Fic: The Space Between (Draco/Hermione) Chapter 3
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I don't make any money with this.
Title: The Space Between (Chapter 3/6)
Author: kalina_blue
Rating: R (barely)
Pairing: 100.1 (Draco/Hermione)
Word Count: 4771
Summary: A Halloween costume has some rather unexpected consequences.
Warnings: Post-DH, EWE.
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.
My thanks go to the lovely Withdrawnred, for the beta of this chapter.
Chapter 3 - We're Strange Allies
After his outburst in Snape’s living room, Draco headed outside to clear his head. He walked alongside the cliffs at a brisk pace, muttering under his breath the whole time. ‘Stupid bint’ and ‘bloody Gryffindor’ were the more flattering names he bestowed on Hermione during his soliloquy.
The fact that he was talking to himself didn’t bother him nearly as much as it probably should have. What really bothered him, however, was how good it felt to be out in the open, to stretch the wings without having to worry about hitting any walls or people. He was gaining more and more control over them, and Draco secretly feared one day the wings would become second nature to him. Snape had to find him a cure. Soon.
Draco remained outside until darkness descended, because quite frankly, he couldn’t guarantee that he would refrain from doing something that would earn him a life sentence at Azkaban if he were to face Granger again that day.
When he finally went back inside, Severus was waiting for him in his living room.
“Please tell me you’ve found a cure,” Draco said. He sat down on the couch heavily, though his wings made it impossible for him to lean against the backrest.
“It is a surprisingly complex potion,” Snape replied, pouring his godson a stiff drink. “The effect the Hellebore seems to have is quite astounding.”
“I take that as a no.” Draco accepted the offered drink and downed it in one gulp. He felt the Firewhisky burn down his throat and settle in a warm puddle in the pit of his stomach. It made him feel better, if only a little.
“No, I haven’t found a cure. I have a few ideas that might work, but nothing concrete. Miss Granger is going to return tomorrow, and we will continue to work on the problem.”
Draco snorted. “Problem, indeed.”
There was a pause in their conversation while Draco nursed a second drink and Snape absently leaved through a Potions textbook.
“I assume I don’t have to tell you that drinking untested potions is completely and utterly stupid,” Snape finally said, although there was no accusation in his tone-it wasn’t necessary. “A first-year Gryffindor probably would have known better.”
“It was the only way to get her to agree to work with me,” Draco defended himself.
“Not the most subtle plan.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “I know that. But I couldn’t risk losing the job. I won’t go back to working for my father, and with my reputation, it wouldn’t be easy to find another job. Nobody wants to hire an ex-Death Eater. It was hard enough to get the Ministry to hire me, and they only did it because I am highly qualified, and they could hardly have violated their own equal opportunity laws.”
It was Snape’s turn to sigh. “Draco, you have to deal with Lucius at some point. This might be a good opportunity to come clean with him.”
“No, it isn’t. It never will be,” Draco replied stubbornly. He refilled his drink and remained silent for the rest of the evening.
*****
The following morning Draco awoke late and with a pounding headache to boot. His first thought was that maybe his eighth glass of Firewhisky the previous night hadn’t been the best idea he had ever had. Not that he had made a lot of good choices lately.
He was lying on his stomach on the couch in his godfather’s living room. Considering the various aches in his back and his wings, he needed to add his selection of sleeping accommodations to the ever-growing list of things he should have done differently.
Groaning, Draco hoisted himself into a semi-upright position. He noticed a familiar vial on the floor next to the couch and drank the Hangover Potion gratefully. He would have to thank Severus for that later.
He correctly guessed that Severus was already in his basement, working to find him a cure, and in all likelihood, Granger had already returned to assist. Draco, for his part, chose to stay away from the lab. Partly because he still couldn’t guarantee he would refrain from hexing Granger into oblivion, partly because he knew he wouldn’t be of much use down there anyway. He had no illusions about the fact that he only passed Potions because his godfather had taught it.
Instead, Draco spent the day outside, trying to gain as much control over his wings as possible, even though the thought of getting used to his wings was still deeply unsettling. But Draco prided himself in the fact that his facial expression never gave away his thoughts or emotions-a much valued skill he had acquired during the Dark Lord’s reign. It hadn’t escaped Draco’s attention that the uncontrolled movements of his wings were directly linked to his emotional state. Granger had already figured out that the wings were an easy method to gauge his mood, and it was only a matter of time until everyone else would catch on. Draco was determined to put a stop to that, just in case he would have to keep the wings for some time.
He stayed outside the whole day, training his wings to abide his will, until Snape and Granger finally appeared from the lab. They met in Severus’ living room to discuss the matter at hand.
“Fact is, you won’t get rid of the wings any time soon,” Snape stated dispassionately after he had given Draco a short summary of their experiments that day. He had never been one to sugar-coat things. Draco remained quiet while the ugly truth settled in, and Granger restricted herself to twisting her hands in her lap and looking guilty.
