Notes:

(See the end of chapter for notes.)

"The Death Eater Question: Can the Notorious Draco Malfoy Truly Be Redeemed?"
By Rita Skeeter

It has been less than a year since the fall of You-Know-Who, and while the wizarding world seeks to rebuild, some scars run deeper than others. Among the most controversial topics is the fate of former Death Eaters, particularly Draco Malfoy. Once a symbol of pure-blood arrogance and cruelty, Malfoy now walks free under Ministry supervision.

But at what cost?

Ministry insiders reveal that Malfoy, 19, has been assigned to a rehabilitation program led by war heroine Hermione Granger. Sources claim that Granger, known for her brilliance and compassion, has already faced fierce backlash for her involvement. Is this misplaced idealism, or is the Ministry playing a dangerous game with one of the Dark Lord's closest supporters?

"Draco Malfoy is a snake in a gilded cage," said one source. "The question isn't whether he'll strike again—but when."

Hermione Granger's eyes scanned the article for the tenth time that morning. The Prophet lay open on her desk, its ink smudged from restless hands that had creased and folded the page repeatedly. Rita Skeeter's words, dripping with venom and innuendo, seemed to coil tighter around Hermione's thoughts each time she read them.

A snake in a gilded cage.

The phrase dug at her, a steady reminder of how far public perception of her work had fallen. She set the paper down with a deliberate motion, her fingers brushing the edge of Draco Malfoy's file. It sat at the top of a precarious stack of Ministry reports, its presence almost mocking her. The file was meticulous, containing every note, mandate, and record of the tense meetings they'd had since his arrival.

And yet, it didn't tell her the one thing she wanted to know: why he had requested her.

When Kingsley had brought the request to her attention, Hermione had been stunned. Of all the Ministry's departments, of all the people he could have chosen to oversee his rehabilitation, Draco Malfoy had said her name. She'd pushed back, but Kingsley had only shrugged, his tone clipped as he explained.

"Malfoy claims he wants redemption, and he's chosen you to prove it."

Redemption. The word felt hollow, more of a dare than a plea. Hermione's fingers tightened around the edge of her desk as the memory of his smirk flashed in her mind's eye. Whatever Draco Malfoy's intentions were, she wasn't about to let him turn this program into another one of his twisted games.

The clock chimed nine, the sound shattering her thoughts. She grabbed her cloak and made her way down the dim corridors of the Rehabilitation Wing. The air grew colder as she descended, the magical wards that guarded this part of the Ministry humming faintly. Few people ventured this far down. Even fewer came willingly.

The nameplate on the final door gleamed in the torchlight: D. Malfoy. Hermione's reflection stared back at her, pale and drawn, as her fingers hovered over the handle. Her eyes flickered to the faint glow of light spilling from under the door, the knowledge that Draco was just beyond it making her chest tighten. A deep breath steadied her hand, but before she could turn the knob, a voice broke through the silence.

"Hermione."

She froze.

Ron's voice was soft, almost coaxing, but there was a sharp edge beneath the tenderness. She turned slowly, finding him standing at the far end of the corridor. He leaned casually against the stone wall, his arms crossed, but there was nothing casual about the intensity in his gaze. His lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes as he pushed off the wall and walked toward her.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice deceptively light. His footsteps echoed in the stillness, deliberate and measured.

Hermione pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "I'm doing my job, Ron."

"Your job," he repeated, his tone mocking. "Babysitting Malfoy. Is that what you call it now?"

She stiffened, refusing to rise to the bait. Her eyes flicked again to the door, imagining Malfoy on the other side. Was he sitting at the table, waiting for her? Could he hear Ron?

"I don't have time for this. I'm late," she said, her voice firm.

Ron stepped closer, his posture shifting to block her path. His smile widened, but it was sharp now, an almost predatory amusement lighting his eyes. "You've always been good at excuses, haven't you, Hermione?"

Her jaw tightened. "This isn't about excuses. It's about doing what's right."

"Right?" Ron's voice dropped, his words carrying a bitter edge. "After everything he's done? After what he's done to you? You're going to stand here and defend him?"

Her gaze flicked toward the door again, lingering this time, and Ron's hand shot out, grabbing her arm. The contact burned, not in heat but in the weight of everything left unsaid between them.

"What made you think I would ever allow a Death Eater into your heart, for fuck's sake?" Ron's voice cracked slightly, but his anger carried him forward, his grip tightening on her arm.

"Look at me, Hermione," Ron said, his voice low but sharp. Her eyes stayed on the door. His grip tightened slightly, as if that would pull her attention. "Don't look at him. Look. At. Me.""

She slowly turned her eyes to his, her heart heavy. The boy she had once loved, the boy she had fought beside, wasn't standing in front of her. Instead, there was a man consumed by bitterness, grasping at something that had already slipped away.

"First, he asks for you specifically, and now you're defending him? Can't you see what he's doing?" He asks desperately. Her silence stretched between them, tense and unyielding, as if her refusal to answer was enough.

"I've been told he wants to change," she said finally, her voice quiet but firm. "That's more than I can say for you."

Ron's face twisted, his expression a mixture of anger and disbelief. His voice cracked slightly, but he forged ahead, his anger fueling him. "Don't let him ruin you, Hermione. I won't allow it."

She laughed softly, the sound brittle as she pulled her arm free. "Ruin me? You don't get to allow anything, Ron. And if you think this is about my heart, then you really haven't been paying attention."

Without waiting for his response, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, leaving him standing alone in the corridor. His whispered plea followed her like a ghost. "Hermione…"

When she entered, the room was cold, the air heavy with tension. A single enchanted lantern flickered above the table, casting a pale, unsteady light. Draco Malfoy sat at the far end, his wrists bound to the arms of his chair with glowing magical restraints. His posture remained upright despite the bindings, and his sharp, silver eyes fixed on her the moment she entered. His hair glinted like frost in the dim glow, and the faint smirk on his lips was as much a warning as it was a greeting.

"Took you long enough, Granger," he drawled, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the silence like a blade.

Notes:

Hi everyone! I was deeply inspired by a TikTok where AI Ron delivers these lines. The concept stuck with me, and I couldn't resist exploring it in a story. I think this will only be a few chapters long, but inspiration has been hitting me like crazy lately, especially since I've been feeling under the weather.

Here is that cheeky little Tik Tok

(PS. Next chapters for The Ghost of You and One Night are coming out later tonight! Cheers!)

Update:

I absolutely love this fan art (can be viewed in my AO3 account)! Huge shout-out to my bestie, who's incredibly talented despite not knowing much about Harry Potter. She also created a piece for The Ghost of You (Chapter 12).

In the meantime, go binge the rest of this story and let me know your thoughts—I'll be right here waiting, lovelies!