Chapter 3: I Give Myself Very Good Advice
Three Weeks Later…
Hermione flicked her wand to move a stack of completed paperwork to the second in a row of ebony filing cabinets on the west wall of her enormous office before setting them to magically filing themselves. Truthfully, she didn't know why she was still in this office. It was gorgeous, of course—filled with more rich, ornate furniture than she could ever need and the north wall was almost entirely bewitched windows, always showing her a beautiful, relaxing scene. It really was too much, and she requested a smaller office almost the second she stepped foot in it. Two and a half years later, where was she? So much for keeping the "Last Word in Magical Justice" happy! She couldn't wait to move out of here. There was nothing about the office that made her feel remotely comfortable. Except the chair. She would definitely be keeping the chair. She snuggled further in to the designer chair that competed for "World's Most Comfortable Piece of Furniture" with her couch in the Shacklebolt drawing room.
Having begun to relax after a full fifteen hours of straight paperwork, broken only by a dinner break taken in her office, she rubbed her temples in a vain attempt to alleviate her pounding headache. Screwing her eyes shut tightly to combat the pain, she reluctantly took a swig from the vial of red potion and waited the mere seconds that it took to take effect. She sighed in blessed relief before calling out toward the door, "Penelope!"
When there was no answer, Hermione furrowed her brow in concern and was about to open the door to her office and check on her secretary when she noticed the clock above the door which now read half past eight. She rolled her eyes at herself as she recalled that she had sent Penelope Weasley home four hours ago. Hermione yawned and rubbed her eyes. I've become an old maid at 21! Look at me, ready for bed before nine in the evening. Shameful!
Standing on shaking legs, she grabbed her robe from the rack behind her, draping it across her arm. Mechanically tossing a pinch of floo powder into her fireplace, she called out her destination and stumbled into the receiving room at Shacklebolt Estate.
"Rough day, Missy Hermione?" Rosie greeted her. "You is home later than you usually is."
"Not too bad, Rosie. Just more paperwork than I would've liked," Hermione smiled at the little elf, who nodded her understanding.
"You be wanting tea tonight, Missy Hermione?" Rosie asked, already headed to the kitchen.
"Yes, please, Rosie," Hermione breathed gratefully as she slumped into a kitchen chair. "Is Kingsley home yet?"
When Rosie shook her head in a negative reaction, Hermione tutted, "Thought he might be a bit late tonight. The Longbottom case is causing a bit of trouble."
Poor Neville! At the Ministry, she forced herself to think of it as just another case, detached from her personal life. But now, she allowed her emotions to take over. The case must be very difficult for her old friend right now. His grandmum recently passed and there was a fuss regarding her will. She, of course, intended to leave everything to Neville. However, Gringotts didn't recognize "informal" wizard wills. Instead, the goblins insisted that the Longbottom account should be transferred to the eldest living son or daughter of the deceased, which happened to be Frank Longbottom, who still resided in St. Mungo's with his wife. Goblins, however, are far from being considered sympathetic creatures.
According to ancient tradition, if the vault is not accessed by its new owner one week after the death of its previous owner, the contents are forfeited to the bank. The Care of Magical Creatures Department was having a dreadful time dealing with the issue because the Goblin's liaison hadn't the foggiest what to do in the situation, the poor girl. As a result, the Ministry had to consult an expert, Bill Weasley, and the whole affair had turned into a fiasco.
She wished she could be there for her friend at this trying time, but at least he had Hannah, who she'd heard he was actually engaged to now. I should send them a card, but I suppose it had better be anonymous. She sighed and took a long sip of the tea Rosie handed her; she couldn't even send a blasted congratulatory card to her oldest Hogwarts friend because of "The Scandal!" Sometimes, she wanted nothing more than to flog Rita Skeeter to within an inch of her life. She supposed the look on the roach's face if she ever found out the truth would be enough, but with the way things stood, she doubted that would ever happen.
