Hermione twiddled her wand in her hands as she absentmindedly stared out of the enchanted window of her office. She'd barely gotten any sleep after her dinner with Malfoy the previous evening. What he'd offered her sounded nearly too good to be true. Someone who would organise and run her campaign for her. Someone with the knowledge of which wizards and witches held the money needed for her to become Minister. She would be stupid to deny his help if she truly wanted to run for office, but the issue was that she didn't know if she could trust him. Her previous encounters with him didn't make it sound too far-fetched that he would want to clear the Malfoy name. But something felt off. As if there was more to their possible agreement.

A knock on the door made her jump in her seat. She straightened out her dark grey blouse and black pencil skirt before she cleared her throat. "Come in."

Her mood soured instantly when she saw McLaggen standing in the doorway.

"Should have told me you had your own personal death eater guard dog," he nearly growled in anger as he smacked the door behind him. "Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was? What would have happened if anyone else in the office would have seen?"

She was too tired to deal with the likes of Cormac McLaggen. Picking up her quill and a piece of parchment slowly, she didn't deem him worthy of her time and started scribbling down notes about a case Harry had handed to her yesterday.

"Do you hear me, Granger? I said that-"

"That will be Madam Deputy to you, McLaggen," she sternly said, raising an eyebrow at him.

He snorted. "I knew that you would be all high and mighty. Of course, you would. After all, you have Potter right there behind you, kissing the bloody ground you walk on. And apparently, you've also managed to rope in Malfoy. Perhaps that's why Wood-"

"Enough!" Hermione yelled as her quill broke in half, her magic crackling around her. "You are still my subordinate, McLaggen. One word, and I could have you thrown out of this office. Have the rest of your career at the Ministry ruined. Is that what you want?"

"You don't have the balls," he scoffed as he took one of the pictures on her desk in his hand. "We've all learnt that a muggle-born such as yourself has nothing to say. Not even with the Minister and Harry Potter backing her."

"Get. Out," she ordered, taking the picture from him. It was a photograph of her, James, Albus, and Rose. Taken just a few weeks after Albus was born.

Only two minutes after McLaggen strutted out of her office, Harry knocked on the door, his face worried.

"I could fire him you know."

Hermione shook her head. "No. That would only make him feel like he's won. If I want to show him, and others like him, that I'm not to be trifled with then it should be me who makes sure he's kicked out."

"Even as Deputy, Mione, you wouldn't-"

"I would as Minister."

Harry looked at her in surprise. "You're serious?" Bloody hell, Mione. Ginny mentioned you guys were talking about what-ifs after I fell asleep but. Minister, that would be…"

"Yes?" she asked tersely, her lips pursed and her arms crossed. If Harry didn't approve or think she would be able to do it, then-

"Bloody brilliant is what it would be!" her brother grinned. "If you need any help, just ask me. Mum and Dad left me a fortune after all. I'm sure I can show my face at a fundraiser or two. Anything you want, Mione."

Hermione finally relaxed and walked over to her brother, hugging him tightly to her. "Thank you," she whispered. "I'll keep that in mind. And, I'll let my campaign manager know."

"A campaign manager?"

"Well. He might be my finance director. I'm not sure yet. I haven't even told him the good news."

"He?" Harry asked perplexed. "You don't mean-"

"You'll see," Hermione winked at him, taking him by the arm so they could go buy some lunch downstairs.

Once evening came around, she wrote a short message before leaving the Ministry, sending it off with an owl.

Gringotts. At Nine.

An hour later, when Hermione just got back from the library to borrow some light reading, an eagle owl was tapping on her window. She immediately knew who'd written back to her.

I'm pleased to see that you're still as determined to prove to everyone that Hermione Granger isn't to be messed with.
I'm almost nostalgic for the good old days.

Draco

When Hermione apparated to Diagon Alley the following Saturday, she realised she'd forgotten how busy the wizarding side of London could be. Gone were the days when magicals were in hiding and when shops had been ransacked and destroyed by death eaters and the leeches that followed them.

