Malfoy was late.
Hermione's foot bounced anxiously. Fear bloomed in her gut. The last thing he needed was to be marked out of compliance, especially so early in his record.
A knock.
Hermione's head whipped towards the double-doors, hoping he had arrived — and with a good explanation, to boot. Alas, when the hinges creaked, it was only Millicent peeking in.
"No sign of him yet," said the handler.
"You're sure?" Hermione asked. "Perhaps you took a loo break and missed him?"
"I've not been to the loo all night. He's not here, Granger."
She wanted to strangle him. Already, she had lied on his behalf. She'd broken protocol just so he felt less like an animal. She'd even defended him when Harry had questions.
The least he could do was show up.
"Right . . . Yeah, all right. Thanks, Millicent."
The other witch gave her a nod and stepped back into the hallway, blind to Hermione's irritation. Hermione decided that was for the best: Millicent could never know of the sacrifices she made on Malfoy's behalf. She also decided she wouldn't be taking any more risks for him. Whatever she had done before was history — poor decisions she was determined never to repeat.
She looked down at her watch — again. The minute hand struck six.
He was officially thirty minutes late.
The session form burned against her fingertips, pulling her gaze towards it. She pressed her lips together, staring down the two tick-boxes that nested just beneath his name.
Present , said one.
The other: Absent .
Her pen hovered over the latter for what felt like hours. That was the box she needed to mark, after all. Clearly, he had no intention of coming in for his session.
She continued to stare at the checkless squares, almost as though Millicent may barge in at the last second, dragging him by his chains, impermeable to his unavoidable insults and slew of swear words.
But she didn't.
Hermione lowered her pen to the parchment. She ticked the wrong box.
The Hog's Head was abuzz.
After several long, frustrating weeks on the night shift, Hermione was rather looking forward to an evening out with her friends. In fact, she was in desperate need of it. Loneliness was starting to pull her into its undertow, a natural side-effect of her late office hours and dwindling social life.
The cycle of clients and awkward interactions with Millicent were growing stale.
She missed Friday lunches with Harry — and coffee chats with Corner. She missed small talk in the bathroom with women she barely knew. She even missed dodging memos and office politics and insulting McLaggen behind his back. Sometimes, when she felt most alone — those hours when stars twinkled on the ceiling above and the only sound was that of her own pen — she sometimes cast little charms to recreate the white noise of the day. Sliding file drawers and clattering tea jars, slamming books and ruffling parchments.
It was the sort of thing someone might do when they were going mad.
Sometimes, she wondered if she was.
"Oi! Hermione!"
A hand waved above the heads of the seated patrons, and Hermione stood on her tiptoes to pin him in the crowd.
It wasn't much of a challenge. His shocking red hair glowed like fire in the soft candlelight, and he was every bit himself, sporting a goofy grin and ale that frothed over the brim of his mug. A lithe woman in black sat beside him, disinterest in her pinched features, red wine in hand.
Hermione nearly groaned at the sight of her.
Still, she promised Harry she would be there, so it was too late to leave. She straightened her posture and crossed the room. One night of cordiality wouldn't kill her — so long as others behaved.
"Long time no see," she said, reaching in for a hug.
Ron's arm coiled around her — lazily, platonically, performatively. The embrace was, in every way, a show for the woman that accompanied him.
This is friendship, nothing more, it said.
While the message was true enough, Hermione didn't care to be a part of his little production. If Pansy Parkinson didn't yet realize she had him wrapped around her finger, there was no amount of guarded gestures that could convince her.
"Yeah, we've been a bit busy lately." He sounded bright — happy even. "Been following the Cannons this season — traveling all over the country . . . Been mad, it has."
"Wow. Very nice," Hermione said stiffly, taking the seat to his left. The further from Pansy, the better.
"Try absolutely wicked — we stayed in a castle just last week!" he babbled. "Pansy's family's got connections with the league, you know."
"Do they?"
"It's actually quite impressive, the things she manages. One owl and we've got box seats all season."
"Box seats," Hermione repeated. She was trying with every ounce of herself not to sound as venomous as she was feeling. "Sounds posh."
Pansy took a swig of her wine. "There's nothing posh about a Quidditch game."
"It is too posh," Ron said, wounded. "Merle Chimwurt owled us those passes. Merle Chimwurt! "
Hermione had no idea who Merle Chimwurt was, nor she did she care to. By the way Pansy rolled her eyes, she could only assume they had finally found something in common: a mutual distaste for Quidditch, paired with a drop of judgment towards Ron for his obsession with it.
