treat for ldymusyc
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I don't make any money with this.
Title: The Space Between (Chapter 1/6)
Author: kalina_blue
Rating: R (barely)
Word Count: 4296
Summary: A Halloween costume has some rather unexpected consequences.
Warnings: Post-DH, EWE, some swearing (hence the rating)
A/N: Written for ldymusyc’s request for the 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.
Titles and lyrics are from the song The Space Between by The Dave Mathews Band.
A huge thank you goes to my lovely betas, londonlupin and tiggertam. *hugs*
Look at us spinning out in
The madness of a roller coaster
You know you went off like a devil
In a church in the middle of a crowded room
All we can do, my love
Is hope we don't take this ship down
The Space Between
Chapter 1 - These Twisted Games We're Playing
Having a private audience with the Minister of Magic, Hermione was forced to discover, felt very much like being called to the headmaster’s office when she was still attending Hogwarts and had done something that wasn’t entirely conform to the rules. She had a fairly good idea what the meeting was going to be about, too, and she was sure Minister Shacklebolt wasn’t planning on giving her a promotion or pay raise. It would be quite the opposite.
Hermione sighed and tried to keep her body from fidgeting. She mentally repeated to herself that she was a grown woman and that she had to keep up a professional demeanour, but that little pep talk did little to alleviate her nervousness.
“The Minister is ready to see you,” the secretary suddenly announced, startling Hermione out of her trance. Reluctantly, she got to her feet and walked towards the door. She really hoped she wouldn’t get fired.
Kingsley Shacklebolt looked up when Hermione entered and gestured to the seats in front of his desk. “Take a seat, Hermione. I’m sure you already know why I’ve asked you to come.”
Yes, Hermione could muster a fairly accurate guess. If one had a full blown duel with one’s co-worker in front of several other employees as well as a couple of diplomatic representatives from abroad, it was inevitable that the boss wanted to talk to you.
“I want you to know that I already had the same conversation with Mr. Malfoy, and that I told him exactly what I will tell you now,” Shacklebolt continued. Hermione nodded, trying to swallow through the lump that seemed to be permanently lodged in her throat. She really liked her job.
“You and Mr. Malfoy are two of the Ministry’s most promising young employees, and we would be loath to lose you.”
Hermione’s heart sank further.
“I understand that the two of you have a difficult past. We all have to deal with the consequences of the second war against Voldemort. But, there comes the time when the past needs to be in the past and one has to learn to let go of old grudges and move on.”
Hermione nodded again. On principle she whole-heartedly agreed with the Minister, but only in theory. It was the practical application she had some difficulties with. Letting go of her hatred towards Malfoy and making nice with him seemed to be completely out of the realm of possibilities. Despite her best intentions to avoid any and all confrontations, whenever they met he got under her skin, and before Hermione knew what was happening, they were screaming at each other or-if one wanted to take their most recent run-in into account-duelling in front of French diplomats.
“I’m really sorry about the incident.”
“I’m sure you are,” Minister Shacklebolt said good-naturedly. “Mr. Malfoy apologised to me as well.”
“He did?” Hermione sounded incredulous, and blushed when she caught herself. Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow. “I mean… of course he did,” Hermione mumbled, embarrassed.
“Hermione, I need the two of you to be able to work together.”
“Yes, Minister.”
“I have given the matter some serious thought. The way I see it, you and Mr. Malfoy need to work past your differences, otherwise I don’t think employment with the Ministry of Magic is suitable for either one of you.”
“I understand,” Hermione said, crushed.
“The Ministry’s Annual Halloween Ball this weekend might be a good opportunity to spend some time with each other,” Kingsley hinted not so subtly. “Maybe if you get to know each other on a more personal level, it will help you work together peacefully in the future.”
Hermione nodded. There was nothing else she could say, although the mere thought of spending time with Malfoy at the ball was making her feel sick to her stomach. She couldn’t stand-
The Minister gave her another stern look, interrupting Hermione’s thoughts, and then he gave her a nod that clearly told Hermione she was dismissed. She fled the office with as much dignity as she could gather.
Her cheeks were burning red when she made her escape past the secretary, whose knowing look clearly revealed that she knew why Hermione had just gone to see the Minister.
And Hermione knew just who to blame for the humiliation.
On her way down to the second level, where the offices of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were situated, only one thought repeated itself in her head over and over again.
None of this would have happened if Malfoy was in Azkaban where he belonged.
Merlin’s pants, her dream job was in jeopardy because he was being an insufferable git.
Despite the fact that she knew better, the fool-hardy and impulsive Gryffindor part of her character prevailed, and Hermione passed her own office door, continuing until she reached the door with the sign that read D. Malfoy. She pushed the door open without knocking.
“Are you trying to sabotage me?” she asked as soon as she had entered.
Draco looked up from the papers he had been working on.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve just come from the Minister. He said if you don’t start working with me, we are both fired,” Hermione elaborated, conveniently twisting Kingsley’s words without even realising she did so in her anger.
“Me? That’s rich. You are the one who is unable to work with me.” Draco was just as angry as she was.
“Can you blame me?” Hermione spat back.
“Of course I can. It’s time for you to grow up and forget what has happened in the past.”
“Excuse me?” Hermione’s voice skipped an entire octave. “You tormented me for seven years! You called me foul names, made fun of me in front of the whole school and let’s not forget that you joined the Death Eaters and wanted me dead. I’m not just going to forgive and forget.”
