excerpt from a letter
… of course, I gave him back his wand, Harry. It's hardly the only thing I've done as Minister, you know. I've been working all day, every day, trying to get my feet under me on this job and I'd really appreciate it if you could be a little supportive instead of latching on to the one thing I've done that you don't approve of. God. Why is it always Malfoy Malfoy Malfoy with you?
And we're doing fine. Thank you for asking.
I hope you get done with that mission in the Ukraine soon. I miss you, and things are so awkward with Ron. After he found out I went down to Ministry storage and got Draco's wand back, he showed up screaming at me that I was no better than Lucius Malfoy, which is pretty rich coming from a boy whose father is notorious inside the Ministry for accepting bribes to make Muggle related infractions go away. Remember that amazing box we had for the World Cup right before all the troubles started? You know how Arthur Weasley paid for that? Those tickets were a 'gift'. Yeah, right. A gift. But you were fine with that, weren't you? Giving Draco back his own wand is peanuts by comparison.
Anyway, I really want you to try to get along with Draco. He's been standoffish since before we left Hogwarts, and I don't know…
. . . . . . . . . .
You're out of Hogwarts, you've staged a coup, and nothing has really changed. Maybe you're in Draco Malfoy's flat instead of an abandoned room, but it's still the four of you and Theo is still looking at the whiskey Hermione brought as if she'd distilled it herself out of potatoes and old leaves.
"Really, Granger?" he asks in his most petulant drawl. "You're running all of magical Britain and you're still buying this?"
"The salary isn't as high as you might expect," she says half-defensively, and you can't help it. You laugh. That laugh must make her hear herself because it takes a moment and then she laughs too.
"You could raise it," Theo suggests.
"That would be an abuse of power," she says primly, causing Theo to make an exaggerated face at his drink.
"So instead I get abused with sup-par bourbon," he says. "I see how it goes."
You laugh and lean up against him. There hasn't been a lot to laugh about lately. You'd hoped the nightmares would go away once you were out of school, away from the floors and rooms and windows that formed the set for so many of them, but instead, they've gotten stronger. You and Theo live in a place that his galleons pay for because your grandmother is refusing to come around to the idea that you're like that. "It's one thing to have a friend in school," she said, a distasteful moue shaping her mouth around the word 'friend', "but you're an adult now and it's time to put boyish things behind you."
You didn't miss the implication your inheritance hangs in the balance.
So, Theo paid for the flat you share, and Theo paid for the bed you sleep in, and Theo pays for the food in the cupboards and the books on the shelves and every time you make any noises about how it isn't fair to him, he mutters he isn't going back to his house.
His father was a true believer, like Draco's. You don't ask about what demons lurk in the hallways of Nott Manor, and he doesn't offer up information. The flat you share is stark and bright and there's no place any demons who feel like following either of you home can hide, all of which makes it unfair you're still waking screaming, reaching for your wand, the feel of chains closing around your wrists again.
At least now you aren't waking alone.
"What's next on our agenda, oh fearless leader?" Draco asks.
"The squib protection act?" you half say, half ask.
"Already being drafted," Hermione says. You nod. No more tossing of children out of windows. No more automatic disinheritance. No more legal disinterest in children and babies who die because who cares about someone who doesn't have magic?
"Any pushback?" Theo asks.
She shakes her head. This one is easy. No one wants to go on record as being for murder. Not after Voldemort. "And we're adding a Test of Basic Muggle Knowledge exam for anyone who works in a Muggle-facing department." Draco squints at her and she adds, a bit more defensively, "No one's asking you to make change for a fiver, Draco, but if someone's supposed to be out there Obliviating the Muggle public or tracking illegal Muggle item usage, they should know how to use the telly and how the mails work and… just basic things."
"The belly?" Theo asks.
"The telly," she says. "With a tee."
You shrug. None of this feels like enough. You're passing bills and adding exams and you can't believe this bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo is really going to make a difference. Grindelwald inspired an uprising. Fanatics flocked to Voldemort. A Test of Basic Muggle Knowledge is feeble compared to that.
People break rules and cheat on tests.
You have to do something more.
. . . . . . . . . .
"To us," she said.
