Hello lovelies!
Surprise! I'm going to start posting the chapters I've written this month every other day or every couple days! So look forward to that!
All the reviews I got on the last chapter were DARLING, and thank you so much! I can't wait to hear what you all think about the upcoming chapters!
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I just started an instagram account for fandom things. I'll probably post aesthetics and sneak peeks at chapters, and just those kinds of general things. It will also be a good place to chat with me since it's one of the platforms I use the most. I'll also probably post some playlists and things like that. Anyways, enough rambling, I hope you enjoy this chapter lovelies!
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
'A witch and wizard tumbled through time, and everything flipped upside down. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were having a heated conversation in one of Hogwarts's corridors when the world tilted and sent them hurling into a wall. The pair slipped into darkness, and when they woke, they found themselves in a small, dinghy room almost three decades in the past. The summer of nineteen seventy-one was coming to a close.
After learning that they were years in the past with no feasible path home, they worked alongside Albus Dumbledore to find a viable solution to incorporating them into that time. Without altering the present.
The pair were given a de-ageing potion, and adopted by the Ancient and Noble House Potter.
Shortly, they would meet James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Lily Evans, Peter Pettigrew and Severus Snape to name a few. More names will come as this tale unravels.
Thus began a journey that spanned the better part of a decade. They were children again, given another chance to live their lives without fear of Dark Lords or impending war. Not at first anyways. That came much later. In the beginning, they were simply Hermione and Draco.
Hermione and Draco Potter made a promise to one another, that no matter what, they would stick together. They didn't have to make that choice, but they did all the same. They could have let years of animosity, prejudice and bad blood dictate their behaviour, but they didn't. They put it all aside and choose to stick together.
This is a story of friendship, of unbreakable bonds, unbreakable vows, and at its core, love. Love. It is the most powerful thing in this world. It can move mountains, start wars and end them, and it can brave fierce seas. The realm of possibility is vast once we open ourselves up to love. Whether it be for our friends, family or significant others.
This is a story of a ferocious witch and a remarkable wizard who tumbled through time, their lives flipping upside down within moments. This is a story of what they did with the time they'd been gifted.'
— Excerpt taken from the Quibbler, published Monday, May third, nineteen ninety-nine. Author: Luna Lovegood.
The previous night at the gala. As Hermione had a whirl of a time with Ron and the Patil family, Kingsley Shacklebolt sought out Draco Potter.
Astoria hadn't lingered long after Hermione left. They exchanged a few more words, and she politely excused herself. She went off in search of her friends or parents, whichever she stumbled across first.
Draco made his way to the refreshments table alone, searching meticulously for more bubbles. Draco had been offered his previous drink off a silver platter, but he hadn't spotted any of the wix milling around with drinks and hors d'oeuvres since.
During Draco's search, the Minister for Magic saddled up beside him, hands linked behind his back, eyes twinkling.
"Draco," Kingsley greeted.
"Hi Kings," Draco said, tearing his eyes away from the disappointing array of drinks. There was no bubbly.
"I figured we should briefly discuss your sentence from the Wizengamot," Kingsley said, turning to face the gay revellers, an easy smile fixed on his face. Draco stiffened.
"I would have thought your Mother raised you better than to bring up such sensitive topics at a party," Draco said dryly. He hoped his voice hadn't shook, or revealed the spike of anxiety and fear that had raced from his heart into his throat.
"It's because of how my Mother raised me that I brought it up. You know she isn't one to mince words unnecessarily, or be elusive in conversation," Kingsley shrugged.
"That colour looks nice on you, really brings out the sparkle in your eyes," Draco replied, he grabbed a bottle of elf wine, picked up one of the available glasses off to the side and poured himself a respectable amount. It wasn't bubbles like he wanted, but it would do. He and Lily would have shared a bottle of wine if she was here.
Draco raised the glass in a silent toast to his deceased sister and took a small sip before he faced the rest of the ballroom. Kingsley was close enough that Draco could feel the minimal space between their shoulders.
"Thank you, you look quite dashing yourself," Kingsley grinned, displaying his rows of perfect, pearly whites. Every time the pair interacted, Draco had to begrudgingly admit that Kingsley was an unfairly attractive man.
