Fic: The Space Between (Draco/Hermione) Chapter 4
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I don't make any money with this.
Title: The Space Between (Chapter 4/7)
Author: kalina_blue
Rating: R (barely)
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Word Count: 4495
Summary: A Halloween costume has some rather unexpected consequences.
Warnings: Post-DH, EWE.
A/N: Written for ldymusyc’s request for the 2009 Halloween Trick or Treat Fest at luvlikerocketz. The prompt was Hallowe'en means costumes, but those wings aren't fake. This is officially the longest ficlet ever and apparently it's taking me quite some time to finish it. All I can say is that I have no intentions of abandoning this story and that I hope to post the next chapter a lot sooner than this one.
Titles and lyrics are from the song The Space Between by The Dave Matthews Band.
Thanks go to the lovely Withdrawnred, for beta'ing the chapter.
Chapter 4 - Hope To Keep Safe From The Pain
By the end of November, Hermione and Snape were no closer to finding a way to reverse Draco’s wings. They had gone as far as contemplating surgical removal, but the close proximity of the wings to Draco’s spine proved to be too risky for this particular course of action.
On the upside, Draco played Seeker for the Magical Law Enforcement team in the Inter-Ministry Quidditch Fundraising Tournament. They defeated Potter’s team of Aurors in the finale, and for the first time, Draco caught the Snitch before Harry. He didn’t even need his broomstick.
That is not to say that he didn’t wish to be rid of the wings every single day, but he found that they had at least some advantages; though the disadvantages certainly were in the majority. Draco especially despised all the attention he garnered due to the wings. Even a month after Halloween, all witches and wizards he met still stared at Draco’s wings like he was a rare species in a zoo.
Most of his male colleagues at the Ministry had taken to mocking him. One of them, a stubby wizard from the Department of Magical Sports who had lost three brothers in the war against Voldemort, had even gone so far as to try and hex the wings pink. The poor wizard had to discover, though, that not only was he no match for Draco Malfoy in a wizarding duel, but also that Draco had already learned to use his wings in a fight. The stubby wizard was disarmed and knocked to the ground by one powerful surge of the wings long before the Coloration Charm ever reached Draco.
After that unfortunate incident, most wizards preferred not to mock Draco about his fluffy wings to his face. But, of course, they never stopped talking behind his back-or behind his wings, more accurately.
While Draco had anticipated the response of his male colleagues to his wings, the reaction of most witches caught him completely off guard. As it turned out, women quite liked his wings. Draco could never figure out why that was the case, but the amount of attention women were paying him was disconcerting-especially since he had discovered early on that he didn’t like it when someone touched his wings without his consent.
There was an incident where one particularly forward witch in the elevator tried to take her flirting to the next level. Luckily, Granger had been around to prevent Draco from doing the other witch serious harm. The elevator, however, wasn’t so fortunate. It took the maintenance crew of the Ministry several days of magical repairs to restore it to its previous form.
Draco couldn’t quite describe it, but having someone touch his wings felt incredibly intimate. Somehow it felt even closer than when someone would run their hands over his bare back, making him feel very uncomfortable. In any case, he didn’t appreciate being touched by random strangers, wings or no wings. To Draco’s relief, most people seemed to decide to keep their distance after the incidents in the elevator and with the stubby wizard from the Magical Sports Department.
The only witch who was behaving relatively normal around him was Granger, who obviously was plagued too much by her guilt to appreciate his wings. Draco also discovered that working with her wasn’t entirely bad. They complemented each other nicely. Where he was harsh and determined, she was polite and diplomatic. The combination of their respective talents resulted in a lot of progress. Had either one of them worked their task alone, they would have needed more than twice the amount of time.
Draco also discovered that he only needed to twitch with his wings and Granger would feel so guilty, she would volunteer to do whichever less appealing aspect of their job Draco was trying to avoid. Naturally, he had no qualms about exploiting that particular aspect of their working relationship.
Draco usually spent his evenings after work at Snape’s house. Snape and Hermione met most days to work on finding a cure, and they needed him around for testing. Draco stayed outside on the cliffs for most of that time, stretching his wings. After spending the majority of his day inside the Ministry, Draco always appreciated the opportunity to unfold his wings.
From time to time, Draco liked sitting in the lab, watching his godfather and Hermione work. Seeing them bend over the cauldrons, stirring in a carefully calculated measure or chopping ingredients with deliberated precision gave Draco confidence that they would find him a cure, even if it might take a while.
To his amusement, he had noticed early on that Snape and Hermione had very similar styles of working. From the crooked bow in their backs when they poured over their notes, the tight organisation with which they conducted their experiments, to the obscene amount of concentration they both could utilize on a single task no matter how menial, their approach to potion-making was almost identical. If Hermione had had black hair and Snape were to start gnawing at his bottom lip, Draco would have insisted they have a paternity charm done.
Another talent they had in common was annoying Draco by talking about things that were better left unsaid. Hermione was constantly babbling about Merlin knows what, though her favourite topic of conversation was how sorry she was to have caused this mess. Even though Draco agreed that she was solely responsible, he grew tired of her talking about it day in and day out. The wings on his back were already making it impossible for him to forget; he didn’t need Hermione to constantly remind him as well.
Snape wasn’t nearly as talkative as Hermione, completely the opposite in fact. However, he didn’t shy away from speaking his mind when he thought that his godson had to hear something. If there was an issue that needed addressing, Draco could trust Snape to address it without consideration for Draco’s opinion or, Merlin forbid, his feelings.
