Sorry doesn't seem enough this time, even so, believe it when I say that I am. An unexpected promotion made my workload crazy and then I got sick from the corona vaccination.
But enough of this. Here is chapter 4, please enjoy and leave you're thoughts on it!
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters or other references to the original work of J.K Rowling. I only own my own mistakes
-o-o-o-
His father had mellowed so much it was hard to believe he was sitting in front of the same man – but it was him all right, same long blonde hair and piercing stare. He was still Lucius, even though he was unkempt and appeared fallen from his throne. It didn't seem to bother Lucius too much; he still sat with perfect posture, dignified and proud as he was. For a second or two, Draco humoured himself with the thought of smuggling in a mirror next time – the poor man would probably suffer a minor heart attack if he did.
They sat in silence for a few moments. Draco never knew what he was expected to say when he visited without his mother being present. Between them rested a veil of magic, ensuring distance from the prisoner and the visitor – a safety measure. It didn't matter to him; he hadn't had a hug from his father since he was six. Draco's entire body was on high alert, every muscle felt tense. The minute he'd stepped inside the room, he wanted to leave. The visitors' room was small, and the space itself felt cold in ways that had nothing to do with temperature. Visitation to Azkaban was restricted to family members only, and he'd had to leave his wand with the guards at the front desk. It had taken Draco getting through a swamp of paperwork before allowed in, he thought it to be deliberate, it was supposed to be hard to visit.
His father was the first to break the silence, leaning forward slightly, elbows against the metal table in front of him. "There's been rumours, son. Are you taking precautions, staying safe?" There was worry showing through his hard exterior. A look Draco hadn't seen too often growing up, but he'd seen it almost every time he'd gone to visit. It felt foreign to him; the small wrinkle of worry at the side of his left eye didn't seem right, it didn't quite fit. It was almost as if his father cared.
The rumours he talked about, were the ones that had been floating around ever since Draco had been spotted by a couple of potential recruits. He shrugged, letting out a sigh. "Yes, I'm keeping a low profile."
Lucius asked about his love life, if he was seeing anyone. Draco tried talking around the questions, but his father wouldn't have it. He kept persisting, kept explaining how important his designation was, that it was a gift and he needed to treat it as such. Most of the time, Draco did not consider being an Alpha a gift. He enjoyed parts of it, yes, and if the world weren't completely lacking of Omegas, maybe he'd reconsider his position on it. The rest of their conversation was kept light, only touching upon safe subjects. Mostly, they talked about Narcissa, and Draco lied his ass off, pretending his mother was doing fine, even though he knew she struggled. He talked about how she had decided to redecorate Draco's entire house. He noticed Lucius' eyes light up at the thought of his wife doing something that was so, her.
It wasn't easy seeing his father like this. It was with extreme resolution he managed to keep eye contact, because whenever he did he'd catch a glimpse of that worry and he would very much like to keep believing his father had earned his current place. He'd grown up adoring Lucius, wanting to be just like him. Until he'd discovered what that really meant. Taking the dark mark hadn't been his choice, and the small pride he'd felt at first was all gone when he'd realised it was all a façade. He'd gone over it in his mind a thousand times when he'd been in Azkaban. Thoughts had seeped into his mind, maybe the Dark Lord's pride, his inane search for power, was the real reason behind his propaganda. Maybe, it had nothing to do with blood at all. The thoughts placed seeds within him, impossible to get rid of. A part of him knew, blood status was nothing more than a concept, without scientific grounds to stand on – a concept to keep people like him above others. He'd told his father this the last time he was there to visit. As expected, he'd been met with silence. Yet, he couldn't be angry with him for it, because Lucius looked so small behind that veil. Subconsciously, Draco found it unjust that he wasn't on the same side of that veil.
When he arrived back at his house in muggle London, he kicked off his shoes and fell onto one of the deck chairs in his garden. He was lucky to catch the afternoon sun. For a moment, he closed his eyes, and allowed his mind to empty. Only focusing on the feeling of the rays on his skin and if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear the bees buzzing by the herbaceous border his mother had put in. This small piece of the world was about the only place he could escape those flashes of regret that seemed to be embedded in his very core.
It didn't take long before he started to drift off, he groaned quietly. Chances were, if he fell asleep under the sun, he'd had to meet his new co-worker the next day with awkward sunburn. He rose slowly; raking his fingers through his hair and went inside to get a glass of water. While he drank, he pondered the unpromising arrangement he was going to face at work the following day. He wondered how Granger would react when she got to know how off protocol the team worked, and that she would be the only woman in a group of seven men. At that, he smiled a little, because he was certain she'd disapprove.
