CW: Very briefly mentions traumatic memories of domestic abuse, but other than that this chapter should be a whole lot easier to read than the last one. :)
ooo
~Harry~
Harry let out a deep sigh.
He must have read the letter at least twenty times by now. In fact, ever since he had come back to work that morning and had found it waiting neatly rolled amongst a small pile of notes from his secretary, he had been staring at it, memorising it, reading it over and over again.
At first, he had thought it was probably cursed, since most anonymous letters came with their fair share of inconvenient hexes. Then, upon unfurling the parchment and seeing what it was, he had thought it was a joke, because surely this couldn't be real?
But what if it was?
He rubbed the back of his neck gingerly and moved his shoulders in big circular motions, hoping that it would remove some of the tension that had been building in his upper back and neck. He could feel a stress-headache coming on, which was highly inconvenient, seeing as the contents of the letter promised a rather busy week ahead.
As it happened, the neatly rolled parchment had entailed a list.
And it wasn't just any list. It was a list of highly confidential and top-secret information that not many people could know, and that Harry himself had only partially known.
He looked down at the letter once more, tracing the elegant scrawl with tired eyes as he wondered what in Merlin's name he was supposed to do with it.
'1.' He read, looking at the little number with apprehension. "Riddle house, near Little Hangleton – Used as Death-Eater headquarters 1994 – 1996, later used as a camp for snatchers and werewolves during the war. Current activity unlikely.
2. Yaxley Residency, Colbin Crescent, London – Used as hideout for Voldemort's followers while infiltrating the Ministry of Magic in 1997. Current activity status unknown.
3. Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire – Death Eater Headquarters and residence of the Dark Lord, March 1997 – May 1998. Opened for investigation October 1998. Abandoned. Current activity unlikely.
4. Selwyn Castle, Northumberland – has an extensive underground system of dungeons. Used to hold people hostage during the Second Wizarding War. Current activity likely.
5. Château de Rosièr, Dordogne Valley, South-West-France – Estate owned by the Rosier family and used as an international base during the Second Wizarding War. Current activity status unknown.
6. Secret cave below Dunseverick Castle, Antrim, Northern Ireland – Concealed with first grade protective charms and anti muggle jinxes. The cave leads to an underground camp that was used as a hideout in the onset of the Second Wizarding War. Current activity status unknown.
The list went on. All the way to:
15. Mulciber Estate, near Inveraray, Scotland – used as accommodation for the Dark Lord's followers after the mass breakout from Azkaban in 1996. The Estate has an entire hidden East Wing, which used to be concealed by the Fidelius Charm. The Secret-Keeper was killed during the war, making everyone who knew about the Estate Secret-Keepers, including the writer of this letter. Proceed with caution – Estate is still protected with Dark Magic. Current activity highly likely.
With a grim expression Harry placed the letter back on the desk and picked up a quill that Hagrid had made for him from one of Buckbeak's feathers. He had just begun to scribble down some hasty notes of all the things he needed to discuss with his team, when a soft knock on the door caused him to look up.
"You wanted to see me?" Ron's voice sounded casual as he stepped into the office, his auror robes hanging lazily from his broad shoulders in a way that looked too effortless to not be deliberate.
"Yes." Harry nodded, gesturing for Ron to take a seat, before flicking his wand to shut the door and cast the usual privacy charms over the room.
The ginger-haired man winked at Harry, before he let himself drop into the chair in front of the desk and crossed one ankle over his knee; hands folded comfortably in his lap as if he hadn't a care in the world.
Harry had to try hard not to roll his eyes.
Ron had really grown into his role as Deputy Head Auror, but in Harry's opinion he revelled a bit too much in the attention he got as a war hero. Of course, he was perfectly capable and could be authoritative when he needed to be, but he was also - for lack of a better word - a bit of a tosser.
And the worst thing about it was that he didn't even know it.
Harry had to watch girls, and sometimes boys, swoon over his best friend on a regular basis, baffled by the fact that Ron was completely oblivious to it. It was like the man had no idea how much he captivated the people around him, which, to someone like Harry, who found socialising and being nice to people a tedious task, was a mystery in itself.
The redhead truly had come a long way from the jealous and hot-headed teenager he had once been. He had grown into a confident and strong man, - handsome in that raggedy kind of way that could make him look intimidating, but also very intriguing. And if that wasn't enough, his laid-back, almost carefree demeanour comforted the people around him and made them feel at ease in his presence.
Harry had to admit that Ron was really quite charming and, had he not grown up alongside him and viewed him as part of his family, his affections for the handsome red-head would probably be less brotherly and a lot more, well, romantically inclined.
Clearing his throat, he forced his attention back to the letter in his hand.
"I wanted you to have a look at this."
He gave the parchment to Ron and watched with bated breath, as he waited for the redhead's reaction.
