Prologue 2
"Open. Read it." Severus Snape points his lit-up wand at the leather bound book in Draco's shaking hands.
Draco stares him down, winces and mumbles, "Mrs Hermione Malfoy."
"Continue."
The burn in Draco's cheeks deepens as he repeats the words ten more times. It's the same name, written in different coloured quill ink in different font and each iteration goes down like a lead balloon.
The Head of Slytherin House (and his Godfather) smirks. "Mr Malfoy, whatever will your father think of this?"
"Nothing much." Draco clutches the book on his lap. "I told him she's a filthy, little Mudblood." Amongst other things.
"And how often do you tell him so?"
"Every day!" Draco blubbers, going redder than ever.
Snape sighs, rubbing his crow's foot. With a swift wave of the wand, he vanishes Hermione's name from the book, leaving it mostly empty. "If there ever is an opening at the Department of Mysteries, I certainly hope they decline your application." He allows Draco to shut the book. "Off to bed."
-x-x-x-
Present Day
Draco's robes feel a touch too tight. He tugs at the top-most button on his neck and checks the great clock on the side of the kiosk. It's mid-day in Grand Central Station and he's supposed to be meeting the British Magical Ministry envoy here at 12:03.
No sooner than the long hand passes twelve do wizards and witches begin to appear through the wall of Platform five and three quarters.
Draco holds up his sign, scanning the faces when suddenly, a witch in an oversized trench coat and jeans makes her way over and stares at him from under the brim of her bucket hat and a tangle of messy curls and scowls.
"Mal-"
"Malcolm." Draco shakes her hand with the enthusiasm of a decaying corpse. "Drew Malcolm. New York is no small village of England. Eyes and ears everywhere."
The witch harrumphs. "Apparently not. I feel like I've never left home, with all the familiar faces."
"Let's go." He doesn't bother getting her trunk, simply sticks his hands in his pockets and gestures for her to follow.
She's the Secret British envoy alright. Helen Grabber. He couldn't have ever guessed it would actually be Hermione Granger. Of all witches! This was a disaster waiting to happen and Draco's heart beats straight out of his chest.
They head out to the street where the car is waiting for them. Draco snaps his fingers at the chauffer. "Get her trunk in the back, will you."
He makes his way for the front seat, but Granger and her tea thermos makes a beeline there first. She plops her thick arse into the passenger side and...get this...blows him a raspberry. Draco slips into the back, kicking her seat as he does. She squeals, her tea spilling over her stupid Muggle pants.
Luck would have it, they're stuck in New York traffic. Granger vanishes the stain off her pants and takes this opportunity to run her annoyingly, large mouth at him. "Did you know that besides the driver, the passenger seat of a car is the safest as it is the only one with a working airbag?" she states.
The chauffer, bless his heart, adds, "Hate to break it to ya miss, but it's actually the back seats. Less impact from the glass smashing in your face."
Draco laughs. "At least I'll have your big back to protect me, you-"
"-filthy little Mudblood?" she scoffs. "How original. You couldn't come up with something better after all these years?"
He leans in, elbows on the glovebox. "Can't help it. Every time I see you I can only think of one thing."
She takes a deep breath, her pupils suddenly growing larger than saucers, and closes the partition curtain. The rest of the car ride goes in a similar manner, with the music blasting on high and the car moving at the pace of a sleeping Mandrake.
Finally, the car pulls up to an unassuming high rise in lower Manhattan, bordering Central Park. The chauffer tugs the trunk out, gesturing for Hermione to follow suite. The ride the elevator to the penthouse and Draco opens the front door with an Alohamoraand a ward unlock.
It's a three bedroom penthouse with a large window overlooking the city. The floors are made of fine hardwood and marble and the walls are painted a muted grey with accents of Slytherin green. There are plenty of shelves filled with books and trinkets. There's an open plan kitchen, a bar, three sofas and a Muggle television on the far end.
"I thought I was staying in Ministry housing?" she says, looking around the place.
"I'm from the Ministry," Draco says, arms crossed. "And this is my house."
The chauffer has long gone and Hermione's trunk stands like a poor relative by the door. Marching over to it, she points one accusing finger in his direction and says, "I am not staying in the same house as you, Draco Malfoy." She picks up the trunk and the latches give out, the entirety of her pathetic wardrobe and her knickknacks scattering across his pristine wood floor.
Draco can't hold it in any longer. Grabbing his stomach, the laugh rolls right out of him and before he knows it, he's doubled over, one hand on the bar stool, and braying like a horse. Classic Granger. Classic.
"You stupid, foul, evil little-"
"-cockroach?" He wheezes. "How original."
"Are you going to help me or not?"
Draco is. He's on the floor, picking up her books and her hair products when one overturned edition catches his eye. "Hey, is that my third year arithmancy text?" He flips over to the flyleaf and grins. "Aww, you've kept my book. How sentimental. Or maybe they're not paying you enough at the Ministry to buy new ones?"
"Shut up." She grabs the book back, shoving it into her trunk.
