Please note, this chapter takes place three weeks before Hermione's meeting with Ralf.
Updates are usually every other Sunday but the chapter was finished so I figured why not post it today. Here's to hoping you'll enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or other references to the original work of J.K Rowling. I only own my own mistakes
-o-o-o-
Three weeks earlier …
He shot his most arrogant smile at the man on the ground. Still a bit winded from the duel and one hundred percent satisfied.
"Got ya." He hunched down to look him straight into the eyes, a show of who was above who. Instant regret filled him when Yaxley junior spat him right in the face. He wiped it off with the sleeve of his robes.
"Fucking traitor."
Draco Malfoy smoothed down his hair. He knew they were out to get him, and he knew he was a traitor. It was the best and the worst deal he'd ever made. Work for the Ministry of Magic, become an auror, hunt down and interrogate the shit out of the Dark Lord's remaining followers. One year in Azkaban was all he had to serve when his sentence had been reduced.
He swished his wand, mumbling a series of spells he'd memorized well. The man was effectively cuffed, immobilised and hovering in the air.
Ah, how he loved the feeling of victory.
He leaned in closer again. "If I were you, I'd start worrying about what I'm going to find in that thick head of yours instead" He poked his wand against the man's forehead, silently daring him to spit in his face one more time. The Ministry hadn't picked Draco at random, they were after his legilimency talents.
Yaxley junior, a former Durmstrang attendee and the son of a known death eater viewed him with disgust, smiling viciously. "They'll kill you slowly, you know? Sever that pretty head of yours from your shoulders. I assure you, it will not be a merciful Avada." The man was cocky for someone who was about to experience the secretly authorized interrogation programme.
Draco merely rolled his eyes, having become custom to the detailed descriptions of torture. The constant threat of death. Without another word he cast the silencio spell to properly shut him up.
In the beginning the threats had rattled him a little. He wasn't ready to die. With the war and the part he'd played, he felt he had yet to live his life for himself, do what he wanted. He took things day by day, ignoring all of his fathers encouragements to settle down, find someone to share a life with.
Who, Lucius? Who would want to settle down with a convicted felon? Because that's what he was. The girl admirers who'd sent him letters while he was locked away wasn't exactly who he imagined a future with. The content of the letters and pictures were quite … disturbing. Even so, Lucius persisted with the unwanted fatherly advice every time Draco went to visit him. He tried to slither into his brain and make him understand how crucial it was he not go against the very nature of his being, his designation. It was in the Alpha's design to want to take care of someone - something Draco supressed to the best of his abilities. Besides, Betas hardly needed that from him and the one off sexual encounters was enough to fulfil his need.
He grimaced at the memory of his father's pride when he'd realised Draco was an Alpha. The gene had been in his family for generations, it usually skipped a male or two, but he hadn't been so lucky. The grow spurt he'd experienced had been surprisingly painless, and so slow he hadn't even noticed it. Not until the buttons on his shirt didn't reach and when he had to bend his neck to avoid hitting his head whenever entering the basement of the Manor.
He was, taller, more muscular, and horny, all the damn time. The voice was probably the hardest thing to get used to. It had dropped an octave or two. All in all, he shouldn't complain. He was stronger and he looked better. It was heaven to his superficial ego.
Draco drew his fingers over his cheek and chin, still not used to finding it smooth and hairless. He'd been out for about eight months now, but he still expected the roughness of a beard.
Back at the bunker, he smirked when noticing his favourite interrogation room to be vacant. He pushed Yaxley junior down on one of the chairs, pointed the wand, mumbling "incarcerous," to keep him from any antics. He dropped the silencio spell and began with the standard questions. Who are you working with, what are you planning, and so on. Harmless.
Legilimency was known to be forbidden as an interrogation technique without a written consent of the accused. Draco had never once been asked to obtain such a thing. They weren't officially charged when they were brought to the Bunker. The Minsitry was under the impression death eaters needed to be rounded up and interrogated about their new uprising, and if that meant compromising on a few things here and there, they'd do it. Rules seemed to go out the window when the Ministry was dealing with what they considered the scum of the earth.