"Blimey." Ron murmured. His ocean eyes snatched up to meet Harry's, wide with shock and amazement.
"Harry, you don't think… Is this.. I mean-" he swallowed. "Do you think this is legitimate?"
Harry let out a deep sigh.
That was the question, wasn't it?
"I don't know." He said honestly. "We know that at least some of it is."
His gaze dropped back down to the letter in Ron's hand, lingering on one line in particular.
3. Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire – Death Eater Headquarters and residence of the Dark Lord, March 1997 – May 1998.'
"I asked Morgan Fenwick from Curse Breaking to look at it before I opened it, and she said that apart from a glamour to preserve the sender's anonymity, there is not a trace of magic on the parchment."
He pulled down his glasses and rubbed his forehead. The headache was getting worse and he was keen to get this meeting over with, so he could go and get himself a strong cup of coffee and a headache cure.
"So, what do you want to do?" Ron asked.
"I think we need to proceed with caution." Harry said. "It could be a trap."
He hesitated.
"But I think we'd be stupid to ignore it."
Ron nodded solemnly.
With another quick flick of his wand, Harry made sure that his privacy spells were still in place, and added a muffliato for good measure, before leaning forward to snatch the letter out of Ron's hand.
"I want you to form a team with our most reliable aurors." He looked down at the parchment and tapped the second line with his index finger. "We ought to check out Yaxley Residency" then moved on to item number four. "- and Selwyn Castle. It's possible that they are being used as hideouts for war fugitives." He gave Ron a grim look. "This means we have to operate under highest security."
Ron nodded to indicate that he had understood.
"And," Harry continued, looking sour. "If the sender of the letter is correct, we missed an entire wing at Mulciber Estate, so we have to go back and check it out. Can you ask Carter to dig up all the paperwork on the case. Her and Montgomery can recruit everyone who was on the team last time and start planning another investigation. If it's true that the original secret keeper is dead, then anyone who reads this letter should be able to see what used to be hidden."
Ron gave another curt nod, snatched Harry's quill out of his hand and reached for a piece of parchment to jot down some heavy-handed notes.
Harry sighed. "I suppose we should also inform the DMLE in Northern Ireland and the Bureau des Aurors in France, that we received several new leads. Maybe even send some of our lot over for reinforcement. Can you ask Leanne Deverill from International Magical Co-operation to come and see me after lunch? I'll need her to help organise a meeting with the respective head aurors."
"Yup." Ron answered, scribbling down another note. "Consider it done."
"Right," Harry leaned back in his chair and exhaled a drawn-out sigh. "I guess that's all we can do for now." He scrubbed his hand across the back of his head and suppressed a pained groan.
"I'll call a meeting first thing tomorrow morning." He added. "Then we can see what everyone's come up with."
Ron blew out a heavy breath and let himself sink against the back of the chair, his freckles looking awfully pale.
There was a moment of silence in which both men stared into space, before Ron looked up, his eyes sparkling with intrigue.
"So…" He began cautiously. "Any idea who might have sent the letter?"
Harry shrugged. "I have a vague idea, but I can't be sure."
Leaning forward, he propped his elbows on his desk and pulled his face into a regretful grimace.
"I filed the paperwork to have the glamour spell removed this morning."
Ron's eyebrows shot up in surprise, which did nothing to still the ever-growing feeling of guilt in Harry's stomach.
Members of the magical community in Britain generally reserved the right of anonymity, which could only be overridden by a few select people. As the Head Auror, Harry was one of those people, but really only in the case of suspected foul play.
In this particular case, the motive of the writer was unclear, and so Harry had to tweak the truth a bit to launch an investigation, while going against his own ethics and feeling incredibly uncomfortable about it in the process. And if that hadn't been enough, it had also caused him a mountain of paperwork to get through.
"I wanted to see if the handwriting matches our records." He explained, his voice heavy with guilt and frustration. "…but it turns out the caster is rather skilled. They have yet to figure out how to lift the glamour."
"Blimey." Ron said again. "But no trace of dark magic?"
Harry shook his head. "None that we know of."
At that moment a silver otter broke through the wall, swirling around them in elaborate circles for a moment, before settling on the desk between them.
"Harry." The otter began to speak in what was unmistakably the voice of a very agitated Hermione. "I'm afraid I won't be able to make it to lunch today. One of our apprentices managed to spill a whole jar of traumatic memories, which, of course, latched on to the closest medium they could find, meaning the staff's brains. It's absolute chaos down here, so I won't be able to get away for the next few hours. I'm really sorry."
Harry and Ron both grimaced at the Patronus with a mixture of sympathy for their friend, and unease at the thought of a bunch of traumatic memories wreaking havoc inside the Ministry.
The silver otter let out a deep, Hermione-ish sigh, allowed itself another playful swirl around the office and then disappeared.
