Hermione had a hate/love relationship with Monday mornings. She loves researching and reading, being enveloped by texts and the written words that fell upon them. The idea of being inside the mind of the writer, imagining the inner workings of their brain form the sentences that her eyes laid upon. It was like a passage through history. Putting yourself in the shoes of the writer, feeling empathetic as they continuously scribbled and crossed out words that didn't quite catch the essence of their intention, before they'd perfectly written their train of thought and brought the story to life.
Of course, it was usually just the text that she's read close to a hundred times, and it was purely for research purposes. But she felt as though she were living in it, nonetheless. The part of Monday mornings that she hated was actually trying to make herself, and her wild mane, presentable after a weekend of being in her natural state. Muggle jeans and a jumper, letting her hair roam free. She had a small variety of work-appropriate wear and could put together well-enough outfits that weren't completely obscene, all thanks to Taura who has a small knack for fashion and a better eye than she did.
She looked at herself in her bedroom mirror and studied herself before getting dressed for work. She didn't view herself as the prettiest witch, but she supposed she wasn't ghastly to look at. Her figure was proportionate, and she'd noticed that it filled out more since her days at Hogwarts. But she didn't imagine she was anything special. The way people carry themselves and treat others was much more valuable than any looks they may possess. She valued and praised people with a good head on their shoulders.
Slim fitting navy blue trousers and a white blouse? That looked acceptable, she thought. Then she remembered that she would be meeting with Malfoy daily from now on and that oddly inspired her to look more polished. She decided to switch the trousers to her more fitted, cream plaid-patterned ones and paired them with her usual black pumps. She wasn't big on accessories, nor did she have any.
She looked in her mirror once again and thought highly of the outfit she'd pieced together by herself. Before flooing to the Ministry, she had to kiss her furry flatmate goodbye.
She said good morning to Taura, who was always at her desk already filing documents before Hermione even arrived. Taura followed her into her office.
"Good morning, boss. How was your weekend?" Taura smiled as she set Hermione's coffee on her desk.
Hermione shrugged and set her things on her desk before she sat. "Uneventful, as usual. Although, I tried to make a bacon cheeseburger but ended up almost burning my place down. I completely forgot that I was cooking the patty when I was reading the letters. Daft of me, really." She huffed a laugh.
Taura looked at her confused. "Letters?"
Hermione's stomach dropped as she looked at Taura with wide eyes. "Merlin, don't tell me I'd forgotten to tell you," Taura gave her a look telling her to go on, "I received a package of unaddressed, unsigned letters close to a week and a bit ago. Well, I'm assuming they were written to me since they were sent to me. The most curious thing." She sipped her coffee.
Taura rested in the chair across from Hermione, her face turning into a look of confusion. "Letters? Sent to you without a return address or anything. This is either mirrors a horror film or the greatest love story ever." She said intriguingly.
Hermione nodded as she smiled. "I've opened and read a couple. They seemed to have been written to me in my last years at Hogwarts, and the writer fancied me, so I'm hoping it's more of the greatest love story theory. It's an intriguing mystery trying to determine the writer. So far, I've come to believe it's the Blaise Zabini bloke I've mentioned to you."
"Curious, indeed. I heard he got placed in the Magical Games and Sports Department. Should we take up a game of quidditch this week after work to take notes? You know, for research purposes and possibly some conversation starters." She smirked at Hermione, making Hermione's cheeks turn a bright red.
"My research is not conclusive, I've only read the first few of a hundred."
"A hundred?! Blimey, this Zabini must have been completely and utterly in love with you. I can barely get one to look at me." Taura giggled.
Hermione laughed beside her.
Taura was one of the prettiest witches she thinks she'd ever laid eyes on. She had olive skin, her face showing no blemishes with high cheek bones. Straight and sleek long, black hair. She assumed Taura had gotten her genes from her mum's side in Canada. Hermione recalled Taura mentioning her mum and her family were of the Indigenous peoples of Canada. It was interesting to learn about, really, Indigenous culture and traditions, Hermione thought. It was much different than the other cultures surrounding England and the entirety of Europe.
"So there's no bloke attempting to court a lady like you then?" Hermione smirked at Taura.
