Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related characters are and remain the property of J K Rowling, Bloomsbury or Scholastic Books. Harry Potter characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of Warner Brothers © 2000/2001. No infringement of copyright is intended by this fic.

~0~

Part fifteen: Of Cause and Consequence

[Also known as Part Fourteen: Between the lines (Part ii)]

"I know nothing stays the same

But if you're willing to play the game

It will be coming around again"

Coming Around Again, Carly Simon

~0~

For the first time in six years, Hermione understood how everyone else in Hogwarts felt as the exams approached. The sun outside became a torment and each new day only brought the inevitable closer. She was worried and not just the worry felt by the ambitious. This was a real concern that she had not done enough. It wasn't that she had neglected her studies, but no sooner had Hermione settled down in the library, opened her books, smoothed her parchment and taken up her quill than Draco's nose appeared round the corner followed swiftly by the promise of a more attractive alternative.

It was a mystery to her how he ever found the time to study.

Harry and Ron appeared to be working in shifts, sharing the responsibility of persuading Hermione to take time off to come to meals; they seemed to be attributing her reluctance to leave the tower as a symptom of the threat hanging over her head. It was more simple than that. Exhausted after weeks of trying to cram late at night in a busy common room, Hermione took drastic measures and decided not to step foot outside the Gryffindor tower until she was satisfied that she had done enough work. It just happened that the best time to do this was during dinner. It left her enough time to sprint to the Great Hall at the last minute, grab a quick bite and install herself in the library. That way, when Draco pestered her, she was in the perfect position to let him think that he'd got his way.

Pausing to dip her quill in the inkpot she wondered what would happen when these exams were over. How would Draco cope? Badly, she reasoned and his competitive nature was sure to be at an extreme. Anyone else wouldn't be a problem, but for Draco, winning was often the most important thing. Even in their relationship there was a power game underway and whilst she wasn't keeping score, Hermione as certain that he was. She anticipated some awkward days while he came to terms with it.

The last real time they'd spent together was out by the lake when Hermione felt more desolate than she'd ever felt in her life. They had talked long into the night as the moon rose over the water replacing the scarlet streaked clouds with silver. He'd brought her back from some cold place, taken her away from a darkness that even now she could not quite describe; to even try to find it invited back emptiness. Somehow she knew that if he hadn't come then she would be there now, alone and ten times more difficult to retrieve. But he had come.

He had rescued her.

Her knight.

Draco had been in that place too, such cold, creeping fingers of despair sinking far into his soul. He had told her, though not in so many words the night he had taken her to the cavern on the cliff and perhaps for him it was she who kept the blackness at bay.

Reflexively, Hermione rubbed the nose of the little snake that coiled around her wrist. She had worn it ever since that night, since the first time love was mentioned. It was a marvellous design, the craftsman who had charmed it a true master of his art. Its peculiarity was to slink away up her arm whenever it thought it should not be seen. An early warning. She ruminated on this thought, as the nose disappeared from beneath her thumb.

"Hello, Ginny," she said without raising her head. The snake settled just above her elbow, like a sentient slave bangle.

"What ever is this story about Dennis?" Ginny asked, dragging a stool round to Hermione's side of the table.

What a very welcome distraction, thought Hermione, angling her head in the barest acknowledgement of the other girls' presence. Ginny Weasley, Super Sleuth on the case! Ron's sister still distrusted her though she was careful not to give that impression when her brother was around. It was a special distrust that Ginny reserved for Hermione alone.

"Just silly gossip," said Hermione dismissively, running her thumb down the edge of parchment.

Ginny picked up a quill and smoothed the feather tip between her fingers. Draco's quill, "Just I heard that he visited you…"

"Not likely," Hermione laughed uncomfortably, "Was there any reason you wanted to know?"

"Just interested," Ginny replied smiling thinly and without warmth, "I should let you get on. Oh!" she leaned forward and peered at the parchment then with exaggerated interest asked, "Is that Defence Against the Dark Arts? Glamours? Isn't that the art of appearing to be something you're not?"

Hermione's lips narrowed, Ginny Weasley was flying just a little too close to the Bludger in her opinion, "Actually," she said tersely, "There are many different types. The most complex, if used correctly can dupe a persons mind so that the caster is entirely disguised. The more simple type may just allow the caster to give off an exaggerated aura of attractiveness or trust or some such trait."

"So you'd know if someone was casting a glamour?"

"That is the point of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Ginny!"

"I know that," Ginny smiled again and tripped away, "Oh, your quill." Hermione snatched it from her in the most ungracious manner and slammed it down on the table.

"You're welcome," said Ginny.

Hermione wished, not for the first time that Ron's little sister would go and swim with the giant squid.

~0~

Nobody had much of an appetite on the evening of the exams. Whole platters of glazed ham and mashed potato lay untouched; of course that could have also been an effect of recent developments in the kitchens. The house elves cooking skills seemed to decrease in direct proportion to their increased militance. As Hermione laid her fork on the side of her plate and pushed her half eaten meal away, the distinct; ting, ting, ting of metal striking glass rang through the hall followed by the gravelly cough of an old, old man and the sound of a heavy chair being scraped back.

"What's Dumbledore up to?" whispered Dean.

"I dunno," muttered Ron with a shrug.

"If you both shut up we might find out!" Hermione jabbed Ron sharply in the ribs, at least if the food wasn't worth turning up for, this might be.

"Thank you all for sparing a few minutes for an old man," the Headmaster scanned he hall, his eyes lingering on the noisier elements of the assembly. As he peered in the direction of the Gryffindor table Ron sank back in his chair turning a slightly darker shade of red than usual. "I received an Owl this morning from none other than the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge concerning the students of this very school…"

A murmur crept round the hall as the students immediately began discussing the possibilities.

Perhaps he thinks we might do a better job, Hermione thought wryly. But it was a thought she kept to herself.

Dumbledore coughed once again.