"Yikes." Ron said, scrunching up his face. "Just you and me for lunch then."
Harry nodded. "Looks like it."
Roughly three hours later Harry was walking down the corridor on level nine, clutching a brown paper bag and a disposable coffee cup a little too tightly in his hands as he made his way towards the door to the Department of Mysteries.
He had been working at the Ministry for almost five years, and even now, after all this time, the tunnel-like corridor, with its black tiled walls and blue flaming torches, still had a horribly unsettling effect on him.
As the Head Auror he was authorised to visit the Department of Mysteries whenever he wanted. This was a fairly recent addition to Ministry rules, which had been put in place after a rather shocking case a couple of years prior; where an experiment in the Thoughts Division had got a little out of hand, and had caused a number of subjects to develop severe cases of depression and anxiety. Since then, even the Unspeakables had to file biannual reports on their latest projects and expect regular check-ups from the Bureau of the Regulation for the Ethical Treatment of Magical Beings.
Stepping through the only door at the end of the corridor, Harry found himself in a dark, circular room, that felt eerily familiar. He suppressed a shudder, trying to ignore the onslaught of memories that were pushing to the front of his mind, and closed his eyes.
"Memory Division." He said with as much authority as he could muster, ignoring the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
As soon as he had spoken the words, a door to his right sprang open, admitting a warm, golden glow into the dark room that instantly eased some of Harry's trepidation. Letting out a small sigh of relief, he directed his focus at the bright source of light, took several quick strides towards it, and slammed the door shut behind him as soon as he had crossed the threshold.
The room beyond was the complete opposite to the one he had just left. It was bright and looked almost cosy, illuminated by torches that flickered happily along the wood-panelled walls. The corridor was lined with a long, fluffy rug, from which several smaller aisles split off and lead into rows and rows of tall wooden shelves. Harry was faintly reminded of a library, but instead of books the towering shelves were laden with thousands of small vials filled with a silvery substance. - Memories.
On the other side were several doors along the wall, some of them tightly shut and practically buzzing with the strength of their protective spells and anti-intruder jinxes, others wide open, allowing Harry a glimpse into the rooms beyond, some of which looked similar to muggle laboratories, others more like offices, and even a few that reminded him of the hospital wing at Hogwarts, with comfortable looking beds surrounded by privacy curtains and cosy visitor chairs.
Harry carried on walking, every now and again catching faint whispers, and once even a bright, childlike laughter from one of the aisles. A couple of times he turned around, half expecting a little boy to jump out from behind one of the shelves, only to realise that what he had heard was an echo from the past; a memory that had been left to view in one of the big, ornately carved Pensives that were placed on antique desks between the rows.
"Oh, hi, Mr. Potter." A bright, female voice greeted, and Harry turned around to see a mousy looking witch with dirty blonde hair and big hazel eyes smile up at him. "You're here to visit Miss Granger, I assume?" The girl said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Harry nodded, offering her a friendly smile. "Yes." He confirmed. "Hi Dot."
Dorothy, who preferred to be called Dot, was one of Hermione's new apprentices. She had graduated from Hogwarts only a year ago and was very sweet and incredibly intelligent, but also painfully shy, so Harry always tried extra hard to be nice and encouraging towards her.
"She has just gone back into her office." Dot nodded. "We've had a bit of a stressful morning after Adrian… I mean." She blushed, realising she shouldn't be telling Harry too much about the divisions' work. "Miss Granger should be free now."
Harry nodded. "Hermione told me about the spilled memories."
"Oh, good." Dorothy sighed, looking relieved.
"So, I'm okay to go and see Hermione?" Harry asked and the young witch nodded to confirm.
"Thank you." He winked at her, "I'll see you later."
"Yup." Dot replied, blushing again, before Harry turned around and made his way down to the far end of the room, where he knocked on a large, wooden door with a fancy golden plaque that read "Dr. H. J. Granger".
"Come in." Hermione's voice sounded and Harry couldn't help the little smile that tugged at his lips as he opened the door and entered the office.
"Harry." Hermione looked surprised. "I didn't know you'd be coming."
"Dot said you'd be free."
Hermione smirked. "She has a crush on you, you know?"
Harry could feel his face grow warm. "Don't be silly." He said, shaking his head dismissively. "She's just curious about the whole Chosen One thing."
Hermione laughed. "I don't think it's just that. She seems absolutely smitten with you. It's very endearing actually." Hermione smiled kindly. "And who could blame her? A dashingly handsome wizard like you? It's no wonder she won't shut up about you."
Harry snorted. He was definitely blushing now. In fact, his face was feeling hot enough to fry an egg on it.
"Yeah, well, maybe you should tell her that she's barking up the wrong tree." He grumbled.
"And crush the poor girl's hopes and dreams?" Hermione gasped, clasping her chest in faux shock. "I couldn't do such a cruel thing."
