Measure Of A Man

by inadaze22

To truly know someone is to differentiate between who they once were, who they are now, and who they're capable of being. Hermione realises the duality of one man as she rectifies what she knows of the past and begins to understand the pieces of who Draco Malfoy is now: a father, a son, and a man.

7. The Art of Compromise

Seven
The Art of Compromise

May 11, 2011

Time passed like it always did: slowly, surreally, yet in a rush. A complete contradiction. A constant presence that was never static…

Minutes turned into hours, hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, and before Hermione knew it, four weeks had passed since she'd begun caring for Narcissa. Yet, despite four weeks worth of work, she found herself right back where everything had started:

Sitting in Theo's office.

Now, though, it was for her first status meeting. This was not something Hermione had done with every patient, but this assignment warranted the appointment that appeared in her magi-scheduler that morning.

Today, they sat on the sofa instead of his desk and Theo sipped lemon ginger green tea—his first cup—while Hermione had just poured herself a third. His eyebrow quirked, but he wisely remained quiet. The silence felt foreboding, the proverbial calm before the storm.

Hermione was ready to drown them both in the sheer volume of words she needed to say.

Twenty-six minutes wouldn't be enough.

Theo must have felt her glare, must have heard her mental diatribe in the silence, because he was mere moments from taking another sip when he sighed like Hermione's mere energy had disrupted his peace. He placed his teacup on the glass table, which made Hermione practically gulp hers down, ignoring the burning of both the hot water and ginger.

Her agitation burned hotter anyway.

Not that she didn't try to hide it.

Her mood was a disagreeable companion that had followed her for weeks, a shadow that grew longer and more distorted as the days went on.

Before it overtook them both, Theo cut to the chase. "How have the first thirty days of your latest assignment been?" The question was followed by an almost wincing pause. "Feel free to be honest."

"I quit."

Theo had no reaction. "You don't mean that."

"I don't, but I feel better now that I've said it out loud instead of in my head."

Three hundred and nineteen times over the last thirty days… for a myriad of reasons.

His expression spoke of his experience dealing with her, his voice as calm and neutral as his posture. It reminded Hermione of how she spoke to a patient when she needed to earn their trust. Theo had the gall to look handsome in his sincerity.

"Talk to me, Hermione."

It made her scoff. Loudly. "You sound like my therapist."

Theo made a noncommittal noise as he casually leaned back on the sofa, legs crossed, making himself comfortable. Hermione really hated the sight he made in burgundy trousers, almost as much as she hated the continued sentiment of his next words. "I was hoping to sound like a friend."

"A friend wouldn't have sent me into battle with the wrong weapon. You gave me a butter knife when I needed a blowtorch. And an army."

For all his posturing, he didn't look the least bit apologetic. Instead, he looked interested, far more than usual. "I've not seen you this rattled before… Intriguing."

"Are you serious? This isn't the time for one of your little tests."

"I don't test you for my own amusement, it's mainly for your self-improvement." That made her argument fall limp before the finish line. "You're excellent at your job, but I've wanted to pull you from your comfort zone for quite some time now. I've also always wondered what an immovable force and an unstoppable object meeting would actually look like. I didn't think it would happen quite like it has. Hmm, apparently I'm overdue for a surprise."

"Not the time, Theo."

"I don't feel you entered into this with reasonable expectations for yourself." He spoke slowly despite the metaphorical steam coming from her ears, lacing his fingers together. "Did you think it would be so simple?"

Hermione opened her mouth once, twice, but nothing came out, then a third for good measure before shutting it for lack of a complete answer. No? But also yes? Slightly?

Okay, perhaps she'd taken an arrogant approach to the assignment.

Recollection brought her past thoughts of keeping out the storm into sharper focus. Her high hopes of figuring out a balance with Narcissa, a possible alliance with Malfoy regarding her future safety plans and preparation, and the possible levelling of her symptoms. She was no closer to any of those goals now than she had been a month prior. Hermione knew she needed a different plan. She had to drift closer, but doing so risked her ability to remain disconnected and neutral. It would test her ability to not speak her peace about every aspect of Narcissa's life that didn't involve her direct care.

The problems she'd seen.

The growing flames…

The fire-warped pieces of Narcissa's life made Hermione uncomfortable, but it wasn't her job to fix them. It was Narcissa's job to use the time she was given wisely. Dramatic changes weren't completely unthinkable, but as a thirty-day objective with a family like the Malfoys? Her goals had been impossible at best. And now that Hermione had time to think, she realised her frustration had less to do with the source of her discontent, and more to do with the fact that she hadn't made much progress—on any front.

The Malfoys were still a secretly broken family at the top echelon of a society that praised them for their unity during the most difficult times.

Ironic, but mostly tragic.

"The situation is… complicated, I'm aware. As is the family, which I'm sure you've discovered by now."

"Complicated?" Hermione balked. "They're painful. Malfoy is… I have no idea. I'm pretty certain I see him more than anyone." Theo's brow lifted in silent query, but Hermione had no response that didn't involve a full-fledged shrug. Malfoy left before either his mother or Scorpius came down and was still gone when Hermione departed each evening. Hermione put little thought into that and forged on. "Narcissa's results have also been strange from the start."

"So I've seen from what you sent over."

He'd had time to look?

"Yes, she declines sharply in the evenings and overnights are awful. Her sleeping patterns have deteriorated. She's agitated and is beginning to have spells where she wanders to different parts of the house and doesn't remember how she got there. From my understanding, she hardly sleeps, just tosses and turns, which makes her irritable during the day. More than she already is. If she yells at Scorpius' nanny one more time, the poor girl will either cry or quit… maybe both."

"She was… extremely temperamental at dinner with Pansy, Draco, and I last week." Theo's wince didn't go unnoticed. "Which was why I asked to see her results and your notes thus far."

"Find anything worth mentioning? Anything I haven't already analysed to death?"

"No, but I sent a copy over to Charles Smith in Boston. He says you two have been discussing her case for the last month or so. Is that correct?"

Yes, they had.

In addition to Narcissa's attitude—as well as her symptoms—her episodes of blankness and tremours had not decreased like they should have under her new potions regime. Nothing had increased either, which was only the silver lining. And while there had been several incidents where Narcissa had forgotten her and everyone else, there had only been one incident of accidental magic, when she had Apparated across the room.

To everyone's relief, no Splinching had occurred, but it made Hermione desperate to figure out the root cause of her issues. "Have you heard back from him?"

"I've scheduled time to discuss it with him tomorrow, should you want to attend…" He gave her a look that bordered on amusement. "That is, if you haven't yet quit."

Hermione cut her eyes at him. "I absolutely would like to be on the call. Regardless of how I feel, I intend to see this through. There have just been… growing pains." To say the least.

Hermione strived for progression with her work, not regression.

The potions should have worked. Narcissa's symptoms should have curbed, and she should have levelled off by now. The fact that they hadn't was a sign that Hermione was missing something important.

And that simply would not do.

"And Scorpius?"

It was an odd question since they had just been discussing Narcissa, but she supposed he would want to know about his godson. Narcissa brought him by to see Theo weekly for visits, but that was all she knew. "What about him?"

"Merely a question. I don't get much time to see him."

"He's…" At the curious tilt of Theo's head, she had a moment of honesty. "I've honestly never met a child like him."

She doubted she ever would.

Scorpius lived by a routine so unwaveringly strict Hermione could tell time by his entrances and exits. He was keenly observant, more so than even she'd realised. He watched and waited and listened to everything and everyone around him, hyper-focused and almost anxious in a way that made Hermione vastly uncomfortable to even speak around him.

There were many things she had observed, things she had yet to piece together, but the main difference between Scorpius and every child Hermione had known was simple:

He didn't appear to know any better.

He was so detached that Narcissa's treatment of him didn't seem to register as anything except normal. So affection-starved that he would preen at each moment of kindness, no matter how small or mundane. So lonely it was almost painful to watch him day in and day out. And the worst part was the sadness just under the surface of each of his actions.

It was indescribable, chilling, and unmistakable… yet not acknowledged—by anyone.

There must have been something open about her expression, honest even. It hadn't been intentional, but it made Theo heave a sigh. "You've seen it then."

"What?"

"His misery."

Theo's voice was low with a terribly penetrating power that made Hermione suck in a breath as she scrubbed a hand over her face. She tried to fight the growing feelings of unease with what was undoubtedly her best weapon: pure logic.

"He's not my patient." She watched Theo's look deepen into something harder and more intense, probing, until Hermione allowed her eyes to slide towards the door with the quiet hope that someone would interrupt.

