Hermione stood across from the kitchen entrance which was discreetly tucked into the opposite corner of the hotel ballroom. The room was lit by one enormous chandelier with hundreds of glass beads that twinkled in the light of five dozen candles and four smaller chandeliers, one in each corner of the vaulted ceiling. Pinpricks of light like stars glittered in the midnight blue of the ceiling itself.
Behind her was a mahogany bar. At the front of the room, a four-piece band dressed in black trousers and white shirts played quietly on string instruments. At the back of the room, above two sets of wide open double doors, were rows of glass tubes. Most of the room's floor was taken up by round tables each surrounded by eight cloth-draped chairs and covered with a white cloth on which was a glass centrepiece charmed to twinkle a rainbow of colours. One was not quite in the centre. Hermione tweaked it and then stood back to ensure it was correctly placed.
"You've done a lovely job decorating, dear."
"Thank you, Mrs. Tonks." Hermione scanned the room again, wondering what to do next. Perhaps she should check with the caterer one more time to make sure there were enough hors d'oeuvres.
Andromeda touched her arm to get her attention. "You look quite lovely yourself."
Hermione brushed at the gauzy skirt of her shiny gold dress robes. "Thanks to Mrs. Malfoy for helping me pick it out." The price attached to the formal robe had shot a sharp pain through her chest when she saw it, but she knew appearance would count at this event. The strappy heels caused her feet to protest at the unaccustomed discomfort and she subtly shifted her weight to ease the pressure on her right foot.
"Our guests tonight will be predominantly pure-bloods," Andromeda said. "Old money. Are you prepared?"
Hermione shifted her weight again. "How do you do it? How can you socialize with people who detested you and turned their backs on you for years?"
"I understand them. Lord knows I'm related to most of them."
"They killed your husband," Hermione said softly. "Your daughter."
"I can't live my life hating the people in this room. Bella's gone." Pain dulled Andromeda's wide brown eyes as her gaze moved far away. "Someday I may be able to forgive her, too. I don't know." She looked back at Hermione. "The Snatchers who killed Ted are dead or in prison. I pity them more than anything for whatever desperation would move someone to hunt other human beings like animals for a few paltry galleons."
"I don't think they believed muggle-borns like Ted and I are human. They saw us a threat or an infestation."
Andromeda sighed. "It's sad how we turned on each other. Ted told me muggles keep standing armies just waiting for the next war, but we've never done that. Both wars were Voldemort's attempt to divide and conquer our society for his own personal gain using our prejudices against us: pure-blood prejudice of those they believe inferior and prejudice against those we label Dark Wizards."
Hermione drew in a breath. "You can't be in favour of using Dark Arts?"
Andromeda chuckled dryly. "What are those? The list of what's banned changes from year to year. Besides, what's illegal here may be legal elsewhere and what's acceptable here may be frowned on elsewhere."
Andromeda Tonks had views that Hermione found fascinating. This was a conversation she could never have with Harry. "Do you think Mad Eye Moody was overzealous in his pursuit of Dark Wizards? Not that I think ill of him," she hastened to add.
The older witch looked thoughtful. "Alastor saw awful things in the course of his work. I can hardly blame him for wanting to hold those responsible to account."
Hermione nodded. "Harry sees horrors like that, too; lived through evils no child should have to endure. It makes you lose faith in people, or at least certain people." She cocked her head. "Millicent Bulstrode told me her parents didn't support Voldemort the first time, but they hated what Crouch and Moody and the Ministry did after his first defeat."
"Oh, there's no doubt there was a good deal of political posturing by Crouch and other officials and there were some Aurors who took advantage of the free reign they were given. I think the Ministry is as much to blame for the second war as the Death Eaters. It was hard for some people to stomach the manhunts and property seizures that were supposed to finance rebuilding efforts when so much money disappeared into the Auror budget."
"Did it?"
"People were grieving and looking to dole out vengeance in the form of justice. It didn't last long, but then we had Dumbledore to bring us back together. We're a small society, we really can't do without each other." She regarded Hermione speculatively. "We need someone like that again, who can put aside judgement and see other points of view."
"Kingsley can do it." His calm demeanour coupled with a commanding stature was simultaneously reassuring and persuasive, and he had the skills of a statesman as well as the talents of an Auror. As both a pureblood and a member of the Order, equally comfortable among muggles and those who never left the wizarding world, he was a symbol of unification for a wartorn society.
"Yes," Andromeda agreed. "But eventually someone younger will need to take over."
Hermione shook her head at the look in the older witch's eye. "I'm Harry Potter's best friend and a muggle-born. It won't be me."
Andromeda smiled. "Our guests are arriving. I'm going to see if Narcissa wants us to help greet people." She patted Hermione's hand and headed toward the entryway where a few people were removing their cloaks and chatting.
Hermione looked around the room once more. The tables were set for the catered meal and a bottle of wine had been placed next to each delicate centrepiece, a Superior Red from Malfoy Apothecary. The label was pretentious but it was generous of Narcissa to donate the wine. Proceeds from sales of additional bottles would go directly to fundraising proceeds.
Hermione turned to the bar behind her. "Do we have enough white wine?" She peered around the bartender to examine the boxes encased in a cooling charm, also graciously donated by the Malfoy family business. Elite White. Of course.
"Yes, Miss."
"I got too much red and not enough white, didn't I? We'll probably run short." She chewed her lip. "Is there Scotch? I was told there had to be Scotch as well as firewhiskey." She started around behind the bar.
The bartender grasped her arm in one white-gloved hand. "I think you should check on the hors d'oeuvres. I heard they were running low."
"Oh, no." Hermione spun and headed toward the kitchen.
The caterer saw her coming and ducked behind the thick oak door. Before she reached the kitchen, an arm encased in a red silk glove slipped through Hermione's right arm and turned her.
"Miss Granger, dear, you must come and meet the guests as they arrive." Narcissa Malfoy's lips were the exact red of her gloves and her blonde locks were swept up in a chignon.
