The Inspectorate for Elfish Labour Conditions

Chapter 10: New Year

Music: Harry And Hermione, Nicholas Hooper (Harry Potter And The Half-Blood Prince)

The Ministry of Magic was a quiet place between Christmas and New Year. Most of the employees had taken the week off, and that meant a dramatic decrease in the amount of surreptitious glances in Hermione's direction. Which was a bliss for the tormented witch. Only Malfoy's old friend Theodore Nott, whom she knew worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, gave her an odd look when they'd run into each other in the Level Two corridor. She would rather forget about that moment, realising how close she had been to stopping Nott and asking him about... But it was too late. Malfoy deserved his happiness with Astoria Greengrass. And all she was left with was the memory of his lips on hers and a deep regret over numerous times when she had wanted to kiss him and never did.

On the 31st of December the Ministry would close early, but not without a traditional get-together for the employees. On this occasion, the civil servants were required to wear something more festive than their normal work robes. Despite not being in the mood for festivities, Hermione had seen no way of shirking the obligation so she'd decided on wearing a silk dress in a rich purple colour and with lovely flared sleeves which her mother had pressed her into buying from an elegant Muggle store in London. Hermione, thinking of her magical wardrobe full of ball gowns and cocktail dresses from the social balls she had visited with Ron, had wanted to refuse, but her mother's encouraging gaze had been too much for her and she had given in. It had been the first purple piece of clothing she'd bought since she'd confronted her nightmares in the drawing room at Malfoy Manor. She considered it progress. When she had scrutinised her own appearance in the mirror this morning, she'd established that the dress suited her well enough but that her eyes were looking back at her sadly, and she was looking rather pale.

Behind her small enchanted office window, night fell and streets light were being lit. Outside her office, she heard voices of Ministry workers leaving their workplace. Hermione looked up from the report on Troll activities, checking the clock for the time before letting out a sigh and beginning to clear her desk. She wished she could laugh as carefree as her colleagues passing by her office. But she'd lost that ability when Voldemort had plunged Britain into darkness, and now there was a dejectedness added to it that made the sound hurt her ears.

Her thoughts subconsciously trailed back to another New Year's Eve seven years ago, when she'd missed the fireworks at Hogwarts because of an owl landing on the balustrade of the fourth floor terrace, carrying a message for her. There would be no messages this year, only the prospect of finally seeing the fireworks at Hogwarts this year, as she'd received an invitation from Professor McGonagall to celebrate New Year's Eve at the school. Hermione suspected that the events of the past few weeks had something to do with the invitation, but she only felt grateful toward the old woman who was obviously worried about her. McGonagall had dryly remarked that this was a nice opportunity for Hermione to finally see the fireworks, as Miss Granger had not been able to witness the display seven years ago. The message had drawn a surprised smile to Hermione's lips when she'd read it. Apparently the teachers were more observant than she'd given them credit for back then, and they had actually noticed the absence of their two oldest students at the fourth floor balcony that New Year's Eve.

She took the files from her desk and began to store them away in the heavy, iron filing cabinet behind her office door.

"Hermione Granger?"

Hermione's hand froze mid air. It was a tinkling voice, one she would recognise everywhere but had never expected to hear again. Slowly she turned around and noticed the silvery glow in her office. It couldn't be… But there it was, the ferret-shaped Patronus, looking up at her with trusting eyes. Hermione drew in a sharp breath.

"Draco," she whispered as her heart leapt up in her chest. "How…"

"I come with word from Draco Malfoy," the ferret told her with its ethereal voice. "He still owes you a message, in answer to your question."

Her question? Hermione blinked in confusion. Then it dawned on her. The ferret-shaped Patronus must be referring to the question she had asked Draco during the surprise compliance visit. She had completely forgotten about it, but here his Patronus was, fulfilling a promise he had never made. Hermione went down on her knees and reached out to the Patronus like so many times before. The ferret went to sit on his hind legs and allowed for her to touch the light he was made of. A shaky smile formed on Hermione's lips. She'd missed seeing the small Patronus so much.

"It's New Year's Eve, and the Ministry will be closing up early," the Patronus began serenely, "but Draco hopes you still have some time for him to tell you what happened the night he was too late for Patronus lessons."

