QLFC Round 6: Game of Thrones
Chudley Cannons
Seeker
Prompt: Songs of Ice and Fire - The Song of the Seven. This is a children's song about six of the benevolent aspects of the god of Westeros. The seventh aspect, called the Stranger, was excluded, likely due to their association with death and the unknown.
Word Count: 2016
Hermione collapsed into her office chair with a grateful sigh. It had been a long morning, and she was desperately in need of a quiet moment.
After working for the Ministry for well over a decade, internally debating for years, and being encouraged by all her friends for the last few months, she had officially announced her campaign to be the next Minister for Magic last week. Hermione had been the Senior Undersecretary for Kingsley for the last two years, and he'd told her when she started in the position that he wanted her to take his place. She'd felt daunted by the request at first, but gradually had become excited by the prospect.
Now, she just had to get through her campaign alive.
"Chair, massage shoulders."
Hermione's office chair had been a very expensive thirtieth birthday present to herself, which had proved itself worth every Galleon just for the massage spells on it alone, and she had taken naps in that chair that had been just as good as a full night of sleep.
She was well on her way to falling asleep when there was a brisk knock at her office door.
"Come in," Hermione called, shaking off the claws of sleep.
"I've brought tea," Susan Bones said as she entered and set a full mug in front of Hermione.
"You're the best campaign manager of all time."
Susan laughed. "I'll remind you of that later."
Hermione was sure she would need to, at some point. Contentedly sipping on her tea, she raised her eyebrows questioningly at Susan, sure that she had stopped by for more than just tea.
"I've got an update on fundraising," Susan began, and Hermione groaned. Her least favorite part of campaigning was asking people for money. Thankfully, she'd been getting a fairly steady stream of smaller donations, and about half a dozen large donations already, mostly from people she'd expected - Harry, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, The Quibbler, the Holyhead Harpies, Neville, and Professor McGonagall.
"We had this donation request come in earlier, and it's a little odd." Susan handed her a piece of parchment.
Hermione glanced over it quickly, eyes widening when she saw the donation amount.
"This can't be real!" she cried. "They want to donate ten thousand pounds? Who is this from?"
"It's some muggle law firm, apparently," Susan shrugged. "I can't figure out how they're connected to the wizarding world, but they must be if they managed to send us this."
"A muggleborn, perhaps?" Hermione mused.
"That seemed the most likely to me," Susan said. "I couldn't find out who the owner is, though."
Hermione looked over the donation form again, considering what she should do. The Ministry required campaigns to report large donations like this, and while this donation would obviously help her campaign quite a bit, she wasn't sure she wanted to accept a sum this large from someone unknown.
"I'll owl them," Hermione decided. "I'd like to at least know who this person is before we accept the donation."
"That's exactly what I thought you'd say," Susan smiled. "I'll leave that to you, then, and I'll get back to setting up your next public appearance."
"I'm looking forward to it," Hermione said dryly. Susan just laughed at her as she left.
Hermione considered the form again when she had her office to herself, and finally pulled out some blank parchment and wrote a brief note declining the donation unless they were willing to disclose their identity. She didn't overthink it too much, and sent it off with her owl as soon as she'd finished.
Hermione hadn't expected a reply until the next day, at least, and she was surprised to see an owl flap into her open office window, drop a letter on her desk, and fly directly back out just as she was packing up to leave for the day. She finished getting her things together and then decided to take the letter home with her.
She felt very curious about what it said, and even the short Floo trip home was too long. Hermione sat down on her sofa to open the letter as soon as she'd kicked her shoes off and dropped her bag.
Ms. Granger,
I cannot share my identity.
Hermione was disappointed, but continued to read.
However, I would like you to become acquainted enough with me that you feel you can accept my donation, because I am wholeheartedly in support of your becoming the next Minister for Magic.
They went on to express their opinions on several of the policies that made up her platform, and while they were in support of most of them, they also offered some criticisms. Their letter ended with a simple Sincerely, D.B.
"D.B.," Hermione said quietly to herself. She couldn't think of anyone she knew with those initials. At any rate, the letter was well written, and Hermione felt compelled to write them back and dispute the points they had made, even if she agreed with some of them.
"Is it Mysterious Rich Donor again?"
Hermione dropped the parchment as if it were on fire, and blushed at being caught.
"Yes," she said defensively, "but I'll have you know, I never would have been able to counter McLaggen so well at the debate if I hadn't already argued about it with D.B."
"Oh, arguing, is that what we're calling it, now?" Susan laughed. "Relax, Hermione, I'm not trying to accuse you of anything."
"But?" Hermione could tell Susan had something else to say.
"Don't you think it's about time to accept his donation? You've been writing him for weeks now."
"I still don't know who he is," Hermione insisted.
"Maybe we don't know his name, but at least from what you've told me, we know enough to be comfortable taking his money!"