Hermione resisted the urge to smooth her hair despite the unseemly amount of Sleakeazy's she had used. "I thought you and Mrs. Tonks would welcome people. I'm not really good at that kind of thing."
"You only get good at that kind of thing by practice, dear." Mrs. Malfoy steered her toward the wide double doors of the old hotel's ballroom.
"Do you think we have enough white wine?" She looked back at the bar, craning her neck to see the storage shelves.
"Yes, dear."
"I heard we were running low on hors d'oeuvres."
Mrs. Malfoy glanced at Hermione from the corner of her eye but kept walking. "I'm quite certain we have a sufficient amount." Narcissa held out her right hand to a woman wearing a tall bonnet trimmed in peacock feathers who had just handed her cloak to the coat check. "Melisandre, so good to see you."
The feathers bobbed as the other woman turned to Narcissa and took her red-gloved hand in her own white lace-covered palm. "Narcissa, lovely to see you, too. And this is?" She turned heavy-lidded eyes toward Hermione.
"Miss Hermione Granger," Narcissa introduced. "Miss Granger, this is Mrs. Rosier."
There was a flicker of distaste in the cold gaze as it raked Hermione's face. An answering flash of anger banished the nervousness coiled in Hermione's stomach.
She grasped the lace-covered hand before the other woman could withdraw. "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Rosier. I must say, that is a fetching bonnet."
Melisandre Rosier reached up to brush her fingertips along one of the feathers. "Thank you."
"I do believe those feathers flatter the curve of your cheek."
Mrs. Rosier smiled and patted Hermione's shoulder. "That's sweet of you, dear."
"There's a bottle of red on each table, but you can get a glass of white at the bar if you'd prefer." Hermione indicated the long oak bar with polished brass fittings. "We have plenty."
"Thank you. I believe I'll do just that." Mrs. Rosier smiled and nodded at them both before she made her way toward the black-and-white garbed bartender.
"Well done," Mrs. Malfoy said under her breath.
Hermione smoothed her skirt and patted her hair.
"Elsbeth, how are you tonight?" Mrs. Malfoy greeted a tall woman with black eyes beneath thick eyebrows and black hair liberally streaked with grey.
"Tolerably well, Narcissa." She leaned down to exchange an air kiss with the blonde woman.
"And Henry, how are you?"
A short man wearing a navy blue cloak decorated with stars and moons stitched in silver thread returned her greeting. His head only came up to his wife's chin but his tall, pointed hat similarly decorated with stars and moons stood higher than them both.
"This is Hermione Granger. Miss Granger, Mrs. and Mr. Burke."
A shiver inched up Hermione's spine when the woman's black eyes fixed on her, but she smiled and held out a hand to them. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."
Mr. Burke touched his fingers to hers and quickly let go.
The other woman encased Hermione's outstretched hand in one dark-gloved palm. Her black gaze moved slowly down and back up again, pausing on Hermione's brown curls which had been pulled back from her face to hang down her back. "Likewise, I'm sure." After the perusal she released the handshake and nodded to Mrs. Malfoy. "We'll talk later, Narcissa."
Narcissa Malfoy nodded in return.
The tall woman strode away, thick heels drumming against the wooden floor, her husband and his hat trailing behind.
Hermione's gaze was torn away when a deep voice spoke her name. She spun back around. "Oh, Kingsley, it's good to see you." A genuine smile creased her face as she took his hand.
His gaze encompassed the elegantly decorated ballroom lit by the enormous chandelier. "Everything looks lovely." The gold hoop in his ear reflected the candlelight and his eyes sparkled.
Hermione felt a knot of tension ease in her stomach at his deep, soothing tones. "Where's your wife?"
"She crossed paths with Andromeda in the hall. Mrs. Malfoy, pleasure to see you again." His thick hand enveloped her red silk fingers as he gave a slight bow. "Lovely party."
"Miss Granger did much of the work."
"She's quite capable, isn't she?" Kingsley smiled at Hermione.
"Quite." Narcissa Malfoy had to tilt her head up slightly to meet the Minister's dark gaze. "I'm rather surprised her talents haven't been put to even greater use at the Ministry."
Kingsley's black brow lifted as he looked more closely at the elegant blonde. "Oh? I thought we kept her busy enough."
That was an understatement. Hermione turned a puzzled look on Mrs. Malfoy whose gaze had fixed on someone just entering the room.
"Corban, do join us."
A tall wizard with a long braid of pale blond hair and flowing dark green robes turned at her invitation. His smile did little to improve his hard features as he took Narcissa's outstretched hand and greeted her and Kingsley as warmly as possible for his icy demeanour. His gaze passed over Hermione with barely a flicker of recognition.
"We were just speaking of you," Mrs. Malfoy said brightly.
Yaxley straightened and lifted his chin even higher. "Nothing but good, I hope."
"Naturally." Narcissa's smile was hard, showing a neat row of straight, white teeth between her painted red lips. "I understand you are soon to retire from your tiresome job at the Ministry."
His cold features momentarily rippled with startlement, his pale eyes widening.
"Well deserved, I'm sure, Corban." Kingsley turned a smile on his department head, but his black eyes glittered.
Yaxley hesitated, his pale, watery gaze skipping between Narcissa Malfoy and Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Nothing is decided, yet."
"I don't know why you would delay such a well-earned retirement. I understand Eugenia is quite capable. She must be grateful for your tutelage these past years." Mrs. Malfoy smiled at a short woman with close-cropped hair dyed a dark purple to match her heavy robes as she joined them. "Isn't that right?"
"I'm thankful to have learned from an accomplished official such as Corban." Mrs. Fawley smiled at Yaxley but her eyes were sharp. "We've shared much over the years, haven't we?"
"We all have." Narcissa exchanged a look with Eugenia Fawley before they both turned back to Yaxley.
