Roses are red
Violets are blue
I don't own Harry Potter
This is sad, but true
Thanks goes to my alpha/beta Littlered1992, as always!
I'd like to thank you all for your favourites/follows/reviews, they mean the world to me! I personally don't like crazy long author's notes at the beginning of chapters, so I'm going to do some shout outs at the end.
Enjoy!
It took longer than expected for Harry to organise another trip to Azkaban.
Dewsong was suspicious, having been asked for the same favour twice within as many weeks by the Boy Who Lived. He had agreed to think about it when Harry had approached him, and then umm'ed and ahh'ed for weeks before begrudgingly authorising the portkey.
Summer was well and truly over by the time Hermione visited Narcissa again. The corridors of the prison held no warmth and the howling wind as it pushed its way into the cracks and crevices almost drowned out the sound of the inmates.
Almost.
Narcissa Malfoy sat huddled against the bars of her cell as Hermione approached. She was mewling in a way that reminded Hermione of a kitten, the sound imprinting itself on Hermione's brain and tugging at her heart.
"Good morning Mrs Malfoy," Hermione greeted. She crouched down in front of the shivering blonde woman. "How are you?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, and Narcissa stopped squeaking as Hermione spoke.
"Miss Granger," she rasped, her breathing laboured. Hermione detected a wheeze and felt her heart rate increase. "Is it Draco?"
"No," Hermione shook her head and wrapped one hand around a metal bar. Narcissa curled her own much bonier hand underneath Hermione's and pulled herself up into a sitting position. "Draco is fine. I'm here to talk to you again. We're not having a lot of luck with the Wizengamot."
Hermione's mouth twisted around the word as if it were a particularly ugly curse. She had spent the past few months researching in the Malfoy library, the Ministry archives, and even the Hogwarts library, looking for anything that might help them free Narcissa. No legal document she had scanned so far had helped.
Draco had been helpful, cataloguing books that might help, and those that were definitely not what they were looking for. They had struck up something of a tenuous friendship. Well, that had been until Hermione had returned from Hogwarts empty handed and Draco had quipped that the world must be ending; Hermione Granger unable to find answers in Hogwarts library? Unheard of!
She knew he had been kidding…well, sort of. It was his way of dealing with the disappointment, and trying to lift hers. Hermione had been cold towards him ever since, and even though the guilt had begun gnawing at her insides, she couldn't help feeling that a little bit of emotional distance between herself and the handsome blond was probably a good thing; at least for now.
"Listen, Mrs Malfoy," Hermione pressed her face between the bars so she could whisper directly into Narcissa's ear. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of rot, dirt, and old blood. "What you told me last time, about not having a wand; it's not enough to give us grounds for an appeal."
Narcissa was silent, but she leaned in to Hermione as if trying to hear her better.
"I need more information, more evidence. I have my assistant focusing solely on your case at the moment, but we've been unable to find any legislation to help us; not in the archives, or Hogwarts, or the Manor."
Narcissa jerked her head away from Hermione as if she had been burned.
"The Manor?" She croaked. Hermione nodded. Narcissa licked her lips, but for all the moisture it gave them, her tongue might as well have been sandpaper. "You won't find anything there."
Hermione frowned. "Why not?"
"Because the Malfoys don't keep their records in their home." For a moment, Hermione recognised the Narcissa she had briefly encountered at the Quidditch World Cup before she had started her fourth year at Hogwarts; proud, and condescending.
"Where do they keep them?"
Narcissa sighed, or at least Hermione thought she did. Her shoulders lifted and she shivered violently, her body vibrating so hard the bars rattled as she lent on them.
"They used to keep them at the Ministry," Narcissa answered softly, almost whimsically. "When Lucius was in charge, that's where he put them."
"And what do these records contain?" Hermione was barely making sound, unwilling to be overheard.
"Everything," Narcissa breathed, and then her hand went slack on the bars. It dropped to her side with a soft thud, and the mewling began again.
Hermione rose to her feet and dusted off the front of her pencil skirt.
"Thank you, Mrs Malfoy." She spoke at a normal volume now. "I hope I will be seeing you again soon."
Narcissa did not reply, but continued to whine as Hermione turned on her heel and headed back towards the Warden's office and her awaiting portkey.
At Malfoy Manor, Draco was waiting for Hermione. He hadn't officially called her that out loud, despite the fact she had taken to using his first name on a regular basis. He called her "Granger" to her face, but she had been "Hermione" in his head for quite a while now.
As the familiar sensation of the wards being crossed ran up his spine, Draco smiled and headed for the library door, a fat tome balanced in his palms.
"You'll want to see this," he called as footsteps echoed down the hall. "I think I've found something." He paused, waiting for Hermione to come into view.
