Something had changed in Draco Malfoy.
Five weeks had passed since he'd returned from his absence, and Hermione found that time was serving him well. Hollow cheeks had been padded with fat, his once-clouded eyes now gleamed metallic, and most importantly, a hint of a smile occasionally peeked through his signature scowl.
Ever so slowly, his mask was melting away, and Hermione was determined to burn the mask for good.
"Tell me about your early evenings," she said. "What do you do when you first wake up?"
"Drink half a potion," answered Malfoy.
"You're not putting it off anymore?"
"No."
"Wow, that's superb, Draco — truly."
She added this new development to her notes. Such progress could carry his case if his intentions ever came under scrutiny, and it certainly wouldn't hurt if she needed to use him as an example in future legislation.
Even the Wizengamot could learn to love his redemption.
But framing would be everything.
"What do you do next? After your half-potion."
"I don't know, Granger, have a piss? Why don't you people just put a bloody tracking charm on me? Maybe that'll please them."
"Nobody is displeased with you — quite the opposite actually. Details about your progress help you build rapport." Hermione grinned. "Which you've been doing an exceptional job of, by the way. Your file has been near pristine for the past few weeks . . . If the Wizengamot did look at it, I think they'd be impressed with your turnaround."
" Near pristine?" he hissed. "I've been doing everything right, what've you put in there that's selling me short?"
More important matters — and fear of scaring him off — had driven Hermione to tiptoe around the issue that the Ministry would disapprove of. But his level of compliance had presented her with a conundrum: There was nothing else he needed to work on.
She had to address it.
"It's a small thing, really."
"Something tells me it's not," he said. His tone was venomous.
"It is. Unless you go in front of the Wizengamot, I don't think it will ever pose a problem —"
"I don't care if you think it will or not. You wrote something about me in that fucking file, and I want to know what it is."
Hermione sighed.
"Well," she started, "it's your attitude."
"My attitude? "
"This can't actually be news to you," she said, incredulous.
"Actually, it is, considering you've never mentioned it before."
"I didn't think I had to! You question almost everything I say, you constantly insult your own species, and you've called me the M-word in three separate sessions. I assumed you knew what you were doing." She shook her head. "We'll work on it, but if you're genuinely not aware it's a problem, we clearly aren't off to a good start."
"Didn't realize I can get a demerit for my personality," he muttered.
"You can't. It's not that, it's just — never mind. You wanted to know, so I told you." She shuffled through his paperwork. "Like I said, you're doing far better than expected . . . That's all I can ask for."
"Apparently not, if it's a problem."
"That's not what I'm saying. I said it's a small thing, and it is . . . You're doing great. Just keep it up, all right?"
"And if I don't?"
Hermione looked up from her lap full of parchments and raised an eyebrow. The answer should have been obvious.
"How did you feel three weeks ago?"
Malfoy clenched his jaw, a harbinger of the very attitude that concerned her. They both knew he'd been miserable the week after his absence, and once again, he would have to admit she was right.
"Fine," he ground out. "I get your point."
"Good. I assume you finally understand why we issue the potions, then."
Molten silver burned a hole through her, a glare that could have cut down Merlin himself.
Yet, she knew why. While she never meant to patronize, she often found herself doing just that. Clients needed clarity. She wouldn't be doing her job if she didn't establish a mutual understanding, and Malfoy's poor communication made it much harder for her to do that.
Stubborn prats really were the hardest to work with.
"I always knew why," he said lowly. "It was never about that."
"Then what was it about?"
Some questions already had answers. Many did, in fact. She'd known the answer for weeks, but it didn't matter what she knew. The real question was: Did Malfoy know? And if he did, would he admit it out loud?
He sniffed. "I've been reading."
"Reading," she repeated.
"Yeah."
"Elaborate."
"I've been picking up books from the Manor library — don't give me that look, I go at night. Staying away from everyone like you told me to . . . Which is nearly impossible, by the way."
"How so?" Hermione asked.
"There's always elves milling about," he replied. "I end up circling for ages just to avoid them, the bat-eared little freaks hardly sleep."
The insult wasn't worth engaging with.
"But you're managing?"