“I suggest you find a way to live with them for now.” Snape got up. “Oh, and Draco, I fear as the inventor of this potion, Miss Granger will be rather indispensable for finding a cure, so any plans for revenge you might have already devised would be best saved for later.” With that last warning, Snape left Draco and Hermione alone.
The living room fell silent for a while. Draco stared moodily into the flickering flames of the fireplace, and Hermione gazed outside the window, continuing to twist her hands nervously in her lap. Draco noticed that her nails were bitten, something he would have commented on under any other circumstances. But he chose to remain silent. When Hermione couldn’t seem to stand the quiet any longer, she broke her silence.
“I am truly sorry, Malfoy. I never meant for the wings to be permanent.”
“Unless you think that apologizing enough will Vanish the damn wings, save it,” Draco spat, in no mood to indulge her.
“Sorry.”
Draco was inclined to continue brooding in silence, but Hermione obviously wasn’t done talking.
“Are you going to go to work tomorrow?” she asked.
“Will you find a cure tomorrow?” Draco answered with a question of his own.
“Probably not.”
“And the day after that?”
“You heard what Snape said…” Hermione said evasively. Guilt was plainly written all over her face.
“Then I don’t see what use it will be to stay home from work. Everyone will find out that I still have the wings soon enough, even in the unlikely case that the people at St. Mungo’s haven’t already spread the word.”
“What are you going to tell the Minister?” Hermione asked timidly. “He is bound to ask what happened.”
“Worried about your job, Granger?” Draco asked, enjoying seeing her squirm uncomfortably. For a short moment Hermione looked like she very much would like to throw an insult at his head-or solid objects, perhaps-but she obviously thought better of it and remained quiet.
Draco let her suffer a few more minutes until he let her off the hook.
“As much as I would like to tell the Minister all about how you let me unknowingly drink an untested potion,” he finally said, “there’s no guarantee he isn’t going to fire me right along with your sorry arse. Our agreement was probably not what the Minister had in mind when he had said we should work out our differences.”
Hermione breathed an audible sigh of relief.
“So what are we going to tell him?”
Draco shrugged. “Just that we decided to follow his advice and that we spent some time together outside of work. Unfortunately, I experienced a slight costume malfunction.”
“You think that’s going to work?” Hermione asked sceptically. “He’s never going to believe us.”
“I don’t see why he shouldn’t,” Draco stated confidently.
“Okay, then.” Hermione sighed and got up. After saying goodbye and mumbling yet another apology, she went home. Draco remained where he was, staring into the flames and secretly dreading the following morning.
*****
Monday morning Hermione and Draco met early at the Ministry of Magic. Since all attempts at reversing Draco’s wings had proven to be unsuccessful, they had no choice other than to face the embarrassing task of having to explain to the Minister why one of his employees was currently sprouting giant wings.
For her part, Hermione was beyond embarrassed. For the second week in a row she needed to see the Minister because of her less than stellar behaviour. The fact that they had decided to go to Kingsley instead of waiting to be summoned did nothing to make her feel any less ashamed.
Hermione had spent most of the previous night alternating between trying to find a last-minute cure and fretting over her boss’ reaction. It was entirely likely she would be fired. After all, she had administered an unauthorised and untested potion to one of her co-workers. Considering the Minister had just reprimanded her for not getting along with Malfoy, she couldn’t blame him if he didn’t believe the long-lasting effects were entirely accidental.
Malfoy, on the other, had strolled into the Ministry as if it were completely normal to have gigantic wings and he had absolutely no care in the world. He had greeted Hermione with a curt nod and a sneer, then proceeded towards the elevators without uttering a single syllable. Hermione supposed she should probably be thankful that he at least wasn’t insulting her and followed wordlessly.
It was early in the morning, before the rush of the Ministry’s employees coming to work filled the Atrium, but there were still some people around. Every single one of them was staring, pointing and whispering. Hermione knew that the news about Draco’s wings would spread faster than Garrotting Gas. Only with difficulty did she suppress the urge to apologize to Malfoy again and again while they waited for the elevator doors to open, the curious stares of every witch and wizard in their vicinity burning holes into their backs.
Draco, meanwhile, hadn’t lost any of his nonchalance. If he was concerned about being the subject of his co-workers curiosity, he was hiding it well. He might as well not have noticed any of the stares and whispers for all the indifference he was emitting.
The elevator ride to the top floor, where the Minister’s office was located, was much too quick for Hermione’s liking. Before she knew it, Draco and she were standing before the Minister’s gaping secretary, explaining why they needed to see the Minister right away as if that wasn’t painfully obvious. The secretary, who unfortunately seemed to have lost the ability to speak due to the fact that she had yet to pick up her jaw from the floor, only nodded and pointed towards the door. Hermione and Draco went inside.
The Minister was at his desk when they entered his office, bent over some paperwork.
“I’d like a cup of tea when you have the time, Alice,” he said, clearly mistaking them for his secretary. Hermione cleared her throat uncomfortably, and Kingsley Shacklebolt looked up. To his credit his mouth remained closed, though his eyebrows decided upon a quick visit with his hairline. Unlike his secretary though, the Minister succeeded in locating his voice.
