"What did that plate ever do to you?" Ginny asked as Hermione set the plate down on the counter harder than she intended.
"Nothing, sorry," Hermione replied, broken from her ruminations on her latest encounter with He Who Shall Be Named The Most Annoying Wizard Ever. "Just a rough day. Didn't mean to take it out on the plates. How many?"
"Just the four of us," her heavily pregnant friend replied, "Harry should be here in just a few min— James! What is in your mouth?"
Hermione finished setting out the plates and silverware in the Potter's dining room while Ginny wrangled the rambunctious toddler.
"No Ron?" Hermione asked after Ginny secured James in his high chair. Hermione did let out a secret sigh of relief because that at least meant a reprieve from seeing the other infuriating former Slytherin in her life.
Their biweekly dinners weren't precisely sacred, but they each had missed them here and there for various reasons as of late. She wasn't quite ready to admit that they might all be growing slightly in different directions. Harry and Ginny with a son and another on the way. Hermione advancing her career and trying to change the ministry from the inside. And Ron—
"He's taking her to look at rings."
Hermione dropped the cup she'd been holding, and it shattered.
"Bugger, sorry," she muttered, quickly whipping her wand out and repairing it. "They've only been dating three months. I didn't think they were that serious."
She wasn't upset, not in the least. It was merely a surprise. She and Ron had been over for ages now as they'd never been quite on the same page to begin with, nor had they really had anything in common once Hermione set herself on her chosen career path. Their relationship had simply fizzled and died and its zombie corpse of purported stability carried on for far too long. Still, she cared for him as a friend. A friend who was likely making a massive mistake.
"Yes, well," Ginny shrugged. "When you know, you know."
"I suppose. But Pansy?"
"Come on, Pansy's not all bad," Ginny defended.
Hermione shot her friend a sceptical look. When had Ginny and Pansy become friendly?
"I just don't know what he sees in her."
It was a true statement. They should be like oil and water with how demanding and imperious Pansy could be, but somehow they simply weren't.
Ginny laughed. "I mean, Ron has a type."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione bristled.
"Oh, you know. My brother needs a woman who's bossy, knows what she wants, and is willing to do most of his thinking for him. I mean you set the bar, obviously. But I think she's going to be the one."
Hermione laughed, "You did not just seriously compare me to Pansy Parkinson."
"Cauldron and a kettle, you two. But enough about my brother and his terrifying taste in women; why are you abusing my dinnerware?"
Hermione groaned and sat down at her claimed seat, setting the stasis charms on the food while they waited.
"Where do I even start?," she asked rhetorically, "Just more obstruction from the Wizengamot."
"But I thought they finally voted to let you propose legislation. What have they done now?"
Hermione glumly fiddled with her glass, debating on how much to tell. His little gift was right out, even though it was probably nettling her the most.
"Well, Lucius Malfoy appointed himself to be the arbiter of which, if any, legislation I can propose. And now I have to meet with the great blond bellend three times a week."
Ginny hissed in sympathy, "Isn't that a bit excessive?"
"It's all more than a bit," Hermione groused. She stopped playing with her glass. There was no need to break it again.
"So, I take it that based on your wrath to my pitiful plates you met with him today. What'd he do?"
"I don't even know how to explain it," She said truthfully, "We almost got in a fight just setting up a schedule, and then we were completely sniping at the end when I gave him the proposals to take home and go over."
"You gave Lucius Malfoy homework?," Ginny chortled, "Oh, I'd loved to have seen the look on his face."
"He just— I know he's being an utter git on purpose. I want to strangle him."
She neglected to mention her unfortunate slip that seemingly started this whole mess. Hermione still didn't know what to make of it, and she really didn't want to solicit opinions just yet. Or ever. She shuddered just thinking what Ginny might read into it.
Ginny sobered a bit. "If it was legal to kill him, I'd be in line right next to you."
Oh. Right. Damn.
"Sorry, I didn't think—"
"It's fine. It's long in the past. And you're probably more justified in hating him these days than I am. But please tell me more about your plans to murder Malfoy senior. I'll give you some pointers on what you can do and how to hide the body."
Ginny grinned cheekily, and Hermione barked out an unexpected laugh.
"And how do you know anything about murder, Mrs. Potter?"