Like the issue with Draco’s parents, a particularly sore subject for Draco. Snape had started with subtle hints about Draco’s mother, but Draco remained stubborn and ignored his godfather. Finally, Snape chose a more direct approach. One day, as Draco was down in the basement watching Hermione and Severus work, Severus suddenly broke his customary silence in the lab and chose a more direct approach.
“Your mother owled me today. Again,” he said calmly, without interrupting his work.
“So what?” Draco asked, feigning ignorance. “She owls me every week.”
“Are you answering any of her letters?” Snape wasn’t one to be fooled easily.
“Sometimes,” Draco replied evasively. He was already eyeing the stairs, trying to figure out a way to escape the conversation.
“When is the last time you visited your parents?” Snape asked, relentless but calm. He still hadn’t interrupted his work. Hermione, on the other hand, had put the knife she had used to chop ginger roots down and looked from Draco to Snape in alarm.
“Why is that any of your business?” Draco asked, his temper rising quickly.
“It is my business because your mother continues to ask about you.”
“Then tell her to stop bothering you,” Draco shouted. He got up and, with an angry flourish of his wings, left the basement.
“Very mature way of handling this, Draco,” his godfather called after him, but Draco ignored him. He escaped outside, letting the frosty November air cool his anger.
*****
When Snape had spoken up, Hermione had been surprised and not just a little bit curious. Snape usually didn’t talk unless it was to discuss a potion. He never bothered with small talk, and he certainly didn’t delve into any deep and personal subjects. It didn’t get more personal than talking about Draco’s parents, and Hermione was not only surprised that Snape had done it, but more so that he had done it in her presence.
Draco’s reaction was yet another surprise. He had reacted like a spoiled little boy, and Hermione had half-expected him to stomp his foot or slam the door on his way out. Just one month ago she would have thought nothing of Draco Malfoy acting like a spoiled brat. But the past six weeks had clearly shown that he had grown up. He had reacted more maturely to the news that he would be stuck with the wings for the unforeseeable future than to Snape’s mere mention of his mother, and Hermione was completely puzzled by it.
Once Draco had left, Snape continued to work as usual, pretending his godson’s temper tantrum had never happen.
“Aren’t you going to go after him?” Hermione asked.
“When he’s in one of his moods? Certainly not,” was all Snape had to say about the matter. He didn’t even look up from his cauldron.
“But he seemed truly upset.”
“Draco is always upset these days when he has to deal with his family.” Snape shrugged. “If you are so worried about him, Miss Granger, feel free to go and talk to him. I wish you the best of luck.” The last part was spoken with quite a bit of sarcasm in the Potions master’s voice.
Hermione glanced at her knife, still resting on the table, but didn't pick it back up.
“I think I will,” she announced, clearing away the ginger root.
Snape didn’t comment.
Hermione left the basement and walked up the stairs. Draco wasn’t in the house, but she hadn’t expected him to be. In the last few weeks, Draco had either been down at the basement with them or outside. He rarely spent time inside the house if he didn’t have to.
She put on her cloak and went out back, looking for Draco. She didn’t have to go far. Draco was standing at the cliffs, right behind the cottage. His wings were spread wide, and he was looking down to the ocean below.
“Are you all right?” Hermione asked when she was close enough.
Draco’s only reaction was to fold his wings. He didn’t turn around and he didn’t answer.
“Draco?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Um, because you just stormed out of the lab like an upset six-year-old?”
“Mind your own business.”
It appeared that Snape’s prediction that it wouldn’t be easy to talk to Draco was accurate. She should have figured. But giving up so soon seemed like admitting defeat, and Hermione could just imagine Snape’s smirk when she went back into the lab without having had a proper conversation with Draco.
“Why haven’t you written to your parents?” Hermione tried again. “Or visited them?”
“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” Draco wheeled around and took a few threatening steps towards her. Hermione noticed that for once his wings were twitching agitatedly. It hadn’t been like that for weeks. The first day after Halloween, judging Draco’s mood had been easy. His wings had always given him away. But he had quickly learned to control them, and just like his face was an unreadable mask, his wings didn’t portray emotions anymore either.
Except for today, it seemed.
“Did you have a fight with your parents?” Hermione asked, not one to be easily intimidated.
“No, Merlin forbid, why would I fight with them? They only got me almost killed.”
“What?”
“They pledged themselves to the Dark Lord, then screwed it up, which is why their sixteen-year-old son-that's me, by the way-got sent on a suicide mission. Does that ring any bell for you?” Draco asked, sounding annoyed.
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.”
“But your mother helped Harry in order to save you.”
“Sure, after I had had to endure being the youngest and weakest Death Eater for almost two years. Do you think that was easy? Besides, it’s not my mother I’m mad at. It’s my father who still doesn’t get it.”
“Doesn’t get-?”
“Voldemort, Granger. His defeat,” Draco shouted. “Make no mistake, if the old lunatic finds a way back from behind the veil for a second time, my father would be the first in line to serve him again.”
Hermione gasped. “You can’t be serious.”
“You’re so gullible. Believing everyone likes the new way things run now. But there will always be people like my dad, old school fanatics who won’t accept progress and who won’t accept defeat. What do you think we’ve been working on the whole time we were tracking down wayward Death Eaters?”
Hermione shook her head in disbelief. “But your father was cleared of all charges. He denounced Voldemort.”
“My father talked his way out of a life sentence at Azkaban, that’s all. Cost him quite a lot of Galleons, too, I imagine,” Draco spat.
“But… but if your father is doing-“
“Don’t worry about it, Granger. Lucius is being a perfectly law-abiding wizard these days.”
“But you just said…”
“I said, if the Dark Lord were to come back, Lucius would follow him. But don’t think my father’s going to risk any more of his money or his precious reputation before he knows for sure he’s betting on the winning Hippogriff this time.”