It was Taura's turn to blush, she bobbed her head left and right. "Alright, well there's someone I've been chatting with and we've only been on one date but I'm not sure."
Hermione loved to indulge in girl talk and the whispers of others' love lives. She never really had many girl friends growing up, nor did she have many during her time at Hogwarts. She'd always been surrounded by her two male best friends who were completely blind and awkward when it came to this sort of talk. She didn't realize that she'd been missing out on this sort of female connection until she'd found it with Taura 2 years ago.
Taura grew to be one her best friends. Of course she had Ginny, but she felt as though they'd only become closer because of her friendship with Harry and her relationship with Ron, and the fact that she had spent many nights at the Burrow in the past. Her friendship with Taura was different, Hermione found herself able to confide in her without fear of judgement. As well as gossip and talk about anything at all. Hermione trusted Taura and felt beyond comfortable telling her anything, which was all she ever wanted from a best friend.
"Shall we meet for a drink tonight and talk about your newfound lover boy?" Hermione leaned forward on her desk.
"Ugh, Hermione, I thought you'd never ask. I can't remember the last time we went for a drink. I miss it and I miss you, although I see you everyday. I'll come meet you nearing the end of the day, be ready." Taura giggled as she strode out.
Hermione hadn't really felt like researching all that much today, surprisingly. She sat in her office chair staring at the stacks and piles of policies and articles and texts. She decided to go for a stroll about the Ministry. Maybe it was the fancy outfit she'd chosen, or the good night's sleep she had, but she felt oddly chipper and enthusiastic today and she just couldn't sit still.
She left her office and went about the desks outside, smiling at Taura, and her eyes fell to Malfoy's desk. It was empty. Of course he could've been using the loo, however, she was curious.
She strolled over to Malfoy's desk and saw he'd already written a pile of notes for her, despite it being the mere morning hours of 10 o'clock on a Monday morning. How impressive, she thought. She remembered that she still had the other stack he'd left her last Friday to go through.
She studied his notes on the History of Elves. She'd gone through the text many times, but she assigned it to him to get a second opinion in case she'd missed anything.
She admired his penmanship. Incredibly easy to read despite it looking so formal. His choice of words enabled him to create comprehensible and precise sentences.
Elves were previously divided by groups, with distinct and unique traditions that differentiated them based on their region.
She was sure she'd seen this kind of penmanship before. The way he'd looped his p's and g's, how he wrote his letters with a slight slant to them as if he were right handed. Of course everyone's hand writing was different, just as everyone had different finger prints and different pitches to their voice. Merlin, she'd read so many texts within her lifetime that had this exact penmanship. However, while she was no graphologist, but she could've sworn his handwriting was exactly lik—
"Granger." Draco stood behind her as she jumped and quickly straightened away from the notes on his desk.
She'd managed to spit a quick, "Malfoy, good morning." She was completely boggled and speechless for probably the first time in her life.
"Is there a problem?" Malfoy spat with his shoulders wide. She looked up at him from 3 feet away, of course without him looking back down at her. He had definitely grown taller, she thought.
She shook her head, "N-No, not at all. I just fancied myself a stroll. A break from reading, if you could imagine." She looked down, her neck muscles almost relaxing from looking up at him. She rubbed the back of her neck. He just stood there, looking at his desk.
Godric, is working with men as awkward as being best friends with them? She didn't know what to do with her body, as if she was frozen in place from all the humiliation she felt. She didn't even move an inch. Move, Merlin! You're blocking his seat to his desk, you daft dimbo, she thought to herself.
She stepped away from his desk and he nodded and his sat back down at his chair. Hermione searched through her entire mind to think of something to say.
She stared at him. Bloody hell, say something, her conscious yelled. She scrambled, "Your penmanship is very beautiful."
What the fuck.
Not even a, 'Good job with your notes, Malfoy.' Or 'I was just checking in.' What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she think of something logical she could say? She was always fucking good at that. She was beating her own brain into mush, regretting anything that came out of her mouth at this point. Maybe she was the awkward one and her best friends were normal.