"…Mr Fudge wishes to honour achievement among the youth of the magical community. To represent our school he would like to invite from our seventh year the Head Boy and Girl and from our sixth year those students who achieve the most outstanding results this year to a special award ceremony at the Ministry. As I'm sure you'll appreciate this is a great honour and…"

"That's you that is!" said Harry in a low voice, his spectacles glinting wickedly as he caught her eye. Hermione tried not to look smug. How could it be anyone else?

"Watch it Hermione," warned Ron, "you might not get through the door."

"We don't know yet," she snapped, certain that it would be her.

"…let's hope that this is the motivation some of you need to pull your socks up! A round of applause to Brian Poulson and Sarah Briggs our Head Boy and Girl and to the sixth years who will accompany them and Professor Grubbly Plank to the reception at the Ministry," he beamed across the hall, "I know you'll be a credit to the school."

As the Headmaster resumed his seat the hall was filled to the rafters with voices. There were rumours about the strained relationship between the Hogwarts faculty and the Ministry but certain people knew the true extent of the rift between the Minister and Dumbledore. Three of them were sitting at the Gryffindor table and though none of them said anything directly they could all guess what the others were thinking.

"Bet Percy wishes there was something like this when he was Head Boy," said Ron, the first to locate a neutral subject, "Can you imagine his face? What a chance to suck up," he followed this observation with a sound reminiscent of the last bath-water disappearing down the plughole.

"I'm sure it's not like that Ron. I bet it will be very boring, full of stuffy old ministry people."

"Well at least you'll get to see won't you, Hermione"

"We don't know that!"

"We do!" grinned both Ron and Harry, and though she wasn't about to admit it, Hermione knew it too.

~0~

"It's always something," complained Draco steadying his chair on two legs by grasping the end of the Slytherin table, "Why not just pick names out of a bloody hat instead of making a competition of it?"

"Last time anyone picked names out of something round here, Potters sprang out," Blaise observed, punctuating her sentence with the piece of chicken on the end of her fork before sucking in her cheeks and proceeding in an squeaky Scots accent. "This way the good old fashioned values of hard work and sheer dumb luck play a part."

"Scary, Blaise, very scary," Pansy snorted, "Dare you to try it in front of McGonagall."

"End of next year!" she replied, gamely accepting the challenge, "But knowing this place it'll be rigged anyway."

"Wherever did you learn to be so cynical?" asked Draco not so keen on the idea of a raffle now that he's been reminded of the 'Potter Principle'.

"A few years at Hogwarts sitting where we are is enough to introduce a hearty scepticism into the most optimistic mind. Someone should explain to these people the concept of the self fulfilling prophesy."

"Or, in English," Pansy translated with a chuckle, "Most of the staff treat us as though we have two heads and they wonder why we have issues."

"Spare me the philosophy," Draco groaned, "The point is, if it's a competition then I must win it."

"Why exactly?" asked Crabbe scattering large, damp crumbs of pudding across the table, "Do you really want to spend an evening with the Ministry?"

"That's not the point, is it? You surpassed the height of your parent's ambition when you stood upright. I can just imagine what they'd do if you stopped dragging your knuckles on the ground," Draco sniggered receiving the adulation he expected, but though Crabbe might be a little slow, Millicent wasn't.

"Draco," she said sharply, "I sometimes wonder how you have any friends at all."

"Sorry, Crabbe," he smirked and unable to resist the temptation, added, "Forgot you had your bodyguard with you. All I'm saying is that its what my damned family will expect me to do and anyway if it gives me the chance to prevent Pothead from going then it's worth a very dull evening indeed."

~0~

They gathered in the corridor outside the locked Arithmancy classroom. Normally they would wait inside for Professor Vector but today the exam papers were inside. Draco leaned against the doorframe, watching Hermione check her bag for the fourth time. He debated speaking to her but she was one of those who preferred to be alone and fretful before exams and who had a tendency to come out of them crowing about how well it had all gone.

Professor Vector sailed along the corridor, parting the waiting students neatly down the middle. She unlocked the door and they began to file in. Draco lingered, deciding only at the last minute to say nothing to her. Anything he could say would not sound sincere and as it was not possible to wish someone "moderate luck" he thought it better to keep his mouth shut. Then as he peeled himself away from the masonry, Hermione passed him. She squeezed his hand, and whispered "Good luck."

He glanced down at her as he passed her desk; he was one place behind her. Perhaps that was Vectors idea of humour. As he waited for quills to be distributed, Draco's eyes wandered over Hermione's back, up the folds of her robe, the curve of her shoulder. They settled at the nape of her neck, exposed where her hair fell forward over her shoulders.

Why was it that she always managed to move his mind off whatever it was he should be doing? All he could think about was that little patch of skin, its taste, how she would squirm if he reached out and…

"Mr Malfoy?" Vectors voice sliced through Draco's vision, "You may start!"

Draco looked around slightly stupidly; everyone else was halfway down their first scroll.

"Bugger!" he swore loudly and as the muffled sniggers of his classmates faded, he seized his quill and began to make up for lost time.

How was she still writing, oblivious to all but the sound of her quill scraping over rough parchment? He marvelled at her ability to keep this up; after almost three hours, he was ready to go and had been for some time. What the hell was transubstantiation anyway?

Vector seemed to be taking her time collecting the piles of scrolls from the desks but eventually she finished. Hermione twisted round, her eyes glistening with the sheen of success. Draco couldn't find one grain of doubt on which he could focus. Too many hours in the dry air had parched his through and…

"Not now," he croaked scraping back his chair and pushing though the exiting students. He caught a glimpse of Hermione still at her desk looking hurt. Now there was doubt. Bluntness sometimes had that effect but he knew she'd feel a lot worse if he had shared what he was thinking with her.

~0~

The morning of the results there were more students taking an early breakfast than usual; the only ones who had slept late were those who didn't care or who wanted to appear not to care.

Sitting alone, Draco pushed a half cooked sausage around his plate with his fork and wondered if the food was as bad on the other house tables or if the house elves made a special effort for the Slytherins.

Could this be his year?

For the first time he'd done more than simply skim a textbook the night before each exam, he'd even made a half hearted effort to put her off studying but she'd found a way round that as he knew she would. Draco gnawed the knuckle of his thumb before stretching his neck round to see across to the Gryffindor table. There she was, anxious, propped between Scarface and Weasley.

