Chapter Two
The next morning dawned bleak and grey. It was not unusual for the weather at that time of year, but to Hermione it seemed like an additional reminder of her agenda for the day. She had slept well that night, which was probably due to the amount of crying she had done before collapsing in bed.
After showering, she used her hand to wipe the condensation off her mirror, revealing her riotous wet curls and eyes that were red and puffy from the night before. She stared at herself for several long moments, taking in her appearance. Sometimes it caught her off-guard – she looked older than she expected. After dealing with the stress of school, and then the stress of war, it made sense. At nineteen, she had been through more than most wizards experienced in their entire lives. She could forgive herself for the odd grey hair or the lines that were developing at the corners of her eyes and mouth. But it was not these things that concerned her this morning.
This morning, there was an empty look in her eyes.
She did not go out of her way to get ready or to look nicer than she usually did. She didn't want to look particularly appealing. She used the same hair-taming spells that she always did, paying a bit more attention to the frizziness of her curls. She wore minimal make up, and opted to dress in an outfit she frequently wore to her job at the Ministry. She refused to make herself more appealing to the wizards that would be bidding for her hand.
After she was satisfied that she looked as acceptable as she always did, she Floo'd into the hearth of the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, where Harry and Ginny had happily taken up residence after their marriage.
Since the end of the war, the secret building had undergone a remarkable transformation. Harry, who had never had a home of his own, had been more than happy to help Ginny take the former Black residence from the dark, dingy domicile it had been to the warm and welcoming home that it had become.
Due to its hidden nature, the home lacked windows. Ginny had made up for it by replacing all of the wallpaper with light creams and tans. The trims around what few windows there were and the cabinets went from black to light brown, and new lighting adorned anywhere it could –chandeliers, table lamps, floor lamps, and wall sconces were placed everywhere. Where there was any free wall space, there were photographs of the family. Old portraits of all of the Weasleys, an enlarged print of James and Lily dancing together, and photographs of Fred in places of honor atop mantles and on walls of their own. The Potters had turned the former Order house into a home.
They had arranged to have a small breakfast together as a family before going to the Ministry in a group – Harry and Ginny, and Ron and Cho would be going with her to support her today. Hermione appreciated their support, because the idea of facing this alone was nauseating. As it was, she wasn't sure she'd be able to eat anything.
When she stepped out of the heatless flames, everyone else had already arrived and the kitchen was bustling. Ginny was at the large iron stove, multiple pans cooking and sizzling, some tended by her and some by her wand. Harry was struggling to remove pieces of toast from the toaster, seemingly forgetting that he was a wizard and didn't need to burn his fingers to take the toast out. Cho was carefully setting the table, and Ron was pouring glasses of water and juices. They all fell silent for a moment, turning to look at her, and Hermione was very aware that they had all been talking about her not a moment before.
"Good morning, Hermione!" Cho eventually supplied. Hermione gave her a tight smile and the conversation gradually picked back up as she made her way around the kitchen to hug everyone in turn. She joined Cho in setting the table, and they talked about anything they could except the obvious. As they ate together, and then tidied up afterwards, there was not a word spoken about the Auctioning. Just for a moment, it felt like any other breakfast together. But only for a moment.
Narcissa Malfoy was waiting for her son to return the next morning. She was seated across from the fireplace, gaze alternating from the book she was idly reading to the clock that was ticking by. She had known Draco had left and not come home the night before, and she was not an idiot. He had been with Pansy Parkinson. While she had no quarrels with Pansy, she did know that Draco's relationship with Pansy was a symbol of his clinging to the last vestiges of his former self, and it was something he needed to shed if he were to be at all successful with his task today.
Much later than she would have preferred, the Floo roared to life and Draco stepped calmly into the room, dressed in the clothes he had worn the night before. He looked neither surprised or pleased to see his mother waiting for him.
"Please, spare me," he said. "I know what you're going to say and I assure you, it's done. We are nothing more than friends."
Narcissa did not need to pry more – she knew that Draco was telling her the truth.
After showering and drying his hair, Draco stood in contemplation in front of his wardrobe. At first glance, it was a mass of identical black jackets and trousers, with a section of button-down shirts in various shades of white, grey, and green. Draco knew better, though. Every outfit had a different cut, a different style, and a different occasion it was meant for. Draco was admittedly vain, and took pride in what he looked like.
