A/N:
Now, this is the first time I'm posting on FFN for nearly half a decade. I was a very regular writer and user before switching full time to Ao3 in 2017, and, well, my writing from before then is embarassing. I elected to make a new account, but I am romantashas on all other platforms, other than YouTube, where I am SunnyVids, if you want to verify that I am a real person!
DISCLAIMER: I am not a lawyer because of J.K. Rowling, so I truly hope she doesn't sue me. #transpeoplearepeople
CROSS POSTED ON AO3 & WATTPAD!
01:36pm on Monday, 10 June 1996
Daphne Greengrass is barely on her radar, except for a tiny moment right before their O.W.L.s.
The stress oozes from Hermione. For the weeks leading up to the O.W.L.s, everyone in Gryffindor tower gives her a healthy breadth, fearing for their lives more and more as her hair gets bushier and bushier from the frenzy. She studies for hours on end, barely sleeping, barely eating, barely blinking. She's surely worrying Harry and Ron, who give her wide eyes each time they see her.
She's sure to collapse by the time the official exams start.
But the written Charms portion goes much better than she thought, yet she still worries that maybe she missed something. But Ron and Harry are determined not to speak of it, and Hermione eats lunch in silence.
("Well, it wasn't too bad, was it?" Hermione had asked. "I'm not sure I did myself justice on Cheering Charms, I just ran out of time — did you put in the countercharm for hiccups? I wasn't sure whether I ought to, it felt like too much — and on question twenty-three — "
"Hermione," Ron had interrupted, rather sternly, "we've been through this before... We're not going through every exam afterward, it's bad enough doing them once.")
After lunch, are the practical exams.
Professor Flitwick calls, "Goldstein, Anthony — Goyle, Gregory — Granger, Hermione — Greengrass, Daphne," and Hermione shoots up from her seat. Trembling, she leaves the chamber, leaves Harry and Ron, in step with the other three students, over to Professor Flitwick.
Logically, she knows she's studied more in the past week than most of her peers have in the whole year, yet, she can't stop shaking. Year after year, the need to be the best and the need to prove that she belongs here mix into an ugly form of anxiety and desperation.
As Professor Flitwick takes his time sorting out Anthony, and then Goyle, Daphne Greengrass seems to take note of Hermione's panicking state.
"If you're nervous, Merlin knows how I should be feeling," the Slytherin girl says, not unkindly.
Hermione's head shoots up. There's an anxious bubble that's getting ready to burst out of her chest. She feels like there's something stuck in her throat. "W-What?"
Daphne Greengrass has been blissfully mute for most of their interactions, and if now is the moment that she decides to turn to the nasty and snide comments that her friends indulge in, Hermione might not make it through the day.
"You're the most talented witch in our year," Greengrass shrugs. "I can't see how you'd get anything less than O's."
Hermione immediately stills. It's not what Daphne Greengrass said that gets to her — though, it's certainly something — but it's the way it's said. Like it's the most obvious, glaring fact in the world. That no one could dare challenge it, dare saying anything differently. Not only is it the nicest interaction she's ever had with a Slytherin, but she doesn't think any of her peers have ever said anything so conclusive to her before.
Of course, she's heard the words many times. But usually from people trying to make her feel better, or those hoping to goad her into helping them with homework. Not so carelessly, from someone who has nothing to truly gain from saying it. Not even the gain of making their friend happy.
"Oh," is all Hermione can get out for a moment. Then, politely, "I'm sure you'll do great."
Daphne gives her a hesitant smile.
After that, Hermione's imposter syndrome dissipates. She belongs at Hogwarts. She deserves this.
11:49am on Tuesday, 4 October 2005
In the morning after her conversation with Malfoy — which had been surprisingly civil; at least, until she had brought up Astoria Greengrass — she adds many things to her board.
Pansy Parkinson and Marcus Flint still are front and centre, of course. But off to the side is Daphne, and beside her, Astoria. There's a little section for Malfoy, because a part of her still suspects him involved in some fashion. And there's an empty spot for when she'll get the chance to review Harry's incoming Muggle forensics reports.
There's not too much to be said for Daphne's section, except her direct relation to Flint, and their daughter together. But she's more than likely a key component to whatever had gone down that fateful night, no matter how much Parkinson denied it.
