"They're hurling their bodies down the freeway to the smell of gasoline, which is the sound of a voice saying I told you so. Yes, you did dear. Every story has its chapter in the desert, the long slide from kingdom to kingdom through the wilderness, where you learn things, where you're left to your own devices." Driving not Washing, Richard Siken
Hermione loved having something to focus on.
When she'd first started, reading reports all day long had felt like an insult to her capabilities. But now, it'd become a game of searching for holes, vague statements or unexplained conditions, and prodding them to see which would hold up and which would give in under a bit of pressure.
In the days following her fallout with Harry, knowing that she was right about her suspicions made the thought of their decaying friendship sting a little less. With every hour spent looking for clues, Hermione began to feel more like herself.
The messy, out of sorts self of the before and the after.
It was almost like learning how to swim.
The MRC was always brimming with people who shared a rather inconvenient interest: knowing anything and everything about the members of The Golden Trio. Hermione had become skilled in tuning out the murmuring that followed her, but since she'd started staying in Draco's flat, albeit temporarily, she had to take the precaution of waiting for the crowd to dwindle before using the Floo.
That Thursday, Hermione left forty-five minutes after her clock-out time, her mind still buzzing from what she'd read. She'd taken it upon herself to sort through Cartwell's reports from the early days of the rehab program, trying to find any inkling of truth behind what the Ministry was selling to the general public. She was surprised to find that her reports were less than half a page long, and extremely bare-bones.
She always made me type up my notes in meticulous detail, but the reports she sent in were bullet-point lists? Maybe Draco's cynicism had been rubbing off on her, but she couldn't suppress the voice in the back of her mind that said she shouldn't trust anyone's intentions.
"Oi, Hermione."
"Oh," squeaked Hermione, turning to find Cartwell, who fell into step beside her as they began to descend the stairs. She smoothed her expression, afraid her thoughts were visible on her face. "It's been awhile since I've seen you."
"I'd love to say that it's because things have been busy, but that wouldn't be true." Hermione was about to leap on that sentence, but the healer continued, "You've been locked in that office a lot."
"Organizing and sending reports to the Ministry is a solitary duty," she said. And one I've been mostly neglecting. "I thought you had your hands full with the rehab program and PTSD patients."
Cartwell's face fell. "Usually I would. But I've had to release some of the patients. I'm doing my best to work out proposals for post-treatments plans, but when it comes to money…" Her voice trailed off with a dejected sigh.
"Shouldn't that fifty-thousand galleon donation be used towards things like that?"
"Hughman's the one who handles the finances of the MRC, and according to him, we never have money," she said, sheepishly looking over her shoulder. "And now that I had to release some of the rehab members, the group is much smaller too. So less work on that front, as well."
Hermione faltered. "You released rehab members? I didn't get your report recommending release to the Ministry. I thought that kind of thing would go through the report process?"
"That's because I didn't recommend release, Hermione." She shook her head. "Hughman told me to release Mr. Malfoy and Miss Parkison, and while I objected to it, there was nothing I could do."
Her first reaction was to feel hurt. Draco hadn't mentioned anything about it, and her mind made up a thousand possibilities in the span of a second. She groaned inwardly, fighting back that voice. She knew better than to let anxiety take over her. "When did this happen?"
"I got the official request on Monday, but I held back on signing the terms so I could get a meeting with Wizengamot. Hughman told me yesterday that they denied my request," she said bitterly. "Mr. Malfoy and Mrs. Parkinson received the letters this morning."
Oh, thought Hermione, relief washing over her like a tidal wave. "Being cold-shouldered by the Wizengamot is always an unpleasant experience, I know," she said, then winced, hating how resentful she sounded. "I didn't mean-"
"No, that's okay, Hermione. I know I didn't exactly have your back when you needed me to," muttered Cartwell. "But we have to work with what we have. A fight like this is hopeless."
No fight is, she thought. Maybe Cartwell was convinced that they couldn't push back, but Hermione had never enjoyed being a pawn. She had joined the MRC to make a difference, and her job in the rehab program had restarted her life after months-long inertia. She wanted to know why she had lost it.
