September 2007
Draco's weekend had been spent answering dozens of owls and Floo calls with his solicitors and financial advisors. One of the advisors was in quite a mood over the state of some Malfoy funds allocated for charitable donation. Apparently, this was one such donation that had been missed during Draco's and his financial team's sweep of every single revenue stream that flowed from and to his family's vaults.
When Draco became the official head of the family immediately after the war following his father's imprisonment, the one prudent thing he did after the Ministry reinstated access to all his family's accounts was to comb through each and every document. At that time it was the perfect task for a wealthy recluse with a potion addiction and a nagging girlfriend he constantly sought to avoid. A Knut did not go missing without him knowing how it was being spent. Even years later, this was how Draco spent much of his free time: poring over financial statements and documents to either move funds, rescind monies, or invest into more reputable endeavors.
All political donations had ceased immediately. Draco never wanted to have the Malfoy name indebted to any political faction (Ministry-associated or otherwise) ever again. This had been a rather astute move on his part: apparently, one could save a lot of gold if they weren't constantly bribing Ministry officials and lining the pockets of shady political lobbyists for nefarious purposes. Not having to fund the schemes of a mad dark wizard and house dozens of Death Eaters helped too.
Draco terminated any and all contracts to do with the Black family gold and gave control of all of Bellatrix's remaining estate and assets to his mother. The Malfoy name was going to be pure as a fucking newborn unicorn, at least on paper.
He kept all respectable charitable donations, like the ones that funded most of St. Mungo's or the rebuilding of Hogwarts. The situation one of his advisors had discovered was one that had not occurred in years.
"I'm not sure how we missed it, Mr. Malfoy. But this is definitely going through a back channel to fund illegal dragon poaching excursions."
Draco sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "All right, well I guess it isn't too shocking. Many of those 'reserved creature land' charities have turned out to be game-hunting fronts for rich pricks. Terminate the donation and redirect the gold back to the main vault at Gringotts."
"Unfortunately sir, given where we are in the fiscal year, I think it would be more prudent to redistribute the funds in a different manner. This gold has already been ear-marked for donation in your annual budget, so my advice, and the advice of the rest of the group, would be to find an alternate channel for donation."
The rest of the Floo call had turned into a back and forth about which cause merited the money. It was a bit difficult to pinpoint how to spend such an amount. Give too much to one charity, then they'd expect that same amount every year, not to mention it could look a bit dodgy to dole out such a large sum all at once. The public might suspect ulterior motives on account of Draco's surname. No decisions were made just then and they'd disconnected from the Floo as Draco promised to conduct some research on a specific cause to redirect the funds.
Speaking of money, a question had been niggling at Draco's brain since his conversation last month with Granger about Muggleborn children.
"How do they afford it?"
"I'm not a Legilimens, Malfoy, how does who afford what?"
Draco huffed impatiently, which between huffing and eye-rolling, you'd think that he'd invented a new form of language for specifically conversing with Hermione Granger because these gestures took up a hefty percentage of his communication with her.
"How do kids with Muggle parents afford to go to Hogwarts?"
"Hogwarts is free." She didn't even look up from her notebook.
"Obviously, I meant all the supplies and magical accessories."
Hermione frowned and finally met his eyes. "Are you under the impression that all Muggles are poor?"
Draco shrugged and looked away, feeling chastened. Of course Lucius, like his father before him, handed down the belief that all Muggle life was a waste. That Muggles were filthy, belligerent, untrustworthy and not fit to breathe the same air as their wizarding betters. Coming to his coffee shop every day for a few years had taught Draco this was clearly untrue. Several times each morning Draco spotted male Muggles in suits that looked as expensive as the ones he himself wore.
"Do you know what a dentist is?" Draco shook his head and Hermione sighed. "All right, so you know how at St. Mungo's, some healers specialize in different areas? Well, both my parents are Muggle healers called dentists that specialize in healing diseases of the teeth and gums. Their practice is both medicinal and cosmetic in nature. It's considered a highly skilled profession and happens to be a rather lucrative one at that."
"Was that a roundabout way of telling me you come from money? Very gauche of you, Granger."