To call it an 'uprising' was simply incorrect. It was the Ministry's way to justify the programme's existence. There weren't that many death eaters left on the streets, and without a competent leader, they didn't have much going for them. They posed a danger non the less, especially for Draco and other's that had defected. They had managed a few attacks on muggle-borns and were smart enough to work off the grid. Their team was tasked to find out who they were, how many they were and stop them from multiplying.
Draco wasn't sure how, but word of the young Malfoy heir's betrayal had spread. Now, any ally to the pureblood cause, anyone who still shared the demised Dark Lord's beliefs, was on the hunt, and if they ever did catch him, he was a dead man.
-o-o-o-
Draco sighed as he sat down on the uncomfortable wooden chair in the bunker. The air was stale, wet, it strengthened the notion he was still imprisoned. He hated it and found comfort in it all the same.
"Good catching Yaxley junior," Harry Potter said, looking up from the Daily Prophet, fixing his glasses to a more comfortable position on his nose.
Draco ran a hand through his hair and sighed his soul out. "I just spent over three hours questioning him, it's no use. My legilimency didn't even leave a crack in his protection walls."
It was strange. Draco had performed the spell to perfection, but the man's head was closed to visitors.
He drank some coffee, stretching back on the chair. Yaxley junior was the first one they'd caught that might actually have vital intel. The others they'd brought in had either low rank or were possible recruits who knew next to nothing. Today's capture was the result of weeks of planning.
Harry closed the paper and studied him through narrowed eyes. "What do you mean? He's not an occlumence, is he?"
"No, whatever that was, it was not occlumency," he paused, trying to think of the proper why to describe it. "It was like some sort of veil around his mind. Thick and impenetrable."
"Maybe you're just not as skilled as the Ministry thought," Harry said with a crooked grin, the insult lacked it's usual sincerity.
"Fuck off," Draco replied, well aware it was improper to speak to ones boss that way.
After today's efforts in the grey room - that's what they called the fourth, and largest interrogation room, don't ask him why because the walls in there were blue - he was certain that the veil hindering him from entering Yaxley's mind had to do with a potion of sorts, something powerful enough to block his attempts to penetrate it.
He let Harry in on his suspicions.
"Maybe the potion will wear off?" Harry raised a brow. Draco tossed down some more coffee and huffed. What was with all the former Gryffindor's and their obstinate positivity? Sometimes there just wasn't anything to be positive about.
"Maybe."
He pushed up and walked over to the slim selection of fruits. Browning bananas and apples. The expenses for this project clearly didn't entail keeping the employees happy or fed. All the money seemed to have been poured towards their training instead.
"If we're dealing with a potion, we need to counter it, one to knock out the other," Potter said, his green eyes serious.
Clever.
Draco held back an eye roll and opted for civility. It was something he'd gotten the art of as of late. Having to work with ones constant pain of existence could do that to a man.
He smoothed down his robes. "Yes, I'll get started on that," he said, already on his way out of the break room. He'd found the best way to please his boss, was to agree with everything and nod. To supress the constant flow of insults that always rested below the surface.
He had no office to work in, neither of them did but there was a small potions lab down the corridor to the left where one could work in peace. Draco dragged his feet and felt the exhaustion from the interrogation wash over him.
The bunker would best be described as an underground prison with few accommodations for comfort. The work was anything but glamorous and did nothing for a career. Not for Draco anyway. Although, he considered himself lucky to be able to work at all after his involvements in the Dark Lord's army of shitheads. Not that he needed a job. The Malfoy vault at Gringotts contained enough coins for him and generations after to lead a wealthy life.
He bit into his apple, knowing full well he wouldn't be the one to solve the problem. Not that he was particularly bad at potions, decent would be the correct term. While chewing, he recognized the best way forward would be to try and track the origin of it. To find out where Yaxley junior could've gotten it. Merlin knows he was not bright enough to have concocted it alone.
Deciding he'd reached his work limit for the day, he leaned into thoughts of last Saturday, pulling the other chair closer so he could rest his feet on it.