As usual, Draco avoided looking at his own reflection in the mirror as he checked his Slytherin tie and straightened his white oxford before pulling the charcoal school jumper over his head. A determined expression had settled on his features as he ran a hand through his hair and picked up his wand. He had spent the whole day reading in the quiet Slytherin dormitories, his back resting against the head of his four-poster bed, but for a few furtive looks at his watch. He secretly looked forward to his next Patronus lesson.

Last night, he'd immediately succeeded in producing a string of light after he'd chosen an early childhood memory of a carefree family day at the beach. That day, he'd built Malfoy Manor from the sand with some magical and non-magical help from his father. He'd been perhaps five or six years old. It had been a good day. Granger had been exhilarated by his accomplishment. He'd looked upon her enthusiasm with confusion, as it had been simple enough to conjure this string of light. And he wasn't interested in casting a string of light - he wanted to create a corporeal Patronus.

Draco couldn't help feeling awkward around Granger. They had been at each other's throats for as long as they had been attending Hogwarts, and part of him was just downright scared of her. As a Slytherin he wasn't afraid to admit it. He'd accepted her offer to teach him the Patronus spell almost instantly, though. He knew this was the exercise in redemption he'd returned to Hogwarts for. To be able to conjure a full-bodied Patronus would be proof to himself that he wasn't beyond salvation.

Granger was curious about him, Draco knew. It had probably been the main reason for her to offer her help. He tried not to let himself be bothered about it, although he felt ill at ease being regarded with anything other than hatred or disgust by anyone of The Golden Trio. But now that his wariness of her was subsiding, he was becoming curious about her, too. Curious as to what had made her think of him on Christmas Eve, while being with the Weasel's ever-expanding family. Curious as to why she was just as eager for him to succeed in mastering the Patronus spell as he was. Curious about what her expectations of life were, now that she had become a living legend at such a young age. And perhaps the answer could help him make his peace with being seen as the face of the Dark Lord's followers for the rest of his life. To summarise, he was becoming curious, genuinely curious about who this talented Muggle-born witch was. But he was still miles away from asking her.

Upon entering the Slytherin Common Room, Draco had set a brisk pace for the door when he was stopped in his tracks by choked sobs coming from the worn chesterfields before the hearth. Narrowing his eyes against the dusky light of the green lampshades, he noticed the small first year curled up on the sofa. The light of the floor lamp shone down on him as he hiccuped after another heartbroken sob. Draco automatically looked around for other students to take care of this, students whom he knew weren't there. Then his gaze was drawn toward the door. He longed to go to the Great Hall where Granger would be waiting for him. But as the little boy continued to cry softly, Draco accepted that he couldn't leave him. Suppressing a sigh, he changed direction and tentatively sat down on the other side of the sofa.

"Sometimes it helps to talk about it."

Startled, the small first year looked up and his brown eyes widened. The reserved voice he'd heard belonged to the withdrawn eighth year who'd also stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas. As always, the eighth year was dressed in school robes, even during the holidays. The older student's cool eyes rested on the small first year, his face unreadable for the small boy.

"I…" the first year hiccupped, at a loss for words. The eighth year hadn't deigned to glance at him since Christmas Eve when he'd been so bold to address the older student. That night, a feeling of loneliness had made him cross all boundaries and address the tall young man that the other Slytherins and Draco's aloof attitude had taught him to avoid. The boy had been astonished when the eighth year had actually agreed to his request and squatted down next to him to retrieve a present from underneath the Christmas tree. The older student had been remarkably unimpressed by his gift, but he himself had given a whoop of joy at receiving the Quidditch book some distant cousin had sent him. The eighth year had allowed for a moment for him to revel in his new book. Then he'd sent him to bed.

And now the eighth year had quietly sat down next to him and invited him to talk about what was bothering him. The first year didn't want to talk about it, especially not to the witch from the Ministry who was his guardian ever since...the war had ended. Professor McGonagall had called him to her study too, but he found her stern gaze to be too frightening...too righteous. But maybe…just maybe the eighth year, who had once sided with the Dark Lord, would understand. The small boy wiped his grubby face as he sat up. His dark brown hair was a mess. A bit like Potter's, Draco thought fleetingly as he waited for the boy to begin.