“Mr. Malfoy, it seems you have mistaken the date. I assure you, Halloween is well and truly over.”
“I am aware of that, actually,” Draco replied dryly.
“May I then enquire why you decided to wear your costume today?” the Minister asked, all politeness.
Hermione suddenly wondered which house Kingsley had been in at Hogwarts. She had always assumed Gryffindor or Ravenclaw because he had been in the Order, but the sly smile around his lips and the sharp eyes with which he scrutinized them were screaming Slytherin.
Draco commenced with telling the Minister what had happened, the slightly revised version anyway, while Hermione stayed silent and tried to look not guilty. Judging by the disbelieving frown that took over the Minister’s features whenever he looked at her, her acting skills left something to be desired.
“And you are absolutely sure you knew that this potion could be potentially harmful when you drank it, Mr. Malfoy?” the Minister asked when Draco ended his report.
“Absolutely.” Draco sounded so convincing, even Hermione almost believed him.
“So this is nothing but an unfortunate magical accident between colleagues?” the Minister asked suspiciously.
“We just took your advice to heart and chose to spend some time together. Unfortunately, the potion had a slight malfunction,” Draco assured the Minister calmly, and Kingsley finally nodded. He had the air of a man who knew that he was being lied to, but just couldn’t prove it. Hermione’s palms began to sweat.
“Well, then I hope Mr. Snape and Miss Granger will find you a cure quickly, Mr. Malfoy. In the meantime, I trust you will be careful to use Disillusion Charms whenever you are in contact with Muggles.”
“Yes, Minister.”
To Hermione’s immense relief, they were dismissed. They left the office, walking past Alice, who was already penning a memo to her twenty closest girlfriends in the Ministry, informing them about the Minister’s early morning visitors, and headed for the elevators. While they waited for the lift to arrive, Hermione breathed several sighs of relief and tried to surreptitiously dry her sweaty palms on her robes.
“You’re an abysmal liar, Granger,” Draco remarked. “And you didn’t even have to say anything.”
“I know,” Hermione replied. “I just feel so bad about the entire mess.”
Draco eyed her in disbelief. “Granger, just last week you wanted nothing more than to see me shipped off to Azkaban. You don’t actually expect me to believe that you feel bad about causing all this?”
“Of course I feel bad, Malfoy,” Hermione exclaimed. “True, I wanted to teach you a lesson about how it feels to be laughed at, but I never meant for it to be permanent. If I wanted you to go to Azkaban, it was only after you had been lawfully sentenced by the Wizengamot. I would have never taken matters into my own hands like that.”
Draco was still shaking his head. “If I had had the perfect opportunity to get revenge on someone I hate, I would have never chosen to take the moral high ground.”
“I would,” Hermione replied simply. “Plus, if I had actually known the potion would harm you, you would have seen it in my face and refused to drink it in the first place. Abysmal liar, remember?”
Draco let out a barking laugh. “Yes, probably. You would have made a terrible Slytherin, Granger.”
“I would have thought my parentage would be the reason why I’d have made a bad Slytherin, not my honesty.”
“Nah. They let Riddle in, too, didn’t they?” The lift finally reached their floor and Draco stepped inside. Hermione could have sworn he winked at her. Just two days ago, she had thought that Snape had made a joke and now this. Clearly she was misinterpreting some crucial signs. Who had ever heard of Slytherins having a decent sense of humour?
*****
Hermione and Draco took the elevator to the second floor together, where they parted to go to their respective offices. Now that the threat of unemployment was temporarily averted, Hermione relished the opportunity to bury herself in paperwork. She would have worked well past lunchtime, too, if Harry and Ron hadn’t waltzed into her office at noon.
“Is it true, ‘Mione?” Ron asked first thing upon entering.
“Why hello to you, too, Ronald,” Hermione replied sharply. She hated the nickname Ron had bestowed on her once it had occurred to him, during one of the many post-war celebrations that had left him decidedly inebriated, that Hermione was just too long a name and definitely too hard to pronounce when drunk. “Is what true?”
“The wings, of course. Does Malfoy still have the wings?” Ron sounded positively gleeful. Harry wisely chose to remain silent.
“Yes, the most awful thing has happened. The long-term effects of the potion were entirely unpredictable, and I’m afraid I didn’t realise it before it was too late,” Hermione said with a frown. The guilty feeling in her stomach, which she had been able to forget while immersed in her work, was already returning full force.
“Bloody awesome!” Ron cried, fist pumping into the air.
“Mind your language in my office,” Hermione snapped immediately. “And there is nothing awesome about it.”
“Are you bonkers, Hermione? This is the best prank ever. Not even Fred and George could have pulled it off,” Ron praised, entirely oblivious to Harry’s warning looks.
“PRANK!” Hermione’s voice shrilled through the tiny office, making her two best friends wince at the assault on their eardrums. “I would NEVER do something like that. You ought to know that.”
“Of course we do,” Harry spoke up, raising his hands soothingly, trying his best to diffuse the situation. He might as well not have bothered.
