Chapter 4 - Smoke Grey
Song rec: Start a Riot - BANNERS
Hermione crossed her arms across her chest. With the day she'd had it was a wonder she hadn't bit someone's head off yet.
"What are you doing in my office?" she asked in a no-nonsense voice.
Hornby didn't make a habit of dropping in unannounced and Hermione was already on edge with what she had discovered from Padma.
Hornby eyed her for a second. "I wanted the report on elf-welfare laws in other countries," she said distractedly, clearly not concerned with the report any longer.
Hermione uncrossed her arms, moving inside as she nodded, ignoring Hornby's probing eyes on her. "You'll have it on your desk in an hour. I just need to do a final revision."
"Miss Granger."
Hornby's stern tone had Hermione pausing in her stride. She took a deep breath. She really did not want to deal with this right now.
Hermione turned around. "Yes?"
Hornby's gaze dropped down to her stomach for a second, before coming back up to hold her eyes in a stare that was deeply disconcerting.
"Are you pregnant?" The question was hushed, uttered in subdued seriousness.
It reminded Hermione of how people used to lower their voices when speaking of Voldemort.
Hermione's jaw clenched. The question, and the way she had asked it, left her twitching with irritation.
She did not see how what went on inside her womb was in any way related to her work.
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hornby." She wasn't. "But I don't see how that is any of your concern."
Hornby's jaw dropped open. "You are. You are pregnant then," she breathed, astounded at the revelation.
Hermione held her head high. She did not want to come across as defensive, she shouldn't have to answer to anyone for what went on in her personal life, but her voice came out clipped when she said, "Yes, I am. What of it?"
Hornby gave her a wide-eyed look, opening and closing her mouth for a few seconds, seemingly not knowing what to say.
Hermione would have preferred if she didn't say anything. She would have preferred it even more if Hornby did a quick about-turn and left her office for good.
When Hornby spoke next, there was a coldness to her voice that Hermione was unaccustomed to. "Miss Granger, keeping aside how I would have never expected you to be this careless, this is going to affect your work."
Hermione flinched at the reprimand. Her first reflex was to defend herself. She had used a contraceptive charm! How could she have fathomed that it would turn out ineffective the one time Hermione needed it to work the most.
A dawning realisation made her suddenly wary.
She could try to explain herself to Hornby and maybe the older woman would believe her. But when word about her pregnancy inevitably got out, she wouldn't be able to force everyone else to listen and acknowledge the truth.
Everyone branded Hermione as a perfectionist who was never careless or irresponsible. She could only imagine that many would be all too happy to see her fall from grace. They wouldn't care about measly technicalities like whether she had used the contraceptive charm or not.
"How do you expect to continue now that you're with a child?" Hornby was asking, for all intents and purposes giving the impression that Hermione had contracted a deadly disease instead of merely being pregnant.
Hermione shook off her spiralling thoughts. She looked at Hornby dead in the eyes and barely suppressed a sneer. "You have two kids. Did you stop working when you were pregnant? I was told that you were employed at the Department of Transportation when you had your first," she threw back, not being subtle at calling out the hypocrisy of the question.
At Hermione's scornful words, Hornby straightened to her full height and squared her shoulders. "My situation is different. I'm a married woman, Miss Granger. And yes I worked, but I did take maternity leaves when I had to."
Hermione was a calm person by nature but it seemed like today was the day everyone was hellbent on testing how much she could take before exploding in rage.
"Then I will also take maternity leave when I have to," she grit out through clenched teeth. "Don't tell me you also believe all that bloody nonsense about unwed mothers, Mrs. Hornby."
Hornby pursed her lips indignantly. "No need to use language like that, Miss Granger. I don't know what you're implying about my beliefs but I assure you that I'm not your enemy. In fact, I am on your side."
Hermione scoffed. "Oh really?"
"Yes," Hornby answered quickly, turning around to cast a quick muffling charm at the door before fixing Hermione with a grave stare. "I have mentored you for months now and I know that HEPA is very important to you."
Hermione's brows furrowed at the non-sequitur. Where was she going with this?
"I know you think that the Ministry isn't serious about the legislation right now. Imagine what will happen when everyone finds out about your condition, Miss Granger." Hornby was using that tone again. That slightly condescending one which she had used yesterday to explain to her why they needed Malfoy for their legislation to get approval.
Hermione was sick and tired of Hornby's lack of faith in what they were doing, but that wasn't what annoyed her right now.