He opted in the end to wear a pair of closely-cut black trousers with a dark grey pinstripe and a deep green button down. He wore his Malfoy signet ring, and black dragonhide loafers. In an effort to look more casual, he decided to roll his sleeves up to his elbows. He hesitated on his left arm, remembering the faded Dark Mark that still was embedded in the skin there. Nowadays it looked less defined, but it was still obvious what it was. The urge to cover it, to hide it and to hide who he was, was very real. He looked down at his forearm, and took a deep breath to work through the conflicting emotions he was feeling. Shame, pride that he had survived and kept his mother safe, embarrassment, a mourning for his father. He rolled his sleeve up and turned from the mirror.
As he dressed, a mantra repeated itself in his head: it's two years, and then it's done. He had endured worse for longer periods of time. The worst that would happen is he didn't like the witch, and she didn't like him, and they'd live in uncomfortable matrimony for two years. When there was no heir, the marriage would be dissolved and the entire experience would be an unfortunate memory.
Two years to suffer, and then it was done. Two years. Two years.
"You're not wearing a tie?" Narcissa asked as Draco reentered the room after he was finished dressing. "You're meeting your wife, the mother of your children. Don't you think you should look more formal?"
"Why?" Draco asked, the sulky tone from the night before returning to his voice. "It's not my wedding, it's no better than a cattle auction."
"Draco Lucius Malfoy," Narcissa shouted, rising quickly to her feet. "Enough."
Draco turned to his mother, startled. His full name, her stance, her tone of voice. She was angry at him, unexpectedly and suddenly. It set Draco on edge, and his guard was up immediately.
"Enough?" Draco repeated back, rounding on her and standing at his full height. "Enough? Forgive me, did I misunderstand today? Are you the one who's off to be forcibly betrothed to some Half-blooded, or even Muggle-born witch?"
Narcissa did not back down from Draco's posturing, despite the flash of her husband she saw in his stance and heard in his tone. She knew that Draco was not her husband – Lucius acted out from anger and hatred, and she knew her son acted out from fear and uncertainty. She took a step towards him, head held high and eyes locked with his.
"Enough," she repeated. "You are behaving like an angry child. You are acting like your father."
The blow hit low, just as Narcissa knew that it would. Draco took an involuntary step backwards, eyes widening with shock and hurt. All of the nervous energy that he had been building since the night before, which had bounced between fear and anger, fizzled out of him. He was silent, staring at his mother, and feeling very much like a young child again. She was right.
"I apologize," he said, looking away from her. "You're right. I'm lashing out."
Narcissa reached forward and pulled Draco to her chest, hugging him tightly. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and he wrapped his arms around her in return and squeezed his eyes shut.
"You're scared," she murmured into his hair. "You're scared of being judged, you're scared of making the wrong choice, you're afraid of the consequences of these actions. You're afraid of disappointing me. But darling, it will be alright. You will make the right choice, because you will choose with your heart." She pulled back and tapped his chest, and tilted his chin up with one finger. "That is why you are unlike your father. You will choose what you know to be right with your heart, not with your hatred."
Draco could not answer – his throat was tight and uncomfortable, and his eyes stung.
"You will not disappoint me," Narcissa reassured, releasing her son from his grasp. "You have never disappointed me, Draco. Despite what has happened, I am and will continue to be proud of you."
Draco nodded, and wiped his eyes quickly. "I'll be late," he said, voice hoarse. "I'm meeting Blaise there, I'll be late if I don't go."
"Go," Narcissa agreed, gesturing to the fireplace. "I'll be here when you return."
Draco gave another nod, and leaned forward to kiss Narcissa's cheek quickly. He stepped into the fireplace without looking back, not trusting himself not to run back to his mother's comfort if he did.
The Ministry for Magic was not an unfamiliar place for Hermione to be. In fact, she was there at least five days a week, sometimes more, for her job. After finishing her eighth year at Hogwarts, she had joined Harry and Ron in the Auror Department, specifically in Intelligence. Field work, while tolerable, was not her forte. But research, knowledge, and planning were.
Unlike her, Harry and Ron found that fieldwork was their forte, and therefore they had found themselves as Aurors. Their high scores on their exams, their successful training, and the fact that they had defeated Lord Voldemort had put them on the fast track to Head Aurors.