Clearly, it was the start to an inevitable and unbreakable friendship.
Ron cleared his throat. "What about you, though? From what Harry said, seems like you've been pretty busy too."
"I suppose."
"Work stuff?"
Hermione nodded, her expression strained as she waited rather anxiously for Harry and Ginny to make an appearance. On his own, Ron was fine, but with Pansy sitting there, sipping her wine in that arrogant way she did —
"Work stuff, yes," Hermione said tightly. She avoided his eyes and waved at Aberforth, desperate for a drink.
"With the elves?" Ron asked.
"Erm — no." She nodded again, this time at Aberforth as he pointed at the barrel of butterbeer. How predictable was she? "I'm on a er — I'm on a new project."
"But I thought you loved the elves."
"I do. I'm just working on something else now."
"Oh. Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it's brilliant."
That caught Pansy's attention. She glared at Ron, and while she tried to be inconspicuous about it, Hermione certainly noticed.
"It has been quite interesting, actually." It wasn't a lie, per sé . As much as she wanted her old project back, she had to admit that working with vampires was educational.
"Yeah? What d'you have to do?"
"I work with a large portfolio of marginalized clients . . . Mostly it's managing their individual cases and navigating legal framework — I'm essentially their personal representative."
"Sounds important."
Hermione smiled; just a tinge of triumph shone through. Pansy's expression darkened.
"It is."
"Bet you're good at it. Well, you know what I mean, you're good at most things," Ron said. Finally, he noticed the envy radiating from his girlfriend. Panic set in. "Actually, Pansy does a bit of that kind of thing too. Her family's got a charity."
"So I've heard."
Aberforth slid Hermione's drink in front of her. She took an eager swig.
"Right," Ron uttered, his cheeks as crimson as his hair. " Ahem. So er — so what kind of clients are they? War victims or something?"
"Some of them," Hermione answered. "Some of them were around for several wars, actually. I have one that was in Spain during the Crusades."
"The Crusades?"
"They're vampires," she revealed.
He furrowed his brow. "Vampires?"
"Yes."
"But you're terrified of vampires!"
Hermione straightened her posture. "They need representation the same as anyone else."
"Why's it got to be you, though? You remember the boggart in my parents' attic! You hate them!" Ron exclaimed. He nudged Pansy. "It's the only time I ever saw a boggart swap forms every two bloody seconds. Didn't know whether she was more scared of the fangies or —" He stopped himself and flushed. The other form had been Bellatrix Lestrange — and that was a story Hermione did not want him sharing. "Or someone that er — wasn't so nice to her."
Pansy arched a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow.
"That someone wouldn't happen to be me, would it?" she asked slyly, a playful smirk dancing on burgundy lips.
Hermione ignored her. "I'm not afraid of them anymore, Ron. They're . . . misunderstood. I misunderstood them. I know that now."
"Misunderstood," Ron echoed.
"Yes, Ronald. Not everything that's different than you is evil."
"You're the one who —"
"Hi, everyone, sorry we're late."
The voice was feminine and familiar — one Hermione hadn't heard in a number of months. She grinned and turned her neck, praising whatever deity might be watching over her for Harry and Ginny's sudden arrival. Her nose was mere inches from the witch's bulging tummy.
"No need to apologize," she said.
"Someone had to pee four times before we could get out the door," Harry quipped.
"I said sorry." Ginny cradled her stomach and took the stool beside Hermione. She made a face. "This one likes to kick Mummy's bladder!"
"S'fine," Ron replied. He reached past Hermione and touched Ginny's belly. Very soon, it would be yet another Weasley niece or nephew. "Did you two find out what it is yet?"
"Human, hopefully," Harry joked.
"Debatable, considering our genes," said Ginny.
Ron yanked his hand away. "Hey! We have perfectly good genes!"
"Have you seen Percy's baby pictures?"
"Have you seen Percy's recent pictures?" Ron replied.
Ginny snorted. "You're not helping your point, you know."
"Guess not . . . S'pose as long as it doesn't look like him, it'll be fine, though. The rest of us look all right." Ron tilted his head in wonder. "You think it'll be ginger, then?"
"Harry's mum was auburn, so I imagine it's somewhat likely."
"What if his mother wasn't auburn?" Pansy suddenly asked. "What would the odds be then?"