But there's something that draws her to Astoria Greengrass, the girl that had been found dead nearly a year ago, and had been missing for some time prior.
After some digging, Hermione found both the Muggle and Wizarding reports of what had happened to Astoria, which now sit proudly on her board.
The first one is from a clipping of a Muggle newspaper, from 16 November 2004.
A woman has reportedly jumped into the River Thames from Tower Bridge sparking a rescue mission by police and lifeboat crews to locate her.
"She entered the bridge, climbed over the barrier before jumping into the river."
Bystanders threw lifebuoys into the water, while others went to save her, but they were unsuccessful, an inquest at Inner London Coroner's Court heard. A hero passer-by dived in after her but had to be rescued by the Royal National Lifeboat Institution (RNLI). He was treated at the scene before being taken to hospital.
A post-mortem examination found the cause of the woman's death to be "immersion". The coroner recorded a conclusion of suicide.
An investigation by Metropolitan Police confirmed there was no evidence of third party involvement or suspicious circumstances surrounding her death.
Anyone feeling emotionally distressed or suicidal can call Samaritans for help on 116 123 or email jo in the UK.
Dated three weeks later is one from the Daily Prophet, page six.
A Squib task force was founded in 1996 to look over unsolved Muggle cases for magical abnormalities. They have found over eight missing witches and wizards in the past year.
Now, a Squib correspondent has confirmed that Astoria Greengrass's body has been found.
Astoria Greengrass, a 22-year-old Cursebreaker, was last seen with fiancé Draco Malfoy on 14 August.
Greengrass's body was recovered from River Thames by Muggles on 18 November. A witness account states that she entered the bridge, climbed over the barrier before jumping into the river.
Muggle dieners have concluded that there was no evidence of third party involvement or suspicious circumstances surrounding her death. The memory extracted from the witness confirms this.
It is unknown where Greengrass was in the three missing months.
The Hit Wizards tasked with the missing persons case, have now deemed it closed. Death Eaters are not suspected.
Evidently, she loses track of time as she works on her little board, because Ron and Harry are now are her office door, lunch in hand, looking at her inquisitively.
"How's the murder board coming along?" Harry asks.
"Murder board?" questions Ron.
"Great!" Hermione says, pulling up the board. "I've now got a list of theories."
Which, for unknown reasons, ranges from 'misjudged the strength of the glass antique turned murder weapon' all the way to 'step twelve in evil plan to take over world'. She doesn't quite know how that got up there.
10:11pm on Tuesday, 4 October 2005
After adding so much to her murder board just a mere twelve hours before, the last thing she had expected was to see it come to life before her before the day's end.
Hermione sets the tea down in front of Daphne Flint, née Greengrass, wondering how her life came to this point. Caught between three Slytherins — four, if she considered the body; five, if she factored in Astoria — trying to piece them all together as if they were a complex puzzle.
Daphne stares blankly at her tea, not speaking, not moving. She's been like this since Hermione brought her to her place, shortly after disarming her in Diagon Alley.
(Hermione hadn't lowered her wand. Not right away, at least.
"Daphne?" she had repeated. "What could you possibly need my help for?"
It was very dark, and the alley was empty. She could hear the distant liveliness of The Leaky Cauldron, the soft lights filtering through its windows.
Daphne had looked increasingly frantic. "I didn't know who else to turn to. And Pansy — I don't know what to do."
She let out a hopeless sob, and that had been when Hermione lowered her wand.)
"Were you the one who sent me those letters?" Hermione asks softly. It's a simple question, and a good starting point. Perhaps Daphne would be confused, or perhaps she had been right on target when she suggested the possibility to Harry last week.
Daphne looks up. Slowly, she nods.
"How did you know I would be the one involved in the case?" she asks next.
Daphne's mouth opens, then closes. She glances back down at her tea before reaching to pick it up and take a sip. The warmth of it evidently comforts her, because she settles into it, closing her eyes as she keeps it close to her face.
Hermione lets her take her time, instead filling it with silent observations. Daphne had never seemed like an overtly happy person; she had been quite frowny in school, really, but in a way that was evident that it was just how her face was structured. But now, the unhappiness is drawn deep into her skin, the weariness evident in her face.