-o-o-o-
There are moments in life when one realises they need to make changes. This wasn't one of those. Hermione had experienced hits of anxiety the entire week. She blamed Harry for it. For having disrupted her routine.
Did he not understand she needed the routine to feel sane?
When she arrived at Grimmauld place that Sunday, she was a bit on edge. She even gave a somewhat rude comment about Harry's hair, insisting he needed to get it cut. Her friend observed her with bored tolerance while she went on about how he couldn't just change plans however he saw fit.
"You good now?" he asked without feeling. Hermione nodded, she knew she was being unreasonable, but she also needed Harry to understand she didn't appreciate the disorder it caused her, however stupid that may be.
"Sorry," she said quietly and hated herself a little.
Harry beckoned her to him and gave her one of those strong hugs she'd missed out on that Thursday, the kind she'd grown to need as much as food or water. The hug broke the tension and she leaned onto him. "As for this routine of yours, if it's causing this behaviour, perhaps it's time to revaluate it. I have to agree with Pansy on this one, it's not doing you any good."
She loosened her grip, meeting his green eyes. "You've talked to Pansy? Why? When?" she asked not able to contain her surprise. She wasn't even aware they knew each other.
Harry cleared his throat, explaining he'd run into her briefly. Hermione got the feeling there was more to the story, but Harry wasn't willing to elaborate. She decided to drop it for now; she'd pestered him enough for the evening. They started preparing their dinner and fell into a pleasant silence while they worked. Whenever they cooked together they did it the muggle way, it soothed them both and they carried on with a flow only possible with two people who knew each other as well as they did. If Hermione reached out her hand, Harry was quick to place what she needed in her palm. It was effortless and comforting.
Hermione was nursing a glass of white wine in her hands whilst watching Harry putting their Sunday roast in the oven. "We did good," he said, staring with admiration at the result of their combined cooking skills.
"Mm, hmm," Hermione said, not quite convinced, they still had to make sure the roast survived the oven for approximately one and a half hour. "Time will tell."
"Have you heard anything from –" Harry's voice trailed off. He fiddled with his glasses, looking down on the floor.
"No," Hermione cut in. "She sent me a letter last week, haven't heard anything since." There was no need to ask if he'd heard from her, by the look on his face he hadn't. Ginny Weasley was a sore subject even though the reasons for why they'd broken up were obvious ones. Long distance relationships were hard.
Harry rested his elbow against the kitchen counter, leaning forward slightly, eyeing the label on the elven wine, as if it intrigued him. "How's that wine treating you?"
"Amazingly, more please?" Hermione said and stretched her glass forward, happy for the change of conversation. Harry chuckled and filled the glass to the brim.
She gave him a look of disapproval. "If I have a hangover tomorrow, I'll make sure to blame the boss," she said with a touch of humour.
"Oops?" Harry said and regarded her with feigned concern. "You okay with everything, for tomorrow?"
"Yeah, I think so. The Malfoy part of it I'm still trying to wrap my head around though." She sat her glass down and started to set the table. Deliberately leaving out the standing effect Malfoy had had on her, along with Pansy's not so subtle innuendos about the two of them. A part of her longed to meet him again, if only to dismantle the images her imagination had created all week. To prove to herself he hadn't looked as good as her mind kept tricking her into thinking. What she did remember, was almost too much to handle, and she'd found herself getting aroused by thoughts of his slightly arrogant grin and the look in his grey eyes while she'd caught him staring at her thighs. Pansy had a way of creating scenarios and Hermione hadn't been able to stop herself from elaborating on those. She blinked the images away for now and took a mouthful of wine. Those images were for her alone time only. She felt her cheeks starting to heat at the memory of what exactly she'd done to the thoughts of his eyes and broad shoulders last night. The orgasm had been intense and she was so taken aback by it she didn't even regret thinking of him in that way. Some juicy I hate-you-so-much-let's-fuck-it-out-of-our-systems kind of sex sounded more appealing by the day.
She was lucky then, that Harry's voice pulled her away from the dangerous slope her mind was traveling down.
"He's all right, does what he's supposed to. If he gives you any trouble, tell me."