But no one did.

"Per my own rules and conditions, the only way I can do this job effectively is if I remain detached, unaffected, and objective. I am trying hard to do just that." She turned accusatory eyes on him. "If you've seen it, then you do something about it."

"I've tried. I'm trying." It was probably the most emotional she had heard him, which stunned her into perfect silence. "Narcissa thinks she is doing the right thing and Draco is…"

Theo never finished. He didn't need to. She knew the answer: Malfoy was never there. Hermione had some idea from her conversation with Daphne back in March, right before she'd found herself in the middle of the hurricane that was the Malfoys. Knowing what she knew now, she wished she would have paid more attention, not just to her friend's words but to the sheer magnitude of the impending storm.

She tilted her head, narrowed her eyes, and focused on Theo as fragments of thoughts and ideas gathered together. The more Hermione pondered over it, the more everything made sense. The more the pieces fit. The picture became clearer.

The assignment request. The personal nature of Theo's involvement. Yes, it had to do with Narcissa and Malfoy, but the key to unlocking the man before her was small and at the mercy of the adults in his life.

"It's Scorpius, isn't it? The reason you're so invested in her care, I mean."

His face cooled into his default visage of powerful omniscience, but Hermione knew she had read him correctly. Theo uncrossed his legs and picked up his still-steaming teacup, taking a long drink to finish it out before placing the empty cup back on the table. "He is my godson. Draco and I have known each other since childhood."

Now that she understood better, Hermione was able to pick on the subtleties in his careful wielding of words. "Known, you say, but you weren't friends. Or, at least, I don't remember you being close." He wasn't being completely truthful. "Malfoy is—"

"Not the same as he was."

"I know."

That much had been obvious since before he'd first said her name.

While his mother had been the cause of Hermione's mounting frustration, and the reason for her late nights of books and research and transatlantic Floo calls, Draco Malfoy had become the source of her endless questions and curiosity. He was a confusing presence. Despite seeing him every morning, as she prepared breakfast and he worked diligently on both his crossword puzzle and paper, Hermione couldn't determine which version of him was real and which one was for display—a facade he wore to remind her (and everyone else) who he was supposed to be.

A massive prat.

Theo cleared his throat. "You can't understand the son without understanding the father."

Hermione wasn't trying to do either outside the scope of her job. The son was—well, that was a slippery slope indeed. And the father was… someone that didn't fit the realm of her current comprehension. "I'm trying to remain impartial, Theo. I only wish to understand him enough to secure his cooperation. That's really all I need."

A wry chuckle escaped Theo's lips. "Tell me then, how are your attempts working for you?"

Hermione wasn't exactly certain how to answer that question.

Malfoy hadn't spoken to her much after their first face-off in the kitchen (then his office), which had been expected. But that didn't stop Hermione from greeting him each morning and trying to start a conversation. Initially, they had been sincere attempts to try and earn his cooperation, and maybe figure out the reason behind the rift—after all, he was always there when she arrived. Then, after days of little success, it shifted into speaking to him out of sheer stubbornness and growing curiosity about a man who completed puzzles with a pen, didn't seem to sleep much (given his long hours), but still made sure he left a note for Scorpius each day. His actions were nothing short of perplexing, to say the least. Draco Malfoy was a man who went about his day so deliberately it seemed like he was purposefully avoiding his family.

His problems.

Malfoy was like a cliff on the edge of the sea, meeting each crashing wave of her attempts at gathering information with silence stronger than a rock face, scrutinising looks, and strange facial expressions she didn't know him well enough to identify.

But that randomly changed on a Tuesday—eight days into her assignment.

Malfoy hadn't been there when she'd arrived. Uncommon, but not too strange. The minutes had ticked on. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty minutes passed before he had rushed in with no paper or crossword. His tie had been undone, hair barely dry. Hermione had been in the middle of making breakfast, but quickly was able to gather that he'd lost track of time while swimming in the pool Hermione still hadn't seen.

He had been uncharacteristically flustered and disorganised, swearing about how nothing was where it belonged, his schedule—and possibly day—in ruins. Hermione related so much that her reaction had been instinct.

She stopped what she was doing and helped, fixing his tie with a flick of her wand and packing breakfast and tea for him before sending him on his way. Malfoy had been halfway out the door when they both suddenly realised what the hell had just transpired.

Malfoy had surprised her with just two words before he left:

Thank you.

After that, Hermione couldn't say things were good, but he stopped completely ignoring her presence and started engaging, in his own frustrating way, by answering her questions with terse responses of his own.

One sentence.

Then two.

Theo interrupted her reverie. "You didn't answer the question."

"Hm?" Hermione had been so caught up analysing Malfoy's every move for the umpteenth time that she'd forgotten what Theo had said. Backtracking, she cleared her throat. "Oh, yes. Well, I'm not certain how to answer it. I can't say that my attempts are working at all, truth be told, but Malfoy's spoken to me a few times in the last couple of weeks."

Somewhat.

Sort of.

Conversation had been stilted and slightly weird, firmly rooted in extremely mundane subjects that carried no risk. Malfoy never initiated these engagements, only responded, and Hermione found herself initially attempting to tailor her attempts at conversation to things he might enjoy. Quidditch had been her first attempt, but Malfoy had struck that topic down.

"You don't care for Quidditch. Don't waste my time. Or yours."

So, Hermione hadn't.

Instead, she'd taken one look at his paper and mentioned the ineptitude of reporting in the front-page article about yet another Ministry achievement, calling it the "the embodiment of propaganda." When Malfoy hummed his agreement, she'd found herself intrigued.

In the days that had followed, Hermione picked topics that were easy to gather from the parts of the paper she could see:

The debate regarding the removal of the Statute of Secrecy.

His response: "Never going to happen. Also idiotic."

Lowering the age of the removal of The Trace to sixteen.

His response: "I would argue raising it."

An article noting the rise of sales on defensive items following the Death Eater attack in March.

His response: "Potter hasn't given up his belief that Mathers is alive. He's probably dead."

But when Hermione had voiced her opinion about the possibility of a third wizarding war, Malfoy's response had been the first complete one yet.

"Those with the most power don't want peace. There's no profit in it. Peace would also level out the balance of power and turn the public's attention to the things that matter, such as why the Wizengamot has not restored power to the Minister after the agreed upon ten years."

It had been such a true and perceptive statement that it had left her momentarily speechless.

It made Hermione curious, made her want to poke and pick his mind for whatever gems she could find. Thoughts. Opinions. Ideas. Observations.

After that morning, their dialogues had morphed into chats that became less about what she could find out and more about his thoughts on various topics. They began to do nothing more than just talk for the sake of it.

Which was… unexpected, to say the least.

Each conversation was like opening a different box, and Hermione never knew what was going to be on the inside. She knew she had the option not to open it, but she did so anyway.

Magical theory. History. Arithmancy. Charms. Malfoy picked her brain about the fact that she brewed potions, and she discovered his quiet passion for the subject after a lengthy argument about copper cauldrons versus brass for brewing Dreamless Sleep. And when he started bringing up Muggle topics—Literature, Science Fiction, Physics—Hermione pretended not to look surprised.

But she was.

Some days were like pulling teeth. Others were easier. He would mostly engage, showing hints of something more than apathy—until he'd inevitably realise what he was doing and shut back down. But, for the most part, Malfoy argued down each of her points and rose up to challenge every statement.

He didn't always win.

But neither did she.

And that was… different, oddly refreshing, but baffling nonetheless.

Conversation was more than a sum of words, more than communication and the exchange of information. Hermione always found it easier to understand and relate to people when she just talked to them, but with Malfoy…?

Not so much.

Each conversation left her more puzzled than before, less about his interests and opinions, and more about the ins and outs of who he was.

His identity.

---

May 13, 2011

When it came to paranoia, there was only one rule: it couldn't be considered paranoia if it was real.

Hermione reminded herself of this yet again when she stepped out of the Floo Bank in the Ministry on a busy Wednesday afternoon, walking alongside other people into the bustling Atrium. While true visitors drifted to the sides for their wands to be checked, Hermione continued on with the general flow, feeling eyes on her all the while.

In most cases, they only looked because she was famous and rarely seen in public, but Harry's private Floo hadn't worked since he'd become Head of the Auror's Office, and no other Floo was open for her access. So, there she was. A face in the crowd.

In most cases, like the two workers sitting at the fountain who suddenly stopped talking to each other in favour of staring at her before whispering again, the watching had been curiosity, the result of the rumours surrounding her departure from the Ministry. Or maybe the sprinkle of rumours that had followed ever since, each more absurd than the last.

