Chapter 23: Administrative Errors
"Hermione, we…" Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice trailed off as her door opened wide to reveal his protégé was not alone. Her office felt crowded despite there only being two people occupying it.
"Minister." Draco Malfoy bobbed his head politely. Kingsley had never seen the man's complexion anything but milky white. The streak of red across the Slytherin boy's cheeks was something very new indeed.
"Mr Malfoy," Kingsley wanted to ask what he was doing there, to sneer at the son of the man who'd been so vicious to him in these very halls. He didn't de either. He let the silence hang. Hermione eyed him defiantly while the Malfoy boy kept his gaze directly on her. Very strange.
"Hermione, are you alright?" Emery White, the Minister's aide and policymaker, peered at her through his fashionably small glasses.
"I'm fine, thank you, Emery." Hermione nodded at the man she knew to be Kingsley's lover. A secret. A black man as Minister was one thing to the purebloods. A gay black man was quite the other. One finds when a group is very set on hating one kind of person, their vitriol is easily transferred to another type.
"I think we should talk about this in private." Kingsley nodded at Draco and widened his eyes. "why is he here?" He couldn't contain his curiosity any longer. His strained whisper was easily heard by everyone in the room. Emery shook his head almost imperceptibly.
"Draco's home is currently the only route into the elf village." Hermione said smartly, "And besides, anything you care to say to me, you can say in front of him." recalcitrance bloomed from her as she jutted her chin up and balled her fists. The truth was, Kingsley had let her down. He'd let them try to rip her apart to avoid any appearance of favouritism but had overcorrected.
"You think you need a witness here to talk with me, Hermione?" Kingsley got the wrong end of the stick entirely.
"No, Minister, I think what our young friend is saying is that Mr Malfoy is her confidante and will eventually hear what you have to say whether it's in front of him or not." Emery took a step into the office, pulling the most powerful man in wizarding Britain with him. The door clicked closed behind them, and the aide cast the necessary privacy charms.
"Hermione, you cannot quit." The Minister finally spoke, firing another wary glance at Draco.
"I can't stay here." Hermione gave him a slight smile as she finally loosened the tension in her shoulders and took a step back. Toward Draco.
"We can move you departments? Davina has been requesting you for months!" He offered, palms spread wide with placation.
"I have views and beliefs, Kingsley, that differ from yours. I know you have this dream of wearing down my rough edges and sliding me in seamlessly to your vacated position. But I like my rough edges, Sir. They make me Hermione Granger, and if the staff here can't handle me at my bossy know-it-all, they don't deserve me at my brilliant, benefactor bait best." Emery White had to stop himself from applauding her little speech. He noted, with piqued curiosity, that his third cousin, Draco Malfoy, was grinning. He was sure in his life he'd never seen a Malfoy grin .
"My sweet, bright girl," Kingsley grabbed her shoulder, "you saved this place. You get to rebuild it!" He still had hope in his eyes, believing she could be swayed.
"You need people on the outside too, Kingsley, looking at the bigger picture from a different angle. To make sure you're not building a monstrosity from within." she pulled away from his grip and took another step towards Draco.
"you think we're on the wrong path?" Kingsley's brow furrowed.
"I think if you are, I can make more of a difference from out there." Hermione breathed slowly, "I'm always going to support you, maybe not agree with you at every turn, sir, but I always know when you do something, it's for what you believe to be the right reasons." Draco marvelled at his woman's ability to praise and cast doubt on the Minister in one breath. His mother sprang to mind.
"I can't believe this is it," Kingsley shook his head sadly, "all of our plans, Hermione." Hermione was done with his emotional manipulation.
"You allowed them an audience of press and public so they could read a dirty letter they'd found. You knew their evidence, and you had the power to say 'no' to their outlandish demands…." Hermione ground, her knuckles tightening again. She felt a hand on her back, not reigning her in but bolstering her. Draco's strong fingers splaying against her spinal column said, literally, 'I've got your back.'
"Any objection I made would have been seen as bias!" the Minister croaked, throwing his hands up.
"No other ministry staff member would have been subjected to that, Sir. Your desperation to appease the old twats who were too scared of the fight and resent us for trying was used to hurt me." She sniffed as tears started to burn the back of her throat, "to humiliate me and to 'put me in my place. I guess they succeeded in that aspect because I know now my place is most certainly not here."
"Hermione… I" The old man didn't know what to say. She wasn't wrong, and it was painful to see what his politicking had wrought.
"I want to stay friends. I don't want us ever to not be that Kingsley." She smiled at him through tears. "You were my dad, for a little while, when I needed a dad after the war… you were it. I'll never be able to thank you enough for that."
"We'll stay, family." The Minister for magic moved to wrap his arms around the muggle-born girl he'd pegged for greatness and was shocked to find another hand on her back. The Malfoy boy's appendage snapped away at the sudden embrace, though not quick enough that the Minister didn't notice.
"COMING!" Blaise trilled as he jogged to his front door, his tasteful thigh-length kimono wrapped loosely around his naked body. He pulled open the barrier with a grin that disappeared instantly.