"I'm sure you could tell us much about Corban's time with the Ministry." Kingsley smiled serenely at the deputy minister, his glance skipping between her and Narcissa before he faced Yaxley again.
"I certainly could." Fawley clasped her hands together, long purple sleeves dangling from her thin wrists.
Yaxley stared at Narcissa, his face as pale as his blond braid. "I would be embarrassed, I'm sure." A muscle in his jaw ticked. "Perhaps we can save the reminiscing for after my retirement."
"You can owl me your resignation and we'll make plans for a suitable retirement gala," Kingsley said. "Perhaps we can discuss this further on Monday at the office, Eugenia. We'll need to consider staffing in the law department in the wake of Corban's departure."
"I'll review potential candidates on the weekend and have a list of suggestions ready for you."
"Excellent."
Narcissa Malfoy looped her arm through Yaxley's. "Why don't we leave the worker bees to their office talk and go visit Lucius. We can rehash old times."
Yaxley opened and closed his mouth, his eyes darting amongst all of them, but he allowed Narcissa to lead him away.
Hermione blinked. Both Fawley and Kingsley were looking at her.
"You've expressed some interest in Magical Law Enforcement, haven't you, Hermione?" Kingsley asked.
"Well, I …," she straightened her shoulders. "Yes, I have a few proposals I worked on for the department. And I have all my required N.E.W.T.s."
"Forward me a list of your qualifications by Monday morning and I'll have a look." Fawley nodded at each of them. "Now, I believe I'll have a glass of what I'm sure will be truly superior wine." Her heavy dark purple robes swirled as she turned and made her way toward the woman with the peacock feathers.
"This is a good career move for you, Hermione."
She managed not to gape at the Minister. Had they just blackmailed Yaxley into leaving the Ministry? She felt like a piece of driftwood that had been washed up on a beach and she had no idea where. At the same time, she was running through all the pieces of legislation that affected magical creatures who had never been consulted in the making of those laws. "I wasn't thinking of my career, really, but I know I can make a difference working in law enforcement."
"You certainly can." Kingsley squeezed her shoulder.
She looked up into his kind face. The enormity of the task Kingsley faced when he took over as Minister of a divided society hit her. He had been forced to see things from all sides and deal with his staff and his constituents impartially despite his personal loyalties. "How do you work with people you know used to be Death Eaters?"
He leaned closer, bending down to look her in the eye. "I'm Minister for our whole society, not just the people who agree with me. Despite my personal convictions – and I do not regret my part in the war – I have to treat all our citizens equally and not take sides based on past association."
She nodded. "I think I understand."
"Are you concerned about working with Eugenia Fawley?"
Hermione hesitated. The witch was an associate of the Malfoys and probably an ex-Death Eater, yet she had not hesitated to invite Hermione to apply to work in her department. "I don't know."
"She and I don't see eye to eye on certain issues, but I can assure you that she thinks highly of your work. Eugenia is a tough taskmaster but she values effort and intelligence, both of which you display in abundance. I truly believe you'll work well together."
Hermione crossed her arms. "I won't tolerate any slurs about my blood status, not even from my boss."
His full lips stretched into a smile. "I don't expect you to overlook anything you find demeaning. In fact, your assistance in eradicating the subtle ways that muggle-borns are disadvantaged will be enlightening for us all, myself included. At the same time, you'll learn much of wizarding history and the development of our laws from Eugenia."
The reassurance of Kingsley's deep, soothing voice calmed the last of her apprehension. Could it be any more difficult to work with Mrs. Fawley than it had been to plan this event with Narcissa Malfoy?
Kingsley patted her shoulder. "I can only imagine what you'll accomplish by the end of the career you aren't thinking of." He caught the eye of his wife speaking with a short man in a red top hat and after a final encouraging smile at Hermione he strode in that direction.
For several moments, Hermione stood where she was, turning over all the possibilities of her future in the Ministry.
"Hermione? Are you okay?"
She started when she realized Harry and Ron were standing in front of her wearing equally worried expressions. They were surprised and only slightly less concerned when she threw an arm around each.
"Seriously, are you alright?" Ron patted her back and exchanged a glance with Harry.
"I'm fantastic. I might be changing jobs." Her face felt like it might split with the width of her smile.
"A promotion?" Harry asked.
"Magical Law Enforcement."
He stiffened and his green eyes narrowed. "Hermione, Yaxley can't be trusted. We know he was a high-ranking Death Eater, even though there's nothing we can prove. You don't want to be in his department."
She tilted her head to meet Harry's worried gaze. "If one or two other Death Eaters testified against him, though, that would be all you'd need to sentence him, right?"
Harry sighed and pushed his glasses further up his nose. "Of course, but that never happens. They closed ranks."
"Yaxley is retiring." She smiled. "Kinglsey told him to owl his resignation."
"What?" Harry's green eyes widened.
Ron looked back and forth between his two friends. "Is Yaxley concerned about evidence from former co-conspirators coming to light? Is that why he's retiring?"
She stared at the blue-eyed ginger for a moment. "Yes." All these years and she underestimated him still. Sometimes she forgot Arthur Weasley had worked for the Ministry long enough to understand politics or that Ron was a master of wizard's chess because of his knack for strategy.
"Fawley will probably take over, though," Harry said. "We don't know for certain she was involved in the Dark Arts, and she did help you pass those amendments last month, but I've heard things about her." He paused uncertainly.
Hermione patted Harry's shoulder. "I think she and I will get along fine."
"She's a pure-blood," Ron said.
Hermione arched a brow. "So are you."
He rolled his eyes. "But I'm a good guy."
She laughed and hugged him again. "You are, but I wouldn't want to work with you. I don't know how George does it."
"Oi!" He hugged her in return anyway.
"Thanks for coming, by the way. I know these aren't your favourite people." She stepped back and looked them both up and down.