Saturdays were the one day of the week Draco wasn't at the bunker or on a mission. He'd find some entertainment for the night at a muggle pub, and if he wasn't able to sniff out a Beta, he'd drink his weight in firewhiskey. It was just about the only thing he could do to not lose his mind. He'd much rather be hitting the pubs in wizarding London, but that was out of the question. Keeping a low profile was key to survival.
Turning to muggles for comfort. He snorted softly. His ancestors were probably rolling in their graves. Shaking his head, he tried not to dwell on that part. Instead his inner eye focused on the blonde girl with marvellous tits, tied up and moaning underneath him, the entertainment of last Saturday. Fortunately for him, he'd picked up on the distinct smell of peony, a clear indicator she was a Beta and it didn't take much to charm her knickers off.
-o-o-o-
A week later the potion still hadn't 'worn off', go figure.
"You know who you have to go see, right?" Harry said as he downed the last of his coffee. Draco drank some too and grimaced at its taste, Longbottom must've been the one to put on the pot, because he never did do it right. He fixed Harry with an angry stare. Gesturing his hands towards him.
"You're the boss, you do it. Besides, she'd never agree to help me," he drawled, because he was sure of this. He leaned back on the chair, his foot resting on the opposite thigh.
"Can't. I'm off to Bulgaria tomorrow, there's been some action there and I've been summoned." Potter walked over to the sink, tossed out the last of the coffee from the pot and started on a new one.
Thank Salazar.
Draco shook his head determinately and crossed his arms. "How about Weaslebee?" he suggested.
"Nah, they're not exactly speaking right now." Harry scrunched his nose, continuing to brew coffee the muggle way. "Just do it, we need her on-board if we're to have a fighting chance at all. She's the best there is."
"Longbottom then?"
Harry grinned, sitting back down. "What, are you scared your natural charms won't work?" he was clearly referencing to Draco's womanizing. He blamed their Friday after work beer for letting that information slip.
He was a man, he was also an Alpha, he had needs. Unlike saint Potter who Draco believed still was a virgin.
He never did find out what happed with Harry and his red-haired groupie. If anyone so much as mentioned the G-word they were bound for at least three hours overtime.
"You're the one that will have to work with her on it. None of the rest of us will be able to determine whether or not there's a way through. We need the information Yaxley junior has."
Draco pursed his lips into a thin line. He knew Potter was right. Since Snape had passed during the Battle of Hogwarts, the only living person skilled enough to help them was Hermione Granger.
"And you're sure she'll be able to come up with a way to counter this particular draught? I mean, " he tapped his fingers against the mug, "I've heard she's gone a bit … mental."
Not that he should judge. He still had the shakes and the shivers when darkness fell, all he could hear was his heart going thump, thump, thump, in his chest - courtesy of Azkaban. He shoved the thought away when he noticed Harry's neck flare red.
"She is not mental, she's just... She's had some struggles." His face made it clear to not speak of it.
Draco decided to drop it. Discussing the rumoured fall of the Golden girl wasn't exciting enough to deter from what was being asked of him. "For all she knows I'm still in Azkaban and if I show up on her doorstep the probability of her hexing me and tying me up is much more plausible than her agreeing to work with me."
That seemed to give Harry pause. After a few moments of silence he agreed. "Fine, if you're so scared I'll come along, if we go right now. Make sure you're not killed and all. But you'll have to ask her since you are the one she'll be working with" he said with finality, his eyes glinting.
"Are you a child?"
"No, I'm your boss."
"Ah, the boss card."
"Do we have a deal?"
Draco closed his eyes and took a breath. "Fine, but you owe me a beer."
Harry looked far too pleased. "Just a beer? Brilliant."
Bollocks. He should've asked for something else, like vacation days or his own office.
They walked to the apparition point in silence. Draco reluctantly grabbed onto Harry's arm to side-along and felt the familiar tug at his navel. When his feet found steady ground again, he reminded himself of the mission at hand. They needed her expertise, and he was there to recruit her to their team. Conclusion to self; Don't. Be. Rude.
-o-o-o-
Hermione wrapped her curls around a pen and rolled up the sleeves of her father's old plaid shirt. The one garment she wore way too often, if nothing just to have the scent of him around her. She refused to reconcile with the fact that at this point, it smelled more like her than her father.
