Chapter Text
“Harry…” Hermione begins to say, and then pauses because she can’t actually believe what the fuck she’s just heard. She looks to an equally bewildered Ron, standing wide eyed next to her.
“You can’t be serious mate?” Hermione hears him say, although his words sound distant, like she’s underwater. She slowly starts to go in and out of focus, tumbling down the rabbit hole of thoughts—that is Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy. The boy that made her formative years hell. Who constantly sneered at her with his cold dead eyes. Eyes she wasn’t sure how anyone could stand to look at. Eyes— so dominant and lethal, like the center of a storm and nothing like the warm steady blues of the man standing next to her.
Hermione shook herself slightly, forcing her attention back to Ron. She narrowed her eyes, her voice sharp and rising.
“Tell him, Ronald! Because if our idiot best friend isn’t going to listen to me, then YOU need to explain to him exactly why this is such a terrible idea!”
The words rushed out of her in pure, unfiltered disdain. Hermione felt her anger climbing fast, from a modest five to a full-blown ten on her personal scale, and she was only moments away from losing complete control if nobody intervened.
Closing her eyes momentarily, she silently chastised herself for even allowing her anger to simmer this hot over that former death eater.
“I don’t know, ‘Mione… Harry does make a fair point,” Ron cut in, attempting—rather poorly—to reason with her mid–mental breakdown.
“Malfoy’s been in Muggle London since the war. He pretty much prefers it over there, from what I’ve heard. He might be our best chance at giving this a go, eh?” he added, voice lilting upward in that infuriating way he had, as if everything he ever said needed a question mark.
Hermione stared at him. His dumb, sheepish expression would normally make her soften, maybe even smile. But not now. Right now she wanted to hex him clean off his feet for being such a pushover anytime it came to Harry.
And for doing that thing again—making every statement sound tentative, like he didn’t have a mind of his own when it came to anything remotely important.
“I don’t care about that! So what if that..twat has been in Muggle London for the last few years. He was FORCED to go there, may I remind the two of you!” She huffed loudly at them before continuing on her rant. “Therefore, he probably doesn’t give a rats arse about the Muggles or what’s going on in their world AND assigning him to work with us, let alone LIVE with us is just — asinine!” Her voice hit a solid ten, echoing off the walls. She could feel curls bouncing free from her chignon with every furious shake of her head, springing loose as if they, too, were enraged.
Harry and Ron just looked at her like the mad woman she now was.
“'Mione.. did you just say.. twat?” Ron asked incredulously. Hermione rarely name-called anyone these days.
“Of course I did, Ronald! I can’t think of a better word to describe that— that— spoiled twat!” she barked, hoping her tone alone conveyed the full extent of her frustration. At this point, she might actually hex him. Or both.
Harry and Ron continued to give her their best shocked faces. It has been along time since either one of them had been in her bad side.
“Hermione, please—just calm down and trust me on this one,” Harry cut in, looking like he was now on the verge of a breakdown. “I’ve worked with Malfoy a few times, and I do believe he’s at least passable for the job.”
He let out a deep, exhausted breath and scrubbed a hand over his scar. Something he always did whenever stress began to claw at him.
Hermione almost felt guilty for being the cause of it.
Almost.
“We don’t have a lot of options anyways. You know that. The ministry is more concerned about the wizarding world and has only tasked me with heading this because of well, my background with the Dursley’s.” He then looks pointedly at Hermione before continuing on.
“And you, Hermione. For the obvious reason that you’re Muggle born.” He tells her softly. She just rolls her eyes at that explanation because she wasn’t the only person in the Wizarding world that was muggle born. “And with Malfoy, well, he has been their plant since the beginning, so this shouldn’t be anything new. At least I convinced them to keep you and Ron together..” Harry gestures between her and Ron. His face hopeful, like he’s just delivered her the best present at the end of a receiving a pile of horse manure.
Don’t get her wrong—having Ron with her was, in some ways, a blessing. He’d be there to lean on during this diabolically stressful period. And besides, they’d been putting off living together since the war. Neither of them had been ready to rush into the next step when they still needed time to recover and heal.
Then again, Hermione wasn’t sure recovery ever had an end date. Her sessions with Madame Minx certainly proved that.
What she couldn’t believe was that her and Ron’s first attempt at living together now included Draco Malfoy. Absolute, utter shit.
That’s what this was going to be.
Hermione had always prided herself on being professional. She loved her job as an Auror detective, especially the chance to work exclusively on cases—usually by herself. She did her best work solo, after all.
Her skin began to itch with the self induced stress scratching under the surface.
She just knew she would break out in hives as they left Harry’s office.
Bloody hell.
Hermione took a deep breath in. Letting go of what seemed inevitable, because she couldn’t argue with the Ministry. They would never hear her out. She may have been part of the “Golden Trio” but those days of her 15 minutes of fame were over. Only Harry got to stay in the spotlight.
After simmering in her thoughts, she finally gave Harry a response.
“Yes..how kind of you to manage that..at least.” She knew her voice held a bit of sarcasm. And that her half smile was a fake as they came.
Hermione didn’t want to fully blame Harry, but he could have argued on her behalf. He knew what Malfoy was like to her in school. He knew that Malfoy avoided her at all costs, even after the war had long been over. Malfoy wasn’t the only Auror with deep pockets. It wasn’t fair to her, or to him really.
“Great then!” Harry clasped his hands together as the three of them stood to leave but not before he got in a few last words.