By the time she was finished Draco had risen from his chair and his face was as red as Hermione’s.
“Actually, it was only for six years. Seventh year at Hogwarts you weren’t even at school, so I couldn’t really make fun of you, and I was mostly concerned with staying alive at that time anyway. Actually, if I recall correctly, I even tried to save you from my crazy aunt.”
“And that’s supposed to make it all better?” Hermione balled her fists to keep herself from reaching for her wand. In the back of her mind a more rational part of her brain insisted that she was being childish. Unfortunately, the rest of Hermione’s brain told that part to shut up.
“No, but maybe you should stop seeing everything in black and white,” Draco was shouting.
“What’s that’s supposed to mean?” Hermione asked, just as loudly.
“It means that while I have made a lot of mistakes in the past-mistakes I’ve answered for in front of the Wizengamot and was found not guilty due to my youth, I might add-I also didn’t have much of a choice. It’s not like I enjoyed being sent on a suicide mission or fearing for my life for two years straight,” Draco continued, still shouting.
They were lucky that it was lunchtime and the department was practically deserted. Otherwise the noise they were making would have already attracted a crowd, just like several of their previous shouting matches had done.
“Don’t even try to make me feel sorry for you. It’s not going to work,” Hermione replied stubbornly.
“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” Draco almost growled. “Merlin, Granger, quit being so damn stubborn. All I ask is that you put whatever hatred you feel for me aside while we have to work together.”
“You know, even if I could understand that you had to join Voldemort, that you had no choice there, you still tortured me at school. I don’t think that Voldemort personally requested you to become a bully your first year of Hogwarts. And don’t even try saying you were just raised that way. One always has a choice.”
“So you are going to jeopardize both our jobs because I was mean to you as a kid?”
The small part of Hermione’s brain that was still making sense was speaking up again and pointing out that Draco was actually being more rational about this than she was, but years and years of being laughed at as a kid had left more scars than maybe even the war.
“Do you even know what it’s like to be mocked day in and day out? For your teeth, your hair, your brain, your blood-for everything that makes you who you are? Can you even imagine how that made me feel?” Hermione asked. Tears of anger were burning in her eyes, but she blinked them back furiously. She would never give Draco the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
“What do you want me to do about it, Granger? I can’t take it all back. I can’t change who I used to be, even if I wanted to.”
“Used to…?” Hermione snorted in disbelief.
“Oh, come on, give me some credit. I have grown up since we’ve attended Hogwarts together. I might not have grown into a person you can respect, which you might be shocked to hear is a fact I’m not really losing any sleep over, but I have changed from the way I used to be as a kid,” Draco spat, wielding sarcasm like a weapon.
“If you say so-I have yet to see any evidence of it.”
“I don’t have to prove anything to you. Who do you think you are?”
“Who do you-” The rational part of Hermione’s brain temporarily prevailed. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
“You were the one who came storming into my office, in case you forgot,” Draco replied, but he lowered his voice.
Hermione remained quiet, desperately trying to reign in her temper. Gods, the mere sight of him was enough to make her furious.
“I assume the Minister told you the same he told me. We either work together or get fired,” Draco summarised.
“I won’t ever work with you,” Hermione hissed. The rational part of her brain, the one that had always suggested to Ron and Harry that they should try for a little more inter-house unity, was rapidly losing the battle again.
Draco sighed. He appeared to have calmed down completely, and for a second Hermione was stumped about his uncharacteristic behaviour.
“Granger what’s it going to take?”
“What?” she asked, trying to figure out where he was going with this, how he was going to attack next.
“I don’t want to lose my job,” Draco said, speaking as if she was five years old or mentally impaired. “What do you want me to do, so you will forget about the stuff I said when we were children and we can work together somewhat civilly?”
Inside Hermione a savage battle was taking place. The hurt little teenager demanded she threw every curse she could think of in Malfoy’s direction. The more logical twenty-four years old part insisted that she liked her job and had worked too hard to lose it to get petty revenge.
In the end the two sides called a truce and Hermione compromised.
“You really would do anything I ask to make up for being a bully?” she asked carefully.
“Within reason, yes,” Draco replied grudgingly.
“Why?”
“As I sat, I want to keep my job. Have to, actually.”
An awkward pause stretched between them.
“The Minister suggested we attend the Halloween Ball together to work on our differences…” Hermione finally said.
“I know.”
“I get to choose your costume.”
“What?”
“You wear whatever I pick out for you, and I promise I will forget everything you put me through at school.”
Draco eyed her like she had lost her marbles, and at that moment Hermione wasn’t quite positive her mental health wasn’t compromised. She was just about to change her mind when Draco suddenly agreed.
“Fine,” he spat.
“Fine.”
Hermione turned on her heel and left, slamming the door behind her to the utmost satisfaction of her inner teenager.
She was still angry several hours later when she left the Ministry for the day. However, she was convinced that Draco would never follow through with their agreement. And at the off-chance that he did, well, she had the perfect costume for him in mind.
*****
Friday evening at seven thirty sharp, Draco appeared on Hermione’s doorstep. He was wearing black slacks and a dress shirt, but had little hope he would be keeping the clothes on for long. Whatever costume Granger might chose for him, Draco was sure it was going to be embarrassing. He guessed she’d make him dress as a house-elf or a goblin or maybe she chose something Muggle. Either way, Draco was probably the only wizard not looking forward to the otherwise highly anticipated Ministry of Magic Halloween Ball. He was just hoping the night would be over quickly and he would escape with at least a shroud of dignity intact.