"Kind of you to say," Draco said, sipping on his wine. Hoping to prolong this conversation for as long as he could. He wanted to delay the bad news Kingsley was about to deliver.
"Many of the Wizengamot members claimed you violated the terms of your sentence. Since you were either supposed to finish off your last year at Hogwarts or stay under house arrest." Draco's heart skipped a beat, but he calmly took a sip of his wine and avoided Kingsley's gaze.
"Please tell them to lodge a complaint with the bloody Scottish Castle itself. I graduated from Hogwarts in the seventies, so technically I've haven't violated a fucking thing."
"I agree."
"You do?" Draco asked carefully, swirling the red liquid around in his glass. Floral notes twisted with rich citrus wafted from the wine.
"I do. Normally, I don't have the power to overturn sentences reached by the Wizengamot, but I can be fairly persuasive if you'll allow me to claim such immodesty," Kingsley paused, glancing at Draco. "I managed to convince them to say your time was served. You spent ten years in the past, and graduated from Hogwarts as you've aptly pointed out."
Draco swallowed thickly, taking a hefty pull of his drink. He wasn't sure if he was hearing Kingsley correctly. He wasn't sure if he trusted his own ears. He hadn't dared hope for absolution on this level. None of his family or friends would have stood idly by if they'd chosen to persecute him, but rivers of relief were flowing through him that they wouldn't have to fight on that front.
"In addition, you didn't cause any harm to befall the Wizarding world, even when you were armed with crucial knowledge that could have overturned the events that had come to pass."
"What are you saying exactly, Kings?" Draco asked, his breath hitched in the middle of the sentence. He couldn't believe his ears. He needed Kingsley to say the words plainly, so there could be no room for misinterpretation.
"You are free to do as you please. Within reason. The law still applies, of course," Kingsley said.
"What—Why?"
The inferences were clear. Why had Kingsley stuck his neck out like this for Draco. As a newly appointed MfM, all his decisions and actions were scrutinised in a hawk-like fashion. He couldn't breathe the wrong way, and not have someone watching him, ready to report on the tiniest slip-up.
"We Shacklebolts look after ours. Our families have been friends for generations. Unfortunately, I've been slack on my end and I am hoping to mend bridges. I want our families to continue their friendship long after I'm gone," Kingsley stated. "You may not have been a Potter originally, Draco, but you're one now."
Draco reached out to rest a hand on Kingsleys's shoulder, a grateful smile wobbled on his face. A tsunami of emotion surged within him. A clicking sound and a flash momentarily shocked Draco and his head sharply snapped forwards. Luna lowered her camera with a dreamy smile. She winked before strolling away. She bumped into George Weasley a few minutes later, and the pair engaged in a flirty exchange that made the blonde blush.
"Luna mentioned she is publishing an article about you and Hermione's adventures in the past. I take it that will probably be included," Kingsley said.
Draco shook his head affectionately. The little witch was taking this article very seriously, the interview spanned several pages within this month's Quibbler issue. "She's already finished it. She's been working on it tirelessly the last few weeks with Hermione. She's interviewed most of our pack and several other people."
The finished product arrived in the middle of the day via the post. The snow white owl had nipped at Hermione's finger until she gave it three treats.
"Then she'll add it to the next issue," Kingsley amended.
"I'm sure she will," Draco said. The music was bewitchingly slow and sensual. Draco scrutinised the crowd, and spotted his witch on the other side of the vast room with Ron and the Patils. Ron was formally courting the surviving Patil twin.
Kingsley either followed Draco's line of sight, or merely wished to continue their conversation, as he cheerily said, "I never had a chance, did I?"
"Luckily for me. You would have been a bloody threat if you did," Draco scoffed. He would be a fool not to understand that. Kingsley was one of the most eligible bachelors in their society for a myriad of reasons.
"You flatter me."
"Sod off, Kings. I am merely using the sense and eyes I was gifted with. Any witch would be lucky to have you."
"Either way, you don't have to worry about me trying to steal your fianceé. I am happily taken."
"Really? Good for you, Kings. Anyone I would know?"