“That’s awful.”
Draco shrugged.
“Is that why you don’t want to visit your father?”
Draco didn’t say anything for a while, and Hermione already thought he wouldn’t answer. Finally, Draco spoke, “He blames me for the defeat of the Dark Lord.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Lucius hasn’t said anything, but I know what he is thinking. If I had been able to take care of myself, my mother wouldn’t have needed to betray the Dark Lord and come after me. Potter would have died out there in the Forbidden Forest.”
“What about you? Do you regret that your mother lied for Harry?”
Again Draco didn’t answer right away, and the longer the silence stretched between them, the more nervous Hermione got.
“No, I guess not,” Draco finally said quietly.
Then he spread his wings, and with one giant leap, he jumped off the cliff. With mixed feelings, Hermione watched him fly for a while before she headed back to Snape’s lab.
*****
The following morning at work, Hermione was in for yet another surprise. When she opened the door to her office, she was shocked to find that all her things were gone. Even her desk and all her filing cabinets had vanished, and she was standing in an empty room.
Her first thought was that the Minister had found out that Draco hadn’t known the potion she had given him was untested and that the wings were entirely her fault. But Hermione rather thought that even if the Minister decided to give her the boot, he would at least have the courtesy to inform her about her dismissal before clearing her office.
Hermione was at a loss, but the mystery was solved shortly afterwards when Malfoy stuck his head into her office.
“If you are looking for your things, they are in my office. Well, I guess it’s our office now,” he announced without preamble.
“Why?” Hermione asked bewildered.
“It appears our dear Minister is getting impatient and has decided to step up his game. Bloody good move, if you ask me,” Draco said merrily, as if that would explain everything.
When Hermione still stared at him blankly, he elaborated further, “The Minister wants us to spill the beans about how I really got my wings. He is making us share an office in the hopes that if we have to spend the entire day in each others' presence, we will eventually crack and give ourselves away. The official reason for the merger is that it will be more convenient now that we work together so closely.”
“You sound like you are absolutely delighted to share an office with me,” Hermione remarked, surprised.
“Don’t be stupid, Granger. You’re probably going to be a real pain in the arse. But I appreciate a good manoeuvre when I see one,” Draco replied. “You gotta hand it to the old chap. The manipulative bastard makes a bloody good Minister.”
“Language, Draco!” Hermione immediately reprimanded. She closed the door to her now-deserted office and walked across the hallway to Draco’s office-their office.
“Why bother?” Draco asked, following along. “It’s not going to make it any less true if I say it nicely.”
“Ever heard of something like etiquette or manners?” Hermione asked. She was glad to see that Draco’s office had been magically expanded and that all her things seemed to be accounted for. Her desk stood facing Draco’s, and her filing cabinets fitted nicely against the wall. She suppressed the urge to go and check if her colour-coded filing system was still in order and sat down in her chair.
“Sorry, I substituted etiquette lessons for ‘How to kill Mudbloods 101.’” Draco slummed down in his own chair.
“So not funny, Malfoy,” Hermione hissed. She had a feeling that sharing an office with Malfoy would try her patience to the maximum. Malfoy was right: the Minister was good.
*****
Draco and Hermione managed to not kill each other until lunch, but as far as Hermione was concerned, the Minister must have been a medieval torturer in another lifetime. Draco continued to appreciate the political manoeuvring, and he positively delighted in annoying Hermione whenever she was trying to concentrate on paperwork. When he began throwing paper balls at her, she seriously considered giving him a beak to match his wings. She only desisted because she was afraid the Minister would probably not believe her if she told him another accident had happened.
She was saved from committing anything else the Wizengamot might have interpreted as illegal actions by Harry, who stuck his head into the office around noon.
“Hey, Hermione, there was a note on your office door saying you can now be found here,” he said.
“Give the wizard a prize. He can read!” Draco shouted, throwing a paper ball at Harry.
Hermione got up before Harry could retaliate. “Let’s have some lunch.” She grabbed her purse in one hand and Harry’s sleeve in the other and dragged her best friend from the office.
“You are sharing an office with Malfoy now?” Harry asked, brushing the paper ball from his robes with a frown.
“The Minister’s idea. He’s evil,” Hermione hissed.
Harry laughed. “Kingsley knows you guys are lying to him, but he can’t prove it. Probably drives him nuts.”
“If you think this is funny, you can go right back to the office and have lunch with Malfoy,” Hermione snapped.
“No, no. That is not necessary. I wanted to talk to you,” Harry said quickly.
Hermione looked at him curiously, waiting until he would elaborate, but Harry didn’t say anything else. They left the Ministry together and went to a little restaurant close by that was owned by a Squib and frequented by a lot of Ministry employees.
After they had ordered their food, Harry cast a Muffliato around their table. Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“What do you want to talk to me about that is so important you are scared of being overheard in a loud and crowded restaurant?”
Harry unfolded the napkin in front of him. Then he folded it again.
“Harry? What is it?” Hermione was beginning to get worried. Harry continued to fiddle with the napkin, avoiding eye contact.
“I need a favour,” he finally mumbled.
“Of course,” Hermione immediately agreed. “Do you need me to do some research for you?”
“Not exactly.” Harry finally looked up from the napkin and into Hermione’s eyes. “I need you to tell me where to find Snape.”
“Okay, not what I was expecting,” Hermione said, looking at Harry quizzically.
“I just need to talk to him, you know,” Harry was back to folding the napkin. “He gave me all those memories, but he never explained… Well, I guess, they are sort of self-explanatory, but I still have some questions. And now that you know where he lives…”
“Oh, Harry.”
Harry shrugged. “Are you going to help me?”