"Can I ask you something?" said Hermione, as they stopped in front of the fireplaces. "I was reading through your old reports about the rehab program, the very early ones, just out of my own curiosity. And they've all been very short, maybe three or four paragraphs…"
"Oh no, Hermione. My reports were several pages long," interrupted Cartwell. "I gave a full description of each meeting and detailed feedback on every participant. Are you sure they were mine?"
"They had your official seal."
Cartwell paused, tilting her head. "Well, my reports used to go through Hughman, so maybe he summarized them. He was the one who sent them to the Ministry."
Hermione sighed. "Do you have a copy of the originals?"
She shook her head. "I only have my notes," she said, giving Hermione an apologetic smile. "Does this have something to do with one of your current projects?"
"Yes, absolutely," said Hermione, thinking fast. "I'm creating a template for future healers to use for their reports. Standardizing the system."
"Of course," said Cartwell. "Well, I'm happy to drop my notes by your office tomorrow, if you want."
"I would appreciate it," said Hermione, forcing a smile on her face. "Have a good evening."
"You too," said Cartwell, waving goodbye before stepping into the fireplace. Hermione waited for her to be engulfed by the emerald flames before checking her surroundings and doing the same, feeling more confused than she had before.
"We need to start getting these delivered here," announced Draco, stepping out of the fireplace with a copy of The Daily Prophet rolled up in his fist.
Hermione glanced up from the couch, where she sat stroking Crookshanks's fur. "You'd have to get listed for that," she said, "and Draco Malfoy Moves to Love Nest with Greengrass Heiress would make quite a headline."
He scowled, dropping the paper on the coffee table. "Sometimes I have dreams of burning their building to a crisp," he said moodily. Hermione shot him a pointed look. "When no one's there, Granger. And I have absolute confidence that I could get away with it, too."
"I don't doubt it," conceded Hermione, failing to control the twitch of her lips. When Draco leaned in to kiss her, Crookshanks jerked up, baring his teeth in a hiss.
"Your cat is a bloody menace," he snapped, flinching when the cat jumped down from the couch. Draco glared after him. "I have dreams about him too."
"Maybe if you were nicer to him," she snickered. "He can feel you're holding a grudge. For no reason, I might add."
Draco scoffed. "I bought him those expensive fucking treats yesterday. How much nicer can I get?"
"Maybe let him sleep on the bed."
"Over my dead body," he said, sounding highly offended by the idea. Hermione bit back a chuckle, waiting for him to settle on the couch. "How have you been?" he asked, his voice suddenly turning soft. Since the day in the bathtub, something had shifted between them. Draco hadn't ever treated her like she was fragile, but there was something quieter about the way he moved around her.
"I bumped into Cartwell before leaving work," said Hermione instead of answering. "She told me you were released from the program today."
Draco's hand fell from where it was playing with the tips of her curls. "I was going to tell you about it."
"I'm not upset," said Hermione. "I'm happy for you, Draco."
He shot her a skeptical look. "Are you sure about that?"
"I know it was the last measure for your probation," shrugged Hermione. "But it wasn't Cartwell's decision, you know? Hughman just told her to do it. She tried to go to the Wizengamot about it, but they ignored her."
"I'm not surprised," said Draco, leaving the couch and stepping towards the kitchen. Hermione frowned and stood up to follow him. He was clearly uncomfortable. She watched as he reached into the freezer and grabbed the pint of ice cream, scooping some into a bowl before dropping into a chair, looking sullen. Hermione sat across from him, her mind flashing through their conversation.
She felt guilt twist her gut. "I am happy for you, Draco," she said softly. "I mean, you have changed your mind about Muggles, haven't you?" she said, conscious that she sounded uncertain. She had never asked him outright, even if he had shown her, in more than one way.
His eyes darted towards her, and Hermione shifted in her chair, unsettled by his impassive expression. "What do you think, Granger?"