But in one case, she knew, it was more than that.

The wizard who watched her had been lying in wait in the Atrium, and suddenly realised he needed to walk directly behind her. He had been tracking her comings and goings since the Ministry had started sending her job offers three years ago, following her as she went, surely reporting her every move inside the Ministry's walls.

Naturally, Hermione had been aware of his presence, and he knew it, too.

It was complicated at best, but felt like a game.

Well, a game she didn't know the rules of and without a clear objective. She had no idea why they were even playing it.

When her watcher stepped into the empty space next to her in the queue for the lift, she spoke without looking because she already knew who she was going to see. "McLaggen, I'm just having lunch with Harry. What threat do I specifically pose to need you as an escort?"

"Technically, since you don't work for the Ministry, you shouldn't be roaming on your own. Especially since you didn't check your wand when you entered. My uncle grows more and more restless about the moves being made to unseat him. Your presence would only add to his distress. I am merely—"

"Wasting your words on a topic I don't care about."

"Funny, my uncle seems to think you know about the movement somehow. Maybe you're involved, maybe you're not. All I know is that he's beginning to question people."

Hermione stored that knowledge away for later. "This feels familiar."

"Familiar how?"

"Like the history we're about to repeat unless things change."

"If you decided to return, pledge your allegiance to the Ministry—"

"You mean to him? No thanks," Hermione interjected with a flippant twist of her wrist. "Tyrants come in many forms and wear many different masks… or ornate robes, should I say." Her words likely went right over Cormac's head. "Not only am I not willing to pledge my allegiance to any man, but I'm also not searching for a change in career. I'm happy where I am."

Cormac made a small, curt noise. Dismissive. In his head, he always thought he knew better than anyone. "I'd believe you more if I knew you less."

"You don't know me at all." She kept her public mask on effortlessly and kept the irritation that accompanied his presence out of her voice. It would only egg him on and draw more stares than necessary.

The next lift arrived and the queue for it moved, but there still wasn't enough space for her to squeeze on and get away from him. Hermione looked around, searching for a familiar face for the company, but saw none.

With an internal sigh, she turned, observing the wizard who hadn't changed much in appearance since Hogwarts. Cormac was still broad and muscular in a way that fit his frame nicely. He still had strong features and a smile could be charming, and his dark blonde curls were still tamed in a way that most witches would consider flattering. Today, instead of his normal neutral colours, he wore plum trousers and a white dress shirt with expensive-looking cufflinks. Robes displaying his high position in the Wizengamot Administration Services were draped over his arm.

Unfortunately, all that glittered wasn't gold.

It really was a shame that Cormac hadn't grown past his aggressive and arrogant nature.

Cormac's shoulder brushed hers, and his voice dropped low for her ears only. "I happen to know women like you very well. I can show you how well over—"

Hermione cut him off with a single, pointed glare. "Do you lurk every day in hopes that I'll turn up at the Ministry, or do you have an actual career?"

"Oh, Hermione." He said her name in a pretentious way she didn't especially appreciate. She also didn't appreciate the fact that, for the second time, his shoulder brushed hers. It meant that he was standing far too close for comfort. "Surely you're aware that I'm set to inherit my uncle's seat on the Wizengamot when he's ousted."

When.

Cormac knew something was changing, too.

The timing of Tiberius McLaggen's appointment to the Wizengamot wasn't important, all that mattered was what had happened in the years since he'd become Chief Warlock. After buying nearly every business in Diagon Alley from desperate owners just looking to survive, he—out of the kindness of his own heart, of course—turned around and allowed those business owners to rent the stores they'd previously owned for a percentage of their annual sales.

It was undoubtedly helpful in the couple of years after the war, when some shops went days without a single patron and people were still too afraid to return to the normalcy of things like shopping trips and expenditures that weren't strictly necessary.

The questionable actions came when, after his appointment as Chief Warlock, he pushed through the major rehabilitation project that poured millions of Ministry Galleons into rebuilding wizarding businesses… in Diagon Alley. As businesses recovered and sales picked up, so did their rent.

Tiberius McLaggen had made millions. Anyone that challenged their rental agreement was quickly shut down. Percy had been quietly checking into the legality of the agreements with his tenants, but he'd run into obstacles. No one who had been privy to Tiberius' unforgiving nature had been eager to cooperate for fear of losing what they'd worked so hard for without a fair fight. Even now, gathering information was a slow process.

Much like Percy's pet project.

While not every member of the Wizengamot was as corrupt as the Chief Warlock, there were just enough members who liked the perks of the current status quo to keep any true change at bay. In her eyes, they were no better than the ones whose vaults were amassing the unethical Galleons.

The lift arrived before she said anything else and they filed on with the others. She took a spot in front of Cormac, fully prepared to ignore him like the pest he was. In enclosed spaces, it was habit for her to observe her surroundings, and when she did just that, her eyes fell on a familiar white-blond head in the front corner by the button panel.

Malfoy.

She hadn't seen him in the Atrium when she'd looked around. In fact, Hermione barely had a chance to wonder if he'd even seen her when her gaze was pulled to the open gates as one more wizard decided to squeeze on rather than wait for the next lift.

Everyone shifted to accommodate the final passenger.

The wizard in front of her shuffled backwards, putting himself too close for her comfort. Automatically, Hermione tried to move out of his way, but found her back pressed against Cormac's broad chest. It was instinctive to apologise, but she stopped herself before she could.

Best if she didn't acknowledge him or their current state.

Not that it mattered. It was Cormac McLaggen, after all.

It wasn't like him to ignore a perfect opportunity.

Despite the lack of space on the now moving lift, he was able to lower his head, whispering into her temple in a voice predatory, "If I were you, Hermione…" His hand ghosted up her arm to push her hair off her shoulder. She tensed, hackles rising until it felt as though all her muscles were perpetually tensed. "I would endear yourself to me so that I'll remember you when I'm in my new position."

"If you touch me one more time, McLaggen, I'll become the scariest thing you've ever seen." Her voice was low, serious enough to make him back off ever so slightly.

But he kept his head exactly where it was so he could speak to her without anyone noticing—or hearing him. "Still so feisty. I've always admired that about you."

"And you're still an arrogant bastard who will be doing the Wizengamot's legwork for the rest of your miserable life."

"I don't see following a beautiful woman around on scheduled visits for lunch with her best friend as a particular hardship." Cormac's voice dropped even lower as he whispered. "More like my pleasure."

"This is why you can't keep a wife." His second divorce was playing out nastily in the papers, at least according to the ones she'd lined her chicken coop with last week.

"Third time's a charm."

Before Hermione could verbalise her absolute disgust or turn around and club him over the head with her beaded bag, the doors opened and a few Ministry employees filed out, still absorbed in getting to their destination as quickly as possible. It wasn't the floor where Harry's office was located, but at least with only one man entering the lift, there was now enough space for her to step away from Cormac without bumping into anyone else.

She reached for the strap above her head in preparation for the lift to begin moving, then glared daggers at Cormac, who remained in his spot against the back wall. Watching her. Waiting. Like a lion on the prowl. Hermione ignored him in favour of glancing around the still crowded lift, but now she had a clear visual of Malfoy, who regarded her with an odd, indecipherable expression as the lift began moving again.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen him that day, but she had no basis to rate their interaction that morning when Malfoy had asked for a cup of whatever tea she had been drinking—a fruity mint mixture she'd concocted for Narcissa. Something that, in theory, he should hate, but he drank the mix with a passive look and zero complaints. Hermione had been left unable to discern if he liked it or not.

The front page this morning had been around the Death Eater sightings in Wales.

Hermione had asked a standard question: "Does the Task Force and the Auror's Office have enough to properly investigate?"

But his reply had been different, layered with complexities she didn't understand. "Not particularly, Potter has a spare team that has just arrived back from an assignment that he'll be forced to send. I just returned this morning actually and will be taking a Portkey back this evening to return, once again, the following morning."

She hadn't been able to stop her next question. "Do you sleep?"

And that had promptly ended their conversation.

Now the fact that he was looking between her and Cormac in that probing way of his was all the stranger. As far as Hermione was concerned, the extent of his curiosity with her began and ended with why she'd taken on his mother as a patient. He'd reserved his other feelings for being highly irritated when she looked on while he worked on his crossword.

Finally, the doors to the lift opened on Harry's floor and a few more people filed out. And if Hermione whispered a Trip Jinx that left Cormac a sprawled mess on the floor of the lift… well, that was between her and anyone who noticed. The gates shut and the lift left with Cormac yelling something on his way to whichever floor the lift would stop at next.