He frowned as the footsteps grew louder, the sound of heels clicking against the polished marble ringing in his ears.
Granger doesn't wear heels.
The thought had barely formed when Pansy Parkinson came into view.
"Hello, Draco," she purred. Draco felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck – and not in a good way. He tried to keep his tone neutral as he fought the grimace threatening to cross his features.
"Pansy," he greeted her. The dark haired witch stopped in front of him and offered her cheek. Draco hesitated before bending down to place a chaste kiss on her skin. It was icy cold from the fresh air, and tasted like powdery makeup. Draco licked his lips as he pulled back, trying to get the chalky feeling off of them.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"I was in the neighbourhood," Pansy grinned seductively. "What are you doing in the library?" She peered around his shoulder, a confused frown replacing her smile.
"I'm researching," Draco said dismissively. He tugged the ribbon into place and snapped the book shut; he had to get rid of Pansy before he could continue. "Do you need something?"
"No," Pansy shook her head and pushed her way past him in to the library. "I just wanted to see you."
Draco squeezed his eyes shut and stood for a moment, praying to any deity who might be listening to please get Pansy out of his house. He then turned on his heel and marched into the library.
Pansy had set herself up on one of the love seats, her feet curled up on the lounge. She stared pointedly at the space next to her, and then back up at Draco.
Draco sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Pansy, now really isn't a good time."
As he spoke, the wards shimmied again.
Shit.
"I really need to get this research done; maybe you could come back another time?"
And by another time I mean never…or at least not until you're over this pathetic crush.
Pansy pouted and sat up properly. "I was hoping to go over colour palettes."
"Colour palettes?"
"For the wedding, Draco." She stood and walked over to him, placing her hands on his chest.
"Wedding?" Draco's head spun.
"Our wedding, silly!" She giggled as her hands fisted in his shirt and tugged him towards her.
"Pansy," Draco wrapped his hands around her wrists and pulled them from his shirt, holding them between their bodies. "We're not getting married."
Draco sighed. Pansy had concocted the idea of their engagement several weeks ago, just after Hermione had agreed to help him with his mother's case. She had reminded him of the agreement Lucius had drawn up with her father in their fifth year. Of course, neither Pansy nor Draco had ever even seen the contract let alone signed it. As far as Draco was concerned, Pansy needed a Saint Mungos examination; there was no way he would ever marry her.
He had told her this, at first gently so as not to hurt her feelings, but then when that hadn't deterred her from bringing material samples and photos of floral centrepieces, he had become more direct in his approach.
It appeared she still hadn't got the memo.
Draco ran a hand through his hair and puffed out his cheeks as pansy continued to rant about colour pallettes.
"The dusty rose would go well with that green, don't you think?" She was babbling. "But then I had this dream of you in navy robes the other night and I just – "
The faint echoing of footsteps could be heard on the other side of the door and Draco felt relief flood through him.
"Pansy," he cut her off. "Can we talk about this later?" He began to walk backwards, guiding her towards the fireplace. "Here," he reached for the pot of Floo powder. "Just go home, and I promise we can talk about this another time."
Pansy took the pot and opened her mouth, her eyes full of angry tears. Before she could speak, however, the door to the library opened. Her gaze slid from the blond in front of her towards the entrance of the library, and her cheeks flushed instantly red.
"Granger?" She gasped.
"Oh!" Hermione stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide. She looked at Pansy, who was standing in front of the fireplace, to Draco, who was standing right in front of Pansy. From an outsider's perspective, Draco assumed it might have looked like an intimate moment between him and the annoying, delusional witch.
"Hermione," he choked. He turned to face her, his face flooding with warmth as his brain finally caught up and realised he had said her name.
"Hermione?" Pansy narrowed her eyes at Draco. With the hand not holding the pot of Floo powder, she pointed an accusing finger at his brunette case manager. "She's Hermione?"
"I-I'm really s-sorry, Draco," Hermione stammered.
Pansy's face looked like lightning might break over it at any minute. "Draco?" She seethed. "What is going on?"
Draco sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Pansy, go home; this is none of your business."
"Of course it is," she hissed. "What is she doing in your house?"
"She's helping me," Draco rounded on her, eyes flashing. "She's helping me with my mother's case, okay? Now would you please leave us to work so that we might stand a chance at actually achieving what we have set out to do?"
Pansy continued to glare, first at Hermione, and then at Draco. Hermione swore she could hear the cogs turning in the other witch's head; the sound was ominous.
"Fine," she spat. Pansy set the pot back on the mantelpiece and took a handful of Floo powder. She threw it into the fire and stepped into the emerald green flames, yelling "Parkinson Manor!" There was the sound of a roaring wind, and she was gone.
Draco's shoulders relaxed as he turned back to face Hermione, who was watching the fireplace with an expression of apprehension and annoyance.