Kingsley was too optimistic in this situation. Two years, three months, and twelve days. As far as she was concerned, the chances of improvement were slim to none, not that she would ever dare voice that opinion in front of Kingsley Shacklebolt. He might just throttle her; it was an extremely sensitive topic.
Hermione's eyes had unconsciously wandered to the second door on the left on the second floor of the mansion house, which could barely be seen from the grand staircase. She shook her head to rid herself of the morbid thoughts and turned back to Rosie.
"I think I'll retire now, Rosie," she yawned, already standing to leave.
"Good night, Mistr—Missy Hermione," the elf answered.
Hermione made her way up the staircase and turned left, placing a hand gently on the second door and whispering "night, love" before making her way to her bedroom. Once she was in the guest bedroom on the third floor that she had claimed, she looked around nervously, suddenly alert. She'd had an awful feeling that made her check over her shoulder every few minutes. It had started….well, it had all started after that day. She was so sure that someone or something was watching her. She tried to shake the paranoia, but it was simply too strong. And a couple of times, she thought she actually caught a glimpse of a dark figure out of the corner of her eye.
This was too much, though. In her own home? The one place where she was supposed to feel secure? She resolved to find the source of her uneasiness and take care of it. She refused to live like this! She was a strong, powerful witch and she would not be intimidated by noises and shadowy figures. Beginning tomorrow, she would set up a travelling ward with a 100-ft radius around her and connect it to a record in her office that would show any time anyone, human or creature, crossed the perimeter. If there were any unusually frequent presences, she would investigate further. It was a complicated piece of magic, but she was, after all, "The Brightest Witch of Her Age." Merlin and Morgana! She thought. I could write a book with all the titles I've been given!
She slipped her nightie on and cocooned herself in her bed, falling asleep quickly and feeling considerably safer as she solidified her plans for creating the ward tomorrow.
**HGDM**
Draco almost nodded off in the time it took Eurydice to return. Finally, he heard a tap on his kitchen window and rushed to open it, nearly tripping over his own slipper-clad feet in the process. He threw the window open, offering his right arm as a perch for the beautiful eagle owl. She hopped onto his arm, hooting happily and nipping at his shoulder affectionately.
He huffed at himself in annoyance. What kind of person would use such a noble, loyal creature for such a dark purpose? At least he could rest assured that his intentions were good. He withdrew his wand and tapped Eurydice's head, muttering the spell he had found last week. Immediately, his vision blurred significantly and swirled to a dark stretch of lawn that he recognized to be Shacklebolt Estate. He smiled when he was able to vaguely make out a blob with bushy hair through what must have been the kitchen window. Suddenly, his hearing tuned in to the scene. Thank Merlin owls have better hearing than eyesight!
"You be wanting tea tonight, Missy Hermione?" That would be the old house elf. He snorted. Of course he was right. Granger would never willingly let a house elf call her mistress.
"Yes, please, Rosie. Is Kingsley home yet?" Always polite, that Granger. Draco guessed that it came naturally with being the lady of such a large estate, though. The elf looked like she might have been shaking her head. So the Minister's out late? In the back of his mind, Draco wondered what he could be doing.
"Thought he might be a bit late tonight. The Longbottom case is causing a bit of trouble." Longbot-? Oh, yes. Draco had heard about that case. A buggering mess, that was! It's no wonder they were still working on that. He'd never had much use for goblins!
"I think I'll retire now, Rosie," Granger stood up and started making her way out of the kitchen. Draco belatedly willed Eurydice to move to a better vantage point. This was the most important part of the evening. If they missed her going to bed again, he'd have to find a way to do the job himself.
"Good night, Mistr—Missy Hermione." Thankfully, Eurydice did move. Moments later, Draco was looking in a different window, the one at the end of the second floor hall, if he remembered correctly. Granger entered at the top of the staircase and turned left. She stopped at a door and whispered, "Night, love." What in Salazar's name! Could the rumours of a child really be true?
