Roses are red
Violets are blue
I don't own Harry Potter
This is sad, but true
Thanks to my awesome beta, as usual: littlered1992
The rest of the weekend passed far too quickly for Hermione's liking; all too soon it was Monday morning and she was landing at the Apparition point outside the entrance to the Ministry of Magic. She had arrived at the same time as Atticus, as normal, and Hermione fell in to step with him easily as they made their way towards the building. He was chatting about his latest romantic endeavour; a wizard from Barcelona, seven years his junior. She gasped in all the right places, but he could tell her heart wasn't in it.
"What's wrong?" Atticus asked, pursing his lips and leaning against the door frame of her office as she entered it. She sighed as she fell into her chair, her hands twisted in her lap.
"I'm afraid I couldn't get Draco Malfoy to talk on Saturday," she muttered, speaking to the bookshelf on her right. "He wouldn't answer the last question; the one about his parents. Vivienne is going to have me acting like a glorified intern." Atticus snorted and Hermione shot him a look. He rolled his eyes in response and pushed himself off the doorframe.
"Like she could do any better," he scoffed, turning himself so he could half-sit on her desk. "She can't send you to filing over one and a half meetings; he's just been released from Azkaban for Merlin's sake!"
Hermione shrugged and began arranging her files. "Well, she threatened me on Friday; said something about me going back to filing if I couldn't get the answers by the end of the weekend."
Atticus made a noise of derision through his nose. "I'm sure you'd be well within your rights to appeal that kind of decision given the circumstances."
It was Hermione's turn to scoff. "Don't be stupid, Atticus," she said warily, "her father is so far up the arse of the department, I'd be surprised if I had a job at the end of it."
Atticus folded his arms across his chest but did not respond. Hermione sighed again. "It doesn't matter. I'm just going to keep my head down until she comes looking for me. You better go; I have a stack of reports to write, Malfoy's being the first." She grimaced around the name, but resigned herself to focus on the parchment in front of her.
Atticus slowly moved himself from her desk and offered her a small smile she didn't see as her head was bent over the Malfoy file. The door clicked quietly behind him and plunged Hermione into a silence that hung in the room like damp air. She was determined to ignore it, so set about re-writing all the notes she had taken at Malfoy Manor over the two meetings, and then writing them out long-hand. She could not understand why he would not answer the question about his parents, but she forced her hand to create the words "declined comment" under the appropriate section.
At quarter to one, Harry's appearance forced her to sign, date, and submit the folder. Her green-eyed friend smiled as he entered around her door, quickly closing it again behind himself. Hermione's eyes narrowed when she took in his sheepish appearance.
"You're not here on behalf of Vivienne, are you?"
"What?" Harry blinked, and then realisation dawned on his face. "Oh, that," he smiled sheepishly. "No, no, I'm not here to give you bad news. I just wanted to see how you are."
Hermione softened and she allowed her shoulders to slump just a little. "I've written up Malfoy's report, but it's still lacking the answer the Ministry is most desperate to know."
"If anyone can get Malfoy to talk, it's you, Hermione." Harry offered her an encouraging smile, and for a split second Hermione wanted to beam back at him. Instead, her face fell and she bit her bottom lip.
"I don't think so," she leant back against her chair and raised her gaze to the ceiling. "He's so stubborn – even more so than I am – ," she looked back at Harry, who offered her half a smirk, "but he's not going to tell me." She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed a hand over her face.
"Does he know that you – "
"No," Hermione said curtly, and Harry snapped his mouth shut. He offered her a stiff nod. "And I'm not going to tell him, I don't want to jeopardise this case."
"Fair point," Harry agreed. "So, brunch this weekend?" An easy smile spread across his face, and Hermione tried to return it.
"Sounds lovely to me. How is Ginny?"
"She's good," Harry nodded and took a step backwards. "I have to go now; I just popped in to make sure you were okay." He cocked his head to the side and assessed her. Hermione rolled her eyes and schooled her features into a look of polite exasperation.
"I'm fine, Harry. Tell Ginny I look forward to seeing you both on Saturday."
"Great," Harry nodded again, and then disappeared back down the hallway. Hermione's eyes flickered to the clock above the door as it snapped shut. She knew she should take a break, but she didn't feel much like eating. She sighed and pulled another, much thinner, folder towards her.
Hermione had several cases at once, but none as important as Draco Malfoy's. None as difficult, either she thought with a mirthless laugh. Her primary focus was to orchestrate Malfoy's full release within the next six months. She knew she had to get him to answer the damn question; otherwise it was a life time in prison for him and five years of wasted effort for her. She sighed again as she tried to force her thoughts back to the case at hand, a Mister Wagner who had been fined just over one thousand galleons for trespassing on a private dwelling owned by the Nott family.