She missed her parents everyday, but she'd buried the memories of them in the back of her mind, only to lift out when she was in the mood to cry. She never restored their memories after the war. When she went to find them, they seemed so … happy. Carefree in a way they never were when worrying about her. She'd left Australia with a newfound sense of self, and a determination to leave previous chapters of her life behind.
After the war she'd finished her N.E. remotely and when she applied for an apprenticeship, she got it. She'd been studying the potions trade in Albania, Italy and Russia. Now, she was a potion mistress, self employed. It turns out, knowing the right people and making a name for herself during the war came with benefits.
Most of her time was spent pent up in her tiny two bedroom flat in Diagon Alley, with so few windows she often found herself claustrophobic and choking on the fumes from the many potions she experimented with.
Having a home just didn't feel as important to her anymore. She had a roof over her head and walls to isolate her from the outside. It was enough.
Hermione cast a row of cleaning charms on the kitchen surfaces to ensure the perfect environment for brewing and hummed along to the 90's music spilling from the speakers. She'd turned her kitchen into a potions lab the very day she'd moved in.
She had a routine. On Mondays she was on foot for most of the day, swinging by Saint Mungo's to discuss their orders. Tuesdays and Wednesdays were dedicated to work as well. On Thursdays she met with Harry for tea. Sometimes they made a night of it, cooked dinner together at Grimmauld place and changed out the tea for brandy. His strong hugs were the strength she needed to cope with yet another week.
Friday nights had for some time now been strictly reserved for Pansy-time, they usually met for dinner and shared a bottle of wine or two. On Saturday's she huddled up on the sofa and watched muggle TV-shows with a bowl of popcorn.
To an outsider her life might seem uneventful. She was aware people expected more from her, both socially and career wise. To her, however, the routine was the safety she clung to. It was in the routine she found peace and order to her life that for long lacked it. Between chasing horcruxes with Harry and Ron, fighting a war and leaving a relationship, she wanted a quiet life.
Keeping her emotions at bay had been essential for her well-being, but she wasn't stupid. She knew avoiding anything that upset her was unhealthy too, therefore, she allowed for life contemplation the last day of the week. Because of that, she'd realised she was currently living her life unsatisfied. Deep down she wished for a job that challenged her, a husband to cherish her and children to love. For the past couple of weeks she'd dreamt of her stomach swelling, and a man with lean fingers cradling it, soft lips placing wet kisses on it. The dreams always made her wake up with a start and a thundering pulse, with reality dawning fast. She was single and her current lifestyle was far from a white picket fence family.
Today was Tuesday, and her schedule demanded she work. Her focus turned to the three cauldrons in front of her. The sting of the fumes was starting to make her eyes water, and the poor ventilation had her flat feeling like a sauna. Sweatdrops formed on her forehead, she didn't even bother to wipe them away.
She startled, almost loosing count on her stirring when a knock sounded across the walls. Her body relaxed when she heard the familiar voice from outside the thin door.
"''Mione, you home?"
"Yeah, coming!" she shouted back and spelled the spoon to stir the potion counter clockwise for ten more minutes.
Her jaw almost dropped when she was met with a shock of blonde hair, a smug smirk and grey eyes piercing into hers.
"Malfoy?" It sounded more like a question than a greeting. She quickly spotted Harry a step behind. Wasn't Malfoy in Azkaban? Why was he with Harry? Most importantly, why did he look like that?
"Explain yourself," Hermione demanded while searching Harry's body for possible injuries or the infliction of the imperio curse, but except for his hair, nothing seemed out of place.
"Draco is here because he has a proposal for you," Harry said cheerily, "and I'm here," he paused, a mischievous grin stealing across his face. "Because Malfoy is scared of you."
Draco closed his eyes and fought the urge to use physical violence. Potter truly was a child.
-o-o-o-
Thank you for checking out Crushed fairy dust.
Special thanks to anyone who commented on the last chapter, please know they all put a huge smile on my lips! I hope this chapter did not disappoint.
Updates will be made Sunday's every other week for now. Changes to schedule might occur.
Comments are highly encouraged, they bring me life and I'm so excited to hear your thoughts on this chapter.
Lots of love.