"Expecting company, Bean?" Pansy Parkinson's sharp bob grazed her cheekbones as she shook her head disapprovingly. He was surprised it didn't draw blood.
"yes." He answered shortly, "What do you want, Parkinson?"
"Oh, come now, don't be like that, Bean." she pushed into his luxurious Diagon Alley apartment with a beleaguered sigh.
"I'll repeat it because I know you, and you don't make house calls unless you're after something. What do you want?" He kicked the front door shut and picked up a tumbler of whisky, downing it in one.
"Malfoy was at Granger's hearing." She threw her coat onto the sofa and manoeuvred quickly to the bar, like the path was one she knew well "Do you know what Chase Parks told me?"
"I don't even know what a Chase Parks is Parkinson. It sounds like dog heaven." He glowered, and she snorted with laughter at his joke. Her smile, her laugh melted him a little. He felt a twitch at the side of his lips and forced them straight.
"He's on the ministry beat for the Prophet." she plonked ice into her glass of straight vodka. "He's won three Golden Quills."
"Bully for old Chase Parks." Blaise moved closer to her, only to reach for the whisky, certainly not to sniff her.
"He told me that Malfoy told him to ask the big question." Pansy looked at him with wide eyes, trying to discern what the man she'd once known so well was hiding.
"I literally have no idea what you're talking about. What hearing? What question?" he shrugged and took another drink.
"For fuck sake, Blaise, go read the evening edition on your window sill and put on some pants while you're at it. I can see your dick when you shrug." Pansy rolled her shoulders and steeled her self control. She came for information, not to slide back between his perfectly toned legs. "Then we'll talk."
"fine." He had nothing salty to respond with. She had a way of throwing him.
"We need to stop." Hermione groaned as he lavished all of his attention onto her neck while grinding into the gusset of her nylon tights.
"I'm going to miss riling you up in here." He muttered against her pulse point as his hips jutted against the springy fabric cushion where her hosier had ridden down slightly. "Do you remember when you lectured me for an hour after I submitted my application for giant labourers with an error for the second time?" he dragged her teeth up the column of her throat and relished in her mewls.
"I was so pissed off at you." she shook her head and tilted her hips toward him. She was on the tail end of her period and was woman enough to admit the idea of him filling her was overriding the fear of a slight, sticky mess. But not on the desk, in her soon to be former office.
"I did it on purpose." he chuckled, but it quickly turned into a groan when she shoved him off.
"You absolute arse hole!" She chided, she was still smiling, but her knees were pulling together.
"When we were at school, I got your attention with cruel words. As an adult, I did the same thing with administrative errors. I apologise for the former but not the latter." He smirked and kissed her nose "my visits to this office proved to be very fertile soil for your creative endeavours." He leaned across her and tapped her secret drawer.
"Oh god," She scuttled around the desk, "Imagine I forgot them!" She gassed as she unlocked the drawer and gathered her last personal documents.
"We're taking this desk," he said decisively.
"We can't!" she cast a featherlight on her endless box and lifted it effortlessly. "It's ministry property!"
"What are they going to do? Bill me for it?" he snickered devilishly. "This sacred writing surface, my darling, holds deep personal sentimentality for me." he ran his finger over the grain of the wood. "This is the spot you sat on during the Christmas open day."
Hermione snorted at the memory. "What a horrible day that was.."
"You perched up here in your ruffled pencil skirt, and you said 'Malfoy, am I glad to see you'… " he smiled fondly. It was the first time she'd greeted him with something other than disdain.
"You pretended we had an important meeting for a whole two hours, so I didn't have to take any more pictures with the public." she grinned affectionately.
"and here," He tapped on the corner opposite from where they'd engaged in salacious activities, "Is where you placed the first-ever coffee you bought me. We had a morning meeting about my Skrewt shells." he grinned at her. "That was a big day."
She gave him an apologetic grin. "I'd forgotten we had a meeting. I bought it for Harry." he gasped and clutched his chest at her admission. "But the next time was on purpose."
"Thank goodness." He lifted his eyebrows at her. "Here, he tapped her side of the desk is where you sat when I almost convinced you to sign off on a dragon."
"You're delusional." She tutted.
"You've still got an hour before you're technically no longer an employee, could push it through before…." He trailed off as she laughed over him. It had been worth a shot, he thought.
"Steal the desk and get a move on, Malfoy." She moved around him, patting him on the rear as she went. She picked up her office jar of Floo Powder.
"wait, I haven't got to my favourite bit of my nostalgic farewell tour around our desk." He grinned as he walked his fingers to the sexiest corner of the desk, and she felt heat bloom over her cheeks. She wasn't sure if it was the memories of their first sexual encounter or that he'd referred to the desk as theirs , causing the heat. "This is where I, humble man of the people, Draco Malfoy," She guffawed at him, "gave the goddess and champion of the masses Hermione Granger an orgasm, a daring quest which flummoxed many greats of the wizarding world." He nodded thoughtfully and then bowed his head, taking a moment of prayer.