"I'm not going to rat him out to the boss the first thing I do," she said, insinuating Draco giving her trouble was unavoidable, he was practically already doing it without even knowing it.
"It's kind of odd that I'm your boss, no?" He said and grabbed the cutlery from the drawer.
Hermione snorted. "Only a little." She paused for a beat, levelling out the tablecloth. "But rather you than someone else I suppose. I'm proud of you, you know? I just wish you'd consider doing something else, not put yourself in harms way all the time."
Harry turned towards her and nudged her shoulder playfully; a small show of affection. "I know, thanks 'Mione. I suppose it just feels like it's the cards I've been dealt. Without Ginny, I just – " he went quiet, setting down the cutlery next to the plates, either losing the words or unable to speak them.
"I get it," she said softly. "I just worry."
"Well, stop it," Harry said with the beginning of a smile. Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to her wine, thinking she very much had the right to worry about him. If she and Ron would let him, he'd probably try saving the world for the rest of his life. Besides, he expressed his worry for her every single chance he got; Hermione was merely returning the favour.
His eyes landed on her neck and his eyes widened. "Is that a hickey?" he asked, with an expectant look on his face.
"No!"
-o-o-o-
What makes a true Gryffindor? Hermione had pondered this question for years, and at times, she'd questioned if she was one, if she'd been sorted correctly. It was a bit scary how a house one was sorted into as a child could dictate who you were supposed to be. A Gryffindor was to be courageous in the purpose of attaining glory. She didn't feel very courageous when she'd left her parent's in Australia or when she'd established a routine to make her feel safe. In fact, she didn't think she'd done anything brave since the war, but something in her gut, call it intuition, had told her to say yes – to agree to work in a dark bunker with Draco Malfoy. Not a day had gone by since she'd made that decision that she hadn't fretted it, considered and re-considered her answer, and every now and then, she'd find herself getting worked up in more ways then one when she thought of her new colleague. Eventually, she'd landed on one final conclusion – who was she if she turned down yet another job opportunity, who was she if not someone who sought knowledge, and self-improvement? Had she said no, she hadn't been Hermione Jean Granger. Therefore, it was with a swing in her steps, a mind of determination, and a slightly pounding headache, she entered the bunker for her first day.
She'd read through the contract the night before at Grimmauld place. Perhaps not the brightest idea of Harry to whip out documents to read through when they'd finished two and a half bottles of wine between them. The night had ended with a food coma on the sofa, with her cheek against his chest and with Harry almost convincing her to give him a haircut. Thank Merlin, the wine hadn't clouded her judgment too much, she'd promised herself never to do that again. His hair had looked a mess the last time.
She'd downed one of her own pepper up potions upon arrival, but the pounding in her head was still there. The 'Bunker' wasn't impressive, it had a strange smell and the corridors seemed unending. Harry had given her a quick tour that would hardly give him any boss points. He'd been rushed, probably a little hung-over too, and less than informative. Hermione gave him a silent 'acceptable' definitely not an 'exceeds expectations' and far from an 'outstanding'. She almost wanted to grade him with a 'poor' but it felt a bit harsh since she'd been the one to pop the second bottle. She reminded herself she wasn't actually in a position to grade anyone.
No, she'd turned that opportunity down hadn't she?
A cup of untasted coffee rested between her palms. Harry had left her to her own devices while he hurried off to one of the interrogation rooms, saying he'd be right back. It had been half an hour and Hermione was starting to doubt her decision once more, at this time on a Monday, she'd be in full swing brewing already. She liked her time to be spent effectively.
"Hello there," someone said, brining her out of her headspace. The voice sounded familiar somehow but she was unable to place it until she was staring into a set of sky blue eyes.
Theodore Nott was standing uncomfortably close, the palm of his hand resting on the table, his stance casual. "Welcome to the bunker of despair, where the coffee sucks and the sun never shines," he said with the theatrical ability of Pansy.
"Thank you?" Hermione said and raised an unsure brow.
Theodore smiled, blinding her for a second. "Mind if I sit?"
"Not at all, I'm just waiting for Harry to get back from the green room, or was it the grey room? Something of the sorts." She said, and cursed Harry silently, it was mainly his fault her brain wasn't functioning correctly, he'd opened the third bottle.