“Well, but you did do it,” Ron said, still grinning widely. “I mean the git has wings after all.”
If Hermione would have failed in Slytherin because of her honesty, Ron’s utter lack of self-preservation skills would have been the reason for his downfall. Obviously realising that his best friend’s life was forfeit and that the only thing left to do was to try and save his own hide, Harry began to edge away from Ron in a desperate attempt to avoid Hermione’s wrath.
“Ronald Bilius Weasley. I don’t believe the nerve of you. You come into my office, accusing me of being some… some swindler!” By then Hermione’s voice had reached the highest octave that could still be heard by human ears, and every one of her words was accompanied by a sharp poke to Ron’s chest. Even Ron finally seemed to realise that a strategic retreat was advisable.
“Look, Hermione, I didn’t mean… If you thought… Sorry!”
He was saved by a knock on the door. Draco poked his head in without waiting for an invitation, as usual.
“Granger, as much as I hate to interrupt while all sounds indicate you are about to slaughter the Weasel, the Minister just Owled me. He has a new assignment for us and wants us to start right away.”
“Alright,” Hermione nodded. Then she turned back to Ron. “We will continue this later. Goodbye, Harry.” That said, Hermione gathered her papers from her desk and left her office without dignifying Ron with another look.
As it turned out, the Minister had indeed a new assignment for them, one so involved and complicated that Hermione knew right away she would be working with Draco closely for several weeks. While the assignment itself, which involved collaborating with Muggle and Wizarding authorities of several European countries in order to detect wayward supporters of Voldemort and other Anti-Muggle movements, highly appealed to Hermione, she obviously had several reservations about her partner. First and foremost she was worried that Malfoy wouldn’t want to work with her. After all, she had just drastically altered his physique. To borrow Ron’s words, he had bloody wings.
However, Malfoy seemed to be highly amused by the new assignment. “Shacklebolt wants to test us,” he explained when he saw Hermione’s confused look. “If our story were to be true, we wouldn’t have a problem working together since we supposedly bonded over costume-making. But if, as he suspects, we are lying, chances are we will start fighting sooner or later and give ourselves away.”
“But we are lying, Malfoy.”
“Maybe. But we’re still not going to let him win,” Draco replied, an amused spark dancing in his grey eyes.
Hermione mentally added her inability to understand the entertainment value of political scheming to the list of reasons why Slytherin would have been the wrong house for her and concentrated on their assignment. To her surprise, Malfoy and she worked rather well together when they desisted from hexing each other into oblivion.
*****
The rest of the week, Hermione spent her days working with Malfoy at the Ministry and her evenings working with Snape on a cure for the wings. Both collaborations turned out to be more productive than she would have ever imagined, although the solution for a cure remained elusive.
Working with Draco was accompanied by a myriad of mixed feelings for Hermione. A lot of her former hatred for the youngest Death Eater in history seemed to have burned up in the fires of her own guilt. Despite everything, she truly hadn’t meant to cause him any permanent damage. Delivering punishment was the job of the Wizengamot. Vigilantism was something Hermione thoroughly despised, and the mere thought that that was exactly what she had done, even though she hadn’t intended for things to turn out the way they did, never failed to make her flush in shame.
At the very least, it seemed petty to still hold onto a grudge due to all of Malfoy’s childhood torments. He might have mocked her for her buck teeth or her hair, but at least he hadn’t actually charmed her hair to look the way it did, and while he once had hexed her teeth, Madam Pomfrey had easily remedied that. She, on the other hand, had gone and given him wings, and she would have had to be blind, deaf and stupid on top not to notice how their fellow employees at the Ministry teased him about that.
This is not to say that their collaboration on their latest project went smoothly. Even if she disregarded their rocky past, Malfoy was still an insufferable, arrogant prat, and more often than not Hermione wished she could hex the annoying smirk right off his face. But at least he knew his job well and was dedicated to his work, even if he used every opportunity to skive off the more menial tasks to her.
Therefore, to their own surprise, and no doubt to the Minister’s disappointment, Draco and Hermione managed to work together for the entire week after Halloween without starting another duel or even so much as a shouting match, not to mention that they got a lot of work done.
Working with Snape also turned out to be nothing like Hermione had expected. In his classroom Snape had been a despot, deliberately abusing his privileges as a teacher and belittling his students every chance he got. In the privacy of his own lab, Snape didn’t bother with petty viciousness. His people skills still needed a lot of work, in Hermione’s opinion, but he more than made up for it with intelligence and competence in the field of Potions. Hermione learned more assisting him in trying to develop a cure than she could have ever learned if she had studied every Potions textbook in the library of Hogwarts; although, she would have rather chosen to bite off her own tongue than admit that to anyone.
Despite their combined efforts, however, it seemed to be more and more likely that there was simply no cure to the potion Hermione had brewed to make Draco sprout wings. Every theory they pursued, every potion they brewed, proved to be ineffective, and by Sunday evening, more than one week after the Halloween ball, Hermione was almost ready to admit defeat. There were still a few alleys that they hadn’t explored, but essentially they were running out of ideas to counter the effect of the Hellebore.