Maybe this year…?

Between drumming his fingers on the table and tapping his foot impatiently, Draco passed the time by glancing at the door every time it swung open, only to return to his solitude as each additional student swelled the ranks of the concerned.

Soon the door would open and someone would announce the news.

Soon.

And then it came.

Neville Longbottom whooped, "I passed!" and a hundred heads snapped round.

Draco was on his feet immediately, far ahead of the tide that left flotsam of half eaten breakfasts congealing and forgotten in the hall. He stood before the baize covered noticeboards in the shadow of the hourglasses. He stared as behind him friends exchanged congratulations and commiserations.

He stared.

Every word Draco had ever known had fallen out of his head.

Turning away he elbowed a path through the flow, managing to squeeze back into the hall. He sat down heavily, the smell of grease making him queasy. Part of him wanted to feel happy for her but it was a very small part and it quickly lost the argument to the part that right now would happily push Hermione Granger in the lake.

Leaning on his elbows he cradled his head in his hands, fingers lost in his hair. The smallest of margins, not wider than the grain on the table at which he stared but it could be as wide as the distance between their tables and still the result was the same.

His eyes narrowed as he heard them loudly congratulating her as they passed the end of his table. The Weasel clapped her on the back and he could have sworn that Potter sneered at him.

If only once he could beat her.

~0~

It was clear now who was going to the Ministry, Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger would make up the remainder of that party; a result made official by Professor McGonagall at dinner that evening.

There was only one question occupying the Gryffindor collective consciousness. Would Hermione go? It was no secret that Death Eaters had made an attempt on her life and they didn't imagine for one minute that Dumbledore would allow her to risk her life.

A note arrived with pudding delivered by a lone owl. Hermione thought it looked a bit disgruntled about having been roused from its perch so early in the evening. It didn't take a genius to work out what was within the envelope. She read the note quickly and with a scrunch of her face made her excuses to Harry before making the short trudge to McGonagalls office, not sure that her stomach could cope with another helping of sweet tea and sympathy.

Hermione stepped into the common room greeted by the familiar crackle of the wireless from the corner. As she knelt down on the rug by the heatless blaze that someone had conjured up to bring life to the hearth for summer, Ron asked. "What happened?"

"I spoke with Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall," she told him, pausing to straighten her badge. "They didn't want me to go to the Ministry but I said that I will. I'll not be intimidated! I can't spend all my life behind these walls."

"That's the spirit," said Harry who lay on his back trying to form words with the string of bubbles that emerged from the tip of his wand, "but are you sure you'll be safe?"

"I don't think they'd risk anything there, too obvious and too public and Professor Grubbly Plank will be with us. I'll be okay," she said in breathless reassurance, "Anyway, I'll have to deal with it at some point."

"What if they did mean to get your friend?" Harry asked suddenly laying his wand on the hearth with a click, "What if nobody is after you?"

"I thought about that," Hermione said as the last bubble disappeared with a wet and distinctly audible 'pop', "But it doesn't make sense. Paul was a Muggle."

"I don't think it matters to them," said Ron, "You-Know-Who's followers are more than a little crazy, as you weren't there, they just picked a random target. Ask Malfoy, I bet he knows," Ron added, darkly.

But that was the one thing Hermione was certain of, Malfoy had nothing to do with this. She was even beginning to wonder if Harry had been mistaken about the presence of Draco's father during the events after the tri-wizard tournament. Harry was under a lot of stress and if the man really was a supporter of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named then how could he be so accepting of she and Draco?

"I think Ron's right," she said, "It's one of those rare coincidences and we're not dealing with sane people here. There are steps I can take to protect myself. As long as I'm cautious there's no more danger than normal."

"I hope so," said Harry pulling a face, "Oh," he added unenthusiastically, "Look at the time, I have to go. I'll catch you later."

"What's up with him?" asked Hermione after he had tucked his wand in his belt and practically stamped to the picture hole.

"You haven't heard?" Ron seemed amazed. "You remember Justin Finch Fletchley…"

~0~

She didn't even notice him pass by.

They were sitting on the low wall at the edge of the courtyard. She had his arm around him.

Draco couldn't take pleasure in seeing his enemy's obvious distress, not when she was there with him like that. He moved nearer, making the change of direction seem as natural as he could. If Gregory had noticed that it was odd, he didn't say so.

He came so close that he could have reached out and brushed her hair with his finger and still she hadn't even looked up. Draco shrugged someone's restraining hand aside and twisted his foot in the gravel. The noise was loud and raw like a snarl. Potter looked up.

"What's up, Potter? Dark Lord been troubling you?" he asked, already quite aware of why the enemy's eyes were red rimmed behind his thick lenses.

"Draco!" scolded Hermione, "Go away!"

"I can walk wheresoever I like, Miss Granger," he replied, deliberately stiff and formal. If she thought she could speak to him like that after so blatantly ignoring him then she was sadly mistaken.

"Please get lost. Harry had bad news."

"Good grief!" he exclaimed, "you mean his parents are alive?" Draco suddenly found himself nose to nose with Hermione who was fixing him with a stare that would have made a basilisk think twice about its next move.

"Stop being such a bastard and go!" she said then lowering her voice, presumably so that Potter wouldn't hear, "His girlfriend just left him."

"Leaves the way open for you, doesn't it?" Draco replied nastily. They hadn't spoken for days but only because he, Draco hadn't trusted himself to be alone with her fearing that he might say or do something that she could not forgive. But he was horrified to see her here, all over Potter for the entire school to see when she wouldn't even acknowledge that they might be a little more than enemies. It made him wonder why he was wasting his time trying to spare her feelings when she obviously didn't give a damn about his.

Draco thought he'd like to make her pay for that. "Who'd she drop you for Potter?" he asked loudly, already performing for the burgeoning crowd, "Longbottom?"

Hermione answered for him, "Justin if you must know."

Draco's grin broadened. It couldn't be more perfect.