Draco closed his eyes and waited for the erection to die down. Waited to not care. To not want. Waited for memories to go away because he was playacting, playacting, playacting. He was not in a relationship with Hermione Granger. He did not care about her. He was not thinking about her.
"She's lovely," he said to his father over a family dinner, just the three of them. A sly smile. "Got my wand back first thing."
Narcissa smiled back at him with the cool superiority only she could summon and raised her glass. "To your lovely girlfriend."
"To righting wrongs," she said, glass in her hand.
Draco tossed to the right, eyes squeezed shut against the darkness. Her voice didn't grate. Didn't hurt. Didn't make him afraid. Made him terrified. He'd crawl and eat out of her hand if she slid that into his head. Wouldn't even notice. He'd justify it to himself. He'd lick her shoe.
His tongue going over the leather of Amycus Carrow's shoe, desperate to please, desperate to make the pain stop. Everyone broke. Everyone broke. Everyone broke eventually.
Not Neville. Not Hermione. He did. He'd started last year in pieces, shattered into so many fragments that all the king's horses and all the king's men would give him up as a bad job and go out for a pint. He was already broken. It was stupid to waste time thinking about how much smaller the bits could get.
His hands digging into her shoulders, working out a knot in her muscles. He could have put his hands around her neck. Could have squeezed the life out of her. He could remember the feeling of her shoulders under his hands. Could remember the taste of the shoe. Could remember the feeling of shoving into her. God, she'd always been so wet and he missed her, he missed her, he missed her.
Damn his cock. Draco bit on his tongue as hard as he could and thought of the ways he had never liked her. Of the ways she was self-righteous and ignorant and horrible and how the very first thing she'd done as minister was get his wand back.
He could taste blood in his mouth.
His hand stole down to his fucking horrible, selfish, mindless cock that didn't care whether he could trust Hermione Granger, didn't care about anything except the slow close of his hand around it, the giving in to memories of her mouth on him, of her hands, her clever, clever hands, the sounds she made when she came.
Everyone broke.
. . . . . . . . . .
Rita Skeeter leans over the table, her eyes sparkling. You smile as blandly as you can and wonder if she knows how much the way she bares her teeth reminds you of some of the Death Eaters. She has perfect teeth, which the Carrows didn't. She's clearly spent a lot of money on dental charms, but the perfectly even white bones remind you of grinning monsters. She wants to eat you.
"So," she says.
You take a sip of your tea. It brewed too long. It's bitter. You take another sip.
"You're done with school now," she says. "And you and that lovely girl – our new Minister - aren't together anymore. Did she mind? When you ended it?"
"I don't think so," you say. "We're still the best of friends, so if she did mind, she'd probably tell me over drinks." You let out a laugh that isn't even forced as you imagine Hermione lecturing you. "And she wouldn't hold back. Hermione Granger is… a force to be reckoned with."
"You and she still get together?"
"Yes." You wish Skeeter would get to the point. At least when Filch held the whip in his hands, he didn't spend twenty minutes working up to the pain. He just let you have it. "She and I and our significant others."
"Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy."
God, she's practically salivating. You nod and take another sip, throwing her a tidbit. "She and Draco were at each other's throats for so much of our time at Hogwarts. She even slapped him back in third year. Or maybe fourth? You really never can tell who will end up together, can you?"
"Does your grandmother mind?"
Ah, there it is. You lean forward as if to convey that you're going to tell her something that matters now. Let the lessening of space between us serve as intimacy. Summon a false smile; something rueful, maybe. A little wistful. "I think she's having a hard time giving up her dreams of fat babies, but, of course, she adores Theo. Everyone does."
"His father was a Death Eater. Does it bother you to know that, when your parents - " She trails off, and you consider throwing the tea in her face. Your parents were good. They suffered in ways she can't understand. They still suffer, locked up in their heads. She shouldn't be talking about them with those blood red lips of hers. Shouldn't be allowed to mention them.
"I don't judge people by the sins of their parents," you say. "Do you?"
. . . . . . . . . .
Draco walked into the Ministry, Lucius at his side. He brought the cane, which Draco hated. Weakness. The cane showed weakness, even if his father didn't need it to walk. Even if it was an affectation. A shield. A mask.