For the millionth time, he doubted his own decision to give Granger carte blanche to humiliate him in front of the entire Ministry. But Draco liked his job, couldn’t afford to lose it actually, and he knew that they needed to get past all the animosity if he and Granger were to ever stand a chance of working together. And working with Granger was the only way he would keep his job; the Minister had made that abundantly clear.
Unless he could come up with one truly devious plan to manipulate Granger to do his bidding, a plan that did not include the use of an Unforgivable because regrettably the Minister insisted his employees abide by the law, he really didn’t have a choice other than to honour their agreement.
Draco sighed. Time was up. Who needed dignity anyway?
Nevertheless, his firm knock on Hermione’s door did not portray any of Draco’s trepidation. Neither did the curt nod with which he greeted Hermione when she opened the door.
“I didn’t think you would show,” Hermione commented by way of greeting.
Draco didn’t deem this worthy of an answer and stepped around her and into her flat. Granger was wearing dark, very old fashioned robes, rimmed glasses and her impossible hair was forced into a silver hairnet at the base of her neck.
“What’s your costume supposed to be anyway?”
“I’m Elfrida Clagg. She was Chieftainess of the Warlock’s Council in the seventeenth century. She was also an environmental activist. Thanks to her the Modesty Rabnott Snidget Reservation in Somerset-”
“How very boring,” Draco interrupted.
“Well, let’s see if you are going to find your own costume boring as well,” Hermione replied, handing him a vial filled with a sickly looking, green potion. “Drink up.”
Draco eyed the vial apprehensively. “Can’t you just transfigure my clothes? You’re not trying to poison me, are you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy. If I remember correctly, poison is more your style.”
“Cheap shot, Granger, and you know it,” Draco spat, but nonetheless he uncorked the vial. “Cheers,” he mock-toasted her and then downed the potion in one gulp before he lost his nerve. He immediately tasted the bitterness on his tongue and had to work to keep his facial expression even. Then the aftertaste developed in his mouth, a surprisingly sweet flavour that bore little resemblance to the earlier bitterness.
Draco waited apprehensively for the potion to take effect. At first nothing happened, and he looked at Hermione questioningly.
“Just give it some time,” Hermione said almost gleefully when she noticed his look.
Draco was about to comment when suddenly his intestines seemed to contract. For a few seconds he felt like his internal organs were being turned inside out, and he couldn’t help but double over. Then he felt a strange movement on his back. His spine seemed to be moving, slithering like a snake along his back.
Mentally counting from ten backwards to keep from calling out, Draco tried to focus on something else other than the bizarre sensation on his back. Then, all of a sudden, his spine seemed to become rigid again and his intestines decided to remain within his torso after all.
Draco carefully took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself and straightened up. He regretted the movement instantaneously. There was a weird weight on his back, pulling him backwards and the muscles in his shoulders rippled strangely. His shirt appeared to be torn and was hanging on him in shreds.
Draco looked up and saw Hermione staring at him open-mouthed.
“What did you do?” he asked slowly. There was a strange swishing sound behind him which he couldn’t place.
A rather disturbing grin spread over Granger’s face. “Look for yourself,” she crooned, motioning towards the mirror next to her coat rack. Reluctantly, Draco turned towards the mirror, scared of what he would see.
The sight almost made him lose his balance.
Well, the giant wings attached to his back may have also been a contributing factor to the sudden disturbance of his equilibrium.
“This better not be permanent.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy. The potion should wear off around midnight.”
Hermione didn’t give Draco much time to adjust to the disconcerting sight in the mirror. She whipped out her wand and with a grin Draco could only describe as sadistic, transfigured his clothes. In the next instance Draco couldn’t quite decide which sight was more appalling: the giant wings he was sprouting or the frilly white robes he wore, which had an uncanny resemblance to what he knew to be Muggle woman’s nightgowns.
“Do you know what an angel is?” Hermione asked sweetly.
“I’m not an imbecile.”
“I just wanted to make sure you fully understand the significance of your costume,” Hermione chirped. Her good mood seemed to be increasing exponentially to his discomfort.
“Granger, you do realise that it is customary to dress up as something scary on Halloween?” Draco asked weakly.
“Really? You don’t say,” Hermione said, now sounding positively gleeful. Then she handed him a golden harp, the size of a Quaffle. “Here, hold that.”
Draco looked at the harp like it was something particularly nasty that he had found attached to the bottom of his shoe. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered.
“Thank you,” Hermione said, smiling brightly, even though someone deaf and blind would have had little trouble detecting Draco’s sarcasm.
“Now… I wonder if I should curl your hair.”
Draco drew his wand in a blink of an eye. “I’m telling you now Granger, I might let you mess with my clothes, make me carry this ridiculous harp and grow these over-dimensional wings, but I will be damned if I let you mess with my hair.”
“Oh, fine then,” Hermione pouted. Apparently though she was in too good a mood to let him spoil her fun, and graciously refrained from any further cosmetic alterations. She did, however, draw a circle with her wand until a sparkling, golden hoop appeared in front of her. With a practiced flick of her wrist she sent the hoop to hover above Draco’s head.