She thinks of Cho, and how gentle she is with her clients. Hermione always admired this quality in her, how she would sit there for hours, just being a comfort if needed. Hermione had never had such a patience for this, but she tries her best with Daphne.
Waiting it out, and not pushing, ends up working in her favour. Daphne shifts slightly, settling her tea down.
Eventually, Daphne has the courage to speak. "I was watching the Defender office," she confesses. "You were the only one called to the Aurors that day."
Hermione nearly tells her that there would've been no Auror, if things were as simple as they seemed, but holds back.
Before she can contemplate what to ask next, Daphne whispers, "Are you? Helping her?"
"I am," Hermione answers, hoping they are talking about the same thing.
"Why isn't there any news?" Daphne asks, her eyes watering. It's evident she's been crying for days. She's confused, alone, and terrified. "Why are they still pretending like my husband is missing? Why haven't they said anything about Pansy? And why did I get a letter that she went back to Italy?"
Ah, yes. The letter.
When it had become obvious that the news of Flint and Parkinson wasn't going to be made public anytime soon, the Aurors had drafted a series of letters to explain Parkinson's absence, which she quickly agreed to, with one stipulation: To let her know how everyone had reacted.
("Did Blaise say anything?" Pansy had questioned. "Will he miss me terribly?"
"His first question was to ask me if I thought you would notice if your Odgen's bottle were to disappear," Malfoy deadpanned.
"Bloody fucking twat.")
Logically, Hermione really should call for an Auror, and turn Daphne in. She knows that Ron couldn't be tailing her all hours, day and night, as he certainly wasn't in Diagon Alley, and she wonders if Daphne even knew she had the Ministry watching her. From her words, it's clear she knows more than she lets on. She knows her husband isn't missing, and that Pansy had been arrested. She knew what happened.
Yet, there's something so utterly broken in Daphne's expression, that Hermione can't find it in herself to throw her to the wolves.
"Why did you report your husband as missing?" she asks, determined to get answers for herself, at the very least. "Why go to the Aurors, not the Hit Wizards?"
Daphne blinks. "I was hoping they'd tell me the truth."
"Tell you what truth?"
"I know... I know my husband is dead," she confesses. "I was just... I just wanted to hear it from them."
"What happened?"
"I don't know," Daphne cries out softly. "I — I wish I knew. But Pansy..." The poor girl is nearly incoherent. "I don't know what to do."
Hermione softens. Not knowing how else to soothe her, she reaches out and places a hand on top of hers. Daphne's next sob is louder, but after that, she relaxes a little, letting the cries subside into tears.
"If you can tell me what you know," Hermione explains softly, "I can do my best to help you. You and Pansy."
The name sounds foreign to her ears, but she doesn't think addressing her by Parkinson will add to the moment.
Daphne takes a deep breath. "I... I really don't know. I just remember my little girl crying. And I was in so much pain. And then there was blood. So much blood. And Pansy... She got us out."
Hermione's heartbeat races as she listens to the account. So, Parkinson had done it for Daphne. It sounded as if she'd come across the abuse in action, and had violently protected her friend. There were still fine details, of course, which had the potential to make or break the case. Had Flint been about to do something irreparable, and Parkinson had intervened? In the Wizarding world, laws concerning violence were worryingly lax, and a case could easily be made that violence was necessary to save someone's well being. Or had the danger been gone, for the meanwhile, and Parkinson had let her anger get the better of her, seeking Flint out to kill him? That would be more difficult to defend.
"I keep having these dreams," Daphne continues. "Horrible dreams. I just see it all over again."
"That's normal in trauma," Hermione informs her, thinking of her own nightmares of the war. Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood. When she closes her eyes, sometimes she still sees Harry's body. The horrible thoughts the Horcrux gave her. The blood that coated Hogwarts. Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood.
Daphne's eyes move down, and that's when Hermione realises she's subconsciously stroking her inner arm, where Bellatrix had once carved the wretched word into her skin, the Dark magic cursing it to last forever. The scar is still blotchy, usually resulting in Hermione electing to wear mostly long sleeves, and the phantom pain never goes away. Nor do the nightmares.
