cnf, the cake is for you!
"It is good," he admitted, taking another bite of a chocolate haupia cake. Granger clicked her tongue in a display of annoyance.
"Well don't be so surprised!" she said, bristling. "Baking is chemistry, chemistry is just potions, and I was top of my class in potions."
"No, you weren't."
"Yes. I was." Her pouty moue was transforming into a rather dangerous expression.
He paid it no heed and countered in a haughty voice, "All marks were public, Granger. In potions, mine exceeded yours most years."
"By a fraction of a percent and only because of blatant favoritism from that slimy git of a professor!" she snapped, eyes narrowing. "That doesn't count! Therefore, I had top marks in that class, as well as all others."
He just grinned at her, mouth full. Her feathers were so easy to ruffle. He took another bite, idly gazing at the guest sitting across from him. She was dressed in a pair of slacks and a cream blouse underneath a set of robes, her bushy hair now restrained back into a ponytail. Resting comfortably in a plush armchair, underneath which she had placed her purse, she looked surprisingly at home in this sitting room. It was one of several dispersed throughout the Manor's vast area; small, cozy, and bathed in a warm light from a lit fireplace, it offered an intimate setting.
Granger, holding a plate in one hand, speared a piece of cake with a fork and popped it into her mouth, apparently satisfied with getting the last word. She fell silent, and he mused at what his father would say seeing a muggleborn in such a position, her very presence defiling the pureblood family estate. He would probably have had a stroke, but Draco didn't care anymore. The events of the last half-decade made him realize that Granger's heritage wasn't that important; after all, she wasn't a muggle - she was a witch! Damn good one too, but he'd never voice that opinion aloud. He still had his pride.
"He was a brave man, though," she added with sudden somberness, bringing Draco back to the present. "Brilliant potions master and a dedicated lecturer. Hated pretty much the whole world. But so very, very brave."
Her words struck a chord in his heart; after all, Snape had been the source of his salvation as well. It was difficult to fathom that the man who taught them both for years had concealed such a remarkable side to his identity. Not just from his students and colleagues, no - from Voldemort himself. He had deceived a master of legilimency and the dark arts; a man that would kill and torture without a grain of remorse. And all for what? To honor the memory of a girl that grew to love someone else. It was sheer chance that his true story was now known.
Life is funny that way. Sometimes, we know the least about the people closest to us, and when they're gone, we're left picking up shards of memories in a shocked daze. Draco had never properly mourned the loss of his professor; he had been busy with his own trial, and then the hardships of life under the new ministry.
He wondered if anyone grieved for the former Head of Slytherin House. The man had no family that he could recall of and no real friends. To be friends with Snape - now that was a thought.
Draco rose and walked over to a liquor cabinet, shooting a questioning look towards his guest. At her acquiescing nod, he poured two shots of a clear liquid and brought them back.
"To Snape," he said, offering her a glass.
"To Snape," she echoed.
The vodka was top shelf and went down smoothly. Still, Granger was obviously not as adjusted to hard liquor as he was; she coughed, waving a hand in front of her face. He chuckled suddenly.
"Oh, shut it, I stick to wine, usually," she admitted, a slight rosy blush coloring her cheeks.
"No, it's not that. I was remembering… He had his moments, you know? Like in fourth year, when you got hit by that hex, and your teeth expanded to the size of a beaver's." Draco was grinning ear-to-ear now, unable to conceal his mirth. "Then he looked at you with that icy gaze of his, said, 'I see no difference,' and you scampered away, bawling your eyes out."
She just stared at him, aghast that he would bring up that particular memory, then yelled accusingly, "You shot the curse that did that to me, you git!"
"Technically, I shot it at Potter, and it ricocheted into you."
"That doesn't make it any better!"
"It did make it hilarious, though," he countered, his eyes glittering with laughter.
She huffed and glared, drawing herself up to an indignant pose.
"Well, I had Madame Pomfrey reduce them to a much better size, anyway," she informed him victoriously. "So you actually did me a favor."
He snorted and said, "Well, if that's what you count for a favor, Granger, ask away any time. I'll be happy to oblige."
"Careful, Malfoy, you just might get what you're wishing for."