Susan's outburst was unexpected. Hermione had hardly ever heard her raise her voice. She stared at her campaign manager in astonishment.
"I'm sorry," Susan sighed. "It's just that you've been talking to him for so long, and it's not that we're especially tight on money, but it seems silly to me to not take his donation at this point."
"I see." Hermione supposed she did know quite a bit about D.B., just from things he'd written or had been implied. He was a man approximately her age, he was widowed with a young son, his family had been on the wrong side of the war, and his law firm was a nonprofit.
Susan probably had a point, and yet she was still hesitant.
"You know," Susan said, "if you really need to know who he is, we have his business address. It was on the donation form."
Hermione looked at her in surprise. "Are you telling me I should go spy on him? How devious of you, Susan!"
"It's just a suggestion," Susan smiled. "Keep up with him as just a quill pal if you like, but please sign this paperwork, first?"
She dropped a small stack of parchment on Hermione's desk.
"I've put tabs on the spots you need to sign; just bring it all back to me when you're done!"
"Devious and cruel!" Hermione cried.
"How do you think I became the best campaign manager of all time?" Susan said as she left Hermione's office with a laugh.
Susan was never going to let that go, Hermione thought ruefully as she started autographing the lines Susan had marked.
On her way out of the Ministry, Hermione paused a few meters away from the Floo. She'd been thinking about Susan's suggestion all afternoon, and had been debating following through with it all afternoon. Hermione pulled the donation slip out of her pocket and looked at the address one more time, then over the Floo.
Mind made up, she gripped the parchment tightly in her hand and Apparated away.
Hermione found the building easily, and the directory on the first floor put the law firm's offices on the second floor. She took the stairs, and spotted the door just down the hall. She hadn't really planned what she was going to do, as it had been an impulsive decision to come here, but she couldn't just barge in there. Perhaps she would just walk past very slowly, Hermione thought. The doors looked like they were clear glass, so she could glance in and try to see something.
Before she even got close enough to look in, a small child whose head was barely even with the door handle came barging out. He held onto the door with one hand and shouted back into the office, "Come on, Dad!"
Hermione froze immediately. Could this be D.B.'s child? The boy was thin and pale, with even paler, tousled short hair, and he was bouncing on his toes impatiently. His appearance was eerily similar to another pale blond boy that she had gone to school with, Hermione thought, but that couldn't be right —
Draco Malfoy walked out the door.
Hermione felt as if she'd been immobilized, her hands numb as Malfoy smiled and rubbed his son's head, saying something to him that made them both laugh. She remembered to take a breath all at once a moment later, with an audible gasp that had the other two turning around.
Malfoy's surprised expression would have been comical, in any other scenario, and Hermione saw more than heard him say, "Granger?"
There was nobody else in the hallway. Hermione Apparated home.
She heated up leftovers for dinner in a daze, and poured herself a glass of wine as she sat in front of the telly and didn't pay the slightest bit of attention to the nightly muggle news.
She could hardly believe what she'd just seen. Draco Malfoy at a nonprofit muggle law firm? It seemed improbable. And where was he getting the 'B' in his initials from?
Oh, Hermione realized, Narcissa was a Black. He must be going by that, now. It made sense, along with his working in the muggle world. Anti-Death Eater sentiment had been high, especially in the first few years after the war.
She poured herself another glass of wine when she remembered he'd married Astoria Greengrass, who had died a few years ago of an incurable magical blood disease. Then she had a third glass for good measure, and then she was pretty much almost done with the bottle so she finished it off.
The next day Hermione was absolutely miserable. She'd taken a Hangover Cure, but it must have been sitting in her cabinet for a while, because her head still felt a bit foggy and every so often she'd get a random stabbing pain in her temples. She managed to work all the way through lunch without stopping, keeping her mind off of Malfoy and trying to ignore the remnants of her hangover.
She was finishing off a bag of crisps and going over some campaign materials Susan had prepared for her when there was a knock on her office door.
"Come in!" Hermione called, not bothering to look up.
"You dropped this yesterday."
It was Malfoy. He held out the donation slip in his hand.
"Thank you," Hermione said automatically, taking the parchment from him. "How did you get in?" She could have kicked herself after she'd spoken — it wasn't as if Malfoy were banned from the Ministry.
"Notice-me-not charm," Malfoy said casually, apparently unbothered. "It's not like anybody wants to see me, anyway."
Hermione didn't know what to say to that, but he probably wasn't wrong.
"Look, I understand if you don't want to take the donation." Malfoy looked down towards the floor. "It's perfectly understandable, and I am sorry for deceiving you — and, I suppose, for everything else I ever did."
Hermione was speechless at this.
Malfoy shook his head. "Anyway, you're going to be the best Minister the wizarding world has ever had."
He turned to go, and had reached the door before Hermione found her voice.
"Wait," she called. He glanced back at her. "I'll accept your donation, and… perhaps a friendship, as well?"
Malfoy smiled.