Harry rolled his eyes and feigned annoyance, but was glad to see Hermione's mood had improved, even if it was at his expense.
"Anyway." He lifted the brown paper bag, eager to change the subject. "I brought you lunch. I figured you'd probably be too busy to go and get it yourself. You wouldn't want to miss Italian day. It's the only cuisine the Ministry canteen does well enough."
Hermione huffed out a mixture between a laugh and a sigh, and let herself sink against the back of her chair. "Thank you." She said giving him a wry smile. "That was very thoughtful of you. I'm starving."
Harry shrugged and sat down across from her, starting to unpack the food he had brought and placing it onto the desk in front of her. -A large portion of Penne al'arrabiata, some garlic bread, a small slice of Tiramisu, an apple to add something healthy, and most importantly, a big bar of decadent dark chocolate.
He pushed the sweet treat towards her first. "I thought you'd probably need this."
Hermione's smile grew wider and was almost reaching her eyes now. "Chocolate." She murmured. "Very good thinking." She unwrapped the bar without hesitation, breaking off a generous piece and popping it into her mouth.
"Mmmh" she hummed appreciatively. "I really needed that." She sighed, taking the time to let the treat melt on her tongue.
"Thank you." She said, once she had swallowed. "I just spent the past couple of hours with a vivid memory of being locked up in a small room without windows, a dungeon of some sorts, because I was caught stealing treats from the house elves in the kitchen. It was freezing cold and dark and I was terrified. I kept shouting for someone to let me out, but no one came." She shuddered "Horrible."
Harry frowned. "Who is getting locked up in dungeons?"
Hermione clicked her tongue. "You know I can't tell you that. It's highly confidential." She gave him a meaningful look. "But don't worry. It's an old memory. The donor is doing quite well now, considering their horrible past."
Harry looked at her for a long moment, not entirely convinced.
"You know this falls under domestic abuse and would have to be dealt with." He said cautiously.
"Yes, I'm quite aware, thank you." Hermione said flatly. "As I said. It's an old memory. It was donated to us to use for experimental purposes."
"Experiments?" Harry asked, getting more nervous. "Like… on the subject?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course not." she said, looking slightly offended. "Performing experimental magic on a living subject would be incredibly dangerous and highly unethical." She shook her head. "No, we only use memories that have been professionally extracted from the donor's brain and transported to a Pensive for viewing."
Hermione's eyes began to sparkle excitedly. A type of sparkle that Harry strongly associated with the memory of spending hours in the Hogwarts library with her, researching things that usually went way over his head. The witch's thirst for knowledge had always been unquenchable.
"It's fascinating really." She explained. "We've established that with intensive care through mind-healing therapy, people can instil certain habits and methods to help them cope with their memories of traumatic experiences. But the interesting thing is that once those memories have been dealt with and the healing process begins, the chemical composition of the memory changes." She was practically bouncing in her chair now. "We haven't quite figured out what that means yet, but I think it could be substantial in dealing with post-traumatic stress." She said excitedly.
"Uhm, right." Harry said, feeling distracted. "But going back to that person being shut in a dark room…"
Hermione's face fell and she let out an exasperated groan. "I'm serious, Harry. They are fine." She stated flatly. "They are seeing a mind-healer and are making great progress."
She pulled the bowl of pasta towards her, looking thoughtful. "You know," she carried on, her expression darkening. "I always thought that Voldermort's side was so much better off during the war, safer I guess, but some of the memories I've seen since I started working here are truly unsettling."
Harry made a non-committal noise, but nodded. He had suspected that the memory's owner would have been someone from the other side of the war. Only rich pureblood-families had house elves these days, and the majority of them had supported Voldemort's cause.
He wasn't surprised to hear that they hadn't faired much better than his side growing up. Ron often said that in a way he was lucky to have been raised by a family of blood traitors, because the alternative would have been to be taught 'the old ways', which apparently included strict etiquette training instead of warmth and emotions, and harsh punishments if rules weren't followed.
Harry supposed it must have been vastly different from anything Ron had ever experienced. Molly Weasley was the epitome of motherly warmth and support, and none of the pureblood parents Harry had ever seen interact with their children had come even close to that level of nurturing love. Even Narcissa Malfoy, who Harry new had always loved her son more than anything, had always avoided public displays of affection at all costs.
He let out a deep sigh and, leaning forward in his chair, stole a small piece of Hermione's chocolate, thinking that he could use it just as much as her after the rather eventful morning he had had.
This, of course, didn't go unnoticed by the observant witch and Harry watched with trepidation as her forehead wrinkled with concern.
"Anyway," she said, a slight edge to her voice. "How are you? Everything okay?"
Harry shrugged. He didn't quite know how to answer that.
