Roses are red
Violets are blue
I don't own Harry Potter
This is sad, but true
This chapter started out as something completely different, but with the help of Littlered1992, it became something wayyyy better! I'm really happy with how it turned out, and I hope you enjoy it too!
On Good Friday, Hermione declined the invitation to spend the day with the Weasleys, choosing to be alone instead. She told Molly, who had non- too-subtly tried to change her mind, that she wanted to enjoy some time alone after everything that had happened at work and with Ron.
She wasn't lying exactly, but if she was being completely honest, the real reason she spent the day alone was to mentally prepare for the following morning. She had not received anything from Malfoy that might give her a clue as to what the meeting was about. If there was something he wished to discuss about his case, he could have asked her on Thursday.
And if it wasn't anything to do with his case, Hermione could not think of a reason he would request to see her on a weekend. Briefly, she considered the fact that visiting Malfoy outside of paid hours, and not under the direction of the Ministry, could be construed as inappropriate, but that thought was chased by the memory of the dirt she had on Vivienne; if the blonde witch found out about the meeting she couldn't hold it over Hermione's head.
Saturday dawned, clear and sunny and, though she was the least superstitious person she knew, Hermione hoped the good weather was a positive omen.
She dressed casually in a worn pair of jeans, a pink t-shirt, and a knitted cardigan. She slid her feet into simple ballet flats and ran a brush through her hair before she left her apartment and made her way to the apparition point.
She landed just outside of the Malfoy grounds shortly before 10am, and walked quickly towards the Manor.
Miksy was once again on the stairs to greet her, and the little elf bowed low as Hermione approached.
"Good morning, Miss Hermione," she squeaked.
Hermione smiled. "Hello, Miksy."
The warmth in her voice was genuine, but a feeling of foreboding had settled in Hermione's belly and she wondered what she had been thinking, agreeing to such a meeting.
Curiosity and logic had always been two of Hermione's greatest personality traits, but they were often the cause of her downfall too. Had she allowed curiosity to win out this time? And would accepting such a mysterious invitation from Malfoy lead her to regret making this decision?
Miksy's high pitched voice interrupted her musings. "Mister Draco is this way, Miss!"
The elf's small hand slipped into Hermione's and Miksy tugged with surprising strength. Hermione allowed herself to be dragged along through the large front doors and into the foyer. The Manor was well lit now, candles and oil burners flickering at intervals around the space.
"This way," Miksy sing-songed, dropping Hermione's hand and continuing further into the entry way.
Hermione followed, one hand clutching the bag she had slung across her body; it contained her wand.
Miksy led her through the foyer, down the hall, and past the sitting room. Hermione made to step in to the familiar space, but Miksy called over her shoulder.
"Not in there today, Miss! Master Draco says sitting room not fit for Miss Hermione today, Miss. He says Miss Hermione likes books!"
Hermione frowned; what was that supposed to mean?
They threaded their way through the Manor, until Hermione felt dizzy and disoriented; she wouldn't know how to get back to the front door if her life depended on it. That thought scared her more than she would ever admit to the likes of Draco Malfoy, but it took all of her Gryffindor courage to continue behind Miksy.
Finally, they reached the end of yet another hallway, and stopped in front of a pair of glass doors. Hermione could see a short set of steps leading away from the door into the room beyond.
"Through here, Miss!" Miksy clicked her fingers and the doors swung open. Miksy marched forwards, Hermione hot on her heels.
The room was huge and slightly curved. Bookshelves lined nearly every available wall and criss-crossed throughout the centre of the space. Hermione gazed in awe; this was the Malfoy library.
"This way, Miss!" Miksy had taken Hermione's hand again and was pulling her along towards the back of the room, where a table had been set up for tea.
Hermione's eyes widened as she took in the spread; a huge tea pot and matching floral-patterned tea cups were laid for two, and mounds of pastries; scones, eclairs, and croissants among other delicacies were stacked on three-tiered serving plates.
"What the…?"
"Good morning," a familiar voice accompanied a set of approaching footsteps.
Hermione turned and came face to face with Malfoy. He was dressed casually in a grey polo shirt and light blue jeans.
"Good morning," she responded. It was more of a reflex than a greeting, her voice mechanical.
"Would you like some tea?" Malfoy gestured towards the table.
"Er," Hermione licked her lips and tried to lower her eyebrows. Her heart pounded in her chest as she glanced back towards the pile of pastries. "Yes?"