"Hello," Draco attempted a cheerful tone. Hermione's gaze snapped to his.
"Hi," she said.
"Sorry about that," Draco moved towards her and took the book from under his arm.
"I could have left, if you wanted me to," Hermione said slowly, watching him as he made his way across the room.
"Because of Pansy?" Draco chuckled. "No way. Thank you for arriving when you did; I didn't think I'd ever get rid of her."
"What did she want?" Hermione bit her lip. She hadn't meant to sound so interested.
Draco arched an eyebrow. "She wanted to know what colour scheme I thought would be nice for our wedding."
Hermione's eyes bugged. "You're getting married?"
"Merlin no!" Draco shook his head emphatically. "You couldn't pay me enough to marry Pansy." He watched Hermione's expression change from one of incredulity to one of confusion, and he realised how that had sounded. "She is my friend," he amended. "But that's all we are."
"You've been saying that for a while now."
"Because I mean it," Draco huffed. "We are friends, and that's all we ever will be, despite the delusions she plagues herself with."
They stood staring at each other, several feet apart. Draco was still holding the book open, balancing it in his left hand while the fingers of his right splayed across the page. His grey eyes bored into her brown orbs, unable to read the swirling mass of chocolate despite his best efforts.
He felt as though he had been trying to convince her of the platonic nature of his relationship with Pansy forever. Part of him had begun to wonder why she held such a high level of interest; Hermione said it was because it was important to his case that he remains single, at least for now. But a thought had been niggling at him for the past few weeks, and while it was a pleasant one, he refused to get his hopes up, so it continued to scratch at the back of his mind, ignored.
"Okay," Hermione shrugged. She moved further into the library until she reached the loveseat Pansy had recently vacated. "Have you found anything new?"
Draco nodded and came to stand in front of her. "You're going to want to see this," he held the book aloft.
Hermione took the proffered book, her eyes still on Draco. He pursed his lips and dug his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He nodded towards her lap, where she had settled the tome, and she dropped her gaze.
"These are runes," Hermione ran a finger over the brittle pages and frowned. "I don't recognise any of them…"
"I think it's a code," Draco explained. "I think it was left by my father."
Hermione's head snapped up. "What makes you say that?"
"His signature is in the bottom left hand corner."
Hermione glanced down; it looked like a symbol, but now that Draco had pointed it out, she could see the resemblance of an L and an M.
"You took Runes at school, didn't you?" Hermione once again met his gaze, hope evident in Draco's tone.
"Yes," she said slowly. "But these are unlike any I've ever seen."
"We could work on cracking the code," Draco continued. "With your brain, we could probably have it solved by dinner time."
"This is going to take some serious research," Hermione thumbed the pages again. "It's not a matter of attributing a letter to a symbol and working our way through twenty-six possibilities."
Draco sighed, his shoulders slumping as he dropped into the seat next to her. His head rested against the backing of the lounge, and he turned to face her with a dull expression.
"I hate it when you get all sensible, Granger." He huffed.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Apologies, Malfoy," she drawled. "But your father didn't want anyone to figure this out; I highly doubt he would have made it easy to decipher. Let me take the book home and I'll see what I can find."
"Fine," Draco breathed as he watched the witch study the page.
He hadn't meant to sound ungrateful; he was simply impatient, tired of working so hard to reap no rewards, and after being cooped up in the Manor for four months, he was a little stir crazy. In reality, Draco was extremely appreciative of all that Hermione had done for him and his mother; it just wasn't like him to say so.
"I'll be off now." She stood and tucked the book under her arm. "See you Friday."
Later, he would reflect that he should have stopped her to say thank you, or sorry – maybe even both. Instead, he watched her leave the library and wondered whether he felt more anger or lust; perhaps the two were not mutually exclusive?
Logic had always been one of Hermione's strong suits, but Lucius' code of runes was not the simple genius of a fourteen year old girl concealing secrets in a diary; nor was it a process of trial and elimination. The senior Malfoy had known what he was doing; Hermione doubted if anyone was meant to discover its meaning, rather believing that it was meant as a reminder for Lucius himself.
Atticus was under enormous pressure keeping up with her other cases while Hermione dedicated the majority of her time trying to enter the mind of Lucius Malfoy; and what a twisted world it was.
When Vivienne stopped in her doorway just before lunch time and asked for a word, Hermione automatically assumed it was due to her treatment of her assistant. She rolled her eyes as she stood from her chair and followed Vivienne down the panelled hallway.
She knew that it was inappropriate of her to dump so much on Atticus; he had no legal training and the work he was doing definitely was not in his job description. Hermione felt a pang of guilt flare in her gut, but she pushed it aside as she entered the blonde witch's office. The fact Vivienne was calling her up on it was frustrating; she was wasting valuable time standing here about to be chastised for doing something that was only technically frowned upon.