She noticed he went a bright shade of red. "I've written quite a bit in my time, I suppose." He looked down with a small smile and a distant gaze in his eyes. He looked up at her eyes, "So I'll see you after lunch, then?"
Hermione gathered the mess that was her mind and gave him a smile followed by a nod. She walked past him, continuing her walk that she had planned to take before that horrific incident.
Godric, why did she get so awkward and speechless around him constantly now? She maintained her exposure perfectly last week, she'd gotten furious with him and was still able to form comprehensible sentences, all while seeing red! She was never one to lose her train of thought.
No, that wasn't her train of thought she'd lost back there. Because there were absolutely no thoughts to even create said train. It was as if she opened the top of her head like a toy bin and gripped her entire brain and flung it out the window.
Maybe it was because she wasn't sure how to act with him when he's being so... not Malfoy. She'd never had an interaction with him that didn't include him degrading and insulting her. It was surprising to see him act so opposite to his younger self. He was quiet, timid, breakable. And as awkward as she apparently was, which made all their interactions a million times worse.
Or maybe it was because she'd actually had a good look at him whenever she'd check in. Yes, it made her ill. Yes, he looked like a bloody Dementor with skin and legs. She'd never really looked at him in their youth. She'd seen him, but she never really looked at him long enough to form an opinion on his looks because she would always be blinded by absolute rage.
She tried to conjure memories of him, what he'd looked like, his personality. She couldn't visualize it, all she could recall was the vile and cruel words that he said to her.
She assumed that's just how her brain worked, through the letters of the alphabet and the awful words they could form and the even more horrific sentences. Perhaps that's why she was so good at reading and taking tests or writing up essays. They'd merely challenged her ability to conjure up words, theories, and definitions from her memory and tested her ability to form words and persuading sentences in her own opinion on various topics.
She couldn't recall one memory about him, only his words. Now, as they work together, Hermione was able to look at him, to truly see him. And the very fact that he doesn't look at her back at all, made it all easier.
He had his weirdly off-white hair, that he kept sharply cut. She'd never seen anyone with such white hair that wasn't old. He had the lightest blue eyes she'd ever seen, they were almost a silver. He had an incredibly pale complexion, which she assumed could've been due to the fact that he must be incredibly ill.
When he'd smile, his face would reveal his wrinkles around his eyes and the sides of his mouth. Not the wrinkles that elder people have, but the ones that would show on younger faces when their skin would fold and overlap as their face muscles showed any kind of emotion. She almost enjoyed to see him smile. She'd never seen him smile with teeth yet, but she was strangely looking forward to it.
His shoulders were broad, he was stood tall. She guessed she was at his chest, in terms of tallness. He barely slouched when she had checked in on him. No wonder his posture seemed so proper. Although, she assumed that it was due to growing up in a pureblood family.
Whenever he would pierce at her with his silver daggers she always lost her breath. Even when he'd look at her when she had her outburst, she lost her breath, but should never admit to it. It was Malfoy, for Merlin's sake. He was a former Death Eater! What in the bloody hell was she thinking?
Hermione made it back to her office after an hour and a half of roaming the Ministry, occasionally sinking deeper into her conscious and blindly walking into places she's never been before. Before she entered her office, she turned her head to Malfoy, who was surprisingly already looking at her. Her breathing pattern stalled and she froze up, him seeming to react similarly.
Merlin, they haven't even started working more closely together and she could tell it would not go well.
•••
Malfoy entered, without knocking as he did before, with empty papers and a quill and of course his research topics. "Granger." She said with a nod, making way to the chair before her desk.
She stood nervously. "Malfoy," she nodded back before she reached to the piles of topics they should research together, trying her best not to look at him, "I thought we should start with this text I'd found, The Magick of Elves. Having read it a couple of times, I thought we could use this as a way to defend and protect the Elves, and prove them to be as equal to wizards and witches, intellectually alike. Our only difference is that they are a mere 3 feet tall and possess a different appearance, regarding the looks of them. Despite that, they are as magically inclined as us, even more so actually." She handed him a copy.
Malfoy nodded, taking the text in his hands. "I've also read this text more than once. An interesting read."
