Malfoys and Lunches - A Different Perspective
A recent review mentioned some of the spelling and/or grammatical errors that this story is riddled with. I do apologize, and plan to go back on previous chapters and fix them up a bit. I don't have a beta reader or anything like, and I guess Google Drive isn't as great at catching and/or fixing those errors as I had thought. I'll try to work on it, though! I know how spelling/grammatical errors can take away from one's enjoyment in reading a good story, so I will strive to fix that. Enjoy this chapter!
When Draco Malfoy looked back on the lunch he had shared earlier that day, it would be with a sense of shock and dismay. It had passed without incident, if only because Draco was too concerned with watching Harry Potter to actually pick a fight with him.
A lot of things had changed for Draco in the past few weeks. His father's incarceration and his mother's subsequent dealings with Mycroft Holmes were only the most noticeable of these changes. The return of the Dark Lord had changed everything - and Draco and his Slytherin housemates were only now beginning to realise it.
Draco hadn't expected to find Potter here, of all places. He looked out of place, somehow, in his well tailored clothing and carefully groomed hair. There was a lethargy to his motions that one would have to be blind not to notice, a dullness to his green eyes.
Perhaps Draco noticed it so prominently because he was so accustomed to catching even the slightest change in Potter's moods. It had become a common pastime for the blonde - how could he taunt Potter if he didn't know the intimate details of his life? As much as he enjoyed taunting Potter, however, there were aspects of his personality that Draco had simply come to know.
The idea of Potter indulging in illicit drugs was laughable. Even a Hufflepuff would scoff at the notion.
Althea, however, was an unknown. Draco knew better than to take the woman at face value - anybody who could survive daily employment under Mycroft Holmes had to be above average, at the very least.
But what would she gain from drugging Harry Potter so obviously? And it was obvious - enough that Draco had to wonder how nobody else had noticed. Then again, most people didn't have the presence of mind to mind their own business, like Potter on his best day. The other boy seemed hell bent on saving the world - whether they wanted it or not.
Filing away that information for later perusal, Draco took a bite of his pasta as he considered the boy across from him.
So lunch passed in silence, with Harry oblivious to the scrutiny he had fallen under. In truth, the Gryffindor wanted nothing more than for this lunch to be over and done with, so that he could escape back into the relative safety of his bedroom at his uncle's house.
And wasn't that a change? Looking forward to going home ... it was a rare occurrence for Harry, and not one he wanted to look too deeply into.
He didn't feel strange, per say, but rather exhausted - as though even the smallest of interactions took more out of it him than they normally would. Fighting against Althea, his uncle - it just took too much energy. It seemed so much easier, in contrast, to simply go with the flow for now. After all, what did he really have to complain about? Things were a thousand times better here than they had ever been at the Dursley's, and he would be back at Hogwarts soon enough.
As dessert was served, it crossed Harry's mind that he had never been able to finish what might be considered an 'appropriate' serving of food before. His time with his uncle Mycroft was doing some good after all, then.
Giving a mental shrug, Harry resisted the urge to push his food around on his plate - Mycroft had put an end to that habit by the end of their second meal together, and Harry hadn't dared do it again, for the dressing down he had received on that memorable occasion. Being informed, in no uncertain terms, that he was both selfish and needy for turning down food when he had been forced to go hungry so many times before was both disheartening and embarrassing - even if the two of them had been the only ones in the room.
Harry tried not to glance at their lunch partners any more than was absolutely necessary, and had managed to make it through the bulk of the meal without addressing either Narcissa or Draco Malfoy directly.
It was only when their small party had tucked into dessert that Narcissa Malfoy directed her first question of the night to Harry. "I understand you now reside with your uncle Mycroft, Harry. That must be quite the change for you."
It took Harry a moment to realise that the question had been directed at him - a matter of several seconds during which Narcissa watched him patiently, and Draco raised one perfectly sculpted white-blonde eyebrow at his school rival, obviously amused at Harry's obliviousness.
A part of Harry's mind that had not fallen under the sway of the cocktail of potions Mycroft had been pushing on him for days now, bristled at that look. It was a part of him that was purely Gryffindor, and Harry placed his spoon inside his dish with a scowl in Draco's direction. Strangely enough, that only made the other teenager grin at him, as though they shared some great, hilarious secret between the two of them.
Focusing his attention on Narcissa now, Harry hid his hands beneath the table so that she couldn't see them twisting nervously in his napkin. "It is ... different, Mrs. Malfoy."
Narcissa smiled slightly at that. "I'm sure." She demurred, inwardly annoyed at the ambivalent answer. "It must be quite the change from your muggle relatives."
Harry started at that, his surprise evident on his face. "I didn't ... I didn't realise that anybody else knew I lived with muggles."
Draco snorted at that, earning himself a reproving look from his mother. "You're certainly not quiet about it at school, Potter." He said dryly, his expression amused. How anybody could be quite this oblivious, Draco wasn't sure. It had to be a special skill they taught in Gryffindor, though - Weasley certainly seemed to excel in it.
Harry flushed - the first sign or real emotion that Draco had seen cross his schoolyard rival's face - and Draco smirked at the dark-haired boy.
"It has been an adjustment for all of us." Althea interjected, reaching over to place a hand on Harry's back, between his shoulder blades. It was the sort of touch that signified a closeness - the sort of closeness that Draco had never seen in Potter. He rarely touched his friends - there were no friendly hugs or bumping up against them in the friendly manner Draco had witnessed in the other Gryffindor boys. Potter had always held himself apart, so the fact that he allowed it from this woman not only surprised Draco, but he also found himself slightly uncomfortable with it.