Feeling proud of herself, and with a smile on her face, Hermione took two steps in the direction of Harry's office, then remembered that someone had noticed. And that someone happened to have longer legs, which allowed him to fall in step alongside her with relative ease.

"Lover's quarrel?" Malfoy's voice was so dry and posh it made Hermione's hair stand on end.

Along with her nerves.

"Excuse me?" She looked at him in confusion.

"McLaggen." He said it so blandly it was as if Hermione should have already known what he was talking about. His face was drawn in an expression that fell somewhere between grudgingly curious and outright annoyed—two emotions that didn't even belong on the same scale. "I saw you two on the—"

"That pompous wanker is not—I repeat, not—my lover in any definition of the word." She seethed with such strong vehemence she nearly missed the tiny stutter in his step. "Cormac wouldn't know how to love anyone other than himself if someone gave him a map and a guide."

There was a short pause before Malfoy said, "Ah, well, excuse me." He then calmly turned and went in the opposite direction.

Unspeakably baffled, Hermione stood and watched him stalk around the corner before vanishing from sight. "What the hell…"

She shook it all off, chalked it up to him being Malfoy, and followed the path into the controlled chaos of the ever-busy Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Pointedly ignoring the eyes and whispers that followed her presence, Hermione forced herself not to look down until she found herself at the door to the Auror's Division.

Greeted by a nearly empty office, she guessed most Aurors were on assignment or lunch at that part of the day. Only a handful were at their desks doing paperwork, not paying attention to the new person in the room.

The only person who paid her any mind was the secretary, Deloris, an older witch with greying black hair who always wore purple robes. "Miss Granger, it's lovely to see you."

Deloris was like the mother of this branch of the DMLE. She brought a meal for everyone at least once a week and even baked cookies every Friday. Like most secretaries, she knew everything that happened in the Ministry, all the rumours, both significant and dull. Hermione had told Harry when he'd been appointed Head Auror that he should always stop and listen to anything she had to say, including the latest gossip.

It was likely more informative than the Prophet.

She'd been the office secretary longer than Harry had been alive, but she'd told Hermione last month that she still believed he did a better job than any of his predecessors, even without the current circumstances.

"Lovely to see you as well, Deloris."

"How's your gardening, love?"

"By next visit, I should have strawberries, gooseberries, peas, broad beans, and more for you."

"Oh, that sounds lovely. Can't wait. Make sure to bring extras so I can make you some jam."

Deloris made the best jam. Last summer, she'd brought Hermione several jars from the extra fruit she'd given her—she and Al had only eaten toast and their jam of the day for breakfast during his visits for months. Hermione was already looking forward to this year.

"I can't wait. Oh!" She opened her beaded bag, and reached deep until she found what she was looking for. "I brought you more salve for your husband's knee and your pain potion, as well."

Harry had found out a few years after joining the Auror Department that Deloris had been hit with a dark spell while protecting her Muggle-born husband from Snatchers during the war. St Mungo's hadn't been much help outside of healing the immediate damage, which had led to years of her suffering in silence. Harry had asked for Hermione's help after years of her not being able to find any respite through conventional methods, of course, she'd agreed. After research and a few failures, she'd found success in an obscure plant that helped boost the potency of the regular pain potion. Deloris only needed one drop.

Hermione handed the witch the vial and a tin canister of salve.

"Thank you so much." Deloris graciously accepted her offerings. "You really should let me pay you—"

Hermione shook her head. That wasn't why she did it. "It's no trouble at all. Keep looking out for Harry, that's all I ask." Speaking of her best friend… "Is he busy?" Hermione asked the witch with a kind smile.

"He's just returned from his meeting with Hestia and Mr Malfoy regarding the canvassing team they need for that unfortunate bit happening in Wales." The one Malfoy was spending his nights coordinating while working days here. Her question about his sleep habits had been valid. "He's also tied up with staffing for the raid that no one is talking about."

The two women exchanged knowing looks and matching eyerolls. Hermione was more worried about the almost open secret getting too far out and failing, but didn't share those concerns with Deloris. "Has Harry eaten?"

"No, even though I told him he should. He's had an incredibly busy day, and his afternoon is completely booked. He has another private meeting with Mr Malfoy in fifteen minutes."

Ah, one of their strategy meetings.

"I've brought him lunch." She held up her beaded bag. "Is he doing anything right now?"

"Paperwork." The witch made a face that spoke of her empathy.

"Ah, the bane of his existence."

Deloris smirked. "Too right you are."

"Better go save him then."

The older witch grinned, shooing her along. Hermione gave her a fond look before walking past her desk, and knocking on the closed office door with Harry's name and title etched in the gold plaque. The heavy door opened with a creak that Magical Maintenance had yet to fix. Hermione entered, allowing the noisy door to shut behind her.

Harry's office, as always, was a minimalistic mess. She never could figure out how that was possible, but it was. He didn't have much: a few books, important keepsakes, and framed pictures of Ginny and the children on his desk. Nothing on the walls. Simple. In the corner was a rack of hangers with jackets and robes on them.

The newest addition was a table in the centre of the room with what looked like a map covered in different coloured pins strategically spread across the full length of it.

Even with few things, though Harry's was a perpetual mess. Nothing was ever organised, and he had a ton of paperwork stacked on his desk at any given time. She spotted her best friend sitting behind a mountain of parchment, scratching away at something she couldn't see.

"How can I help you?" Harry asked without looking up.

"Well, I'm looking for my best friend, who happens to be The Chosen One—"

He looked up then rolled his eyes, laughing before glancing at his gold watch as Hermione crossed the room to sit at the chair in front of his desk.

"Blimey, is it one already?"

She placed her beaded bag on the desk and opened it up, pulling out a simple lunch of roasted chicken sandwiches stuffed with tomatoes, cheese, cucumbers, and romaine lettuce. Hermione made sure to pack some oven-roasted potato wedges along with a couple of cold cans of Vimtos— blackcurrant because that was their favourite.

"Yes, I just finished with Narcissa's lunch potions and she's overseeing her grandson's lessons." More like making suggestions and lesson plan changes.

She'd be tied up at least until dinner, when she was sure to sharply decline, get irritable. Narcissa could be downright mean towards Scorpius' nanny, who was understandably stressed at all times. His tutor wasn't much better, but he generally stayed in Narcissa's good graces as he was the sort of traditionalist she respected.

Harry moved the parchment aside, giving her and their lunch his full attention. "How is that going?"

"Interesting. They're… a lot. Different from how I expected."

"How so?" His interest was clearly piqued.

Hermione let out a breath that turned into a chuckle as she made a series of exaggerated hand gestures to emphasise each word. "I can't possibly list it all during the fifteen minutes I have between now and your strategy meeting with Malfoy. We'll have to talk about it at another time." At his nod and Harry-esque soft smile, Hermione opened her container and pulled out forks for them to use on the potatoes. "I can't speak much about her treatment, but I can tell you that she's probably the most infuriating patient I've ever had."

"She's your Draco Malfoy, then."

"I suppose so. I often forget she's even sick." Until the evenings and nights remind her. Hermione pursed her lips, deep in thought. "Ever felt like you were missing something that was staring you in the face?"

"All the time."

Hermione chuckled. "That's how I feel about Narcissa's treatment. The nights are rough to the point where I've considered staying."

"At Malfoy's house?"

"Yes, just until I figure out what's wrong with her evening potions."

"Well, you won't have to worry about Malfoy much. He'll be in Wales coordinating the sweep where the Death Eaters were spotted. He thinks there may be a hideout nearby."

She stabbed one of the potatoes with her fork and brought it to her mouth while Harry started at his sandwich. "Does he actually sleep?"

"How should I know? I imagine he gets some sort of sleep. Has to or he'd be more insufferable than he already is." That seemed doubtful based on hard evidence that pointed to the opposite. Perhaps he was— "Enough about him. I'll be seeing him soon enough." A quick frown expressed his distaste, but it was followed by a wiggling of his eyebrows. "Have you had any interesting conversations with his mother lately?"

With a roll of her eyes, Hermione's pensive expression morphed into a grin. "She hasn't said anything particularly rude since she tried to give me advice." She emphasised the last word with air quotes, her fork still in hand. Harry laughed almost as hard as he had the first time that she'd told him the story. "She's been busy with society activities and her grandson's lessons. We haven't had a chance to speak much… well, outside of her complaints about each meal before she takes a bite and finds it remarkably palatable," Hermione mocked in a poor imitation of Narcissa's voice.