Before Hermione could answer their food arrived. She waited until the waiter had put their plates down and left again.
“I don’t know if Snape wants to talk to you or not, and I don’t want to betray his trust by giving you his address without asking him first.”
“I understand,” Harry assured her. He seemed to be a lot calmer now that he had told Hermione what he needed help with and she hadn’t laughed at him. “But you will ask him?”
“Sure,” Hermione said, picking up her fork and beginning to eat.
*****
Harry and Hermione spent the rest of their lunch talking about other things-mainly Ron, who Hermione still hadn’t forgiven for accusing her of being a prankster. Harry was trying his best to reconcile his two best friends. In the end, Hermione agreed to visit the Burrow with him after work.
One hour later, Hermione returned to the office to find that Draco had not yet returned from his lunch break. She used the rare silence and immersed herself in her files. Draco got back half an hour later.
“Sometimes I think you are married to paperwork,” Draco commented when he entered the office.
“One of us has to do it,” Hermione said, without looking up.
“And thank Merlin that one isn’t me,” Draco said with utter conviction. He sat down with a flourish of his wings.
Hermione looked up. “So you’d think you owe me for doing all the paperwork you despise, don’t you?” she asked.
“Actually, I think that you owe me the favours,” Draco shot back, wiggling his wings. Hermione looked instantly guilty, but she couldn’t be deterred that easily this time.
“It really would only be a small favour…”
“Just out of curiosity, what is it that you want me to do?”
“Ask Snape if Harry can come visit him,” Hermione replied promptly.
Draco burst out laughing. “Are you out of your mind? The old man is going to hex me just for suggesting it.”
“But he is far more likely going to listen to you than to me,” Hermione said, ignoring Draco’s obvious mirth.
“Forget it, Granger. I don’t have a death wish.”
Shaking his head, Draco grabbed a report about an anti-Muggle movement in Belgium and continued to work. Hermione was chewing her lip anxiously, but she returned to her papers as well.
They worked together silently for the better part of the afternoon. Draco seemed to have temporarily lost interest in trying to annoy Hermione to death and focused on his work. Hermione did the same. But she was not deterred for long.
“About that favour I asked you,” she said when she was done filling out the last report for the day.
“Forget it, Granger. Snape will never agree to meet with him,” Draco replied shortly. He put down the report he had been studying and stood up to stretch his wings. Although the office had been magically expanded to fit Hermione’s things, he still could only partially unfold them.
“If you could just reconsider-” Hermione tried again, but a knock on the door cut her off.
Once again it was Harry. “Ready to visit the Burrow, Hermione?” he asked, ignoring Draco.
Hermione nodded. Draco looked from Harry to Hermione, a calculating look on his face. “What are the chances you’re going to quit nagging me about this?” he asked Hermione.
Hermione smiled. “Slim to none.”
“That’s what I thought.” Draco sighed. Without another word, he walked towards the door and grabbed Harry’s arm.
“Malfoy, what are you-” Harry started, but before he could finish his sentence or draw his wand Draco Disapparated, taking Harry with him.
They reappeared on a familiar cliff outside a small cottage in Cornwall-at least Draco was familiar with his surroundings. Harry, on the other hand, had clearly no idea where he was. He whipped out his wand as soon as he had solid ground under his feet again and readied for an attack.
“Where are we?” he bellowed.
“I thought you wanted to see Severus,” Draco said, entirely unimpressed by the presence of Harry’s wand in his face.
Harry lowered his wand in surprise. “He lives here?”
“No, I just like the countryside. OF COURSE he lives here. Try to keep up, Potter.”
Harry looked uncertainly towards the house. “He doesn’t know I’m coming, does he?”
“No, and if he asks how you got here, keep my name out of it. Try telling him you stumbled onto his cottage by sheer dumb luck. If luck is proportionate to stupidity, you finding the place on your own is likely enough.”
Still looking towards the cottage, Harry refused to rise to the barb.
“Thanks, Malfoy,” he said absently.
Draco stared at him in disbelief. Potter was being polite. The world must truly be coming to an end. Draco suspected he should have seen the signs earlier. Know-it-all Granger had admitted that she didn’t know everything after all (that the one thing she didn’t know was the recipe to his cure was just his luck), and he was not only sprouting giant wings on his back, but also more or less willingly doing favours for a Muggle-born. Clearly, the apocalypse was nigh, or at the very least, Draco was slowly but steadily losing his marbles.
Maybe he should visit his parents after all. Considering the way things were going, Lucius probably had developed a liking to silk painting and started a Holiday Resort and Spa for abused house-elves. Perhaps the Dark Lord had taken up baking cookies in the afterlife.
Shaking his head in order to get rid of the disturbing image of Voldemort wearing an apron and oven mittens, Draco left Potter to his own devices and Apparated back to the Ministry. As soon as he entered his office, Hermione pounced.
“How did it go?” she asked eagerly.
“I deliberated, focused on my destination, gathered all the determination I could muster…”
“I don’t care about Apparating,” Hermione interrupted impatiently. “How did Harry’s conversation with Snape go?”
“Do you really think I stuck around to watch? In all likelihood, Severus is going to hex the blundering idiot on the spot, and if he does, it’s probably best if there are no witnesses around who will later have to testify in front of the Wizengamot.”
“Oh, you’re impossible.”
“I’m doing you a favour and now I’m impossible? I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
Hermione rolled her eyes at his antics. “Thank you very much for helping out.” She bent towards him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I need to check with Alice when the Minister wants to have our next report before I leave for the day,” she announced, hurrying out of the office.
Draco could only shake his head. His only consolation was that even if he was going insane, Granger was obviously suffering the same fate.
tbc
A/N: Reviews are love.