Hermione half-considered smacking the woman, but reached for her drink instead. The transparent little chit was already planning her future heir, hoping with all hopes that there wasn't a chance she would bear a ginger child. Ron deserved better.
"Well, erm — I'm not sure," Ginny answered. "Why?"
"I'd like ours to be redheads, when we have them."
Hermione nearly spit out her butterbeer. Ginny and Harry's eyes glazed over. Ron turned crimson.
"What?" Pansy asked.
"You want to . . . have children with my brother," Ginny said.
That wasn't the part that surprised Hermione. She had seen the way Parkinson ogled at him; for whatever reason, there was no denying that they were in love. But to want a child that actually looked like a Weasley? That was unexpected.
"Yes, obviously," Pansy snapped. "I wouldn't be dating him if I didn't."
"And you want your children to look like we do?"
Pansy raised her chin. "Ronald's hair is a lovely shade, of course I'd want my children to have the same."
Ginny's gaze darted to Hermione, as though to ask: Is she being serious?
It was an unanswerable question.
"Anyway," Ron said loudly, "Hermione got a new job. Tell 'em, Hermione."
"Yeah, vampires," Harry chirped. He seemed just as eager to change the subject. "She told me a few days ago."
" You knew? Why didn't you say anything?"
Harry shrugged. "Wasn't my business to."
Ron took a swig of ale. "Well, now that we all know, can we at least agree it's weird? She's always been terrified of them and suddenly, she's their new babysitter."
"I hardly think that's the weirdest thing about it," Ginny mumbled.
Ron only seemed more flummoxed. "What d'you mean?"
"I mean I'm more interested in the fact she's working with Malfoy, of all people," Ginny said. She raised her eyebrows at Hermione, whose cheeks were quickly filling with heat, though whether it was from anger or embarrassment, she wasn't sure. "I'm dying to know how that's been."
"Wait, since when does Malfoy work for the Ministry?" Ron asked.
"He doesn't," Pansy replied, squinting with suspicion.
"You told her?" Hermione hissed at Harry.
Harry held up his hands, in both surrender and admission. "I'm sorry! She got it out of me!"
"Why is she working with him?" Ron asked, to Ginny, rather than to Hermione, which only annoyed her even further. He finally regarded the latter. "Did you get in trouble or something?"
Hermione closed her eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was have this conversation with all of them there — especially Ron and his pug-faced girlfriend.
"You didn't tell them?" Ginny asked her.
"No, Ginny, I didn't tell them," Hermione muttered, crossing her arms, "and Harry wasn't supposed to tell you. "
"He tells me everything."
"Clearly."
Pansy's sharp curiosity was too insatiable to end it there. "What is it about Draco that you're not telling us, Granger?"
"It's nothing."
"No, it's not nothing," Pansy pressed, "or else you wouldn't be so worked up about it."
Hermione's head was starting to spin. Public information or not, she had a duty to her client. She couldn't tell them. She had already overstepped by telling Harry.
"Seriously, it's —"
"Malfoy's a vampire," Ginny cut in. "As of a few weeks ago."
"What?" Pansy and Ron shrieked in unison.
"Probably good you know, Parkinson, since you're friends with him and all."
A crease had formed between Pansy's over-plucked eyebrows. Confusion and betrayal and fear glittered in her pupils, but they were outlined with disbelief. She shook her head.
"No, Draco couldn't . . . He's not . . ." Her attention darted towards Hermione. "She's lying!"
Hermione maintained her silence.
"She wouldn't lie to Harry, and Harry wouldn't lie to me," Ginny went on. "Best you keep your distance from him, you two. Wouldn't want to find out my brother and future sister-in-law were killed and left in an alley somewhere."
Pansy held her stare on Hermione.
"Is it true?" she asked.
Still, Hermione said nothing. It wasn't her answer to share.
"If you really want to know, there's a public list," Harry said, in a rather desperate attempt at damage control. "Just request it from the Ministry, anyone can do it."
"No," Pansy said firmly. She crossed her arms. "I want to hear it from her mouth."
Hermione was cornered. She glanced from Pansy to Ron, a silent plea for Ron to come to her aid. But he didn't. He simply stared back, his mouth ajar, just as addled as his girlfriend was.
"I erm — I need to go to the loo," she mumbled, standing.
"I'll come with you," Pansy said, matching her height. Her tone was vicious; she wasn't going to let it go.
All Hermione could do was protest, but she was running out of excuses. Perhaps, she'd just go home. It almost seemed like the best option.