"It's Harry's fault. Got me hooked on those muggle telly murder shows. We like Barnaby the best, of course. But enough about perfectly justifiable murder. You need to work off some of that tension, and I know just the wizard to set you—"
The floo whooshed with green flames.
"I'm here! Sorry, I'm late! Wait, where's Ron?"
"Sorry, Harry, you're going to have to settle for your loving wife, child, and back up best friend tonight," Hermione announced dramatically, and Harry was instantly sheepish. For her part, Hermione was secretly thankful for Harry's timely intervention. The last thing she wanted was to be set up, even if Ginny did fancy herself a matchmaker.
"Ron's off looking at rings for his soon to be fiancée," Ginny offered.
"Already? They've only been dating three months."
Hermione shrugged. "That's what I said."
"You're in a good mood," Draco observed over Sunday luncheon after Astoria retired for a short respite.
Lucius hummed in acknowledgement, sipping his tea while perusing the collection of memos he'd transfigured into a more aesthetically appealing binding and compressed into a reasonable size. It bore no resemblance to the plastic monstrosity he'd left with. Plastic. So common. So muggle.
Undoubtedly, it was one of Granger's feeble ploys to irritate him into leaving his self-appointed position.
"A suspiciously good mood," Draco continued, patting Scorpius's back as the infant burbled contentedly over his shoulder.
Lucius cut his eyes at his own son witheringly.
"Are you suggesting that I am not always the shining epitome of light and joviality?"
Draco snorted indelicately and rolled his eyes in answer.
"Father, you keep smiling down at that book you're writing in. It's vaguely terrifying, actually."
Lucius very briefly longed for the days when a younger Draco had been too afraid of him to voice every inane thought that came to his mind.
But no, this was better. Getting to this stage of open communication with his son had been work. The mandatory counselling with a mind healer as a condition of his initial probation had begun as a wholly unwelcome, intrusive annoyance, but ultimately, the sessions had proven oddly beneficial. He knew they had integrated muggle methodology into their practice, but Lucius supposed a broken clock was right twice a day.
But the impertinence.
Lucius paused dramatically, his quill poised over the paper. "Is there a point to this line of inquiry, Draco?"
"Just curious is all," his son shrugged noncommittally.
"Then, in such case, I'm simply reviewing draft proposals for tomorrow's committee meeting."
Lucius turned to the next page, glancing no further than the memo title. Special monthly mandatory leave dispensation for werewolves? Absolutely not, he jotted with a flourish, the green ink shimmering subtly as it absorbed into the sheet.
"You're reviewing a book's worth of proposals, and that's why you're gleeful?" Draco asked incredulously.
"I enjoy my position," he said airily, moving on to the next topic for his review. Updated requirements for treatment and care of winged horses in the context of ownership and racing? Lucius thought of his own thoroughbred Granians as well as the imposition that might cause for Avery. His lips tugged into a grin. A possibility, he allowed.
"What committee is it then?"
Why couldn't Draco be so burdensomely inquisitive on subjects that mattered? Lucius closed the modified binder with a decisive snap, but not before his meddling son sidled close enough to peek over his shoulder.
"Creature legislation? You're on a committee for creature legislation?"
Lucius found the dubiousness infusing his son's tone mildly insulting. He arched a brow. "Is there any reason I oughtn't be?"
Draco stared at him as if he'd grown a second head.
"Is it really so surprising?" he challenged.
"It just doesn't make any sense. Unless— Oh, don't tell me you're in a pissing contest with Granger," Draco blurted out, his realization dawning with an exaggerated groan.
"Hmm," Lucius returned noncommittally, pushing the book of memos aside for later in favor of the day's copy of the Prophet. He had not accounted for Draco being quite so dogged in his remonstrations.
Draco made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. "Ugh, you are. Why?"
"I'm simply doing my duty to steer the future of wizarding Britain. Miss Granger's proposals are largely deleterious."
Draco shifted the infant lower, rocking him as the baby's eyes drooped.
"What's so wrong with any of it?"
"Are you championing, and I quote, 'the universe's most annoying mudblood swot', of whom you spent endless summers and holidays complaining about?"
"Don't call her that," Draco said firmly, "We're raising Scorpius to be better."
Lucius looked up from the paper, analyzing his exasperated son with young Scorpius now sleeping peacefully, cradled in his arms. Draco had taken their very public reformation to heart. This wasn't a debate worth having with his one and only son and heir.
"I was merely quoting. Scorpius is also only three months old. And asleep."