"Perhaps, considering the Malfoy's influential reach in the past. She's French. Valérie Amboise," Kingsley said offhandedly.
Draco's eyes rounded and he whistled lowly. "You're courting French nobility?" Draco muttered to himself in french, not noticing he was doing so until he met Kingsley's eye and saw the pleasantly polite look he was sending his way.
"To answer your question, we met when I finished my schooling at Beauxbatons. We lost touch over the years, but she was in England over the holidays and we reconnected," Kingsley replied, also speaking fluent french. He radiated quiet joy. Draco was happy to see the glow encompassing the man as he spoke of his amour.
Draco hadn't felt threatened as he watched Kingsley lead his witch around the dance floor. He trusted his witch implicitly. It was nice finding out that not only had Kingsley grown out of his infatuation with Hermione, he'd moved on to someone who clearly made him very happy.
"Any other good news for me, Kings?" Draco said languidly, draining the rest of his wine glass. The sweet, tangy taste burst on his tongue.
"Your wondrous witch has convinced me to make some additions to my speech tonight. Speaking of, I should probably make it before people are too intoxicated to recall a single word. Don't want to lessen the impact of the announcement Hermione has requested I make." Kingsley bumped his shoulder against Draco's. With a genial smile, Kingsley departed.
Kingsley made his way to the grand staircase. He would make his speech where countless of his forebearers had done so, during New Year's balls and grand affairs such as this one. This was a pivotal moment in the healing of their society. Kingsley began his speech and Draco watched him, enraptured like the rest.
Not long into his speech, Draco noticed movement in the distance. Wix were parting and allowing a single witch to stride past them with unmistakable purpose. Draco's lips twitched upwards. As Draco listened to Hermione speak, a hand came to rest on his shoulder. Or, perhaps it didn't. It was as light as a feather and the scent of daffodils tickled his nostrils.
Hermione's face was tilted to the sky. The midmorning sun was shining across her, highlighting the reddish, cherry hues in her dark hair. She sighed contentedly, lowering her chin and gazing across the round, iron table—painted white with a glass top—at her Brunch partner.
Hermione had swept into Kingsley's office after a brief reunion with Percy. The ginger insisted she have an appointment, but she grinned madly as she pushed past him. "Family doesn't need appointments!"
Hermione primly dropped the stack of records she and Draco had pilfered from the Ministry, in addition to their animagus registration forms on Kingsley's desk. The man's eyes glittered, thoroughly amused.
Kingsley had suggested they grab a bite, and she gladly accepted. On their way out, Kingsley extended the invitation to Percy, but the wizard politely declined. He was swamped with work, and trying to handle all the correspondence that had flooded the Minister's office that morning.
A constant flow of owls travelled across Britain that day. Letters, issues of the Quibbler, and the Daily Prophet were hastily delivered around the country. Small groups of wix shared a copy of the Quibbler if one was lucky to get their hands on one. It had been in such high demand that the Lovegoods had sold every issue they'd printed and distributed early that morning to all the available shops in Diagon Alley. They had increased the number of issues printed tenfold.
The high owl traffic wasn't missed by the Muggles, but they dismissed it as the unknown idiosyncrasies of nature. As they had after Voldemort's defeat, both times.
Kingsley and Hermione had opted to go into Muggle London for their casual meal. They were less likely to be bothered there, especially with the chaotic state Wizarding Britain was in that morning. They would be trampled by an eager mob and a barrage of questions.
The conversation flowed easily as they left the Westminster area and strolled down bustling streets. Eventually, they found a quaint corner shop cafe with seating out front. Hermione wished to soak up as much sun as she could.
She perused the menu briefly. She had a craving for some fried eggs, but a stack of French toast sounded scrumptious.
Hermione tore her eyes away from the menu, placing it on the table before she slipped her finger through the handle of her short, cornflower blue cup. She'd gotten a macchiato. She took a small sip. The espresso was deliciously sharp and she let the robust taste settle on her tongue.
Kingsley's well-made, tailored, coral robes, and black dragonhide shoes made him stand out, even more than he already did due to his attractiveness. Hermione stole a glance at him before he cleared his throat, leaned back in his chair, and spoke first.