She chuckled at his bluntness and he felt his face pull into a genuine grin at the sound.
"Let me put it this way: if I were not a witch and went through life as a Muggle student, my parents could afford to send me to the best private schools in England, and most likely, a top-tier university either here or abroad, should I wish to continue my education. I've never wanted for anything material in my life, and we were the kind of family that could afford at least two vacations abroad each year. Does that answer your question?"
Draco smirked and fought the urge to burst out laughing. He was picturing the look on his father's face if he were alive to have Draco explain that Queen of Muggleborns Hermione Granger did not spawn from destitute Muggles.
"Hmm I guess I can no longer classify you as a peasant. But did you ever own albino peacocks? Only the most unnecessary of pets could indicate your level of wealth."
"I did have a hermit crab when I was 6."
Draco playfully scoffed. "Not exotic enough Granger, sorry. No, I quite think your peasant status was accurate."
She responded with a playful roll of her eyes and returned to a notebook. After a few moments, she stopped writing and was staring thoughtfully out of the window, brow slightly furrowed and mouth set in a firm line. It was a look Draco was starting to anticipate with interest and burning curiosity. This Granger expression meant she was about to think up an idea, either brilliant or stupidly self-righteous but always intriguing, and then choose, of all people, him to share it with.
"What children with non-magical parents actually need is a beginner's curriculum to the world of magic. Can you imagine how overwhelming it is to learn this about yourself a mere few months before you're expected to move away to a remote castle in Scotland, apart from your family for most of the year? You're a part of this vast, ancient culture and you didn't even know dragons or flying broomsticks existed until now?"
Hermione took out another one of her many notebooks and her Muggle writing instrument. Draco had admired the little tool on many occasions, and she informed him it was called a "pen" and functioned like a self-inking quill. He didn't dare admit it aloud, but it seemed much more practical than having to cart around quills and ink bottles and seemed much less of a mess-risk. She began scribbling furiously and Draco felt a little put out that she was opting to write out her thoughts instead of voicing them aloud.
He needed to grab her attention again. "Is that what it was like for you?"
Hermione rounded off her sentence then looked up at him as she considered her answer. Draco realized he never fully appreciated how jarring it must be to learn about magic when you were already 10 or 11-years -old.
"I knew I was different," she practically whispered, almost reverently and Draco was rapt with attention. "The first instance of my abilities that I can remember occurred when I was 6. My mother and I were at the public library and she was busy chatting with one of her friends. There was a book up high on a shelf and I remember wanting that book so badly, right then, and I didn't feel like waiting for my mother to come reach up for me. It was at least three feet above my head, but then it wiggled itself out from between the other books and floated gently down into my hands."
Her eyes were alight at the memory. She was positively sparkling with the knowledge of her own magic. "Little things like that kept happening as I got older. I wanted more dessert? Suddenly the ice cream bowl refilled itself. I felt a little cold in the night? My blanket tucked itself snugly around my body without my lifting a finger. A boy was teasing me on the playground? The sweets he was stuffing in his face suddenly became beetles."
Draco grimaced. "That's truly disgusting. I don't think I'll be accepting any scones from you in the future."
She smirked back. "As if you could resist."
"Oh Granger," he purred. "I can resist a great many things, but I'm certain you could find the right way to tempt me." A bright flush appeared on her cheeks and Draco blinked and broke eye contact. What the ever loving fuck was he doing? Did he just flirt with her? I am in control of this.
Draco cleared his throat and tried to steer the conversation back into neutral territory. "What happened when you got your Hogwarts letter?"
The remnants of the blush remained, but her eyes took on a dreamy, faraway glaze. "I've never felt so validated in my whole life. My dad thought it was utter nonsense, of course. I think he almost contacted the police to report some nutter sending strange letters to his daughter about magic and a made-up school." She paused here, and Draco was startled to see her eyes looked a touch wet.
