Despite the tentative magic of the weekend, Monday still came and with it came business.
After Lucius' incarceration, Draco had taken over all of the Malfoy family business ventures. Unsurprisingly, the industries had not been above-the-law, and Draco had essentially razed the company to the ground. Almost every wizard employed that had not been put in Azkaban following the War had been immediately dismissed for their illegal transactions, leaving Draco with a blank slate to rebuild from.
The process had taken up much of his free time until only recently when the business began to functional well enough that Draco felt comfortable handing over portions of it to his executives.
But even with help, it was still time-consuming. Malfoy had been up since early that morning and hadn't left his study, even for breakfast with his mother. Spread out before him on his large ebony desk were financial reports that he was reviewing ahead of the new quarter. He had to get it done before eleven, when he was due to meet Granger for lunch.
Hermione Granger.
The past weekend had gone very well, far better than anything he could have hoped for. She seemed to be warming up to him and to his mother, and maybe even to the idea of marrying him. It seemed they had come to an agreement to be cooperative with each other for the sake of making their lives easier, but he still held out a foolish flame of hope that it might lead to something more.
He was not an idiot, and he could tell he was falling for her. In some ways, it surprised him. He would have never seen her as anything more than a classmate at best, a lesser human at the worst, if it weren't for the damned Auction. Now though, he was seeing more of what she was – her intelligence, her wit, her ability to forgive and understand. The fiery passion she had for the things and people she cared about, her dedication to her work. She really was an amazing witch.
At a quarter to eleven, his Floo roared to life and Blaise Zabini stepped out of it. He brushed soot off his trousers and looked at Draco. "Want to get lunch?"
"Can't," Draco answered, pushing back from the desk. He was close enough to being done, and he didn't think he'd be able to focus any more now that Blaise was there. "I have lunch with Granger."
"Ah, a date with your fiancée." Blaise nodded sagely and Draco rolled his eyes. "I'll just talk to you now, if you've a moment?"
"I always have time for our chats, they're the most important part of my life," Malfoy answered sarcastically, but he sat down across from Blaise anyways.
Instead of responding in similar sarcasm, Blaise grew serious. "I've heard some whisperings from other mates about… Well, not a resurgence but sightings. Dark Wizard sightings. Have you heard anything?"
"I haven't," Draco answered. "But I don't talk to anyone other than you." His mother had cut their family off from anyone besides a handful of close friends after the second and final fall of Voldemort. In the beginning Draco had resented her, but as time had passed he had seen her reasonings. Blaise had not been so stringent with his isolation, but kept them at arm's length.
The Italian nodded and looked down at his hands. "Dolohov and Greyback," he said finally. "That's who I've heard is still about. Sounds like they're on mainland Europe at the moment, just causing problems. But I don't like it. They're not doing things just for the sake of doing them, you know?"
"Problems?" Draco echoed faintly, brows creasing.
"Raiding little Muggle and Wizarding villages, stealing supplies, the likes of that," Blaise clarified. "No attacks on anyone, no missing Muggles or wizards. It just seems like they're… I don't know. Maybe getting their feet back under them?"
It was concerning that Dolohov and Greyback were making moves. If they were smart, they would have disappeared off the face of the Earth and lived their lives quietly in some forgotten corner of the World. Yes, the Aurors would keep searching for them, but if they had played their cards right they could have stayed off the grid.
It almost seemed like they were purposefully putting themselves on the grid.
"Keep an ear out," Draco sighed finally. "Tell me if you hear anything, and I'll do the same."
"Will do, of course," Blaise confirmed. "Has… have you spoken to your father?"
"No." Draco's tone was short and clipped.
"Right. Sorry, just wondering."
"Why?"
Blaise was quiet for a moment before he answered. "I saw my mother yesterday."
Draco couldn't disguise his stunned expression. "Why?"
"I'm not sure," his friend answered with a shrug. "It felt right. I've been running from it for a long time, but I can't anymore, you know? It's my mother. I'm getting married, I wanted to tell her." His expression was troubled, sad. "She didn't respond fabulously, as I'm sure you could guess."