He raised his brows, but she waved his silent question away and looked out the window. There, the sun had just dipped below the horizon, and several pale stars, like lonely beacons in a stormy sea, flickered in a rapidly darkening sky. It was getting colder every day; soon, winter would reign supreme over these lands, locking them in its snowy embrace.
"I've noticed the investigation into your disappearance is still ongoing," Draco said, breaking the momentary silence.
Without turning her gaze from the window, she nodded.
"You do know that the ministry has been using it as an excuse for more aggressive action against many pureblood families?" he continued hotly. "That there has been a staggering increase in unprovoked asset seizures, inspections, sanctions and fines?"
"Some people deserve it," she murmured cooly, not breaking her gaze away.
"But many don't! I thought justice was your passion; freeing the oppressed, fighting for the innocent and all that crap? But you don't really care, do you? I heard what you were screaming at some memory of Bellatrix just half an hour ago! There's a darkness in your soul, Granger, admit it."
She pursed her lips, but didn't say anything.
"Do your friends know this?" he pushed on. "About who you really are? How you've changed from that goody Gryffindor taking on house-elf rights with your silly spew? How you don't give a shit about anyone-"
"I do give a shit, Malfoy!" she yelled. "I know what the ministry is doing, and, you're right, much of it isn't just! Half the officials are crooks, profiteering from their positions of sudden power. Most of them didn't even fight in the war; they just sat behind locked doors, quivering from fear! But now that Voldemort's gone, oh, now they're brave! Now they can stand up for the rights of muggleborns - for my rights - and punish all the bad, prejudiced purebloods, getting their slice of pie in the process. I bet you only a quarter of those fines goes into ministry coffers; the rest is just stolen."
"Well, you could put a stop that!"
"No! I can't! Not right now, anyway," she answered fiercely, reaching for her purse and clutching the straps so hard that her knuckles turned white.
"You haven't figured it out, have you?" he guessed. "Why you ended up obliviated? You think it's someone here, someone in the ministry maybe."
She tensed a little, giving him an appraising glance, then looked away, biting her lip. Slowly, her arm crept into the purse and withdrew a small glass bottle filled with a clear liquid. She cautiously placed it on the table in front of her and pushed it in his direction.
Draco inhaled sharply. He had a very strong suspicion of what type of potion swirled within.
"So, then," he sneered, "this wasn't just a social call, was it. All that bullshit about a thank you, that little spectacle upstairs-"
"Was real, Malfoy. Spur of the moment, but real. And I am grateful."
"Then what the hell is this?!"
"You asked some questions. This is your opportunity to get the answers."
"By drugging myself?!" he yelled, rising to his feet. "I've lost my wand, not my brains!"
"Sit down, Draco! Yes, it is veritaserum, and, no, I won't force you to take it! But it is in your best interest to do so! You're part of a much larger play right now, and you don't even know it," she retorted quickly. "Harry, Ron and I have a proposition for you. Please, listen to me."
Grinding his teeth together, Draco stared at the witch. That she had the audacity to suggest veritaserum to him - in his own home, no less! - was infuriating.
"Why the hell would I agree to any propositions you and your crazy troupe have for me?"
Granger sighed heavily and reached into her purse again. This time, she plopped a heavy manila folder onto the dark wood of the coffee table.
"Your case file," she stated, "from the ministry. It was an enlightening read."
He stared at the papers strewn out over the tabletop, while conflicting emotions of curiosity and wrath warred within the confines of his mind. Slowly, the latter waned, and he sat back down, crossing one leg over the other.
"Speak," he ordered.
She pierced him with an icy glare, angered by the commanding tone, but then cleared her throat and bluntly said, "You're not happy, Malfoy, and we can change that."
"How?"
"As I've said, I studied your file. As part of your probation, you were forced to an assigned employment position in the muggle world. The theory was that working close to muggles would help you develop an understanding of them and become more tolerant. Has that worked?"
"I hate them all," he snarled. "Dirty, vapid, consumeristic creatures that have no respect for authority or their betters."
Granger, obviously expecting a negative reply, was still taken aback by his vehemence.
"Well, we will leave that conversation for later," she muttered under her breath and then, louder, "I can't say I'm too surprised though. Harry spoke to your caseworker - one Dorothy Peps - in order to obtain your file. Described her as the pettiest, nastiest witch he'd encountered after the war, and that's saying something. You have to deal with her every single week. Has it been pleasant?"