"I…miss my mother," the boy started hesitantly, his voice barely a whisper. "She…she's in Azkaban and, and…" his voice cracked and he bowed his head as big tears rolled down his grimy cheeks. "I don't understand. She fought hard for the Dark Lord and she fought good. She even killed a few members of the Order..."

Draco stiffened at his words. Whatever had made the mother end up in Azkaban, he understood it was well deserved. But it was also incomprehensible for a brainwashed young child like this boy. Memories of the harsh prison environment pushed to the front of his mind. It had been the place where his he and father had awaited their acquittal. Even though the Dementors hadn't been there anymore to guard the facility, it had been the worst, most agonising weeks of his life, even taking into account the Dark Lord's occupation of their home. He'd slept on a filthy, flea-infested haystack covered with a smudgy grey sheet and had had to relieve himself in a bucket in the corner of his tiny cell. Water had dripped from the walls, and day and night there was the coughing and screaming of other prisoners. But worst of all had been the thoughts, doubts, fears, and feelings of guilt and despair coming at him while he sat in his cell alone, with only the rats to keep him company.

Draco closed his eyes and had to resort to Occlumency to get rid of the memories. This situation was quickly turning into a confrontation with himself, a merciless mirror showing him what he hadn't been ready to acknowledge - that he still didn't think he was deserving of a second chance.

The boy must have had noticed something about him because the boy was looking at him searchingly. A shadow passed over Draco's features.

"Where's your father?" he asked, staring into the dying fire.

The boy mercifully averted his gaze. "Dead." His voice sounded dull. He had already been through more than he should at this young age.

"I was going to be Death Eater one day, too - when I was old enough, Mum and Dad told me. And my mother says I still can be when I avenge my father on those filthy Mud…" he lowered his gaze at the scorching look in Draco's steel grey eyes. "Muggle-borns who killed him."

Draco inconspicuously studied the small boy as he talked, seeing the dangerous glint in the first year's dark eyes. His face remained unreadable but inside, he was alarmed. This was much, much worse than he'd expected.

Then he realised something. "Do you still have contact with your mother?"

The boy nodded and pointed at a letter lying on the floor that Draco hadn't noticed yet. With a guarded look at the boy, he picked it up and quickly read it. It was as he'd expected. Most of the mother's letter was meant to stir up the boy's feelings of hatred against the world, and he knew he had to speak about this with the head of his house, Professor Slughorn. He was shocked by the amount of blind fanaticism and violent narrow-mindedness that spoke from the lines. And it was threatening to overtake this boy, too. As he reread the letter, the mentioning of Hufflepuff House drew his attention. Apparently, the boy had written to her that he'd befriended a first year from this amiable house, and the mother did not approve of that.

Draco raised his eyes to the first year as he began to see the boy's tears in a different light. What would be worse - having to miss his mother, or being rejected and barred from seeing friends by the very mother he missed? The boy's loyalty would make him follow his mother to the end of the world but that at the same time, he was craving a little bit of love and friendship.

Panic rose inside him as Draco realised he somehow had to oppose the mother's destructive world view, and it would be to his own detriment. He recognised the boy's internal conflict as he felt it, too. And he knew that he had to talk to his parents after this year at Hogwarts had ended. He needed to forgive them before they truly could be a family again. With a bitter smile, he conjured the boy a handkerchief which he gratefully took. Draco knew where to begin.

"I hope you're not tired yet, because what I'm going to say to you now will probably take a while. So, blow your nose and I'll tell you about what Slytherin House stands for, and I'll tell you about the greatest Head our house has ever had - Severus Snape. I owe him my life."

Draco was exhausted and famished and a throbbing headache had nestled between his temples when he was finally able to go to Patronus practice. He was slightly late, but he didn't care. The boy - his name was Andreas, he'd told Draco - had gone to sleep filled with a new awareness, a certainty that his life was worth living the way all children did. Of course, Granger asked him about what happened, but he couldn't tell her. He couldn't go through all of that again. Not in one night.

The following day, the Headmistress, who was rarely seen in the library during school hours, walked by his table and gave him one of her rare, small smiles. Then she said quietly, "Thank you, Draco."

And it dawned on him that perhaps this was actually the main purpose of his return to Hogwarts, the reason why McGonagall had been grateful for his presence - not for his own benefit, but for the good of this boy, to prevent him from following in the footsteps of Draco Malfoy.