"I think you should answer," she said nervously.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Hermione was about to stand up and leave him to it, when he grunted, "The meetings helped, and Cartwell tries, even if she's a bloody pushover."
Hermione couldn't control the smile that split her face. "Yeah?" she asked, reaching for his arm. "And be nice to Cartwell, she did the best she could with you lot."
He scowled. "It was her job to convince us, not our job to make it easy for her," he muttered. "It's not my fault she doesn't have a backbone."
Hermione scoffed. "Please, Snape himself couldn't convince you of anything you didn't want to believe. You're worse than Ron." He glared at her. "Okay, you're worse than Harry."
"Not any better."
"Look, I'm just saying, we did the best we could. It's hard work ripping out the roots of a centuries-old belief system," she snapped, feeling her face turn red. "Not to mention all of the bullshit you gave us-"
"Okay, okay," he said, putting his hands up. "What do you want me to say? I couldn't find any magic supporting the London Eye, and if Muggles can make something like that, it'd be stupid of me to think of them as inferior, wouldn't it? I'm certainly not stupid."
She let out a long sigh, and shook her head. "I'm happy to hear that. But, Pansy was released too. And I can't help but-"
"Pansy was released?" he asked, something like concern flashing through his eyes. He let out a low groan of annoyance. "Bloody hell."
"What's up with that?
"Nothing," he said, too quickly. "I know you don't want to hear it because you have all these ideas about changing the world and you're full of good intentions and whatever else, but I told you, this program is a sham."
Hermione glanced up at the ceiling. She knew Draco would never let this go. "I agree with you," she sighed, and he mock-gasped. "Seriously, I've been reading reports and old Prophet articles. They've been lying about it to everyone since the program started."
"You agree with me?" he said with an exaggerated drawl. "Now, that would make a headline. I'd even pay the Prophet to publish that one. Maybe I could send in an anonymous tip? Do you think they would run with it? Or maybe Witch Weekly? They have an affinity for Malfoys, I've heard..." Hermione had never seen him look so gleeful. "Can you imagine Weasel's head exploding when he reads it? Where are you going? Ah, come on, Hermione..."
She ignored him, slumping back onto the couch and snatching the newspaper from the coffee table. Draco was still babbling loudly from the kitchen, but Hermione successfully tuned him out, turning to the headline in front of her. "Oh, of course."
"What?" asked Draco, sitting beside her.
"Robards just announced his candidacy for Minister," said Hermione, aggravation growing as she read through the article. "And Hestia Jones too. I knew this was going to happen, now it makes sense why he stepped back from the DMLE but is still so involved with it." She cursed under her breath. "Bloody Harry, I told him there was something going on. And he accused me of making up theories."
"Your friends have always lacked brain cells, why are you surprised?" he snapped. Hermione turned to glare at him, but she stopped when she noticed that he'd turned visibly paler.
He's not telling me something, she realized. "Draco, do you know anything about Robards?"
"I've never had a conversation with him, Granger."
"I have," said Hermione, wondering if she should press or wait him out. "I don't trust him. Harry has been following him blindly, but I know he lied about everything he told the media about the MRC. And I don't know why, Draco. What's the point of starting a rehab program and sabotaging it? What's the point of starting the MRC and underfunding it?"
"What's the point of anything?" he scoffed. "They're politicians, they never made any sense. And who gives a fuck?"
"I do," she snapped. "Something's clearly happening. Did you know that Fawley and Flint have chairs in the Wizengamot? The Prophet didn't report it. I had to find out through The Serpent Wire. Shouldn't it be public information that former Death-Eaters are occupying seats on the high court?" said Hermione, her voice growing urgent. Draco averted his gaze. "It'd be fine if we had any proof they're reformed, but I didn't find a report from Cartwell recommending their release from the program, so I'm guessing she didn't think they should be."
"I think when it comes to things like this, getting involved would only mean a target on your back, Hermione. You don't know these people."
"I always have a target on my back, Draco. Are you kidding me? The Ministry has been using all of our names to sell their initiatives. What would it say about me if I stood back and watched it happen? If I watched Harry get into something he doesn't understand?"