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Title: The Space Between (Chapter 4/7)
Author: kalina_blue
Rating: R (barely)
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Word Count: 4495
Summary: A Halloween costume has some rather unexpected consequences.
Warnings: Post-DH, EWE.
A/N: Written for ldymusyc’s request for the 2009 Halloween Trick or Treat Fest at luvlikerocketz. The prompt was Hallowe'en means costumes, but those wings aren't fake. This is officially the longest ficlet ever and apparently it's taking me quite some time to finish it. All I can say is that I have no intentions of abandoning this story and that I hope to post the next chapter a lot sooner than this one.
Titles and lyrics are from the song The Space Between by The Dave Matthews Band.
Thanks go to the lovely Withdrawnred, for beta'ing the chapter.
Chapter 4 - Hope To Keep Safe From The Pain
By the end of November, Hermione and Snape were no closer to finding a way to reverse Draco’s wings. They had gone as far as contemplating surgical removal, but the close proximity of the wings to Draco’s spine proved to be too risky for this particular course of action.
On the upside, Draco played Seeker for the Magical Law Enforcement team in the Inter-Ministry Quidditch Fundraising Tournament. They defeated Potter’s team of Aurors in the finale, and for the first time, Draco caught the Snitch before Harry. He didn’t even need his broomstick.
That is not to say that he didn’t wish to be rid of the wings every single day, but he found that they had at least some advantages; though the disadvantages certainly were in the majority. Draco especially despised all the attention he garnered due to the wings. Even a month after Halloween, all witches and wizards he met still stared at Draco’s wings like he was a rare species in a zoo.
Most of his male colleagues at the Ministry had taken to mocking him. One of them, a stubby wizard from the Department of Magical Sports who had lost three brothers in the war against Voldemort, had even gone so far as to try and hex the wings pink. The poor wizard had to discover, though, that not only was he no match for Draco Malfoy in a wizarding duel, but also that Draco had already learned to use his wings in a fight. The stubby wizard was disarmed and knocked to the ground by one powerful surge of the wings long before the Coloration Charm ever reached Draco.
After that unfortunate incident, most wizards preferred not to mock Draco about his fluffy wings to his face. But, of course, they never stopped talking behind his back-or behind his wings, more accurately.
While Draco had anticipated the response of his male colleagues to his wings, the reaction of most witches caught him completely off guard. As it turned out, women quite liked his wings. Draco could never figure out why that was the case, but the amount of attention women were paying him was disconcerting-especially since he had discovered early on that he didn’t like it when someone touched his wings without his consent.
There was an incident where one particularly forward witch in the elevator tried to take her flirting to the next level. Luckily, Granger had been around to prevent Draco from doing the other witch serious harm. The elevator, however, wasn’t so fortunate. It took the maintenance crew of the Ministry several days of magical repairs to restore it to its previous form.
Draco couldn’t quite describe it, but having someone touch his wings felt incredibly intimate. Somehow it felt even closer than when someone would run their hands over his bare back, making him feel very uncomfortable. In any case, he didn’t appreciate being touched by random strangers, wings or no wings. To Draco’s relief, most people seemed to decide to keep their distance after the incidents in the elevator and with the stubby wizard from the Magical Sports Department.
The only witch who was behaving relatively normal around him was Granger, who obviously was plagued too much by her guilt to appreciate his wings. Draco also discovered that working with her wasn’t entirely bad. They complemented each other nicely. Where he was harsh and determined, she was polite and diplomatic. The combination of their respective talents resulted in a lot of progress. Had either one of them worked their task alone, they would have needed more than twice the amount of time.
Draco also discovered that he only needed to twitch with his wings and Granger would feel so guilty, she would volunteer to do whichever less appealing aspect of their job Draco was trying to avoid. Naturally, he had no qualms about exploiting that particular aspect of their working relationship.
Draco usually spent his evenings after work at Snape’s house. Snape and Hermione met most days to work on finding a cure, and they needed him around for testing. Draco stayed outside on the cliffs for most of that time, stretching his wings. After spending the majority of his day inside the Ministry, Draco always appreciated the opportunity to unfold his wings.
From time to time, Draco liked sitting in the lab, watching his godfather and Hermione work. Seeing them bend over the cauldrons, stirring in a carefully calculated measure or chopping ingredients with deliberated precision gave Draco confidence that they would find him a cure, even if it might take a while.
To his amusement, he had noticed early on that Snape and Hermione had very similar styles of working. From the crooked bow in their backs when they poured over their notes, the tight organisation with which they conducted their experiments, to the obscene amount of concentration they both could utilize on a single task no matter how menial, their approach to potion-making was almost identical. If Hermione had had black hair and Snape were to start gnawing at his bottom lip, Draco would have insisted they have a paternity charm done.
Another talent they had in common was annoying Draco by talking about things that were better left unsaid. Hermione was constantly babbling about Merlin knows what, though her favourite topic of conversation was how sorry she was to have caused this mess. Even though Draco agreed that she was solely responsible, he grew tired of her talking about it day in and day out. The wings on his back were already making it impossible for him to forget; he didn’t need Hermione to constantly remind him as well.
Snape wasn’t nearly as talkative as Hermione, completely the opposite in fact. However, he didn’t shy away from speaking his mind when he thought that his godson had to hear something. If there was an issue that needed addressing, Draco could trust Snape to address it without consideration for Draco’s opinion or, Merlin forbid, his feelings.
Like the issue with Draco’s parents, a particularly sore subject for Draco. Snape had started with subtle hints about Draco’s mother, but Draco remained stubborn and ignored his godfather. Finally, Snape chose a more direct approach. One day, as Draco was down in the basement watching Hermione and Severus work, Severus suddenly broke his customary silence in the lab and chose a more direct approach.