"How's it been since you got back?" Kingsley asked kindly.
"It's been a complicated transition in some ways, effortless in others," Hermione admitted.
Hermione squared her shoulders and leaned forward, excited to shift the spotlight onto him. "Draco mentioned you are courting French nobility?"
Kingsley snorted ungraciously, highly amused. "You could say that."
"Tell me more," Hermione pleaded with a flutter of her eyelashes.
"I finished my education at Beauxbatons as you know, it's why we didn't cross paths at Hogwarts," Kingsley began.
"James was disappointed that you wouldn't be there. He kept mentioning your name before we started school."
"He was like my little brother when we were younger," Kingsley said softly.
Hermione sniffed harshly. She didn't wish to cry in public, so any further conversation about her little brother would have to be postponed. "Going back to your new amour. What's she like? What does she do? You seem happy just mentioning her."
"You'll probably be able to tell based on her silver hair and…presence, but she's half-veela." Kingsley said, sipping his milky earl grey tea. His cup was the same colour as hers, but it was short and had a wide-rim.
"Meeting her family must have been interesting for several reasons," Hermione mused aloud.
"That's an understatement." Kingsley snorted. He placed his cup down on the table. It clinked against the glass.
"We were close during school. Apparently we formed a premature mate bond, but neither of us realised until we were reunited. She hadn't reached full maturity back then."
Hermione listened dutifully, expression earnest. She didn't know much about veela mate bonds, it was a sensitive topic. They were also rare so there wasn't much readily available information.
Hermione gestured for him to continue but then one of the waitresses appeared to take the rest of their order. Hermione settled on a full English. When prompted, she asked for blueberry or blackBerry jam, rye toast and fried eggs. Kingsley chose the stack of French toast.
"Oh. I did have a proposition for you." Kingsley said.
Hermione nodded, urging him to continue as she finished off her lukewarm coffee.
"I want to start hosting an annual Old Year's ball again. This time, I want the Shacklebolts to host it with the Potters. We could alternate hosting it at Shacklebolt Estate and Potter Manor." Kingsley proposed. He gazed at her earnestly, anxiously rubbing his hands over each other as he awaited her reply.
"I would have to talk to the others, since it would mean opening up our home to the masses every other year…but I think it's a beautiful idea, Kings," Hermione replied. "It would be a lovely venture, and it would help keep the tradition alive."
"I'm glad you think so," Kingsley said. The man crossed one leg over the other, his hands resting in his lap as he faced the street and watched the Muggles going about their lives. A contemplative look overtook his features. "What are you going to do about Skeeter?"
Hermione stared at the man with wide eyes, her smile demure. "I take it you saw this morning's article then?"
"I did," Kingsley nodded.
"Don't worry your pretty head about it, Kings. I won't do anything too drastic." Hermione's head fell back. She tried to find pictures in the wispy clouds overhead. She hummed a cheery tune. Soft laughter came from her companion.
"As long as she doesn't go missing, or is found dismembered outside of the Prophet's building…or anything of a similar nature. I give you permission to dole out her punishment as you see fit. However, if anyone asks, I have no knowledge of this conversation."
"Of course not, Kings. And I can promise you there will be no dismemberment. There will possibly be a crime reported to the DMLE within the next few days, but that remains to be seen. I haven't made any concrete decisions yet."
"I am glad that I am your friend and not your foe, Hermione."
Hermione sent him a dazzling smile. "You do know how to sweeten up a witch with compliments. Your mate is a lucky woman."
There was a slight pink tinge visible on Kingsley's cheeks. He was blushing at her words. His infatuation with the witch may be gone, but that didn't change the fact that she was a gorgeous woman, and her smile could bewitch the moist stoic person.
"I only ask for you not to put me in a compromising position where I will have to throw a dear friend in Azkaban."
"Don't worry, Kings. I have a plan." Hermione's plans didn't always follow the original path she'd intended to travel down, but this one was fairly simple.
The waitress brought out their piping hot food shortly thereafter. Hermione had also requested another coffee, and she moaned in delight as she tucked into her delicious food and drank her strong coffee.
Hermione made sure she was full and sated. She had a beetle to catch, and she couldn't very well do so on an empty stomach.