Ron's tailored robes were a deep red that should have clashed with his hair but instead looked amazingly good, again with the shop's logo discreetly sewn into the left breast. His hair was long, though not as long as Bill's, and a ruby stud glittered in his ear. Harry's dark blue robes emphasized the black curly hair which fell across his forehead. He was not as tall and broad-shouldered as Ron, but unassuming self-assurance was evident in his stance and his direct gaze.
"You two look distinguished."
"You do, too," Ron said.
She brushed at her gold silk robes. It was more gauzy than her normal style but Narcissa, Andromeda, and the shop owner had all assured her the dress would fit in perfectly at the event and it was surprisingly comfortable. If only she could say the same for her shoes.
She looked over their shoulders. "Did you both come alone?"
Harry shrugged. "Ginny's out of town. And we broke up again," he muttered under his breath.
Ron nudged him sympathetically. "I hear this event is the social highlight of the season. There must be rich young women here looking to meet a couple of eligible bachelors." He smoothed the front of his expensive robes.
"You're rich yourself now," Hermione said. "Why do you need to find a rich woman?"
"I'm rich and famous." Ron rolled his shoulders and lifted his chin. "I have to make sure she's not after my money and if she has her own …"
Harry elbowed him in the ribs. "Better not rule out the ones after your money, mate, or you might be alone with your ego."
Ron's blue eyes widened. "Did the Chosen One just twit me about ego?"
Hermione looped an arm through each of theirs and steered them toward silver cloth-covered tables at the far end of the room where an odd assortment of items were displayed. "Have you seen the silent auction items?"
Glowing numbers hovered above each piece which increased when someone waved a wand toward the desired object.
"No." Harry rolled his eyes. "Just tell us now what amazing piece of magic you dreamt up to make this fundraiser spectacular."
She frowned at him but was unable to resist explaining her spellwork. Proudly, she pointed to the glass tubes above the entryway. "See those?"
A few contained sparkly multi-coloured glass beads, each tube with a different combination of colours.
Ron's forehead wrinkled. "Yeah. What are those, anyway?"
"The colours you chose when you bought your ticket are your identifier. Every time you bid on something, a bead drops into your container."
Harry raised his brows. "You re-engineered the House Cup system?"
"It will encourage bidding. Even if no one else knows the colours you chose, they can probably guess, or you can discuss it with others at your table and encourage each other to bid more often."
"Nice work."
She steered them toward the tables again. "Someone donated a bunch of tatty red and blue scarves. Did you know Merlin wore neck scarves?"
She expected to sit with Harry and Ron when she finished greeting people an hour later, but before she got there Cho Chang sat beside Harry with Marietta Edgecombe and a plump young woman who must be Marietta's date. Marietta's curly, reddish-blonde hair was styled to cover half of her face and the scowl she sent Hermione nearly cracked the thick makeup she wore. She seemed perfectly polite to Harry but Hermione had no wish to eat dinner in her presence. Then Michael Corner and the Greengrass sisters joined them which filled the table of eight.
Andromeda, Kingsley, and his wife were seated with a trio of blonds – Narcissa's gold locks and two heads of silver-white – along with Eugenia Fawley and the woman wearing a peacock feather. There was no empty place at their table.
While Hermione hesitated, wondering where to sit, she heard her name called. Millicent Bulstrode beckoned and pointed to the chair next to an older couple that could only be her parents. The man had the same square face and heavyset build as his daughter, and the woman had the same thick black curls though hers framed a delicate face with a prominent white scar.
"Please join us." Mrs. Bulstrode gestured to the chair on her left.
Theodore Nott, who sat between Millicent and her parents, scowled but said nothing.
With them was the sandy-haired man Hermione had met at the Ministry. As she sat, he greeted her politely and introduced her to his husband. "I hear you'll be joining us in Magical Law?"
She hid her surprise at how quickly word traveled. "Nothing is settled yet."
He winked. "Of course, it's not official until we get the memo but I look forward to working more closely with you. My boss was impressed with your grasp of legislative wording."
A tingle of pride straightened her shoulders.
He turned to the elder Bulstrodes. "Hermione wrote most of the amendments our department proposed with regard to school absences during a full moon and ease of importing certain potion ingredients."
"We've heard a bit about that," Mr. Bulstrode said. "I believe, Miss Granger, you also implemented the house elf owner registry during your time with Regulation and Control, is that right?"
"I did." Hermione thanked Millicent for handing her a glass of wine and waited to hear his list of complaints about the registry.
Instead, his wife took up the questioning. "Your friend, Mr. Potter, is an Auror I believe."
"Yes," she answered. "As are a few other Order members I worked closely with during the war." Hermione lifted her glass to her lips. It really was a superior red wine.
Mrs. Bulstrode and her husband exchanged a glance. "Law enforcement is a heavy responsibility, Miss Granger."
Ah, so they were worried about a repeat of Crouch's crusade. Hermione looked the thin woman in the eye. "I'm sure we can address the injustices of the present without repeating the excesses of the past."
Millicent paused with her wineglass half raised. When their eyes met, she proceeded to take a sip.
Hermione turned back to the elder Bulstrodes. "Despite his involvement in the Order, Kingsley has practiced moderation as head of government. No one has been imprisoned without trial and life sentences were reserved for only the most heinous abuses of magic."
"But Minister Shacklebolt comes from a respectable family," Mr. Bulstrode said.
Meaning pure-blood. Hermione bit down on her defensive response and responded coolly. "I agree wholeheartedly with his even-handed approach. Aurors will be held to the same standard as any other wizard or witch; there will be no, shall we say, witch hunts."
Mrs. Bulstrode's gaze searched Hermione's face.
Millicent leaned forward. "Four years ago we were enemies, Granger. Some of your friends died."
A jolt shook Hermione and she set down her glass to hide her shaking hand. "We all lost people we cared for. We all took lives and paid the price. I hope we can put that behind us and move forward together. Perhaps we're not as different as we assumed."
A spark glinted in Millicent's green eyes. "Maybe not. Time will tell."