"That has absolutely nothing to do with this," Hermione fumed, holding her arms out, palms up, in exasperation. "Me being pregnant has no relation to HEPA."
"It does, Miss Granger," Hornby insisted in a rigid tone, standing her ground in the face of Hermione's ire. "And you know it too. Burying your head in the sand will get you no-where. You think Marcus Flint's petty jibes about your Golden Trio status are irritating right now? Wait till he gets to know you're pregnant and unmarried. And he won't be the only one who'll make it hell for you here. There are plenty like him."
Hermione shook her head in exasperation, giving Hornby an incredulous look.
"I'm sorry but I don't give a toss about what some pureblood has-been thinks of me." Her voice was steadily rising in the face of the absurdity the DRCMC head was spewing. "This is not about me. I don't need their approval. The bill does."
For the first time since she had entered her office, Hornby's composed expression gave way. Her usually kind brown eyes turned scathing and cruel.
"Are you trying to tell me that it wasn't your personal request to Kingsley that got HEPA headlined in the first place? That it isn't your war heroine status that has enabled us to fast-track it?" she demanded in a caustic voice. "Awfully convenient of you to detach yourself from it now that others' approval of your person doesn't suit you anymore."
Hermione bristled, clamping her mouth shut to not lose composure and say something she didn't mean. The thing was, she got where Hornby was coming from. It was her personal status that drove the legislation and unfortunately for her, that connection wasn't going to erase itself just because she wanted it to.
Ideally, she shouldn't have to worry about others' perception of her extending beyond her actions as an employee.
But she had to be pragmatic. She had no choice but to be pragmatic.
At long length she let out a tired sigh and muttered, "What do you want from me?"
Hornby's eyes softened, her face morphing in a sympathetic frown as she nodded at Hermione's feebly uttered question.
"I'm assuming you intend to remain unmarried…?" she trailed off, posing her assumption as a question.
Hermione pushed away the mental image of Malfoy offering her the most beautiful engagement ring she'd ever seen.
"Yes."
Hornby didn't look surprised, it was as if she'd suspected as much. "My suggestion would be to take an early maternity leave. Within the next month if possible," she advised matter-of-factly.
It was as if someone had plucked out Hermione's worst fears from her subconscious and woven them into reality. She was certain her boggart would look exactly like Hornby right at that moment.
"Take a leave," she repeated, her voice dull and dead. "And then do what?"
"Of course you can take some of your work home. I can correspond with you frequently for new assignments and keep you updated. Meanwhile, I'll assign someone else to take up the majority of your work here. You needn't worry, I'll make sure they're highly competent to handle everything you do on a daily basis," Hornby prattled on with a certainty in her voice that made Hermione swallow with trepidation.
Hornby was acting like she had already agreed to her suggestion.
Hermione's heart thundered in her chest and she felt suffocated, the four walls of her office closing in around her. She felt her childhood dreams, her long held aspirations slipping away from between her grasp.
She could read between the lines, she understood what wasn't said when vague promises and falsely reassuring words were at play. Hornby wanted to replace Hermione. If she took the leave, Hermione was absolutely sure Hornby would find someone else to mentor.
She was trying to sideline Hermione from her own project.
"That's not happening," Hermione snapped, bringing Hornby's distasteful enthusiasm about a possible replacement to a halt.
She would burn this whole building down before she handed over the reins of HEPA to someone else. To watch years of her hard work go to someone who had no idea how much blood and sweat had gone into the draft legislation, how many sleepless nights Hermione had pulled just to get it to where it was. Call her conceited, but she did not believe Hornby could find anyone worthy or competent enough to take away her life's work from her.
The courteous façade lifted once again as Hornby's expression hardened. "Well, Miss Granger, if you insist on continuing as things are, we are never getting that approval anyway."
Hermione was seething. Fuck pragmatism.
"Why? Just because I'm pregnant?!" she shouted, losing her grip on her composure.
"Yes!" Hornby's eyes flashed. "You are unmarried and with a child. The squib janitors in this building wouldn't take you seriously! Let alone the Wizengamot!"
"Get out!" Hermione thundered, having had enough. If the woman didn't leave her alone the next second, she was going to do something she'd regret.
Hornby straightened her spine, giving her a long reproachful look before turning around.
She stopped at the door, looking over her shoulder. Her expression was surprisingly open and her voice was calm. "You are my best employee, Miss Granger. No matter what you think, I do not have any ill will towards you. Please reconsider Mr. Weasley's proposal. That's the best advice I can give you."