Hermione had gone completely motionless as she listened to the longest message the ferret had ever conveyed to her. And long after the ferret had left in a glowing mist, she remained staring at the wall with tears flowing down her cheeks as she finally understood what had transpired that night when Draco had been late for Patronus lessons. She had noticed that he had been in a troubled and weary state and that he had succeeded only by sheer willpower in making the progress he'd made, but now she finally understood the vigour with which he had thrown himself into that lesson. He hadn't been merely reassuring and comforting the first year like she'd thought, but he'd endured a harsh confrontation with himself while giving the small boy a new perspective at his own expense. Through this one message, Draco had taken away what wonder had remained with Hermione about him. Bit by bit, the Slytherin had shown her whom he had become after the ending of the war. And as it happened, he'd become a person she'd come to like. Very much. And he was lost to her before she'd even had the chance of telling him...how she felt about him.

Wiping away the tears, Hermione leaned back and reached for her wand as she straightened up, a determined expression on her face. At least she wouldn't leave this message unanswered.

"Hermione."

For the second time this early evening, Hermione froze, her raised wand pointing in the direction from where the awfully familiar voice came from. Her name was pronounced as an establishment rather than seeking to alert her, and there was a barely noticeable drawl in the reserved male voice speaking.

"Perhaps it's better not to summon your Patronus in here. People are probably already alerted because of mine."

Hermione spun around. In the doorway stood Draco Malfoy, looking at her thoughtfully. He was dressed in inconspicuous wizard robes, which was an unusual sight, accustomed as Hermione was to his dark suits. The robes made him look even taller. Overwhelmed by first seeing the ferret-shaped Patronus appear in her office and then its caster, Hermione was at a loss for words. Her hand trembled as she lowered her wand and stared at him.

She didn't notice that Draco's cool grey gaze regarded her appreciatively. "You look beautiful," he remarked in a low voice. "The colour suits you."

Blood rushed to Hermione's cheeks and suddenly she became heavily aware of the snug Muggle dress she was wearing instead of her work robes. She shook her head. This was all becoming too confusing.

"Draco…what are you doing here?" Hermione ignored his sincere compliment as he stepped inside her office, taking her question as an invitation to enter.

"I'm here to collect my book," he replied calmly, casting an unreadable glance about her small office. "Knowing you, I figured you've probably already read it. I really want to know the ending."

Hermione needed a moment for his words to sink in, but then she nodded silently, biting back the fierce disappointment washing over her. Of course. What other reason could there possibly have been for him to show up in her office on New Year's Eve? He had allowed her to take his book to avoid an awkward situation with her colleagues during the surprise inspection visit. Of course he would want it back. Most probably, he'd decided to retrieve his book before picking up his friend Theodore Nott to go to one of the many New Year's Eve parties on Diagon Alley. A quick glance at the window showed that it was still snowing outside.

Hermione silently went over to her desk, opened a drawer, and took out a small package carefully wrapped in a piece of cheesecloth.

"I had intended to give it back to you, somehow," she apologised as matter-of-factly as she could manage while taking down the wrapping. She didn't have to open the book to know the elegant script on the endpaper read 'Draco Malfoy.'

Draco merely nodded. "Of course."

He made no attempt to take the book from her, though, and subconsciously, Hermione hugged the book to her body, a tender gesture that elicited a slight widening of Draco's eyes. "It's a Muggle book," she established, remembering how astonished she had been to find this Muggle book with the Pureblood heir. Especially since she'd mentioned this book in one of her Patronus messages.

"There's a small bookshop in Carkitt Market where they sell Muggle books," Draco informed her cautiously.

Hermione nodded understandingly. The bookshop was a solution for wizards and witches who never set foot into the Muggle world.

Draco didn't explain as to why he'd decided to step inside the shop one day, much to the surprise of the shop assistant, no doubt. He didn't have to. She understood. "How do you like it?" she asked quietly.

His gaze trailed to her arms holding the book against her stomach protectively and something flickered in his eyes. "It's a strangely light book to hold, but…it's a good read. The Muggle world possesses some great literature. The story is…recognisable. Even…for me."

Hermione's heart wrenched for him. He was right - she had already read The Remains of the Day a long time ago and she knew what he meant.