"Excuse me, young miss," an older wizard said as he nearly knocked into her at the apparition point.

She bowed her head apologetically for standing around and taking in the atmosphere around her, but the gentleman just smiled at her. As if he understood why the scene of a bustling shopping street had made her stand still and observe for just a moment.

With still half an hour to spare, she decided to stop at the Leaky Cauldron to say hello to Hannah and Neville, as well as buy some of Hannah's famous chocolate chip biscuits. Teddy had asked her to bring him some when she'd visited Harry and Ginny the previous night, and she had happily obliged.

Even the inn was filled to the brim with people, and she had very little time to catch up with her friends before she realised she needed to hurry up or else she'd be late. Well, technically, she wouldn't be late. She liked to be five minutes early to every appointment she had after all.

The wind picked up as she made her way towards the end of the Alley and she tightened her coat around her, shielding herself from the cold. Running up the last few steps to the bank, she quickly bowed politely in greeting to the goblins standing guard. It had taken more than just a few years for her, Harry, and Ron to be allowed access to the bank again after they'd managed to break out of it on the back of a dragon.

At the beginning of her career, when she still worked at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, she had gotten the opportunity to work together with the goblin liaisons to the British wizarding world. Once they had seen her siding with them against the Wizengamot, their respect for her had grown. Not only had she managed to improve the status of the goblins that day, but she had also gotten herself and her boys access to Gringotts again as an added bonus.

"Miss Granger," one of the tellers greeted her as she stepped up to him.

"Teller Urg, how nice to see you again," she politely said, making sure she would stay in the goblins' good graces. Offending the warrior race once was more than enough for a lifetime after all. "I have an appointment with Lord Malfoy today."

"Ah yes," the goblin nodded. "Lord Malfoy is already waiting for you in one of our private offices. Please, follow me."

Still wary of Malfoy, she strengthened her occlumency shields and hurried after the goblin. When they finally reached the office, she didn't recognise the goblin inside. Malfoy had his back turned to her, sitting utterly still as she and the goblin, apparently called Rumuk, exchanged pleasantries.

"Lord Malfoy has told me you are interested in running for Minister for Magic, Miss Granger," Rumuk said, glancing over to the wizard at her side.

"I'd sure like to try," she nodded. "But I'm not certain my credentials and my age would work in my favour," she said tightly. It was never smart to be dishonest in the presence of goblins. Having to share her insecurities with Malfoy was something she would just have to deal with for the remainder of this meeting it seemed.

"Don't be too modest," Rumuk chuckled. "We members of the goblin nation know what you've done for us. What you could do for us as Minister. Don't think we haven't kept our eye on you ever since you proposed the Goblin Act of 2005. You are the first to stand in front of the Wizengamot and to not deem us inferior to your kind. You certainly have a warrior's heart, going up against the lot of them. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Malfoy?"

Her eyes slid to the blond next to her. As suspected, his occlumency was in place as well, his face set in stone. Yet, if she focused, she could swear that the corner of his mouth turned into the tiniest of smiles.

"She's been standing up to me since at least 1993, Rumuk," Malfoy answered. "Granger here knows how to pack a punch."

The wizard next to her flashed his eyebrows at her, reminding her of the day she'd smacked him in the face. If she hadn't such a tight leash on her own emotions, she wasn't sure if she would have blushed or laughed at the memory.

Rumuk's laughter thundered in the tiny office. "My, oh my. Yes. A passionate Minister for Magic is exactly what Britain needs. One that does not back from injustice, and instead fights for those in need. Not that our current Minister isn't doing his best, of course. I just don't think he understands like you do, Miss Granger."

Hermione bowed her head slowly at the unexpected praise.

"Lord Malfoy has explained to you the reason for your visit today?" the goblin asked as he waved his hand and summoned an empty scroll of parchment out of thin air.