“Your mother owled me today. Again,” he said calmly, without interrupting his work.
“So what?” Draco asked, feigning ignorance. “She owls me every week.”
“Are you answering any of her letters?” Snape wasn’t one to be fooled easily.
“Sometimes,” Draco replied evasively. He was already eyeing the stairs, trying to figure out a way to escape the conversation.
“When is the last time you visited your parents?” Snape asked, relentless but calm. He still hadn’t interrupted his work. Hermione, on the other hand, had put the knife she had used to chop ginger roots down and looked from Draco to Snape in alarm.
“Why is that any of your business?” Draco asked, his temper rising quickly.
“It is my business because your mother continues to ask about you.”
“Then tell her to stop bothering you,” Draco shouted. He got up and, with an angry flourish of his wings, left the basement.
“Very mature way of handling this, Draco,” his godfather called after him, but Draco ignored him. He escaped outside, letting the frosty November air cool his anger.
*****
When Snape had spoken up, Hermione had been surprised and not just a little bit curious. Snape usually didn’t talk unless it was to discuss a potion. He never bothered with small talk, and he certainly didn’t delve into any deep and personal subjects. It didn’t get more personal than talking about Draco’s parents, and Hermione was not only surprised that Snape had done it, but more so that he had done it in her presence.
Draco’s reaction was yet another surprise. He had reacted like a spoiled little boy, and Hermione had half-expected him to stomp his foot or slam the door on his way out. Just one month ago she would have thought nothing of Draco Malfoy acting like a spoiled brat. But the past six weeks had clearly shown that he had grown up. He had reacted more maturely to the news that he would be stuck with the wings for the unforeseeable future than to Snape’s mere mention of his mother, and Hermione was completely puzzled by it.
Once Draco had left, Snape continued to work as usual, pretending his godson’s temper tantrum had never happen.
“Aren’t you going to go after him?” Hermione asked.
“When he’s in one of his moods? Certainly not,” was all Snape had to say about the matter. He didn’t even look up from his cauldron.
“But he seemed truly upset.”
“Draco is always upset these days when he has to deal with his family.” Snape shrugged. “If you are so worried about him, Miss Granger, feel free to go and talk to him. I wish you the best of luck.” The last part was spoken with quite a bit of sarcasm in the Potions master’s voice.
Hermione glanced at her knife, still resting on the table, but didn't pick it back up.
“I think I will,” she announced, clearing away the ginger root.
Snape didn’t comment.
Hermione left the basement and walked up the stairs. Draco wasn’t in the house, but she hadn’t expected him to be. In the last few weeks, Draco had either been down at the basement with them or outside. He rarely spent time inside the house if he didn’t have to.
She put on her cloak and went out back, looking for Draco. She didn’t have to go far. Draco was standing at the cliffs, right behind the cottage. His wings were spread wide, and he was looking down to the ocean below.
“Are you all right?” Hermione asked when she was close enough.
Draco’s only reaction was to fold his wings. He didn’t turn around and he didn’t answer.
“Draco?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Um, because you just stormed out of the lab like an upset six-year-old?”
“Mind your own business.”
It appeared that Snape’s prediction that it wouldn’t be easy to talk to Draco was accurate. She should have figured. But giving up so soon seemed like admitting defeat, and Hermione could just imagine Snape’s smirk when she went back into the lab without having had a proper conversation with Draco.
“Why haven’t you written to your parents?” Hermione tried again. “Or visited them?”
“You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?” Draco wheeled around and took a few threatening steps towards her. Hermione noticed that for once his wings were twitching agitatedly. It hadn’t been like that for weeks. The first day after Halloween, judging Draco’s mood had been easy. His wings had always given him away. But he had quickly learned to control them, and just like his face was an unreadable mask, his wings didn’t portray emotions anymore either.
Except for today, it seemed.
“Did you have a fight with your parents?” Hermione asked, not one to be easily intimidated.
“No, Merlin forbid, why would I fight with them? They only got me almost killed.”
“What?”
“They pledged themselves to the Dark Lord, then screwed it up, which is why their sixteen-year-old son-that's me, by the way-got sent on a suicide mission. Does that ring any bell for you?” Draco asked, sounding annoyed.
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.”
“But your mother helped Harry in order to save you.”
“Sure, after I had had to endure being the youngest and weakest Death Eater for almost two years. Do you think that was easy? Besides, it’s not my mother I’m mad at. It’s my father who still doesn’t get it.”
“Doesn’t get-?”
“Voldemort, Granger. His defeat,” Draco shouted. “Make no mistake, if the old lunatic finds a way back from behind the veil for a second time, my father would be the first in line to serve him again.”
Hermione gasped. “You can’t be serious.”
“You’re so gullible. Believing everyone likes the new way things run now. But there will always be people like my dad, old school fanatics who won’t accept progress and who won’t accept defeat. What do you think we’ve been working on the whole time we were tracking down wayward Death Eaters?”
Hermione shook her head in disbelief. “But your father was cleared of all charges. He denounced Voldemort.”
“My father talked his way out of a life sentence at Azkaban, that’s all. Cost him quite a lot of Galleons, too, I imagine,” Draco spat.
“But… but if your father is doing-“
“Don’t worry about it, Granger. Lucius is being a perfectly law-abiding wizard these days.”
“But you just said…”
“I said, if the Dark Lord were to come back, Lucius would follow him. But don’t think my father’s going to risk any more of his money or his precious reputation before he knows for sure he’s betting on the winning Hippogriff this time.”
“That’s awful.”