"No, I imagine your extremist blood-purist mother did not respond well." The two fell silent for a long moment, Blaise staring down at his hands and Draco looking at his friend. He could read the defeat in Blaise's expression and posture, and his heart ached for the man. Draco was luckier than most – he still had one of his parents. Blaise, and most of their other friends, did not. He reached out and squeezed Blaise's shoulder.
"If I don't leave soon I'll be late," Draco said. "If you hear anything else, tell me. I'll tell Saint Potter and let the Aurors do their job."
"Saint Potter," Blaise murmured, rising to his feet. "Forgot we used to call him that. Saint Potter and Weaselbee. Alarming that they're the blokes in charge of keeping us safe now. More alarming that you'll be spending holidays with them soon."
Draco froze. He hadn't even thought of that. It must have shown on his face, because Blaise started laughing. "Christ, imagine."
Blaise was still laughing as Draco bullied him into the Floo with shoves and curses, and Draco was continuing to consider the certain horrors of the holiday season as he followed through the hearth and reemerged into the Ministry of Magic.
The Ministry persisted in being an uncomfortable place for him, though less so now that all of the Marriage Law signage had disappeared and it looked more normal. He was aware that his appearance instantaneously drew the attention of the witches and wizards around him, but he kept his eyes to himself and strode with purpose towards the Auror Department.
He was met at the entryway by the receptionist, who politely pretended she didn't know who he was when she asked who he was there to see. She asked if he had an appointment, confirmed it in her enchanted planner, and then handed him a visitor's badge with his name charmed onto it. He raised an eyebrow at her, as if to ask if anyone really didn't know who he was, which she ignored and gestured for him to adhere the badge and continue back.
Draco followed the signs on the wall, and they lead him past the desks of the Auror grunts, hallways that lead to records and the armory (Interesting, he thought. I wonder if Granger would give me a tour?), and then towards the back annex of the department, where the offices of the Head Aurors and Intelligence were. He walked past two offices, one on either side of the hallway, with plaques that read H. POTTER and R. WEASLEY, both with the words Head Auror inscribed under their names.
The solid walls transformed into cubicles, and at the end of the hall was the door that Draco was looking for.
H. GRANGER
Intelligence
He knocked twice before twisting the gold doorknob and letting himself in.
Granger had briefly described her office to him over their first date, which had only taken place a few days before. She had said it was not small, because she had insisted there be enough bookshelves to accommodate all of the literature she required, but it was not cavernous either – she wanted it to be cozy, functional, and representative of what she loved.
Draco knew that her bravery had been what sorted her into Gryffindor, but he imagined Ravenclaw was a very close second for the old hat.
As he walked in, he was greeted with bookshelves and a fireplace to his left, two overstuffed chairs on either side of a small table crammed with vases of roses that, to his pleasure, were still alive, and Hermione Granger at her desk in front of him. Behind her were maps and memos pinned to a cork board, some pins linked together with dimly glowing lines of magic to show correlations. Hermione's desk was filled with papers, which she was studying intently when he let himself in.
She held up one finger without looking to him, signaling for him not to speak. Her brow was furrowed and she was chewing on her lower lip, eyes flicking back and forth over the parchment directly in front of her nose. Whatever she was reading was clearly either complicated or riveting because she did not take her eyes off it until she had reached the end of the page.
"Sorry," she said, finally looking up at him. "It's a bit hectic today."
"We can reschedule," he offered politely, though he was really hoping she'd say no. She did not let him down as she stood, shaking her head.
"I'm ravenous. Where are we going?"
"I know a good place, just down the road from here," Draco answered, holding out his arm for her like a good gentleman. She hesitated a moment before she took it.
Their engagement was public knowledge – they'd been tabloid fodder since the day of the Auction – but her acknowledging it at work by walking arm in arm with Draco Malfoy was different than all of her coworkers making assumptions from what they read in rubbish columns.