"I'm afraid he has not," Hermione said, glancing at Malfoy again. "Would you be able to enlighten me why you called me here, Lord Malfoy?"

The blond turned his chair forty-five degrees towards her and leant his elbow on Rumuk's desk, resting his head against his knuckles, studying her. As if he was ready to watch a show. What in Merlin's name had he been up to calling her to the bank this Saturday morning?

"You've referred to your credentials earlier," he drawled. "What you meant to say is that most of the pure-blood members of the Wizengamot will never back you because of the blood that runs through your veins. But all we need today, is a drop of that blood, to establish you are not just some muggle-born witch."

Her eyes widened. Was he serious? "Excuse me? Not a muggle-born witch, when-"

"You can't be that daft, having grown up with muggle healers as parents," Malfoy interrupted her. "The magical power in your blood needed to come from somewhere. It's been lingering in your line for Merlin knows how many generations. Growing. Waiting. To reawaken. In you."

"Are you talking about my DNA?" Hermione asked incredulously, completely perplexed that Malfoy would even know the concept at all. "But that's not how magic works, it-"

"Isn't it?" he challenged her. "Exactly when in your arithmancy mastery did they teach you about what makes someone a witch or wizard? What makes them a squib or a muggle?"

Her anger flared out at him. "And when did you become a specialist in muggle medicine and science?"

A lazy smirk touched his lips. "I did some digging after the war. Tried to educate myself on why some of us have magical power that makes us different from other witches and wizards. Why some bloodlines produce more squibs than others. Why my cousin and her son are both metamorphmagi. If there might be any other lingering magical traits in my line."

"Why would you ever be interested in any of that?" she scowled, none of his words making any sense. "Making sure your blood was as pure as it could be?"

"Don't insult me, Granger," he scowled. "During the war, I learnt that not all is what it seems like. So, I thought that perhaps, if I understood it better… Understood the magic, or the science as the muggles like to call it, behind it all, that it might offer me some insights."

"And did it?"

She looked Malfoy straight in the eyes, looking for just a shimmer of truth. But the man next to her was not an open book, so she could only guess if his words rang true or not.

"It brought me here with you today, didn't it?"

Hermione just stared at him. What was he claiming? That he'd opened some book on the basics of DNA and genetics and had suddenly concluded that perhaps the blood of her and other muggle-borns wasn't as muddy after all? That it was just diluted by Merlin knows how many generations of squibs? He probably still thought her lesser than him, anyway. Nothing would ever truly change the snobby smirking smartass next to her.

Rumuk cleared his throat, seemingly sensing the tension in the air. "Lord Malfoy is correct, Miss Granger. We goblins use a different sort of magic than wizards and witches, and we've long since established that certain magical affinities and traits are passed down through blood. Family curses are too. All that is needed is a simple alteration to someone's magical make-up, to their 'DNA', I suppose. According to our research, true muggle-borns are quite rare. A mutation that happened along the way. But for someone with your accomplishments, it is hard to believe that the power you hold is only that of one generation."

"So, what are you saying?" she asked, looking at the goblin. "That I might not be a muggle-born? That one of my parents is a squib? That my grandparents might be too?"

"It is difficult to say how many in your line would hold the magical gene. But we can easily find out if you offer a droplet of your blood on this parchment right here."

Rumuk was still holding the parchment he'd summoned earlier and smiled at her encouragingly.

"Even Slughorn thought you were a descendant of the Dagworth-Granger line during our first potions class, did he not?" Malfoy piped up, seemingly sensing her sudden distress. "Would you really not want to know if you were? It would give you a seat at the Wizengamot if you were Lady Dagworth-Granger. They are an old family, and no heir has claimed the seat in over two centuries."