Uncomfortably, Hermione casts her inner arm down into the table, hiding the scar from view.
"I know someone you can talk to about it," Hermione continues. Cho has a great deal of connections with people that deal with talking through trauma from her previous job. "They'd be highly discreet."
Which is necessary, if Flint's death wasn't going to be made public for a while.
Daphne doesn't say anything, just keeps staring at where Hermione's scar had been visible prior, which makes her wonder if Daphne had been looking at the wretched word, or if she was simply staring into the void.
"Look, Par — Pansy has a chance of not going to Azkaban if I can prove it was some type of defense," states Hermione. "But right now, I don't have anything to go off of. I'd need your witness testimony during the trial. Not witnessing the act itself - not until we can get Auror sign-off for immunity. But I need you to speak on what Flint was like. When you might have feared for your life or your child's life."
And perhaps Hermione is getting this wrong. Maybe she doesn't want to testify for Parkinson. But it seems as obvious as it can be that Daphne is less upset over her husband, and more concerned for her friend.
Eventually, Daphne nods.
09:13am on Wednesday, 5 October 2005
It's been over two weeks since Parkinson's original interrogation, and there hasn't been another attempt since. Hermione doubts it's negligence by the Aurors, because they seem overly involved in the case, yet they make no movement to progress anything further. Perhaps they know it's because she isn't willing to divulge much more information. Perhaps it's tactical for them to wait until she is more comfortable with her Defender. Hermione isn't sure, and it unnerves her.
Harry isn't much help either. In the one time she tried asking, he had merely shrugged, and claimed it was Malfoy's decision, and he's been busy.
Her check-ins with Parkinson are nearly daily, and now include books to keep her busy. It's the only thing she could get approval on — that she asked about, at least; she has little faith that Parkinson would be interested in Muggle board games for the time being. Parkinson has yet to comment on the books that are left behind, and she's never been witnessed reading, but Hermione notices their wear with each visit.
The check-ins are short, stilted, and lacking information. Hermione typically asks if she's been treated well, Parkinson asks how the outside world is doing, and they hit a wall when they try to discuss the case.
But after all of yesterday's revelations, she's buzzing with anxious excitement in her check-in with Parkinson. She finally feels like they can be on the same page, where she finally knows more about what had happened, and Parkinson can't hide behind the shield of the unknown.
Hermione's excitement only grows when Harry flags her down on her way into the Auror office.
"I've got word back from the pathologist," Harry tells her, holding a folder of papers. He, too, looks giddy with elation, as this is probably their first lead in a while. "Now, I can't officially share anything until I go over it with Malfoy, but — "
"Where is he, then?" Hermione questions. She's noticed his absence from the office as of late. He's out more often than not, which was the way it had been prior to his stint in St. Mungo's. But it's curious that he's still the lead of Parkinson's case, despite obviously not prioritising it.
"He's out," confirms Harry. "Back to his old...position."
She wants to fight it, desperately, but truthfully, the more time she has before the next interrogation — which she's sure will involve Veritaserum — the better.
"Unofficially, though," Harry continues, "Flint did die from blunt force trauma. Small wound to the back of the head seems to be the one that did him in — all the rest was just Parkinson getting her rage out."
Hermione thinks about this. Nothing too abnormal, she supposes. Everyone already knew that Parkinson went with way more headbashing than necessary to kill. What incited that sort of rage, Hermione can only guess.
"Anything else?" she asks.
Harry shrugs. "Nothing we don't already know. Confirmed the bruises were from a fall, that the murder weapon we have in evidence matches with the wounds. They told me whoever did this must've had quite the grudge."
"Quite," Hermione agrees.
10:20am on Wednesday, 5 October 2005
Hermione gets straight to the point as she sits at the table across from Pansy Parkinson.
"I had a very interesting conversation with Daphne last night," Hermione reveals. This immediately catches Parkinson's attention. "She seems to know what happened."
"She wasn't — " Parkinson stops herself, the fear evident in her wide eyes. She runs her hand through her hair with a slight desperation. "She can't be caught up in this. She did nothing."
"She's agreed to testify in your trial."