"Obviously."
Hermione let out a sigh of relief. She could hardly justify his actions if he murdered one of her former clients — and if Malfoy was going to hurt anyone in that house, she feared it would be an elf; they were easy targets, especially for someone that didn't value their personhood.
"Well, good . . . But back to your reading — have you been researching anything in particular?"
"No."
Her question about the potions remained unanswered. She hoped they would land on it when he mentioned he was reading — that something he had been researching explained why he was so intent on not taking them, even when he knew they worked.
It had been another deflection.
Still, Hermione decided to indulge his path. After all, useful information often came from topics she didn't choose. Sometimes it was better that way. The unwitting client would forego little stress in the process, and she would discover a truth they didn't mean to share.
In some games, everyone could be a winner.
"Fair enough," she said. "Have you been enjoying it?"
"It passes the time."
"It certainly does, doesn't it? . . . You probably remember I'm an avid reader myself." She smiled. "Have you learned anything interesting?"
Malfoy shrugged noncommittally.
"Family history, mostly. Some alchemy. Relevant use cases for bone meal. I don't know, Granger, if you want to take a tour of the Malfoy Library, you're going to have to —"
"Did you say bone meal? Sounds fascinating . . . I'm familiar with its use in potions and cooking, but that's all . . . I'd love to know more, though."
Acting interested was key. If he thought she was curious for personal reasons, he might reveal his hand.
"You have some research to do, then — assuming you want to be good at your job." His chains rattled as he leaned forward. "Do you really not know?"
Hermione frowned. "I'm afraid I don't."
"You really are terrible at this," he scoffed. "It reduces blood cravings in vampires. I've been using it ever since I read about it."
"Really?" She was entirely impressed — both with Malfoy and herself. Her methods had worked. He opened up, and he hadn't even meant to. "How have you been sourcing it?"
"I sneak into the kitchens at night, same time as I go to the library, usually . . . Feels a bit rubbish to be skulking about like some kind of felon, but it gets the job done."
In reality, he was a felon several times over, but reminding him of that would get them nowhere.
"Well, it sounds like you're staying perfectly within Ministry guidelines, which is brilliant." Hermione furrowed her brow. "Unfortunately, I'm not sure you'll be able to get any more once you're out — not on your own, at least."
"I have plenty to last me through my transition. The elves rarely use it."
"I mean after that."
"What are you talking about?" he asked. "Any market worth its salt has bone meal."
"Yes, but getting into those markets may be challenging. The Wizarding World can be a terribly ignorant place, Malfoy . . . As you already know, shopkeepers like to throw your kind out — and they aren't exactly polite about it."
"You can get it outside of apothecaries," Malfoy said.
"Yes, but it's not just apothecaries. All magical businesses have the option to deny you service, and I fear they will." She gave him a meaningful look. "I need you to be prepared for that . . . The list is public-facing. People will see your name on it."
"They'd be less likely to see it, if the Ministry didn't send it out like a monthly fucking newsletter."
Hermione wished it was a newsletter. As they'd discussed in his first session, nobody read those.
"I agree — but right now, it's a legal requirement. I'll be pushing back on it, but in the meantime, you'll need to start facing the fact people are going to see you differently now . . . You've been in the papers far too much for them to not connect your pictures to your name." Dizzied by the notion, she continued, desperate for him to grasp the severity of the situation. "If they see you, they're within their rights to carry out any means necessary to run you out. You do understand what that means?"
Judging by his scoff, he understood exactly what it meant.
"So you're telling me I'll never shop in Diagon Alley again?"
"For now, it would be safer for you if you didn't. But as you know, Knockturn Alley is usually more than willing to take your business." Hermione eyed him. "If you'd prefer to avoid that , a lot of my clients have good luck with Muggle markets."
"Muggle markets?"
"They don't receive the list," she elucidated. "It would break the Statute of Secrecy."
"I don't care, I'm not communing with a bunch of Muggles."
Prejudice radiated from him most days. Why Hermione thought he could change, she didn't know. Perhaps, that was what made them so different: No matter what, she still held onto hope.