It was obvious that Hermione thought something was wrong, but he was legally bound to secrecy regarding any information he obtained as Head Auror, and couldn't very well tell her about the letter he had received earlier and how worried he was.
"I guess." He said cagily.
"You guess?" Hermione asked.
Harry pursed his lips, painfully aware that his friend was eyeing him sceptically.
"Yeah," he finally said, lifting a shoulder dismissively. "I just don't like coming here." Hoping that this would suffice as an explanation for his strange behaviour. "I mean, I don't mind this." He gestured around Hermione's office. "But I hate that I have to go through the rest of the department to get here." He suppressed a shudder. "I don't know how you can work here, Hermione. This place gives me the creeps."
"Oh," Hermione said, a sudden understanding flashing across her face. "I'm sorry Harry. I usually forgo the official entrance and floo straight into my office. Sometimes I even forget that we're part of the Department of Mysteries. I'm just here to work. I can ask for permission to add you to the list of people who are authorised to use my personal floo connection if you like?"
"No, it's fine." Harry reassured her. "It's not like I come here often." he smirked. "Unless you were planning on skipping out on lunches with me and Ron more often in the future?"
Hermione smiled softly and shook her head. "Not my plan, no. That reminds me though –" she said, looking nervous all of a sudden. "I was hoping to speak to you and Ron today. I wanted to tell you something, and you are not going to like it."
Harry's stomach churned. "Oh no. What now?"
Hermione huffed out a small laugh. "It's not that bad. I just wanted to forewarn you that…" she hesitated. "well, you know it's my birthday in a couple of weeks."
Harry nodded. Of course, he knew.
"Well, I've decided that I want to invite Malfoy and his friends to my birthday party."
She scrunched up her face like someone who could see a bludger hurl towards them and was waiting for the impact.
Harry stared for a moment, unsure of what to say.
His immediate reaction would have been an exasperated groan, followed by a long and very thorough list of reasons why inviting any of the former Slytherins was a very bad idea. But he swallowed all of that down and sighed instead, knowing that, should he say something against her plans, she would only double down and probably invite every single Slytherin she could find. She was stubborn like that.
"Right." He finally said, trying, but failing to hide his apprehension.
Hermione let out a long breath of relief when it became clear that Harry wasn't going to fight her on it.
"I know you're worried about them being… mean to me." She said, earnestly. "But you know I can handle it, and I really believe that they have changed."
Harry gave her a long, searching look, taking in the fierce determination that was shining in her eyes, accompanied by a small, but radiant glimmer of hope. A hope that Harry truly did not have the heart to snuff out.
"Fine." He caved. "I'll try to be civil with them, but if anything goes wrong -."
"If anything goes wrong, you deserve the right to tell me 'I told you so'." She nodded animatedly. "But I really don't think that will happen. I honestly believe that they want this change just as much as we do, and anyway." she gave him a warm smile. "I'll have my best friend there, who happens to be Head Auror and would never let anything bad happen to me."
Harry returned her smile wearily, a strong feeling of affection for is friend spreading in his chest.
"Well," He said, feeling uncertain. "I hope you're right."
He was almost hoping that Malfoy and his friends would politely decline Hermione's invitation, but if not, he would support her decision. After all, it was her ability to judge a situation correctly that was the reason they all survived the war. If he couldn't trust her, then who could he trust?
"I'm always right." Hermione smirked. "Anyway, can you tell Ron? I was going to tell you both at lunch, but then the accident happened. I think it would be best to tell him soon. …Give him more time to mentally prepare himself for it."
"Sure." Harry agreed, thinking his best friend would probably hate the idea just as much as he did, but knowing that he was less likely to cause a scene if he heard it form Harry first.
Then a sudden thought struck him.
"Uhm…" he began, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Have you told Justin yet?"
Hermione instantly stiffened.
"No, not yet." She said, pulling her lip between her teeth. "He's been away for work." She explained hesitantly. "You know he travels a lot as a rune translator."
"Okay." Harry said, thinking that he probably shouldn't press the matter any further, but then Hermione's shoulders slumped and she let out a disheartened sigh.
"I think I have to break up with him."
Harry's heart sank. He had expected as much.
At first, he had supported Justin's interest in his best friend, even encouraged Hermione to give the besotted man a chance. He had thought that the sociable and quick-witted former Ravenclaw would be good for her, knowing that Hermione had the tendency to grow bored of people very quickly and needed someone who could keep her on her toes. It hadn't escaped his attention however, that in recent weeks the couple had been having problems.
He blamed the current political climate for it.
There was an obvious divide between people and unfortunately it wasn't as black and white as it had been during the war. Good and kind people had suddenly turned angry and hateful. Harry had watched wizards and witches that he considered his friends turn on him and his world views, and unfortunately Justin had been one of them.