With that, she left.
Hermione realised with a jolt that all this while Hornby had assumed that she was pregnant with Ron's child.
And the assumption was well founded too.
Up until three months ago, she'd been in a steady relationship with Ron for years now. A relationship which was also very public. Hornby had just alluded to Ron's ill-fated proposal like Hermione was in the habit of discussing her love life at the office. Everybody read those society rags and the cursed Daily Prophet.
It was natural to assume that the child was his.
A new dread sank in her heart when she realised what would happen when the truth got out. If she thought the backlash would be bad before, now she was positive it would be nightmarish.
Suddenly, she felt jittery, like a thousand needles were pricking her skin everywhere. She would go mad if she remained in the confines of her office for a second longer.
She dashed towards the door and yanked it open, abruptly stopping as her gaze landed on her bag on the side table.
Malfoy's ring.
Should she leave it here? What if someone else also decided that today was the day to snoop in her office?
The claustrophobic feeling grew the longer she remained there, so she reached inside the bag and yanked out the small emerald box, shoving it in her pants pocket without trying to think too much about it.
Her feet took her out of the large main office area and towards the lifts. She didn't even realise which floor she had stepped out on till the gleaming mahogany double doors of the Ministry archives greeted her. She pushed them open, striding through.
"I'd like to access the complaints section," she barked at the wizard manning the front desk without preamble.
He flinched at her harsh tone, squeaking out a fearful, "Aisle 130."
She left him gaping at her, purposeful strides carrying her to her destination in record time.
Slipping out her wand, she examined the towering shelfs full of files and magically bound binders around her. The complaints section was open to everyone, she would not require the complex spell-work she had been authorised to perform to access some of the more classified records.
"Quaero Notitium," she muttered, waving her wand in a small triangle.
It was the standard spell she'd been taught ages ago at the archives orientation given to all new employees. The spell narrowed down her search to the specific issues in her mind. Immediately, 3 thin binders flew down from the second shelf from the top and Hermione caught them swiftly in her hand.
Levitating two of them beside her, she pulled open the first. Scrolls of parchment were pressed flat inside, stacked on top of each other to make room for nearly fifty sheafs of pages. She shifted through them, looking for something about pregnancy while being unwed, along with the catch words of "demotion", "maternity leave", "termination".
She found one immediately and skimmed the contents.
April 8, 2001.
Department of Magical Transportation…demotion to Staff Offices…breach of discipline…dismissed after preliminary findings revealed no grounds for complaint.
Hermione's breath stuttered and she gripped the binder so tightly her fingers cramped. Discarding that one, she flipped through the binder again and found another entry.
June 16, 2000.
Department of Mysteries…termination…breach of discipline..complaint dismissed…
When she found nothing else she snatched the second binder out of the air, leaving the first one to tumble to the ground in a heap, some of the pages coming loose and scattering around her feet.
This one had older complaints. Before the War.
Hermione hurriedly thumbed through the pages, searching for something. Anything.
These ones were even worse. All termination. None of the complaints were taken seriously. Most of them were dismissed in the preliminary stage itself.
Hermione didn't know what she was expecting to find when she started on the third binder after discarding the second at her feet along with the first. Her heart was beating fast and her breaths came out in shallow pants. The depth of the pit of helplessness and dread within her grew deeper and deeper.
For the first time since she had found out she was pregnant, she was facing just how much she had mucked everything up for herself.
The third binder didn't churn up anything either, more hollow ringings of "termination" and "dismissed" looping in her ear.
She performed the searching spell again, a hint of desperation in the jerky movements of her wand. No more files came out flying through the air down to her.
There was nothing else.
Padma had warned her about the precedents. Was she really thinking she could dredge up something favourable or promising if she looked at the records herself?
She let go of the binder, defeated.
She knew, deep in her heart, that if she wanted, her situation would not be like the women who'd come before her, whose names lay scattered around her feet.
She knew that she could request Kingsley, ask Harry to put his weight behind the Minister and use her own name to keep her position if she wanted to.
But what would that do?
Her legislation still wouldn't be approved by the Wizengamot, the Ministry wouldn't take her seriously. It would be a miracle if another assignment landed on her desk again.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, the anger she had experienced at Hornby's words came rushing back to her in tsunami waves that left her trembling with rage and blood rushing in her ears, drowning out everything around her.
How was any of this fair? How could they get away with doing this?
The ringing in her ears gave way with a pop.