"You know," he says, his voice suddenly dropping. "I've kept all your little gifts as well. Remember all those dull ink nibs you've stuck on my chair over the years?" He pats his arse.
"How sentimental," she coos rolling her eyes. With the trunk packed, Hermione looks a fair bit more relaxed. "The most logical choice is for me to stay here until I get in contact with the American Minister and get a new partner."
"Good luck with that," Draco says. "You still think this is all a coincidence? Father wants me to keep an eye on you so that Snape doesn't tell you anything we don't want him to."
"Still working for daddy, are you?"
"That's rich. You're nothing, but unpaid escort. How are you going to get Snape to talk?" He plays with his brows, scanning her body up and down. "Are you going to seduce him with your essays?"
"As a matter of fact, I am," she rasps out.
Then, Draco understands and his face expresses the full spectrum of emotions. "That's disgusting."
"Or maybe you're jealous that YOUR essays only make people cry."
"Boo-hoo," Draco says, flopping on the giant sofa. "Gods the Order has gone to the dogs. Dumbledore really is mad."
Before he knows it, Hermione floats over and sits beside him wrapping herself in the cozy throw blanket. "I take it that Mr Snape hasn't been talking to any of you either."
Draco harrumphs. "Father doesn't trust him. Says he'll keep secrets even from himself if he could."
"What's he like now?"
Draco could swear her eyes are getting that dreamy, faraway look. He doesn't want to imagine how she pictures his old, greasy Godfather. Gods, what is it with introverted, bookish girls and cold, brooding Professors that make them want to drop their panties and do unspeakable things to them? When there areperfectlygood young and able candidates waiting on the sidelines...
"He's everything you're probably imagining. Thin, greasy, his nose stuck in some old book and candlewax dripping off his balls."
"Are you jealous?" She's looking at him with those chocolate brown eyes of hers, batting her lashes.
"Of Severus Snape?" He blows a lip bubble. "Absolutely."
"Well the sooner I can talk to him, the sooner I'll be out of his hair," she says quickly. She's got nice lips, that witch, and they're *so* not for him. "Where's the loo?"
"Down the hall, to the right." He watches her nice, curvy behind strut in front of him. "Oh and Granger? We call them bathrooms here."
-x-x-x-
Why couldn't Draco Malfoy have gone to Durmstrang and stayed there? Of all wizards, she was stuck in New York withhim.Just her luck. With Draco by her side, she'd never get any good information out of Mr Snape...or if she did, Draco would probably relay it to his father and have her whole mind wiped: Obliviated. Luck would have it, that's exactly what Draco was going to do to her regardless.
She had long suspected both he, Crabbe and Goyle were working under the same umbrella of evil.
She needed to get him off her tip and get the Defense Professor all to herself. Hermione blushed. Look at her, so possessive already.
She saw the loo...err, bathroom...by passed it and snuck into Draco's office. If she could just get some old letter discussing dark and shady Death Eater business or an invitation to an evil birthday party of something, the Ministry would probably promote her on the spot. Names of Voldemort's followers were worth an arm and a limb these days.
Opening up drawer by drawer in his large oak desk, she saw nothing but, "manuscripts?" Draco Malfoy was writing a book. Of course he was. It was probably about his great adventures across the pond or how hard it was to grow up rich and privileged.
"Drey Maldrick and the Philosopher's Stone-"
"-lost are you?"
Hermione gasps, slowly backing away from the drawer as Draco watches her, leaning against the doorframe.
"Snooping around my office? Pathetic. You think I'd keep anything valuable here?"
"Only your novel. Oh, wait. You're right.."
Draco reddens. "Sure hope you didn't read that."
"I did. And it's pretty intriguing," she says. "If you want, I can be your first reader, give you some feedback."
"I don't need you telling me my writing is rubbish-"
"You know that being a Beta reader is a real job. I've corrected and written quite a few publications myself for the Charms and Arithmancy journals."
"I've corrected a few things myself," Draco repeats in a nasty, high pitched female tone. "I get it. You're so smart and all." Then pauses. "Actually, I would like you to read it. Maybe you can get a few pointers from me."
"I doubt that," she says, laughing shortly.
"My father did hire me a tutor since I was five."
"Then you have nothing to worry about," she says. "How about tomorrow, after I visit Mr Snape in Ilvermorny, I can take a look at it."
"Fine." He beckons her to follow him to a spare bedroom, which she concludes is hers. He's taken the liberty to bring her clothes here as well...because you're a damn clutz...which is the nicest thing one can really hear from Draco Malfoy.
"So, what are you going to wear to your rendez-vous with Mr Snape?"
She straightens, pulling out a black skirt, a white button-up and a dark blazer with the Ilvermorny crest on the side. "The uniform. To fit in and not make a scene."
He pulls a face. "Hopefully your essays are as good as you say they are."
"You best hope so. Or else you'll be stuck with me for at least a week. If not more," she warns.
His posture melts into a lazy flop, his expression - waggish. "Best hope not."
A/N: Next chapter...SNAPE! Let's hope Hermione is successful in her mission. Thanks for reading...