"DAMMIT, GRANGER!" Parkinson yells, slamming her fist into the table and standing up. A whirl of an alarm goes off. "YOU DON'T GET TO DO THAT!"
There's a crazy glint in her eyes and a certain snarl in her tone that, for the first time in a long time, makes Hermione afraid. Leering over her, she can see the woman who'd bash an antique into a man's skull dozens of times, without an ounce of regret, happily willing to spend the rest of her life in Azkaban for the thrill of the action.
Harry rushes in, wand drawn, before Hermione holds up her hand.
"Parkinson," Hermione says slowly. Parkinson seems to notice the alarm she's caused, and slowly settles back down into her chair, her eyes still flaming.
"It's all right, Harry," Hermione says with a deep breath. "You can leave us, now."
Hesitantly, Harry nods, before exiting the room. Hermione waits until she's sure he's gone and out of hearing range before turning to Parkinson.
"You had no right to ask that of her," Parkinson fumes, but her voice level down.
Hermione regards her carefully. "I am your Defender, and without you providing me any information, I have to take leaps to make sure I can do my job efficiently."
"I'd rather go to Azkaban."
With a sigh, she asks, "Why did you tell me Daphne wasn't involved?"
"I didn't say she wasn't there," snarls Parkinson, "I said I didn't do it for her. I haven't named her as a witness because she doesn't deserve to be caught up in this mess and now you've gone and turned her into the Aurors — "
"The Aurors aren't aware," Hermione interrupts. Immediately, Parkinson relaxes a touch. "Yet. We simply had a discussion. But if you didn't do it for Daphne, what was your motive? I need full honesty, otherwise I can't protect anyone."
Parkinson is quiet for a moment before answering, "Cordelia."
"Daphne's daughter," she says out loud, and Parkinson's nod confirms it.
"I didn't want her to grow up the way I did," she confesses softly. "And if there is a hint that Daphne was part of Flint's death, no matter how directly or indirectly, they'll become pariahs. Flint's family will support them as that is their duty, but if Daphne speaks in my defence over her late husband's..."
Parkinson's nostrils begin to flare again, so Hermione steps in. "I'm sorry to have asked her without consulting you," she says honestly. "But Daphne can make her own choices."
"She doesn't understand what she's saying," Parkinson fires back quickly. "Now, Flint is revealed as a Death Eater. Do you think they'll take well to me killing one of their own? Keep. Her. Out of it."
Hermione pledges that she will try her best, and Pansy Parkinson doesn't say much more.
07:52pm on Friday, 14 October 2005
Going to the pub for a celebration quickly had become a habit in her Department.
It had started out simple — just the Leaky Cauldron, as many were familiar with the pub and the area. They were always welcomed kindly, the barmaids indulging them in a little extra for their regular patronage, and it had been a wonderful time.
Things had gotten a little more complicated when Cho Chang began to date a Muggle.
Callum Fitzgerald is a well established Muggle lawyer that Cho had met when Hermione dragged her to one of her Oxford classes, back when she was studying the laws. Surely, Hermione didn't need the qualifications on the Muggle side, and the Wizarding side had no such expectations, but she had wanted to be as well-informed as she could be. Her coworkers sometimes tagged along; some with curiosity (Susan), some with a passion for knowledge (Penelope), and others (Blaise) for a little bit of a laugh. All the same, they had all come out of it with a newfound appreciation for Muggle law that they established within their day-to-day work.
Cho Chang had come out with a boyfriend.
This, of course, created a little flaw in their wonderful pub celebration tradition once it had been Cho's turn to celebrate, and Callum had insisted — nicely, like a gentleman would — to join.
And thus, their tradition shifted to a small little pub in Muggle London, just a street down from Leaky. It's dark, quiet, and just run down enough to be mostly empty, even when the rest of the street's bustling with crowds. The owners are just peculiar enough in their own right to not pay too much attention if the group of Wizarding Defenders talks a little loudly about war, Death Eaters, and that time they had won a case that had pitted a werewolf and a vampire against each other. One time, Blaise had even set off fireworks within the premises.