"That would be the grey room. It's one of the most popular interrogation rooms," he said as he walked around the large wooden table to sit opposite her. Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about it – the interrogations programme. Harry had filled her in on it last night. It seemed indisputably wrong, but the purpose of it, did not. In many ways, the war had changed her, hardened her. She wasn't so naïve to think the Ministry only did good. No. They very much followed the vision of doing things for the greater good. Which sometimes had nothing to do with good at all. She tried to not focus too much on the morality behind the operation; instead, her focus lay solely on the task at hand. Constructing a counter potion. In honesty, behind all what ifs, she was still rather excited to get to work. Finally, she'd be able to put all that knowledge she'd gained during her years abroad to use.
During the morning tour, Harry had the audacity to let her know the team consisted of no less than seven men. Making her the only woman on the team. To her, it was the wizarding world's finest example of misogyny. She'd huffed and scolded Harry a little. She didn't mind having to work with only men; it was the principle of it all.
"Why is it the most popular one?" she asked to make small talk. Not sure how she felt about of Theodore – of all people – being one of the seven.
"Don't know really. Suppose because it has the most comfortable chairs and doesn't smell so. … stale." He made a face.
The smell. It was hard not to notice it, but it didn't bother her, it wasn't too far off from how her apartment smelled after hours of brewing when she'd forgone to crack open a window.
"What is it that you do here?" she asked out of curiosity, now realising Harry had been terribly vague about what part they all had. She knew Theodore had not faced the same sentence as Malfoy, the Ministry hadn't had enough proof of his involvements with the death eaters. He was never officially charged. His reason for being part of the team had to be different than Malfoy's.
"That's for me to know and you to wonder," he said and blinded her with that smile again.
"That's just cryptic and unhelpful. And possibly a line from a muggle film," she said and gave a small smile.
Theodore grinned in reply and bit into an apple, for a moment time seemed to slow down and Hermione found herself glued to the picture in front of her; how his teeth so easily broke the skin of the apple. She forced her eyes away and groaned quietly when they were instead trapped in his blue.
Those eyes had been a pain of her existence for three whole weeks in her teenage years. She'd been at the library, studying late as one does. Theodore had been there as well, giving her a nod of acknowledgment on his way out. It happened a few more times; it was always the two of them that stayed the latest. They were studying in separate parts of the library, sure, but he gave that nod every time he left.
He'd always been around, mostly in the background, behind Malfoy whenever he showed up to make snide comments – but she'd never noticed him until that first nod. To be fair, she was far from the only one who had been caught off guard by him. When Theodore Nott reached puberty, it hadn't escaped any of the girls on the grounds of Hogwarts; it appeared not even Hermione could be spared of his chocolate brown hair, sky blue eyes and confident strides. He was attractive; it was undeniable. Even though she'd harboured a massive crush on her best friend at the time, it was impossible not to notice every girl swooning over the boy, it wasn't made easier with the knowledge that he wasn't half-dumb either.
Theodore's head snapped up. "Here comes your partner, suppose you two better get to work," he said and nodded towards the doorway. She'd truly hoped her mind had deceived her somehow, that Draco Malfoy wasn't as tall, or as unfairly good-looking as she remembered.
Damn it if he wasn't even more handsome standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe.
For a second she wanted to cry, or maybe even scream, but then she remembered herself. She was a respectable witch, and she did not swoon over anyone, especially not over him.
Theodore gave Malfoy a dunk on the shoulder as he passed and Hermione realised he still had those confident strides. As she looked at the two of them, it was hard envisioning either of them at Hogwarts and she wondered if when the looked at her, they still saw the same swot she'd been back then. Granted, she was still a swot and the fact had never bothered her. Still, watching them, she thought it a mystery she'd never noticed how similar they were. They both looked as though they worked out on the regular, and Malfoy's eyes were just as grey as Theodore's were blue, they even seemed to be the same height.
What was with the men lately? Was there something in the coffee here? Even more peculiar, what was with her, why was she acting like a hormonal teenager? Pansy might have a point, sex was only healthy and she appeared to be in need of some in the immediate future. She absentmindedly itched her wrist, it felt like a habit at this point. The chair squeaked when she rose, looking far to eager to see him. Malfoy, however had a look of boredom about him.
"I suppose we should get started, where's your office?"
He gave her a small smirk. "Office? Harry's been sleeping on the job, eh?" Malfoy shook his head. "Come," he said and she thoroughly wished he'd used a different word.