"But my mother… I think she knew. Deep down, she knew I was a different child. That there was something not quite normal about me. I remember when the second letter came, she gave my dad this look. This look of… of insistent belief. As fantastical and ridiculous as it is to learn your daughter is a witch, I think she was trying to convince him that this somehow made sense. By the time McGonagall showed up on our doorstep to truly explain it all, I know my mum already believed. McGonagall did have to turn into a cat for my dad to get on board though."
Draco chuckled at the image of no-nonsense McGonagall becoming so exasperated that she had to become her animagus form to prove a point to a Muggle man.
"I just hope these children aren't afraid or intimidated by it all. It can reduce anyone to a pile of nerves to learn all this information at once," she reasoned.
Draco cut in. "But you weren't that way. As I remember you were stomping up and down the train cars of the Hogwarts Express, a prissy little First Year spouting off facts about Transfiguration and Switching Spells."
She giggled and Draco tried his hardest to smother the growing feeling of elation that he had made her laugh. "Yes, well I was exceptional wasn't I? Exceptional for a Muggleborn."
No, you're just exceptional.
The thought floated across his mind and almost out of his mouth, so Draco hastily sipped at his coffee instead.
Granger broke the silence with a quiet question. "Malfoy, why did you ask me about Muggleborn students?"
Draco didn't quite know the answer to that himself, so he shrugged and diverted her with another question. "What were you writing down just now?"
That distracted her sufficiently. "I couldn't stop thinking about what you said to me last month. About how I should consider an educational program on Muggle life for Hogwarts. But I think something that could really help students with non-magical parents would be to properly acquaint them with the magical world before they're dropped into Diagon Alley and told to exchange money with a goblin and buy a magic wand."
She turned the notebook in her hand towards Draco and he finally saw what she had been writing. Comprehensive would not even begin to describe her plan. "Granger this is… ambitious," he remarked as his silver eyes scanned the pages.
She beamed so hard he thought her face might split in two. "I know! I really think this would be an elegant solution, don't you? If the Ministry could supply some representatives from the Muggle Relations Department they could liaise with the Education Department and make first contact with Muggle parents. A lot less awkward than a letter delivered via owl don't you think?"
He nodded. "Right, and saves McGonagall from running around to all these homes."
"Yes, exactly! This burden shouldn't fall squarely on the professors. Now, a joint budget for something like this would also include a representative to escort the families to Diagon Alley. It took us ages to complete our first shopping trip and I think half the time my poor father was trying not to be sick. It really was a baptism by fire, having to learn how to exchange money and then finding all the correct shops. I bet we got overcharged by quite a few shops that day," she finished flatly.
"What's this bit about an orientation here?" inquired Draco as he pointed further down the page.
"Right, so this is an idea I copied directly from most Muggle university programs. Basically, all incoming new students, but in this case we're only talking about Muggleborn First-Years, are invited to come up to the school a few weeks early. I modified this a bit from the university orientation model. Maybe a month or so before term, these students would all take the Hogwarts Express and then spend two weeks at Hogwarts learning about the world of magic. Sort of an adapted History of Magic curriculum."
"Not taught by Binns, I hope?"
Hermione shuddered. "Oh Merlin, no. Perhaps the Muggles Studies professor or each of the professors could take a turn helping these children understand what it means to be a witch or wizard. Not just goblin rebellion dates, but things like… like how portraits move! Or that ghosts exist! Or that Bertie Bott's Beans are seriously every flavor!"
"Wait, you're including sweets in this educational plan of yours?"
"You would too if your first green jelly bean turned out to taste like pond scum," she grimaced at the memory.
"Blech, point taken."
Draco's eyes scanned over the rest of her plan. She had clearly put a lot of thought into how best to introduce children with Muggle parents to their newfound magical world. He noticed she'd even sketched out the first few lesson plans, which included sections on flying and quidditch, cuisines, creatures, and popular culture. Hermione Granger was nothing if not thorough, especially when she was passionate about a cause.
"Granger, this is an impressive idea and all, but have you considered how much gold this is going to cost?" As soon as he asked, Draco wished he'd never spoken. All the air seemed to deflate out of her as she sighed resignedly.