“Here, every proper angel needs a halo.”
“Are you done?” Draco asked, sighing.
“Yes, let’s go. Don’t forget your harp.” Hermione practically skipped towards the door.
They left Hermione’s flat together, Draco muttering curses under his breath, thoroughly regretting he ever agreed to this, and Hermione grinning widely.
*****
When they Apparated to the Ministry, the Halloween Ball was already well underway. Witches and wizards in all kind of costumes-the majority of them on the scary side, Draco had been right about that-were mingling around the newly restored Fountain of Brethren at the Atrium.
If Draco had hoped he would be able to blend into the crowd, he was thoroughly disappointed. His huge white wings made blending in an impossible feat, not that the white robes that looked like a damn dress or the golden halo on his head were any less conspicuous.
The urge to club the witch at his side over the head with her own stupid harp became overwhelming, but Draco managed to suppress it. The minister was already watching them; the minister and all the other employees of the Ministry of Magic that is.
Fabulous.
“Want some punch?” Granger asked brightly. To say that she was enjoying his embarrassment was putting it mildly. She was downright revelling in it.
“Is it spiked?” Draco asked hopefully, following Granger to the table with refreshments.
They filled their glasses with punch and Draco took an experimental sip, immediately deciding that the punch contained too many fruits and too little alcohol. His hopes of getting drunk, thereby missing out on most of the laughter of his fellow employees, were shattered. Stone-cold sober as he was, he unfortunately had no difficulties deciphering the thinly veiled ridicule at his expense. Not that he was blaming his co-workers. He would have made fun of them too if they’d attend the ball in a dress and fluffy wings.
Speaking of the wings, the constant movement on his back was thoroughly disconcerting. Whatever he did, the wings couldn’t seem to stay still. While he had some measure of control over them, they didn’t obey all the commands his central nerve system was sending their way. Like he had just discovered an extra pair of limbs and now needed to learn how to use them.
He was only glad that his reputation as a former Death Eater and bully prevented people from actually approaching him. Being laughed at from afar he could deal with, but the mere thought of someone touching his wings was too weird to even contemplate it.
Draco secretly began plotting Granger’s untimely demise, while the witch in question prattled along merrily at his side. For someone who wasn’t able to stand his sight, she sure was enjoying herself a lot in his company.
“Never would have taken you for the vindictive type,” Draco spat when she took a much needed breather.
“Never would have thought you like your job at the Ministry that much,” she deflected.
Draco glared at her. “Just remember that come next Monday, we will be working together. I swear you will truly regret it if you go back on your word.”
“Let’s not forget that between the two of us, I am the trustworthy one,” Hermione replied. He really wished he could punch that damn smile right off her face.
*****
They kept the charade going for a good hour, until Hermione eventually began to tire of gloating and they both agreed that the Minister had seen them ‘bonding’ long enough. Hermione merrily left in search of Harry and Ron, and Draco turned towards the fireplaces, intent on suffering through the rest of the night in the privacy of his own flat.
He had made it within ten feet of the nearest fireplace when Blaise and Pansy, dressed as an Inferi and a medieval bar wench respectively, reached his side.
“Why hello there, Draco,” Blaise greeted him cheerfully. “What an interesting choice of costume.”
Pansy only raised one carefully plucked eyebrow.
“Out of the way Zabini,” Draco growled, but his lifelong friend didn’t seem inclined to let him pass and spare him the humiliation. That was the disadvantage of befriending Slytherins. You could always count on your friends to give you a friendly kick in the nuts when you were down. It really sucked when you were the one lying on the ground.
“Personally, I considered dressing up in a woman’s nightgown as well, but then decided on a more masculine costume,” Blaise continued. “What do you think, Pans?”
Resigned to his fate, Draco turned towards Pansy to accept the next kick. She didn’t disappoint.
“Well, I really have to say that you have the hips to pull this err… robe off. I’m downright jealous.” She eyes his body suggestively and whistled.
“I hope you two realise that I will get you back for this,” Draco said, doing his best to appear bored, although he feared that Blaise and Pansy knew him far too well to believe it.
“Say, who helped you pick out your costume?” Pansy asked curiously. “I noticed you were awfully chummy with Granger all evening.”
Another disadvantage of being friends with Slytherins was that they were too damn perceptive. Draco felt his wings twitch uncomfortably, something he was sure didn’t escape his friends’ attention either.
“We were just talking about work,” he stated as ambiguously as possible. “Now if you’ll excuse me, as much as I enjoy the two of you making fun of me, I need to leave.”
Without waiting for Pansy and Blaise to say anything else, Draco walked around them and headed towards the fireplaces. Once he reached them, however, he realised that fitting his wings inside the chimney was bound to be uncomfortable at best. Since the poor excuse of punch had sadly been inadequate of giving him any real buzz, Draco decided that Apparating was the better choice of transportation given his current condition and with a soft pop, he disappeared.
As soon as he was home, he took great pleasure in burning the ridiculous harp. Then he changed out of the robes transfigured into a nightgown and burned them as well. He vanished the halo next and charmed two holes into the back of one of his sweaters so he could wear it despite the wings.
The rest of the night was spend pacing in his living room, imagining the most painful ways to kill a certain frizzy-haired witch and generally waiting for the potion to wear off and return his back to its previous and gloriously wingless state.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
tbc
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Title: The Space Between (Chapter 1/6)
Author: kalina_blue
Rating: R (barely)
Word Count: 4296
Summary: A Halloween costume has some rather unexpected consequences.