His eye twitched. Even the mention of that foul woman was a danger to his health. Granger, pleased with his reaction, continued.
"She was also put in charge of your employment situation; to put it bluntly, she tells you where to work, and you have no choice in the matter. When I explained to Ron what McDonald's was, he almost pissed himself laughing. Imagine that: the pureblood scion, heir to all this opulence," she waved her arm to indicate their lavish surroundings, "has to work 8-hour shifts, 7 days a week, serving greasy fast food to muggles. I have to admit, even I would have been driven crazy-"
"Alright, cut the shit, Granger!" Draco exploded. "I know my life sucks, what are you offering?"
"You submit to my questioning under veritaserum to ascertain your innocence, you assist in apprehending the criminals that caused my troubles, and, in return, we get you a full pardon. No more trips to muggle London, no more 'vapid, consumeristic muggles' in your life, and, most importantly, we get you your wand back."
His eyes widened at that last part, and Granger smirked, which made her look devious, a term he had never associated with the bushy-haired know-it-all.
"That's right," she said. "The ministry confiscated your wand shortly after the last battle, so you haven't been able to do any magic for what - almost four years now? Not having access to something you've grown up all your life with, something that is the cornerstone of your identity - that must be some itch you're carrying."
He licked his lips, shivers racing down his spine. The very thought of having a wand back in his possession, of being able to cast spells again like any normal wizard, was driving him crazy already.
"What would my assistance entail?" he asked cautiously, forcing his voice to sound steady.
"You travel with me, following my orders. Then, we catch the bastard responsible and Avada him. Quick and easy."
"Just like that?" he asked, raising his brows in surprise. "No trial? No Azkaban?"
Granger just shrugged, tapping her fingernails against the table. The sound that came out was oddly reptilian and sinister. She didn't answer anything; obviously, she wasn't going to elaborate without questioning him first. He spent the next minute mulling over what she'd told him and then frowned.
"I don't understand why you need me, Granger," he said. "You have Potter and Weasley. Have them open an investigation; after all, you have the force of the entire ministry behind you."
"The second we do that, we scare those involved into hiding," she countered, shaking her head. "For the same reason, Harry and Ron haven't informed anyone of my return, which technically makes them guilty of obstructing their own investigation. No, this is off the books, where they won't see us coming. Which is why I can't take either of them with me-"
"Because their sudden absence from the auror department would be suspicious," he followed up.
"Right."
"Still, why me?"
"I need a partner, and the amount of people that know I'm back is extremely limited. You're one of five, and, without you, I would still be stuck in muggleland. Also, you're already involved."
"By finding you on that train?"
"No. Well, yes, that too, but…" Dipping her hand into her purse, she pulled out another piece of parchment. From the looks of it, it had once been crumpled and then smoothed out. She passed it to him.
"Malfoy No Wand In," he read aloud slowly, having trouble making out the words. "Merlin, what atrocious penmanship. Who wrote this?"
"I did," Granger responded somewhat defensively. "That is my handwriting when I'm in a terrible rush. I don't remember when I wrote this, but I must have barely had the time to scribble down those four words and then send the letter to myself. This is important, it involves you, and we don't know why."
"So, you also want me along in order to keep an eye on me," he deduced.
"There is that too." There wasn't a shred of guilt in her voice at that admission.
"These words mean nothing to me," he scoffed, shifting in his seat.
"And I'd prefer to hear that under veritaserum."
He hesitated, folding his hands into a pyramid. Could he do this? Follow Granger to fight some dark wizard? He'd be stuck with her for months, possibly.
"You'll have your wand back," she sang.
That was true, and, oh, how he ached to hold it in his grip. But what she was proposing - it could be dangerous.
"No more muggles," her voice had a sudden dreamy, hypnotic quality. "No more burgers, french fries, and fat, self-absorbed customers…"
By Juno, how he hated them. Self-righteous aresholes, the lot of them, and you couldn't tell anyone to sod off, because, apparently, the customer was always right. Who came up with that lunacy?! More proof that muggles were the inferior species.
"...and no more Dorothy Peps!"
That sealed the deal.
"Alright," he growled, slamming his palms on the table. "Give me your fucking truth-drug!"
She looked entirely too pleased with herself.