Lucius Malfoy knew all about masks.
"So, Corban's writing a book," Lucius said.
Draco managed not to flinch at the words. Corban. Yes, he thought as he forced a smiled to his face and walked at his father's side. Let everyone in earshot know you're on a first name basis with a man in Azkaban. That you weren't a fringe Death Eater, or a hanger-on. Make sure everyone can tell the two of you were friends.
"People do," Draco said. "Doesn't Mum have all of Lockhart's books?"
"Your mother likes a light read for the bath," Lucius said. He stopped at a kiosk selling tea and bad scones and Draco was forced to stop with him, waiting as he pulled out coins for a paper cup of bad Darjeeling. "Do you want anything, son?"
"No." Draco tried to soften the words, to explain why they were here to the witch pouring the tea and very carefully not making eye contact. "Hermione always has a pot up in her office." God, what had he come to that he felt he had to justify his presence to a salesgirl?
"Ah," Lucius said, then, "A little more milk, if you please."
"There's milk on the counter," the witch said. Do it yourself hung in the air and Draco could see Lucius cock his eyebrows, but he didn't protest. He merely went over to the little carton of milk, poured some into his cup, and spun his finger around the top. The wordless, wandless spell stirred the milk into the tea and Lucius lifted the cup to his mouth, taking a careful sip. "Ah," he said. "Well, up to say a quick hullo to Miss Granger with you before I head over to Diagon and look for a present for your mother."
All of life was theatre. Coming here, ordering the tea, showing he could still work magic inspiring in its simplicity. Reminding people he could walk into the Minister's office unscheduled. Draco couldn't help but be a little impressed. This man was the father he'd idolized back when the world had been simple.
He tugged his sleeves lower over his wrists.
"Hermione's probably pretty busy," he said.
Lucius smiled. "I don't plan to stay. I know better than to get in the way of a powerful witch, but Narcissa asked me to pass along an invitation to sort through some of the Malfoy jewellery. See if there's anything down in the vaults she particularly likes, or might like if it was reset."
"Some of those things could use a little updating," Draco said automatically, but his mind had fallen down into his stomach and was clawing its way through his gut. The walls were white and bright and coming closer and everything was loud. He inhaled through his nose and counted to three. "I think the lift's free."
"Oh, good," Lucius said. He smiled at the tea witch. "Have a good day, my dear. Your tea is excellent."
Oh, why not just ask, Did you get all that? Draco wondered. Surely the woman knew Lucius Malfoy wasn't in the habit of thanking the help or complimenting cheap tea.
Whether she knew that or not didn't matter. Lucius had planted his seeds in fertile soil, and she didn't even wait until they were in the lift to grab a passing witch and hiss the news into her ear. Narcissa Malfoy was planning on showing the Minister old Malfoy heirlooms. Jewellery.
Draco could hear, "Do you think they'll have a reception here for the staff after the wedding?" as the lift doors closed and they began to rise from the Atrium on level eight all the way to level one where Hermione's office was. Memos hovered around their heads and Draco didn't say a word. There was nothing to say.
"Hullo, darling," he said when they reached Hermione. Her terrifying secretary sat at her desk and said nothing as Draco made a point of leaning forward and kissing Hermione's cheek. "Father wanted to come by, say hullo, when I said we were meeting for lunch, and you know how he is."
The expression Hermione turned on Lucius was frosty, but the chill didn't reach her voice. "Mr. Malfoy," she said. "I'm always happy to see Draco's parents. What can I help you with?"
Lucius pulled out a folded bit of parchment and handed it over. "Message for you from Narcissa," he said. "And with that delivered, I'll be off. I've been instructed not to come home without something she can, and I quote, pass down to a granddaughter."
Draco's shoulders became even more tense at that, but he shook his father's hand, nodded at the secretary, and escaped into Hermione's office without any further revelations from his father.
"What was that all about," Hermione said as she closed the door. Her smile became warm, and she held a hand out to him. "And you didn't tell me you wanted to have lunch."
Draco shoved his hands into his pockets. "I think that was about my parents trapping us into marriage."
. . . . . . . . . .
A/N – Many thanks to OlivieBlake for her beta reading. She is perfection.