“You’re the best Witch and Wizard for this task. I truly believe in that, Hermione.” He paused before continuing on with his little speech. “Plus, we will show the ministry that they can count on us.” He says it matter-of-fact. Giving them both his best grin.
Goodness he is always such a kiss ass. Hermione couldn’t help it — she rolled her eyes at him.
“Glad you understand.” Harry said, like he didn’t just royally screw her — and not in the way she liked.
“Absolutely,” she murmured irritated. If he hadn’t been her best friend, she would have prayed he choked on her sarcasm.
********
The following morning, after an evening spent staying up far too late and debating what to do next, Hermione lowered her teacup—and immediately caught Crookshanks giving her the kind of look that could only be described as utter disappointment with a side of judgement.
“I know, Crooks,” she muttered.
Hermione groaned at herself. “Alright, alright, I’m a naughty mum. I’ll get right on it.”
Dragging herself away from her cold tea and self-pity, she shuffled over to the kitchen counter to fetch Crookshanks his favourite can of Whipsnout Sorcerer tuna. Honestly, the stuff smelled like it had been marinated in something foul enough to make a troll gag, and she could almost feel her stomach staging a revolt each time she opened a tin. But Crooks was her baby, and a good fur-mum would grin and bear it. She would keep buying the horrid-smelling fish… even if it lingered in the air for hours like some sort of lingering curse.
Wiping her hands, Hermione lit a match and thanked her lucky stars for magic, air-purifying charms, and the small mercies of mint-and-lavender candles. Still, Crookshanks had a peculiar habit of meowing incessantly whenever she tried to cover the smell, as though he preferred his home smelling like an open-air fish market.
Glancing at the clock, Hermione let out a long, resigned sigh and turned her attention back to her greedy cat.
“Today’s the day, Crooks. You’ll be gaining not one, but two live-in daddies.” She snorted at her own words. Somehow, that came out louder—and weirder—than she’d intended.
Thankfully, Crooks did not care. He ignored her completely, diving into his meal as though it were the first and last can of tuna he would ever lay eyes on. Honestly, she didn’t know if it was a feline trait in general or just a Crookshanks thing, the dramatic pretense of imminent starvation.
Ignoring the feline inhaling his food, Hermione turned to her next task: packing. The Muggle way. Slowly, and methodically. Deliberately taking her time in a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable. And, of course, to distract herself.
Ron would be at her cottage at six o’clock sharp, waiting with his father’s car—now equipped with an impressive extension charm, thanks entirely to her ingenuity.
Then they would ride off into the metaphorical sunset to their new home, with Malfoy lurking somewhere nearby.
She snorted again. Honestly, she was on a roll. Truly.
**********
When six o’clock came and went Hermione should have known Ron would be running late. The man could not be on the dot for a single thing in his life. His own family always made fun of him for it. He always just laughed along with them, despite Hermione asking him to pay better attention. She even gifted him a very impressive watch for Christmas last year. One that would project the time with a written note to let you know you’re needed. Too bad he always seemed to forget to put it on.
Blowing out a breath of frustration she turned away from her beloved bedroom to head to her favorite part of her home. Her office. Hermione decided that she could get some work done instead of basking in her feelings about tardiness, and future roommates. Opening the office door she stared lovingly at her space. The dark green floral wallpaper and crown molding. Followed by the floor to ceiling dark oak built-in book shelf. Her favorite chaise lounge sitting in front of her marble fireplace where she could always get lost in a good book for hours.
And that’s exactly what happened over the next 45 minutes. Instead of a book, it was through the little information they knew about this assignment. She scoured over the report again.
“The D.O.M office has been monitoring a small threat on Muggle England over the last several months. A couple of less populated areas outside of London has had four cases of small explosions detonating. The Muggles have blamed it on gas leaks. However, verified through the proper channels, it was deemed that there was a strong magical presence left behind at each location. The Muggle liaison team suspects foul play. We would like you to gather a small team to sort through the possibilities and determine if this is a credible threat on our world. Signed, Astoria Greengrass-Malfoy.”
There really was nothing in there for her to go by. Which would make the case a challenge.
She always did love a good challenge.
Running over her thoughts again, she asked herself why someone would blow up random abandoned buildings outside London? And what for?
That was the golden question that she was determined to find out. And find out she would. As soon as possible. She wanted, no NEEDED to get back to her little cottage and back to her routine. Sooner, rather then later.
A loud honk drove her from her thoughts as Ron finally made his way up the drive.
She lifted her head up in annoyance at being honked on. He knew her neighbors hated that.
“Yes, yes, I hear you Ronald.” She mumbled to herself as she gave one last longing look at her study before she closed the door and levitated her belongings as fast as she could out the front door.
“Merlin, Mione’!” Ron yelped from the car window. “How many bags do you need?” He questioned while looking at Hermione’s things like he forgot there was an extension charm on the car.
“I need my books and all my files Ron. You know I won’t be able to just sit around waiting for something to happen.” She said as she rolled her eyes and made her way to the car.
“Yeah, yeah.” He quipped. No longer paying attention to her but fumbling with the gps that had the location to the safe flat. Hermione loved Ron, but more often than not, he was caught up in his own worries and thoughts. Spacing out and only focusing on himself. She didn’t care for this side of him.
Blowing another sigh past her lips, she slowly sank into the dusty brown, worn out seat. She was determined not to make this two hour journey any more irritating than it already was. Therefore, she would forgo all thoughts and just zone him out with her favorite Muggle broadcast, ‘Mysteries and Magic in the dark’.