"The world really has changed, hasn't it?" Hermione's words were barely more than a whisper as she struggled to keep the sadness from her voice, knowing that he would be gone in a few minutes. She tightened her hold on the book as if this would prevent him from disappearing for good.

"I certainly hope so…" His quiet words were heartfelt, pleading for her to accept the truth in them. He then hesitantly reached out and placed his hands on hers, covering them rather than prying them away from the book. His palms were warm and comforting, and Hermione's breath hitched at the sudden contact.

She didn't pull back, though, and neither did he. In an attempt to distract herself, Hermione asked the first question she could think of. "How…how's Astoria doing?"

Her question gave Draco a pause and he silently looked down on her chestnut curls. Had it been only weeks ago that she had asked him about Pansy in the attic?

"I don't know," he responded quietly. "We're not together anymore."

Was it only his imagination that she seemed to tense up? Draco lowered his gaze. It wasn't something he was very proud of, especially after he'd realised that all this time it had been Hermione he had been searching for in Astoria. But Astoria was too good of a person and deserved her happiness, even if that meant that he would end up alone.

Hermione's breath caught at his meaningful words and underneath his hands, she tightened her hold on the book. "Why?"

"I didn't see a possible future for us anymore, after the surprise compliance visit."

A heavy silence descended upon them as Draco's words trailed away. Hermione swallowed. She didn't dare to look up and search his gaze for the confirmation she longed to find in there, afraid to be disappointed. She awkwardly changed the subject.

"I… Thank you. For the message you sent me. I was glad…to see your Patronus one last time, but…" her voice faltered for a moment. "I feel bad for asking you about it. I shouldn't have. But somehow, I don't seem to stop doing that, do I?"

Draco shook his head at this. "You never actually asked me. It was my own choice to tell you. I found that you had the right to know."

His even voice betrayed no emotions, but when Hermione's gaze raised to meet his, she noticed that a certain weariness had clouded his eyes. He withdrew his hands from her and a pang of regret shot through Hermione's stomach.

"What you did was very important," she said with emphasis. "I just wish I had taken a closer look at him before. But from what I remember, he looked sincerely happy. You probably gave that boy his life back."

His piercing eyes narrowed at this, but when Hermione thought he would resent her words, he looked away. "Once a year I receive a letter from Professor McGonagall, telling me how he's doing," he said quietly.

Hermione's face lit up. "Really?"

Draco looked a bit awkward. "This year he has been appointed Head Boy. McGonagall informs me that he's already been accepted into St. Mungo's after graduation. He wants to become a Healer."

A bright smile lit up Hermione's features. "That's brilliant," she whispered with glistening eyes. "That's absolutely brilliant."

Draco silently watched her. There it was again. The warm smile, the radiant expression. "It is," he agreed quietly, though he wasn't talking about the first year anymore as he gazed at her face heaved up to him. Draco knew he'd crossed the line when her eyes widened and her lips formed a silent 'Oh.'

With a bleeding heart, he lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't ha…" He froze when he was silenced abruptly by two slender fingers placed delicately against his lips.

"Don't…don't say that," she whispered. "Please."

Hermione lost herself in his eyes which suddenly showed a burning devotion that took her breath away. Gone were the withdrawn attitude, the reserved expression she knew so well. The veil of vigilance was lifted and lay bare emotions she'd only seen flash through his eyes before and which she'd longed to see ever since, because they were meant for her. In response, he subconsciously closed his mouth against her fingers, slightly brushing them in the process. A jolt of electricity shot through her in response and, judging from the slight widening of his eyes, he'd felt it, too. Mesmerised, she let her fingers fall from his lips, barely noticing that he took a step closer to her. Only the book pressed against her stomach separated them from each other now.

"I've never told you how I was able to conjure a corporeal Patronus," Draco said in a soft voice as he tenderly put a stray curl behind her ear. "You were right. I had to reconsider my happy memory. It was you, Hermione. You were my happy memory."

Hermione's breath was knocked out of her as her heart started to race in her chest. "M...me?" she finally brought out as his fingers trailed her cheek and her eyelids fluttered under the sensation. She subconsciously angled her face toward him.

Draco almost winced as utter joy and painful longing surged through him at the subtle movement and he leaned in. His lips were a mere inch from hers when he paused.