He didn't really blame the muggleborn wizard for it. He knew that Justin had been forced into hiding during the war desperate to protect his family, and that his antipathy for the other side ran deep. Hermione had mentioned that he had grown distant lately, spending more and more time with people who shared his sentiment and crushing every attempt she had made to reason with him.
"I'm really sorry, Hermione." Harry said, genuine regret for the witch's sorrow in his voice. "Let me know if there is anything I can do?"
"Thanks, Harry." Hermione acknowledged, offering him a sad, but grateful smile. "I'll be fine. It's been a long time coming, and I know it's better this way… for both of us."
Harry nodded, not really sure how to respond to that. She was right of course, but that didn't mean it would be easy. No breakup was ever easy.
He watched as the witch drew in a long breath through her nose, irritably ran her fingers through her wild locks, and then blew out a deep sigh.
"Anyway…" she said, apparently ready to move on. "I was planning to go over to Slug and Jiggers today – If I ever get away from here, that is. I'll invite Malfoy then."
The thought of that seemed to lighten her mood a little. Harry could see a glint of excitement in her eyes, and instantly felt his stomach clench with foreboding. Sure, he didn't quite share Justin's sentiment when it came to the former Slytherin, - he wanted to believe that Malfoy had changed, - but that didn't mean that he had to trust him.
Swallowing down his apprehension he nodded and forced his lips into a hesitant, but friendly smile.
"Right." He said, stealing another piece of chocolate from the witch's desk. He knew Hermione needed him to support her decision right now, so support is what she would get. "Good luck with that." he smirked, popping the treat into his mouth before standing up. "I'll leave you to it. Let me know how it goes."
"I will." Hermione promised, looking grateful. "Thank you, Harry. - For always having my back."
Harry nodded, hoping that he was doing the right thing, and forced another smile. "Of course."
~Draco~
"Hello, Mr. Edwards." The familiar voice came floating through the open door between the shop area and the brewing room; causing Draco to suck in a sharp breath and accidentally inhale the pungent steam coming from the Pepperup Potion that was currently bubbling in the cauldron in front of him.
He stifled a cough, knocking his fist against his chest several times until the itch in his throat subsided and glanced at the antique clock on the wall. It was 4:23 pm.
When Hermione hadn't arrived at her usual time in the early afternoon, Draco had assumed that she was otherwise occupied and would skip her visit altogether.
After all, she wasn't obligated to visit him every week.
"Ah, Miss Granger. How lovely to see you." Mr. Edwards greeted from behind the counter, voice wobbling with genuine delight. "What can I do for you today?" He asked, chuckling quietly. "Or is it someone else's assistance you require?"
Draco rolled his eyes and swallowed down a groan. The old man had been making assumptions about the nature of his relationship with the witch, ever since she had started visiting regularly.
Why he thought there could ever be something other than friendship between the two was a mystery to Draco. Firstly, the witch was already in a relationship and Draco was not the kind of man to meddle with that. And secondly, despite the fact that his views on muggleborns had changed over the years, he and Hermione still shared a rather difficult past and were only just learning to be civil with each other. There was really no need to read anything into it other than their shared desire to make amends.
He had, of course told Mr. Edwards as much, but the stubborn man had only given him a friendly pat on the shoulder, eyes sparkling knowingly, and said "Of course, my boy. You mustn't let yourself get flustered by an old man's musings."
This had irritated Draco to no end. He? Flustered? Definitely not.
He directed his focus back to the voices beyond the door, listening to Hermione stuttering her way through an awkward explanation of how she was all stocked up on potions and had merely wanted to visit Draco.
He rolled his eyes. He didn't have to see her to know that she had blushed a deep shade of pink and had half a mind to go and rescue her, when Mr. Edwards let out a soft chuckle and said "Of course, dear. I'm only teasing. He's in the brewing room."
"Right." Hermione said, voice shaking with embarrassment. "Of course, he is."
"Yes," Mr. Edwards said. "You know, I would be worried that he spends too much time in there, but I stopped nagging ever since he designed a rather brilliant tincture to help with my pains. As far as I'm concerned, he can use up the entire stock of ingredients if he produces magic like that with it."
The witch let out a surprised gasp. "Oh," she breathed. "You have tried it then?"
"Naturally." The potions master confirmed. "Can't you tell? It works like a charm. I feel like I'm the tender age of twenty-one again."
Draco felt a warm sense of accomplishment as he heard Mr. Edward's feet tap in a quick sequence on the hard stone floor. "See? Fit as a fiddle."
He must have started to dance, because Hermione had suddenly broken into giggles.
Draco smirked, supressing an amused chuckle himself.
"Anyway." The old Potions Master finally chortled. "We mustn't let the young man wait. Off you go, my dear."
The giggling witch thanked Mr. Edward's and Draco had about three seconds to school his face into a neutral expression and act as if he hadn't been eavesdropping, before she entered the room.