“One of us should probably tell Draco that we can’t seem to find a cure anytime soon,” Hermione said gloomily when yet another one of their attempts went up in smoke. Literally.
Snape only shrugged, but didn’t look up from the cauldron he was currently stirring. He was generally a man of few words, unless he was busy insulting what he deemed to be his inferiors, so Hermione interpreted his silence as confirmation. He was not going to volunteer and tell Draco about their ongoing lack of success, and Hermione couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t looking forward to that particular conversation either.
She cleaned up her work space and went upstairs to find Draco. He was generally around when they worked in the lab, just in case they required him for testing. When Hermione couldn’t find him inside, she correctly surmised that he must have gone outside, despite the early November weather being frosty at best. Hermione bundled up in her winter cloak and tugged her scarf tightly around her throat before she stepped outside. She finally found Draco standing at the edge of the cliff, gazing down into the ocean below.
“I take it by your lack of enthusiasm that you still haven’t found a solution,” Draco said without taking his eyes away from the abyss in front of him.
“No. I’m sorry,” Hermione said, staring absently at the huge wings on Draco’s back. “Professor Snape is going to contact a colleague in Somalia next, who might be able to help, but it’s only a long shot.”
“So, I’m stuck with the wings for now? Maybe indefinitely?” Draco asked. He turned around to face Hermione, and she was surprised to notice he didn’t seem angry at all. Resigned maybe, but his features were smooth. He didn’t even sneer.
“I’m sorry,” Hermione repeated.
“So you’ve said.” Draco turned back to the cliff.
“You’re not mad?” Hermione asked, trying to decipher his mood. But he still seemed uncharacteristically calm.
“Of course I am,” Draco snorted. “But you and Severus seem to be my best bet for finding a cure, so causing you bodily harm would be detrimental to my cause, however gratifying it may be in the short term.”
Hermione swallowed. “Glad to hear it.”
“How good are you with Levitating Charms, Granger?” Draco suddenly asked.
Hermione just stared at him bewildered. “I was the first in our class to learn the Wingardium Leviosa, if you remember,” she finally said.
“Good. I trust you won’t let me fall to my death. The Minister is already less than impressed with you for making me have wings, I fear it will go on your permanent record if you actually manage to kill me off.”
“What? Malfoy, what are you talking about?”
“What do you think?” He never looked back to check if Hermione had taken out her wand. With one strong move, he stretched his wings out to their fullest, and then he leaped off the cliff.
Hermione screamed when she saw him jump, desperately pulling her wand out of her pocket. But before she had the chance to cast a spell and safely levitate Draco back up the cliff, the wind caught underneath his wings and he soared through the air. Then he started to beat his wings and with every strong movement, he climbed higher up into the sky, until Hermione had to crane her neck back to keep him in her field of vision.
Draco flew a circle around Snape’s house and then glided back towards the edge of the cliff where Hermione was still standing, her mouth wide open in surprise. Draco folded his wings and landed swiftly in front of her.
“You flew!” Hermione whispered astonished.
“Well, that’s generally what wings are for. I thought I should give it a try,” Draco drawled but his eyes betrayed his excitement. He was slightly out of breath and his hair was hopelessly dishevelled.
“Incredible,” Hermione breathed.
“I still want you to find me a cure,” Draco said sternly. However, he was already eying the edge of the cliff again.
“Of course,” Hermione assured him immediately. “Again, I am so sorry-”
But Draco didn’t listen. Once more he unfolded his wings and jumped off the cliff. Hermione watched him fly for a while, before she headed back inside, shaking her head. What was it with boys and flying anyway?
tbc
A/N: Reviews are love.
Click here to go to the story index.
Title: The Space Between (Chapter 3/6)
Author: kalina_blue
Rating: R (barely)
Pairing: 100.1 (Draco/Hermione)
Word Count: 4771
Summary: A Halloween costume has some rather unexpected consequences.
Warnings: Post-DH, EWE.
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.
My thanks go to the lovely Withdrawnred, for the beta of this chapter.
Chapter 3 - We're Strange Allies
After his outburst in Snape’s living room, Draco headed outside to clear his head. He walked alongside the cliffs at a brisk pace, muttering under his breath the whole time. ‘Stupid bint’ and ‘bloody Gryffindor’ were the more flattering names he bestowed on Hermione during his soliloquy.
The fact that he was talking to himself didn’t bother him nearly as much as it probably should have. What really bothered him, however, was how good it felt to be out in the open, to stretch the wings without having to worry about hitting any walls or people. He was gaining more and more control over them, and Draco secretly feared one day the wings would become second nature to him. Snape had to find him a cure. Soon.
Draco remained outside until darkness descended, because quite frankly, he couldn’t guarantee that he would refrain from doing something that would earn him a life sentence at Azkaban if he were to face Granger again that day.
When he finally went back inside, Severus was waiting for him in his living room.
“Please tell me you’ve found a cure,” Draco said. He sat down on the couch heavily, though his wings made it impossible for him to lean against the backrest.