It was odd, she mused as she went over the witness statements again, making notes here and there; it was odd she should continue to run into the names of old schoolmates (or school foes, in some instances) as she handled the more 'meaty' cases. Hermione smirked behind her quill as she found a piece of information that might be useful.
Vivienne thought that by giving Hermione the less-desirable and more work-intensive cases, she was somehow winning. The blonde witch had obviously not bothered to ask her cousins, the Greengrass sisters, or her husband, about Hermione at all. For that, Hermione was grateful.
Hermione continued to work until 6pm, when Atticus came to collect her for their nightly stroll down to the Floo fireplaces on the bottom level. Atticus picked up where they left off this morning, explaining how he had received three owls from his new beau today, and that they should really set up a date for Hermione to meet him. Hermione offered a non-committal grunt; she didn't liaise with co-workers outside the office, as a rule. As they reached the fireplaces, Hermione bid Atticus goodnight, trying not to sound too relieved, and quickly stepped through the first empty grate.
When she arrived home, she fell onto the couch and congratulated herself on surviving a day without seeing Vivienne. She fell asleep quickly, a small smile on her lips.
Unfortunately, Tuesday was not as kind to Hermione. Vivienne entered her office not ten minutes after she arrived, demanding to see the Malfoy report. Hermione handed it over without a word before conjuring a coffee out of thin air. She didn't have a habit of drinking coffee, but it would be required if she was to get through this meeting with Vivienne in one piece.
"This is unfinished," Vivienne observed, though her tone betrayed a note of triumph.
"I returned on Saturday as requested," Hermione spoke in a monotone. "He was unwilling to speak of his parents. But surely you knew that," she tried and failed to halt the smirk threatening at the corner of her lips. "From the copy you keep in your desk?"
Vivienne's cheeks tinted pink, but she did not comment.
"That is disappointing. I did warn you, Hermione." She looked up from the parchment and turned her dark eyes on the brunette witch. Hermione said nothing, her heart thumping so loudly in her chest she was sure the blonde woman would hear it.
This is it, she swallowed thickly; I'm going back to filing.
"I can't very well palm the case off to anyone else at such short notice," she slapped the papers down on to Hermione's desk and flounced towards the door. "You will return to Malfoy Manor this week, and you will get the answers the Ministry needs. Understood?"
"Yes," Hermione said through gritted teeth. Vivienne flashed a saccharine smile over her shoulder.
"That's 'yes, Mrs Weasley.'"
"Yes, Vivienne."
The blonde's smile slipped. "I'd be very careful, Hermione."
Hermione wanted to say "or what?" but her boss had swept from the room, a sour look on her face. Feeling suddenly drained, Hermione sank into her chair and waved her wand to shut the door.
Hermione was not scared of Vivienne, but she was concerned about the risk the blonde posed to her job. She knew she shouldn't have back chatted when Vivienne had made the Mrs Weasley comment, but Hermione just couldn't help it. The other witch just made her so mad, for reasons that had nothing to do with the fact that Vivienne was the one who scored Ron in the end.
A quiet rage wriggled its way up Hermione's spine and she forced herself to lean forward and snatch a quill from her inkpot. She worked through lunch again, and then spent the afternoon researching the Malfoy family, looking for something that could help her crack Draco Malfoy, and ultimately allow her to keep her job.
The rest of the week passed in the same fashion, and before Hermione knew it, it was Friday and she was back at Malfoy Manor. Once again, Miksy greeted her at the door. Hermione had to force herself to smile back at the elf as she led the witch into the sitting room. Malfoy was absent, so Hermione began to make herself comfortable in her usual armchair.
"You came back." Her charge appeared in the doorway, illuminated slightly by the light from the front hall. She glanced up at him and arched an eyebrow. He was in black slacks today, with a sky-blue button up shirt and a blue and white striped tie. His hair was wet and slicked back, reminding her much more of their Hogwarts days.
"Did you expect me not to?"
Malfoy pursed his lips, his head tilted to one side as he observed her, but he did not respond. After a few moments, he seemed to make his mind up about whatever he had been thinking, and made his way towards the chair opposite her.
A mixture of frustration and apprehension swirled in Hermione's stomach and she swallowed thickly as he took his seat. If Malfoy didn't answer the question today, she knew it would be back to filing for her. A sour taste burned in her mouth as she prepared to begin the meeting; if this blond brat managed to undo everything she had put her life on hold to do, she wasn't sure if she would be able to stop herself from hexing him.