All around her, years worth of archived records came crashing down from their places, pulled by her untamed, tumultuous magic.
Pages of parchment fluttered in the air as binders fell to the ground with loud thumps, the whole top shelf toppling down around her and joining the ones she had dropped at her feet in despair.
Hermione barely paid her surroundings any attention. She hadn't had uncontrolled bouts of magic since she was a little girl, but right now she couldn't care less if she was destroying precious information with just the intensity of her emotions, with how helpless she was feeling.
In a mere 24 hours her world had flipped upside down and left her scrambling to make sense of it.
Her magic was only mirroring her. She was an orderly person, not having control over her own life made her feel like she was running through a minefield with a blindfold on and her hands tied behind her back.
Unbidden, tears sprang in her eyes and slipped down her face.
What was she going to do?
"Granger?"
Everything inside her came to a crashing halt at the familiar deep, husky voice.
Hermione tried to cease the way her breath came out in short bursts of air. All she managed to do was make herself hiccup rather loudly as fresh tears ran down her cheeks.
Yes. Of course. This had to be the cherry on top. She couldn't even panic in peace.
Malfoy's imposing presence felt heavy behind her, like he commanded gravity itself. But she didn't turn around. Instead, she made another attempt at calming down by taking a deep breath.
"Granger." This time it wasn't a question. There was authority in his voice, it was an order to turn around and face him.
Hermione was in no mood to comply with anyone's audacious demands right now. They could all go to hell. The whole Ministry deserved to go to hell.
"I didn't take you as the vandalising kind, Granger-"
She whirled around at the goading comment, her eyes flashing.
"I'll destroy this whole building. What's it to you?!" she yelled, feeling silly letting him see her like this.
Whatever Malfoy had been about to say died in his throat as his eyes settled on her crying, hiccupping self. For a moment, he just stared at her and by the widening of his eyes, she could tell he was surprised.
He hadn't been expecting to see her like this.
Hermione was always composed, always in control of her emotions. The only thing disorganised and uncontrollable in her life was her hair.
He stood there, looking the epitome of elegance in his dark suit and trousers, his longish platinum hair swept back save for a few rebellious strands which fell to his eyes. Eyes which reminded her of the full moon on a clear, cloudless night. So alluring in his beauty that Hermione clenched her hands in bitterness at the sight of how perfectly put together he was. And how perfectly not put together she felt. Both on the inside and outside.
She wanted to muss up his flawless hair, rumple up his shirt and put her teeth marks all over his skin. Divest him of all pretence and finery.
He started towards her carefully, blood flooding her cheeks as she snapped out from the depraved direction her thoughts had taken.
Malfoy's eyes roved over every inch of her body methodically, his jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscle twitching in his cheek.
He was pissed, she realised with a jolt of surprise. So much so that he let it show on his face.
Pissed at whom?
When he was done cataloguing her from head to toe, his eyes snapped to her own, smoke grey holding deep brown in a search for something - she didn't know what.
"Malfoy," she uttered, not sure why.
At his name from her lips, his gaze slipped away from her and turned to the mayhem she had created in the complaints section. She bit her lip in embarrassment at the evidence of her out of control magic. Now that she was somewhat composed she felt contrite. She'd destroyed years worth of precious magical records.
Malfoy took out his wand from inside his right sleeve and cast a non-verbal spell.
The binders and sheafs of parchment on the ground flew up in the air, fitting together in their respective places and arranging themselves back to how they were before Hermione's magic went out of control. The binders flew up to slot themselves neatly on the shelfs. And just like that, everything around them was the way it was supposed to be.
Hermione was so busy staring above her at the impressive display of magic, that she didn't notice Malfoy reach for her hand till the last second.
"What-"
Her voice became lost as her body tugged in on itself in the familiar feeling of Apparition, although there was no crack of sound accompanying it.
She stumbled into Malfoy's chest as they reached wherever he had Apparated her to. Her hands caught his shoulders to steady herself.
The heady scent of fresh water and pine filled her senses. Malfoy's scent had always reminded Hermione of fast flowing mountain streams over rocky beds, deep valleys lined with pine trees and approaching winter.
Suddenly, a memory blanked out all her thoughts.
Hands run up the underside of her thighs, pushing them towards her chest. The new position lets him sink so deep inside of her that she sees stars. Her mouth opens in a soundless gasp beside his ear, his own sucking deep marks at the crook of her neck that she knew she'd have to glamour for weeks afterwards.
But she didn't care.