"Sounds like a compliment to me."

"Honestly it's the closest I might ever get." Hermione snickered. "She'd rather walk on the surface of the sun than admit she likes my primitive cooking."

Snorting in response, Harry took a sip of his drink and shook his head. "And before he gets here. What about Malfoy? Is he the model son? Does he call you incompetent and argue about the best way to care for his mother because surely only he knows best?"

Wincing, Hermione recalled the abrupt way he'd left her outside the lift. "Actually… no."

Malfoy was incredibly hard to pin down. Distrustful and private, aloof and sarcastic, astute and defensive. He was more perceptive of the world around him than she'd expected from someone who grew up believing he was the centre of it. More than that, Malfoy didn't fit the image that Harry, himself, had put into her mind. Maybe he acted differently around Harry. Maybe Harry had the same effect on Malfoy as the reverse. Hermione had no idea.

"He doesn't want to be involved in any aspect of her care. Not now or as she worsens. I've no idea why."

At that, Harry's smirk faded. "That's surprising… I've always thought they were close. Narcissa's letters practically sung his praises."

"Either she's extremely deluded or blatantly lying to cover up the rift, but it's there. Loud. Granted, I haven't seen them in the same room together since the first day, but it's awfully tense."

Her best friend still seemed confused. "I'm shocked, really. I mean, he seemed disillusioned with his father during his trial, but he never let go of his mother's hand."

Hermione had her own vague memories of the day, now scattered by time and her own life events that occurred in the years between. The Malfoys had always seemed like a complicated, yet tight-knit family. Though, appearances were often deceiving.

"They aren't." Hermione finally picked up her sandwich. "Their dynamic is strange. Painfully tense. I don't know how anyone can stand it—how I stand it."

"I mean, it's not like we sit and chat like old friends." Harry snorted as if the thought were utterly inconceivable. "But they've had a death in the family in the last six months. Deloris told me of the rumours going around. Apparently, he'll be married again within the year, should his mother have her way."

Hermione winced, but took another bite, her mouth suddenly dry.

"Might be a source of contention, but I doubt it." Harry gave a lazy shrug. "Ginny says the Malfoys are all about fulfilling their duty to family over self, it's practically etched in stone on some ancient rock somewhere."

She sipped her drink, nodding along even though she should have been laughing at Harry's joke.

He finished his potatoes and eyed the second half of his sandwich, sobering. "I wasn't working directly with him at the time. They had me doing a lot of public appearances before my promotion, but he was gone for weeks. When he returned he was just as"—Harry waved his hand—"Malfoy-ish as usual. Nothing out of the ordinary."

As she continued eating, Hermione allowed her mind to wander, sorting through the data she had gathered over the last few weeks.

She recognised the division between the adults as something she would have to address as Narcissa worsened. Who would make important decisions for her? Draco? Yes, but would he give a damn to make the right decision for her? No was looking like the most accurate answer. What safeguards could she employ to ensure the older witch's safety? There would be legal documents and aspects Hermione absolutely needed Malfoy for. He would have to—

Hermione took a deep breath.

She couldn't let herself run wild on that particular train of thought, not when there was another that was far more complicated…

Scorpius.

He was absolutely none of her business, though Hermione couldn't help but notice the dynamic between his father and grandmother as it pertained to the boy's care. Hermione had never seen either in the same room together, but Malfoy seemed diligent whenever he wasn't around. He listened intently to status reports from Zippy, set Scorpius' place at the table…

He left his son notes.

Still, it was Narcissa who was in control of the oversight of her grandson's complicated daily schedule, packed to the point where she had Third Year flashbacks whenever Zippy would recite his daily activities to Malfoy. Narcissa was the one who made sure he sat up straight, was polite, and trained—a word that still made her shudder. She treated him so unlike she'd treated her own son during their years at school that it was almost beyond belief.

With her rules and regulations, it was a wonder she hadn't burned the curiosity out of him.

Somehow, remarkably, she hadn't.

But like Hermione had already said, he was none of her business and the Malfoys were a better topic for another day. Preferably one when they could chat over the fruity wine Harry would never admit that he enjoyed.

They're been quiet long enough to warrant a subject change, and Harry graciously did the honours. "Something else that's strange? No McLaggen. He usually follows you to my office door."

Her thoughts scattered before a smug grin curled the edges of Hermione's lips. "Wandless Trip Jinx in the lift."

"Nice." Harry looked impressed as he bit into the second half of his sandwich. "I suppose that's why you won't accept the security detail, then. Theo told me."

Of course he had. Hermione hadn't even thought about the offer since the first time she'd declined it. "Honestly, Harry, you know me better than that. I can take care of myself."

"Trust me, I'm aware, but they're getting closer to us than I'd like. A threat came to James' school." Hermione's heart stuttered. That really was too close. At her wince, he sighed, looking far wearier than anyone should at their age. "No one was hurt. The teams came in and did a sweep, but found nothing. Ginny and I are beginning to wonder if maybe we need to move schools… or possibly send James to a wizarding primary school, which would be more equipped to handle the threat of Death Eaters, should they attack. Molly thinks we should pull them all out and let her homeschool them."

The look on his face said that would be a last resort.

"Are you looking into private security for the children?"

"A pair at each school." Harry nodded. "Malfoy gave me the name of the company he hired to watch his family."

She raised an inquiring brow. "You two managed to have a conversation long enough to get to that point?"

In response, he finished his bite before shrugging. "I just asked. When I mentioned it was for my kids, he didn't hesitate. I'm serious though, Hermione, I think you should consider it."

"As I told Theo, I am my own security."

Harry's face turned serious. "You don't have to be."

---

They finished eating, packed the glass containers back in her bag, and were busy arranging Al's weekend visit when there was a distinctive knock on the door.

Two quick taps, followed by a paused… then a single knock.

Harry sighed, but it wasn't out of exhaustion, just in acknowledgement that his day wasn't yet over. Judging from the calm and cleansing breath he took, he knew exactly who it was.

"Malfoy." With a wave of his hand, Harry's office door creaked open, and the confirmation of his statement stood there like a brooding statue in all black. His arms were even folded as his eyes cut back and forth between them.

"Come in." Harry's tone was far more polite than it tended to be when he talked about the wizard behind his back. Professional. Malfoy entered the office as Hermione stood to leave, grabbing her bag off his desk. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she felt the mood in the office shift with the new addition, turning from friendly to something far chillier. Both had serious expressions on their face, prepared to work.

Or battle.

Likely both.

Still, Malfoy approached Harry's desk, stopping just at the edge. He didn't even try to hide his contempt with the subtle glance at Harry's desk.

"Potter." He didn't spit his name like he used to, but it still made Hermione shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. He was dry, polite, the product of someone who'd spent years entrenched in 'proper' society. Then grey eyes cut to her. "We meet again, Granger."

Confusion flashed across Harry's face as he mouthed 'again?'

"We saw each other in the lift with McLaggen."

"Ah."

They stood in awkward silence for what felt like hours with each of them looking everywhere to avoid looking at each other. In actuality, it was less than a minute before Hermione couldn't take it anymore and clasped her hands together. "Well, I'll leave you both to it."

She gave Harry a look that wished him all the luck in the world, a look that made him scratch his scar, not because it itched, simply a force of habit.

Something he only did when he was supremely uncomfortable.

Given the awkward energy that blanketed the room, his feelings made sense.

Unfortunately, there was nothing much to do about that, not much more she could say for encouragement. Hermione's focus went from her best friend back to Malfoy, who was regarding her with a potent yet slightly bemused expression. Then he huffed and glared at Harry. "You didn't ask her, did you?"

"Ask me what, Harry?" Instantly suspicious, she folded her arms across her chest and glared, gritting her teeth.

What Hermione hated most—well, after tardiness, laziness, and mouth-breathing—was being the last to know anything. Especially, if it pertained to her in any form. Of course, she could handle it, but that didn't mean she cared to be put in that situation.

And by her best friend, no less.

Harry patted down his messy, dark hair and rubbed the back of his neck. Guilty. "We're developing a strategy for the raid and we need a third party's opinion."

"What about Ron?" She immediately deleted the thought because he wouldn't be objective at all when it came to anything involving Malfoy. He'd side with Harry, regardless if he liked his idea or not, just to spite Malfoy. She would have said as much had the blond man not opened his mouth.

"Are you serious, Granger?" Malfoy sounded every bit the prat he was at Hogwarts. "Weasley's idea of foresight is putting his socks on before his shoes."