"Fine." She masked her dismay with apathy, burying that little bit of optimism that always exploded into overwhelming sadness. "It's just an option . . . If you really need to, I suppose you could send a friend or something — maybe an elf, if you had to."
"They'll tell my father. He'll want to know what I need it for."
"Ask them not to tell him."
"You don't understand, Granger. Everything that happens in the Manor gets to my father. My mother's kept my condition a secret, but if she were caught buying strange ingredients unaccompanied? Somebody would tell him. And if an elf were to find out . . ." He shook his head. "That would be very bad for me."
Suddenly, Hermione felt guilty for thinking less of him. In spite of everything, he was still a Malfoy, and she knew from experience that he was the best of the lot.
There had to be something she could do.
"You said it was recommended in a book," she recalled. "Do you remember the title?"
"No."
"Can you find it and tell me?"
"Why?"
"Because it may help you — and others like you, assuming you'd like to do that."
He narrowed his eyes, suspicious of her as he usually was. Still, he answered, "It's in my chambers somewhere."
"Brilliant. Bring it next week. If I can provide the research to my superiors, I can make a case to have the Ministry issue it the same as we do potions — especially if it's proven to diminish the desire to offend." She paused and smiled at him. "Honestly, I'm just so impressed with all the work you've done to improve your transition. The progress you've made is almost unheard of at this stage."
"I don't need a gold fucking star for reading a book."
"It's not just about reading a book, though, is it?" Hermione pointed out. "You care about your well-being now. This is a really important breakthrough, Draco, you ought to be proud of yourself."
Malfoy sucked in his cheeks, as though he'd tasted something sour. He was no stranger to pride, but in that moment, he seemed to carry none.
Finally, he grumbled four words — wholly unhelpful ones, at that.
"I want to leave."
"You want to leave," she repeated.
"Yeah, that's what I said. Having a hard time hearing me through all that hair?"
Hermione clicked her ballpoint. "Insulting me isn't going to get you anywhere, you know. If you're not proud of yourself, then you can tell me that."
"What are you writing?" he interrogated.
She noticed how intently he watched her sometimes, how worried he was about her notes.
"I'm taking notes like I always do," she replied simply.
"I can see that for myself, I'm not an idiot." He leaned forward, as though he may be able to get a glimpse of what she was writing from across the room. "I'm asking what they say."
Hermione inhaled. "Well, as I told you before, your file is as pristine as we could expect for the moment — except for your attitude. Unfortunately, it seems you've not made much effort to change it during this session."
" That's what you're writing?"
She shrugged. "It's an important part of your case, considering it's how you keep communicating with me."
Malfoy drew his eyebrows together.
"So you tell me I'm making progress, then write nasty notes about me?" he asked angrily. "How does that work?"
"They're not nasty . They're honest. If you genuinely want to leave, that's perfectly fine, but I have to add it to my report. You have a habit of dodging topics and —"
"Oh, Merlin's sack — fine. We can talk about my bloody progress. "
She didn't stop writing.
"You're sure?"
"Yes, I'm fucking sure, just quit with that, will you?"
Hermione held up her clipboard and crossed out her notes as dramatically as she could. A clear case of bribery. Apparently, to get through to a Slytherin, she had to play the part of one.
"There — it's redacted," she said. "Now, tell me what made you shut down just now."
Malfoy sniffed, his eyes trained on the wall, rather than on her.
"I'm not shutting down. I just don't want to be talked to like a Squib who wiped his own arse. I'm doing what I have to do. I'd prefer we leave it there."
Intrigued, Hermione asked, "What do you mean by that?"
"I mean I'm in quite a fucking predicament, and how I cope with it or whatever you're worried about is not at the top of my list. I don't need your fucking praise for staying alive."
"You're in survival mode."
He nodded, his chains rattling with the movement.
"Thank you," Hermione said, "for sharing that with me . . . And whether you believe it or not, admitting that is progress in and of itself." She glanced at her watch. "Sadly, we're almost up on time. How are you doing with your current rations?"
Malfoy's scowl failed him. Instead, he looked timid — embarrassed. Hermione decided not to make note of it just yet, but once she left the room, she certainly would.
His metamorphosis was unlike anything she had ever witnessed in her career — and he was blind to it.