From their previous attempts at espionage, Eurydice and Draco had discovered that to get to Shacklebolt's room, one would turn right after the master staircase. Also, a vaguely familiar young witch usually left the house whenever either the Minister or Granger came home, but they hadn't yet discovered where Granger slept.
Draco continued watching as Granger turned onto another staircase, seeming to go up another flight to the third floor. Again, Eurydice moved to follow her.
In this window, he saw a moderately-sized, generic-looking guest bedroom with no real evidence of occupancy, but Granger entered as if it were hers. She whipped her bushy head this way and that. So, she was being paranoid again? Draco crossed his fingers that Eurydice hadn't been seen. Thank Merlin Granger didn't appear to have seen her. She changed and slipped into bed. Draco felt heat rise to his cheeks as he noticed her undressing, even though he couldn't see anything more than a flesh-coloured blur. All he wanted was to know the truth; he'd never intended to invade her privacy. For a second, though, he found himself wishing that Eurydice had better eyesight. Hold it right there! Draco thought. I'm going to pretend that thought didn't just cross my mind, for the sake of my sanity.
He ran a pale, long-fingered hand down his face before releasing the charm on his owl, giving her a treat, and closing the window behind her. Something about the Prophet's story and what he had observed just didn't add up, and he intended to find out just what or whom the residents of Shacklebolt Estate were hiding.
**HGDM**
The next morning, Hermione woke refreshed and ready to carry out her plans from the night before. Coincidentally, it was Saturday, so she didn't have to work. She showered and made herself presentable. She was in such a good mood that she picked a deep blue sundress out of her wardrobe, pairing it with a gold-coloured cardigan and Grecian sandals. She braided her hair and smiled at her reflection. For the first time in a long time, she felt like herself again. Before leaving her bedroom, she carefully created the travelling ward. Quickly shoving her wand into her trusty beaded bag, she danced down the stairs to Callista's room, knocking lightly to see if she was awake.
Hermione stifled a chuckle as she heard a thud and the patter of feet. She hid behind the door as Callie opened it. "Daddy?" the girl called, no trace of sleep in her voice.
"Boo!" Hermione exclaimed as she jumped out from behind the door.
"Mummy!" Callie's face brightened as she launched herself at Hermione, wrapping her arms securely around her neck and her legs tightly around her waist. Hermione pretended to choke from the child's vice-like grip. Callie's contagious giggle echoed in the hall as she loosened her grip on the poor witch.
"Are you ready to go on our trip, Callie?" Hermione asked excitedly, moving the squirming Callie to her hip.
"We go see Teddy?" Callie's eyes widened and her mouth hung open ready to smile or pout, whichever reaction the answer would call for.
"Perhaps," Hermione conceded, "if you behave and we get our errands done early."
The little girl squeezed Hermione's neck again, smacking a loud kiss on her cheek. "Callie be good, I pwomiss." She smiled her most innocent smile, and if Hermione hadn't known the toddler better, she might have believed her. She returned the smile, though, willing to give the girl the benefit of the doubt.
"Of course you will, darling." Hermione carried Callie back into her room and set her on her small rocking chair beside the wardrobe. She held up two different dresses, one blue and the other pink for her to choose from. The look on her face as she seriously contemplated her outfit was comical.
"Hmmm…" she started. "I theeeeenk… bwue! Wanna match mummy."
Hermione nodded and replaced the pink dress in the wardrobe, motioning for Callie to stand up so she could dress her. "Now, Callie, we've talked about this. What are you supposed to call me?"
"Um, I fowget," she answered sheepishly.
"Auntie Mione," Hermione said slowly, enunciating so Callie could repeat her.
"Aunniemynee?" Callie tried. Hermione nodded; it was close enough. The girl nodded, mumbling the name to herself over and over so she would remember it.