Draco could tell she was uncomfortable, and a flash of hurt surged through him. Foolish to think she'd be comfortable being in public with him in her work place. He had a childish urge to take his arm back, but he remembered himself – of course she was uncomfortable. She had a right to be uncomfortable.
"Alright?" she asked, looking up at him with an eyebrow raised. They had been standing still, arm in arm, in the middle of her office for at least ten seconds while Draco had worked through his internal dilemma. To avoid admitting his embarrassment at his momentary immaturity, he opted to go with 'cold and aloof.'
"Fine. Shall we?"
Hermione was silent as they exited her office, past the rows and cubicles filled with her coworkers and witches and wizards she supervised, past the offices that held Ron and Harry, and past the safety of reception and into the main hallways of the Ministry.
As expected, their presence together drew unabashed stares, but thankfully her fellow Ministry employees were polite enough not to stop them or ask any questions. Many of them had been affected by the Marriage Law, too. Hermione's arm tightened slightly on Draco's as they approached the Apparation point, anticipating that Draco would transport them away from all the prying eyes.
They were cut off from their escape by a high-pitched, falsely-friendly voice.
"The future Master and Misses Malfoy! Just the two I was hoping to see!"
They both froze as Rita Skeeter stepped out from behind a column, Quick Quotes Quill fluttering anxiously around her head. She had not changed much in the past few years. She still dressed in disturbingly vibrant and garish clothing, her platinum blonde hair was still pin-curled and as sleek and slimy as she was, and she was still a nosy, meddling nuisance.
"Skeeter," Draco responded, voice flat. "Just the person I was hoping to avoid. We're busy." He tried to sidestep the witch, Hermione in sync with his actions, but Rita stepped in front of them again. Draco let out a huff of frustration.
"I really won't keep you long," Skeeter chirped, whipping out a piece of parchment from her handbag. "Just a few minutes and then you can get back to your romantic lunchtime rendezvous."
"You're not allowed to be here without official permission," Hermione snapped. "I don't see your press badge, I don't recall anyone having anything scheduled with you." Rita Skeeter had been summarily banned from entering the Ministry of Magic without very specific reasoning due to her wildly inaccurate and biased reporting – her misrepresentation had caused enough issues for the Ministry following the war that they were very interested in mitigating any future disasters.
Rita shifted her neon green blazer aside to show her press badge pinned to her blouse, out of clear sight from anyone looking. "The people don't love when they can see the badge, you know," she said. "Destroys the sense of trust you have with the journalist. Don't fret, Golden Girl. I have a reason to be here."
"Sense of trust?" Hermione scoffed. "Please, no one trusts you."
Rita feigned a shocked expression. "Miss Granger, you know as well as anyone else that I adhere to the same strict rules of journalistic integrity that every other witch and wizard in my position does! I take the utmost pride in the truthfulness of my stories and the reliability of my sources." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
They had stopped trying to move around her, Rita not allowing them to. The Apparation point was maddeningly close, just a second's walk past the annoying tabloid engineer. Around them, the witches and wizards passing politely ignored the obvious fight that was brewing.
"If you're such a stickler for 'journalistic integrity,' I'm sure you'll understand that we are busy and can't talk," Draco muttered acidicly. "Or do you only believe in journalistic integrity when it suits you?"
"No one is too busy for a quick comment, dear boy," Rita answered smoothly, Quill flying across her parchment. Hermione tried to see what it was writing, but only caught glimpses of a phrase that seemed to say 'his silvery eyes flash with frustration.'
"Now if you don't mind -," Rita began.
"Oh, we definitely do mind," Draco answered, but he was cut off by Rita's Quill inserting itself into the space in front of his face, effectively silencing him with its frantic flourished scribblings.
"Miss Granger, when can we expect to see a date for the wedding? I imagine it will be the party of the century, with the reputation of Malfoy weddings preceding it."
"Soon," Hermione responded. "They'll be an announcement published in the Prophet."