From the corner of his eye he could see Potters fists clenching tighter and tighter. He knew very well that Hermione was one of those people who could be indirectly tormented by an attack on her friends and she had just presented him with a perfect opportunity.

"That girl really does have a taste for fat Hufflepuffs … I say, maybe this one will do us a favour and get himself killed too."

Harry pushed past Hermione, shoving Draco back into the wall of onlookers, which had positioned itself, just close enough to "overhear" every word.

"Harreee," squealed Hermione, grabbing his sleeve to stop him going for Draco. Though right now she felt Malfoy would benefit from a good kicking she didn't want either of them to get into trouble. She put herself right in between them trusting that Draco wouldn't take a swing at her to get to Harry.

For one unnaturally long moment Hermione thought that she was wrong. Then Draco squared his shoulders and stared levelly at her.

"I wish you'd said my name," he mouthed before shoving his way through the remaining watchers. Hermione stared after him; she wanted to follow him, to explain. But that would only make things worse.

As his back disappeared through the archway, Hermione turned back to Harry.

"What a pity he's single," he spat, "Imagine having to put up with that."

"Harry?" she'd rarely seen him so angry.

"It's all of this, Voldemort, my parents, the Malfoys, Cho, Cedric, everything, it's all linked together … somehow." he shook his head but no answers fell out, "I wish he wasn't going to London with you, Hermione. I don't trust him."

"Don't worry about Malfoy," she said, "I can take care of a dozen Malfoys if I have to."

But news travelled fast through the schoolyard and there seemed to be an unusually large number of students ambling through the courtyard, eyes cast in their direction "Let's go back to the common room." Hermione suggested, heartily sick of entertaining for the day.

How could she not have known sooner? Until Ron told her the previous night she had no idea that Justin and Cho were about to become an item. Draco knew, that much was apparent but he never discussed Harry with her.

Would Harry be willing to sit with her and pour out his heart if he knew about Draco? Hermione doubted that very much. Some things were unforgivable and being involved with Malfoy was one of them.

They linked arms as they walked back, trading mutual support, "Sometimes I could kill him," said Harry still brooding, "The things he says. He doesn't care and that's almost worse than deliberate malice. I know I've never said this to you, but before Christmas when he played that prank on you, I could have killed him. I just knew that you couldn't do a thing like that willingly. Deep down Ron knows it too, though he's too stubborn to say so. Seriously, I don't know what I'd do without you right now, both you and Ron. As long as we're together I know we will win."

Hermione felt sick as they parted on the dormitory stairs. "Take care, Harry" she said, a little sadly because if what he had just said was true then he had already lost.

~0~

The train rattled its course along the tracks and Hermione stood as she had for the last hour leaning on the metal edge of the open window, watching the countryside scud by. They had left very early and now Brian Poulson and Sarah Briggs were deep in quiet conversation with Professor Grubbly Plank. Hermione didn't care where Draco was. She was content to enjoy the sensation of the rushing wind. Though it tangled her hair it carried something fresh, a new taste that cleansed her palette and her soul.

How ever did it come to this? she asked herself, Risking friendship for a mean, spoilt little boy? She didn't want to think about his snide words and his cruel humour or his nasty pointy nose or the way his hair fell into his eyes or the way he made her feel when he laughed… she didn't want to think about Draco at all.

"Are you going to sulk all the way to London?" he enquired from behind placing his hands over hers and resting his head on her shoulder as he joined her in observation of the blurry mountains.

"Just what is your problem, Draco?" Hermione asked as his cheek touched against hers, "You don't speak for me for days and then you fly into a rage because I'm helping one of my friends. I just don't understand."

"It's only because I love you," he said curtly, "I don't like seeing you flaunt yourself with others."

"Meaning Harry? Grow up, Malfoy," she felt him coil at her words, tight like an over wound clock.

"We're back to Malfoy are we?" he drawled, not the snap she had expected. Sighing he pulled away and slid down to the carriage floor. Hermione's back felt suddenly cold and she turned from the window following the warmth. He was looking up at her, searching for something.

"What can I say," he said brushing his hair out of his eyes, "I'm jealous. Oh, it surprises you that I'll admit that? Don't bother to deny it, you're terrible at hiding your thoughts. I've risked a lot for our relationship and I'm waiting for you to equal that. Can I help it if a little of me dies each time you ignore me when you're with your friends?"

Hermione knelt on the carriage floor between his knees and took his hands in hers, palms moist and warm against her fingers, "That doesn't give you the right to insult my friends," she said, "or to insult me. If you're annoyed with me, talk to me."

"No," he said emphatically, "I'll solve my own problems. Hermione, I envy your strength and your commitment and your intelligence and I want everyone to know what I think of you; I want to elevate you. And I want everyone to know what you think of me. Give me that."

"Soon," she said wondering when she was ever going to find the right time.

"Then do something else for me."

"What?"

"I had an Owl from my parents last night. They're in London and they want to meet you."

~0~

The Hogwarts party picked their way through the throng that crammed into the bar room of the Leaky Cauldron, trying not to bang anyone's ankles or drop their overnight bags in anyone's lunch. Rooms had been reserved on the third floor and after Professor Grubbly Plank had seen her charges settled; Hermione sharing with Sarah Briggs and Draco sharing with Brian Poulson, she retreated to the bar for a cheeky half of butter beer.

As Sarah took the opportunity for an afternoon nap, Hermione stood in front of the mirror breathing deeply. Was her hair a mess? Was her blouse too creased? Did it really matter anyway? From what she knew of Draco's parents the only way she could make a good impression was if she arrived in a long box on the shoulders of six pall bearers.

Was it nerves? Hermione didn't think so. It wasn't really a first meeting at all, though it was the first by choice. She had seen enough of Draco's family to be retain some very vivid impressions. If she was honest his father gave her the creeps, and maybe it was even more than that. Hermione was afraid of him.

The Malfoys had taken a private parlour on the second floor rather than rubbing shoulders with the people downstairs. And Hermione thought cynically, rather than allowing her to set foot in their London home.