They both sat, reading the same texts and reading the same words. Hermione didn't dare to take a gander at him, refusing to see who was in the room with her. She tried her best to act as though he was just another employee, as if she hadn't thought those thoughts that she had while on her walk. He's just another employee, and a former Death Eater at that. He did not deserve her gander.
They worked in silence, as if making a noise would make the room interrupt into a duel between the light side and the dark. At least, that's how Hermione had viewed it.
She acted as he did now, refusing to look at him. And she was confused why. She was the fucking Golden Girl, or she was during the War. And now, she finds herself unable to look a Death Eater in the eyes. His chilling blue eyes.
Hermione wondered if he was actually able to read the words upon the text, as she was having an unimaginably hard time to. His presence overwhelmed her. In this moment, she deeply regretted asking to work more closely with him.
"They are quite more magically inclined than any of us could imagine." Malfoy said as he wrote his notes, slicing through the silence they held for a good hour. Hermione agreed in her head, and mustered up the rest of her might to act indifferent towards him, as she should.
"Of course they are. They can perform an endless number of spells without the requirement of a wand," she said a matter-of-fact-ly, "I would have imagined you would know, having had many of them at your beck and call, but apparently that's not so." She supposed that was a bit dark to say, but she meant it.
Neither of them looked at each other, therefore could not place their reactions to each sentence that was said. She assumed he wasn't fond of her response, by the way she heard him shift in his chair and huff.
They continued to read silently. Hermione had read this text hundreds of times. She nearly knew every sentence that followed the one before. She had read every text that she assigned Malfoy, hoping for another opinion. She understood that different minds catch certain details, as she had found when trying to find the horcruxes with Harry and Ron. Although she was highly logical and could catch many details, she valued how other minds worked.
Surely he wouldn't catch any detail that she didn't. And he could catch every detail she did. But she'd only hoped he would catch something she wouldn't. She was willing to give up her pride for this Law. She'd read every text relating to the Elves. She needed someone to find something that she'd missed. She was at a blockage.
She hated to admit it. But she couldn't find any additional detail that would help the Law she was trying to pursue. She'd read every text. Every policy. Every law. She'd sworn she was aware of every and any detail. She needed to go through the text thoroughly. And she thought she required another set of eyes to do so.
She continued into the text, taking all her prior knowledge of it out of her mind and attempting to read it with fresh eyes. She'd done this many times before, with every text she's ever read each time she'd read it again.
"They are undoubtedly loyal, and with centuries of oppression, it would be impossible to penetrate their loyal tendencies. How do you even suppose you make this law and expect the elves to conform to it?" Malfoy said. She had thought of it, and had done research on it. He was questioning her reasoning and purpose. Her blood boiled once again, and she'd truly missed feeling like this.
"They're only bound by law to obey their masters. If the law were to change, they would be able to deem unlawful orders as unacceptable and act in a reasonable manner. They would know no harm would be done to them. By this Law, I'm simply giving the Elves the ability to refuse some orders."
All he did was nod, she could she out of the corner of her eye. That's all she had been doing, looking at him in her peripheral vision.
Although she hated the idea, the thought of him working alongside her didn't disgust her. She knew he was well-read. And was able to decipher the meanings of sentences that held a hidden meaning. She knew he was able to find loopholes between laws, as was she. Although she would never in her lifetime admit it, she was almost grateful that it was a pureblood working aside her.
She knew Ron was as well, but his family had held themselves differently. They weren't accustomed to raise their offspring by teaching them to be these purebloods that Malfoy had known. The Weasley parents had raised their children with love, compassion, and empathy. She admired them for their efforts. Their children had turned out quite well. Ron was loving, protective, and had a good head on his shoulders. Which was why she'd taken a liking to him in the first place. Ginny was wise, nonjudgmental, to a degree, and understanding. She'd taken her as one of her closest friends.
Malfoy, on the other hand, was raised to be anything but. He was raised to be cold, traditional. Prejudiced. She didn't think he could change. Of course, with his father being imprisoned and his mother facing the same charges he did, she thought there was a small chance he had changed. But she didn't trust it.
She was working with a former Death Eater, and she tried her best to think of him as that.