"Splendid. Your friends and family already know, I assume. Tell me, what did Harry Potter and Ron Weasley think? Especially Mr. Weasley – you two dated, did you not? Is he heartbroken to see you move on so quickly?"
Hermione stared stupidly at her for a moment, but then remembered herself and remembered that any sign of weakness or emotion that she showed Rita would be manipulated into her story. "Harry and Ron are, as always, unendingly supportive. Ron's wife is a close friend of mine, as is Harry's. They'll both be members of the bridal party."
"Fascinating," Rita lilted, side-eyeing the Quill as it scribbled away. "Different wording, dear," she murmured to it, minutely shaking her head as she read. It scratched out a line and rewrote, and Rita nodded in approval before looking back to Hermione. "And your parents?"
"Are dead," Hermione answered shortly. "As I'm sure you're aware, considering the piece you took the time to write about them following the war."
Less than two weeks after the conclusion of the war and to Hermione's dismay and despair, Rita Skeeter had taken the liberty to try to track down Hermione's parents. She had been unaware that Hermione had wiped their memories and sent them to a different continent, and had been thrilled to write a long exposé all about the Grangers, their new lives in Australia, and their subsequent tragic deaths. She had written several detailed paragraphs about how they'd never remembered they had a daughter, and how they'd never learn about the war hero she had become.
Hermione regretted letting Rita Skeeter out of the jar.
"Mm," Rita murmured. "That's right. Quite a good piece, I think." She turned her attention to Malfoy, leaving Hermione feeling raw beside him. "And what about you, Master Malfoy? What do your parents think?"
"My mother is thrilled. She's very fond of Miss Granger."
"And your father? What does he think of your Muggleborn fiancée?" Rita raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to react poorly.
"I wouldn't know." Draco's voice was cool. "We don't speak."
"How terrible, a son no longer speaking to his father. I wonder how Miss Granger feels, that you choose not to speak to your living parents?"
Draco felt Hermione stiffen next to him, and he clenched his jaw. "Her parents were wonderful people. My father is not."
"Too true," Rita agreed with a wise nod. "Your father was The Dark Lord's right-hand man, was he not? It's fascinating how his son has seemed to have such a wonderful redemption arc, considering the closeness to The Dark Lord."
"I am very fortunate," Draco muttered through clenched teeth. "And eternally grateful for those who helped me."
"You're very lucky to have won Hermione here," Rita agreed. "I'm sure her presence in your life is doing wonders to your shattered reputation."
Her comment caused him to bristle. "That isn't why I bid on her."
"No?" Rita prompted, leaning forward. The Quill vibrated in excitement over the parchment. "Then why?"
"She's highly intelligent, brave, and caring. I liked her spirit." Draco was reaching the end of his patience for this line of questioning, and he could tell that Hermione wanted to escape immediately. He imagined that Rita's comments about her parents had hurt her.
"Yet she's a Muggleborn," Rita said. "You could have bid on a Halfblooded witch – your father may have taken that news better."
"Allow me to reiterate: I do not care what my father thinks."
"My sources inside Azkaban say that he's very interested in speaking with you," Rita plowed forward. "But you've been ignoring his attempts at contact. Why?"
"Your sources inside Azkaban are incorrect. I've never received any communication from my father."
"My sources are incorrect?" Rita probed. "What about my sources regarding your relationship with Pansy Parkinson? According to them, you were with her the night before the Auction. You didn't return to your home until the morning of. Are they incorrect?"
Hermione waited for Draco's smooth rebuttal, but it did not come. Skeeter's question had thrown him off-guard, and his silence was telling. Rita, of course, noticed.
"My my, did you not tell your fiancée about Pansy Parkinson? Does that mean you're still seeing her?" Rita's voice was enthusiastic and she grinned, clearly pleased with herself. The Quill whipped across the page, mirroring her delight.
"Move," Draco snarled, using his shoulder to force Rita out of the way. He felt the Apparation boundaries give as he stepped over them, and he tugged Hermione behind him with a sharp yank on her arm. As soon as she stumbled past the boundary, Draco snapped them out of the Ministry.