She buries her head in his shoulder, savouring his scent, committing it to memory as she shudders at the sweetly torturous way he fills her up. Both literally and figuratively. She knew she would never get the chance to be this close to him again.
She yanked herself away with a shiver, shoving that memory deep in the recesses of her mind where it belonged.
"Where am I? How the hell did you Apparate past the Ministry's wards? That should be impossible," she rattled off at a fast pace, distracting herself by looking around.
Her jaw dropped at her surroundings.
"I have clearance," he said simply, leaving her to gape at his back as he moved across the lush grey carpet and the hardwood flooring, disappearing around a corner.
She was in a penthouse.
From the shape of the skyscrapers outside the enormous floor to ceiling glass window before her, a penthouse in the middle of muggle London.
It was dark and cold, the only light came from the pendant ceiling fixture that hung over the coffee table in a cluster of three glass spheres. The couch behind her was dark grey, so was the carpet and most of the sparse decoration.
It was all very sleek and modern. So very removed from the interiors of the Malfoy Manor, Hermione would have never imagined Malfoy owning such a... muggle place, for lack of a better word.
It was still the kind of muggle only millionaires could afford though, Hermione thought derisively, gazing in wonder at the dark walls.
One side of the huge drawing room was just a wall of books in embedded shelves. Beside the wall was an L-shaped staircase with black marble steps and glass bannisters.
Only faint daylight came through the window wall. The brightness of that morning had been replaced by gloom, the sun hidden behind grey clouds to match the mood inside. The only bright thing in the room was a white grand piano in the corner beside the staircase.
As she was gawking at the piano, Malfoy came back, a glass of water and a vial in his hands. He had lost the suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white oxford shirt, she could just make out the faded Dark Mark beneath the corded muscles of his left forearm.
"What do you mean you have clearance?" she asked, a little dazed as he came to stand before her.
He raised a patronising brow at her and she blushed. Her senses were not co-operating with her today. She had already let him see the mess she had made of herself and the archives, what was a stupid question or two tacked on top of it?
"It means I am authorised to Apparate in and out of the Ministry at will," he explained anyway. "Although, I am only supposed to utilise that privilege for emergencies."
Hermione blinked up at him.
Destroying the complaints section of the Ministry archives was emergency enough, she supposed. He was probably saving the other precious records from her wrath.
"Take a seat," he commanded and she obliged in reflex.
He handed her the water first. She was so parched she took it without saying anything, draining it quickly.
He presented her the blue vial next, un-stoppering it for her.
She shook her head. "I can't take a Calming Drought. Healer Abbott advised me not to. Some ingredients in it can be harmful to pregnant women."
"I know, Granger." He gave her a reassuring nod. "This is safe. Trust me."
Hermione stared at the vial. Malfoy had always been good at potions, even getting higher marks in the subject than her at Hogwarts. A fact that had always vexed her younger self. She knew that Malfoy Holdings also owned laboratories, research facilities and apothecaries all over Britain. He knew his potions.
Hermione took it, throwing it back in one gulp.
Malfoy vanished the glass and the vial, handing her a silk handkerchief before stepping back to stand before the window wall, crossing his arms across his broad chest.
"Tell me what happened." He said it quietly, but there was an undercurrent of steel in his voice.
Hermione ran the silky black cloth under her eyes, drying away any signs of tears. She didn't know how to answer his question. Everything had just snowballed into one giant mess of frustration, helplessness and anger for her and she couldn't quite explain it.
"Is this about this morning?" Malfoy asked when she didn't say anything.
Hermione quickly shook her head, not meeting his eyes as she folded the handkerchief neatly in her lap.
She heard Malfoy sigh. "Someone found out then?"
Her gaze snapped to his, and he narrowed his eyes.
"Someone found out and they said something to you, didn't they?" His tone dared her to deny it.
She didn't have the energy to lie to him, he had an uncanny ability to sniff out liars anyway, so she just nodded.
The twitch in his jaw was the only outwardly visible reaction she saw to her admission. She had no way of knowing what he was thinking. For all she knew, he could be raging mad at her right now, for some reason or another. But he gave nothing away.
"Who?"
Hermione was so busy staring at his face, it took her a minute to register the question. "Huh?"
He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "Who did this, Granger? Who made you cry?"
Hermione pressed her legs together on the couch, clasping her hands together on top of her thighs.
She needed a distraction from his gravitational presence, especially when he got all intense.