"I can assure all of you that regardless of my connections, laws will be enforced fairly." Hermione glanced across the room to where Lucius Malfoy's silver-blond locks glowed in the light of the chandelier above him. "Nor will pockets of gold be allowed to unduly influence magical law enforcement."
"So the law will apply equally to everyone?" Mrs. Bulstrode asked.
"No," Hermione said. "Not if I have my way."
The Bulstrodes exchanged another glance.
"The law should applied with equity, not equally."
Millicent and her father had identical frowns on their square-jawed faces, but Mrs. Bulstrode sat back in her chair and nodded at Hermione to continue.
"Fairness means taking circumstances and motivations into account. Murder is a crime, except during wartime or in self-defence. Theft is illegal but graft is a very different situation from a parent stealing bread for a hungry child. We have unforgivable curses, but no one faults Harry for having used one when he was trying to save us all. Application of the law should take into account specific circumstances rather than applying equally to people who aren't equal, or at least don't have equal access to defend themselves from accusation. No one will be guilty by association or immune from censure because of their position."
The sandy-haired man regarded her. "You sound like you're running for office, Miss Granger."
Hermione felt her cheeks warm. "Hardly that. I'll be a junior bureaucrat in your department."
Theodore Nott grunted and Millicent elbowed him.
"Well, good luck in your new position." Mrs. Bulstrode raised her glass of wine in Hermione's direction before she took a sip and turned to speak with her daughter.
Bowls of salad appeared in front of each place setting. Hermione reached for her salad fork while hope unfurled in her chest. She was eating dinner with people that four years ago she was exchanging hexes with, not knowing any more about them than they knew about her. People could change.
She gave Millicent a friendly smile. "How's that demanding and bossy cat of yours?"
The other witch's wide face lit with a wide smile. "Doing his best to put up with the new kitten we got."
"Oh?" Hermione leaned forward. "What kind?"
"A tortoiseshell. She's absolutely adorable, although full of energy."
"I can imagine." Hermione sat back and listened to enthusiastic tales of kitten mischief.
The meal was excellent. They never ran out of wine or scotch or firewhiskey. A mother of twin 8-year-olds, a boy and a girl who had both been bitten by Fenrir Greyback during a full moon, gave a speech that brought tears to the eyes of nearly everyone present. Hermione charmed her handkerchief dry three times, even though she had heard their tale of hardship twice before. Once there was funding for the centre she envisioned, these children and others like them would be better able to finish school and then to find and sustain good employment.
The silent auction was a success. Lucius Malfoy and Elsbeth Burke both bid on a silver-backed hand mirror with a jewel-encrusted handle that looked incredibly beautiful and made the hairs on the back of Hermione's neck stand up. Harry and Draco got into an insane bidding war over an old broom Viktor had donated and Ron paid an outrageous amount for a bright orange shirt autographed by a Chudley Cannons player no one had ever heard of.
Hermione barely refrained from gaping at the amount of money on the pledges she collected at the end of the night, including a large donation from Yaxley which he handed to her with a cold smile and hard eyes. She thanked him sweetly and asked where to send the receipt since she only had his office address and he probably wouldn't be back there to collect his mail. His smile wavered and his eyes got even harder – she had not thought it possible – and she surreptitiously touched the pocket of her dress robe for the comforting feel of her wand. His dark green robes swirled around him as he spun away. She watched his stiff shoulders and jerky stride as he left, then turned to collect the next auction pledge.
Draco Malfoy was staring at her, his gaze darting between Yaxley's retreating back and her polite smile. "Did you just…boast to his face about pushing Yaxley out of his department?"
"Yes."
"And he left without doing or saying anything?"
"Yes." She lifted her chin.
His grey eyes were wide. "You're scary."
She sniffed. "I am not. Your mother is scarier than I am." She had been the one who set up Yaxley, after all.
"Fine, Granger, you're not as scary as my mother. That leaves quite a bit of room to be terrifying." His gaze scanned her from tamed curls to high heels. "Is that why she decided to take you under her wing?"
"Of course not. She's only helping me as a favour to her sister."
"Right." He continued to stare as if trying to solve a particularly difficult arithmancy question.
Hermione cocked her head. "You're a lot like Ron." Odd she had not noticed all the similarities before.
"Bloody hell!" His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "I am not."
"You're both pure-bloods."
"That does not make us alike."
"You both have parents that love you, you're both loyal and would do anything for family."
"That doesn't –"
"And your families chose sides for you while you were both in the cradle."
His pointed jaw worked as if he wanted to refute her claim but could not think how. Finally, he brushed a lock of white-blond hair from his brow and narrowed his gaze on her face. "Why is it you're not with the Weasel anymore? Did you finally realize he's an idiot?"
"Ron is smarter than you give him credit for." Smarter than most people gave him credit for.
She ignored Draco's muttered, "He'd have to be if he can dress himself."
"He can be a best friend to the most famous person in the wizarding world without being resentful and jealous. He's loyal and brave and he has a good heart."
"Then why aren't you together?" Draco sounded genuinely curious.
"Your first love is almost never your only love." Special and wonderful and she would not trade a minute, even if their split had been more amicable than much of their courtship, but they had both grown and changed. Or maybe not changed enough for their young love to be a stable adult relationship. "Not for Ron or Harry or I. Maybe not for Ginny, either. Harry was her first love."
His nose crinkled. "Spare me."
"Not for you and Pansy, either."
"Pansy was not my first love."
"Not your first?"
"Not my love."
"You seem close." He had taken Parkinson to the celebration ball – was that only a couple of months ago? – against his mother's wishes, and he might have brought the pug-nosed bully to this event if Narcissa Malfoy had not forbidden it. Hermione felt a twinge of sympathy for the harsh treatment the witch was getting, even though she brought it on herself.
"Pansy's a good friend." Draco tipped his head. "She's not the evil bitch people make her out to be."
