CHAPTER TWO
Hermione sat at her desk, ignoring the stack of notes on blood purity and partially drafted outline for her report. Instead, she stared down at today's issue of the Daily Prophet. While the headline was some rubbish about a player for the English national team receiving a fine for operating a broom under the influence (apparently he had been apprehended while flying corkscrews over a muggle primary school), another story in the bottom corner caught her eye. It read PRINCE INFANT MISSING, with a picture of the baby in question. It only contained a few lines of information: "Belinda and Jerome Prince's six month old infant, Helios Prince, has vanished without a trace from their Cornwall home. The baby had been sleeping in his cot on the evening of April 5, but by half past six the following morning, he was gone. There are no witnesses or leads. The investigation is currently ongoing, but any information should be reported directly to the Auror Department."
While kidnappings weren't exactly uncommon in the muggle world, this was the first instance of kidnapping Hermione had ever heard of in the magical world. Particularly odd was that this child had gone missing in its own home, while his parents slept in the other room. After she read the story, Hermione realized the prickling feeling at the back of her neck was her hair standing on end. While generally she prided herself on being highly logical, she also trusted her instincts, and she knew this reaction signified something more sinister than just a disappearance.
Lost in this grim train of thought, Hermione didn't realize she had visitors until their arguing disturbed her.
"Have you got an appointment?" Hermione heard her new assistant (who horrifyingly reminded her a bit of Madam Pince) screech from the doorway of her office.
"Keep your shirt on! I haven't got an appointment–"
"Anyone who wants to speak with Ms. Granger must make an appointment with me first," Mrs. Rucker argued.
"I don't need your permission. If I bloody well want to talk to Hermione, then I will!" Ron said gruffly, his long stride keeping him far out of Mrs. Rucker's reach. Hermione sprang from her chair and hurried to Ron's side, eager to smooth everything over. She didn't want to get on Mrs. Rucker's bad side on day one.
"It's alright, Mrs. Rucker. This is Captain Ron Weasley from the Auror Department. We're engaged," she explained. "You can let him through any time I'm available." Glaring, Mrs. Rucker stalked back to the assistants' office across the hall. Ron looked put out.
"She's a right laugh, really makes me want to come by more often," he deadpanned.
"I didn't hire her, she was transferred from Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. You were my first pick, but Selwyn didn't believe that Georgina could make do without you," Hermione said, smiling. Ron grinned back, reaching out to tuck some hair behind her ear.
"Yeah, well, if I wasn't around, who would perform all the mending charms holding the stupid place together and keep the bloody recruits from singeing off their eyebrows?"
"Speaking of, I saw Daniels the other day. He seemed quite reluctant to look me in the eye."
"Yeah, he's still got uneven nostrils from when I hexed him. They had to put them back one at a time so it's tough to get them symmetrical. Embarrassed, I suppose. And rightly so, he looks barmy. I make him stay in his cubicle so I don't have to see it." Hermione laughed.
"Serves him right for how spectacularly he bungled your mission. He's lucky no one got killed." Ron shrugged, toying with her hair again.
"He's alright, just a bit thick. But we all were at his age." Hermione frowned.
"Not you, of course," Ron amended, grinning. Her frown deepened.
"You weren't careless like that. By then you'd already destroyed a horcrux and faced Voldemort. You tried to get Bellatrix Lestrange to torture you instead of me when you were younger than he is now." Ron winced at the sound of Bellatrix's name.
"Yeah, well, the stakes were a bit higher for us, weren't they? No You-Know-Who waiting in the shadows to destroy everything Daniels loves." Hermione was quiet for a moment before she replied.
"Yes, I suppose you're right."
"Anyways," Ron said, eager to change the subject. "Mum sent an owl. She's having a to do for Ginny and the baby next week at the Burrow.
"Really? Already? The baby isn't due for another three months." Ron shrugged.
"Harry says that Ginny has been tearing the house apart. Maybe she wants something to do."
"She did seem a bit…" Hermione waved her hand, as if looking for the right word. "On edge when I last saw her."
"Maybe we ought to have them round for dinner, get Ginny out of the house," he suggested. "I'd go mental too if I went from playing Quidditch all day to sitting on the sidelines and writing about somebody else's brilliant flying. Especially if I had put up with Rita Skeeter." Ron shuddered at the thought. Hermione tilted her head, considering.
"Yes, that's a wonderful idea, Ron. It can't be easy for Ginny, staying at home once again while Harry goes off saving the wizarding world. And that's on top of the stress of the pregnancy and all the fanfare. Spellbound just put out some rubbish story that the baby will be the reincarnation of Voldemort." Baffled, Ron actually laughed out loud. He ignored this ludicrous theory for the more important piece of information she'd revealed.
"You read Spellbound?"
"Of course not," Hermione snapped. "Selwyn's assistant had it on her desk. You and I also made the cover, though below Ginny. Apparently, you've run away with Gwendolyn from Gringotts, who you've been having an affair with since you started working at George's shop."
"Gwendolyn the goblin?" Ron asked.
