Chapter 36: Your Prank Was Good

Jed Seaborne's first day at the Ministry of Magic was not the joyful embarkation into adulthood he'd expected. He'd only been in the building for three hours and had already been yelled at seven times. His feet pounded as he sprinted through the corridors. He was learning that his job as an inter-departmental messenger was ninety per cent running and ten per cent getting screamed at. If a head or a deputy wanted to ensure their paperwork or note got directly into the hands of their desired recipient, the only means was a messenger. A bespectacled and seething woman in Transport had handed him a letter, her face red with indignation. She'd demanded he run it to the Minister. Not his assistant, not his secretary but the Minister himself. Jed had been told repeatedly during his orientation NOT to bother the Minister. He didn't know what to do. So he ran.

"I need to…." He arrived at the door of the Pentagonal office, the seat of power. He could not breathe. "Minister needs to see…."

"I'll take that," Dolores, the Minister's secretary and gatekeeper, put her hand out.

"Mrs Barlow said I had to deliver it directly to the Minister. She was specific." He showed the woman the chit he had been handed. It required a signature from Kingsley.

"That bloody woman." Dolores rolled her eyes. "This isn't your fault. Take a biscuit." She pointed to the glass jar filled with custard creams and pressed an intercom button. "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir, Barlow has sent a messenger, and he requires your signature." Jed placed the biscuit in his pocket for later consumption and stood to attention.

"She's done what?" Kingsley appeared in a flurry of frustration, borne of a man who had no time.

"Minister, it's not the boy's fault." Dolores tempered the Minister with a look that could scold a dementor.

"What's your name?" Kingsley asked as he grabbed the chit and signed it.

"Jed Seaborne, sir." The boy barely spoke, his throat tight with panic, as the Minister shoved the signed piece of paper into his hand.

"and how long have you worked for us, Jed?" The Minister asked distractedly as he peeled open the letter and scanned it.

"it's my first…." Jed Seaborne didn't get to finish his sentence as the Minister's eyes bulged and his mouth gaped.

"FUCK!" The most powerful man in wizarding Britain turned and kicked the closed door, regretting it when his foot throbbed.

"off you go, Jed," Dolores commanded, staring at her boss with shock.

"Get me Sully, get me whoever is in charge of Ministry Procurement…." Kingsley paced back and forth, attempting to walk off the pain in his foot. "Get Babbish."

"From legal?" Dolores frowned, wondering what Deirdre Barlow could have written to cause such a fuss.

Pansy Parkinson strode with purpose into the bustling Weasley's Wizard Wheezes joke emporium, her hands held aloft like a surgeon about to cut into flesh.

"Pansy!" A woman, one of the Rowles, was waving at her. Pansy aimed her most insincere smile in the witch's direction.

"Hello, Panties." George Weasley grinned from his position behind the counter.

"Hello there, Mr Weasley. I hear your mother is taking tea with several young ladies today in the hopes of finding you a suitable match." Pansy spoke loud enough for the nearest single witches, now a permanent feature in the joke shop, to hear.

"How could you possibly know what my mother is up to?" George shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"We correspond regularly." Pansy grinned. "Please, could you give me the antidote for whatever you've put on my hands?" He'd expected her to scream and kick. It's what Hermione had done when he'd pulled the same prank on her in Grimmauld place. Pansy's cool reaction was unsettling, to say the least.

George didn't speak. He merely raised his eyebrow. There was always the fall-back tactic of poorly-feigned innocence if he couldn't get a reaction from the act itself.

"Everything I touch shrinks down to the size of a pea. Thank goodness I dressed before I applied my hand cream." George wondered if the calm of her voice hid underlying currents.

"Gosh, that does sound inconvenient." the newly returned king of practical jokes gave Pansy a slight shrug. Her eyes narrowed.

"It. Is." oh yes, the ripples of anger were breaking on her surface. George grinned wider. "Perhaps I should demonstrate." Pansy Parkinson snarled before lunging toward George. In the brief second, before she made contact, he couldn't imagine her plan. The serum he'd snuck into her hand-cream, with the help of a Prophet insider, had no effect on humans. Her fingers wrapped around the soft wool of the old jumper that he'd had since school, and his eyes widened.

"NO!" He yelped.

"Yes." She hissed.

The jumper constricted around his body and then ripped, he let out a pained mewl at the moment of tearing, but it was drowned out by the sudden scream of excitement from the women in the shop. "Fix my hands, or it's your trousers next."

Blushing from his tips to his nips, George Weasley stared in shocked horror at the shop floor. Women, scary women with big hats, were staring at him and visibly salivating. He raised his shaky hands to shield his nipples from their predatory gaze. "Upstairs!" He barked at Pansy and pointed to the spiral stairs behind the counter which led to the workshop.