"Oh trust me, I know. There certainly isn't enough in Hogwarts' own fund for this. And I can't imagine the Ministry stepping in to boost a plan that will directly benefit Muggleborn children. It's a shame they wouldn't see that this would benefit all the students. You'd be putting all the First Years on more equal footing and the Muggleborn children won't feel like they've come to their new school with all this catching up to do before they've even been assigned homework."
She closed the notebook and drained the last of her tea. "It's only a fun idea I had, thanks for listening. I need another tea to go if I'm going to make it through the stacks of parchment in my in-tray this morning, need anything?" Draco shook his head as Hermione went to grab a to-go order.
He had no idea what made him act so impulsively. While Hermione was busy at the counter with her back to him, Draco nudged her notebook open, and quietly tore out the pages with her education plan on them, and stuffed them inside the inner breast pocket of his suit.
He handed her the closed notebook along with her work bag as she approached and Hermione stowed her notebook away as they left the café, none the wiser to Draco's theft.
Eight crumpled pieces of parchment, three glasses of firewhisky, and one Calming Draught later, Draco could say he was reasonably pleased with the letter he'd drafted to Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. As he watched his eagle owl take flight into the night, he tried to ignore the dulled, but ever present, feeling of dread that he just might have gotten in over his head.
Draco knew she was going to be at this match, because she'd told him so, two days ago at the café. But that didn't stop his pulse from quickening in surprise when he spied Hermione through his omnioculars across the stadium in the Potter-Weasley box.
She was laughing at something Potter had just said to her. Potter followed up quickly with something else, but this time she gave him a stern look and whacked him on the arm. Now he'd done it. Her hands were gesticulating wildly as she went off on her friend about some offense he must have caused, and Potter had the grace to look sheepish. Had Granger ever done that with him? No, there hadn't been physical contact between the two of them, ever. Except for that morning with the umbrella, and that hardly counted as voluntary on either of their parts.
"All right Malfoy?"
Draco almost jumped out of his skin and fumbled with his omnioculars. His heartbeat slowed when he turned to see the familiar face who had greeted him.
"Macnair," Draco drawled in what he hoped was a casual voice. The older wizard leant up against the wide bar that lined the edge of the glass company box for the Whisp and Wright agency. The match had only just started, and most of Draco's colleagues were hunkered down with elbows planted on the bar, eyes in their omnioculars, observing the quidditch action.
"How're things? I confess I'm surprised to see you at this match, not your usual territory, no?"
Draco shrugged, not sure why he had even bothered to come himself, but Macnair didn't need to know this.
"Thought I'd check up on your squad for the year. You've put together an impressive roster this season."
Macnair grinned affably and shook his head. "True enough, but we both know my Tornados will most likely meet an early death in playoffs, no thanks to you, you little bastard."
Draco smirked back and finally did turn his omnioculars towards the quidditch pitch. Macnair was the chief scouting agent for the Tutshill Tornados, the biggest rival to Draco's client, the Wimbourne Wasps. Today's match was between the Tornados and the Holyhead Harpies, so Draco didn't necessarily need to be in attendance. But employees of the company were allowed into this box for any match they liked, and why shouldn't he take advantage of some free quidditch when his own team had the weekend off?
Watching the game, Draco had to admit, though it burned him a little internally, that Ginny Weasley was a decent flier. She had scored most of her team's goals this afternoon and was also an excellent passer with her fellow Chasers. At about an hour into the match however, Draco spotted the weak link in the Harpies roster. Talented a Chaser as she may be, the Weaselette had been thwarted in her quest for goals several times by some particularly skilled bludger play from the opposition. The Beaters starting for the Harpies today seemed severely outmatched, and the Tornado Beaters were superb.
"Your defensive front is particularly good, I have to admit," Draco intoned to Macnair as another skillfully beaten bludger knocked the quaffle out of the hands of a Harpies Chaser.
"Aye, if you think they're good, stick around after the match. You might see something quite spectacular."
Draco raised an eyebrow in interest, but Macnair didn't elaborate and turned his attention back to the game. Every now and then, his older colleague would let out little curses, but seemed pleased overall with his team's play.