Work was usually Hermione's happy place. Much like she enjoyed studying and learning at Hogwarts, she enjoyed the day to day of her job. It was never the same, and it satisfied her need to help in ways she could not fully explain. Since the ending of the war and the downfall of Voldemort, the main objectives of Hermione's department were rounding up the remaining factions of Death Eaters and followers. They had not all disappeared when Voldemort did.
Feeling full of dread upon entering the Ministry was not something that Hermione was used to, and she hated it. She hated how the anxiety settled deep in her stomach and how the familiar tiled hallway walls no longer brought her joy. Today, she was not here to work. Today, she was here as a commodity.
Queues with directional signs had been established at the end of the hallway of fireplaces, indicating which line to join based on who you were. There were lines for observers, for Pureblooded witches and wizards to join the bidding area, and one line for witches and one for wizards that led to the backstage area of the auction room. The Ministry was bustling, with those there for their day to day jobs and those there for the auction. Hermione was momentarily relieved to see that she was not the only person who was close to tears – several people actually were crying, hugging their friends and family before departing into their appropriate line. She saw some familiar faces of coworkers, and Hogwarts classmates that were from years before and after her. A lot of the men looked very chuffed; most of the women looked terrified or resigned.
Hermione was the first through the Floo, and she waited for her companions to join her before she advanced towards the line that was meant for her. Harry and Ron stayed with her until she was at the entrance of the queue, each gripping one of her hands tightly.
"We'll be there, close as we can," Ron promised, squeezing her hands. "We've got your back, always."
"I know," Hermione answered, not looking at him. She was staring at the line in front of her, at the other witches that knew exactly how she felt. There was an aura of solidarity radiating from all of the women. One noticed her, and Hermione knew she had been recognized immediately by the look of shock of the witch's face. She gave Hermione a tight smile and a nod, and then politely looked away.
Then she looked to Ron, and to Harry, and dropped their hands. "I'll see you from the stage," she said, and when she saw the distraught looks on their faces she forced herself to give them a reassuring smile.
When she joined the line, she looked back to see if she could see her friends in the line leading in for the audience, but she could not. They were lost in a sea of witches and wizards. Her smile dropped, and the lump in her throat grew bigger.
Draco hadn't been in the Ministry since the end of his trial, and he had sworn never to have to go back in. He hadn't become a complete hermit, but he hadn't gone out of his way to return to Wizarding areas. He was aware of the reputation his name and face carried, and the Ministry alone had enough bad memories locked in it to make his stomach turn.
He immediately began looking for any familiar face, feeling distinctly alone in the large crowd of wizards heading towards the queue for those who were to be bidding. After a moment, he spotted the back of Blaise Zabini's head, dark hair still worn close to his scalp.
"Blaise!" he called, deftly shouldering his way through the crowd towards his friend. Blaise turned at his voice and spotted him almost immediately, raising a hand and waving him over. As Draco approached, he spared a glance towards the queues for the witches and wizards that were being bid on, and saw a mixture of teary eyes, anger, and fear.
When he reached Blaise, his friend greeted him with a handshake that pulled into a hug and a clap on the back, which Draco returned. While they had been friendly at Hogwarts and while Blaise had stuck to him at the Battle of Hogwarts, Zabini and Malfoy had not become friends until after the completion of their respective trials. They had had the same team of barristers for their defense and had spent a lot of time discussing their proceedings with each other, as they had been cut off from the rest of the world for their privacy and safety.
"Welcome to the Wife Auction," Blaise said jokingly, offering Draco a toothy grin that did not quite reach his eyes. Draco could tell that his friend was nervous, which made him feel slightly better for his own nerves. It seemed ridiculous that they were nervous, considering they still had their free will and agency. They were not being bid on.
An entirely new wing of the Ministry had been built for this purpose. They were being ushered into a large, open room that was occupied on one end by a stage with a podium, and on the other end with riser-type seating. On the wall behind the podium, a huge enchanted clock ticked down minutes until the beginning of the auction, illuminating the stage ominously. On the floorspace, hundreds of chairs had been set up, marked as Reserved. The ceiling was draped with maroon fabric, and hanging at intervals were silk banners emblazoned with the Ministry's logo and the words 'Magical Marriage Department.' On the sides of the chairs, there were cordoned-off areas that were reserved for the press.