"Yes, according to the great minds at Spellbound, my campaigning for the rights of non-human creatures has driven you into the arms of one," she said dryly. Ron laughed again.
"It's very nearly a compliment," she continued. "Apparently I'm so persuasive that I've convinced my own fiance of the virtues of non-humans."
"Who reads this rubbish?" he demanded, still chuckling.
"Quite a lot of people, I'm afraid." Hermione moved to sit behind her desk, the Prophet catching her eye. "Do you know anything about this?" she asked, holding up the paper. Ron reached across her desk for the paper, squinting down at it. Bizarrely, he laughed.
"Oh, yeah. Anthony Marlowe is a beater, used to be with the Wasps–"
"Not him," Hermione said. "This." She pointed at the smaller story about the kidnapping. Ron held it closer, mouthing along as he read.
"Haven't heard of it. I can find out who's on the case, if you like," he offered.
"No, that's alright. I was only curious," Hermione said. Ron dropped the paper on her desk and sat down in the chair across from her. She swept her notes out of the way just in time as Ron propped his feet up on the corner of her desk. She glared but said nothing, her eyes following the long line of his body. He looked quite fit in his slate gray uniform, Hermione thought, eyeing the wide expanse of his chest. He had really filled out since the days of lanky adolescence. She zeroed in on the golden M emblazoned over his heart. There was a time that Hermione hadn't trusted the Ministry, but now, years after playing an integral part in its reconstruction, there was something Hermione found highly erotic about Ron wearing the Ministry emblem. It was a symbol of all they'd accomplished, and seeing Ron wearing it reminded her of everything he had sacrificed to create a more just world, which she knew in part was for her. And, she supposed, there had always been a part of her that admired a man in uniform.
Thinking this, her gaze wandered down the taut lines of his arms, settling on his large hands. They were currently flipping through the Prophet, lazily flicking pages till he found the sports section.
"Did you see this piece on the new Lightning Strike? Claims it's faster than the Firebolt. Wonder if we could request one for the department, I'd like to try it out before I buy one," Ron said. He glanced up at Hermione, surprised she wasn't telling him off either for using department funds for his own gain or for talking of buying a new broomstick.
"Hermione?"
"Er, sorry, what did you say?" she asked. Inexplicably, she blushed. Ron watched the flush rise across her neck and chest, and she could see the wheels turning in his mind. Though it drove her mad as a teenager, some days she missed when Ron was completely oblivious to her feelings. Now he could read her like a book.
"Are you fantasizing about me?" Ron asked, grinning smugly. Hermione's flush deepened.
"No! Don't be ridiculous."
"You are! You're thinking about it right now! And after you told me off last week," he laughed. Hermione huffed and crossed her arms.
"Don't be cross, I'm dead chuffed about it. I fantasize about you all the time, particularly during the work day."
Trying to be annoyed, Hermione ignored the heat that shot through her at this admission. An image of their bodies tangled together in the briefing room of the Auror Department flicked across her mind. Ron must have seen it in her face, because he grinned. He got up and crossed to the other side of the desk, pulling Hermione out of her chair. Brushing her hair out of the way, he ducked his head to kiss her neck.
"We are at work," she hissed, but didn't pull away.
"So?" Ron said. "Are you telling me that you've never imagined me bending you over a desk? Or perhaps holding you up against a bookshelf." His voice had dropped to a sultry whisper against her ear. She shivered.
With his hands on her hips, Ron backed her into her desk, kissing up her neck to find her mouth. Hermione sighed at the contact, looping her arms around his neck when he lifted her into a sitting position. His right hand found its way beneath her robes, sliding up the curve of her bare calf.
"Mrs. Rucker," Hermione murmured against Ron's lips, and he pulled his wand from his pocket and sealed the door without breaking their kiss. She had meant it as a protest, but found her resolve crumbling. Instead, she slid her hands down his chest and began to undo the buttons on his shirt. Ron sucked in a sharp breath when she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him flush against her.
"I dunno what's got into you," he murmured against her skin. "But I like it."
He pushed her skirt up round her waist, his large hands holding her by the hips as they gasped and kissed and pressed against each other. Hermione's ran her hands across his bare chest, gooseflesh cropping up under the cool metal band of her engagement ring. Her free hand moved to the front of his trousers, and Ron groaned.
Finally, after his uniform was crumpled at their feet, Ron laid her back across her desk. The wood was cool against the warm flush of her skin, a contrast to the feel of Ron's bare body against hers. He tangled their fingers together and rubbed his thumb over the stone of her ring, matching the rhythm of their movement.
The Prophet fell to the floor, and Hermione didn't think of it again.
Ron was buckling his belt when someone knocked on her door. Panic shot through her. She smoothed down her hair, trying desperately not to look as if she'd just been shagged in her office while the entirety of the Ministry of Magic was on the other side of the door.
"Come in," Hermione called, and she hoped they didn't notice the subtle tremble in her voice. Ron obviously had, and he waggled his eyebrows at her. She glared.
Mrs. Rucker came in, looking disapprovingly between Hermione and Ron. She flushed, sensing that the woman knew exactly what had just transpired in her office despite the silencing charm they'd cast. Ron seemed unbothered, picking the Prophet off the floor and lounging casually in her desk chair.