Hermione found herself suspended in a state of disbelief. Not by what he'd said—that was typical, really—but rather by the dramatic difference between who he was around her versus who he was around Harry. Not saying that he was the most amiable person, but at least Malfoy tried to hold his tongue in his own home. There was also the small part that whispered a reminder that he was the same person who left notes for Scorpius and had politely asked for tea that very morning.

All in all, it felt like whiplash.

Naturally, Harry's infamous temper flared to life in defence of Ron. She couldn't even get a word in edgewise prior to snide comments flying back and forth between the two nemeses, but before it could escalate into unprofessional insults, Hermione took the stance as mediator.

In a way.

"I actually have better things to do than listen to you both squabble like children." She glared at them both, jaw set. "So, if we could please, get on with it, I'd appreciate it."

For her troubles, she received a set of piercing frowns that she met with an equal one of her own. She made certain to exude every bit of the irritation she felt.

When the next silence began to stretch again, she huffed. "Harry, stop letting Malfoy regress you fifteen years, it's ridiculous." The anger in her friend's eyes instantly died when he finally realised how immature he was acting.

His cheeks flushed.

One down.

Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to another before facing her last obstacle between them all and peace.

"And Malfoy." His expression was stoic defiance. "We all know and remember quite clearly that you're a massive prat. There's no need to remind us by posturing. No one needs that kind of energy on a team, especially not when there's so much on the line. You both have common goals. Remember that."

Almost as if she'd slapped him, the wizard visibly recoiled. In fact, he took a full step back before remembering himself. There was a very good chance no one had taken him to task like that in quite some time.

It was a job Hermione didn't mind taking.

She readied herself for the retaliation, but had one last thing to say. "Oh, and just so you know, Ron's probably a better strategist than I am. In some respects, at least. But Harry was right not to ask him because he'll side with Harry over you out of spite. I won't. It doesn't matter to me who came up with what idea, only which one works best." She unfolded her arms, resting them on her hips. "Don't judge what you don't know."

While Harry was good and chastened, Malfoy's glare only intensified at the callback from their first full conversation. But she honestly didn't care as she stepped forward, closer to him, meeting his opposition with a scowl.

"Reminder, Malfoy: you two have a bigger fight ahead than the one against each other. It doesn't just involve your jobs. It doesn't involve just you as individuals. It involves your families, too." She didn't miss that small tick in his jaw or the way he seemed to reset. Exhale. Refocus. "Now, are you both finished?"

Malfoy acquiesced with a subtle nod.

Harry's agreement, on the other hand, was crystal clear. "If you have any other suggestions for candidates, I'll gladly step aside as I want as little to do with the Ministry as possible. At least in its current state."

There was a long pause while they waited for the last person in the room to get on board.

They didn't have to wait long.

"Since you're already here, I suppose you'll do." Malfoy's response was cool even though the way his hands were curled into tight fists spoke to his aggravation. But then he flexed his hands and his entire demeanour slowly changed. Shifted. Settled. His tone took a professional edge. "Shall we?"

Now that everyone was ready, Hermione got to the point. "Is there a blueprint of the Lestrange Manor where the raid will take place?"

"There." Malfoy gestured to the table in the centre of the room. "The only uncluttered surface in Potter's office." His comment wasn't critical or hostile, merely matter-of-fact. So much so that Harry only shrugged in response.

He had a point.

They were all gathered around the table—Harry and Hermione on one side, Malfoy on the other—staring down at the blueprint with pins that seemed to be colour-coded for a particular purpose.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "This particular Lestrange Manor hasn't been occupied for at least fifty years, but it's complicated and likely has traps. Its wards can only be taken down by someone of Lestrange blood, but after speaking to several experts, I've found that there's a way to trick the wards."

"Really?" That was fascinating. Impressive, really. Not only because of the possibilities, but also due to the work Malfoy must have put in to discover that piece of knowledge.

Apparently he hadn't shared any of that with Harry, because her friend's face was scrunched up in confusion, as though he were hearing this for the first time. "How is it possible to trick a ward? I didn't know that was possible."

The look on Malfoy's face spoke volumes, namely that Harry was too stupid to live. It was one her friend must have been the recipient of before because it didn't seem to bother him one bit. "It is when the wards are old and very specific, weaved into blood magic. The Manor's wards were specific like that until—"

Cursed fire that never burned out.

Hermione cringed.

No need to dwell on any of that.

Hermione moved her gaze back to the map. "How do you trick them?"

"It's astoundingly simple." Malfoy reached clear across the table to fix one of the pins. The action caused his cuff to rise higher than usual. It wasn't a particularly noteworthy movement, except for the fact that the action had caused him to tease something she never expected to see on a wizard who wore black like it was a second skin.

It wasn't just the obvious fact that he had a tattoo—or a very large, scaly tattoo, from the looks of it— that wrapped around his wrist and disappeared under his suit.

Yes. Okay. That was highly unexpected.

But what actually caught her attention—what piqued her curiosity—was the colour.

She only caught flashes of red and orange and a hint of green before Malfoy righted himself.

Hermione looked away when his scrutinous gaze settled on her, daring her to say something, but she didn't accept the bait. She was smarter than that. Instead, she focused on the broken fireplace behind him. She'd have to ask Deloris to put in an order with Magical Maintenance to fix it because Harry would never remember. Or have time to handle it.

After clearing his throat, Malfoy continued on. "From my inquiry and research, it seems that the Ward Specialist has to be— at the very least—a pureblood. I happen to have found one you both know and trust—Ernie Macmillan. He mainly works on wards for businesses, but he knows how to do it because his family's estate has similar wards. He has already agreed to the job."

Hermione recalled Harry's rant about him changing the wards specialist, but now it made perfect sense.

The Head Auror realised it as well, but also something else. "Ernie doesn't work for the Ministry, Malfoy, we don't have the budget—"

"Technically, he'll be working for me, as I'll be handling his fee." At the surprised look on Harry's face, Malfoy set his jaw, seeming put off by Harry's shock. "I think I've made myself perfectly clear when I said that I was willing to do whatever it takes to end this. Money is no object. Will that be an issue, Potter?"

She and Harry exchanged looks but Hermione said nothing.

It wasn't her place.

The Auror regarded the man across the table for a long moment, and compromised with an exhale. "It won't." He scrubbed his face several times before running a hand through his already wild hair.

"Very well then." Malfoy redirected their attention to the blueprint of the Lestrange Manor. "According to the mole, the black pin is the meeting location. Red pins are the entrance points, not including windows, of course. Anything else you need to know before making an assessment, Granger?"

Hermione looked closer. The room they were meeting in was circular, situated near the centre of the Manor, and it looked like it could pass for a small ballroom. Four clear entrances into the mansion but there were five red pins. It looked like there were two doors that served as both entrances and exits. Not much room for escape—for anyone. Which could go either way. Very good or very bad. There was also no telling if there were any sort of traps waiting for them in the house or on the grounds. Hermione bent forward a little, touching the only pin that didn't make sense. A red pin, which meant entrance, but there were no doors leading to the outside.

"What is this pin?"

"A possible secret entryway." Malfoy replied. "I've confirmed there is a tunnel that runs under the house, which stops under this room. I believe there's a way to get into the room from the tunnel."

"Ah." That was intriguing. She tucked her hair behind her ear, wishing she'd brought something to tie it back. Hermione concentrated better that way. "Harry? Do you have a rubber band?" They looked at his messy desk. "Nevermind."

Her best friend's smile was sheepish. "I should clear that up."

"Undoubtedly."

"It's fine." Hermione waved him off. "First, I'd like to hear your strategy, Harry." The dark-haired wizard nodded. "Then yours, Malfoy."

She moved to the head of the table, leaving the other two facing each other. Malfoy made a stiff gesture at Harry to start, and after straightening his glasses, he did just that.

Hermione listened to them both. She followed each step of their individual plans, asking questions along the way, while noting that they both had strategies to leverage various advantages to compensate for the lack of manpower.

Harry's strategy was very reflective of his personality: simple and to the point. Storm in, block all exits, make sure they can't Apparate out. Battle until they surrender. How very Veni, vidi, vici of him. He had Aurors, Hit Wizards, and Magical Law Enforcement officers blended into groups, regardless of experience, with the intent that the more seasoned fighters would help when needed. She guessed Harry hadn't considered the secret passageway in his plan because it hadn't been confirmed.

Malfoy's plan was clever and careful, but far more flexible than Harry's, leaning heavily on strategy to compensate for the lack of experience from most of their fighters. It would be easy enough to adjust for any surprises based on their opponents and circumstances. He had the fighters mixed as well, but there was order in the groups, pairings based on experience. Malfoy had arranged for the more experienced fighters to take the main entrances while the untested fighters came through the secret passage.