"I could use more," he admitted.
"All right," Hermione replied airily, hoping her octave told him it was okay — that he had nothing to be ashamed of. "I'll arrange for Millicent to fetch them for you."
In an empty tone, he thanked her.
"I know you'd prefer to mix them yourself," she babbled. "I'm going to try to appeal the apothecary ban, but I can't make any promises. These things take time."
Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "Time is something I apparently have plenty of . . . Do you think you'll actually make it happen?"
Hermione inwardly scolded herself. She had shared too much — created a sense of possibility when there might have been none.
Perhaps she had been wrong — Malfoy was capable of hope.
Sheepish, she replied, "I'm going to try."
He snorted. "That's a no."
"It's not a no ," Hermione rebutted. "It's an I'll do my best ."
"I'm sure you will," he drawled.
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"It means , you're Hermione bloody Granger. If there's anything the universe can count on, it's the fact you'll do your best."
She smirked, though she was taken aback to hear him say such a thing. In fact, Hermione wasn't sure she had ever heard Malfoy say something nice about anyone , save his own parents.
"Was that a compliment?"
He scoffed and shook his head, his chains jangling all the while.
"Far from it, Granger. Far fucking from it."
Caldwell wasn't used to the graveyard shift. As twilight dispelled, the werewolf research team shelved the Wolfsbane, caretakers made their final rounds, and Aurors trudged in from their late-night raids, caked in dirt and sticky with sweat.
Hermione's job was much more mundane.
At such an hour, she would usually be sitting in a comfortable office alone, a Cooling Charm perfecting the temperature and a heap of end-of-day paperwork stacked on her desk. Yet, her routine had been interrupted. Too many warnings about her overtime had left Caldwell with little choice: To field a meeting with her, he would have to come in during her work hours.
Unfortunately, he was, in every sense, an afternoon person.
Hermione could tell by his bloodshot eyes. There was also the off-center toupée, the disheveled, mismatched robes, and the messy, pink pocket square that reminded her of movies where people got drunk and woke up married in Las Vegas; he looked like he'd gotten dressed in the dark — and he probably had.
"Thanks for meeting with me, sir," she said. "I know it's early for you."
" Obscenely early," Caldwell muttered, lifting his mug to his lips. "What do you need?"
"Well . . . I would've put it in a memo, but my clients deserve —"
"Your clients, right," he repeated. "Remind me who they are?"
Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing.
The man had made every effort to force her onto Vampire Support. He threatened to fire her, to rob her of her success and then throw her in the bin like a manky, old trainer — all over her new client load.
Yet, he had no idea who those clients were.
Fury raced through her veins. It climbed up her core, and snaked through her every organ, intent on finding its way out her mouth. She tamped it down and squared her shoulders.
"The McMullonses, Aldrina Finster . . ." She paused. "Draco Malfoy."
"The Death Eater?"
"Sure, if you want to group in a scared sixteen-year-old with a bunch of genocidal monsters." Her rage had found its way out, leaving her tone coated in acid. She needed to find her composure again. "Ahem . . . His past aside, he's made impressive strides over the last three weeks. His condition management has done a complete one-eighty, all demonstrable by quantifiable physical improvements."
"Such is commonplace for that affliction," Caldwell said boredly. "It's a major adjustment to make, but eventually, they all realize they'll die if they don't abide by nature."
"This is different. It's been a significant change over a very short period of time," Hermione argued. "I scoured historical cases looking for a comparable progression chart. There wasn't one."
"Oh, I don't doubt that. I suspect any Malfoy would be well-versed in the ways of survival."
"You say that as though it's a bad thing."
He sipped his coffee. "Good. That's exactly how I meant it."
Hermione glared at him. "I've known him for a long time, Tim. He's stubborn and spoiled and a complete — ahem . He isn't the type to change so quickly, is what I'm trying to say. He's experienced something of a breakthrough in recent weeks . . . I think we can spare him a bit of credit."
"Credit," Caldwell repeated. He threw up his hands. "Sure, why not. He can have all the credit in the world — but if you'll excuse me, I am a bit confused by all this. Surely, you didn't bring me in here at four in the bloody morning for someone's progress report."