Wesley Macnair was too old for Draco to consider him a friend. And Draco was not sentimental enough to think of him as a "mentor" either, though that would most likely be the accurate term.
When Draco was first hired at Whisp and Wright years ago, most of the office avoided him like dragon pox. Macnair in particular seemed especially wary, but then one day a few months after Draco started, he had approached Draco in the company box, held out a lager and introduced himself properly.
After some polite small talk, Macnair revealed his true intentions. "I believe you knew my elder brother?"
Draco had felt his insides turn to ice. Oh yes, he'd known Walden Macnair. That creepy old bastard of a Death Eater had harbored a particular fondness for gutting Muggle victims as if they were hogs and on several occasions, had cornered Draco to rant about all the despicable things he'd like to do to centaur herds.
"So?" Draco had responded defensively.
"I believe you were there the night he died," was the cryptic reply. Draco narrowed his eyes, unsure of what type of game the younger Macnair was playing. Draco hadn't seen it with his own eyes, but heard Walden was eaten alive by an acromantula on the edge of the Forbidden Forest during the Battle of Hogwarts and in all honesty, appreciated the poetry in that sort of demise, for someone who had reveled in the destruction of creatures.
"If you want an apology or condolences for my being in the general vicinity the night that twisted prick met his end, you won't be hearing it from me today or at any other point in the foreseeable future," seethed Draco.
Macnair regarded him for a long moment, and Draco thought he might curse him or hurl a drink at him. Shockingly, the older man's face split into a grin.
"You mistake me, lad. My brother was a piece of shite, just wanted to see if you caught the look on his ugly face when he shrugged the mortal coil."
Draco realized then why Macnair had been so cold to him at first. He'd been unsure of Draco and his sensibilities. It was a test to see if Draco still upheld Lucius's (and the Dark Lord's) teachings. Though Draco didn't ask for the man's personal history, Wesley divulged most of his backstory during that first quidditch match long ago. Wesley was something of a black sheep in the Macnair clan. When the first wizarding war broke out, he fled to America, eloped with his Muggleborn sweetheart and severed all ties with his pureblood relations. He told Draco even putting an ocean between himself and his insane brother hadn't felt like enough distance. Though his wife had begged him to return to England after Voldemort's initial defeat by an infant Harry Potter, Wesley insisted they remain in the States. They'd only returned to their home country after the Battle of Hogwarts, once both Voldemort and Walden Macnair were confirmed dead.
Wesley had confessed that it wasn't the Dark Lord so much as his own older brother that scared him. "A few letters managed to find their way to us. The things that deranged bastard said about my wife, about my Lara… I never showed them to her, but I hope my brother is rotting somewhere." Wesley finished grimly.
Once Wesley Macnair warmed up to him, the rest of the office had followed suit. Though no one was as outwardly friendly as Wesley to Draco, a polite distance from colleagues was much more tolerable than openly contemptuous glares.
A few years later, and only after a few pints, Draco remembered asking Wesley why he'd approached him at all. Wesley had smiled somewhat wistfully as he replied "Aye, lad. I had my suspicions, but I needed to be sure."
"Suspicions of what? That I was nothing more than a junior Death Eater?"
Macnair had shaken his head and rubbed his close-cropped beard. "No, son. That you were a younger version of myself, in a way."
Draco's eyes had widened. "Of course I'm not! You openly defied your family! You ran off and avoided all the… all the …" He sputtered to a stop. Draco didn't have words for all the horrors that Wesley Macnair had avoided by leaving England during Voldemort's reign.
Macnair shook his head calmly. "I didn't say an exact version. Merlin, you need to listen, boy." Macnair had drained his drink and ran another hand over his beard. "You come from an incredible family. A family with a long legacy. And with that family name comes a burden and a strict path laid out before you. I'm saying I understand what it's like to no longer give a flying shite about the proper pureblood family path. You've made your own way, is all I'm saying, and I know that feeling."
Draco hadn't responded and they'd both lapsed into thoughtful silence. Wesley never brought it up again.
A rousing cheer followed by cries of disappointment brought Draco back to the present. Apparently the Harpies Seeker had almost nabbed the snitch, only to be stopped once again by a well-timed bludger from the other team's Beater.