Oh Merlin, the press. He hadn't even thought about the field day that the press would have with this situation. Opinion columns, headlining stories about old Pureblooded families marrying, exposés into the lives of the marriages, investigative journalism, the list would go on and on. A bulb flashed to his left, and Draco's head snapped to see a reporter giving him a little wave and a sly grin. It had been two years, but Draco Malfoy still drew the attention of the tabloids when he was out in public.
"Do you have anyone in mind?" Blaise asked as they took their seats. They were to the left side of the stage, but still close to the center, and only a few rows back. They had a clear view of the entirety of the platform, including the podium which sported the same banner that hung from the ceilings.
"Do you?" Draco asked, glancing at Blaise out of the corner of his eyes. Blaise shook his head, but did not look over to meet Draco's eyes. Draco felt suspicion stirring in his chest, but did not ask further.
They watched as the minutes counted down to seconds, and as the clock rang in the noon hour, the Minister for Magic stepped onto the platform. There was a smattering of polite applause, mostly from the men in the audience. But the predominate response to the appearance of Kingsley Shacklebolt was an angry outcry and jeering.
Draco was momentarily surprised by how irately the crowd reacted to the Minister, but then he remembered that most of the people here were not in an advantageous position. Even those who had the opportunity to bid were at a disadvantage – they didn't know anything about who they were bidding on. The witches and wizards being bid on had even less control over this. Their friends and family filling the bleachers had no choice but to watch this unfold. Of course the crowd was angry.
Kingsley seemed unperturbed by the reaction as he raised his wand to his neck and began to speak, his voice amplified by his spell.
"Hello," he said, speaking over the booing as if it wasn't happening. "Thank you all for coming today and supporting the growth and unity of our world. The bidding will start presently, and will begin in alphabetical order. If you see someone you like, you may raise your wand and light the tip to signal a bid. If you wish to add money to the bid, simply call out your offer. Thank you all, and let the bidding commence."
Kingsley stepped off to the side and called the first name.
One by one, witches and wizards walked across stage and stood before the platform, looking out over the crowd with expressions ranging from emotionless to angry to downright hysterical. As they stood, Kinglsey read short biographies about them – their ages, their blood status, where they worked, what they liked to do in their free time. The bidding always started at 100 galleons, and in the seats, wands would go up with their tips illuminated.
The first twenty witches and wizards moved by quickly, and Draco found himself lost in the flow of the auction. The situation felt surreal – it struck him that this seemed no better than being enslaved by Lord Voldemort in many ways. The bidding rolled through the first part of the alphabet, and before long they were in the F's. It had been going on for nearly an hour, and the prices were ranging anywhere from one thousand galleons for older witches and wizards to four thousand galleons for a particularly attractive and young wizard. He had inspired a bidding war amongst a group of witches in the audience. Draco felt nauseous, and he glanced over at Blaise to see if he could tell how his friend was feeling. To his surprise, he saw that Blaise was hyper-fixated on the stage, and he had his wand gripped tightly in his hand. He was on the edge of his seat. He was waiting for something.
"Angelica Franklin," Kingsley announced. The young witch stepped out onto the stage, eyes furiously scanning the audience. She was petite, with delicate features, tanned skin, and dark hair that fell to her shoulders, framing her angular face. Blaise was staring at her with laser focus, and Draco watched as she finally saw Zabini. The anxious look on her face fell away, and she gave a small smile. He looked to Blaise, and saw Blaise give her a reassuring smile back.
"Ms. Franklin is nineteen years old, and Muggle born. She enjoys theatre, singing, and Quidditch. Bidding starts at one hundred galleons."
Blaise's wand shot up in the air, but he was not alone. Draco looked around them – many men had their wands in the air. He looked back at Angelica, and tried to understand what was happening, and why she looked so familiar. Angelica was still looking at Blaise, and seemed startled by the number of bidders she had inspired.
Suddenly, Draco recognized her. She had been in their year – a Hufflepuff, maybe. Or a Ravenclaw. She definitely had not been in their house. How Blaise knew her, he had no idea. But it was clear this had been arranged, and Blaise was not about to back down.