Harry spoke before she had to.
"How about we all slow down a little," he suggested. "So what if Malfoy's a vampire? Remus was a werewolf and we liked him plenty."
Suddenly, Hermione was feeling a dash less thankful for him. She shouldn't have hesitated with her goodbyes.
"Yeah, but Remus was a decent bloke!" Ron exclaimed. He shrunk under Pansy's furious gaze. "Which Malfoy is too, obviously, it's just er — vampires are like that all the time, aren't they? You can't just give them a bit of Wolfsbane, can you?"
"No, you can't," Hermione admitted, sitting back down, "but with a proper treatment plan, they can function in society." She gulped and looked at Pansy. "Malfoy included."
Whatever kindness she was sparing him wasn't enough to balm Pansy's wounds. Pansy shook her head.
"This really isn't funny," she whispered, her tone low and dangerous.
"It's not meant to be," Hermione replied.
Tears were brimming in Pansy's eyes, though she was too proud to admit it. She looked away.
"I'd like to leave, Ronald."
"What, why?" Ron asked dumbly. "It's no big deal. Who cares if Malfoy's a vampire? No one said anything bad about him. Even Hermione said —"
"I said I'd like to leave."
Fear blanketed Ron's features. He cleared his throat.
"Yeah, er — sorry, guys. We, er — we've got to go to a — a thing," he lied, rather pathetically. Pansy slapped several Sickles onto the bar, illustrating to him that time was of the essence. Ron got the hint. "Catch up soon."
Pansy rushed towards the door, Ron jogging at her heels.
Hermione rubbed her temples.
"I — er — I need to use the ladies' room," Ginny said sheepishly.
Hermione wasn't sure if it was a lie or not, but she decided she didn't care. Ginny excused herself and cradled her stomach as she headed towards the lavatory, waddling in a way that suggested maybe she was telling the truth. Harry took her spot.
"I'm really sorry," he said. "I didn't think she'd bring it up."
"It's fine," Hermione replied. Of course, it wasn't fine, but there was no undoing it now. "They'll see him on the list eventually. It's just — well, it's not my place to be telling people his business, you know? I'm supposed to be helping him."
"Yeah, but it's Malfoy," Harry retorted.
"I know it is, but — I don't know. I guess I feel kind of bad for him."
"You feel bad for . . . Malfoy," Harry echoed.
"I know it's silly."
"I dunno, being a vampire has to be pretty weird — especially for someone like him."
"It's awful . For all my clients, but he's new and I knew him before, so it feels different." Hermione sighed. "My point is I'm supposed to be someone he can talk to about it. I don't want to ruin that — even though I kind of already did."
Harry furrowed his brow. "So you're worried about breaking Malfoy's trust."
"It sounds even crazier when you say it."
"Yeah, it does," Harry agreed. "But er — if it's important to you, to er — to have his trust, I guess — well, I guess that's all right."
"It's not that I'm emotionally invested in it," Hermione denied. "I only want to do a good job. He doesn't have anyone else in the world right now except for me — that has to be terribly isolating, don't you think?"
Concern filled the lines on Harry's face. Somehow, Hermione didn't think it was concern for Malfoy.
"I imagine as much," he said.
Hermione felt the warmth returning to her cheeks. Harry was clearly misunderstanding her, and she was far too tired to dig herself out of the strange hole she found herself in.
"So erm — what did you find out about the baby?" she asked. "Does it have hands and feet yet?"
"Two hands, two feet, all accounted for," Harry replied brightly.
"Excellent news," Hermione laughed. She cleared her throat and slid off her stool. "I — er — I actually think I'm going to head home, though. These night shifts have my sleep schedule out of sorts and with everything going on . . . I'm just feeling a bit off is all."
Harry knew better than to argue. "Yeah, sure. See you at work?"
"Probably, I've been coming in early often enough." She reached into her purse for a couple of Sickles. "Oh, and can you make sure Ginny is all right? I wouldn't want her to think I'm angry over — well, you know."
He nodded. "I'll talk to her."
"Thanks, Harry."
Hermione pushed the Sickles across the bar and started the short journey towards the exit. Somehow, a relaxing evening with friends had become everything but.
"Hey, Hermione?" Harry called after her.
She spun around and raised her eyebrows, her heart hammering as she waited for whatever it was he had to say.
"Yes?"
He offered her a weak smile.
"Be careful, all right?"
Hermione smiled back and nodded. "I always am."