Maybe not to Malfoy but she had been pretty nasty to almost everyone else. "She wanted to turn Harry over to Voldemort." Draco had tried to do the same, though. It was hard to figure him out. "You can't possibly wish Harry had died and Voldemort had won."
"Merlin, no." He shuddered. "But she was a scared kid when she said what she did. She wasn't even a Death Eater, but she gets treated worse than some who were."
As much as Hermione disliked the pug-faced witch, that was probably true. It had been easier to speak with Millicent Bulstrode and even Theodore Nott than to be face to face with Pansy Parkinson without sending jinxes her way.
He seemed to take her silence for agreement. "The press is biased."
That was an understatement. Even people who knew you got sucked in by half-truths in print. Maybe the stories in the papers had been unduly harsh on the Slytherin girl since the war.
"You could help." Was that what a smile looked like on him? He must want her help badly.
She narrowed her gaze on his pointed face. "Excuse me, help Parkinson? How? And why?"
"Because it's unfair how she's been treated. You pulled off this whole event –"
"Not alone," she muttered.
"– and the press loves you."
She pinned him with a look. "Seems to me you have a cozy relationship with that Skeeter woman who works for the Prophet."
He shook his head. "She hasn't talked to me in years, and besides it would be unpopular to print anything sympathetic to Pansy."
"What happened to 'pretty and vivacious'?"
"Not a story the Prophet would buy now."
Hermione's jaw clenched. How could they even call it news when the stories were so slanted? People may look down on the Quibbler, but at least it was harder to subvert. "I'll give Rita Skeeter a call, and I'll talk to Luna Lovegood." Hermione could probably enlist Harry's assistance as well. He was not nearly as antagonistic to the classmate who tried to turn him over to Voldemort as the press was, and it would suit him to turn their spotlight on someone else.
Malfoy looked dubious at her mention of Luna, but she saw the beginning of a smirk before he frowned. "I hate that you found any similarity between the Weasel and me."
She smiled. "He would, too."
"Draco!"
He braced himself just in time for Pansy to throw her arms around his neck. He gave her a pat on the back and pulled away so he could breathe.
Her dark hair was cut in a stylish bob that framed her face and her skin was slightly flushed, putting colour in her pallid cheeks. Cosmetics filled the hollows above her cheekbones and emphasized the old brightness in her eyes. She would look good on camera.
Grey clouds buried the sun and the air smelled wet, but if the rain held off for another hour they would have staged the big event and officially announced the opening of the new Centre for Lycanthropy Public Education and Safety.
"You're looking well," he said.
She spun and her skirt of metallic silver cloth flared out before it wrapped around her legs. "It's so exciting, isn't it?"
"Shaking hands with Scarhead?" Draco grimaced. "Can't say it is."
Her smug expression faded a bit. "Well, that part isn't thrilling." Her face brightened again. "But the publicity! I'm going to be on the cover of Witch Weekly, can you believe it? And the Prophet already interviewed me. I even gave a few quotes to that Lovegood girl with the yellow hair and weird earrings."
No doubt the reporters spent twice as much time with Potter getting his take on the public reconciliation, but for once his attention-seeking was a benefit. The publicity event was being billed as symbolic of the Reunification of Wizarding Society and the beginning of a New Era of Tolerance. The press releases had been dreadfully twee and enormously successful in capturing public attention for the opening of the Centre, exactly as his mother planned.
Pansy was more than willing to step into the role of media darling and innocent victim of the backlash against pure-bloods, giving interviews and posing for pictures. She insisted on thanking Draco repeatedly for her turn of fortune and had even expressed unwanted gratitude to his mother, certain Narcissa had played a part. The real force behind the change in public opinion, Granger, merely smiled to herself at Pansy's refusal to admit that a muggle-born had that kind of influence.
The bushy-haired Acting Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement had once again been closeted at the manor with Narcissa and Andromeda while they plotted an official opening for the Centre that would garner media attention. Draco knew it was Granger who suggested a public reconciliation between Harry and Pansy.
It would take place at the entrance of a building Narcissa Malfoy had generously donated for the Centre's use. It was a piece of property that had belonged to her great-great-grandmother, had generated a good deal of income by producing weather charms for open air carriages, and had been unused since horse-drawn conveyances were banned as too glaringly outmoded. The warehouse interior had been infested with doxies, cobwebs, mice, and a boggart hidden inside a wooden crate layered with dust, but by the time the first press photo was taken the inside was spotless and completely refurbished as a help centre for those suffering from lycanthropy and their caregivers. Andromeda Tonks had been hired as Executive Director and provisions had been made for Teddy to spend days at the child-minding program housed in the same building.
All this had been finalized in the two months since the fundraiser. Granger had already implemented a modified version of her school program to be run out of the Centre. A storeroom was stocked with Wolfsbane Potion which would be distributed at a nominal cost, or free to those who could not afford it otherwise. There was already a waiting list for the daycare and counsellors experienced with the challenges faced by werewolves, a few of them werewolves themselves, had already begun seeing clients though today would be the official opening.
"Wish me luck." Pansy gave Draco another hug, careful not to smudge her makeup, and made her way toward the group gathered near the building entrance with the camera crew.
Narcissa and Andromeda were among them along with Granger, Potter, several gingers that had to be Weasleys, and the witch who had spoken at the fundraiser about her children. Teddy was chattering excitedly with a girl and boy who must be the twin werewolves.
"The Weasleys have done well for themselves." Lucius came and stood beside Draco, likewise watching the small crowd posing for publicity shots and speeches. His hair was gathered in a loose ponytail at his nape to keep it from being windblown. "Arthur has been named head of the Department of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts."
"No one is more knowledgeable about the misuse of muggle artifacts than Weasley," Draco said.
His father snorted indelicately. "Another one of that family is Head of the Department of Magical Transportation. It helps to be on the Minister's good side, although Percy does seem to be the best of a bad lot."