"No, but it's relevant information."
"Fine, you've shared your relevant information. Maybe now you can get to the point."
Winning hearts and minds was not Draco Malfoy's strong suit, and Hermione knew she would continue learning this the hard way if she had to refer to him in her proposal. Without Caldwell's approval, he'd be a much harder sell in the courtroom.
Resentment festered in her gut.
Caldwell had no business heading the department.
"Draco is merely an example of someone trustworthy that would benefit from the proposition I'd like to make," she explained. "One of many."
Caldwell's brows shot towards his askew hairline. Hermione knew he wouldn't be pleased, but his awful toupée only was robbing him of his seriousness.
She could still sense his rage.
"You want to pitch a proposition? Already? "
"Yes — and this isn't like the last one. This measure would not only help my clients, but it would help the Ministry too."
"Oh yeah, and how's that?"
"Vampires are currently banned from all apothecaries in the U.K., and other shopkeepers are encouraged to expel them from their establishments as well. My recommendation is that we put an end to all of that by forcing all businesses to allow their patronage."
Caldwell stared at her. " All businesses? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"
"Do you have any idea how dangerous segregation is?" Hermione breathed. "Otherizing them only makes them more likely to attack humans. But if we treat them with respect, they might actually want to return the favor . . . Aside from that, vampires have loads of gold that's just collecting dust. We have the opportunity to turn them into responsible consumers —"
"You can't just make people invite vampires into their shops. It's a bastardization of their freedom. What's next? Forcing them to invite in dementors?"
"You cannot compare a vampire to a dementor."
"You're right! Because vampires are infinitely more dangerous!" Caldwell hissed. "Do you think Inferi should be allowed the same rights as you and me? Because they and vampires are not so different."
"Vampires are highly intellectual beings that have the capacity not to feed off of humans," Hermione interjected, appalled that he would compare them to Inferi, of all things. "But only when given the means to avoid it . . . Yes, we issue them a small ration of potions each month, but those don't cover all of their nutritional needs. My clients are telling me what they need and all I can do is tell them to go to Muggle shops, or send a house-elf! It's an embarrassment to —" She stopped and closed her eyes. "The point is they're going hungry, and when they're hungry, they're going to look for new ways to feed . . . Allowing them to purchase their own goods would eliminate that concern, as well as the thousands of Galleons we're spending each year on Blood-Replenishing Potions. Plus, it would bring unspent gold back into the magical economy . . . I really don't understand how you're failing to see the benefit."
"Public risk is more important than whatever we're spending on potions," he growled.
"That's my point! It will lead to fewer attacks on humans."
"Show me the statistics proving that and maybe I'll change my mind."
"I have admissions," Hermione shot back, rifling through the file in her hand. "Both historical and as recent as last week . . . Most of my hungrier clients only consider attacking humans when they run out of their rations."
"So this is based on hearsay?" he asked, incredulous. "From the very creatures we're protecting shopkeepers from?"
"Creatures?" Hermione exclaimed. " That's what you think of them?"
"I think that you're getting too close to your clients again," Caldwell replied. He leveled his gaze on her. "Particularly Draco Malfoy."
"That's not true," Hermione huffed.
"Are you sure about that? It was you that kept him off from going to Azkaban, wasn't it?" His tone was cold — judgmental, and implicating something entirely unprofessional.
The problem was: He was right. She had done that.
"And Harry Potter," she mumbled, lacking any other defense.
"Potter is not my problem, and even if he were, I have a feeling he wouldn't be in here pushing an agenda for the benefit of a Death-Eating vampire."
"I'm trying to do the right thing —"
"The right thing is to protect magical folk the best way we can," he boomed. "And this idea of yours is doing the exact opposite." He shook his head. "I won't sign off on it."
That toupée of his somehow seemed less comical now. He looked positively mad.
"But sir —"
"This conversation is over." He seized his coffee cup and took a violent swig. "Go home."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but she knew it was no use. She stood and started storming towards his door, agitated and fully prepared to —
"And Granger?"
She stopped in her tracks.
"Stop trying to play the hero. It won't earn you any medals here."