In the meantime, Hermione had managed to slip the dress on her and wrestle her squirming feet into a pair of beige sandals. "How do you want your hair today, darling?" She asked, comb in hand.
"Piggy taiws pwease, Aunnimynee," she exclaimed giddily. Less than a minute later, Hermione had tamed Callie's hair into two perfectly adorable pigtails, which hung halfway between her ears and shoulders.
"What do you say, Callie?" Hermione reminded her.
"Thank ooooo," she sang as she skipped through the hall toward the staircase.
"Stop right there, Callista Rose!" Hermione's voice was firm but amused. "Have you forgotten something?"
"Oopsie," the girl's cheeks turned reddened. "Callie no say bye-bye daddy." She immediately ran to Kingsley's door, knocking quickly and yelling a stream of "Daddydaddydaddydaddy!" until the door opened to reveal Kingsley dressed in his work robes, wand in hand. He was obviously in a hurry, but he stopped to scoop his daughter up, hug her tight, and kiss her forehead. "Bye-bye, daddy!" she said sweetly.
"Goodbye, Callie. Have fun with your Aunt Mione." He placed a quick kiss on top of Hermione's head as well before rushing down the stairs toward the receiving room.
As she and Callie followed him, she reminded the little girl of the rules of their "game" they always played while in the city. She giggled and nodded, happy just to be spending time with Hermione. Before they flooed to Diagon Alley, Hermione tied a sash around Callie's waist, knotting the other end around her own wrist. Then, she picked her up and cast a strong disillusionment charm on both the child and the sash. She'd seen a similar concept put to use in the muggle world. At the time, she thought it was barbaric, but really, how else would one expect to keep track of an invisible two-year old?
Three hours later, the pair were still playing "Follow the Invisible Leader," which meant Callie was dragging Hermione all around Diagon Alley, from Florean Fortescue's where they discretely shared a chocolate and cotton candy ice cream cone, to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes where she left the proud owner of a bright blue pygmy puff (Hermione held onto him for safe keeping). Hermione was currently trying to steer Callie toward Madame Malkin's but she stopped abruptly when she felt a familiar prickling at the back of her neck. Callista, who had suddenly been yanked backwards, tugged on Hermione's skirt to see what was the matter.
Hermione, who had suddenly become very nervous about being out in the open, led Callie around the back of Eyelop's. When she was almost certain nobody could see she grabbed Callie's wrists, slinging her onto her back. "Hold on tight, like a horsey ride," she whispered. Twirling the sash around them both like a sling, she grabbed the other end and pulled tight to secure the girl to her back while she gripped her wand equally as tightly with her other hand. To look at her, no one would've guessed that her right hand held anything but her two shopping bags. No one, that is, except for Draco Malfoy.
**HGDM**
"Sweet Morgana!" Draco murmured as he quickly retreated to the bustling street, hiding in plain sight amid the afternoon throng of witches and wizards. He fervently hoped that Granger hadn't seen his face. As soon as his tracking spell indicated that the witch was in Diagon Alley, he'd shot through the floo. He'd been following her all morning and hadn't noticed a trace of suspicion until a moment ago. Not that he hadn't noticed her suspicious behaviour. He wasn't some dunderheaded Hufflepuff! The woman had been wandering the alley aimlessly, stopping only to buy a ridiculous fuzzy animal from Weasley's and a chocolate and cotton candy ice cream from Fortescue's when her favourite was obviously hazelnut. Wait a minute. How did I know that? I don't make a habit of memorizing everyone's favourite ice cream flavours, do I? I don't even want to think of the alternative!
Draco didn't even have time to fret about the direction in which his mind was travelling because instantaneously, three things happened. He felt five claw-like fingernails dig into his shoulder from behind, his stomach felt like it was being ripped out of his body, and the world swirled around him before turning impossibly dark. Then, the nails were gone from his shoulder, replaced by a wand jabbing into his neck.