"I've missed you, Hermione," he whispered, finally being able to voice the loss he'd felt since they'd graduated from Hogwarts. "I've missed you so much."

"Is this what they mean by lodging an objection to a final decision?" an amused voice interceded.

As if stung, Draco and Hermione broke away from each other.

In the doorway, Harry and Theodore had appeared, looking at them with expressions ranging from amusement and mockery in Theodore's case to shock and hesitance in Harry's. Hermione and Draco blushed a deep crimson. Draco's thoughts were an incoherent mess, and he was screaming inside about the civil servants' bad timing, but still he noticed the distinct smugness in his friend's expression. Even Potter didn't look as flabbergasted as he expected him to, though he didn't seem very pleased either.

"My guess is that there's not much of a dispute left," Theodore added dryly. "Which leaves us with the question…"

"What's going on between the two of you?" Harry interjected, looking at the book in Malfoy's hands, which Hermione had been reading during lunch the past couple of days.

Theodore cast a sideways glance at him. "Not the question I had in mind myself, honestly," he admitted as he pitifully tilted his head. "I was more thinking along the lines of - what in Merlin's name were you thinking for not taking this outside the Ministry? Did you feel like you wanted to get caught?"

Harry shot him a withering look and then turned to Hermione. "Hermione?"

She looked back at him with an expression showing deep confusion but above all, a plea for understanding. When realisation sank in, his eyes widened in shock. But before he could say something, Theodore took him by the arm and shook his head at him.

"If you have some time on your hands, Potter, I would like to discuss a signal I've received this morning concerning a group of Siberian dark wizards coming to England next month. Perhaps this needs some attention from the Auror Department."

For a moment, it looked like Harry would dismiss the former Slytherin, but then he nodded curtly and with a last glance at Hermione, he turned around. Theodore followed him, but not before nonchalantly twirling his wand in Draco and Hermione's general direction, whispering something under his breath. The last thing Hermione heard Harry say to the liaison officer was, "You owe me an explanation, Nott."

Upon their retreat, an awkward silence remained in the small office.

Draco closed his eyes. Potter and Theodore had just brutally cut off the most magical moment in his life. A burning regret wrenched his heart as he turned to leave. But he was held back by a quiet voice.

"Draco..."

Draco looked at Hermione with the closed-off expression she knew so well of him. "Perhaps I'd better leave," he told her. "I don't want to get you into any more trouble…"

Tears pricked behind Hermione's eyes as she lowered her gaze, knowing that the moment was gone. She swallowed. "At least you have your book back."

A bitter smile appeared on Draco's features. It was obvious he couldn't care less about the book right now. "Yes, thank you."

They both flinched when a Ministry worker suddenly passed by the office, but to their surprise, he didn't even acknowledge their presence. Draco's gaze darkened as he understood that Theodore had put them under a spell again, apparently to repel other curious spectators. He looked at Hermione standing in her office. She looked so beautiful and so alone. A sharp pain stung his heart, and he needed all his restraint to not take her in his arms and Apparate them away from this wretched place.

"Hermione..."

Her gaze met his and he saw that her eyes glistened with tears. "Could I... Is it all right with you if I were to send you another Patronus tonight?"

The defeated expression on her face momentarily yielded to a watery smile. "I'd like that very much."

His features softened. "I have to go now, but I'll speak to you soon, then." He gave her a last wistful look and then he was gone.

For a long time, Hermione kept staring at the doorway as the tears finally flowed down her cheeks. She felt numb, unsure of what just had happened. The window of opportunity had closed again and perhaps wouldn't be opening again for a very long time.

Hermione bowed her head and as she leaned against her desk, hot tears fell on the floor. When she put her hands on the desk behind her, she felt that one of them touched paper. She gasped and through a mist of tears looked at the clock. Professor McGonagall's invitation! She'd almost forgotten about it. Wiping away her tears with angry movements, Hermione shot up and summoned her cloak. If she left the Ministry now, she might just arrive on time at Hogwarts. Protected by Theodore's benevolent spell, Hermione left the Ministry without anyone seeing her. Outside, she drew in the crisp air as she momentarily heaved her face towards the snow falling from the dark night sky.

Then she Disapparated to Scotland.

A/N: I would like to thank my beta Crimson Eyed Sakura for her wonderful suggestions.