"I don't think you're responsible for what Potter does," he muttered.
"I'm not," she agreed. "But I'm responsible for what I do." She set the paper down, feeling concern and indignation shifting inside of her insistently.
The problem was that she didn't know what she could do. If she went public with what she knew - the irresponsible way the Ministry was handling the MRC and rehab program, the Wizengamot's disregard for the safety of Muggleborn staff, Hughman's manipulation of information about the program - the Ministry could easily twist it all as speculation. Hermione didn't have any proof, nor anyone who believed her. If she acted carelessly, she'd lose both her job and her access to MRC files.
And it would set you further apart from Harry, suggested a voice, but Hermione stubbornly shoved it down. "Draco," she said, searching his face. "Aren't you friends with Blaise Zabini?"
He looked at her cautiously. "I haven't talked to him in ages, but he's a mate. Why?"
"He's the owner of the The Serpent Wire, isn't he?"
Draco exhaled a long-suffering sigh. "What do you want, Hermione?"
She pursed her lips, an idea forming. "I need a favor."
Draco was concerned about Granger. He'd been trying to be subtle about it, but she wouldn't have noticed anyway. They'd been woken up by Blaise's owl early Saturday morning, and by the time he had mustered enough energy to strut downstairs, she'd already inhaled two mugs of coffee, disappearing behind a stack of magazines and parchments.
He had left for the Manor, figuring he'd use the time to make an appearance at home; he'd been spending more time than usual at the flat that week. The few times he'd talked to his mother, she'd been visibly stressed - as usual, no strand of hair out of place, but her tone sounding less firm, her nagging easier to dodge. She'd been unwilling to tell him anything about his father, and Draco was too adept at pushing down any thought of him to insist.
He came back just as late afternoon was slipping into early evening, only to find Granger in the same spot - hair a tangled mess, fingers stained with ink, and a look of utter concentration on her face. She'd waved him off when he tried to distract her, and Draco had given up when her cat started growling at him again.
A couple of hours later, he cautiously approached her. Issues of The Daily Prophet, The Serpent Wire and The Quibbler were spread out over the table, mixed in with stray parchments filled with Hermione's neat handwriting. Just looking at it made his head throb. "Granger, love," tried Draco, clearing his throat. "Don't you think it's time to take a break?"
"No."
"Is this how you were while studying for the OWLs? I thought my exhausted teenage brain had simply hallucinated your omnipresence at the library."
"Sure," she said without sparing him a glance.
Her dismissal nudged at a dormant, but familiar, part of him. The one that couldn't quite deal with not getting someone's attention. Draco had to force down the urge to do something stupid, like set the magazines on fire.
"Hermione," he tried again, leaning over the table until she had no choice but to look up at him. Granger blinked rapidly, as if clearing her vision. "You're obsessing."
"That's rude," she snapped, then sighed. "Listen, The Serpent Wire did a great inquisitive report on the MRC. I'm trying to draw a correlation table so I can see what fact-checks across the publications. It'll help me to know what to look for when I'm revising the reports. If I can put everything together, I can show Harry and he'll be hard pressed to doubt me."
"And you have to show it to Potter?"
"I don't want to," said Granger, leaning back in her chair, "but he's the only contact I have at the DMLE besides Ron. He's close to Robards and he can get some actual information so I can make a case and send it over to the Wizengamot. Do you think someone who's been actively lying to the entire community should be running for Minister?"
"I think he's probably not the only one lying," said Draco, clearing his throat. "I doubt he'd be able to accomplish much if he didn't have other people behind him."
"That means I have more people to take down. But first, I need to find out who these people are," she said with an expression of determination. Draco felt both guilt and pride fill his chest.
He knew who else might be involved, but if he told her-
If he told her, Granger would stop trusting him. She'd wonder about his intentions, about the people he was getting involved with. And Draco couldn't stand the thought of it.
"Aren't you going out, anyway?" she asked, running her eyes down his body. "You look nice."