Draco shrugged.
“Is that why you don’t want to visit your father?”
Draco didn’t say anything for a while, and Hermione already thought he wouldn’t answer. Finally, Draco spoke, “He blames me for the defeat of the Dark Lord.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Lucius hasn’t said anything, but I know what he is thinking. If I had been able to take care of myself, my mother wouldn’t have needed to betray the Dark Lord and come after me. Potter would have died out there in the Forbidden Forest.”
“What about you? Do you regret that your mother lied for Harry?”
Again Draco didn’t answer right away, and the longer the silence stretched between them, the more nervous Hermione got.
“No, I guess not,” Draco finally said quietly.
Then he spread his wings, and with one giant leap, he jumped off the cliff. With mixed feelings, Hermione watched him fly for a while before she headed back to Snape’s lab.
*****
The following morning at work, Hermione was in for yet another surprise. When she opened the door to her office, she was shocked to find that all her things were gone. Even her desk and all her filing cabinets had vanished, and she was standing in an empty room.
Her first thought was that the Minister had found out that Draco hadn’t known the potion she had given him was untested and that the wings were entirely her fault. But Hermione rather thought that even if the Minister decided to give her the boot, he would at least have the courtesy to inform her about her dismissal before clearing her office.
Hermione was at a loss, but the mystery was solved shortly afterwards when Malfoy stuck his head into her office.
“If you are looking for your things, they are in my office. Well, I guess it’s our office now,” he announced without preamble.
“Why?” Hermione asked bewildered.
“It appears our dear Minister is getting impatient and has decided to step up his game. Bloody good move, if you ask me,” Draco said merrily, as if that would explain everything.
When Hermione still stared at him blankly, he elaborated further, “The Minister wants us to spill the beans about how I really got my wings. He is making us share an office in the hopes that if we have to spend the entire day in each others' presence, we will eventually crack and give ourselves away. The official reason for the merger is that it will be more convenient now that we work together so closely.”
“You sound like you are absolutely delighted to share an office with me,” Hermione remarked, surprised.
“Don’t be stupid, Granger. You’re probably going to be a real pain in the arse. But I appreciate a good manoeuvre when I see one,” Draco replied. “You gotta hand it to the old chap. The manipulative bastard makes a bloody good Minister.”
“Language, Draco!” Hermione immediately reprimanded. She closed the door to her now-deserted office and walked across the hallway to Draco’s office-their office.
“Why bother?” Draco asked, following along. “It’s not going to make it any less true if I say it nicely.”
“Ever heard of something like etiquette or manners?” Hermione asked. She was glad to see that Draco’s office had been magically expanded and that all her things seemed to be accounted for. Her desk stood facing Draco’s, and her filing cabinets fitted nicely against the wall. She suppressed the urge to go and check if her colour-coded filing system was still in order and sat down in her chair.
“Sorry, I substituted etiquette lessons for ‘How to kill Mudbloods 101.’” Draco slummed down in his own chair.
“So not funny, Malfoy,” Hermione hissed. She had a feeling that sharing an office with Malfoy would try her patience to the maximum. Malfoy was right: the Minister was good.
*****
Draco and Hermione managed to not kill each other until lunch, but as far as Hermione was concerned, the Minister must have been a medieval torturer in another lifetime. Draco continued to appreciate the political manoeuvring, and he positively delighted in annoying Hermione whenever she was trying to concentrate on paperwork. When he began throwing paper balls at her, she seriously considered giving him a beak to match his wings. She only desisted because she was afraid the Minister would probably not believe her if she told him another accident had happened.
She was saved from committing anything else the Wizengamot might have interpreted as illegal actions by Harry, who stuck his head into the office around noon.
“Hey, Hermione, there was a note on your office door saying you can now be found here,” he said.
“Give the wizard a prize. He can read!” Draco shouted, throwing a paper ball at Harry.
Hermione got up before Harry could retaliate. “Let’s have some lunch.” She grabbed her purse in one hand and Harry’s sleeve in the other and dragged her best friend from the office.
“You are sharing an office with Malfoy now?” Harry asked, brushing the paper ball from his robes with a frown.
“The Minister’s idea. He’s evil,” Hermione hissed.
Harry laughed. “Kingsley knows you guys are lying to him, but he can’t prove it. Probably drives him nuts.”
“If you think this is funny, you can go right back to the office and have lunch with Malfoy,” Hermione snapped.
“No, no. That is not necessary. I wanted to talk to you,” Harry said quickly.
Hermione looked at him curiously, waiting until he would elaborate, but Harry didn’t say anything else. They left the Ministry together and went to a little restaurant close by that was owned by a Squib and frequented by a lot of Ministry employees.
After they had ordered their food, Harry cast a Muffliato around their table. Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“What do you want to talk to me about that is so important you are scared of being overheard in a loud and crowded restaurant?”
Harry unfolded the napkin in front of him. Then he folded it again.
“Harry? What is it?” Hermione was beginning to get worried. Harry continued to fiddle with the napkin, avoiding eye contact.
“I need a favour,” he finally mumbled.
“Of course,” Hermione immediately agreed. “Do you need me to do some research for you?”
“Not exactly.” Harry finally looked up from the napkin and into Hermione’s eyes. “I need you to tell me where to find Snape.”
“Okay, not what I was expecting,” Hermione said, looking at Harry quizzically.
“I just need to talk to him, you know,” Harry was back to folding the napkin. “He gave me all those memories, but he never explained… Well, I guess, they are sort of self-explanatory, but I still have some questions. And now that you know where he lives…”
“Oh, Harry.”
Harry shrugged. “Are you going to help me?”
Before Hermione could answer their food arrived. She waited until the waiter had put their plates down and left again.