Warnings: Post-DH, EWE, some swearing (hence the rating)
A/N: Written for ldymusyc’s request for the 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.
Titles and lyrics are from the song The Space Between by The Dave Mathews Band.
A huge thank you goes to my lovely betas, londonlupin and tiggertam. *hugs*
Look at us spinning out in
The madness of a roller coaster
You know you went off like a devil
In a church in the middle of a crowded room
All we can do, my love
Is hope we don't take this ship down
The Space Between
Chapter 1 - These Twisted Games We're Playing
Having a private audience with the Minister of Magic, Hermione was forced to discover, felt very much like being called to the headmaster’s office when she was still attending Hogwarts and had done something that wasn’t entirely conform to the rules. She had a fairly good idea what the meeting was going to be about, too, and she was sure Minister Shacklebolt wasn’t planning on giving her a promotion or pay raise. It would be quite the opposite.
Hermione sighed and tried to keep her body from fidgeting. She mentally repeated to herself that she was a grown woman and that she had to keep up a professional demeanour, but that little pep talk did little to alleviate her nervousness.
“The Minister is ready to see you,” the secretary suddenly announced, startling Hermione out of her trance. Reluctantly, she got to her feet and walked towards the door. She really hoped she wouldn’t get fired.
Kingsley Shacklebolt looked up when Hermione entered and gestured to the seats in front of his desk. “Take a seat, Hermione. I’m sure you already know why I’ve asked you to come.”
Yes, Hermione could muster a fairly accurate guess. If one had a full blown duel with one’s co-worker in front of several other employees as well as a couple of diplomatic representatives from abroad, it was inevitable that the boss wanted to talk to you.
“I want you to know that I already had the same conversation with Mr. Malfoy, and that I told him exactly what I will tell you now,” Shacklebolt continued. Hermione nodded, trying to swallow through the lump that seemed to be permanently lodged in her throat. She really liked her job.
“You and Mr. Malfoy are two of the Ministry’s most promising young employees, and we would be loath to lose you.”
Hermione’s heart sank further.
“I understand that the two of you have a difficult past. We all have to deal with the consequences of the second war against Voldemort. But, there comes the time when the past needs to be in the past and one has to learn to let go of old grudges and move on.”
Hermione nodded again. On principle she whole-heartedly agreed with the Minister, but only in theory. It was the practical application she had some difficulties with. Letting go of her hatred towards Malfoy and making nice with him seemed to be completely out of the realm of possibilities. Despite her best intentions to avoid any and all confrontations, whenever they met he got under her skin, and before Hermione knew what was happening, they were screaming at each other or-if one wanted to take their most recent run-in into account-duelling in front of French diplomats.
“I’m really sorry about the incident.”
“I’m sure you are,” Minister Shacklebolt said good-naturedly. “Mr. Malfoy apologised to me as well.”
“He did?” Hermione sounded incredulous, and blushed when she caught herself. Shacklebolt raised an eyebrow. “I mean… of course he did,” Hermione mumbled, embarrassed.
“Hermione, I need the two of you to be able to work together.”
“Yes, Minister.”
“I have given the matter some serious thought. The way I see it, you and Mr. Malfoy need to work past your differences, otherwise I don’t think employment with the Ministry of Magic is suitable for either one of you.”
“I understand,” Hermione said, crushed.
“The Ministry’s Annual Halloween Ball this weekend might be a good opportunity to spend some time with each other,” Kingsley hinted not so subtly. “Maybe if you get to know each other on a more personal level, it will help you work together peacefully in the future.”
Hermione nodded. There was nothing else she could say, although the mere thought of spending time with Malfoy at the ball was making her feel sick to her stomach. She couldn’t stand-
The Minister gave her another stern look, interrupting Hermione’s thoughts, and then he gave her a nod that clearly told Hermione she was dismissed. She fled the office with as much dignity as she could gather.
Her cheeks were burning red when she made her escape past the secretary, whose knowing look clearly revealed that she knew why Hermione had just gone to see the Minister.
And Hermione knew just who to blame for the humiliation.
On her way down to the second level, where the offices of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were situated, only one thought repeated itself in her head over and over again.
None of this would have happened if Malfoy was in Azkaban where he belonged.
Merlin’s pants, her dream job was in jeopardy because he was being an insufferable git.
Despite the fact that she knew better, the fool-hardy and impulsive Gryffindor part of her character prevailed, and Hermione passed her own office door, continuing until she reached the door with the sign that read D. Malfoy. She pushed the door open without knocking.
“Are you trying to sabotage me?” she asked as soon as she had entered.
Draco looked up from the papers he had been working on.
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve just come from the Minister. He said if you don’t start working with me, we are both fired,” Hermione elaborated, conveniently twisting Kingsley’s words without even realising she did so in her anger.
“Me? That’s rich. You are the one who is unable to work with me.” Draco was just as angry as she was.
“Can you blame me?” Hermione spat back.
“Of course I can. It’s time for you to grow up and forget what has happened in the past.”
“Excuse me?” Hermione’s voice skipped an entire octave. “You tormented me for seven years! You called me foul names, made fun of me in front of the whole school and let’s not forget that you joined the Death Eaters and wanted me dead. I’m not just going to forgive and forget.”