"Hornby," she answered, licking her lips. "She found my nausea-calming potion in my office. We argued. She told me that HEPA was inseparable from me and it'll never pass if I stayed on…"
Hermione trailed off as a fresh burst of panic bubbled up within her, much more subdued than before but still leaving her feeling like she was about to drown.
"Granger, look at me," Malfoy ordered and she complied. His eyes were pools of smoke she could drown herself in.
"Take slow deep breaths," he urged, giving her a nod. "Keep looking at me."
She made his eyes her only focus as she filled her lungs with deep breaths of air before expelling them slowly. When she felt composed enough, she continued without prompting. "She wants me to go on leave. As soon as possible."
Malfoy frowned, the corners of his mouth turning down. He almost looked away from her in contemplation, but stopped himself at the last second. Keeping up the eye contact, he jerked his head in a gesture for her to continue.
"It's basically termination," Hermione confirmed what was clearly on his mind. "She's not going to ask me to come back. Ever. She's going to replace me with someone else. She said so herself."
"And you told her no, of course. I would imagine in a less than friendly manner," he guessed, biting the corner of his lip. Hermione could tell that the cogs in his shrewd mind were turning. "She can't force you to quit or take a leave. You occupy a senior position in the department, your termination letter can only come from the Minister himself," he finished.
"I know," Hermione breathed, trying to not fidget under his piercing gaze.
"The Minister would never give such an order. Not for you. Not the Golden Girl, Potter's best friend. You would be an exception, Granger. You know that."
Hermione nodded. He was repeating what she already knew. "That would mean nothing if I can't get approval for HEPA-"
"You'll get it, Granger." Malfoy's words were so abrupt and sure of himself that she almost felt compelled to believe him. "I will make sure the legislation gets approved. What else?"
Hermione stared at him. "Just like that?"
"Yes. What else?"
She blinked several times, trying to wrap her head around what he was implying. He was powerful enough to get it approved even with her "disgraced" presence attached to it but…
"And you want me to marry you in exchange for that," Hermione concluded. What else could he be playing at with making promises like that?
Draco Malfoy did not hand out favours. Not to anybody. Not without getting something in return.
"No." He shook his head, tone nonchalant. "I'll get the bill passed whether you marry me or not."
Hermione sat there, confused and scrambling to catch up. He must have something else at play here. He had agreed to help them initially for the benefit of his own reputation. Working with Hermione closely gave a good impression to the public. If he could work amiably with his former enemy then it was certified that he had changed. Moreover, he was always involving himself in Ministry efforts to gain back the connections and influence his father had lost after the war. Because of that, Hermione had not been surprised when he had offered to help with HEPA.
But now, her sullied reputation coming attached with the legislation would give him no such advantage. Hermione would have thought he'd cut his losses as soon as he could. Maybe he thought her pregnant presence on the legislation's team wouldn't impact him much.
What was also surprising, was the fact that he wasn't using the situation to try and get her to marry him. He'd been determined to get her to see his perspective that morning at the tea shop, but now he refused to use the advantage she was handing him on a platter.
He was so mercurial, she couldn't get a read on him.
"Fine." Hermione tried to gauge the direction of his thoughts. No luck. "HEPA would get passed, thanks to you. But I would get no further projects after that. They'll retain me on paper only. What use is staying on when I'll be there just for decoration."
Malfoy gave her a probing look before nodding, as if Hermione was complaining about a minor inconvenience. "More than half the Wizengamot owes me plenty of favours. I'll make sure that doesn't happen to you. What else?"
Hermione's jaw dropped. She couldn't take it anymore.
"What is your game here, Malfoy? If you don't want me to marry you in exchange, why would you do all this for me? I know you're not in the habit of helping others if it doesn't benefit you."
Malfoy smirked at her, slow and sinister. "You're right, Granger. I'm not doing charity here. I'm just eliminating your excuses for you."
Hermione bristled. "Excuses?!" she exclaimed.
"Yes, excuses you would latch on to if you do decide to marry me." Malfoy unfolded his arms and shoved his hands in his pockets, his relaxed stance was still somehow confrontational and made her twitch with irritation. "I'm not tricking, blackmailing, hood-winking or backing you in a corner here. I will not allow you to use your predicament to paint yourself as the helpless woman who had no choice but to marry me."
There it was, Hermione thought as she grit her teeth in fury. And here she thought he might have had an uncharacteristic change of heart towards being helpful just for the sake of it for once.
No, he was just making sure she wouldn't blame him for forcing her into marriage later.