One head of brown curls stood out among the abundance of red. "Granger is moving up quickly in law enforcement."
"Yes." Lucius's grey eyes narrowed on the brunette speaking with Percy Weasley. "It would do to appear friendly with the witch. I suspect we'll see more of her face in public life in future years."
Her face was already prominent in public life. Though it seemed unlikely that efforts at friendliness on his father's part toward Hermione Granger would be met with anything other than indifference, despite her apparent ease with his mother and other former Death Eaters. She and Millie seemed nearly friendly which was amusing because it annoyed Theo. Granger had also conversed, worked, and dined at various times with Eugenia Fawley, Millicent's parents, and Pansy's elderly grandmother, Beatrice Travers née Selwyn. Old Mrs. Travers claimed that Miss Granger was related to the Selwyns through an unacknowledged liaison in her family's past. Pansy dismissed the claim but Beatrice remained in possession of an old locket with a tiny portrait of a brown-eyed girl with a mass of brunette curls.
The witch in question was exchanging pleasantries with a blonde whose elegantly styled hair must have been protected from the wind by a particularly potent sticking charm. She was dressed as fashionably as Narcissa albeit with more cleavage and leg on display. The young witch wore a vaguely hostile expression along with her polite smile and kept a possessive grip on Harry Potter's arm as she spoke with Granger.
"Is that Daphne?" Draco frowned at the woman attached to Potter.
Lucius lifted one blond brow. "The elder Miss Greengrass? Yes, I believe so."
Daphne's younger sister, Astoria, had joined the group as well. Draco felt the contents of his stomach shift uneasily when the pretty brunette took Ronald Weasley's arm and smiled up at him adoringly. Being famous for saving the world from evil clearly had benefits.
Draco and his father watched from the sidelines as photos were taken of the Centre's patrons in front of their new building and speeches were given by Andromeda and Granger. Potter was interviewed and photographed as well, then was the significant moment when Potter and Pansy officially shook hands in the midst of camera flashes. A small man with mousy brown hair and a camera that looked too heavy for his thin neck shone a yellowish beam of wandlight onto Potter's bespectacled face before he snapped several pictures of the two and then gave Scarhead a thumbs up.
While the small crowd milled around after the press session and his parents chatted up various dignitaries who had attended for the picture-taking, Draco slipped into the newly-refurbished building and looked around. The main floor had been left as wide open space except for a glassed-in area filled with children's toys and a few private rooms where clients could discuss their needs with counsellors.
Upstairs had been converted to a row of offices and he found a lunchroom that could also be used for meetings. He rummaged through a large upper-level room where two entire walls were buried behind shelves containing glass jars and bottles along with various-sized cauldrons. Unlike the offices, this room had no window and smelled like his father's shop or Snape's classroom.
Draco was about to pick up a jar from which a pair of eyes seemed to blink out when he heard a startled exclamation behind him. He hastily took his hand from the jar and spun to see Hermione Granger giving him a curious look.
His mind whirled through possible things to say. "The opening went well." At least, it had seemed like everything went well.
"A few minor glitches but I think we'll get good press out of it, and there's a lot of interest in the Centre already." She glanced at the jar behind him.
"I was just looking around." He waved towards the shelves and then the entire building.
Granger took a step into the room. "It's coming along well, despite how horrible it looked when your mother first showed it to me."
He wondered what she would have thought if she had seen it before his mother sent a team in to remove the more noxious pests that had taken up residence while the place had been abandoned. He was fairly sure Narcissa would not have mentioned the inexplicable corpse of an acromantula under a stairwell or the decrepit red cap hiding in an upstairs back room.
"The playroom is ready to go and Andromeda has been using the office here even though we're not officially open yet. This room," she spread her hands, "will hopefully be used as a potions lab when we expand into research and development. We'd like to create a remedy that can be used by those who have allergic reactions to wolfsbane."
"That's exciting." The research possibilities spurred his thoughts. Wolfsbane would be the subject of much study in the next twenty to thirty years as the number of children with lycanthropy had swollen to heights never seen before. One of his books had a chapter on using the root of aconite rather than the flowers which lessened negative reactions although they were not as potent. "There have been recent developments in alchemy that could transfer to potion making. There were studies on transforming crushed aconite root into a paste that mimicked what you get from the flowers and leaves." He tried to remember where he had read that article about transmutation, but his train of thought slipped away when he registered Granger's bemused expression. Few people were as intrigued by alchemy research as he was. "Anyway, I'm sure you'll find someone interested in studying that." He hunched his shoulders and looked over at the rows of bottles on the nearest shelf.
"Yes," she said in an odd tone.
He caught her staring at him before she quickly cleared her expression.
"Parkinson seemed quite excited earlier," she said.
"She was," he said. "Thank you for helping her. It's good to see her out of that house and smiling again."
Her expressive brown eyes rounded before he realized he had expressed gratitude, to her of all people.
In the awkward silence that followed, his gaze took in the modest feminine dress robe that must have come from a place his mother shopped, Granger's sleek hair, and the heels that were shorter than what she had worn to the banquet but a far cry from her sensible trainers. She had made up her face for the photographers. It was still the face from school, but her features had grown more delicate with maturity. Even though she was not classically beautiful like Daphne or Astoria, she was tolerably pretty and her clothing subtly communicated power and influence.
"You're moving in different circles, Granger."
She tilted her head. "I'm not supposed to be fraternizing with the pure-blood elite?"
"No. Or with top Ministry officials. You're supposed to be a low-level bureaucrat or marry into a family with magical blood and produce half-blood babies."
He expected her to get angry, furious really.
Instead she sighed heavily. "Your mother doesn't believe that anymore."
"I know. She thinks you're exceptional." Could an exception prove a rule? Surely, if she was possessed of talent, strength, and intelligence then those assets were not dependent on blood. But if so, if ancestry did not make one special, was there anything admirable about him?
"I'm not an exception." She shook her head sadly. "There's no difference in magical skill or intelligence between muggle-borns and pure-bloods or half-bloods."