By the time she was finished Draco had risen from his chair and his face was as red as Hermione’s.
“Actually, it was only for six years. Seventh year at Hogwarts you weren’t even at school, so I couldn’t really make fun of you, and I was mostly concerned with staying alive at that time anyway. Actually, if I recall correctly, I even tried to save you from my crazy aunt.”
“And that’s supposed to make it all better?” Hermione balled her fists to keep herself from reaching for her wand. In the back of her mind a more rational part of her brain insisted that she was being childish. Unfortunately, the rest of Hermione’s brain told that part to shut up.
“No, but maybe you should stop seeing everything in black and white,” Draco was shouting.
“What’s that’s supposed to mean?” Hermione asked, just as loudly.
“It means that while I have made a lot of mistakes in the past-mistakes I’ve answered for in front of the Wizengamot and was found not guilty due to my youth, I might add-I also didn’t have much of a choice. It’s not like I enjoyed being sent on a suicide mission or fearing for my life for two years straight,” Draco continued, still shouting.
They were lucky that it was lunchtime and the department was practically deserted. Otherwise the noise they were making would have already attracted a crowd, just like several of their previous shouting matches had done.
“Don’t even try to make me feel sorry for you. It’s not going to work,” Hermione replied stubbornly.
“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” Draco almost growled. “Merlin, Granger, quit being so damn stubborn. All I ask is that you put whatever hatred you feel for me aside while we have to work together.”
“You know, even if I could understand that you had to join Voldemort, that you had no choice there, you still tortured me at school. I don’t think that Voldemort personally requested you to become a bully your first year of Hogwarts. And don’t even try saying you were just raised that way. One always has a choice.”
“So you are going to jeopardize both our jobs because I was mean to you as a kid?”
The small part of Hermione’s brain that was still making sense was speaking up again and pointing out that Draco was actually being more rational about this than she was, but years and years of being laughed at as a kid had left more scars than maybe even the war.
“Do you even know what it’s like to be mocked day in and day out? For your teeth, your hair, your brain, your blood-for everything that makes you who you are? Can you even imagine how that made me feel?” Hermione asked. Tears of anger were burning in her eyes, but she blinked them back furiously. She would never give Draco the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
“What do you want me to do about it, Granger? I can’t take it all back. I can’t change who I used to be, even if I wanted to.”
“Used to…?” Hermione snorted in disbelief.
“Oh, come on, give me some credit. I have grown up since we’ve attended Hogwarts together. I might not have grown into a person you can respect, which you might be shocked to hear is a fact I’m not really losing any sleep over, but I have changed from the way I used to be as a kid,” Draco spat, wielding sarcasm like a weapon.
“If you say so-I have yet to see any evidence of it.”
“I don’t have to prove anything to you. Who do you think you are?”
“Who do you-” The rational part of Hermione’s brain temporarily prevailed. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
“You were the one who came storming into my office, in case you forgot,” Draco replied, but he lowered his voice.
Hermione remained quiet, desperately trying to reign in her temper. Gods, the mere sight of him was enough to make her furious.
“I assume the Minister told you the same he told me. We either work together or get fired,” Draco summarised.
“I won’t ever work with you,” Hermione hissed. The rational part of her brain, the one that had always suggested to Ron and Harry that they should try for a little more inter-house unity, was rapidly losing the battle again.
Draco sighed. He appeared to have calmed down completely, and for a second Hermione was stumped about his uncharacteristic behaviour.
“Granger what’s it going to take?”
“What?” she asked, trying to figure out where he was going with this, how he was going to attack next.
“I don’t want to lose my job,” Draco said, speaking as if she was five years old or mentally impaired. “What do you want me to do, so you will forget about the stuff I said when we were children and we can work together somewhat civilly?”
Inside Hermione a savage battle was taking place. The hurt little teenager demanded she threw every curse she could think of in Malfoy’s direction. The more logical twenty-four years old part insisted that she liked her job and had worked too hard to lose it to get petty revenge.
In the end the two sides called a truce and Hermione compromised.
“You really would do anything I ask to make up for being a bully?” she asked carefully.
“Within reason, yes,” Draco replied grudgingly.
“Why?”
“As I sat, I want to keep my job. Have to, actually.”
An awkward pause stretched between them.
“The Minister suggested we attend the Halloween Ball together to work on our differences…” Hermione finally said.
“I know.”
“I get to choose your costume.”
“What?”
“You wear whatever I pick out for you, and I promise I will forget everything you put me through at school.”
Draco eyed her like she had lost her marbles, and at that moment Hermione wasn’t quite positive her mental health wasn’t compromised. She was just about to change her mind when Draco suddenly agreed.
“Fine,” he spat.
“Fine.”
Hermione turned on her heel and left, slamming the door behind her to the utmost satisfaction of her inner teenager.
She was still angry several hours later when she left the Ministry for the day. However, she was convinced that Draco would never follow through with their agreement. And at the off-chance that he did, well, she had the perfect costume for him in mind.
*****
Friday evening at seven thirty sharp, Draco appeared on Hermione’s doorstep. He was wearing black slacks and a dress shirt, but had little hope he would be keeping the clothes on for long. Whatever costume Granger might chose for him, Draco was sure it was going to be embarrassing. He guessed she’d make him dress as a house-elf or a goblin or maybe she chose something Muggle. Either way, Draco was probably the only wizard not looking forward to the otherwise highly anticipated Ministry of Magic Halloween Ball. He was just hoping the night would be over quickly and he would escape with at least a shroud of dignity intact.