"You prat," Hermione cried as they Reapparated. "I wasn't ready, you could have hurt us!"
"I had you." Draco dropped her arm and paced away from her. He was angry – no, furious at Rita Skeeter. She had always been unbearably meddlesome, but to bring up his father and Pansy Parkinson in front of Granger, just to elicit a reaction. Disgusting.
Hermione looked around at where they had Apparated to, and recognized that they were at the gates of Malfoy Manor. In his haste to get them out of Rita Skeeter's vicinity, Draco must have defaulted to where he felt safest – his home.
Rita Skeeter had a way of getting under your skin, which both Draco and Hermione seemingly did not have enough practice ignoring. They had reacted to her questions and given her exactly what she wanted. Hermione was sure the ensuing article would be scathing and highly dramatized. She would worry about that later, but now…
Pansy Parkinson.
Hermione knew that Draco and Pansy had been an item in school, but she hadn't so much as thought of Pansy since she and Malfoy had become engaged. It made sense that he'd continued to see her – why wouldn't he have? She was beautiful, intelligent, and Pureblooded. Of course he had still been with her.
He probably still was. Sometime twisted in Hermione's stomach. She was upset. She was upset with the thought that Malfoy was still seeing Pansy, seeing someone other than herself.
Hermione withdrew her wand from her sleeve and deftly cast a sound-muffling charm around them. The last thing either of them needed was to be overheard by Draco's mother.
Draco noticed as the noise surrounding them became a dull hum and turned to face Hermione, knowing what was about to happen. His shoulders straightened in anticipation of the impending deluge.
"Were you seeing Pansy Parkinson?" she asked.
"Yes."
"The night before the Auction?"
Draco hesitated. "Yes."
"And since then?"
"No." Draco's response was emphatic and immediate.
Hermione's eyes searched his face and her fingers clenched around her wand. She believed him, but that did nothing to assuage the embarrassment she felt from Rita Skeeter's prying and the horrified jealously churning in his abdomen.
"Had you been seeing her since school? Only her?"
"Granger," Draco sighed, putting his head in his hands. "I'm not going to bore you with the details of my love life before we were engaged. It's irrelevant."
"It's not irrelevant!" Hermione cried. "How could you say it's irrelevant? Of course it's relevant, all necessary information is relevant!"
"For Merlin's sake," Draco hissed. "Yes, since school. Only her. Up until the night before the Auction, and not since then. Is that what you needed to know, or are you interested in the lurid details?"
Despite her best efforts, Hermione's eyes began to burn. She blinked furiously against the humiliated tears she could feel building there. Draco's nastiness towards her was only adding fuel to the fire – his defensiveness about the situation led her to believe he was lying to her. She didn't know why that surprised her. It was Malfoy, of course he was lying to her.
"To clarify," she began, voice high and wavering. "You were with her for two years, only her. You were in a relationship with Pansy Parkinson. A serious relationship."
"There was no relationship. We shagged."
"Oh, that's much better," Hermione laughed sarcastically. "So you'll just exclusively shag the same witch for years and drop her without a second thought. That's wonderful."
"I'm sorry!" Draco exclaimed. "Would you rather I had kept seeing her after we were engaged just for the sake of being polite? Or drop her and focus on you? Because I'm getting mixed signals here, Granger!"
"I'd rather this had never happened! I'd rather not be engaged to you, I'd rather not know anything about you or Pansy Parkinson, or you and Pansy Parkinson!"
"Honestly, Granger," Draco huffed. "Get inside. We clearly need to discuss this further." He was not about to fight with Hermione Granger outside of his house. He needed a drink and to sit down.
"Have you even spoken to her since the Auction?" Hermione challenged. "If you were such wonderful friends with her, if you weren't just using her, have you checked in on Pansy? Seen how she's faring with whoever stole her freedom?"
"No, I haven't," Draco snarled. "I've been busy trying to forge some sort of relationship with you, because you are my fiancé! Now come with me inside!"
