermione didn't even look up. "I wasn't pimply-faced, thank you very much. I ran into Viktor in Diagon Alley a few weeks ago, and we went for coffee."

"This photo was taken in Hogsmeade." Draco could just make out the sign of the Three Broomsticks in the background.

"I didn't say anything about it being the last time I saw him, did I? One thing led to another, etc., etc. Why do you care, anyway?"

"I like to keep track of my business partners." Draco winced inwards, but Hermione didn't take him to task for his less than compelling reason.

"I'm sure you do," she said absently, leafing through the weekly business supplement. "Did you see the government – the Muggle one – is raising the VAT rate again? I think we need to set up that limited company so we can reclaim some of it, at least."

Sometimes, Draco agreed with Weasley: Hermione could be the most infuriating person he had ever met. Weasley was married, presumably happily, to some Creevey or other, but at one time he must have felt exactly like Draco did about Hermione in a very different way.

It was a sobering thought.


That was how he had got here, more or less. Plus this morning's altercation, of course – in retrospect, Draco had been rather foolish when he had decided to drop into Hermione's office at the Ministry to talk to her. If it hadn't been for Weasley's unexpected appearance, he would have been burnt to a crisp by now. Hermione Granger did not like being told what to do; she had made that quite clear.

"Do you have to crouch like that?" he asked Weasley. "The view from the back would offend the sensibilities of a warlock."

"I'm so sorry my attempts at saving your arse are – what did you say, again?"

"It doesn't matter." Draco tried to stride purposefully, but unfortunately, Hermione's current position in the Ministry's hierarchy only stretched to enough legroom to fit two steps before he had to turn around again.

"Too poncy to repeat, eh?" Blue sparks flew from Weasley's wand, and he looked at it with mild surprise. "She must be doing something from the outside – I didn't know there was a counter-curse to Holohan's Defence."

"Who would have thought Granger would outperform you?" If all he could do to distract himself was to be spiteful, Draco was determined to give it all he had.

"That's an interesting thing for you to say," Weasley said mildly.

"I would say the same, but I so dislike lying." He got a sharp glance in return, but Weasley didn't rise to the bait.

"You know, Hermione has actually outgrown one of the things you used to have in common."

"And what would that be? A tendency to hex people for making stupid comments?"

"She's realised that just because she is smarter than average, it doesn't mean other people don't have a brain in their heads."

"If you would kindly translate that from Weasley-speak, I'll pretend I'm still interested in this conversation." There had to be something Draco could do, instead of watching Weasley. Floo for help? He stretched his hand towards the fireplace, but hit the wards instead and bounced back.

"You obviously fancy her. For you to tell her something that caused a reaction like this –" Weasley made a gesture encompassing his own missing eyebrows and Draco's wandless state. As if someone were listening, another volley of spells hit the door from outside. Weasley's wards held, but Draco couldn't help noticing him sagging slightly in relief when the attack ceased.

"As I was saying: you must have told her something pretty hair-raising to make her this angry. What did you say, exactly?"

"None of your business." Draco couldn't remember exactly, not word for word, but he remembered the gist of it, all right.

"Seeing as I'm the only person who may be able to get us both out of here in one piece, I rather think it is." Weasley's eyes were as blue and gullible as they had been when he was eleven years old, but Draco had learnt to spot the signs he intended to be as stubborn as a pig.

They found themselves at an impasse.


"Morning, Draco." Hermione had been surrounded by no less than three cups of tea, and Draco would have bet his last Galleon she hadn't finished any of them. One of her terrifying characteristics was single-mindedness: when she worked, that was all she did. No bumming off for a cup of coffee and a fag, or some last-minute tidying to avoid a difficult task. Not for Hermione.

Recently, Draco had started wondering what else might benefit from her undivided attention; he had spent several business meetings daydreaming about the possibilities. Fortunately, he happened to be rather skilled at multi-tasking, or they would have been running the risk of getting a nasty surprise when the next marketing campaign for FOWL was launched.

"Good morning. What's this morning's emergency, then – are the Goblins abandoning the gold standard?"

"No one told me. If that's the case, perhaps you'd better speak to Bletchley." She had already returned to her notes, highlighting something with a frown.

"I don't think so. A twenty-minute long lecture on Goblin customs wasn't on my schedule this morning." Draco had been caught by Bletchley before – the man could bore on for Britain.

"Then what is? Or is this a social call? You do realise I'm supposed to be working here, not just entertaining my friends."

"I just wanted a quick word in your ear." Draco's throat had suddenly felt dry.

"I see. Why don't you go ahead, and then we can both get on with our days? I'd really like to get out of the office before nine tonight, and I'm already behind."

"I see," Draco had repeated. He had had no idea how to continue, despite having rehearsed the conversation several times in his head. The problem was that the Hermione in his head had said exactly what he wanted her to say, while the real one had stubbornly refused to stick to the script.

"The department meeting starts in half an hour," she had informed him.

"I don't think you should be seeing Krum," Draco had blurted out. Script Draco had slapped his forehead, but it was too late.

"I'm sorry?"

"He's not a – I just don't think you're his type."

"Fortunately, your opinion doesn't matter, seeing as you're not one of the people in this relationship." The syllables had been clipped, as if Hermione had been hanging on to her temper with effort.

"What? Are you actually with him now, officially?" It had been worse than Draco had thought. "Have you slept with him yet?"

The burst of spontaneous magic had knocked him backwards (that was when his eyebrows had been zinged off), out to the anteroom where Bletchley and other associated underlings had been working away. They had barely had time to look up from their desks before Hermione had followed, pointing her trembling wand straight at Draco.

"If you have anything to say for yourself before I hex you, now is the time."

The words had tripped over his tongue in their haste to get out. "You're Muggle-born, that's the difference between you and Pansy. There's no way he really wants to be with you, you must –" The rest of his thoughtful, well-balanced advice had been drowned out by a threatening volley of thunder. The weather in the charmed windows had been a perfectly pleasant October afternoon – the storm heading Draco's way had been entirely magical in nature, and confined to a suddenly very small room.

Most of the employees had been hiding under their desks, Draco had noticed, when the door to the corridor had opened.

"Oi, what's going on here?" Weasley. The only thing that could have made the situation any worse.

"Piss off, Weasley." Worryingly, Draco had seemed to have absolutely no control over what had been coming out of his mouth.

Weasley had ignored him. "You lot, get out." He had nodded at Bletchley and his colleagues, who had scurried out. "Now then, what seems to be the matter?"

Rather than calming down, Hermione's wrath seemed to have simmered to new heights during the interruption.

"I suggest you move out of the way, Ron. Ferret-boy and I have some unfinished business." She had raised her wand and Draco had grappled for his, only to have it knocked out of his hand as Weasley had grabbed him around the waist and shoved him into Hermione's office, sealing the door behind them.

There they were then, stuck together as Hermione had done her best to open the door.


The last chapter will be published next Saturday - come back then to find out if Ron can find a way out, or if they're doomed to stay in Hermione's office forever...