For the millionth time, he doubted his own decision to give Granger carte blanche to humiliate him in front of the entire Ministry. But Draco liked his job, couldn’t afford to lose it actually, and he knew that they needed to get past all the animosity if he and Granger were to ever stand a chance of working together. And working with Granger was the only way he would keep his job; the Minister had made that abundantly clear.
Unless he could come up with one truly devious plan to manipulate Granger to do his bidding, a plan that did not include the use of an Unforgivable because regrettably the Minister insisted his employees abide by the law, he really didn’t have a choice other than to honour their agreement.
Draco sighed. Time was up. Who needed dignity anyway?
Nevertheless, his firm knock on Hermione’s door did not portray any of Draco’s trepidation. Neither did the curt nod with which he greeted Hermione when she opened the door.
“I didn’t think you would show,” Hermione commented by way of greeting.
Draco didn’t deem this worthy of an answer and stepped around her and into her flat. Granger was wearing dark, very old fashioned robes, rimmed glasses and her impossible hair was forced into a silver hairnet at the base of her neck.
“What’s your costume supposed to be anyway?”
“I’m Elfrida Clagg. She was Chieftainess of the Warlock’s Council in the seventeenth century. She was also an environmental activist. Thanks to her the Modesty Rabnott Snidget Reservation in Somerset-”
“How very boring,” Draco interrupted.
“Well, let’s see if you are going to find your own costume boring as well,” Hermione replied, handing him a vial filled with a sickly looking, green potion. “Drink up.”
Draco eyed the vial apprehensively. “Can’t you just transfigure my clothes? You’re not trying to poison me, are you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy. If I remember correctly, poison is more your style.”
“Cheap shot, Granger, and you know it,” Draco spat, but nonetheless he uncorked the vial. “Cheers,” he mock-toasted her and then downed the potion in one gulp before he lost his nerve. He immediately tasted the bitterness on his tongue and had to work to keep his facial expression even. Then the aftertaste developed in his mouth, a surprisingly sweet flavour that bore little resemblance to the earlier bitterness.
Draco waited apprehensively for the potion to take effect. At first nothing happened, and he looked at Hermione questioningly.
“Just give it some time,” Hermione said almost gleefully when she noticed his look.
Draco was about to comment when suddenly his intestines seemed to contract. For a few seconds he felt like his internal organs were being turned inside out, and he couldn’t help but double over. Then he felt a strange movement on his back. His spine seemed to be moving, slithering like a snake along his back.
Mentally counting from ten backwards to keep from calling out, Draco tried to focus on something else other than the bizarre sensation on his back. Then, all of a sudden, his spine seemed to become rigid again and his intestines decided to remain within his torso after all.
Draco carefully took a couple of deep breaths to steady himself and straightened up. He regretted the movement instantaneously. There was a weird weight on his back, pulling him backwards and the muscles in his shoulders rippled strangely. His shirt appeared to be torn and was hanging on him in shreds.
Draco looked up and saw Hermione staring at him open-mouthed.
“What did you do?” he asked slowly. There was a strange swishing sound behind him which he couldn’t place.
A rather disturbing grin spread over Granger’s face. “Look for yourself,” she crooned, motioning towards the mirror next to her coat rack. Reluctantly, Draco turned towards the mirror, scared of what he would see.
The sight almost made him lose his balance.
Well, the giant wings attached to his back may have also been a contributing factor to the sudden disturbance of his equilibrium.
“This better not be permanent.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Malfoy. The potion should wear off around midnight.”
Hermione didn’t give Draco much time to adjust to the disconcerting sight in the mirror. She whipped out her wand and with a grin Draco could only describe as sadistic, transfigured his clothes. In the next instance Draco couldn’t quite decide which sight was more appalling: the giant wings he was sprouting or the frilly white robes he wore, which had an uncanny resemblance to what he knew to be Muggle woman’s nightgowns.
“Do you know what an angel is?” Hermione asked sweetly.
“I’m not an imbecile.”
“I just wanted to make sure you fully understand the significance of your costume,” Hermione chirped. Her good mood seemed to be increasing exponentially to his discomfort.
“Granger, you do realise that it is customary to dress up as something scary on Halloween?” Draco asked weakly.
“Really? You don’t say,” Hermione said, now sounding positively gleeful. Then she handed him a golden harp, the size of a Quaffle. “Here, hold that.”
Draco looked at the harp like it was something particularly nasty that he had found attached to the bottom of his shoe. “You’re unbelievable,” he muttered.
“Thank you,” Hermione said, smiling brightly, even though someone deaf and blind would have had little trouble detecting Draco’s sarcasm.
“Now… I wonder if I should curl your hair.”
Draco drew his wand in a blink of an eye. “I’m telling you now Granger, I might let you mess with my clothes, make me carry this ridiculous harp and grow these over-dimensional wings, but I will be damned if I let you mess with my hair.”
“Oh, fine then,” Hermione pouted. Apparently though she was in too good a mood to let him spoil her fun, and graciously refrained from any further cosmetic alterations. She did, however, draw a circle with her wand until a sparkling, golden hoop appeared in front of her. With a practiced flick of her wrist she sent the hoop to hover above Draco’s head.