Hermione turned to look at Draco. She could feel the nervous tension radiating from him. "You don't have to do this." She stopped walking and looked back at the apparition point she'd had set up shortly after her parents returned to the UK. It was the only magical means of getting to their house, a safety precaution. The apparition point was a fifteen-minute walk through parkland from the Granger residence. Hermione was glad the weather was at least dry.

"I want to do this," Draco assured, but his fists balled.

"Draco, it's been less than two months. It's not unreasonable for us to leave it another two months…." Draco cut her off with his lips on hers.

"I am nervous, of course, I am." he mumbled against her mouth, "but I want to do this, now." there was promise in that statement. Meeting her parents had been her only proviso for an engagement, and he'd been adamant.

"OK, come on then" she pulled him by the hand through the lush green parkland.

"Where are we?" He asked, staring around at the foliage, it felt like the countryside, but he could see the London skyline in the distance.

"Richmond." She sighed happily, "I grew up in a house on that side" she pointed in the opposite direction from which they walked. "When mum and dad came back from Australia…." Hermione swallowed it had been a complicated path to reintroducing herself to her parents' memory and explaining to them who she was. "They wanted to stay here again, and dad's dream home was up for grabs." They came to the edge of the park where large houses stood in huge fenced gardens, the last monuments of tranquillity before the city sprawled again. "Here we are." she pressed a code into a gate's lock and waited as it swung open.

"Your parents are rich," Draco Malfoy accused as he looked at what had to be at least a six-bedroom home. Smooth white walls contrasted with a red slate roof and large windows.

"Yea." She looked at him with disbelief. "I told you I grew up comfortably."

"You grew up rich !" He pointed at the mansion.

"I grew up in a slightly smaller home, thank you." She grinned. "This shouldn't be a surprise. You've heard me speak. I am identifiably posh!" She nudged him as she trudged over the lawn.

"You said your parents were medics, I know healers, and they don't live like this." Draco jogged to keep up with her.

"My parents are cosmetic dentists with a Harley Street practice and satellite offices across Britain," Dentistry was the single most challenging thing to explain to wizards. Draco stared blankly. "When the muggle Prime Minister gets his teeth whitened, my dad is the man he goes to."

"So they're experts in their field?" He nodded.

"Yes."

"Which is making teeth look nice and not hurt?" He attempted.

"I guess."

"How are you, the way you are?" He asked, stopping in his tracks.

"What?" Hermione spun to look at him and frowned.

"You grew up rich. You weren't a brat. How?" He'd never met a wealthy person who wasn't an entitled wanker. How could this woman be any more anomalous?

"My mother…" Hermione didn't get to finish her sentiment as a small woman in jeans and a T-shirt had exited the large glass door.

"Hello, you must be the little shit who bullied my daughter!" Jean Granger cocked her hip, her curls jiggled, and her eyes narrowed.

"Be nice, mum," Hermione warned as she dragged Draco the last few steps to meet her mother.

"Welcome to our home." The woman's smile didn't meet her eyes as she held the door open for the now nauseous blonde.

"Will my desk grow back, or will I need to take some of this stuff home with me?" Pansy asked as she sat crossed-legged on a stool in the joke workshop.

"It'll be back to normal in an hour or two," George grumbled as he grabbed a bottle of clear liquid from a shelf. "Here," He handed the bottle in her direction. Pansy stared at him. "Oh, I'm an idiot." He realised too late, for his pride's sake, that handing her the bottle would, in fact, be pointless, given her mitts were covered in shrinking balm.

"You'll have to put it on." She shoved her hands at him "or would you like to grab a shirt first?" Pansy smirked as she eyed his chest. He wasn't unfit, a little thicker in the hips than his Hogwarts days but still solid and broad. His torso was dotted with freckles and not much hair.

George had forgotten he was topless, too engrossed with the sudden realisation that Pansy Parkinson was the first girl to enter his workshop. "oh yea." He turned on the spot before heading to a crate. Pansy watched the muscles on his back ripple as he bent to pick up a t-shirt, and she felt for the first time in a long time, a clench of desire for someone other than Blaise.

"Your boss must be happy with the Hermione and Draco story?" He asked conversationally as he hastily dragged the blue t-shirt over his exposed body.

"he is," she seemed unsure.

"Really?" George pulled a stool up in front of Pansy and sunk into it.

"No, he is. He's decided to keep the Sunday supplement for a year." Pansy's lips twitched to the side as she watched George uncork the bottle of liquid and pour some onto a cotton ball, dousing it in the fluid. He nipped the cotton between his thumb and forefinger and swiped it along the back of her hand. The cotton ball did not shrink. "He's going to pay me a freelancer's rate for anything I write for the magazine, which is great because I need the money, and the freelancer rate is high… I just…"

"You wanted to edit the magazine?" He asked as he trailed the swab over her fingers.