"There's someone to see you Ms. Granger," Mrs. Rucker said. Hermione frowned. She wasn't scheduled to meet with anyone this afternoon.
"Do they have an appointment?"
"No. He says he's an old friend," Mrs. Rucker said, looking pointedly at Ron who ignored her. "I assumed you would want to see him."
"Yes, alright," Hermione said, pushing Ron's feet off her desk as she walked behind it. "Who is it?"
"A Mr. Malfoy." At this, Ron looked up, lowering the paper. Hermione was so shocked she forgot to keep her composure. Her mouth dropped open.
"Malfoy? Draco Malfoy?" Hermione laughed, unable to stop herself.
"What the hell is he doing here?" Ron demanded, standing.
"He didn't say," Mrs. Rucker told them. "Would you like me to ask?"
"No," Hermione said. "That's alright. Send him in." Ron gaped at her. Mrs. Rucker left.
"You're going to see him? Are you mental?" Ron asked. Hermione pulled him by the arm out of her way so she could sit down behind her desk. He didn't seem to notice.
"Yes, of course. What if it's important?" Ron ignored this.
"He said he was an old friend! Ha! That bastard has got some nerve." But he didn't laugh, instead punctuating his words by hurling the Prophet across her office. He leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms, stewing.
"Ron, you should go back to your office. I'll send you a memo when we're done."
"Not bloody likely," he muttered. "I'm not leaving you alone with him!" Hermione sighed, annoyed.
"I'll be fine, Ron. Malfoy wouldn't try anything in the middle of the Ministry of Magic, and anyways, he's too cowardly to cause any real harm." Ron said nothing, just fixed a glare on Hermione.
"Go back to your office," Hermione said in her sternest tone of voice.
"No. You aren't the boss of me."
"I actually am!"
"Yeah, well, I don't care, take it to Georgina. I'm sure she'd agree that you shouldn't be alone with a Death Eater," Ron spat. "Especially one who's frequently threatened you for being muggleborn!" Hermione pursed her lips. There was no argument against that.
"Fine. But stand back there and be quiet," she said, pointing behind her. Ron muttered something beneath his breath that sounded like a vulgar insult against Malfoy. Hermione ignored him.
She hadn't seen any of the Malfoys in nearly five years. Directly after the battle, she had testified before the Wizengamot about what had happened at Malfoy Manor. So consumed with her own suffering and anxiety, Hermione couldn't remember what Draco had looked like that day. She wasn't sure that she'd even spared him a glance. Since then, she'd heard little about them. She knew that they had avoided Azkaban; while her testimony was damning, since none of them wielded the wand, they were spared by Harry's assertion that they'd switched sides during the battle before Voldemort fell. Narcissa's one selfish act of defiance saved Harry's life and kept all three of them from facing any consequences. She knew they had been made to pay a hefty fine, and many of their possessions had been confiscated as restitution for war crimes, but that was the extent of their punishment. It was something, at least, and she had made her peace with it.
Ron, however, had been outraged. He and Harry had a massive row about it, and they didn't speak for two weeks. Finally Hermione, whose nerves were totally shot, couldn't take the strain of their fight any longer. Worried she was going to go completely round the bend, Ron stopped giving Harry the cold shoulder for her benefit. But once they started Auror training together, it was impossible for Ron to stay mad and they made up, which Hermione was immeasurably glad for. She knew it was hard for him to watch her suffer while the people partially responsible walked free.
Hermione hadn't given much thought to Draco Malfoy since the trial. She had heard he was a potioneer now and had a shop in Diagon Alley, though it was on the side near Knockturn Alley and she had never been. The Malfoys had kept to themselves after the war, and Hermione was glad for it. She remembered more of their family home than she cared to and was perfectly happy not to think of them any more. The face that haunted her dreams was Bellatrix's.
In spite of this, she wasn't prepared to face Malfoy again. Her stomach dropped at the dull thud on her door, and she found herself holding her breath in anticipation. She could practically feel the tension radiating off of Ron. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, her body able to sense his distress. It had been years, but her body so easily reverted to the feeling of being on the run. At even the most mundane feeling of anxiety, she found herself looking for Ron and Harry, desperate to make sure they were safe. Hermione suspected this defensive instinct would never leave her.
Ron seemed to have the same urge, and she felt rather than heard him move closer to her, his body heat radiating comfortingly at her back. She resisted the urge to reach for his hand. There was no danger. The war was over, and they were safe. She repeated the mantra over and over, ignoring the twisting of her stomach and the impulse to grab Ron and disapparate. Whether sensing her anxiety or assuaging his own, Ron's hand lifted to her shoulder. In spite of his tight grip, Hermione found the weight of his grasp and the heat of his hand comforting. He held onto her with his left hand, and Hermione knew that his right hand was hidden in his robes, wrapped around his wand. The thought should have made her more panicked, but it didn't. As long as she and Ron were together, they would be okay. They were safe together. She relaxed.
The door opened, and there was Draco Malfoy.