"Good morning, Mister Malfoy," Hermione greeted him as politely as she could.
He did not respond.
"I will be asking you the same questions as I did on my first visit; it is an expectation and requirement of your release from Azkaban that you answer every one honestly."
Hermione glanced up from her notes from which she was reading; all she could make out was a pair of two cold, blank grey eyes staring intently at her, and the faintest outline of his mouth pressed into a thin line. Her stomach flipped over; she just wanted this to be done, but she knew she had one hell of a fight before her.
"First question," she pressed on, "have you seen a Medi-Witch since our last visit?"
"No," Malfoy replied. Hermione frowned and made a note on her parchment.
Part of the agreement stated that the Ministry would provide weekly Medi-Wtich visits to Malfoy Manor to ensure his physical and mental well-being. If the Ministry was not holding up their end of the bargain, Hermione could use that information to Malfoy's advantage. She made a mental note to investigate further.
"Have you had any visitors?"
"No."
"How have you been feeling mentally?"
A pause. "Fine."
The rest of the interview continued with Hermione asking questions in a would-be cheerful voice, and Malfoy replying in a bored monotone.
"And finally," Hermione finished her last note with a flourish, "have you heard from either of your parents since your release?" Hermione raised her head slowly to squint at Malfoy. His eyes were focused on a spot over her left shoulder and had become suddenly deaf. "Mister Malfoy?"
"I heard you, Granger."
"Are you going to answer the - ?"
"No," he didn't shout or scream, in fact his voice was so quiet Hermione had to lean forward in her chair to hear him.
Fuck.
A burning sensation licked up the inside of her throat and she had to swallow several times before she had calmed herself enough to speak.
"You know that this could mean being sent back to Azkaban?" Her voice was strangled and too quite. She winced as it mixed with the tense air between them.
"Yes," he nodded, still staring over her shoulder.
Hermione bit down on the tip of her tongue until she feared it might bleed. She wanted to scream, to shake him, to make him understand that this thing was bigger than him; it was bigger than he could imagine. She felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes and she fought the urge to dig the heels of her palms into them. Instead, she blinked furiously and stared down at her parchment.
"Malfoy, you really are making things much worse than they have to be." She was speaking louder now; louder than was really necessary. She saw a flicker of emotion cross his otherwise expressionless face as the candle light threw it into brief relief, but she didn't care. How dare he do this to her, after all she had done for him?
"I know," he said. But he didn't know; how could he? Hermione sighed, long and unevenly as emotion bubbled in her chest. He can't know, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered. Imagine what he'd do if he knew.
"Very well," she said tightly. Her throat had constricted and she knew she was not far off tears. "I guess that's it, then."
Without looking at her, Draco got out of his seat and swept from the room, having not understood the gravity her words held. She knew it was unfair to expect him to know that she had sacrificed so much for him to be sitting across from her. She knew he had questions she couldn't answer, and almost smiled at the irony as the thought crossed her mind.
She began to collect her things. The rustling of her files as she placed them into her satchel echoed around the vast room, still drenched in darkness as Malfoy refused anything other than a candle for light.
Just tell him! Tell him what you've been working towards; he has to answer the bloody question!
Hermione felt as though her mind might break in two as both sides of the argument warred inside her head.
Don't say anything. You've done all you can. Now you just have to hope that they'll assign another case manager, and not resort to Azkaban.
Her heels clicked across the polished wooden floors as she marched from the sitting room and down the hallway.
Are you seriously going to walk away from everything you have risked to save this moron, only to slink back to filing like Vivienne's fucking play thing?!
She stopped as she reached the front door and turned around, one hand on the handle. She didn't know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn't Malfoy standing on the landing across from where she stood. His expression was impassive, but his eyes were questioning.
She could see the cogs turning in his mind. She felt her own face burn red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. As his face drained of colour, Hermione felt a sick sense of satisfaction settle in the pit of her stomach. She offered him half a nod before quickly exiting the foyer.
Draco apparated to his study as soon as the front door slammed shut. He watched the brunette from the window as she hurried away from his residence, out the gates, until she had disappeared into nothing.
He grunted as he slumped in his desk chair. The witch would be the death of him, he was sure of it, though he couldn't pin point why. They had been far from friendly at Hogwarts, for reasons he didn't understand back then, and didn't believe in now. The first time she'd shown up in his house after he'd been released, he had thought it was a cruel prank executed by the Ministry, but then he'd remembered that the Ministry didn't have a sense of humour, even a bad one. Merlin was probably punishing him, or more specifically the Malfoy family as a unit, by sending Hermione Granger to handle his case.