Tuning back into the game, he smirked as he zeroed in on the face of She-Weasel and saw the growing frustration at her team's poor performance brewing on her face. That family was never good at subtlety. As the red-headed Chaser streaked down the far side of the stadium, Draco's gaze through his device landed back on the box he knew Granger to be inside.
She was leaning forward on the bar in front of her, and for all the world appeared to be watching the match intently, but Draco zoomed in to see her gaze seemed unfocused. While the others around her made various excited movements and chatter, their eyes darting all around to watch the game play, Granger continued her absent stare. Her fingers traced the rim of her half-drunk beer in front of her in a slow, methodical manner, much like Draco's habit with his coffee mug in the morning.
It was uncommon for Draco to see her in anything but her smart skirt suits or pantsuits for work. Today she wore jeans and a navy, cable-knit sweater and a Harpies scarf, prioritizing comfort over fashion. Most witches and wizards in the premium boxes used the opportunity to be seen in the latest fashionable robes, but not Granger. Draco smirked and wondered if her wardrobe only contained cozy Muggle clothing and her work suits/robes and nothing else.
Granger kept her circling motion going around the glass rim, then rested her chin in her other hand, looking oblivious to the animated chatter going on behind and next to her. Slowly, one of her fingers unfurled and began a light, back and forth dance along her bottom lip. Draco felt his own fingers twitch at the omniocular dials to zoom in closer on her face. It was a slow and deliberate pace across her lower half of slightly parted lips, matching the rhythm of her finger along her glass rim. Draco tried to swallow and felt his throat had gone dry. Her bottom lip looked impossibly soft as her delicate finger traced back and forth.
Raucous screaming from all around him and throughout the entire stadium made Draco rip his omnioculars from his face. The Tornados Seeker had captured the snitch, securing the victory for their team. Macnair pumped his fist a few times in the air in triumph.
"Congratulations. I look forward to watching the Wasps wipe that smug grin right off your face," drawled Draco and Macnair flipped him off.
The Tornado team began their victory flight around the stadium as the Harpies players flew back to their locker room. Then, the box across the way lit up and Draco realized all the attention was now being paid to the Potter-Weasley box as Ginny joined her extremely famous husband and family. What seemed like thousands of flashbulbs were going off, all focused on the savior of the wizarding world and his in-laws. Potter and his wife gave a few sheepish waves to the crowd then retreated from the edge. Ginny had a barely concealed scowl on her face and Draco wondered which she hated more: that her team had let her down or that she was forced to deal with all the press hoopla surrounding her husband at her place of employment.
People finally began shuffling out of the stadium, but Draco returned his omnioculars to find Granger, who was now speaking with Ginny alone.
Draco watched as Granger and Ginny chatted animatedly near the edge of their box. He watched as the red head pointed vaguely across the way of the stadium, in the general direction of Draco's company box, but not directly at him. He watched as Granger seemed to straighten up and eagerly scan the boxes on Draco's side of the stadium. What had She-Weasel said to her to make her look around so enthusiastically?
He watched as Granger seemed unable to find what she was looking for and turned away with a small frown of disappointment to converse with the Weasley matriarch. And then he watched in horror as Ginny Potter's gaze snapped to somehow connect directly with Draco, as she smirked, and then winked.
He dropped his omnioculars as if they'd burned his flesh. They clattered to the floor and he stooped to pick them up quickly. I am in control of this.
"All right son?" Inquired Macnair.
Draco could tell his face was flushed and he struggled to keep his voice even. "Yes, of course. I just remembered I have somewhere to be."
Macnair was eyeing him curiously as Draco turned to leave, to get home and down as much firewhisky as he could find in his liquor cabinet. "Too bad. Listen, at our next match, you really should hang around after the game. I was serious when I said there's something spectacular you need to see."
Draco nodded absently and apparated home, away from Macnair, from all the crowds, and from the knowing gaze of Ginny Potter. I am in control of this.
A/N: Thank you so, so very much for reading & reviewing. Next update in a few days, stay safe everyone!