"Six thousand galleons," Blaise declared, rising to his feet as he did. His voice boomed over the crowd, and almost immediately, all the other wands fell. Blaise's bid had doubled the last called number, and his confidence made it clear that he was not afraid to bid more.
Kingsley raised a hand and lowered it, signaling that Blaise had been the winning bid. "Congratulations, Blaise Zabini."
Angelica's face flooded with relief and she walked off the stage, to the room where Blaise would go to meet her. Zabini stood to make his way there, too, but Draco reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him back down.
"You knew her?" he demanded. "And you set this up?"
Blaise nodded, looking at Draco with annoyance. It was clear he was eager to make his way backstage to unite with Angelica.
"Explain," Draco said, annoyed that his friend had withheld this from him and that he hadn't thought of it himself – although Draco wasn't even sure he could think of anyone from Hogwarts that he knew that was half-blooded or Muggle-born that wasn't already married or didn't despise him wholly.
"I met her studying at Hogwarts once. She was nice and quiet. We were friends. She owled me last night and asked if I would be okay with it," Blaise answered shortly, moving to stand again. Draco tugged him back down and kept a tight grip on the man's arm.
"Would you just sit down?" he hissed as Kingsley moved on to the next person, a wizard in his twenties. "Don't bloody leave me here alone." Blaise sighed and nodded, and Draco released his grip on his friend. They watched the bid in silence, Blaise fidgeting anxiously and Draco filled with contemplative dread. The wizard was bid for and won, and the Minister prepared for the next.
"Hermione Granger," Shacklebolt announced. A ripple of shock spread through the crowd and Draco's head shot up. Granger?
"Granger?" Blaise asked, echoing Malfoy's surprised thoughts. Draco did not respond as he watched Hermione walk to the center of the stage, all of her Gryffindor bravery on display. She did not look at Kingsley, and instead smoothed her blouse and stared out over the crowd with a cool and disinterested expression. But Draco knew better than that – he could tell, she was terrified. He had seen her scared before, in Malfoy Manor when his aunt Bellatrix Lestrange had separated her from her friends and tortured her for information. It was betrayed in the tenseness of her shoulders and the slight tremor of her hands. She was scared.
"Hermione is 19 years old, Muggle-born. I doubt she needs much introduction," Kingsley chuckled and looked at Hermione. She finally looked to him and returned his humored gaze with a brutal and scathing stare before looking back out to the audience, at the stands. As Kingsley shrunk from her gaze, Draco followed her stare and saw where she was looking. In the stands, all seated together, he spotted two sets of heads of ginger and two heads of black hair, alternating. Ron Weasley and Cho Chang, and Ginny and Harry Potter.
"Ron and Chang?" Blaise mused. "Could've sworn that Granger had married the Weasel." He chuckled at his joke, and then looked at Draco, who was now staring at the stage and gripping his wand tightly, mirror Blaise's stance earlier. Blaise gave him an appraising glance and hummed.
"Anyways," Kingsley cleared his throat uncomfortably, trying to calm the crowd. They had begun to talk amongst themselves, whispers beginning to crescendo into full-on conversation. The press had started taking pictures, flashbulbs going off frantically. "Hermione likes to read, and graduated head of her class at Hogwarts. She is an employee at the Ministry for Magic, and really is the brightest witch of her age. Bidding starts at one hundred galleons."
Nearly all of the wands in the room shot up, and Hermione jumped slightly at the sheer amount of people. The façade she had carefully applied fell as dread started to show in her face. It was clear that Granger had a very low opinion of herself, because Draco was not at all surprised by how many people were now bidding and shouting their bids over each other. The photographs continued to the sides, and the roar of the crowd was beginning to crescendo.
Draco Malfoy was still staring at her, unable to look away from her face. He swallowed thickly and clenched his fingers around his wand rhythmically, weighing his options. A marriage to Hermione Granger would stir up a lot of attention, but aligning his family with the Potters and Weasleys would do wonders to repair his shattered reputation, to begin to bring some light to the darkness that had surrounded the Malfoys for centuries.
"Draco, what are you thinking?" Blaise asked. Draco did not even look to Blaise, focusing on the rapidly increasing bids that were being shouted around him.
"Six thousand galleons!" someone near the back called out.
"Nine thousand galleons!"
"Ten thousand galleons!"
"Ten thousand five hundred galleons!"