'Hermione Granger, or Potter as she now calls herself, is the fallen golden girl. Despite the Minister's claims when asked for a comment, she is not as innocent as she would have us believe. A trusted source has commented on her engaging in a relationship with Remus Lupin when the wizard in question was a minor.
As Miss Granger was from the future, one can only call into question her character. She took advantage of the young werewolf when he was none the wiser to her true age and origins.
There must be ramifications for such predatory, indecent behaviour.
Miss Granger frequently keeps the company of a werewolf, an ex-convict who escaped from Azkaban, a mysterious witch who is rumoured to have been missing for two decades, and an incompetent Auror.
Her terrible influence could rub off on Harry Potter and Ron Weasley—war heroes—amongst others, as we saw with the incident at St. Mungo's last month.
More importantly, the Minister for Magic has seemingly absolved Draco Malfoy of all his sins. He has dismissed the remaining time Mister Malfoy has to serve for the sentences the Wizengamot's sentences settled on last summer. He may go as Potter now, but that does not change the fact that he was a Death Eater.
What kind of society are we living in if former Death Eaters are allowed to roam free? Mister Malfoy willingly took the Dark mark and willingly followed You-Know-Who. If Harry Potter hadn't foiled He Who Must Not Be Named, the youngest Malfoy would still be in his servitude.
We must demand accountability from those in charge. Allowing this act of gross misconduct, and abuse of power on the Minister's part cannot stand.
Draco Malfoy was not under the Imperius curse, nor was he forcibly subjugated into serving You-Know-Who. He was a willing participant, and if his ilk had their way, our lives would look drastically different today.
We had a taste of the fear and cruel chaos the Death Eaters tormented us with in the past. We must stamp out any possibility of it occurring again.
We must question the integrity of our new Minister for Magic. We must question the Wizengamot for allowing this to come to pass. And, most crucially, we should see Mister Malfoy pay for his crimes as was intended.'
— Excerpt from The Daily Prophet, Front Page, published Monday, May third, nineteen ninety-nine. Author: Rita Skeeter.
'The Fallen Golden Girl and Her Death Eater Beau. A Sordid Time Travel Tale'. The words were boldly printed on the front page of the Daily Prophet. The Newspaper was resting in the middle of Hermione's neatly arranged desk.
"Just throwing it out there. I think she's seen it," Draco said, rubbing his temple with one hand, and he gestured errantly at the abandoned paper with the other.
"Well, where is she?" Sirius asked, he propped his forearms on the back of her desk chair, frowning as his eyes skimmed the rubbish article.
Remus suspected something was amiss when today's paper hadn't arrived, and knew it had something to do with Hermione when she didn't make an appearance at Breakfast. Xenophilius, Andromeda, Narcissa and Augusta had all floo called around eleven to ask if they'd seen the article or not. They hadn't, but they got the gist from the various calls.
"I don't know," Draco said, haggardly dragging his hands down his face.
"You lost her?" Remus asked, throwing an arm around Draco's shoulders. He rested his head against his friend's.
"Me? I'm her fiancé, not her keeper. This is a problem. Insults to her own person she brushes off, but Skeeter thoroughly dragged the rest of our names through the mud. Hermione won't stand for that."
The other two Marauders nodded in assent. Imaginations running wild at the havoc Hermione had possibly gotten herself into on their behalf. She could be vicious in her retribution when it pertained to her family, especially her pack.
"I wouldn't be surprised if the Prophet's building has been reduced to ash and rubble already," Draco sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"She probably burned the building, decapitated them, and put their heads on pikes out front," Sirius mused aloud. He was halfway through the egregious article. Skeeter had expertly dug herself into a formidable hole this time.
"She wouldn't go that far. That's a bit of an exaggeration, don't you think, Padfoot?" Remus asked. He removed himself from his friend, and began to pace. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his expression pensive.
"Perhaps, but if you think for a second she wouldn't burn that building to the ground, you are incorrect." Sirius said. He straightened up, pulled out Hermione's chair, angled it towards the other two wizards and plopped down onto it.
"That much is a given. It's not the pertinent issue. The issue is we have no idea where she is."