With a shaking hand, he pulled his father's note from the desk drawer and smoothed his long, pale fingers over it. The writing had almost faded completely and the message was indecipherable, but Draco felt as though the letters his father had scratched into the scrap of paper had been tattooed on his arm alongside the Dark Mark.
Draco Malfoy had not cried since hearing the verdict of his mother's trial five years ago, but a hot stinging sensation pulsed at the back of his eyeballs and he blinked furiously to keep the tears at bay. He stood abruptly, dropping the note back in to the drawer and marching from the room. As he moved, he called for Miksy and a large glass of Firewhiskey.
Hours (and many glasses of Firewhiskey) later, Draco was in the sitting room brooding, when the fireplace glowed green and a figure appeared in the grate.
"Merlin!" Draco slurred, standing quickly and sloshing his drink down the front of him.
"Nope, just me," Blaise Zabini grinned and stepped towards him, brushing the soot from the front of his robes.
"Fucking hell, Zabini," Draco growled, stumbling back to his seat.
"You're wasted!" The Italian wizard crowed, coming to crouch in front of Draco's chair.
"You would be too. Prick," Draco muttered and took another swig from his glass.
"I think that's enough," Zabini stood and pried the glass from Draco's hands. "Call your elf," he said as he vanished the glass with his wand. Draco did as he was told and Miksy appeared, bowing at Zabini. "Fetch some water for Mister Malfoy, and some sobering potion," Zabini demanded, his eyes still on his friend. Miksy's eyes widened and she looked at her master.
"Do as he says, Miksy," Draco garbled. The elf disappeared with a crack, only to return a moment later laden down with a large pitcher of water and several potion bottles.
Zabini busied himself with getting the water and the potions into Draco, and then sat on the coffee table while he waited for them to work. A few minutes later, Draco's vacant expression turned into one of pain.
"Oh , Merlin," he moaned, clutching his head. "Got anything for pain over there?" He squeezed his eyes shut and moved his head infinitesimally towards the array of potion bottles. Blaise smirked and handed him a blue one.
"Thank you," Draco smacked his lips together as the liquid burned down his throat. His headache evaporated, and the fog cleared from his mind. "What are you doing here?"
"Nice to see you, too," Zabini drawled. "I came to see how you were doing. It took a while for the news to reach me that you'd been released." Draco leaned forward to pour himself a glass of water, and he shot his friend a quizzical look. "I live in Italy now; been there since just before the war ended."
"I wondered where you'd pissed off to."
Zabini smirked. "It was the smartest move." Draco inclined his head in agreement as he took a deep drink from his glass.
For a few moments the men were silent. "It's good to see you," Draco said finally. Zabini nodded, but did not verbalise his assent.
"How've you been?"
"Better," Draco snorted. "I've been in Azkaban for five years, and now I'm under house arrest for at least six months. I have Hermione fucking Granger as my case manager, and the Ministry are the nosiest bastards on the planet, so I'll probably be going back to that filthy island before long."
Blaise raised his eyebrows as Draco spoke in one, long breath. "Whoa," he murmured. "Did you say Granger? The Golden Girl of Gryffindor?"
"The one and only," Draco said darkly.
"Could be worse," Blaise shrugged.
"How?" Draco demanded.
"Could be Potter."
Draco snorted. "True."
"What do they want to know?"
Draco fiddled with the empty water glass in his hand, unsure if he wanted to vocalise his pain. "If I've heard from my parents." Blaise sucked in a breath. "Indeed. Granger's told me that if I don't answer the question, I'll more than likely be sent back to Azkaban."
"So just lie," Blaise shrugged.
Draco sighed. "It's not that simple; I don't want to lie and be locked up again for that…but I can't be honest, either. Especially not to her." Draco spat the last word as if it was coated in poison and forced out of his throat.
"I don't see how you have a choice," Blaise whispered. Draco scoffed. "I mean it, Draco. Just tell her! You can't help your mother from back inside a cell."
Draco observed his friend for a moment, the brown eyes so much like the ones that had appraised him earlier that morning. He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. "Fine," he mouthed, his voice failing him. He cleared his throat. "Fine," he tried again, this time rasping the word out. Zabini smiled and stood.
"Well, I best be off. Oh," he turned as he neared the fireplace, "a word of warning; Pansy knows you're out."
Draco groaned and flopped back into his chair.
"Ciao," Blaise waved elegantly and stepped into the grate with a handful of Floo powder. In a flash of green, he was gone.