“It is a surprisingly complex potion,” Snape replied, pouring his godson a stiff drink. “The effect the Hellebore seems to have is quite astounding.”
“I take that as a no.” Draco accepted the offered drink and downed it in one gulp. He felt the Firewhisky burn down his throat and settle in a warm puddle in the pit of his stomach. It made him feel better, if only a little.
“No, I haven’t found a cure. I have a few ideas that might work, but nothing concrete. Miss Granger is going to return tomorrow, and we will continue to work on the problem.”
Draco snorted. “Problem, indeed.”
There was a pause in their conversation while Draco nursed a second drink and Snape absently leaved through a Potions textbook.
“I assume I don’t have to tell you that drinking untested potions is completely and utterly stupid,” Snape finally said, although there was no accusation in his tone-it wasn’t necessary. “A first-year Gryffindor probably would have known better.”
“It was the only way to get her to agree to work with me,” Draco defended himself.
“Not the most subtle plan.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “I know that. But I couldn’t risk losing the job. I won’t go back to working for my father, and with my reputation, it wouldn’t be easy to find another job. Nobody wants to hire an ex-Death Eater. It was hard enough to get the Ministry to hire me, and they only did it because I am highly qualified, and they could hardly have violated their own equal opportunity laws.”
It was Snape’s turn to sigh. “Draco, you have to deal with Lucius at some point. This might be a good opportunity to come clean with him.”
“No, it isn’t. It never will be,” Draco replied stubbornly. He refilled his drink and remained silent for the rest of the evening.
*****
The following morning Draco awoke late and with a pounding headache to boot. His first thought was that maybe his eighth glass of Firewhisky the previous night hadn’t been the best idea he had ever had. Not that he had made a lot of good choices lately.
He was lying on his stomach on the couch in his godfather’s living room. Considering the various aches in his back and his wings, he needed to add his selection of sleeping accommodations to the ever-growing list of things he should have done differently.
Groaning, Draco hoisted himself into a semi-upright position. He noticed a familiar vial on the floor next to the couch and drank the Hangover Potion gratefully. He would have to thank Severus for that later.
He correctly guessed that Severus was already in his basement, working to find him a cure, and in all likelihood, Granger had already returned to assist. Draco, for his part, chose to stay away from the lab. Partly because he still couldn’t guarantee he would refrain from hexing Granger into oblivion, partly because he knew he wouldn’t be of much use down there anyway. He had no illusions about the fact that he only passed Potions because his godfather had taught it.
Instead, Draco spent the day outside, trying to gain as much control over his wings as possible, even though the thought of getting used to his wings was still deeply unsettling. But Draco prided himself in the fact that his facial expression never gave away his thoughts or emotions-a much valued skill he had acquired during the Dark Lord’s reign. It hadn’t escaped Draco’s attention that the uncontrolled movements of his wings were directly linked to his emotional state. Granger had already figured out that the wings were an easy method to gauge his mood, and it was only a matter of time until everyone else would catch on. Draco was determined to put a stop to that, just in case he would have to keep the wings for some time.
He stayed outside the whole day, training his wings to abide his will, until Snape and Granger finally appeared from the lab. They met in Severus’ living room to discuss the matter at hand.
“Fact is, you won’t get rid of the wings any time soon,” Snape stated dispassionately after he had given Draco a short summary of their experiments that day. He had never been one to sugar-coat things. Draco remained quiet while the ugly truth settled in, and Granger restricted herself to twisting her hands in her lap and looking guilty.
“I suggest you find a way to live with them for now.” Snape got up. “Oh, and Draco, I fear as the inventor of this potion, Miss Granger will be rather indispensable for finding a cure, so any plans for revenge you might have already devised would be best saved for later.” With that last warning, Snape left Draco and Hermione alone.
The living room fell silent for a while. Draco stared moodily into the flickering flames of the fireplace, and Hermione gazed outside the window, continuing to twist her hands nervously in her lap. Draco noticed that her nails were bitten, something he would have commented on under any other circumstances. But he chose to remain silent. When Hermione couldn’t seem to stand the quiet any longer, she broke her silence.
“I am truly sorry, Malfoy. I never meant for the wings to be permanent.”
“Unless you think that apologizing enough will Vanish the damn wings, save it,” Draco spat, in no mood to indulge her.
“Sorry.”
Draco was inclined to continue brooding in silence, but Hermione obviously wasn’t done talking.
“Are you going to go to work tomorrow?” she asked.
“Will you find a cure tomorrow?” Draco answered with a question of his own.
“Probably not.”
“And the day after that?”
“You heard what Snape said…” Hermione said evasively. Guilt was plainly written all over her face.
“Then I don’t see what use it will be to stay home from work. Everyone will find out that I still have the wings soon enough, even in the unlikely case that the people at St. Mungo’s haven’t already spread the word.”
“What are you going to tell the Minister?” Hermione asked timidly. “He is bound to ask what happened.”