Hermione felt torn. Being muggle-born was such a large part of her identity. It had made her who she was. The struggles she had to grow up with, the bigotry she'd faced. It was a mark on her. Literally. But, if she could have a seat on the Wizengamot… If she could show the other members that she was part of them…

"And how would this affect my status with the muggle-born electorate and the international sponsors you've mentioned?"

"We can spin it that you've grown up with muggles and know their ways," he said, a calculating look in his eyes. "You would be the daughter of squibs, attracting those voters as well. Finally, both the muggle-borns and the squibs would have someone to champion for them. Perhaps, you'd even inspire some others to take the heritage test the Goblins offer. There are a lot of untouched vaults here at Gringotts, waiting for someone to claim ownership."

Hermione caught the quick grin that Rumuk gave Malfoy. So, this was what his plan had been? If she actually did turn out to be some lost heiress, then others might follow her suit. Even half-bloods and pure-bloods might line up to have their heritage tested, not just the muggle-borns. All those vaults, laying in wait to be unlocked as soon as an heir could be claimed. All the money the goblins could make if that money could be used and invested again. Of course. This must have been one of Malfoy's true intentions. He was a businessman after all.

"How many?" she asked, raising her chin in the air, but not daring to look at either Malfoy or Rumuk. She might strangle either one of them if she did.

"How many what, Granger?" Malfoy asked, clearly irritated.

"How many galleons are you making off of every vault that gets re-claimed?" she breathed out.

"Lord Malfoy will be receiving ten percent of all the profit that is made with the new investments," the goblin answered for him. "You cannot blame a businessman for doing business, I'm afraid."

Hermione glared at Malfoy, nearly wishing she could use legilimency as she stared into his stormy grey eyes. "You're just using me to enrich yourself!" she imagined yelling at him if they weren't in this office right now. It would not do well to offend the goblins, especially not when it was about making money. "Everything you do is just for your own gains. Your family name and your money. It wouldn't surprise me if this is all a ploy for you to support Greengrass anyway!" she bristled in anger. But, Malfoy could not hear her thoughts, so all he did was stare back at her, seemingly bored, his jaw clenching and unclenching as if he too was mentally insulting her.

"Let's get it over with then," Hermione said through clenched teeth. "But if I am the one who will instigate these profits at Gringotts, then I might as well gain from it as well. I want five percent."

Rumuk grinned at her as he handed her the parchment and a small dagger. "I wouldn't expect any less cunning from our future Minister."

"I didn't say I would use the money for myself," she nearly growled back, taking the dagger from his hand more roughly than intended.

"You're angry at me," Malfoy mused as he followed her through the Leaky Cauldron, his hands in his pockets and his cloak billowing behind him. Somehow, he had the grace to move between all the other customers, not touching a single one of them as the both of them moved through the crowd unnoticed.

He'd cast a notice-me-not charm around them again back at Gringotts, making sure no one would notice Draco Malfoy leaving the premisses together with Hermione Gra- No. She was no longer Hermione Granger. As Slughorn had suspected all those years ago, she was a descendant of the Dagworth-Granger line. The first to lay her claim on any affiliations with the family, and therefore the Lady of her house. But as her blood had magically crawled up that piece of parchment, it had not just gone up through her father's line and ended up at a squib grandson of the famous potioneer Hector Dagworth-Granger. A thin line had also made its way through Hermione's mother's side of the family. The house that had popped up through her French ancestry had even made Draco's breath hitch.

Lestrange.

"Granger, I know that you didn't expect to be-"

"Do you have any idea what it felt like when I saw that name pop up? Her name? Even if she only married into that family by blood, that name is tainted. It tainted me," she hissed at him, shoving her finger angrily at his chest, her magic flowing out of her forcing him to take a step back. "I will not be Lady of that House. I don't care that it gives me two votes on the Wizengamot, I will not, I cannot-"

Tears threatened to fall. She turned around, opened the door to the inn and apparated on the spot. What she had not expected was for Malfoy to follow her to her doorstep. Perhaps she should have taken a page out of Harry's book. Never let your enemy know where you live.