When things between Callum and Cho had grown increasingly serious, she and Hermione had scoured the Wizarding decrees to determine if it was in her legal right to tell her Muggle boyfriend about her magic. In tradition, the Statute of Secrecy is only broken in the case of legal marriage or parentage; but in reality, the text was incredibly vague, and just enough for the Ministry to agree to allow Callum Fitzgerald the knowledge that witches and wizards existed — and Cho is one of them.
He had taken the news rather well, all things considered. Yet, their newer tradition hasn't changed, and still remains in the dinky old pub in a quieter part of Charing Cross.
"I told him he was rotting in there for good," Blaise slurs, already properly sloshed.
He bats his eyes at Cho, ignoring the scowls from Callum, but Cho regards him kindly, patting his cheek like a small child and saying, "Good for you, Zabini. You tell him!"
Today, they were celebrating Blaise Zabini's official close of the Scalby case. The trial itself had taken place the Friday before her birthday, but the paperwork Blaise was left with was tedious, and she heard his incessant moans about it daily since. This week, the Wizengamot finally gave the all clear, and thus, Blaise celebrates.
More often than not, Harry and Ron accompany the group, but on this night, Ron is busy with work — tracing Daphne, she's sure — while Harry is having dinner with Andromeda, Teddy, and his family.
"How's the Hogwarts expulsion amendment?" Penelope Clearwater asks nicely.
Susan Bones smiles. "We've won over a majority of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, so now it's just down to Hermione to convince the Wizengamot."
Hermione tries to give a convincing smile, but it probably comes off more of a grimace. She's convinced the Wizengamot to agree to an audience about a month ago now, but has been unsuccessful in actually scheduling a time and date. She knows that it'll be months away from whenever she does manage to schedule it, but truthfully, her mind has been elsewhere. "Working on it," she answers.
"Oh, good, Draco's made it!" Blaise suddenly exclaims, sounding more sober than he did a moment ago. Hermione blinks, looking up.
Sure enough, there's a flash of platinum blond hair that she can make just over the top of Penelope Clearwater's head.
He has joined their little routine exactly once before, back when it took place at Leaky. She never interacted with him, then, and he had only shared a quick nod with Harry that night.
"Why is he here?" she blurts out before she can stop herself. Blaise gives her a little bit of a funny look, as if it was obvious, and she remembers that Malfoy had been one of the leading Aurors that had provided the evidence for Scalby's case, even if Harry had been the one to publicly testify for the Aurors.
Yet, that didn't answer why Malfoy actually showed up. He never takes Blaise up on his offer — at least, not commonly — and there wasn't anything extraordinary about this case compared to some of the others.
Blaise immediately slides a beer down the table. It's a little too hard of a push, and would've slid right off the table if Malfoy hadn't caught it. But, he does so smoothly, immediately bringing it up to his lips to take a sip.
"If only we had Pansy and Theo," Blaise moans, "then we'd have the full crew. The ones that matter, anyway."
Malfoy's eyes slide towards Hermione's, and for a second, there's an unspoken conversation. They don't know about Parkinson. They can't know. Don't say anything.
Malfoy quickly looks back at Blaise, giving a tight smile, similar to the one she had seen him wear often back at Hogwarts. "They weren't involved in the case."
Blaise hums thoughtfully. "No. But Pansy was the subject of one of them. Oi, Chang, you dealt with Pansy's case, didn't you?" Blaise says too loudly, with animated arms that nearly knock over his pint. "That was the nastiest annulment I've ever seen."
"It's probably not appropriate to talk about these details with people...not in our Department," Cho replies. Her eyes shift towards Malfoy.
"I'm well aware of the circumstances that led to Pansy's disownment," Malfoy says as an answer.
"You sure are," Blaise barks out a laugh. He points to Malfoy while telling the rest of the table, "You should've seen him, demanding the Italian Aurors to let her out. And they did! She was brought back to England before that cunt of a husband was even let out of hospital."
"It was self-defence," Cho chimes in with a furor that makes Hermione blink. She knows that Cho had let go of past grievances when the case came about, but it's still a surprising amount of passion in defence of the Slytherin. "He would've killed her, she just — "
"Of course," Blaise giggles, quite drunk. "Of course, of course. I wanted to kill him myself. And I would've, but Pansy doesn't need anyone. No, no. She's got everything handled. Always."