Something wasn't right here - he just couldn't place his finger on what, exactly, it was that was bothering him so much.
A Granger Perspective
To say that Hermione Granger was excited would be a gross understatement. When she had first received the invitation to meet Mycroft Holmes, she had been floored. When she had understood that this invitation was to be part of a summer work opportunity, introducing her to the inner workings of the Ministry of Magic, however, she had been confused.
Why her? While Hermione knew that she was the top of her class in many subjects, she also knew how the Wizarding World worked. It had been a hard lesson to learn, but she had learned it. How could she not, surrounded by the Pure-Blooded propaganda of Slytherin House?
Hermione knew that she would have to fight for every inch in this life, in this world. Everybody toed the line, everybody claimed that they were all for the integration of muggleborns into Wizarding Society ... until it came time to actually do something about it.
Hermione had read the statistics. She knew that, in the upper realms of Wizarding politics, purebloods reigned supreme. They had the money, the influence, the connections and the power
Mycroft Holmes was one of the rare exceptions. A muggleborn hufflepuff, he had risen through the ranks quickly, and now held a position of power in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds - and he was somebody Hermione could look up to. The idea that he would choose her, out of all the Hogwarts students, to work with exclusively ... it was mind boggling.
Until her first day of work, that is.
...
Mycroft Holmes was not a man known for sentiment - one had but to speak to him for a brief time to realise that. When he had made the decision to invite Hermione Granger into his life for a summer work opportunity, he had not done so from the perspective of one muggleborn to another.
Nor had he done so as a doting uncle - though his nephew certainly had a great deal to do with his decision.
Hermione Granger was a brilliant young witch, of that there could be no doubt. Her scores at Hogwarts were exemplary, and had caught the attention of more than one department at the Ministry - though her status as a muggleborn witch had stayed more than one hand from reaching out to her with an opportunity the likes of which he had just extended. She was, however, in no way subtle - a quality which Mycroft prized in those he worked with. If she were to have any future in the Ministry, she would have to learn some of those qualities that she most likely deemed "too Slytherin" for her tastes.
Hermione Granger had her faults. Mycroft could have listed them off, but that would have gained him nothing. And there was nothing that Mycroft Holmes did that would not garner him SOMETHING. Not taking in his nephew, and certainly not hiring one of Harry's best friends for a summer internship.
So when Hermione Granger stepped nervously past the threshold into his house, Mycroft put on his most congenial expression. He was waiting for her in the foyer of his home. She was on time - 7:00 in the morning, on the dot. That was another quality in the young woman that he quite liked, though the number of the things he did not like was still quite impressive.
"Ms. Granger, welcome to my home." It paid to be congenial with people such as this- they expected it, after all, and were much easier to manipulate when they were happy and content.
A state he could never quite manage to achieve with Sherlock, unfortunately.
"Thank you, Mr. Holmes." Hermione gave an uncertain smile, nervously holding her hand out for the older man to shake.
Mycroft merely smiled, gesturing with the hand not holding his cane for Hermione to precede him past the foyer and deeper into the house, which Hermione did the a faint blush as she dropped her hand to her side.
It was as they were making their way to the older man's office, a nameless aid trailing behind them, that Hermione caught her first glimpse of the dark-haired form of one of her best friends. He was just turning into one of the rooms off the side of the hall, so Hermione wasn't at first certain of what she had seen.
After all, what would Harry Potter be doing in the home of Mycroft Holmes?
As they passed by where the form had turned into, however, Mycroft stopped ahead and sighed, staring into the room. "What are you doing?"
"What?" Harry's voice drifted to Hermione, and she barely stifled the gasp of surprise. "I was hungry!"
"I can see that." Was that humor she heard in Holmes' voice? Or irritation?
Though Hermione couldn't see it, Harry was rolling his eyes at his uncle. "Can I eat, then? Or do you have a problem with that, too?"
"Cease and desist your trite teenage rebellion, if you please." Mycroft chastised, a hint of disapproval in his voice. Harry's glare only intensified, Mycroft noticed with amusement, though his face remained as bland as always.
"Ms. Granger, if you could follow me," Mycroft moved to continue down the hall, but before he could take more than a single step, Harry's voice once again rose in question. "Granger? Hermione?"
Pushing past his uncle, Harry grinned at the sight of his best female friend. "Hermione!"
The blandness of Mycroft's features was now replaced with a look of annoyance, but he said nothing as his nephew moved to embrace the young witch in question.
Hermione allowed the embrace, though her reaction was rather more lacklustre than Harry was used to. Now that he stopped to consider it, Hermione was usually the one initiating embraces, not him.
Pulling away, Harry searched Hermione's face with a frown. "Hermione? What are you doing here?"
The question seemed to pull Hermione out of whatever trance she had fallen into, as she glared at her dark-haired friend. "What am I doing here? What about you?!"
Harry stilled, eyes going wide. "Er, well, that is ... umm ..." As Harry stumbled over his words, Hermione's glare only intenstified, and Harry held up his hands in a gesture of surrender as he took a small step backwards.
"I live here!" His words were panicked, and Mycroft rose an eyebrow. Interesting.
"Wait, you live here? With Mycroft Holmes?" As though saying his name was some sort of a sign, Hermione's eyes suddenly widened as she turned to her new boss. "I"m so sorry, Mr. Holmes! I didn't mean to ..."
Mycroft simply waved a hand. "Please, it's perfectly alright. I will be in my office - you know the way, don't you Harry? Take your time. I'm sure you both have much to catch up on."
Harry's eyes narrowed as he watched his uncle walk away, but he was forced to look away as Hermione touched his arm. "Harry, just what is going on?!"