She figured it was the polite thing to do; she had accepted his invitation, after all. Malfoy nodded once and strode towards the table. He stopped at the chair closest to Hermione and looked at her expectantly.
Did he want her to sit in it? Why was he standing like that?
Slowly, and without her permission, Hermione's legs began to shuffle her towards the table. She sat in the chair Malfoy was standing behind, the action feeling like it took minutes when in reality, it was mere seconds. Hermione stifled a gasp as Malfoy pushed the chair in for her.
It wasn't often Hermione found herself lost for words, but in that moment her mouth felt like sandpaper and her tongue like a lead weight.
"So," Malfoy had settled himself in the chair opposite her. "How do you take your tea, Granger?"
The sound of her last name on his lips seemed to have a calming effect, even if only slightly. It signified stability and normalcy in that, while he was acting completely out of character, this was still business.
"White, no sugar." Hermione replied. She was disappointed to hear her voice still sounded robotic and slightly breathy. She cleared her throat. "Please," she added.
Malfoy busied himself with the tea pot and tea cups, and Hermione took the time to look around. She had heard that the Malfoy library was the largest personal collection in Britain; it wasn't hard to believe that rumour as she took in the floor-to-ceiling oak shelves, every one of them full of tomes.
"Thank you," Hermione inclined her head as Malfoy set the cup in front of her before beginning to make his own tea.
"You're welcome." He kept his head down, concentrating on his pouring. "What do you think?"
At first Hermione thought he meant the tea, and had opened her mouth to answer that she was yet to take a sip, but then she realised he was referring to the library.
"It's amazing," she said honestly. Though the situation was undoubtedly awkward, remembering that it was happening inside the most magnificent library she'd ever seen, helped Hermione relax. "Is it true that you have all the Hogwarts, A History editions?"
The question had left her mouth before she could stop it, her voice no longer robotic, but filled with childish excitement instead. Hermione felt warmth flood the tops of her cheeks, but her gaze remained fixed on the blond in front of her.
Malfoy had finished pouring his tea and was watching her shrewdly. He smirked at the question, but answered in a polite tone.
"Yes, it is."
Hermione couldn't help the flare of excitement as it sparked in her stomach. She clamped down on her tongue to keep herself from squealing like a fan girl, and wrapped a hand around her tea cup so as not to jump up and demand to be shown the books immediately.
"I suppose you're wondering why I invited you here?"
"I'm assuming the reason isn't because you wanted to discuss Hogwarts, A History?"
He smirked again, though his eyes were still neutral. "No," he shook his head and settled his tea cup back on its saucer. Years of etiquette training kept the china from clinking as he placed it on the table. "I actually have to ask you something."
"Sounds terrifying," Hermione arched an eyebrow.
"I need your help," he said quickly.
Hermione dropped her teasing tone. "With what?"
"My mother," Malfoy averted his eyes, his gaze coming to rest on his fingers which lay twisted in his lap. "I want to know if you would take on her case like you did mine, and get her out of Azkaban?"
Hermione's jaw dropped and her mouth felt like it was filled with owl feathers. While she insisted that her work with Narcissa Malfoy remain a secret, especially from Malfoy, she had never really considered the possibility that he would outright ask for her help; help for something she had been doing for the last five years.
Hermione cleared her throat and forced herself to look into Malfoy's face as she answered him.
"I can't take on her case," she said slowly. Malfoy's head snapped up, his eyes narrowed and his mouth settled into an impossibly thin line.
"I see," his voice was cold.
"No, I don't think you do," Hermione rushed on, holding a hand up. "Please, let me explain."
"I don't need you to explain," he whispered. Malfoy stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the hard floor like nails on a chalkboard. Hermione winced at the sound.
"Just listen!" Hermione mirrored his movements, though slower as to not create the same horrendous noise with her own chair. She stood across from him now, the table between them.
"To what?" He hissed, his arms flung wide. "So you can explain to me how this is pay back for all the shit I put you through in Hogwarts?" His voice was rising now, building towards a great crescendo. "So you can avenge your own parents? Is that it? You refuse to help my mother because you don't believe it's fair that I still have one while yours – !"
"How dare you!"
Without thinking, Hermione reached into her handbag and pulled out her wand, pointing it at Malfoy. He eyed it warily, as a sneer tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"What are you going to do with that, Granger?" His tone was scathing as he forced his eyes back to hers. "Hex me?"