A thoughtful beat of silence spread thinly between the trio. Draco tucked his hands into his finely-made black slacks, and glanced between Remus and Sirius. "You know what? Sod it. Let her burn it all down."
Sirius and Remus exchanged a look. A few seconds of contemplation spread between them. The pair shrugged.
"That…is a fair suggestion," Remus said slowly, weighing out each syllable cautiously.
"Should we be concerned about what happens to Skeeter?" Sirius asked. He didn't look too perturbed at whatever fate awaited the ambitious witch.
"No. Her ambitions led her astray, and she poked an unforgiving lioness. She has to deal with the repercussions of her actions," Draco said.
As if their conversation had summoned the witch, Hermione languidly breezed into the room. Black leather pants hugged her figure, and the thin, oversized, white jumper she'd nicked from Remus's closet had fallen off her shoulder. A slight chill was in the air today, but it was bright and sunny. The promise of warmer days was flirting with them.
Hermione held up a glass mason jar with an insect scuttling around inside. She indelicately placed it on her desk; to the left of the newspaper.
Hermione sat in Sirius's lap and let her head fall back against his shoulder. Sirius smiled crooked before entwining his arms around her waist, and linking his fingers together on her midsection.
"What have you got there, love?" Draco asked, failing to keep a wicked smile off his face.
"Ah, right. Nothing really, just the self-proclaimed 'Queen of Quills'," Hermione's shoulders rose and fell noncommittally. "You would not believe the day I've had."
Draco and Remus rounded the desk, crouching down to peer into the jar with tiny holes poked into the top. Inside was a water-beetle with distinctive markings that looked like glasses around its antenna. It was restlessly moving around, its legs constantly writhing against the side of the glass jar.
"Feel free to tell us all about it," Remus said with a sly smile. He tapped the jar, marvelling at the fact that Hermione had trapped Rita Skeeter in a jar for a second time.
"Well I was the first down to Breakfast this morning, and the Prophet had already arrived. I skimmed over Skeeter's wretched article and decided to pay her a visit."
Hermione thoughtfully tapped her chin. "Oh, I had Brunch with Kings and returned all our paperwork. I also gave him our animagus registration forms. So, we don't have to worry anymore on that front."
Hermione leaned forward, her forearms braced on the desk's surface. She rested her chin on the tops of her hands, her face inches away from the jar. "Apparently Rita didn't learn her lesson from last time."
Hermione spoke directly to the scuttling beetle this time. "It seems you misunderstood your place, Skeeter. I was already a vindictive bitch when I used to stringently abide by the rules. Now? The rules can go fuck themselves. My appearance isn't the only thing that's changed."
Hermione tapped the side of the jar with her nail. It clinked with each impact. The beetle scurred to the other side of the jar as if in an anxious fight.
"You shouldn't toy with her, love," Remus playfully scolded. Hermione tilted her head in his direction, her smile easygoing.
"You're right. I should throw the jar off the cliff by Sett Cottage—right into the ocean. Never to see or hear from her again." Her attitude had shifted from nonplussed to canty at the concept.
Draco snorted. Only his witch could speak of murder so offhandedly. Hermione would never follow through, but Skeeter didn't know that. There was little the reporter knew or understood about Hermione Potter.
"She was under the mistaken impression that you were still a punctilious swot," Draco said. He leaned over to kiss the corner of her mouth. He unfolded himself and took a step back.
"What are you going to do with her?" Sirius asked.
"I figure I will keep her in there for a few days at least. I've already sent a howler to the Chief editor of the Prophet. He should be drawing up her termination contract shortly. Then, I figure I would give her to Tonks to take into the Auror department. She is an unregistered animagus after all." Hermione sighed wistfully. "An offence that lands you a short stay in Azkaban."
"A brief stint in Azkaban would do her good. Nice change of pace," Remus said. There was a jovial bounce to his step as he made for the door. "Glad that issue has been resolved." Sirius's eyes clouded over at the mention of the prison, but he blinked harshly, pulling himself back to the present.
"Where are you going, my sweet Moon?" Hermione asked.
"The kitchen. I was going to organise a spot of lunch for us. It's a lovely day, we should eat out on the back porch."