"I always look nice," he said petulantly. "I'm going out. Maybe you should, too."
"With whom, exactly?" she muttered sardonically. "The best friend who's not talking to me or the one who would take it as a proposal?"
Those bloody twats. Despite her joke, he knew she'd been feeling lonely.
At times, she'd withdraw for minutes on end, like she was too overtaken by her emotions to be fully present. He'd learned to wait it out, to stay by her side in silence, or to gently probe until her mood softened again.
"Didn't She-Weasel owl you a couple days ago?"
"Ginny did, and she was nice about it. But I'd hate to put her in an uncomfortable position, and I just-" she faltered. "I guess I need some time, too."
And something in Draco snapped, mouth moving of its own accord. "You could come with me to Theo's."
Granger tilted her head, a pearl of laughter bursting out of her. When Draco didn't say anything, she narrowed her eyes. "Oh, you can't be serious."
"Why not?" he shrugged casually, knowing the situation would most likely backfire. "They all know about us. Daphne really likes you. And you know that Theo will have the thrill of his life, having you in his house."
"Pansy doesn't know," reasoned Granger. "And she certainly doesn't like me."
"I can deal with Pansy," he said firmly. "Come on. Your research will be waiting for you when we get back, and making fun of Theo is always top-notch entertainment." She hesitated, but the slight flush of her cheeks told Draco she was pleased he had asked.
His heart swelled in his chest.
"Let me get ready," said Granger, pushing back from her chair and bouncing a little as she raced up the stairs. Any uncertainty he might have felt completely left his mind.
Draco had barely stepped into the room when Theo yelled, "You're late, you fucking wanker…" He was hunched over the bar, mixing drinks and swirling them with a spoon. "All of you are, in fact. Do you know how disrespectful that is?"
Draco didn't respond, waiting for Granger to appear.
"And you're not even answering me? Fucking go. I'm not going to be treated like this in my house-" He spun around, the words cut off by the gasp he exhaled when his eyes landed on Granger, who had just stepped into the room. "Am I dreaming?" He pinched his arm. "I had a dream that started exactly like this."
Granger shifted, then said, in the dryest tone Draco had ever heard from her, "Gross."
Theo's eyes went round, and Draco chuckled. "Theo, you know Granger," he said flippantly, pressing a hand to the small of her back to guide her towards the table. "Aren't you going to greet your guest?"
Theo shook his head exaggeratedly, falling in the chair across from them. "Can I take a picture? I'm pretty sure I have a camera here somewhere. And If I don't, I can find one- hell, I'm going to buy one- ouch." He narrowed his eyes at Draco. "I felt that kick."
"You were supposed to," he snapped. "Can you act like you're sane, for once?"
"Not really," said Theo. "But for you, Granger, I can try."
Granger pursued her lips. "Somehow I doubt it," she said. "Or have you already forgotten I spent months talking to you twice a week?"
"I could never forget that." The corners of his lips twitched into a sly smile. Draco looked at Granger from the corner of his eye, but she seemed more amused than uncomfortable. "You're a very memorable person."
"I like the hair," she said, pointing to the unruly blue mess on Theo's head. He beamed.
"Why, Granger, are you flirting with me?" he drawled. "I can't deny I'm the better-looking Slytherin. I'm very tempted, but I mean, there's a code between mates that I'm bound to abide by."
Draco narrowed his eyes, but Granger was the one who spoke. "You don't want me to flirt with you. I'd get bored and hex you the first time you got on my nerves."
"Sounds kinky."
"Alright, shut up, Theo," he snapped, unable to control his scowl.
Granger snorted. "I was kind of expecting to be thrown out of this room as soon as I stepped in, or for one of your family's ghosts to appear yelling bloody murder. I'm genuinely surprised."
Theo sat back in the chair with exaggerated casualness, basking in Granger's attention. "I purged the ghosts once my old man bit the dust. He's probably rolling in his grave right now, but let's be honest, I give him reason to do that several times a week." He wiggled his eyebrows. Granger let out a low chuckle.