"I was doing no such thing," she seethed, standing up to take two angry steps towards him. Being seated while he was standing left her feeling intimidated, no matter that he already towered over her even in her high-heeled shoes.
He rolled his eyes. "I'm not accusing you of anything, Granger."
"Then what are you doing?" she snapped.
Malfoy matched her steps, coming to loom over her with his imposing height, making her feel small and delicate compared to him
She regretted getting up from the couch. He utilised his stature like a weapon.
"I'm making sure that you come to me on your own terms." His voice was low, conveying seriousness and — to Hermione's surprise — sincerity. "I don't want you desperate and defeated. I don't want you to marry me because it was the only way out of fucking up your career and social life."
Hermione peered up at him, a little blindsided. "You were more than ready to let me do exactly that this morning," she whispered.
He shook his head. "You didn't know what you were dealing with this morning. I knew you wouldn't agree to it. Just proposing to you was enough at the time. I don't like to waste my words, Granger."
"And now?" she questioned.
"And now," he repeated, almost mockingly. "I want you to tell me whether you could be fine with being the exception to the rule. That you could continue on with your life — comfortable in your Ministry position, working on new ways to save the downtrodden and oppressed — without a care in your life afterwards."
He was a master manipulator. He could convince a person to give away their own life for a trinket, thinking they were getting a good deal out of it.
Hermione knew it, she had seen him argue for his estate and company in front of the Wizengamot before, she was well aware of how effortlessly persuasive he could be. But she still couldn't deny the truth in his words.
So, she deflected instead.
"I would owe you for having a livelihood, Malfoy. That doesn't qualify as having 'no care in my life' to me."
He laughed in amusement, a tinge of derision to the gruff sound. "Come off it, Granger. We both know I'm an exception to your ever accurate moral compass. It doesn't detect a Draco Malfoy."
Hermione opened her mouth to refute him reflexively, but deep down she knew he spoke truth.
He cut her off, nonetheless. "We both know you would owe me nothing. Let's get to the point, Granger. Answer the question."
She crossed her arms, beyond annoyed that he had her figured out. "Of course not, Malfoy. I couldn't possibly continue on in my privileged position while other women like me continue to be added to those wretched records in the Ministry's archives."
His smile was so slow and triumphant, Hermione regretted giving him the satisfaction of knowing that he was right. But there was no other answer to the question he had asked. She couldn't just sit back with a proverbial blindfold on and enjoy the perks of her war heroine status and Malfoy's connections while other women like her continued to suffer for nothing.
She thought of Padma, who had to resign in order not to be demoted with indignity. The names of the women in the binders taunted her. If she continued on after this like nothing had happened, like she hadn't been personally made aware of another deep rooted injustice in the Wizarding world, she would be a coward.
Hermione was not a coward.
"What are you offering?" she asked, because she knew he never did anything without a purpose.
"An opportunity," he answered in that husky voice of his, and to her chagrin, she felt anticipation coil in her stomach. He was so close, she had to clench her hands in order to not reach out and touch his smooth alabaster skin.
"Marry me, and I will give you every ammunition you could require to overthrow the Ministry's internal hierarchy. To change the British Wizarding world as we know it."
The breath in her lungs escaped her in a whoosh, the weight of his words suddenly rooting her like an anchor.
He wanted her to be a catalyst for the Ministry's downfall?
"What would be in it for you?" she asked, swiftly recovering from her shock. She did not hide the blatant distrust in her voice. "The Wizengamot likes you," she scoffed. "The general public does too. Why would you want to change that?"
Malfoy didn't say anything for a while, his jaw twitching in that familiar way she now realised was a sign of him either holding back a bitter retort or suppressing his aggravation.
Right when she decided he wasn't going to answer her, he stepped forward, bridging the minuscule space between them.
Slowly, he reached up and hooked his index finger under her chin, tilting her head up to hold her brown eyes with his narrowed smoke grey ones. The intensity of his stare blistered her insides and made those traitorous butterflies flare up in her stomach again. Her skin buzzed from just one simple touch.
"You think you know everything about me, Granger?" he asked softly, his voice pitched dangerously low.
He waited for her to answer so she nodded, craning her neck to meet his eyes in the face of his tall and overwhelming presence.
He was like a dragon, threatening to breath fire down at you with one wrong move.
"Oh, you don't have one fucking clue, mon trésor," he whispered, his minty breath fanning her face. His hand grazed lower, dipping to her neck. A sudden, unbidden image of his long, elegant fingers around her slender neck entered her mind, making Hermione swallow roughly.