"This was more convenient," Draco explained to her as they walked along the windowless hallway, her fingers trailing along the edge of the dark panels just where the aged oak met the thick, tobacco stained paper that lined the wall to the ceiling. Glancing at her fingertips, she wiped them (unseen she hoped) on her robe not wanting to appear as though she had a fifty a day habit.

"Please stop worrying," he said as they approached the door. Draco pushed it open and held it for Hermione to enter.

The room was unlike any other she had seen in the Cauldron or indeed, anywhere. Covering the floorboards was a patterned carpet thick enough to hide a herd of migrating wildebeest and the windows were swathed in fabric of a rich dark blue. Unfortunately it seemed that the decorator hadn't quite known where to stop but continued draping layers and cramming in furniture until the effect was more antique shop than opulence.

Amid the "collection" in the wide bay window stood a small round table and at either side of this sat Mr and Mrs Malfoy.

After a moments pause Mr Malfoy pushed back his chair. He looked different to how Hermione remembered him but last time he'd had a murderous glint in his eye. Now he looked every inch respectable in a dark frock coat, finely embroidered with silver; this fell back to reveal an ivory waistcoat beneath.

"Hello Father," said Draco with a handshake, "Good journey?"

"Be better if that blasted goblin knew how to drive. Damned menace." coupled with a ruddy complexion and a certain girth the words would have sounded blustering but from Mr Malfoy they were scathing and cold. Hermione found herself feeling glad that she wasn't "that bloody goblin."

"Really? Why not Apparate,"

"Y'know it makes your mother sick. Would've been a damned sight easier."

Despite the formality there was something uncomfortably normal about the way they spoke. Hermione could imagine Percy Weasley at his pompous best bumping into Mr Weasley at work. What had she expected? The Malfoys to cackle round the cauldron or to start throwing hexes at one another the moment they got together?

So what was her place in this little gathering? Hermione wondered, perplexed as she noticed Mr Malfoy eyeing her like something very unwelcome indeed. Draco for some unfathomable reason thought that this was the perfect time for introductions.

"You've already met Hermione. Haven't you." he said.

Mr Malfoy grunted, "Yes. Delighted." Sounding anything but.

"Father, please," Draco censured, "she has a name, do be good enough to use it."

"How pleasant to see you again, Miss Granger," he said making no attempt to shake her hand.

"Hello, Mr Malfoy," she replied politely, glancing at Draco as if to say, Great idea, so glad you brought me here. The corner of Draco's mouth twitched into a fleeting half smile and he grasped her by the hand guiding her across the room. Fleetingly, Mrs Malfoy seemed to glow with pleasure at the rare sight of her son, lifting the bored expression that had seemed such a part of her being.

"Mother, this is Miss Hermione Granger," Draco said returning a little of that warmth, "Hermione, my mother."

"Delighted," said Mrs Malfoy flashing a smile that Hermione recognised as Draco's own. She extended a very cold and slender hand that Hermione feared might snap if she shook it too hard. Mrs Malfoy idly flicked her wand at the teapot, "Do sit down dear," she said waving her free hand at the chair opposite. "Aren't you the girl with all the OWLs?" she enquired as Draco drew it back then immediately he withdrew to join his father at the other side of the room. Hermione wished she could hear what they were saying but she had another Malfoy to worry about for the moment.

Fortunately Mrs Malfoy didn't seem to notice that Hermione hadn't answered her question.

"Dear, dear," said Mrs Malfoy, not unkindly, "Draco has such a lot to contend with. But then your parents have quite a reputation do they not?" she poured tea as she spoke and Hermione was starting to think that she talked only in rhetorical questions, "The Grangers of East Puddlemere I assume. Your mother was very intelligent too as I recall. I wasn't aware that she had a daughter of Draco's age but then one does lose touch after … school."

"Mrs Malfoy," Hermione said, not sure if she should correct Draco's mother or even of how the confusion about her identity had arisen, "My parents are both Muggles."

"Really," the briefest flicker of distaste passed over Mrs Malfoys face but immediately Hermione doubted her own eyes. What she didn't imagine was the most peculiar glance that Mrs Malfoy gave her husband, and though she was very quick to regain her composure she blinked as though she was having trouble comprehending something. "Muggles, extraordinary. How very difficult Hogwarts must have been for you."

"Not at all," Hermione sipped nervously at her tea, "It's been interesting and exciting to learn that I'm part of another world." She felt she was being interrogated by a very subtle, very charming and very calm inquisitor but she wasn't entirely certain what she was supposed to have done.

"I see," Mrs Malfoy peered closely at Hermione's uniform, "Gryffindor," she said, "I was in Slytherin House, as was my husband, but I expect Draco has told you that."

"Yes, he's very proud of it," replied Hermione, she hoped it was the right thing to say as her teacup clicked clumsily back onto her saucer.

"There has long been a healthy rivalry between our houses," Mrs Malfoy said, "I recall it added sparkle to an otherwise mundane existence." Hermione could not say that she agreed with this.

"You will travel with us to the ministry tonight," it was not a question and delivered with such assurance that Hermione had the impression that it had already been arranged. "We will arrive at eight thirty on the Muggle side."

~0~

From a grubby third floor window, Hermione and Draco watched as at eight o'clock a Ministry car pulled up on the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron. Professor Grubbly Plank bustled around fitting the Head boy and Girl into the vehicle before entering herself.

"The Professor was furious," Hermione said as she lost sight of the car as it slipped through the impossibly small gap between two buses, "She's worried that I'm her responsibility and that something might happen to me."

"What's going to happen to you when you're with us?" Draco asked scornful of the notion. "Really, if she objected then she should have told father when he arranged it." Hermione suspected that Grubbly Plank had done just that only to have him overrule or ignore her. But the strangest thing to Hermione was that his father hadn't seemed keen on talking to her that afternoon so it was odd that he was so eager for her to travel with them.

At eight thirty they tramped down the creaky stairs through the bar and onto the Muggle street. It was Friday and the pavement thronged with revellers, already half inebriated.