The lighthearted atmosphere shattered when they heard the sound of the Floo being activated. Their heads snapped towards the fireplace, and Draco groaned inwardly when his gaze fell on Pansy, whose eyes were burning into them.
Daphne stepped from behind her, displaying a wide grin. "This is unexpected," she said, brushing a kiss to Granger's cheek before sitting beside Theo.
"Hello, Daphne," said Granger, her eyes flickering between her and Pansy, who still hadn't moved. "And Pansy."
Pansy's shocked expression immediately smoothed into a sneer, and she flicked her hair behind her shoulder, strutting towards the table as if she was completely at ease. She didn't say anything as she sat on the other side of Theo, who sprawled his arms over the back of her and Daphne's chairs, eyes shining with mirth. "This is awkward."
"What's awkward, Theodore?" snapped Pansy, her lips pressed in a tight smile. "Does anyone care to explain what's happening here?"
Draco felt Granger stiffen beside him, but before he could respond, Daphne beat him to it. "Draco and I were never together. He's been with Hermione all this time," she said matter-of-factly. "And I'm gay."
"I fucking knew it," exclaimed Theo. "Are you shagging Parvati?"
Daphne's eyes widened. "What the bloody hell, Theo?"
"Have you all lost your minds?" said Pansy, staring at them with her lips slightly parted. "You can't be fucking serious. Draco dating Potter's mudb-"
"Pansy," snapped Draco. "You're the only one here with a problem. Relax, or get out."
He watched as heat rose to Pansy's face, and he crossed his arms, matching her stare.
"You don't need to defend me," whispered Granger, low enough so only he could hear it. He ignored her, watching as Pansy's expression rose and fell, finally settling into neutral indifference.
"So, when did this start?" she asked casually.
Draco wasn't going to answer, but Granger's elbow nudged his side sharply. "A few weeks into the program," he muttered reluctantly.
Pansy remained impassive. "Why are you and Daphne pretending to court?"
"Because my family's been pressuring me," said Daphne. "And because Draco-"
"I wanted to help." He cut her off. Daphne shot him a look, but he pretended not to see it.
He glanced at Granger, who was exuding unease. Theo, on the other hand, was relaxed, taking sips of his drink with a poorly concealed grin on his lips.
"And since when do Daphne and Theo know about…" Her eyes darted between Draco and Granger. "Whatever this is?"
"It hasn't been long," he grunted. "Listen, Pansy, you gotta keep this to yourself."
"Who do you think I am?" she sneered. Her eyes burned into him, but he refused to look away. He watched as her lips twisted in a grimace, and she turned to face Theo. "Where are the drinks, Theodore? I'm here to celebrate my freedom from that torture those fools called rehab. I would've preferred to do it without one of the people responsible for it, but since I'm apparently the only one here who has a semblance of sanity, I'll make do."
"Oh, Pansy," said Theo, grinning as he stood up. Before he headed towards the bar, he planted a loud, sloppy kiss on her cheek. Pansy's nose wrinkled in disgust. "I bloody love every single nasty, spiteful, bitchy thing about you."
"Oh, sod off, you bloody git."
A while later, Draco sneaked onto the balcony for a smoke. The tension had seeped out of the room once the drinks began pouring, and Theo was doing a good job of dragging Granger's discomfort out of her, one over-the-top (and likely fabricated) anecdote at a time.
Despite their last interaction, Daphne had softened up by several large glasses of Mimosas; the best she could muster was a weak glare. Pansy would be a tougher nut to crack, but she wasn't as immune to Theo's theatrics as she pretended to be.
Draco watched it unfold in front of him, wondering if he had made the right choice, cataloguing the way Granger did not quite fit with his group of friends. She didn't have Daphne's poise, or Pansy's haughty superiority, or Theo's insouciance. And she was too bloody nice to indulge in their hobby of poking at each other's sensitive spots.
But she tried. She listened to Theo's stories with patience, always with a smart comment to offer, and asked about Daphne's life like she was genuinely interested.