Draco ignored his deflection.
"And yes, I guess I am. She was really helpful when we had that erlking infestation when we moved into the summer house. She was also nice to Astoria and actually fucking helped us, which is more than I can say for the rest of the ministry back then. She doesn't deserve you stonewalling all her efforts," Draco chastised.
"Hmm," Lucius hummed dismissively, utterly unsurprised at Granger's supposed altruism.
"Just think about it, Father. And try not to piss her off too much," Draco said tiredly.
Lucius did not bother to state that her ire was precisely the source of all his fun. Well, the larger portion of it. He more than suspected they would be having a much more carnal sort of fun soon enough, though there was still some effort for finesse to be had on his part before she was receptive.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he would begin the next stage of his plans in earnest.
It was Monday afternoon and Hermione relished the break in her schedule as she tapped her biro to her chin, the current notebook gracing her desk having nothing to do with magical creatures, nor their control.
She really should see if it was within her power to update the name of her department. Controlling and regulating magical creatures sent the wrong message. She reached to the side and made a note in her planner to schedule a meeting with Kingsley.
Returning to her task, she decided conjuring a swamp in Lucius's office was out. Hermione neither knew if said office existed or where his office might even be. It was also an escalation that would likely not be worth the small amusement she might glean when he retaliated. Upon reflection, Hermione marked the idea for later. She didn't want to escalate this little war, but it was good to be prepared if he did.
She struck the array of edible Wizard Wheezes products, as well. As amusing as witnessing Lucius Malfoy with vibrant pink hair or seeing him turned into a canary might be, it again would only exacerbate whatever this errand of mischief between them was. Besides, she found tampering with food to be mildly reprehensible.
No, she needed something subtle enough to say, "Hey, arsehole. I'm on to you. Kindly fuck off." But something that would not lead to retaliation.
So far, she was coming up short.
The trouble was that Hermione was working with too little information. What did Lucius want? She could somewhat understand his resistance to the change she symbolized, but he opposed her with such relish that she found that it couldn't be the only reason. Obviously, he enjoyed nettling her, but to what end? His annoying attention felt somehow personal. Were his aims really merely to enrage and obstruct her simply because it was her? It was just so obvious that if that were the case, she thought she might be mildly disappointed by his unoriginality.
On the other hand, she despised the mental gymnastics she had run through just this past week simply trying to discern his motives. It was exhausting, and he hadn't even been present for ninety percent of it. Hermione just wanted her interactions with the man to be, if not easy, then at least normal. Predictable. Routine. Easily defined by their official roles.
Simply asking him to back off and be professional was a non-starter. He would take it as a challenge, and the last thing she wanted to do was encourage his weird penchant for frustrating her.
Tattling on him like a naughty school child was also not an option unless he actually did something. Though, even if she were willing to look terribly weak by running to the minister for backup, Hermione knew for a fact that Malfoy would be too slippery and snakey to slip up like that.
Actively engaging him was likewise probably a terrible idea for a multitude of reasons, spanning both her sanity and her professional credibility, but she knew without a doubt that if he behaved this afternoon as he had in their past two encounters, she would not be able to restrain herself from responding in kind.
Just thinking about him was enough to give her an ulcer. She wasn't even thirty; it was far too early in her career to develop stress ulcers.
Hermione gave up forming ideas for her potential petty vengeance for the time being, stowing away her ineffectual list away in disgust. She had just enough time to mark the memos she wanted to go over with Susan and Malcolm before Malfoy was due to ruin the rest of her day with his presence.
Opening the overstuffed binder, Hermione's eyes caught on elegantly scrawled green ink.
It read, very simply: No.
She flipped to the next page.
Absolutely not.
"What in Circe's name…" she muttered, flipping through several more pages of brief annotations.
This would never pass, even in the most favorable of circumstances.
'Never' was underlined three times.
Had Lucius Malfoy actually looked through the proposals as she'd asked? She felt a brief flutter of pleasant warmth until she continued glancing through several more pages graced with a string of perfunctory 'No's'. Hermione's ire at his arbitrary dismissals continued to grow until she stopped on one entry that was completely and utterly perplexing.
There, in Lucius's polished, loopy script, was a proposal simply marked: Feasible.
Before Hermione even had a moment to contemplate her discovery, the wizard himself let himself into her office with nary a knock, a full fifteen minutes early.