Hermione took a step away and shook her head, hands on her hips. "No. I'm going back to work."
"No, you're not. You're coming inside. We're going to have lunch, and we're going to talk. Do you remember our ground rules? That we communicate frequently? This is part of communicating."
Hermione laughed. "Communicating? That would have been telling me about the relationship you were in, instead of hoping it'd never be brought up. I'm going back to work."
"Granger -"
"I'm not interested in whatever lie you're about to tell me about Pansy Parkinson and your relationship with her," Hermione cut him off. "Or whatever lie you're going to tell me about your intentions with me. It was short-sighted to think you would be any different now than you were when I knew you before. You've never had an issue using those around you to get what you want, and I won't be another witch you use. I won't be an easy shag. I won't be something easy for you to utilize to repair your societal standing."
Draco took a step towards her, a hand reached out to touch her arm. Hermione took another step back and warned him to stop with a sharp "don't."
"Granger," he tried again. "That isn't what's happening here."
"That is exactly what's happening here. You chose me because it was advantageous for you, and I am an idiot for thinking this," she gestured between the two of them, "could have been anything different to you. I am an idiot for letting my guard down. I was nothing more than an irritant to you in school, and I'm nothing more than a fulfilled requirement now." She heaved a stammered breath. "I can't believe I was beginning to trust you."
"Hermione, please -"
She raised her wand and the words died on his lips. Her head shook once, riotous curls quivering with rage and hurt. He watched as she took a deep breath to calm herself enough to Apparate, and then she disappeared with an angry snap.
Draco stood outside the Manor for a long time, staring at the spot that Hermione Granger had been standing in. He tried to retrace his steps, figure out how it had gone so poorly. He recognized immediately that he had been defensive and abrasive, and for no reason other than embarrassment. Truthfully, he had not wanted his past dalliances to be something that was a subject of discussion for the two of them. He understood why Hermione had been jealous and hurt. It did appear for all intents and purposes that he had engaged in a long-term relationship with another witch that had ended only because it had to.
But that wasn't what he had had with Pansy, and he had no way of explaining that in a way that Hermione could understand. Hermione was not the kind of woman that engaged in casual relationships – every relationship she had, whether romantic or friendly, was sacred to her. They all carried a heavy weight, and she poured all of her loyalty into them.
"Dammit," he swore, turning on his heel to walk towards the Manor. "Dammit!"
This was a culmination of his avoidance, embarrassment, and fear.
He had pushed his mother and her attempt to help him away because he hadn't wanted to admit that he had been a coward, that he had backed the wrong side because he was too afraid to stand on his own.
He had avoided his fellow wizards because he didn't want to be under their scrutiny.
He had avoided Pansy since his engagement to Granger because he didn't want to face her. He didn't want to witness his friend being in the same confusion and distress that Granger was in.
He had avoided facing his father because he was terrified that he would be more like Lucius than he wanted to be. He was terrified that seeing his Father would undo all of the progress Draco had – sometimes unwillingly – made.
He had avoided doing much of the right thing because he was afraid, and that had brought him to this point – torn between the person he had been and the man he wanted to be. Draco Malfoy needed to make peace with what he had done, and who he had hurt, and who he was continuing to hurt. If not for himself, for his mother and for Granger.
He stilled himself and closed his eyes. The remnants of Granger's muffling charm were dispersing, and he listened to the sounds of the breeze and birds in the gardens around him. He was home, a home that he was lucky to have. A home that had his mother alive and safe inside. A home that protected him.
When he was calm enough, he opened his eyes and gripped his wand. With a deep breath and a snap, Draco Malfoy Disapparated from his home, and Reapparated at the start of a long and menacing stone bridge over a raging sea. The salty air whipped around him, and he blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted from the bright sunshine of the Manor to the dark, grey light of his new location.
Ahead of him, across the bridge and through the purple shimmering of innumerable charms, Azkaban Prison loomed.
Draco took the first step onto the bridge.