Draco Malfoy was already trouble. Pansy calling him a great friend seemed faded in the darkness of the Bunker and in the way his smirk made his eyes light up. Walking a few steps behind his tall frame, he almost seemed a little intimidating. The scenarios she'd created in her head this past week resurfaced. They were unwelcome, far too crafty, and well, bordering on pornographic. She was a little ashamed at herself and felt as though she was missing something. The feeling was nagging at the back of her mind, without truly catching.
"Keep up will you," he said when he had to stop in his tracks for her to catch up. She had to take three steps to keep up with one of his. A hangover brain and lack of caffeine in the company of Malfoy suddenly seemed a bad combination. Mix in the inappropriate images and you had a recipe for disaster.
He walked fast, and rounded several corners. Harry's tour this morning was already lost to her. The Bunker felt like a maze worthy of the Triwizard Tournament. She'd ask for a map if she wasn't certain there was none and Malfoy would laugh at her for being a swot. She had to break into a small sprint to keep up.
"Hey," she called out, "my legs are shorter than yours. If you want me come along, slow down." She'd almost said 'slow the fuck down, but she didn't need that word spoken out loud.
"Short legs, got it," he said, his voice coming out a little raspy, yet managing to make it sound like an insult. When he slowed his steps she took it as a small win.
They stepped into what Hermione figured had to be the potions lab. The space was rather small, but definitely bigger than her own, the walls a light grey. There were two chairs in front of the tables, and to the left was a small settee. To the right she saw cauldrons upon cauldrons and cabinets covering any available wall. Through the glass she could see the many jars of potions ingredients. She took a breath; she could be comfortable in here.
"This is the potions lab," Malfoy said as if that needed explaining. "Potter had it stocked and put in the extra chair and the settee." His eyes locked on the settee for a moment before he appeared to shake whatever thought had his expression change.
She gave a nod in reply.
"Sit" he said as if she was an unwanted guest in his house. She opted for the chair, avoiding the settee. Not quite sure why she didn't protest against his attitude.
Pick your battles was the reasonable explanation she decided on.
Malfoy started talking about the project, placing himself on the other chair, handing her a stack of parchments. "This is what I have so far, read, catch up."
"Do you always speak in short sentences?" she asked.
"Read," he said, again with the one-worded command. She would need to rectify this at a later time. They were partners in this project; no hierarchy should exist between them.
The room fell silent and on every other sentence she felt aware, aware that he was just sitting there, watching her – it was too close to one of those fantasies she'd had, and she scolded herself for having let her imagination run away to that extent. He wasn't sitting close, but she could smell him, it wasn't particularly strong, but the scent was special, almost potent enough to vanish the unpleasant smell the entire bunker was drenched in. Perhaps she needed to lie and tell him she was sensitive to perfume, trick him into stop wearing whatever he had on, because it was distracting. Leaning back on the chair, she was certain she could feel his gaze burning her skin.
She had to admit the work he'd done was impressive. The parchment had impeccable penmanship and he seemed to have a good plan on how to tackle the project at hand. Without being able to assess the effects of the potion herself – she wasn't a legilimens – she had to go by his words. She realised quickly they weren't just any colleagues, they'd have to work closely and she'd have to trust his interpretations of effects. For a second time that day, she wanted to cry and she couldn't comprehend why. She'd felt annoyed and moody all day.
Something about her was off. It didn't make her feel better to read Malfoy's plan forward. He'd managed to track down the person who'd sold the potion to Yaxley junior.
She sighed too loudly. They were going to have to go on a trip eventually weren't they? Tracking the origin of the potion could be essential in order to know how to counter it.
Well, fuck me, she thought and felt her hangover wash over her a thousand fold.
"Yes, if we're not able to crack this thing, the only option would be to try and track the original potion, to find a way to get our hands on it and study it."
He seemed to be reading her mind, and she freaked out because it was possible he could.
Exactly how skilled of a legilimens was he?
"I'll figure it out, it won't come to that," she said assuredly. By the look on his face, he hoped she was right.
-o-o-o-
Thank you for checking out Crushed fairy dust.
MANY thank yous to anyone who took a bit out of their day to comment on the last chapter, I can't express enough how much I love to hear what you think. Please do leave your thoughts on this chapter, what is your impression of Theo? On the Harry and Hermione dynamic? Are you liking where this story is going?
Updates will be made Sunday's every other week for now. Changes to schedule might occur.
Comments are highly encouraged, they bring me life (and I truly mean that) I'm so excited to read your thoughts on this one.
Lots of love