As each bid increased, Hermione grew progressively paler and less settled, and Draco watched as her eyes darted frantically across the crowd. He spared a glance back at the quartet of her friends, and saw that Ginny Potter was standing, one hand over her mouth. She looked horrified.
"I know what you're thinking," Blaise answered himself as Draco's arm twitched.
"And what do you think?" Draco asked, not really caring. All he was thinking about was the way his mother had spoken to him this morning, how her words had frightened him because she had been right – he had been acting like his father, like a child. He needed to make his mother proud.
"I think it's not a terrible idea. She'd keep you on your toes. Your mother would love her," Blaise answered.
"Fifty thousand galleons!" The large number drew gasps from the crowd, and Draco became dimly aware that he was going to run out of time here. He had to decide.
"Do it," Blaise said sharply. Zabini knew that this was the best option for his friend. He knew that Draco needed someone like Hermione Granger, someone smart and hardheaded, who wouldn't cow to him and his theatrics, who would see through the hard shell that Draco had developed in the last five years. She wouldn't let his ego destroy him.
"She's your intellectual equal," Zabini pressed, voice urgently. "She will match you step for step. Draco, do it!"
Draco faltered for only a moment before his wand shot up in the air.
"Two-hundred-thousand galleons!" For being so loud, his voice was oddly calm and Draco hardly realized it was his own. A collective gasp rushed across the room, followed by whispers of his name. Hermione looked right at him and, if it was possible, got even whiter. Draco could hardly believe what he had just done.
Every wand that was raised drop, and Kingsley's gulp was visible from the audience. It grew so quiet that Hermione's sharp inhale of breath was audible to Draco as she locked eyes with him. Draco looked back at her, his own eyes wide and surprised, his mouth slightly agape as he lowered his own wand.
"Hermione Granger to Draco Malfoy," Kingsley intoned. The dam broke, and silence was shattered by the simultaneously shouting of press, the people gathered to watch, and the sound of cameras shuttering furiously. Hermione stood stock still until Kingsley rushed forward to push her offstage to avoid the onslaught of reporters who were trying to clamber onto the stage, over the barriers, to speak to her.
Beside him, Blaise lurched to his feet and dragged Draco up with him, wheeling around to start pulling the stunned blonde out of the room and into the receiving hall where they would meet their future wives. The crowd was beginning to roil, the press and everyone around them turning from the empty stage to Malfoy.
"Master Malfoy, what are your thoughts right now? Did you come here knowing you'd bid on Hermione Granger?"
"Mr. Malfoy, is this revenge for Hermione Granger's part in destroying the Dark Lord?"
"Draco Malfoy, when can we expect the wedding?"
"How will your father react to this news? Have you spoken to him? Do you see him?"
Draco was overwhelmed by the reporters screaming their questions at him, by the flood of adrenaline he felt, and by the fact that he was going to marry Hermione Granger. The same Hermione Granger that he had tormented throughout school, that had punched him in the face, that had been held prisoner in his home.
"Malfoy!" Draco whirled back around towards the loudest call of his name, and came face to face with an angry blur of red hair and swinging fists. The punch connected with his nose, which emitted a disturbing crunch. Spots of light danced in front of his eyes and pain blossomed from the center of his face as Draco cried out and righted himself. At first, he wasn't sure if it was Ginny Potter or Ron Weasley that had hit him until Blaise dragged him backwards far enough to see clearly through the stars in his eyes.
Ron Weasley apparently knew how to throw quite a punch.
"Ron, no!" Ginny called as Ron started to advance on him again. She reached for her brother's arm at the same time Harry reached for Ron's other arm, while Draco simultaneously lashed out with his elbow. He connected with Ron's stomach just as the Potters pulled Ron back, and Draco turned to flee towards Blaise, who was caught up in the rush of people who were being directed hastily out of the room by the Aurors who had appeared.
"Get off me!" Ron shouted, shaking Harry's arm off. "What are you playing at, Malfoy? What are you playing at?!"
Blaise broke through the crowd and reappeared at Draco's side, one hand on Draco's arm to hold him back and the other holding his wand forward. It was then that Draco noticed Harry Potter had his wand drawn, too, and everyone was cautiously circling each other. Draco swallowed blood that was running down the back of his throat, barely aware of the blood that was also flooding down his face.