How many times had she seen Vivienne's personal assistant running errands outside of her guidelines? Hermione folded her arms across her chest and stood in front of Vivienne's desk. The witch took her seat behind it and smirked up at Hermione.
"What is it, Vivienne?"
"Have a seat."
"I'm actually rather busy," Hermione said curtly. "Please just say what you have to say and I'll be getting back to work."
"That's actually the issue here."
"What is?" Hermione frowned. "My work?"
"Yes."
"I don't understand. I'm on top of all my paperwork, I've submitted all my files on time, and I even had that report prepared and on your desk three days early…"
Hermione trailed off as Vivienne's smirk widened. As if on cue, the door to the office opened and Dustin Dewsong walked in. He was finishing a pastry and dusted his hands on the front of his robes as he entered.
"Greengrass," he nodded to Vivienne. He sneered at Hermione before flopping down in the nearest seat.
"Mister Dewsong," Vivienne sat up straighter. "Thank you for joining us."
"What is this about?" Hermione stepped forward and unlocked her arms, her hands coming to rest on the chair in front of her.
"It's about your case with Draco Malfoy."
Hermione remained silent, biting her tongue to keep from yelling at Vivienne.
"I have it on good authority that you have been meeting with him outside of Ministry hours." Vivienne arched an eyebrow and fixed her face into a gloating expression. Hermione felt her face flush as Dewsong twisted in his seat to look at her.
"Is this true, Granger?" He barked.
"Did Parkinson tell you that?" Hermione was still looking at Vivienne.
"Well that confirms it," Vivienne smiled scathingly, her tone sickeningly sweet. "So you were there last Saturday?"
"I have been doing my job," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "Draco asked for my help; that is what I'm paid to do – to help him. Given that an hour or two per week isn't enough to ensure the wellbeing of my client – "
"Is it not also true that you have visited Narcissa Malfoy twice in the past four months?"
"I – "
"Yes, it is!" Dewsong turned himself more fully now, his large frame moulding around the wooden chair. "I authorised two Azkaban visits for you, Granger, on the request of Harry Potter…" He swung back to look at Vivienne. "I had no idea she was visiting Malfoy's mother!"
"I'm just acting in the best interest of my client!"
"That is not for you to decide."
"Nor was it for you to decide that Draco should be deprived of a case worker for a whole fortnight!"
"Excuse me?" Dewsong stood slowly and hitched at his trousers. "What does she mean, Greengrass?"
"I have no idea – "
"Oh, please," Hermione scoffed and turned to address Dewsong. "After you had that meeting with Morag, Vivienne failed to provide a case worker to visit Malfoy the following week. This oversight nearly cost Malfoy his sanity!"
"Is this true?" Dewsong frowned.
"No," Vivienne shook her head, a grin threatening to split her face in two. She shot Hermione a pointed look and then reached into her desk drawer. She pulled out the Malfoy case file replica and handed it over to Dewsong, who leafed through it.
"It appears to be in order," he said finally, setting it down on the desk.
"What? That can't be!"
"It says right there, Granger, that Greengrass visited Malfoy herself on the day in question; I don't know what office gossip you have been listening to, but – "
"It wasn't office gossip!" Hermione threw back hotly. "Malfoy told me himself!"
Dewsong made a noise of derision through his nose. "Well, Granger, if you're going to listen to stories told by those who deserve less loyalty than You-Know-Who himself, Merlin help you."
"Back to the matter at hand," Vivienne cut in. "Granger, I'm taking you off the Malfoy case. You should know better than to cavort with clients; it is extremely unprofessional and I am very disappointed in you."
She did not sound disappointed. In fact, she sounded elated. Hermione narrowed her eyes.
"You can't take me off now," she hissed.
"Oh?" Vivienne arched an eyebrow. "And why not?"
"Because I quit!" Hermione spat. "I'll work the Malfoy case privately; you can't stop me."
Had Hermione been more aware of her surroundings, she would have picked up on Dewsong's sharp inhale, and the paling of Vivienne's cheeks.
"You can't do that," Vivienne shook her head, though the triumph had dimmed somewhat from her eyes. "The Ministry is tied to his case until his probation period is up; he could be sent back to Azkaban."
"Fine!" Hermione roared, throwing her arms wide. "Send one of your minions!" She stepped between the chairs and loomed over Vivienne. "But know this; I will be present at every one of those meetings, as Malfoy's support person, and primary legal representative."
Vivienne blinked slowly as Hermione snapped upright once more and turned on her heel. As she reached the doorway, she looked back over her shoulder. "You've made a big mistake, Vivienne; a very big mistake."
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XX - CourtingInsanity