Harry turned to her once Malfoy concluded. "So, what do you think?"

Hermione pondered over each plan for the raid, asking several questions from both to firm up the parts that hadn't been explained well. Then she closed her eyes and mapped it all out in her head, nodding to herself when she was done, ignoring them both as they stared at her. Harry's regard was good-natured but knowing—he'd witnessed this side of her from time to time over the years. He knew how to wait. Malfoy's narrowed grey eyes basically bore into her as if he were trying to figure out her response before she gave it. Hermione ignored it.

Ignored him.

With her fingers touching her chin, she noted the positives and negatives as she visualised, made her final tallies, and nodded confidently.

Finally, she had an answer.

"And?" Harry tried again, eyes widened.

"Neither."

Malfoy gave her a thin, testy look, while her best friend responded with bewilderment. "What?"

"Hear me out." She raised her hand, looking down at the blueprint. "I think the more optimal strategy would be a combination of the two. A compromise, if you will. Harry's right in needing to pack a decisive and strong blow, but Malfoy's flexible plan would be helpful should anything go awry at the last minute. Send Teams C and D through the main two entrances along with E, but have Teams A and B come through the secret passage. Your opponents will think they have the upper hand until your very strong Teams A and B attack from behind." Hermione lifted her eyes to the man on the other side of the table, who now wore a very thoughtful expression. He was listening. "Have you confirmed the passageway?"

"I'm working on that as we speak." Malfoy didn't give any more information.

She rearranged the placement of the teams to different entrances. "On the off chance that there is no secret passageway, just send Teams A and B as a second wave, a stronger wave. Although less experienced, the three teams should be able to wear your targets down, leading them into a false sense of security, before the elite teams show up. It's—"

"Impressive." Malfoy sounded like he meant it, albeit reluctantly—if the frown on his face meant anything.

"I didn't do anything except combine both of your ideas. It's something you both could have done without my influence." She gave an offhanded shrug, noting the growing interest on Malfoy's face as he stared at the blueprint. Had they put forth the effort to work as a team, they would have arrived at the same conclusion. "I can't guarantee it'll work. The best laid plans of mice and men—"

"Often go awry," the blond wizard finished. His eyes met hers in a steady gaze.

Hermione blinked, caught off guard, but also remembering the books in his office, as well as the ones she hadn't seen. More to him than meets the eye, indeed.

There was colour on his arm that also attested to this fact.

"Right." Clearing her throat, she turned to Harry, who also wore a pensive expression, but he was looking at Malfoy rather than the blueprint. "What do you think, Harry?"

The question seemed to snap him from his thoughts. "Oh, I think it's brilliant."

"It'll likely need adjusting, of course, as we receive more intel." Malfoy was being surprisingly reasonable. "I think Potter and I will be able to make the appropriate modifications."

It was a foundation… a good place to start.

"How much time do you have for training?" Hermione made a few adjustments, replacing the pins representing the two elite teams.

"A month, perhaps a little more. Malfoy believes the meeting will take place before the start of summer." Harry's statement was confirmed by Malfoy's nod. Hermione frowned; that wasn't a lot of time. "If we could get everyone together more than once a week, we could run drills and help the ones with the least amount of experience improve. However, we don't have the extra time, space, or—"

Hermione scoffed. "Since when have you really ever cared about any of that, or even rules?"

Malfoy made a small, snarky noise, which caused them both to shoot him matching dirty looks.

"You'll have to go about it like in Fifth Year."

"Sneaking around to train people? That's—"

"Do you have any better suggestions, Malfoy?" Hermione only tilted her head in challenge. When he folded his arms and looked away, she turned back to Harry. "I think this could work. How many people on each team?"

"Eight." Harry only shrugged when he noticed her tight grimace. "It was all we could pull together. Hestia tried to appeal for more, to pull more people in off assignment, but the Wizengamot said no. As it stands, the department is already spread thin. The Hit Wizards are at capacity as they've pulled half their ranks for Malfoy's Task Force, Magical Law Enforcement Agents are splitting their time between security for members of the Wizengamot—"

Hermione held up a hand as she drew back. "Wait, that's not their job."

The blond levelled her with a look. "Do you honestly think they give a damn, Granger?"

She knew what he was trying to say, but it was inconceivable to her. "So, they acknowledge the threat of Death Eaters and provide just enough assistance to where they can blame you both should anything bad happen, but they turn around and seek to protect themselves? Wow. That is completely—"

"Unsurprising," Malfoy drawled.

Harry agreed with a nod, then his face twisted like he couldn't believe he'd had a moment of accord with Draco Malfoy. Stranger things had already happened, but Hermione wasn't concerned with any of that right then, only her point.

"How can you do nothing about it?" She knew she sounded every bit as self-righteous as she could muster.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Harry looked uneasy. "It's a predicament, sure, but there's nothing to be done about it."

"There's plenty to be done!"

Malfoy cleared his throat. "As much as I despise the very idea of agreeing with Potter, and will never admit to doing this should anyone bring this up, but… he's right. What would you have him do? Take on the entire Wizengamot?"

Hermione shrugged. "Not the worst idea you've ever had."

"It's short-sighted, Granger, and you know it. They'll sack anyone who so much as steps a toe out of line." He cast a glance over at Harry. "I don't know about Potter here, but I'm not interested in living the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. I'd rather be on this side of the fight, where I have control. I'm not depending on someone who doesn't have a stake in this to ensure the safety of my family. So, if that means smiling in their faces, spending my own money, and working around the corruption to suit my needs and finish this job, then that's what I'll do."

Hermione most definitely didn't like it, but she resigned herself to the fact that Malfoy had a point.

In a way.

His statement tickled at the part of her brain that wanted to say a lot more—especially along the lines of the distance he kept from everyone he sought to protect—but Hermione saved that for later. A better time. Besides, Malfoy, more than any of them, would be a sitting duck if not for his current position. It gave him more than control, it gave him a say in what happened and how it would affect him. And she wondered if that had been his purpose in taking the position. Or even starting a career to begin with.

He worked for free.

"I don't completely disagree with Malfoy," Harry said after a brief silence. "I've sworn to use my position for as much good as possible. We've got forty wizards to take part in a raid that may finally end it all. That's all I can focus on right now. That and making sure I do what I need to keep everyone I care about safe. After? Maybe I'll be able to look towards the fight against corruption, but right now, this is where I am."

And no matter how much it grated her with just how unfair things were, how insane it was that they had to make that choice, Hermione wasn't self-righteous to the point where she could ignore the logic behind their position or the order of their priorities.

They were both more than their jobs.

More than childhood enemies.

They were men.

Fathers.

With a deep breath, she redirected her energy back to the forty wizards they had, no longer fretting over things beyond her control. "Okay, since we're concentrating on this, perhaps you could schedule weekly meetings with each team and use those meetings for training. With eight people per team, you both can—"

Harry interrupted first, expressionless. "You want me to train people. With Malfoy?"

"Why not?" Hermione blinked slowly, genuinely trying to figure out if she'd missed something important along the way. "He went through Auror training in France."

Grey eyes widened before he could guard his expression. Then they narrowed in deep suspicion. "Who the hell told you that?"

"A bee."

Harry chuckled, while Malfoy glared at her even harder. "Is that supposed to be a cipher? A name, Granger. I need a name."

She raised one brow in challenge. "Do you think I'm the sort that would reveal my source?" Stepping around the head of the table, she rested one hand flat against the surface.

Malfoy angled his body towards her, arms still folded as he waited impatiently for an answer she would never give.

"You say you don't want to look over your shoulder forever. What does it matter how I know you went through Auror training? I just do. I just know. Are you going to help or not?"

She held his gaze, emboldened when his glare started to recede. Still, his focus remained on her, head tilting slightly to the left, much like it had in the lift with McLaggen. What was he trying to figure out? She wasn't nervous, not even when her eyes slipped from his momentarily, down to his right foot as it tapped once against the carpet, then back up.

Finally, he clenched his jaw. "You're especially aggravating when you think you're right."

Harry snorted in agreement, which made them both look at him; he was picking his nails and only lifted his head when he felt the full weight of their eyes on him. "What? You are."

Just when Hermione was going to retort, they heard Malfoy sigh. "I'll help. Only to help increase our chances at finishing this job and only if Potter stops being a—"

"How about you both put your differences aside until this is done, yeah?"

"I can if he can," Harry said.