"But our blood is who we are. Family defines us." Generations of Malfoys and Blacks had bequeathed their knowledge, talent, and fortune to him to carry on their name. It was the purpose for his existence and the overriding expectation for his own life: to continue that legacy. What a pointless goal if breeding did not produce extraordinary wizards and witches.
"No. Our actions define us."
He swallowed hard. "I hope not."
She shook her head. "Not our actions as children. Children say and do mean things without thinking; well, without thinking the way an adult can reason."
"But I …"
"Chose not to kill anyone," she said hoarsely. "You didn't kill anyone."
Her stricken look made his chest ache. He had seen friends come back from their first missions with that expression; Millicent, Adrian, Graham, Flora, Hestia. Not Vince, though. Not Greg, either. But a lot of people had looked like that the first time they killed.
"Is that what your nightmares are about?" he whispered.
She nodded, lips pressed tightly.
"I'm sure you had no choice."
"My choice was Ginny's life over his. Or hers, I don't even know." Her hand trembled. "He was wearing a mask. I don't know who it was."
Someone Draco knew, then. Probably someone who had been to his home. He tried not to remember all the faces and all the names. "I have nightmares, too. I didn't kill anyone, but I saw things and I did things that …."
"We all have them."
He remembered Millie saying that.
From Granger's clenched jaw and pinched lips she probably remembered it, too. "We all over-indulge in whatever keeps the grief and guilt at bay for a while. Harry and I bury it in work, Ron buries it under his newfound wealth. Neville has lost too much weight and Hannah drinks too much of her inventory."
"Theo drinks too much when his sister isn't home. Millie does insane things on a broom when we're supposed to be playing for fun. Ended up at St. Mungo's once. Hestia …" He hesitated when he remembered he was speaking to an official from magical law.
"Spends too much money at your family's shop?"
He nodded.
"She's not the only one who finds pain relief in potions." Granger massaged her temple with one hand. "If we locked up every damaged and hurting person who spent too much at an apothecary we'd run out of room in Azkaban."
His hand clenched to hide its shaking. "What do we do now?" Burying the memories in work seemed like a reasonable solution, except working in his father's shop would do little to distract him. More like a constant reminder. Maybe it would be best to do what his parents wanted: get married young and start a family.
"You can be whoever you want, whoever you decide to be."
"I wanted to be my father." Without killing or going to prison for shooting curses at teenagers. Being his father was not what he wanted so much anymore.
She stared at him intently. It was uncomfortable. He was going to look away, end this conversation, and leave but she spoke again.
"When the war ended, I went back to Hogwarts to finish my seventh year. Ron and Harry went straight to Auror training, so they weren't at school with me."
"I know." He wondered where this was leading.
"While I was concentrating on exams and trying to escape my nightmares, I didn't have to think too much beyond the end of school. But finally, I was done and I had no idea what I was going to do next. I was no longer the star student or Harry Potter's partner and I had to figure out who I was going to be in this world."
He raised his brows. "Wasn't it a given you were going to fix the world?"
She laughed. "I decided to try."
"Now you're Acting Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the protégé of an ex-Death Eater."
"What are you going to be?"
Caught off guard by the abrupt return to himself, he blurted out the traditional answer. "I'm going to marry and have children."
"And your wife will be a pure-blood."
He shrugged. "Pure-blood or half-blood."
"What? A Malfoy marry beneath himself?"
"As long as our children are pure-bloods." Something her children and grandchildren could never be.
"What if you don't get married?"
"All pure-bloods get married and produce children." Not too many children, but at least an heir. "You'll have to marry, too."
"Excuse me? Why?" Her expression was more offended than if he had insulted her.
He smothered a laugh. "There's never been an unmarried Minister for Magic."
"I'm not …"
"You will be."
"Does that bother you?" She tilted her head and watched him narrowly. "Your father doesn't even twitch anymore when your mother takes me shopping, Millicent and her parents invite me to their house, Eugenia Fawley is a better boss than Amos Diggory ever was, and even Theodore Nott tolerates me. People you said I shouldn't be fraternizing with."
"I meant that wasn't the way I was taught things were supposed to work. Muggle-borns were not as intelligent, not as capable. They spent seven years in school and still didn't learn things we knew as toddlers. Some of them could hold low-level jobs but that's all they'd be able to contribute and they should be grateful we allowed them to do even that. But you proved that wrong. What if you're not the only one? Muggle-borns may dress funny and have odd expressions and use weird gadgets sometimes but that doesn't mean they're not as capable as wizards and witches who grew up in our world." He caught his breath at the end of the heretical rush of words. His mother publicly associated with Granger but accepting all muggle-borns as equals was a bit further than she would ever go.
Granger stared at him with her mouth slightly open.
"I'm sorry I called you a mudblood or told you that you didn't belong." There. He said it.
She blinked several times.
He held out a hand in her direction but she made no move to take it. Embarrassed, he was about to leave when she grabbed his hand.
"I accept your apology." Her fingers were cold but her grip was firm. "I'm sorry, too."
"What?" He looked at her in surprise.
"For the times I … wished you ill."
That sounded like a euphemism, which was probably just as well. It was frightening to consider what she might have done to him while they were enemies.
She bit her lip and dropped his hand. "Andromeda is planning on a little celebration at her house this weekend. I think Narcissa is helping so I guess I'll see you then."
Unsure how to respond, he simply nodded.
"This was a strange conversation." She grinned. "You apologizing to me was about as likely as Harry and Pansy shaking hands in front of a crowd of reporters."
He smirked back. "As likely as my mother reconciling with Andromeda Tonks or me babysitting her holy terror of a grandson."
"Teddy is not a holy terror." She frowned. "Except on a broom."
"Only because he's had a horrible teacher until now."
She quirked a brow. "You know, for our next media event we could have you and Harry shake hands."
He shuddered. "Never going to happen."