He left the room before he gave in the urge to pull her into a kiss.
"Are you using her?" asked Pansy, materializing by his side. Draco turned to face her, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Give me a cigarette," she demanded, holding out a hand.
Draco slowly pulled the pack out of his pocket. Pansy roughly snatched it from his fingers, leaning against the railing before lighting up a cigarette and shoving the pack against his chest. "So? Are you? I don't know what that swot has to offer besides a good word with Potter, but if that's worth anything to you, I won't judge."
"We're not in Hogwarts anymore, Pansy," he chuckled. "My life isn't a game."
She gave him an unimpressed glance. "Isn't that what you're doing with Daphne?"
"I'm helping Daphne," he said flatly.
"You're getting something out of it. Or do you want to pretend her father didn't put in a good word to get you out of the program?"
"Is that what he did for you?"
"He didn't, but Robards did," she chuckled. "He told me he has plans for me. And when he becomes Minister, I'll be right there with him."
A muscle in Draco's jaw tensed. "You don't know what you're getting into with them," he said firmly. "Robards running for Minister and having meetings with Douglass Greengrass behind the scenes? With everything that's been happening in the Wizengamot? That's not something you want to get involved with."
"Aren't you involved with it, Draco?" said Pansy, deliberately raising her eyebrows.
"I'm just biding my time," he muttered, eyes darting to the balcony's door. Granger was examining Theo's large bookshelves while he eagerly trailed after her, gesticulating at each book she picked up. She couldn't possibly hear them, but he still felt jittery. "Douglass wants power for the sake of power. And he's made it clear he wants us to get it for him. Doesn't that sound familiar to you?"
She offered him a sly smile. "Maybe, but you don't get to judge me. Much less offer me your patronizing advice, not when you're shagging Hermione Granger behind the scenes," she fired back. "I'm doing what's best for me and my family. Can you say the same?"
"Don't worry about my family, Pansy. The only thing I need from you is to shut the hell up," he said in a low voice. Pansy leaned towards him, and Draco jerked his face away, taking a drag of the cigarette, watching how she looked at him under heavy-lidded eyes. "Is that the move you pulled on Robards?"
"I don't need to pull a move on you, Draco. I was just checking something," she said, taking a step back. "You're being so incredibly foolish, it's actually funny." She hurled her cigarette over the railing. "But it's your bed, so lie in it, and all that jazz." She let out a raspy chuckle. "She's got some nerve to act so superior when she was shagging you the entire time. I wonder what Hughman would think of that-"
He narrowed his eyes. "Shut up."
"Can you imagine what people would think of her, if that ever got out?" she smirked. "I'm just saying, I guess she's not as morally superior as she'd like us to believe."
"Leave her alone, Pansy."
"Oh please, Granger's a big girl, she can handle herself without you acting like her lap dog. I know better."
"You don't know anything, especially about Granger," he said, smashing the butt of his cigarette on the iron railing. "I don't know much either, but I can tell you this. Whatever it is that Robards and Douglass are up to, it's going to blow up in their faces. And I'm not going to be there for it. But well, it's your bed, so lie in it, and all that jazz."
She patted his chest lightly. "I could say the exact same thing about you and Granger," she said. "I'm not going to tell anyone about it, but I won't refrain from throwing it in your face when it crashes and burns."
"I wouldn't expect anything else from you," he said, pushing her hand away. "But you won't get the chance to, I promise."
They stared each other down for another moment, then in unspoken agreement, they headed back into Theo's sitting room. He knew Pansy enough to hear what she hadn't said - she would be there for him, if it came down to it. And he would be there for her.
Just like they'd always been, even when they didn't particularly like each other.
End Notes: chapter edited by the best beta jeparlepasfrancais. This chapter is on the shorter side, but it's also very important plot-wise. I know I've been keeping you guys wondering, but all the shenanigans will be revealed VERY soon, until then, I hope it's fun to try to puzzle out the MANY clues :) thank you for anyone who took a moment to review/favorite this story.