"You were following me," hissed a deceptively calm female voice. Knowing who his abductor was did nothing to lessen the fear that froze him in place. Since the death of his aunt and given the current situation, this witch was probably the most dangerous female in the world. "Why?" The whispered word lingered between them in the thick, lightless air.
Gulping, Draco replied, "Gr-Granger." Merlin damn his voice! Clearing his throat, he continued. "Lovely to see you as well. Would you mind lowering your wand? I've no intention of harming you."
Feeling the wand inching away from his person, he slowly turned to face the fuming witch. He could practically feel the waves of rage radiating from her. "That's better, isn't it?" he said cheerily.
"Answer the question, Malfoy!" Granger demanded through gritted teeth, prodding at his chest with her wand.
Draco gasped as he felt the raw magic leak from her wand prickling his skin. He decided that his best chance at not getting cursed would be to calm her down before telling the truth. Stalling was necessary. "How did you know it was me?" There! A nice way of skirting around the issue.
"Your shoes," she answered simply. "You might consider something less ostentatious than polished dragon hide the next time you dabble in espionage," she scoffed.
Draco rewarded himself with a small smile of commendation. Nothing distracts her like bragging about her brilliant mind. A truly exceptional diversion!
"I'll keep that in mind," he muttered smugly.
He heard a huff of annoyance and a shuffle of feet. He could sense her relaxing across from him in the small space.
"Are you really not going to tell me?" she whined. Yes, whined. Like a petulant child. The woman was obviously used to being handed information at the drop of a hat. Draco laughed under his breath. She swatted at his arm.
"It's not funny! I could press charges on you for stalking, you know. It wouldn't look good on your record, especially if you're still pursuing the Head of Magical Sports position."
"You remembered?" Draco was genuinely surprised she would recall such a trivial piece of information he mentioned at his post-trial photo shoot.
"Of course, but that's neither here nor there. You might as well tell me why you've been following me the last month before I assume the worst. Harry didn't put you up to this, did he?"
"It's just…you had been out of work and I was concerned about you. I know you're keeping secrets, Granger. I know who you're keeping locked up at the mansion."
Draco was pushed back up against the wall, Granger's wand digging into his throat yet again before he could've said "Slytherin."
"What. Did. You. Say?" Granger's snarling voice was high and shrill. It seemed she was about to lose it. If Draco hadn't been at the business end of her wand, he would've found the scenario very interesting. As it was, he counted himself lucky to be alive.
"You heard me," he rasped out, not without difficulty.
Just then, a soft whimper and sniffle came from behind Granger who gasped and backed quickly away from Draco. "This conversation is not finished." She waved her wand and a small amount of light illuminated the way out of what Draco now recognized as the back room of the Leaky Cauldron. In the half second it took her to turn on her heel and disapparate, he caught a full view of a frightened child's face over her shoulder. Then, he was left alone, eyes wide and jaw hanging open. It seemed that there was more to this story than meets the eye.
He schooled his features and walked out of the room to floo back to his flat. Once he was home, he headed straight for his desk where he sketched out the image while it was still fresh in his mind. When he was finished, his parchment was covered with the round face of a toddler with light chocolate skin, dark bushy curls escaping from pigtails, full lips, a button nose, and the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen.
Staring at his drawing, he couldn't help but feel disappointed. Draco wanted to be ecstatic. He found what he was looking for-the truth. But solid evidence that the Prophet was right all along was not what he had expected. Something just didn't add up. If everyone already knew the truth, why were they all being so secretive? And why wouldn't Kingsley have married Granger to legitimize the child and protect her reputation? Did it have anything to do with the fact that they were obviously no longer sleeping together? He felt like the answer was staring him right in the face but he was missing it. It was absolutely maddening. He just needed a rest. And he refused to think about what would happen once Granger got to him again. Shuddering at the memory of her enraged voice, he thought, it won't be pretty.