“Worried about your job, Granger?” Draco asked, enjoying seeing her squirm uncomfortably. For a short moment Hermione looked like she very much would like to throw an insult at his head-or solid objects, perhaps-but she obviously thought better of it and remained quiet.
Draco let her suffer a few more minutes until he let her off the hook.
“As much as I would like to tell the Minister all about how you let me unknowingly drink an untested potion,” he finally said, “there’s no guarantee he isn’t going to fire me right along with your sorry arse. Our agreement was probably not what the Minister had in mind when he had said we should work out our differences.”
Hermione breathed an audible sigh of relief.
“So what are we going to tell him?”
Draco shrugged. “Just that we decided to follow his advice and that we spent some time together outside of work. Unfortunately, I experienced a slight costume malfunction.”
“You think that’s going to work?” Hermione asked sceptically. “He’s never going to believe us.”
“I don’t see why he shouldn’t,” Draco stated confidently.
“Okay, then.” Hermione sighed and got up. After saying goodbye and mumbling yet another apology, she went home. Draco remained where he was, staring into the flames and secretly dreading the following morning.
*****
Monday morning Hermione and Draco met early at the Ministry of Magic. Since all attempts at reversing Draco’s wings had proven to be unsuccessful, they had no choice other than to face the embarrassing task of having to explain to the Minister why one of his employees was currently sprouting giant wings.
For her part, Hermione was beyond embarrassed. For the second week in a row she needed to see the Minister because of her less than stellar behaviour. The fact that they had decided to go to Kingsley instead of waiting to be summoned did nothing to make her feel any less ashamed.
Hermione had spent most of the previous night alternating between trying to find a last-minute cure and fretting over her boss’ reaction. It was entirely likely she would be fired. After all, she had administered an unauthorised and untested potion to one of her co-workers. Considering the Minister had just reprimanded her for not getting along with Malfoy, she couldn’t blame him if he didn’t believe the long-lasting effects were entirely accidental.
Malfoy, on the other, had strolled into the Ministry as if it were completely normal to have gigantic wings and he had absolutely no care in the world. He had greeted Hermione with a curt nod and a sneer, then proceeded towards the elevators without uttering a single syllable. Hermione supposed she should probably be thankful that he at least wasn’t insulting her and followed wordlessly.
It was early in the morning, before the rush of the Ministry’s employees coming to work filled the Atrium, but there were still some people around. Every single one of them was staring, pointing and whispering. Hermione knew that the news about Draco’s wings would spread faster than Garrotting Gas. Only with difficulty did she suppress the urge to apologize to Malfoy again and again while they waited for the elevator doors to open, the curious stares of every witch and wizard in their vicinity burning holes into their backs.
Draco, meanwhile, hadn’t lost any of his nonchalance. If he was concerned about being the subject of his co-workers curiosity, he was hiding it well. He might as well not have noticed any of the stares and whispers for all the indifference he was emitting.
The elevator ride to the top floor, where the Minister’s office was located, was much too quick for Hermione’s liking. Before she knew it, Draco and she were standing before the Minister’s gaping secretary, explaining why they needed to see the Minister right away as if that wasn’t painfully obvious. The secretary, who unfortunately seemed to have lost the ability to speak due to the fact that she had yet to pick up her jaw from the floor, only nodded and pointed towards the door. Hermione and Draco went inside.
The Minister was at his desk when they entered his office, bent over some paperwork.
“I’d like a cup of tea when you have the time, Alice,” he said, clearly mistaking them for his secretary. Hermione cleared her throat uncomfortably, and Kingsley Shacklebolt looked up. To his credit his mouth remained closed, though his eyebrows decided upon a quick visit with his hairline. Unlike his secretary though, the Minister succeeded in locating his voice.
“Mr. Malfoy, it seems you have mistaken the date. I assure you, Halloween is well and truly over.”
“I am aware of that, actually,” Draco replied dryly.
“May I then enquire why you decided to wear your costume today?” the Minister asked, all politeness.
Hermione suddenly wondered which house Kingsley had been in at Hogwarts. She had always assumed Gryffindor or Ravenclaw because he had been in the Order, but the sly smile around his lips and the sharp eyes with which he scrutinized them were screaming Slytherin.
Draco commenced with telling the Minister what had happened, the slightly revised version anyway, while Hermione stayed silent and tried to look not guilty. Judging by the disbelieving frown that took over the Minister’s features whenever he looked at her, her acting skills left something to be desired.
“And you are absolutely sure you knew that this potion could be potentially harmful when you drank it, Mr. Malfoy?” the Minister asked when Draco ended his report.
“Absolutely.” Draco sounded so convincing, even Hermione almost believed him.
“So this is nothing but an unfortunate magical accident between colleagues?” the Minister asked suspiciously.
“We just took your advice to heart and chose to spend some time together. Unfortunately, the potion had a slight malfunction,” Draco assured the Minister calmly, and Kingsley finally nodded. He had the air of a man who knew that he was being lied to, but just couldn’t prove it. Hermione’s palms began to sweat.