"S'it Halloween?" slurred a fat man with wide red braces as he stumbled past, "Hippy weirdoes. Get a job!" he added as overcome with laughter he leaned on his friend for support. "Can you believe the state of them…" he added loudly.

Hermione grasped Draco's wrist, his wand was already fast in his fist and she thought it best that it got no further. "No need to get in trouble over a drunk city boy," she said wisely, eyeing him narrowly until she felt his hand relax, "Just ignore them."

"You think they'd manage to be on time," Draco complained, looking both ways down the long street. "Shall we walk?" he suggested stepping directly into the path of an old woman with a white stick.

"Do you know the way?" Hermione asked annoyed as she tugged him back onto the doorstep. As Draco made no reply she assumed that he did not. But she had to put up with another ten minutes of him pacing irritably and muttering disparaging remarks about the Muggles who passed before the welcome sight of the Bentley slid out from behind the traffic lights and pulled up to the kerb.

"'bout bloody time," Draco said sticking his head in through the drivers window, "Say, what kept you?"

Through the glass Hermione saw the goblin driver jerk his long thumb toward the back of the car and she thought she saw a pained expression flit across Draco's face. "We should've gone with Plank," he muttered as he opened the door and helped her inside. He followed, sliding onto the seat beside her. Hermione noted an unexpected flush on Mrs Malfoys porcelain cheeks, and Mr Malfoy was wearing the same expression she had sometimes seen on Draco. It made her think he would very much like to kick someone.

Nobody spoke in the car so Hermione was free to gaze out of the window as they sped through the crowded streets. It turned into Whitehall, past Westminster Abbey and Saint Margaret's Church, then to her surprise the car turned right off Millbank and drove straight through the low metal railings and pulled to a halt outside the Jewel Tower. This crumbling building had once been a fortress but now it was a tourist attraction and an occasional location for a gaggle of ragged protestors who Hermione had always assumed arrived too late to get the choicer spot opposite the Houses of Parliament. Hermione realised now that the missing half of the building housed the Ministry of Magic and that the protesters were actually a pack of hungry reporters representing every possible wizarding publication from the sensational to the serious.

As the driver opened the door she saw the building properly for the first time though it slipped fuzzily in and out of view before finally her perception accommodated her memory. Mr Malfoy was first out of the car. She saw him glance at the reporters before extending a hand to assist his wife, bulbs flashed and the air was filled with the burn of sulphur and a haze of purple smoke. Hermione followed, blinking in the glare and behind her, Draco.

"Mr Malfoy," came a voice from the pack, "Can you give us your opinion on the Fudge situation?"

Draco squeezed Hermione's hand and muttered, "Don't worry, they'll just be a minute," being the focus of such media attention was unnerving and she held his hand a little longer. It had never really occurred to her that they courted celebrity. Of course the Malfoy name featured in the news more often than most but she hadn't ever considered why. Hermione realised that she didn't actually know what Mr Malfoy did. Draco had never said and apart a rumoured stint as a Death Eater, making the occasional charitable donation and getting sacked from Hogwarts board of governors she knew nothing of his career.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," replied Mr Malfoy smoothly, "Cornelius Fudge is the most competent Minister that we have had in many years. The notion that he would step down now is simply ludicrous."

"But you do chair the committee for Beatific Instruction, Governance and Observance of Transference Statutes. Isn't that body directly responsible for overseeing the process?"

"That's no secret and naturally if Minister Fudges position was in question the committee would know."

"But no Minister without the full backing of that committee has ever lasted long. Is it true that opinion is divided on the future of wizarding government?"

"When is it not, I ask you. When is it not?" Malfoy chuckled and beamed at his wife who joined in as if it were a very funny joke indeed, "The committee is united, one hundred per cent behind the Minister."

"What about this mornings report that Fudge will stand down next month?"

"Gossip and hearsay. Balderdash one might say. Do forgive me, we are terribly late and mustn't keep the minister waiting."

The Malfoys smiles were as dazzling and enduring as the flash from the camera.

"Godawful people," Malfoy complained as they stepped through the doorway, "Why I waste my time so that they can get snapshots to fill their rags with drivel I don't know!"

"Then don't encourage them," suggested Mrs Malfoy sourly, "Really, Lucius if…"

"I? Encourage?" he replied as if the situation were just too astonishing to imagine. "Easiest thing to do is feed them, otherwise they pop up the most unexpected places. Oh, isn't that Appleby? Come, Draco. You must meet Humphrey."

Hermione found herself immediately separated from the Malfoys. She was actually quite relieved. She stepped across the pink marble floor gazing up at the ceiling, which was painted with silver shimmering stars. Although the effect was impressive, Hermione couldn't help thinking that the place was more likely to ooze red tape than ooze magic. Ahead of her was a grand staircase bordered by curling wrought iron banisters. On the landing where the stairway split in two was a large open doorway through in which a trio of elephants could comfortably fit. It was here that the reception appeared to be. Hermione walked slowly up the stairs peering down at the Malfoys who were currently shaking hands and making elaborate 'Mwah, Mwah' kisses with some people who Hermione did not know.

She drifted through the throng that crammed into the room, milling under the vast chandeliers that burned with the light of a thousand candles as she looked for someone to talk to.

Was that Percy Weasley across the room? Before she could take a second look Hermione's view was blocked by a liveried witch carrying a huge tray.

"Champagne?" she asked.

"No thanks," said Hermione who had spotted one Rita Skeeter lurking on the edge of a nearby conversation. The last thing she wanted was to be caught on camera with a drink in her hand. She was not surprised to see the blonde set a course through the crowd bludging herself a path with her swinging handbag.

"Any comment for the Prophet?" Skeeter asked blinking froglike behind a pair of large bejewelled spectacles.

"None, Miss Skeeter," Hermione replied politely, no point in being hostile.

"Given recent events I'm surprised to see you outside Hogwarts. Perhaps Dumbledore doesn't care much for the safety of his students…?"

"I don't think any Death Eaters were invited tonight," Hermione bit her bottom lip wondering how she might deflect further questions.