Her breath was coming in quick bursts and she was shaking, though the arm held aloft was perfectly still. "So help me, Merlin, I will hex you until you can't see straight if you don't sit down this instant and let me explain!"
His first instinct was to argue; to continue to push until she finally snapped. Something about her fierceness had always fascinated him, he could admit it now. Thankfully, the sensible part of his brain which wasn't concerned with the attractive qualities of Hermione Granger kicked in, and he did as she bade.
Hermione watched as Malfoy sank back into his chair; his pallid cheeks flushed an unusual crimson. His eyes were trained on hers and he looked as if he had locked his jaw to keep himself from speaking.
Smartest thing he's ever done, Hermione thought savagely.
"Good." She panted, her wand still pointing directly at his chest. "What I was trying to say," she said, forcing her voice to remain calm, "was that the reason I cannot take on your mother's case, is because I'm already working on it."
"You're already…"
"Correct. In fact, I visited Narcissa just last week."
"Oh."
For a long time, neither of them spoke. They regarded each other, both of their chests still rising and falling more rapidly than normal as the spike in energy slowly dissipated from the room.
"Would you put that thing away now, please?" Malfoy gestured towards Hermione's wand with a quick shift of his eyes before resting his gaze back on her face. The colour in his cheeks was starting to fade, and his tone was much softer.
Hermione slowly lowered her arm, but kept a tight grip on her wand. There was another pregnant pause in which Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other; she dropped her gaze, unable to stand the emotional grey whirlpools any longer.
"My mother…" Malfoy started, his voice cracking slightly.
Hermione sighed. "I can't tell you much." She moved towards him and dropped into the seat she had earlier vacated. "There's such a thing as client-lawyer confidentiality."
Malfoy made a sound low in his throat; Hermione suspected it was a swallowed growl. "So what can you tell me?"
"I can tell you that I'm doing all I can to help her, Malfoy." Hermione lifted her gaze and forced herself to look into his face. She expected to see a challenge in his eyes; something like a warning that should she fail at her task, he would make her pay. As warm brown met cool grey, Hermione was shocked to see that the expected fire was unlit; his irises instead filled with what she interpreted as fear and a shot of determination.
He cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said through gritted teeth. As much as she wanted to laugh at him for the pained look on his face at having uttered the phrase, Hermione knew he meant it. Instead, she bit back the triumphant smirk and nodded.
"You're welcome."
"Is she - ?" Malfoy sighed and hung his head. "Is she okay?" His voice had dropped to a whisper and Hermione had to lean forward slightly to hear him properly.
"She's…" Hermione trailed off and licked her lips. She didn't really want to lie to Malfoy; he had been in Azkaban for enough time to know what state his mother was in, after all. However, she had promised Narcissa that she wouldn't let Malfoy know the severity of her condition. Hermione sighed. "She's as well as can be expected."
Malfoy echoed her sigh and nodded. He ran a hand through his hair, the blond tresses falling into purposeful disarray with the movement.
"And how long do you think it will take?" His voice was stronger now, but his eyes were liquid silver, betraying his inner turmoil.
"I don't know," Hermione admitted softly, as if lowering the volume of her voice would somehow lessen the sting of her inadequate answer. Malfoy's eyes hardened slightly and Hermione rushed on, her tone exasperated. "Draco, I've been working on your mother's case for as long as I've been working on yours. Just know that I am trying as hard as I can; you have no idea the bureaucracy I have had to fight through…"
She trailed off as his expression changed from that of a disgruntled client to the soft surprise of a child on Christmas morning.
"Are you okay?" Hermione frowned.
"You called me Draco," he muttered, his gaze flicking up to meet Hermione's and then dropping to his lap.
"Oh," Hermione felt her neck prickle and willed the blush to stop before it reached her cheeks. "Well, I suppose it is your name."
Malfoy did not look up, but she heard him swallow thickly.
"Anyway, as I was saying," she pressed on, forcing her mind back on to the task and away from the fragile possibility that this business deal could be built on more than her overwhelming sense of righteousness. "I think I'm close to getting a trial before the Wizengamot. I just need some more evidence to prove that Narcissa was innocent."
"She was innocent," Malfoy's voice was stronger now. "She is innocent."
"I know that," Hermione adopted her business-like tone again. "It's not as easy to convince the Wizengamot."
"What's your next move, then?"