He smirked slightly as he felt her throat move beneath his touch."You don't know what makes me tick. You don't know my motivations. And you certainly don't know what I want."
"What do you want?" she asked, equally as softly.
He bit his bottom lip and Hermione's eyes flicked to his mouth immediately.
It was already hard to resist him from afar, but when he was this close, the temptation to touch him magnified a thousand fold.
As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Malfoy stepped back, chuckling under his breath as he let go of her with a light tap to her chin.
"Don't worry your pretty little head about what I want, Granger. Tell me what you think of my offer."
Hermione's gaze dropped to the carpet beneath her feet, giving herself a few seconds to control the blood that tried to rush to her cheeks.
She took a deep breath before answering him. "How will it work? This plan of yours to overthrow the current machinery, so to speak."
Malfoy raised his brows, thankfully not saying anything about the delay in her response. "By making you Minister for Magic, of course."
Hermione's eyes flew to his. Of all the things, she had never expected that to come out of his mouth.
"What?!" she asked, rather loudly.
"You heard me, Granger," he said shortly, not paying mind to her widening eyes. "And don't start worrying about my motivations again, there's plenty in it for me too. My wife would be the most powerful witch in Britain. The disgrace and ignominy of my family name would be forgotten. The Malfoys would reach a new peak of glory," he summarised, shrugging nonchalantly like he wasn't planning a complete overhaul of Britain's magical government.
Hermione ignored the way her stomach did flips at his use of "my wife" in relation to her. If she was already feeling this way, how would she feel if she actually became his wife, she wondered.
Shaking her head, she asked the obvious question. "How would that happen? Me becoming the Minister, I mean. Kingsley is well liked. One can't just replace him so easily."
"I'm not talking about an overnight change, Granger. Hold your horses."
Hermione folded her arms. "Then what?"
"I am the richest wizard in Europe," he said simply. "And that's not counting the Malfoy family vaults that are still frozen as part of my probation. The funny thing about wealth is, Granger, power almost always comes along with it. And the more galleons you have, the more power to do with them as you please."
Hermione clenched her hands into fists at her side, her brows slashing down angrily over her forehead at his shameless admission. "I knew it," she said, bitterly. "And you accused me of always being suspicious of your so-called charity work."
Malfoy fixed her with a glare that could freeze over hell. "That charity work got Hogwarts repaired and another school year underway in less than 6 months after the war. It got the Ministry new Departments and the families of the fallen generous compensation." He sneered at her. "It got your precious DRCMC's budget increased ten times the knuts and sickles they were throwing your way before."
The stubborn set of her jaw was her only reply.
"It's a non-zero sum game, Granger. Everybody wins. I get something, they get something. I'm offering you the same thing here," he assured with raised brows and his hands up in a placating manner.
Hermione suppressed her surprise at his knowledge of muggle game theory. It was becoming increasingly clear to her that she didn't quite have him as figured out as she thought she did. In fact, it seemed like she did not even skim the surface of the complexity that was Draco Malfoy.
In addition to that, his words were doing their work. His deft manoeuvring through a complicated deal was the stuff of renown. She would have never thought it would be directed at her.
Hermione had a suspicion he was well aware that her end goal had always been to become Minister for Magic. Ever since her second year in Hogwarts, when she had first read about the Ministry in a book about Magical Governments, becoming Minister had become her life's dream.
Now, Malfoy was offering her a one way ticket to achieve it. She would have never entertained accepting his help before. But if she continued on as it is, she could very well say goodbye to ever getting to even Hornby's position as Department head.
But there were still things she would not compromise on.
Ever accurate moral compass and all that.
"If I accept," she started. A flicker of surprise crossed Malfoy's features, but it was quickly replaced by his usual stoic mask. "It would be to get a chance to work towards becoming Minister on my own merit. I don't need you to bribe people for me. I will get there if I'm the best person for the position."
Malfoy didn't say anything. Just waited for her to continue with an impassive expression.
"But I will need a fighting chance to be in the run in the first place. And that will not happen as long as I remain an unwed mother."
He gave her a smirk, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "I expected nothing less from you, Granger."
She ignored his jibe. "I do plan to work towards changing the treatment meted out to unmarried, pregnant women. And you're right, I can only do that from the inside."
Hermione squared her shoulders and gave him an unflinching stare, changing the course of their lives in the next second.
"I'll marry you."