"No, I'm sure you're right," Skeeter remarked stroking her chin thoughtfully, "But what interesting company you chose to arrive with. That caused quite a stir… the Malfoys are very well known in certain circles. In fact they were instrumental in organising tonight's soiree. Care to venture an opinion on that?"

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Now, now, don't be rude. We were getting along so well," Skeeter grasped Hermione's arm and propelled her to the side of the room, reaching out as they passed the buffet. Skeeter popped a vol au vont into her mouth and chewed, "Let me give you some advice, young lady as you obviously don't know half of what's going on round here. Do you know how a Minister of Magic is appointed?" her painted mouth twisted with glee, "Oh dear me. And I thought you knew everything."

"Look, I thought we settled this some years ago. All I have to do is tell that you're an unreg …"

"Interesting you should bring that up. A little bird told me that I'm not the first unregistered animagus to come out of Hogwarts," that shut Hermione up, "How do you think your friends would react if the word got out that an escaped murderer still at large also answers to the name Snuffles?"

"How do you know that?"

"A good journalist never reveals her sources."

"Then you're free to tell me."

"Very sharp, dear. But now that you no longer have anything to blackmail me with I think we should talk, don't you?"

"Actually, I think you should leave me alone."

Skeeter sighed giving in much sooner than Hermione had thought possible, "As you wish, Miss Granger," she popped open her handbag and extracted a gold rimmed card. "When you decide that you do want to talk about your most interesting dilemma, about the Malfoys or perhaps even about your dear friends that fight the good fight, you can contact me here," she tapped the card with a garish talon before pressing it into Hermione's palm. "By the way, I think someone is looking for you." Hermione followed the finger across to Professor Grubbly Plank, who looked about ready to explode, "Must dash!" said Skeeter before attaching herself to another unsuspecting group.

"I'm sorry, Professor" Hermione said as she tucked Skeeters card into her pocket, "the Malfoy's were late"

"I was worried sick. They should know better than leaving you alone, especially after … I should never have let them bring you here. What would the headmaster think of me leaving you with that man he…" but Hermione never found out the teachers opinion on "that man" she snapped her mouth closed.

After another five minutes of this Hermione found her way out onto the staircase. She climbed high enough for the darkness to hide her. From here she could peer down through the banister and see the glow from the room below, from which an occasional peal of laughter would ring or a snippet of disembodied conversation float her way…

"Extraordinary! Do you think perhaps she's a throwback?" a woman speculated, her voice somehow familiar.

"Mans an oaf of course. Call that a school…."Gruff and rheumy.

"Such a tragedy about the Holmes'. Dreadful accident…" sounding very pleased about the event. Before Hermione could speculate as to what fate the Holmes' had encountered a shadow filled the doorway below.

"There you are," said Draco climbing the stair and sitting beside her, "I had to talk with the Woolley's, father insisted. I hope you haven't been too bored."

"I bumped into an old friend," Hermione said. "Draco, did you know that your father funded this party?"

"Had no idea," he replied, "Though that explains why they're here."

But not why they didn't just send you an invitation! Hermione thought, wondering just how well known that piece of information was and why they would want to keep such a thing a secret. Was Skeeters implication more than that, was there something more?

"Who's that?" Draco pointed down at a couple who had just entered the building. The man, who appeared to have so many teeth that his mouth was forced into a wide grin, was wearing a sober Muggle suit and the woman who accompanied him had a similar problem except instead of a grin her mouth was twisted into an awkward grimace. They were followed by three rather large men, all of whom were busy tapping the radios in their ears.

Hermione's eyes widened. "What's he doing here?"

"Strange behaviour," Draco remarked in astonishment.

"Magical interference," Hermione explained, "its messing up their transmitters, "Security guards."

"Who needs security?"

"That's the Muggle Prime Minister," she said.

"Really? How dull. Ministry is still a government department I suppose, though only the very top level know about it of course."

Hermione didn't confess her ignorance on the subject of the interaction of Magical and Muggle government but she made a mental note to do a bit of reading when she got back to school. She thought perhaps the evening was never going to end but eventually hands were shaken, awards awarded and the Hogwarts party could leave at last; together this time.

As they climbed into the Ministry car Hermione noticed Mr and Mrs Malfoy poised on the steps of the Ministry, he talking loudly at the reporters and she with an attentive expression fixed upon her face.

As the famous bell in St Stephens tower struck twelve the car door closed and Hermione slumped back inhaling the fresh leathery smell of the car interior so welcome after the miasma of smoke and perfume that had pervaded the ministry rooms. She was glad that the evening was over and that at last things could get back to normal.

~0~

The wireless crackled in the Gryffindor Common Room…the half past midnight news bulletin. "And this is what Mister Lucius Malfoy had to say on the subject earlier tonight as he left the Ministry of Magic," said the witch announcer before her voice was replaced by the careful tones of Malfoy

"…indeed I would never have the temerity to place my self so high above my magical brethren or above our …" he said before Ron slammed his hand on the off switch.

"Sly git!" he remarked with a grin, "Poor Hermione, not only has she got Malfoy to put up she's got his father too."

"I hope she's okay," said Harry.

"She'll be fine. I can't imagine she'd had anything to do with them. Your move Harry."

As Harry studied the board Ron continued to talk, "What are you doing this summer?" he asked, "I thought I'd write and ask if you can stay the whole time and Hermione too. Could be fun. Unless you want to stay with the Dursleys all summer?" he added, underwhelmed by Harry's response.

"Sorry, I was concentrating. I'd love to come."

Ron quickly took his move relieving Harry of another pawn but this tactical error allowed something to happen that Ron just couldn't understand. Harry's white knight moved, smashing his Queen in two.

~0~

Not too early the next morning Hermione trotted down the stairs and into the dim bar room of the Leaky cauldron. There were corners of the room that the sun never reached and though the air was a little stale a door had been propped open to admit a pleasant breeze. As she took a chair she was a little surprised to see the way that Brian and Sarah stared at her. Hermione wondered if perhaps she had been the victim of a practical joke.