Hermione pursed her lips as she contemplated how best to answer that question. If she was being honest with herself, she didn't quite know. She had the wand information; the fact that Narcissa had been unarmed during the Final Battle had to count for something. Unfortunately, knowing the Wizengamot as well as she did, Hermione knew it would not be enough to save Narcissa. She had to go back and see if she could get more information; she might even need to visit…
"Granger," Malfoy's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "What happens once I'm no longer under house arrest?" He spoke quickly, as if trying to connect several thoughts at once. His brow was furrowed as he gazed in her direction without really seeing her.
"Um," Hermione cleared her throat, forcing her brain to change gears. "You're free to do as you please?" She ended the last syllable on a question, not sure if that's what Malfoy was asking.
"Could I get a job?"
"I don't see why not…" she replied slowly. "Why do you ask?"
"Is it crazy of me to think I could join the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? I'd like the opportunity to work on my mother's case."
Hermione's eyes widened and she blinked slowly. "Work on your mother's case," she echoed.
"Yes," he nodded, his eyes now fixed firmly on hers. "With you."
"I don't know…" she trailed off, the idea swirling around inside her brain like a Ferris wheel that was moving too quickly. "The Ministry would probably say it's a conflict of interest."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "So I could join the department as an intern; I don't need the money. Or I could be your assistant."
Hermione felt the world tilt on its axis, and she only just smothered a giggle. She never thought there would come a day when Draco Malfoy would admit his willingness to work for her out loud.
"Let's just take it one step at a time," she said finally. Feeling that things had reached a point of absurdity she could no longer stand, Hermione stood and placed her wand back in her handbag before slinging it over her shoulder. "Focus on your case meetings and keeping out of trouble. I'll handle Narcissa's case and keep you informed."
Malfoy didn't move, his gaze still fixed on a shelf behind Hermione. The look on his face was unreadable at best.
"What if you let me help you off the record?"
"What?"
He glanced up at her and licked his lips. "What if you meet me outside of Ministry hours and let me help you with Mother's case? We can research here, in the library." He gestured around him. "I know I could be useful, Granger. I know my mother better than you do, and I was there while she watched my Father…" his voice faltered.
Hermione opened her mouth to insist that it was a bad idea; if Vivienne caught wind of her helping Malfoy outside of her Ministry hours, she could be sacked, and Malfoy could be sent back to Azkaban. A once off like today was fine, but an ongoing arrangement? She would be asking for trouble.
"Please, Granger?" He stood slowly and took a step towards her. "I'm going crazy here; I need mental stimulation. Please let me help."
"Okay," Hermione finally sighed. "Fine. But on one condition." She held up one finger and narrowed her eyes. Malfoy clamped his mouth shut and nodded vigorously.
"Anything," he agreed.
"You do not mention it to anyone."
"Deal."
"I mean it, Draco," Hermione growled. "Not Zabini, not your parents, and definitely not Parkinson."
"I said deal," he rolled his eyes. "And you called me Draco again." He couldn't help but smirk.
Hermione fought the urge to stamp her foot; she really needed to be more careful lest he start thinking she actually liked him or something.
"Thank you for the tea, Malfoy," she said pointedly. His smirk widened.
"Any time, Granger."
She nodded in lieu of saying goodbye, and turned on her heel. She had made it to the door before realising she had no idea how to get back to the front door. Hermione gritted her teeth as she stopped in the doorway and turned to look over her shoulder at Malfoy.
He was still standing by the table, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He was regarding her with shrewd interest, though his telling smirk gave away his mirth.
"Miksy!" He called, his eyes still boring into Hermione's. The little elf appeared at his side, and he asked her to show Hermione the way to the front door.
Unwilling to show any more gratitude than was absolutely necessary, Hermione offered Malfoy a nod and then followed Miksy out of the library. The soft, low chuckle echoed in her mind as she descended the front steps and headed for the apparition point.
As she turned on the spot, Hermione was not thinking of her own apartment. Somewhere between the albino peacocks and the front gate, she had had an idea, and there was only one person who could help her execute it. Unfortunately, he was also the one person who would be vehemently against it.
Hermione landed on the threshold of a familiar front door and knocked sharply. She tugged a hand through her wild curls, a subconscious tic she had formed after learning to apparate; the mode of travel was not conducive to tamed locks.
After a few agonisingly long seconds, the door swung inwards. Hermione snapped her gaze up to meet the surprised expression of the occupier.
She stepped over the threshold and pushed her way inside. The door clicked shut as she turned to meet questioning eyes. Their lips pursed in a way that suggested they wouldn't like what was about to come out of her mouth.
"Harry," she said. "I need another favour."