"Let's all relax," Blaise said quietly, slowly tucking his wand into his pocket. "Potter, Weasley, you're both Aurors, yeah? Let's not lose our jobs or spend a night in a cell. Let's just… relax." Harry was watching Blaise warily but nodded, tucking his own wand away. Ron had stopped shouting, and was instead being restrained by Ginny and Cho, chest heaving. Draco pressed the sleeve of his shirt to his nose to stem the bleeding, wincing at the pain.
"That's quite enough," Kingsley shouted as he approached. The room was nearly cleared now, and the seven of them were in the midst of a mess of tipped over chairs, surrounded by Aurors that were not clearing the last of the straggling press out. "There will be none of that here, especially by you two." He pointed to Ron and Harry.
"You can't let this happen, Shacklebolt," Harry said, turning to the Minister. "Not him. Not Draco Malfoy."
Kingsley raised his hands defensively. "There are no exceptions. He bid, he won. I can't change the rules for you because you're… you." He gestured to Harry vaguely. Despite his firm tone, it was clear that Kingsley was questioning the intelligence of his decision.
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Kingsley shook his head. "You two should leave," he said. "Before you're taken into custody for assault. You're Head Aurors, you need to act it."
Ron shook Ginny's hand off him and looked around the room, at the Aurors watching them. Harry and Ron were technically their supervisors. It was a bad example, and bad form. Harry deflated slightly, and looked to Ron, Ginny, and Cho.
"Malfoy," Ginny said, stepping forward to him. Draco took half a step backwards, aware that Ginny Potter was potentially more dangerous than her idiot brother, but she held up a placating hand and took another step towards him. "I'm not going to hurt you, you dolt. I'm going to fix your nose."
"Absolutely not," Draco barked, startled. His defenses were up now. "What's stopping you from making it worse?"
"She's a Healer, you prat," Ron snapped. "She's not going to hurt you."
Draco looked from Ginny to Ron to Harry, wanting someone other than Ron to confirm that fact. It didn't surprise him to hear that Ginny had a knack for healing – he had vague memories of her on the Quidditch pitch tending to immediate injuries before helping other plays off to the hospital wing.
Harry nodded his confirmation, and Draco dropped his hand from his nose and looked to Ginny. He held still and waited.
"Episkey." The crack of Draco's nose resetting itself and his subsequent shout of pain echoed around the empty room. Cho winced, and Ron looked rather pleased.
"Scourgify," she added, almost as an afterthought. The blood that had started to dry on his upper lip and chin disappeared, and the staining on his sleeve slowly leeched away to nothing. Draco looked appraisingly at the cuff and then at Ginny Potter.
"Thank you," he said, clearing his throat. Ginny nodded and turned to look at her brother, husband, and sister-in-law, who were watching the exchanged with some surprise. They had never actually heard Draco say a nice thing to any Weasley ever.
"You three head home," she said primly. "I'm going to accompany Malfoy and check in on Hermione."
Ron started to argue with Ginny, but Harry shook his head. He knew that it was not worth it to argue with his wife when she used that tone. Cho laced her fingers with Ron and quietly encouraged him to follow her, and after a moment of hesitation, Ron did. The three left the room, leaving Blaise, Ginny, and Draco Malfoy alone.
"You'd be an excellent peace ambassador," Kingsley mused thoughtfully, looking to Ginny. "If you'd ever consider it."
"I thoroughly disagree with your Marriage Law," she answered, voice sharp and scornful. "Don't speak to me again."
Kingsley gaped at her for a moment before he closed his mouth and, chagrined and silent, followed the others out of the room. It wasn't until after he was out of earshot that Blaise let out a laugh.
"Merlin, She-Weasel," he said, grinning at her. "You're a fiery one. I'm a little afraid of you."
"Yes, well. You should be," Ginny answered matter-of-factly. She smiled as she said it, and then looked to Draco. She could tell that he was reeling internally, trying to process the chain of events that had happened. She herself was also reeling, but knew that somebody had to be level-headed for them all.
"Let's go gather Hermione and Angelica Franklin," Ginny said, looking between Blaise and Draco. "The sooner we can get out of here, the better. This place creeps me out."
She turned on her heel and headed to the doors that led to the receiving area beside the stage, not bothering to look to make sure both Slytherins were following her. She knew they would be.