"Not many!" She protested with a yelp. "You're such a twat!"
He shrunk the desk and chucked it in his pocket, bounding towards her playfully. "But you love me, really." He only realised what he'd said when the words tumbled from his lips, and her eyes widened.
Of course, I do! Her brain screamed, but she just smiled awkwardly. "Take me for a drink to celebrate my new job," she whispered when the tension hung for a moment too long.
"Muggle or Magic?" He asked as he proffered his arm and led her to the floo.
"muggle, please, I'd like to get a bit shit faced without gawkers." She admitted with a shrug.
"Oooh!" He grabbed the floo powder from her hand and tossed a pinch in for her "Malfoy Manor, library." he commanded, and the flames turned green. "Can I hold your hair while you vomit later?"
"Only if you're very good," Hermione smirked as she stepped into the flames and whooshed out of sight.
" BUT YOU LOVE ME REALLY? Really Draco... You plonker!" The blonde man scolded himself before following her.
Kingsley Shacklebolt gaped at the three folders before him on his extensive desk. He could feel Emery's objection burning him from his smaller work surface in the corner of the room.
"Explain," Kingsley commanded of the hunched figure before him.
Smeaton grinned. He had simultaneously too many teeth and not enough. "The large one is Miss Granger." He pointed to a folder that was at least thirty centimetres thick. It was stuffed with sheaths of parchment and wrapped with a wide burgundy ribbon.
"The smallest one is Mr Malfoy." Smeaton tapped a vastly thinner folder, wrapped in a black ribbon.
"and this one," Smeaton ran his digit over a folder half the thickness of the largest, "contains prognostications which we believe involve them both."
"How many?" Kingsley's breathing was shallow.
"Combined, I'd say three hundred. Some are open to interpenetration, obviously." Smeaton had been waiting years for someone to ask about the muggle girl's portfolio. Her impact was unprecedented. He had one lad whose job it was to try to plot the knock-on. Kingsley's knuckles tightened on the arms of his chair. "Then there's the impact these forecasts…." The unspeakable let out a little squeal of excitement "have on the others. We're still trying to work that out."
"And I can read these?" Kingsley stared at the folders. He knew numbers like that meant change. Big change.
"As Minister for magic, you are permitted to see all of our data." The unspeakable tightened his lips across his teeth. "Though, I don't advise it."
"Of course, he doesn't!" Emery could hold his tongue no longer. "People who try to fight fate become architects of their own downfall. It's literally a tale as old as time, Sir!"
"Mr White is, of course, correct." Smeaton steepled his fingers and observed the Minister, wondering which path their leader would take.
"these tabs, what are these?" Kingsley touched a yellow ribbon hanging from Hermione's folder.
"The ones before the marker have passed. The ones after are still to come." Smeaton reached for Hermione's pile and pulled out the top sheet. "Miss Granger's birth was predicted on three occasions. The earliest we could find was the 17th century."
"as early as that?" Emery White stopped bristling and turned with wide eyes to the parchment.
"There would be no harm in hearing a prophecy that has already come to pass, surely?" Kingsley leaned over his desk and plucked the paper from Smeaton's fingers. "Who made this?"
"Interesting story," Smeaton finally took a seat. Every bone in his body clicked as he folded himself. "Miss Felicity Smith, actually a Malfoy but born a squib and subjected to 60 years of servitude in her family home. She suffered from what we now know to be epilepsy, and during every seizure, she'd shout these foretellings. The cook and other house staff took to documenting them. They were registered after her death by her younger sister when she discovered who the sickly maid actually was."
"That's heartbreaking." Emery White dabbed at his eyes, very aware that those horrendous ancestors were his ancestors.
"Quite, her proclamations were so outlandish they thought her mad… she was just hundreds of years too early." Smeaton took a dusty breath and laughed. "She's our most accurate seer to date. Her malady made her brain more absorbent to atmospheric futures."
"What's that?" Kingsley frowned, understanding very little of what was being said.
"Prophesy speak," Smeaton shrugged. He attempted to fold his legs but found the exercise too strenuous.
"Hermione Granger, a girl, born of muggles, defender of the chosen, protector of the meek born on the nineteenth day of September." Kingsley read allowed from the parchment. He'd expected poetry. He'd anticipated some sort of mystical utterance that needed picking apart to truly understand. "That's… specific." he finally said when nothing else came to mind.
"Yes, some of them are." Smeaton shrugged.
"Who else predicted her birth." Kingsley slipped the paper back into the folder and leaned away from the incessant temptation to flip to the end of the book.
"There was a wizard in London in the early '70s called David Jones. He lived in the muggle world, sang songs or something and…." Smeaton paused simply for the drama "Lily Evans on the morning of her wedding day to James Potter." he made a slight 'surprise' motion with his hands. "That one, I'd advise against reading, as there are promises still to be fulfilled."
"Take them back." Kingsley pushed the folders across the smooth surface of his desk with a grunt.
"Good choice, Minister." Smeaton vanished the futures with a wave of his wand.