Hermione jumped up eagerly. "I'll hunt down Riley and we'll get everything set up!" The witch declared as she jogged out the room, slipping past the werewolf.
"I'll go help Remus," Sirius said. He placed his hands on his knees as he rose to his feet. He stretched his arms high above his head, and let out a contented moan as his back cracked.
Draco was left alone with the beetle in the jar; the Queen of Quills. Draco took the seat Sirius had vacated, back flush with the seat, one leg crossed over the other, his hands resting in his lap.
"At this point, I think this will be redundant, but it needs to be said. You fucked with the wrong family. For such a shrewd, cunning woman, you really made several foolhardy decisions." Draco said. He examined the nails on his left hand.
"You clearly didn't believe that trash you wrote either. If you thought we were dangerous, I doubt you would have expressed yourself in such a fashion," Draco narrowed his eyes, gears turning as he made a quick decision.
Draco leaned forward, and reached out so his fingertips were touching the jar. "We can't risk having you report any more unfounded lies. I know Hermione thinks we should let you stew for a couple days and make you reflect on what you've done…I have a different plan."
Dark purple light emitted from his fingers, and black spread from his fingertips, racing across the jar's surface. "We'll have Tonks take you to the Ministry tomorrow, for now, enjoy the silence, Miss Skeeter."
It was a simple spell, but Draco supposed it counted as a form of torture. It was a spell that rendered all the senses numb. The impenetrable darkness would rob her of her sight, and she wouldn't be able to hear, smell or touch anything. She would be floating in nothingness until morning.
Draco didn't feel an ounce of remorse for the woman for his arguably cruel punishment. She had inflicted enough damage to his witch and family to warrant far worse.
Rita was scrambling against the small clear window to the outside that remained, but it was soon greedily gobbled up by the spell. The jar was matte black.
"That's for painting Hermione as a harlot when she was fourteen. She was ostracised and treated cruelly for your false claims. Not to mention every nasty word you wrote about Harry." Draco murmured, removing his hand from the jar. He had more grievances with the woman, but he didn't wish to waste his breath. Regardless, Rita wouldn't be able to hear him, but he didn't care; it needed to be said.
Draco stood up, adjusted the waistband of his slacks and slowly headed for the door. He tucked his hands into his pockets and whistled absently as he went in search of the others. He didn't spare the Queen of Quills a backwards glance.
The Chief Editor of the Daily Prophet had had a miserable morning. The office had been flooded with a flurry of owls. Several readers voiced their displeasure about Skeeter's front page article. Seldom few had praised the woman, but most of them were filled with repulsion as they chastised them for writing such filth about heroes of the Wizarding world.
Kingsley Shacklebolt was beloved by the majority of Wizarding Britain. He had been elected by a landslide. He had personally branded Hermione and Draco Potter as close family friends. His words had greatly influenced the public's opinions. The hearts of everyone present at the Gala last night had been swayed.
"Ruddy sheep. Don't have any opinions of their own," Benjamin whinged as he stared glumly at his stained hands. He didn't believe that Draco Malfoy should be pardoned for his crimes, but he also didn't agree with the verbiage Rita had used in her story. However, against his better judgement, he'd run it. He'd been a fool.
The Potter girl had sent him a howler. Unbeknownst to him, she had been inspired by a harmless prank pulled by a pair of snakes. Her version was semi-permanent; the initial effects would fade after a week. His hands were a vile shade of green from his fingertips to his wrists. Blotchy orange spots covered his flesh.
The witch threatened that if he ever published anything defamatory about her, her friends, or family, the green colour would reappear. Also, that his stained hands would be the least of his problems.
Instead of shredding itself like usual, the howler caught fire. Shortly, a small pile of ash was on his desk, tendrils of smoke drifting upwards. When he cleaned it up, he found an irremovable scorch mark had blemished his pristine dark-stained, cherry wood desk.
Hermione Potter's instructions and unspoken threats were abundantly clear. With a laborious sigh, Benjamin smoothed his green hand over a fresh piece of parchment. He dipped his silver-tipped quill in ink, and with a shake of his head, began drafting Rita Skeeter's termination contract.