"I thought, perhaps they'd consider it, given it was my idea." she shook her head. "It's silly. I just got the promotion to edit the social pages."

"It's not silly." George dragged the cotton ball around her thumb, concentrating on his task. His lip caught between his teeth.

"Thank you." Pansy shrugged, "Perhaps in a few years,"

"Turn over."

"What?" Pansy glanced up at him and was captivated by how very blue his eyes were.

"Your hands, turn them over." she did as he bid, and he cleaned her palms.

Silence hung in the air as they sat face to face, knees almost touching. "All done." he finally croaked when he'd covered every millimetre of hand. Pansy stood, still careful not to touch anything, and he followed. They were so close she could feel his breath on her cheeks.

She grabbed the front of his T-shirt and pulled him a little closer still. She tilted her chin and smirked. "Just checking." she released the fabric. "No more topless Weasley." She took a step back and reached into the pocket of the raincoat she was wearing. "Your prank was good," She nodded and retrieved a newspaper. "Mine is better." She shoved the paper at him and scurried from the room. "An early copy of tomorrow's print." Eager to put distance between herself and what was clearly a dangerous situation, if her pounding heart was anything to go by, Pansy lunged for the stairs.

"NO!" He read the top line of the article on the open page 'Bachelor George Weasley's Mother talks.'

"Bye Georgie Boy!" Pansy called from the shop floor. The witches gasped.

"I should be worried, right?" Hermione glanced at her mother and then at her watch. "It's been forty minutes. You don't think he's found a cavity?"

"Sweetheart, your father took the man who has sex with you, his precious daughter, to show him his at-home dentist chair. I started worrying the second the door closed." Jean Granger topped up the two glasses of white wine that stood between them. "Molly sent me a book." Jean swallowed, "About you."

"Oh, for god's sake, she had no right." Hermione hissed and took a large swig. After the biographies of Harry and Dumbledore were released, with no permission asked nor needed, Hermione had come next. "Most of it is bollocks."

"I hate that you edit what happened during the war. I hate that you won't just tell me it all." Jean pursed her lips. "But I understand, it's your trauma, and you don't owe me any of it." the eternal mother nodded and draped her arm over her daughter's shoulder as they leaned on the kitchen island.

"You're in therapy." Hermione smiled, shooting her mother a wry look.

"I had to lie and say I have a daughter in the military." Jean gave Hermione a squeeze. "You've served two tours of North Korea."

Hermione snorted, "I'm pretty sure there are no British troops in North Korea, mother."

"I thought that would help with the secrecy and magical plot holes," Hermione wasn't sure if she was kidding or not. "So, this boy then." Jean let the silence hang in the air.

"Draco."

"Hmm, yea, him." Mrs Granger chuckled. "You think you're in love with him?"

"I know I am." Hermione shrugged, lifting her mother's arm up momentarily. Jean nodded. "You're not going to tell me it's too soon?"

Hermione's mother shook her head, "You never fit in." the woman sighed. "When you were little, and we'd organise playdates, I could tell you were faking it." Jean smiled sadly at her baby. "You'd play along with the other children, but I could tell it didn't come naturally to you when I watched you. You'd put on your little mask and pretend."

Hermione chuckled, "It was exhausting."

"I know. That's why we stopped setting them up." Jean let out a bark of laughter as a memory hit her. "You said, when you were five, that playtime in school felt like work."

"Pretending to be a pony for forty minutes was work." Hermione cricked her neck.

"It was the same with Ron." Jean Granger couldn't keep the acid out of her mouth at the mention of the ginger snake who made her daughter doubt her awesomeness. "With him, you thought that's what you were supposed to want, so you put on a little show."

"No…" Hermione started to interrupt.

"The Hermione I know was not the same girl I saw with him." Jean tapped the marble work surface. "You were play-acting what you thought a girlfriend should be, and it was exhausting you."

"It was." Hermione finally agreed.

"But with this boy…."

"Draco." Hermione offered.

"yes, him. You're you." Jean tipped the last of her wine into her mouth. "When you're talking to him, I recognise you completely."

"That's sweet, mum." Hermione turned in her mother's arms, embracing her.

"I still think he's a little shit," Jean mumbled into her daughter's hair.

"That's fine, as long as you accept he's a little shit who loves me."

Both sets of eyes shot up as the door to the kitchen creaked open. Draco Malfoy, paler than usual, stood in the passage. His face was swollen, and he swooned slightly.

"Draco!" Hermione screamed, running around the kitchen towards the man.

"I don't feel…." Draco grabbed the wall to steady himself.

"What's he done to him?" Hermione gasped at her unmoving mother as she wrapped her arms around Draco.

"He's got terrible teeth." Gene Granger strode from his at-home dentistry room, his apron splattered with blood. Hermione squeaked, her eyes quickly returning to Draco to check he wasn't dying. He was smiling, grinning down at her, with one arm holding her to him, his other removed wads of cotton from his cheeks. His no longer swollen cheeks.