"Hi." She breathed, closing the door quietly behind her.
"Hello." Draco replied, a familiar weight settling in his stomach. He was slowly getting used to having her around more, but there was still a lot of awkward tension between them that he hadn't quite yet had the chance to work through. Talking to her always felt like he was fighting his way through a maze of erumpent horns. One wrong move and the whole thing could blow up on him.
He watched as she walked over to the other side of the room, dropped into the chair in front of an old, wooden desk, and let out a deep sigh. She looked tired, paler than normal, and her eyes didn't quite have their usual spark.
"Busy day?" He asked, before checking the Pepperup Potion and adding a dash of powdered Bicorn horn.
Hermione sighed. "You have no idea." She rubbed her eyes wearily. "We had a bit of an accident at work this morning. Took me the better half of the day to get everything back in order."
This piqued Draco's interest. The secretive witch normally avoided talking about her work at all costs. He still wasn't sure what exactly she did; only that she worked for the Ministry of Magic.
"Did anyone get hurt?" he asked tentatively.
She shook her head. "Not physically, no. Although some of my colleagues looked rather traumatised afterwards." She sighed. "Anyway, it's been dealt with and we're all okay. I'm sure everyone will be very careful to not let it happen again."
Draco expressed his sympathy with a rather ungraceful noise that was somewhere between a hum and a throaty grunt, thinking that his mother would be appalled to hear such barbaric sounds from her only son's mouth; especially in the company of a witch with such high social status as Hermione Granger. But then his mother wasn't here, and Hermione kept insisting that she wanted to be his friend, so he might as well behave like he did with all his friends.
He walked over to a worktop on the other side of the room, which was dedicated to brewing tea and coffee, and began to make them both a cup of tea. The little tea station was a fairly new addition to the brewing room, but had already proven useful for those days when Draco got lost in his work and didn't leave the room for hours at a time.
He let the tea steep for a minute; black tea for him, and a fresh herbal blend with floral notes for Hermione. When both teas had finished brewing, he added a dash of milk to his, and a couple of drops of Invigoration Draught to the other. The little tincture had been Madam Pomfrey's specialty at Hogwarts and Draco had only slightly adjusted the recipe for his personal use.
"Here, drink this." He said, levitating the second mug over to the exhausted looking witch.
Hermione's eyebrows knitted with suspicion as she caught the mug with both hands. "What is it?"
"Tea." Draco said. "With a dash of Invigoration Draught." He shrugged. "Thought you could use it after your disastrous day at the Ministry."
"Right." Hermione's voice quavered as she sniffed the beverage cautiously.
Draco let out an exasperated sigh. "Granger," he informed, trying not to sound too offended. "I promise, if I wanted to poison you, I would be much more subtle about it. Just drink the damn tea."
"Right." The witch repeated, looking abashed. "I'm sorry, old habit." She dipped her nose down to give the hot liquid another sniff and closed her eyes for a moment, before taking a small sip. "Mmmh," she hummed, licking her lips happily. "It's delicious! What kind of tea is it?"
Draco shrugged, pleased to see that her cheeks were slowly returning to their usual colour.
"Longbottom sent it over with the last batch of powdered Spleenwart that I ordered from him. It's one of Lovegood's blends." He picked up the small metal tin to read from the label. "It's supposed to 'invigorate the soul, mind and body'."
Hermione smiled. "I should have known. Luna makes the best herbal teas."
Draco hummed in agreement, then returned to preparing ingredients for his Pepperup Potion, while Granger sipped her tea in silence.
When Hermione had first started to join him on Monday afternoons, he had felt compelled to keep talking to her; determined to avoid any uncomfortable silences. But he quickly realised that the witch didn't expect him to entertain her at all. She seemed quite happy to sit and watch him work on his potions; and the quiet moments between them had slowly shifted from awkward to something warm and familiar. Like a mutual understanding they had reached. It felt much easier than having to fight their way through yet another polite conversation that felt far to forced and rigid.
He was halfway through cutting up the Mandrake root into perfectly even cubes, when he realised that Hermione wasn't watching him as usual and instead was fidgeting nervously with the empty mug in her hand.
When he looked up to meet her gaze, she smiled, placed down the mug and got up.
"So…" she said, approaching the table he was currently working on. "What are you making?"
"Pepperup Potion." Draco replied. "We'll be entering flu season soon and I want to be stocked up."
"That makes sense." She said quietly, casting a curious look at all the ingredients he had laid out.
Draco nodded, before continuing the preparation of his Mandrake root. He knew the witch was counting the ingredients in her head and comparing them to the recipe for Pepperup Potion that she had memorised from her old school book. She was always keen to find the subtle differences between Draco's potions and the standard recipes that everyone knew. He gave her another moment to finish her analysis, but grew restless, when he noticed that her gaze had landed on his hands, where she watched him handle the small paring-knife with such intensity that he could feel his palms grow sweaty.