She swung open her door and strengthened the wards, letting out her magic in all her anger. Malfoy wouldn't be able to follow her if he-

His hand grabbed her elbow after she'd made it halfway through the door. She turned around and looked at him in shock. How had he? No. Only her family could enter these wards when she pulled them up and strengthened them. Yet, he had managed to grab hold of her right through the barrier. Why would her magic ever consider him her family? Was it because of that damned Lestrange blood that ran in her veins? Because Malfoy had been the nephew of the previous Lord and Lady of the House?

"Let go of me," she angrily said as she pulled her elbow free of him, taking a step back. "Leave."

For the second time, his occlumency failed him. Last week, it had been anger that flashed in his eyes. Now, it seemed like he felt… Hurt. What a preposterous idea.

"If that is what you wish," he said tightly, pulling his arm back. The wards finally seemed to settle then, and she could see the shimmer of magic cover his face. Blocking him out. Perhaps him grabbing hold of her had been a lucky shot then.

"What I wish," she answered, her magic crackling around her, "is that you wouldn't have wanted to use me as a milking cow for you to make money! All that bullcrap about wanting to save your family name, when all today proved is that I, Britain's most famous muggle-born, not actually being a muggle-born could bring in more money for you if others learned what happened."

Tears of frustration finally came out of her eyes and Malfoy just stared at her as she let out all of her emotions at him.

"You know what I truly am? That parchment might say I am Lady Dagworth-Granger and Lady Lestrange. But that's just a piece of paper I can easily burn. This is what I am. She threw of her coat and fumbled with the sleeve of her blouse underneath, showing him the red ugly scar that had been etched in her skin for nearly ten years.

MUDBLOOD

He looked horrified as he took in the words cursed into her flesh.

"I thought that it would give you an advantage politically if you weren't just muggle-born," Malfoy quietly said, his eyes still fixed on her scar. "Not just so you would have a seat on the Wizengamot, or so your background would be more favourable for the bigots still part of our government and its electorate. I thought, if you did the heritage test, then…" He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Your friends would follow in your footsteps and take a heritage test as well. That way, they would either gain a seat or gain more seats in the case of Potter and Longbottom, if my assumptions about them are correct. I did it so you wouldn't be alone there. So, you'd maybe have your friends to support you, if they belonged to any ancient Houses as well."

Hermione blinked at Malfoy. There was no way that his intentions had been that noble, this was just another ploy for him to-

The Slytherin's face was suddenly illuminated by a green light, and Hermione could hear someone tumble out of her fireplace. There was only one person that travelled by floo so ungracefully.

"Mione, I just got a letter from Kingsley that you've been granted two seats on the Wizen- Everything alright here?" Harry asked, suddenly noticing Malfoy standing in the doorway, the tension palpable in the air.

"Quite," Malfoy drawled, his occlumency back in place, looking extremely bored. "I was just dropping Granger off."

"It's no longer Granger," Hermione bit out. "And it never will be again, because you-"

"You're the Lady of the Houses," the blond sneered at her, clearly frustrated. "You can bloody decide whatever you want. If you want to hyphenate the names. If you want to abolish them. If you want to change your last name entirely and establish a whole new House. That is the power you hold now. You decide."

His attention turned to Harry then. "I'm sure the previous Lord Black has taught you a thing or two, Potter. You better whip Granger into shape if you want her to survive the Wizengamot meeting Monday morning. And she better if she wants to make it as Minister for Magic. They will devour her like a pack of wolves if they see one sliver of self-doubt in her."

Malfoy disapparated with a loud crack, his magic flaring out of him angrily as he disappeared.

"What in the bloody Merlin just happened?" Harry asked as he slowly approached Hermione and closed her front door with a wave of his hand.

Hermione turned to her brother and shoved the parchment she was still clenching in her fist at him, not wanting to look at that name any longer.