"Ah, so you got him to play along, Husband?" Jean grinned at the man she'd loved at first sight.

"He's a very agreeable boy!" Gene giggled as he ran his finger through the 'blood' and popped it in his mouth. "Strawberry syrup," he confessed. The tension in Hermione's body melted as she heard her parents' raucous laughter.

"I couldn't deny the man this wish. He's been planning the prank since you were twelve." Draco spoke quietly, resting his forehead against hers. Hermione didn't see her mother well up, take a breath and steady herself. She didn't see her father signal over their heads, pointing dramatically at his ring finger. All she saw was Draco.

"Your mum and dad are both called Jean?" Draco giggled a little. "why did you never tell me that?"

"I like to surprise people with Gene and Jean Granger." Hermione laughed.

Pansy Parkinson folded her legs under her small dining table-cum-desk and flipped through the month's event calendar. She was pushing the social pages towards a new society, away from blood values, and it hadn't gone unnoticed. Appease them. Had been her editor's advice. And so she flicked through their boring events in search of something noteworthy.

There was a knock at her door, and she frowned, "Who's there?"

"Wizarding Britain's number one bachelor." A not unwelcome voice came from behind the wood. "I'm unarmed." He added nervously when she didn't open the door immediately.

"How do you Weasley boys keep finding my address?" Pansy asked as she pulled open the barrier, smiling at the blue-eyed boy who'd occupied most of her thoughts.

"Who else has been here?" George wondered with horror if Pansy had ever entertained Percy. The thought made him heave.

"Ronald showed up, wanting to tell-all about Hermione." She explained, inviting him in with a wave of her arm.

Her flat, like her office, was void of almost all personality. Books, magazines and parchment were the only décor Pansy Parkinson had opted for. "When did you move here?" he asked, looking around for anything which gave her away. Stated who she was.

"I started leasing it a year ago, I was still living with Blaise, and I stupidly thought we could share it." She grinned, but it didn't reach her eyes. "He didn't want to downgrade." she shrugged and cleared her sofa of the open pages of periodicals she was reading.

"His parents gave him that flat?" George asked, dropping down to sit.

"Yes." The dark-haired witch poured a glass of water from the pitcher on her tiny kitchen island and handed it to George. "I wanted to make my own way."

"Makes sense." the joke-shop owner nodded sagely, accepting the drink with a grateful smile. Bare magnolia walls and grey curtains surrounded him. None of the feminine touches he'd expected. "Why don't you decorate?" he could hold his curiosity no longer. Even his seldom visited bachelor pad had a poster or two on the walls.

Pansy shrugged, joining George on the muted sofa. "This furniture came with the flat and all my stuff from home… my father destroyed it when I left, and all the stuff at Blaise's was his ." she took a long drink of water.

"you need new stuff." He stared at his hands, not sure where to look.

"I'll get to it." Pansy took a long breath. "What are you doing here?"

"I want you to leave my mother out of… this." He pointed between them, still not looking at her.

"No." She was resolute, not smiling and not teasing. George's eyes were forced to her face, shocked by her refusal.

"Excuse me?"

"I said no." Pansy turned to look at the man who made her melt and tried to hold herself together. "Molly Weasley is an icon and a legend. She did more for the war effort, gave more than most." She gave her children for the cause of freedom. It was unsaid but weighed heavily on the argument, "Your mother is a pureblood. She could have sat it out. She didn't. I don't know why she's not been praised and lauded by society," Pansy placed her water on the table beside her, "but she hasn't, and I intend to fix that."

"I praise her," George felt a defensive hackle rise. Who was this woman to talk about his mother?

"Of course you do!" Pansy couldn't control her hand as it moved to rest on his arm, she felt his muscle tense beneath her fingertips, and it burned. "You're her favourite son."

"No, I'm…." George made to protest.

"You make her smile. You're her favourite." Pansy sniffed and drew her hand back. "Your mother has a lot of important stories to tell, and she deserves more credit, so… I'm going to keep talking with her." she tilted her head in concession "but, when we talk about you from now on, it'll be off the record."

"Thank you," George prepared to stand.

"Stay for a bit, finish your tap water." Pansy nodded at the half-full glass with a grin.

"You know, one of those creepy women from the shop drew a charcoal rendering of my topless body thanks to you." George snorted as he relaxed back into the couch.

"Can I have it?" Pansy chuckled. "I need new stuff."

A/N: Have I been watching the West Wing again? Yes. I'm going to tell you now that Hermione's "Secret" is something I've been thinking about for months, and I'm so excited... and while I've been really enjoying writing this expansive story that grew from a funny idea I do know the end, and there is an end and while we're not quite there yet... it's on the horizon! Thanks so much for all the comments and the kindness (as always!). Whisky x