“Here, every proper angel needs a halo.”
“Are you done?” Draco asked, sighing.
“Yes, let’s go. Don’t forget your harp.” Hermione practically skipped towards the door.
They left Hermione’s flat together, Draco muttering curses under his breath, thoroughly regretting he ever agreed to this, and Hermione grinning widely.
*****
When they Apparated to the Ministry, the Halloween Ball was already well underway. Witches and wizards in all kind of costumes-the majority of them on the scary side, Draco had been right about that-were mingling around the newly restored Fountain of Brethren at the Atrium.
If Draco had hoped he would be able to blend into the crowd, he was thoroughly disappointed. His huge white wings made blending in an impossible feat, not that the white robes that looked like a damn dress or the golden halo on his head were any less conspicuous.
The urge to club the witch at his side over the head with her own stupid harp became overwhelming, but Draco managed to suppress it. The minister was already watching them; the minister and all the other employees of the Ministry of Magic that is.
Fabulous.
“Want some punch?” Granger asked brightly. To say that she was enjoying his embarrassment was putting it mildly. She was downright revelling in it.
“Is it spiked?” Draco asked hopefully, following Granger to the table with refreshments.
They filled their glasses with punch and Draco took an experimental sip, immediately deciding that the punch contained too many fruits and too little alcohol. His hopes of getting drunk, thereby missing out on most of the laughter of his fellow employees, were shattered. Stone-cold sober as he was, he unfortunately had no difficulties deciphering the thinly veiled ridicule at his expense. Not that he was blaming his co-workers. He would have made fun of them too if they’d attend the ball in a dress and fluffy wings.
Speaking of the wings, the constant movement on his back was thoroughly disconcerting. Whatever he did, the wings couldn’t seem to stay still. While he had some measure of control over them, they didn’t obey all the commands his central nerve system was sending their way. Like he had just discovered an extra pair of limbs and now needed to learn how to use them.
He was only glad that his reputation as a former Death Eater and bully prevented people from actually approaching him. Being laughed at from afar he could deal with, but the mere thought of someone touching his wings was too weird to even contemplate it.
Draco secretly began plotting Granger’s untimely demise, while the witch in question prattled along merrily at his side. For someone who wasn’t able to stand his sight, she sure was enjoying herself a lot in his company.
“Never would have taken you for the vindictive type,” Draco spat when she took a much needed breather.
“Never would have thought you like your job at the Ministry that much,” she deflected.
Draco glared at her. “Just remember that come next Monday, we will be working together. I swear you will truly regret it if you go back on your word.”
“Let’s not forget that between the two of us, I am the trustworthy one,” Hermione replied. He really wished he could punch that damn smile right off her face.
*****
They kept the charade going for a good hour, until Hermione eventually began to tire of gloating and they both agreed that the Minister had seen them ‘bonding’ long enough. Hermione merrily left in search of Harry and Ron, and Draco turned towards the fireplaces, intent on suffering through the rest of the night in the privacy of his own flat.
He had made it within ten feet of the nearest fireplace when Blaise and Pansy, dressed as an Inferi and a medieval bar wench respectively, reached his side.
“Why hello there, Draco,” Blaise greeted him cheerfully. “What an interesting choice of costume.”
Pansy only raised one carefully plucked eyebrow.
“Out of the way Zabini,” Draco growled, but his lifelong friend didn’t seem inclined to let him pass and spare him the humiliation. That was the disadvantage of befriending Slytherins. You could always count on your friends to give you a friendly kick in the nuts when you were down. It really sucked when you were the one lying on the ground.
“Personally, I considered dressing up in a woman’s nightgown as well, but then decided on a more masculine costume,” Blaise continued. “What do you think, Pans?”
Resigned to his fate, Draco turned towards Pansy to accept the next kick. She didn’t disappoint.
“Well, I really have to say that you have the hips to pull this err… robe off. I’m downright jealous.” She eyes his body suggestively and whistled.
“I hope you two realise that I will get you back for this,” Draco said, doing his best to appear bored, although he feared that Blaise and Pansy knew him far too well to believe it.
“Say, who helped you pick out your costume?” Pansy asked curiously. “I noticed you were awfully chummy with Granger all evening.”
Another disadvantage of being friends with Slytherins was that they were too damn perceptive. Draco felt his wings twitch uncomfortably, something he was sure didn’t escape his friends’ attention either.
“We were just talking about work,” he stated as ambiguously as possible. “Now if you’ll excuse me, as much as I enjoy the two of you making fun of me, I need to leave.”
Without waiting for Pansy and Blaise to say anything else, Draco walked around them and headed towards the fireplaces. Once he reached them, however, he realised that fitting his wings inside the chimney was bound to be uncomfortable at best. Since the poor excuse of punch had sadly been inadequate of giving him any real buzz, Draco decided that Apparating was the better choice of transportation given his current condition and with a soft pop, he disappeared.
As soon as he was home, he took great pleasure in burning the ridiculous harp. Then he changed out of the robes transfigured into a nightgown and burned them as well. He vanished the halo next and charmed two holes into the back of one of his sweaters so he could wear it despite the wings.
The rest of the night was spend pacing in his living room, imagining the most painful ways to kill a certain frizzy-haired witch and generally waiting for the potion to wear off and return his back to its previous and gloriously wingless state.
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
tbc
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