"What?" she smiled, though they'd come home late she had slept well and now she had nothing but the last days of term to look forward to; the conclusion of the house championship and lazy days in the sun. Weird, she thought as they glanced at one another, determined not to let it spoil her mood Hermione pulled the toast rack toward her, reaching for the butter with her other hand.

"Can borrow your paper, Sarah?" she asked spreading a thin layer of butter on a triangle of toast.

"Go ahead," said Sarah. Hermione spread out the paper and was about to take a bite of her toast when she saw the picture:

Lucius Malfoy smiled, beside him was his wife and very clearly just behind them she and Draco their hands fleetingly joined. Hermione had a very bad feeling about this. She read the headline:

EXCLUSIVE: Malfoy: Mute on Minister – Mad on Muggles

In an extraordinary evening, writes our Correspondent for Ministry Matters; Rita Skeeter the question of Magic and Muggle relations has been turned on its head.

Wishing to dispell the growing fear factor after a recent spate of Death Eater style assaults, Mister Lucius Malfoy hinted that his own family have opened their arms and their hearts to Muggle Borns. Such attacks he denounced as cowardly and copycat and the rumours circulating about the return of You-Know-Who he suggested were spread by wizards too old and too afraid to accept that the world had moved on. "Such people like to grumble about Dark Wizards and the bad old days as it is the only way left to enhance their own faltering reputations. Furthermore their willingness to exploit wizarding youth is deeply cynical," he continued.

Discussion turned quickly from speculation over the future of incumbent Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge to the identity of the mysterious beauty accompanying Draco Malfoy (16), heir to the Malfoy family fortune.

This paper can reveal that it is none other than Hermione Granger, Hogwarts most stunning and most brilliant student and close friend and confident of Harry Potter. "She would melt the heart of any boy," commented a fellow student in a wistful breath.

Is this is key to succesful promotion of Muggle and Wizarding relations? Today's exclusive Daily Prophet survey shows that eight out of ten wizards believe that Mr Malfoy can succeed where the ill-fated Muggle Protection Act (popularly dubbed the 'Weasel Bill') failed (see page 3).

Oh no, she thought dropping her toast straight on to the table. It landed butter side down but Hermione didn't notice that; she was already half way up the stairs.

"Draco!" she raged more piercing than any alarm clock, Muggle or Magical. She hammered on the door with both fists, "Draco!"

After a minute the door opened on creaking hinges. He stood in the gap, blinking, his hair dishevelled and somewhat plastered down his right cheek and with a sheet clutched defensively in one hand, round about waist height. He raised the other to cover a yawn as he said, "Morning."

"What the hell is this?" Hermione shrieked, storming into the room. After regaining his balance, Draco pushed the door closed and blinked at Hermione.

"What is what?" he asked drowsily.

"This!" she thrust the paper hard against his bare chest and he just managed to catch it just in time to stop the crumpled pages from scattering across the floor.

"The Daily Prophet, I think," he replied, bewildered.

"I know what it is," she snatched the paper back using her finger to point, "The article. That article, Draco. Read it you complete and absolute shit!"

"Funny," he said as once again the paper was flung at him and he wondered if it would be in shreds before he got a chance to explain whatever it was he was supposed to have done. "I was just dreaming you'd come in and wake me up but I imagined something slightly different."

"Just shut up," she advised and with a staggering feat of sleepy deduction Draco worked out that all was not right with Hermione this morning, "How could you do this, how could you not tell me!"

"Hermione, I don't know what you are talking about."

"Liar!" Hermione flew at him

"Will you at least tell me what I've done if you're going to try and kill me," he said as her fist caught his temple. Ducking he grabbed her round the waist and threw her with some difficulty on to the bed before stooping to snatch up the fallen paper.

"Oh," he said chucking the paper on to the bed next to his attacker; he turned away before glancing over his shoulder at Hermione who looked quite ready to have another swipe at him. He seemed to realise that his sheet had got lost in the struggle and he retrieved this too tying it round his waist. "I don't suppose you'll believe me if I said I didn't know."

"How could you not know?"

"By not knowing. Of course I should have guessed he might do something like this."

"It's not a matter of guessing!" she accused, "You told me you could wait, Draco but now everyone knows."

"I had nothing to do with it. I wasn't even there. Now, if I come over there are you going to attack me again? I'd like to know."

She didn't reply but stared down at the rumpled bedspread, "It's so awful,"

"Why is it so awful?" his bare feet made no sound on the wooden floorboards and she did not look up as he sat beside her though she had to be aware of his weight as it bent the edge of the mattress. He reached out and raised her chin; "You were going to tell people anyway, weren't you?"

"Yes, but at the right time," she said plaintively, anger threatening to dissolve into tears.

"Sometimes there just isn't a right time," he said smoothing his palm along her cheek catching the first tear with his fingertip, "and now I think it's an academic question, don't you?"

"You knew nothing." Hermione sniffed.

"I knew nothing," he said again, "Trust me."

"But my friends. Ron, Harry they…"

He placed his thumb gently on her lips and then replaced it with his own. "Be sensible, Hermione," he whispered breaking the kiss "if they're really your friends, how bad can it be?"

~0~

In Part Sixteen: Fait Accompli … Hermione discovers just how fickle friendship can be but coming out of the none gay closet does have its advantages.

Authors Notes:

Thank you for your reviews those of you who are still with me. I seem to have lost most of my readership (the reviewing part at least) during my break. I suppose that is my own fault for posting such frequent chapters back in the beginning.

Anyway, thanks again for your support and I hope you stick with me when Transi de Froid is complete and we follow Hermione deep into the heart of the Malfoy household and the Ministry. Watch out for 'Le Deluge', a sequel in progress.

Random notes on Part 15…

The names at the Ministry, 'Humphrey Appleby' and 'The Woolleys' are directly from the superb 'Yes, Minister' series, I just couldn't resist it!

It took me a long time deciding on the name for Lucius Malfoy's committee, the title might not make much sense but the acronym is appropriate.

That was a cameo appearance from the Blairs both of whom I despise.

Part Sixteen of TdF should be ready in about four weeks.

Take care

~Incitata~

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