Raising his eyebrows questioningly at her, he paused his chopping and put down his knife. She looked like she was working herself up to say something.
"Need to get something off your chest, Granger?" He asked, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "Don't hold back on my account."
"I… well." She began, clasping the edge of the worktop so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. "There is something I wanted to ask you."
"Oh?" He said, throat feeling tight. He could feel the nervous tension roll off her, in return causing his own stomach to clench with apprehension.
She took a step back, a bashful look on her face, and ran an anxious hand through her chestnut curls.
"I.." she muttered, worrying her lip. "I'm turning twenty-five next Sunday."
"Oh." Draco said again, unsure of where she was going with this. "That's ... nice." he finished lamely.
That's nice?
Merlin's saggy balls! What a stupid response. Had he really survived a war, faced monsters and murderers and lived with the Dark Lord himself, just to die from embarrassment while trying to have a conversation with Hermione Granger? What had happened to all those social skills that had been drilled into him from a very young age? He should be able to navigate a conversation like this with ease, considering how much practice he had had at small talk in the past; but instead he found himself reduced to a stuttering mess.
"Yes." Hermione confirmed, the corner of her lips twitching slightly. His obvious embarrassment seemed to boost her confidence, and her stance grew less rigid, as she lowered her hands to the table between them and fished a small flower from the pile of dried Jewelweed in front of her.
"I'm planning a little celebration for Saturday next week." She carried on. "Nothing big, just a small get-together with friends."
Her gaze dropped as she took an unusual amount of interest in the delicate flower in her hand. She twirled the brittle stem between her fingers, observing the unique trumpet shape of the small blossom as if she was trying to memorise it for a test.
"Anyway," she finally said, "I was hoping you -, I mean." Her grip tightened, essentially crushing the little flower between her fingers. "I was wondering if you wanted to come?"
There was a moment of silence in which Draco gaped at her. He must have misheard. Surely, she hadn't just invited him to her birthday celebration?
"You want me to come to your birthday party?" he asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice.
"Yes." She replied, finally looking up to meet his gaze. She looked nervous, yet determined; a light crease forming between her eyebrows as she chewed on her bottom lip.
He took a moment to observe her, trying to gauge her level of sincerity, while she was patiently waiting for his response with big, expectant eyes. His stomach gave a jolt as he watched the soft shades of brown sparkle with hope and immediately felt the urge to accept her invitation, but he couldn't for the life of him imagine why she would want him there with all her friends and family. - Friends and family that would no doubt disapprove of having an ex-death eater in their midst.
He shook his head softly, sucking in a shaky breath as he prepared himself to deliver the blow.
"You don't have to do that." He dropped his gaze, unable to look at her any longer. He didn't want to watch her big, brown eyes fill with disappointment. He couldn't.
"I know I don't have to." Hermione said quietly. "I want to. There's a difference, Malfoy. I want you to be there."
She ran her hands through her hair, twisting and winding her wild curls around her fingers, as she waited for his answer.
When he didn't reply she tried again. "Please say you'll come?"
Draco couldn't help but feel a little taken aback by the pleading tone in her voice. It was clear that this was important to her.
Drawing his bottom lip between his teeth he took a few moments to contemplate his options. He could say no, which would probably disappoint the witch and cause a huge setback in his attempts to form any sort of friendship with her; or he could say yes, which would make Hermione happy, but meant that he would have to endure an evening that, he knew, would most likely be very unpleasant for him.
"What about your other friends?" he asked wearily. "Won't they be upset with you for inviting me?"
She shrugged, her face turning stony. "It's my birthday and I want to celebrate it in a way that makes me happy. If people don't like it, they can always leave."
"Granger,…" Draco began again, but stopped as she shook her head with fierce determination.
"No, Malfoy!" she insisted. "I promise my friends will behave. I have already told Harry that I want to invite you and he said he's okay with it."
That took Draco by surprise and for a moment he just stared at her, failing to find a suitable comeback to the fact that the Chosen One himself seemed to support the witch's controversial decisions.
"Say you'll come?" Hermione pleaded again, pulling her lips into a petulant, but adorable pout. "Please?"
Draco had the sudden urge to laugh at the witch's sullen expression, thinking that she looked utterly endearing, but caught himself just in time.
Rolling his eyes instead he let out a deep sigh. "Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are?"
Hermione's mouth pulled into a wide smile. "All the time." She grinned. "Does that mean you're coming?"
Shaking his head in disbelief at the witch's antics, he finally conceded. "Yes, Granger. I'll come to your bloody birthday party."
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Hi :) I just wanted to say a quick thank you to those who always comment on this story (you know who you are). Thank you so much! I really appreciate your support and love to read about all your thoughts and speculations.