“I don’t know if Snape wants to talk to you or not, and I don’t want to betray his trust by giving you his address without asking him first.”
“I understand,” Harry assured her. He seemed to be a lot calmer now that he had told Hermione what he needed help with and she hadn’t laughed at him. “But you will ask him?”
“Sure,” Hermione said, picking up her fork and beginning to eat.
*****
Harry and Hermione spent the rest of their lunch talking about other things-mainly Ron, who Hermione still hadn’t forgiven for accusing her of being a prankster. Harry was trying his best to reconcile his two best friends. In the end, Hermione agreed to visit the Burrow with him after work.
One hour later, Hermione returned to the office to find that Draco had not yet returned from his lunch break. She used the rare silence and immersed herself in her files. Draco got back half an hour later.
“Sometimes I think you are married to paperwork,” Draco commented when he entered the office.
“One of us has to do it,” Hermione said, without looking up.
“And thank Merlin that one isn’t me,” Draco said with utter conviction. He sat down with a flourish of his wings.
Hermione looked up. “So you’d think you owe me for doing all the paperwork you despise, don’t you?” she asked.
“Actually, I think that you owe me the favours,” Draco shot back, wiggling his wings. Hermione looked instantly guilty, but she couldn’t be deterred that easily this time.
“It really would only be a small favour…”
“Just out of curiosity, what is it that you want me to do?”
“Ask Snape if Harry can come visit him,” Hermione replied promptly.
Draco burst out laughing. “Are you out of your mind? The old man is going to hex me just for suggesting it.”
“But he is far more likely going to listen to you than to me,” Hermione said, ignoring Draco’s obvious mirth.
“Forget it, Granger. I don’t have a death wish.”
Shaking his head, Draco grabbed a report about an anti-Muggle movement in Belgium and continued to work. Hermione was chewing her lip anxiously, but she returned to her papers as well.
They worked together silently for the better part of the afternoon. Draco seemed to have temporarily lost interest in trying to annoy Hermione to death and focused on his work. Hermione did the same. But she was not deterred for long.
“About that favour I asked you,” she said when she was done filling out the last report for the day.
“Forget it, Granger. Snape will never agree to meet with him,” Draco replied shortly. He put down the report he had been studying and stood up to stretch his wings. Although the office had been magically expanded to fit Hermione’s things, he still could only partially unfold them.
“If you could just reconsider-” Hermione tried again, but a knock on the door cut her off.
Once again it was Harry. “Ready to visit the Burrow, Hermione?” he asked, ignoring Draco.
Hermione nodded. Draco looked from Harry to Hermione, a calculating look on his face. “What are the chances you’re going to quit nagging me about this?” he asked Hermione.
Hermione smiled. “Slim to none.”
“That’s what I thought.” Draco sighed. Without another word, he walked towards the door and grabbed Harry’s arm.
“Malfoy, what are you-” Harry started, but before he could finish his sentence or draw his wand Draco Disapparated, taking Harry with him.
They reappeared on a familiar cliff outside a small cottage in Cornwall-at least Draco was familiar with his surroundings. Harry, on the other hand, had clearly no idea where he was. He whipped out his wand as soon as he had solid ground under his feet again and readied for an attack.
“Where are we?” he bellowed.
“I thought you wanted to see Severus,” Draco said, entirely unimpressed by the presence of Harry’s wand in his face.
Harry lowered his wand in surprise. “He lives here?”
“No, I just like the countryside. OF COURSE he lives here. Try to keep up, Potter.”
Harry looked uncertainly towards the house. “He doesn’t know I’m coming, does he?”
“No, and if he asks how you got here, keep my name out of it. Try telling him you stumbled onto his cottage by sheer dumb luck. If luck is proportionate to stupidity, you finding the place on your own is likely enough.”
Still looking towards the cottage, Harry refused to rise to the barb.
“Thanks, Malfoy,” he said absently.
Draco stared at him in disbelief. Potter was being polite. The world must truly be coming to an end. Draco suspected he should have seen the signs earlier. Know-it-all Granger had admitted that she didn’t know everything after all (that the one thing she didn’t know was the recipe to his cure was just his luck), and he was not only sprouting giant wings on his back, but also more or less willingly doing favours for a Muggle-born. Clearly, the apocalypse was nigh, or at the very least, Draco was slowly but steadily losing his marbles.
Maybe he should visit his parents after all. Considering the way things were going, Lucius probably had developed a liking to silk painting and started a Holiday Resort and Spa for abused house-elves. Perhaps the Dark Lord had taken up baking cookies in the afterlife.
Shaking his head in order to get rid of the disturbing image of Voldemort wearing an apron and oven mittens, Draco left Potter to his own devices and Apparated back to the Ministry. As soon as he entered his office, Hermione pounced.
“How did it go?” she asked eagerly.
“I deliberated, focused on my destination, gathered all the determination I could muster…”
“I don’t care about Apparating,” Hermione interrupted impatiently. “How did Harry’s conversation with Snape go?”
“Do you really think I stuck around to watch? In all likelihood, Severus is going to hex the blundering idiot on the spot, and if he does, it’s probably best if there are no witnesses around who will later have to testify in front of the Wizengamot.”
“Oh, you’re impossible.”
“I’m doing you a favour and now I’m impossible? I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
Hermione rolled her eyes at his antics. “Thank you very much for helping out.” She bent towards him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “I need to check with Alice when the Minister wants to have our next report before I leave for the day,” she announced, hurrying out of the office.
Draco could only shake his head. His only consolation was that even if he was going insane, Granger was obviously suffering the same fate.
tbc
A/N: Reviews are love.
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