The subject is quickly changed, but Hermione files the information away in her brain. Seeing how Flint treated Daphne must've been horrible enough, but if Parkinson had dealt with the same kind of pain... It explains the level of rage taken out against the body. She had done the same thing before.
The anger against Flint hadn't just been on behalf of Daphne — it had been personal.
10:27pm on Friday, 14 October 2005
After a healthy amount of pints and discussion — more veering away from topics of work, and going into discussions of personal life — the group begins to disband. Some to go home, others to continue on drinking at another pub. Hermione's surprised to find that Malfoy had stayed the whole duration, and is agreeing with Blaise to go on to the Leaky Cauldron. A part of her expected him to leave early, but he remained, and had had cordial conversations with various people in the group, including, most surprisingly, Muggle lawyer Callum.
He had even shown interest in Muggle law. It had been a bizarre experience.
"I'd like to speak with you," a deep voice says, and when she looks up from where her eyes had been focused on fastening her coat, she finds that Malfoy is standing right before her. She blinks up at him, before nodding. She was set to go home, but she has to make her way to Diagon Alley anyway if she wants to Apparate and...
Malfoy is looking at her expectantly, and she realises he's waiting for her to come with him. But, in an awkward dilemma for her, he's also kind of in her way with how he's crowding her against the booth. He seems to realise this as well, and steps back, his hand indicating a pathway for her, almost mimicking a bow.
The group dissipates, some walking far ahead down the road to Leaky, others going their own way. The goodbyes are quick, knowing they'll all see each other again soon enough, and then her and Malfoy are mostly alone. At least, they're out of earshot from the others.
"I'm sorry," Hermione immediately blurts out. "I shouldn't have brought up..."
She trails off, unsure how to proceed, knowing that last time her name had been enough to set him off. Malfoy stiffens, but keeps walking. "I shouldn't have reacted as such. But I wanted to discuss something else with you."
Hermione feels an embarrassed flush overcome her face, her cheeks suddenly warming against the cool air. Way to bring up the topic unnecessarily again. It's been nearly two weeks since she's seen him, it's silly of her to think that's what he wanted to discuss, instead of sending an owl. "Oh."
She can't quite think on what else Malfoy could have to say to her, so she waits.
"I think we're both aware that there's more to this case than what Pansy is willing to say," he says. "But whatever it is, it is my job to investigate, not yours."
The flush of embarrassment quickly morphs into one of fury. How dare he pull her aside to try to put her in her place?
"Well, you're doing a bang up job of that," she spits out bitterly. "I'm just picking up what you're clearly neglecting."
Malfoy stops and grabs her arm firmly, but not in such a way that hurts. It's just enough to force her to stop as well, and look at him. They're not far from the Leaky, just close enough to hear the jubilous yells from inside. The heat flickers in both of their eyes.
"Stop talking as if you know anything about what I do, Granger," he lashes out in a low tone. "You trust Potter, and like it or not, Potter trusts me enough to do my job. So stay out of it and do yours."
"This is me doing my job," she defends, even though she isn't quite sure what exact part he's protesting. She can only assume that it's the forensics that Harry had let him know about, but she's been overstepping since day one. Unapologetically.
His grip against her arm is still there, and Malfoy's grasp has been gaining in pressure since the start. Now, it's touching on the edge of pain, which makes Hermione squirm slightly. Immediately, Malfoy notices, and with a hint of guilt and regret in his expression, he lets go and takes a step back.
"Just leave me alone, Malfoy," she says tiredly. "And I'll leave you alone. We both want the — Ronald?"
Hermione says the name just as she sees the flash of ginger hair right over Malfoy's shoulder. Sure enough, Ron is near the Leaky, peering into the pub through a window. Immediately, his head whisks around, looking at Hermione in surprise, then at Malfoy, who also has turned.
"What are you doing here?" she immediately asks, blinking at Ron. He's working, which means...
"What am I doing here, what are you doing with Malfoy?" he fires back, but it lacks the heat it once would have held, and instead is just filled with confusion.
Malfoy steps forward, face suddenly serious. "Weasley, what is going on?"
"I'm following — "
Suddenly, there's a large BOOM, and before Hermione can really register what's going on, she sees Ron fall, and Malfoy is dragging her down to the ground.