With that, Hermione took a step back. "Well, I'll leave it to you both to coordinate schedules. Most of your time should be dedicated to Teams D and E. If you need, I can create training manuals for them."

Malfoy's face twisted in confusion. "You aren't an Auror."

"True, but I am a fighter."

Bemusement quickly crossed his features. It was gone in an instant. "I'm increasingly baffled as to why you'd waste your time as a Healer when you're obviously good at this particular line of work. If things were different with leadership, you would get a lot more recognition doing this than what you're doing now."

Harry looked downright shocked at the backhanded compliment, but Hermione wasn't focused on why Malfoy had felt the need to acknowledge her competency, she was hung up on his blind eye to the larger moral dilemma in his statement. It wasn't the first time she'd been questioned about recognition, and it surely wouldn't be the last. Percy used to bring it up often, until he understood her reasons.

Until she explained herself.

"If I wanted recognition, I would have accepted the job offers they've sent me, but I won't because I don't. I've always wanted to make a difference, and I've learned along the way that there is more than one way to do that." She didn't try to decipher his expression because she couldn't read it. Instead, she focused on her own truth. "I worked for the Ministry for almost as long as I've been a Healer, if not longer, and I've found it more fulfilling to make a large difference on a small scale rather than to change thousands of lives in a very minimal way."

"How noble of you." Malfoy's response was dry. Aloof. Dismissive.

"That's the thing, Malfoy. I'm not being noble. I'm not being honourable. I'm just being myself."

A knock halted all conversation. They all looked when the door opened to reveal Percy, who wore a grim expression. "Apologies for the interruption, but The Chief Warlock would like to speak to you in his office."

"What does he want now?" Harry sighed. "We've answered all his questions. He's obsessed with sussing out any conspiracy against him."

Hermione furrowed her brows in curiosity, recalling her earlier conversation with his nephew.

"With power comes paranoia of losing that power." Malfoy's voice was closer than she'd expected, spoken from directly beside her.

His point was… true, but Hermione hadn't heard him move, much less realised that he was standing so close. She only felt his presence after he'd already spoken. Had she been a more jumpy person, she would have had a physical reaction, but as it was, there was only a slight uptick in her pulse, a cord of tension pulled taut.

Finally, when she couldn't stand it any longer, she looked.

"What time are we being summoned, Weasley?"

There was something about his tone that—well, whatever Hermione had been trying to figure out was lost with Percy's response.

"He doesn't want to speak to either of you this time." Blue eyes fell on her and she already knew what he was going to say next, but she braced herself for it anyway. "He'd like to speak with Hermione."

---

Everything about Tiberius McLaggen's office was ornate and extravagant, ornamented with gold tones and the finest décor she had ever seen in a Ministry office. It was fitting for him: a bit tacky. She stood in front of the exquisitely crafted maple desk that was decorated with trinkets and expensive clutter that served no purpose except to remind the visitor of his status. There was a small, blue, porcelain kettle with steam wafting from the spout next to two matching cups.

Hermione kept her attention on the man fully dressed in his Wizengamot regalia. Unnecessary outside of hearings and official events. He hadn't once looked up from his task since his door had opened for her admittance, calmly dipping his peacock quill in ink before scratching sounds filled the silence again. But there were little clues that gave away his true feelings, a sense of impatience that told Hermione his silence was a power play.

Unlike last time, she didn't have the advantage.

But her experience with waiting out Theo's silences had prepared her for this moment.

Hermione sat on a chair inlaid with patterned blue silk, and padded with matching damask, so close a match to his desk that Hermione wondered if it had been carved from the same wood. Keeping her body relaxed, and the air about her as poised and confident as she felt, Hermione waited. She kept her hands locked on her lap as she picked up more information from his office than she had from their entire conversation in hers.

His posturing and power plays. His attitude and almost brittle impatience. The way he made sure everyone knew who the leader was.

The fact that he was doing his own work made one thing very clear: Malfoy was right. Tiberius wasn't as in control as he wanted everyone to believe; he was scrambling to keep his position of power.

After all, a king shouldn't have to prove who he is.

Which made her want to pull him apart all the more. She took a deeper look around, paying close attention to everything, gathering information she filed away for later use. Hermione eyed the row of portraits on the wall to her left, all of whom were watching her closely. Portraits of him in various outfits and poses and backgrounds.

The arrogance of it was perversely amusing.

Tiberius worked on, flipping from parchment to parchment, appearing to sign his name over and over. She could only wonder what he was doing as she wasn't in the right position to read upside down. Pity.

When he placed his quill on the holder next to the inkwell, she knew his impatience had won out.

Hermione was ready.

"Would you care for a cup of tea, Miss Granger?"

He looked up long enough to see her politely incline her head in acceptance. His wandless magic wasn't very smooth, but he managed to pour two cups of tea before replacing the kettle on his desk. She picked up one and wrapped her hands around the warming porcelain.

The tea was dark enough to require the milk he put in his, but she refused.

"I bet you are wondering why you were summoned here today, Miss Granger."

"The thought crossed my mind once or twice." Hermione wore a fixed smile, small and anything but genuine, but she doubted he'd know sincerity even if he saw it. "I would have thought our last conversation would have set the tone and expectations of our future interactions. I don't like surprises any more than I like being summoned."

"Apologies for that. I know you're a busy woman with a new assignment that—"

"Is frankly none of your business, Chief Warlock." Hermione looked down at the liquid. "As I am admittedly quite busy, I hope you don't mind if we bypass the small talk and get straight to the purpose of your invitation."

"Yes, of course. Have you given any additional thought to my last offer?"

"No, and I won't explain myself further as I've run out of ways to say no that you will comprehend."

"Very well then, Miss Granger. That will be all. You are free to stay and enjoy your tea." Tiberius took a sip of his and dramatically placed it on the ornamental saucer. It felt like a free performance. Hermione was anything but impressed. "In the interest of you declining my offer yet again, I've been hearing louder whispers about—"

"Is this an official inquiry? Because if so, let me remind you that I'm allowed to have counsel present." She levelled him with a look. "And if this is indeed a friendly dialogue, I'll remind you that unlawful use of Veritaserum—say, outside of an official inquiry—is a violation of Article Two, Part Three, Subsection D of the Unlawful Use of Potions Act signed into law—"

"Miss Granger, I don't know what you're inferring with your statement."

"Your brew is colourless and odorless." Hermione sat the teacup on the desk. "But something I've noticed while brewing Veritaserum is that there's a slight sheen to it. Just a hint. Only noticeable if you know what to look for."

"I assure you I would never do such a thing."

"Hmm." Hermione folded her arms. "Perhaps you wouldn't, but if you were looking to find out information that you were desperate enough to bend the rules for my own greater good to obtain—perhaps that would be a risk you think you could reasonably take due to your station. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. I don't need Veritaserum to tell you what I know, which is nothing."

"You know something. I just don't know how much."

"I know a great deal of things, Chief Warlock." Hermione stood up. "I have heard the rumblings, I've heard that there are those working to end the corruption that leads right up the ladder to you. I even know you've begun questioning those who might go against you."

Tiberius looked nervous, agitated, but he didn't deny any of it.

She wondered if Percy's project was closing in on a solution.

"A word of friendly advice, Chief Warlock: pick your battles or you will end up like your predecessors." She held her hand up when he rose to his feet in anger. "It's well documented that they were more worried about the Ministry's reputation than actual security, that they abused their power to manipulate the media, and knowingly vilified the wrong people to give the facade of progress. In the end, it was their undoing."

"Miss Granger, are you threatening me?"

"No, but you should worry less about getting me under the Ministry's thumb along with Harry and Malfoy, less about me playing the role you believe I should play, and less about the push to restore power back to the Minister. Try worrying more about what's happening out there to the people you want to lead so badly. You can interview everyone you want, you can dose them all to find out whatever truths you seek, but you'll never be able to silence what is right."

Hermione started for the door, but turned around.

"Change is coming." Hermione smiled. "You can't hide from something that's already begun."

Time is on the side of change.
Ruth Bader Ginsburg

---

A/N: Happy Friday! This is prob the chap I agonized over. So glad to yeet this one out. Because it's all in Hermione's POV there will be things happening outside her sight. First being that Theo is advocating for Scorp, without much success, but someone is looking out for him, but I feel I hinted at this from the start. But now you've found out what his angle is. Also hello creepy Cormac in the lift with Draco looking on. And hello Hermione handling both Harry and Draco and getting them to finally work together...also continuing to show who she is to Draco... then handling Tiberius. HA. Til next week. Shorter chapter as it's a complete insert (in that I legitimately forgot to write it). Stay safe!