“Well, then I hope Mr. Snape and Miss Granger will find you a cure quickly, Mr. Malfoy. In the meantime, I trust you will be careful to use Disillusion Charms whenever you are in contact with Muggles.”
“Yes, Minister.”
To Hermione’s immense relief, they were dismissed. They left the office, walking past Alice, who was already penning a memo to her twenty closest girlfriends in the Ministry, informing them about the Minister’s early morning visitors, and headed for the elevators. While they waited for the lift to arrive, Hermione breathed several sighs of relief and tried to surreptitiously dry her sweaty palms on her robes.
“You’re an abysmal liar, Granger,” Draco remarked. “And you didn’t even have to say anything.”
“I know,” Hermione replied. “I just feel so bad about the entire mess.”
Draco eyed her in disbelief. “Granger, just last week you wanted nothing more than to see me shipped off to Azkaban. You don’t actually expect me to believe that you feel bad about causing all this?”
“Of course I feel bad, Malfoy,” Hermione exclaimed. “True, I wanted to teach you a lesson about how it feels to be laughed at, but I never meant for it to be permanent. If I wanted you to go to Azkaban, it was only after you had been lawfully sentenced by the Wizengamot. I would have never taken matters into my own hands like that.”
Draco was still shaking his head. “If I had had the perfect opportunity to get revenge on someone I hate, I would have never chosen to take the moral high ground.”
“I would,” Hermione replied simply. “Plus, if I had actually known the potion would harm you, you would have seen it in my face and refused to drink it in the first place. Abysmal liar, remember?”
Draco let out a barking laugh. “Yes, probably. You would have made a terrible Slytherin, Granger.”
“I would have thought my parentage would be the reason why I’d have made a bad Slytherin, not my honesty.”
“Nah. They let Riddle in, too, didn’t they?” The lift finally reached their floor and Draco stepped inside. Hermione could have sworn he winked at her. Just two days ago, she had thought that Snape had made a joke and now this. Clearly she was misinterpreting some crucial signs. Who had ever heard of Slytherins having a decent sense of humour?
*****
Hermione and Draco took the elevator to the second floor together, where they parted to go to their respective offices. Now that the threat of unemployment was temporarily averted, Hermione relished the opportunity to bury herself in paperwork. She would have worked well past lunchtime, too, if Harry and Ron hadn’t waltzed into her office at noon.
“Is it true, ‘Mione?” Ron asked first thing upon entering.
“Why hello to you, too, Ronald,” Hermione replied sharply. She hated the nickname Ron had bestowed on her once it had occurred to him, during one of the many post-war celebrations that had left him decidedly inebriated, that Hermione was just too long a name and definitely too hard to pronounce when drunk. “Is what true?”
“The wings, of course. Does Malfoy still have the wings?” Ron sounded positively gleeful. Harry wisely chose to remain silent.
“Yes, the most awful thing has happened. The long-term effects of the potion were entirely unpredictable, and I’m afraid I didn’t realise it before it was too late,” Hermione said with a frown. The guilty feeling in her stomach, which she had been able to forget while immersed in her work, was already returning full force.
“Bloody awesome!” Ron cried, fist pumping into the air.
“Mind your language in my office,” Hermione snapped immediately. “And there is nothing awesome about it.”
“Are you bonkers, Hermione? This is the best prank ever. Not even Fred and George could have pulled it off,” Ron praised, entirely oblivious to Harry’s warning looks.
“PRANK!” Hermione’s voice shrilled through the tiny office, making her two best friends wince at the assault on their eardrums. “I would NEVER do something like that. You ought to know that.”
“Of course we do,” Harry spoke up, raising his hands soothingly, trying his best to diffuse the situation. He might as well not have bothered.
“Well, but you did do it,” Ron said, still grinning widely. “I mean the git has wings after all.”
If Hermione would have failed in Slytherin because of her honesty, Ron’s utter lack of self-preservation skills would have been the reason for his downfall. Obviously realising that his best friend’s life was forfeit and that the only thing left to do was to try and save his own hide, Harry began to edge away from Ron in a desperate attempt to avoid Hermione’s wrath.
“Ronald Bilius Weasley. I don’t believe the nerve of you. You come into my office, accusing me of being some… some swindler!” By then Hermione’s voice had reached the highest octave that could still be heard by human ears, and every one of her words was accompanied by a sharp poke to Ron’s chest. Even Ron finally seemed to realise that a strategic retreat was advisable.
“Look, Hermione, I didn’t mean… If you thought… Sorry!”
He was saved by a knock on the door. Draco poked his head in without waiting for an invitation, as usual.
“Granger, as much as I hate to interrupt while all sounds indicate you are about to slaughter the Weasel, the Minister just Owled me. He has a new assignment for us and wants us to start right away.”
“Alright,” Hermione nodded. Then she turned back to Ron. “We will continue this later. Goodbye, Harry.” That said, Hermione gathered her papers from her desk and left her office without dignifying Ron with another look.
As it turned out, the Minister had indeed a new assignment for them, one so involved and complicated that Hermione knew right away she would be working with Draco closely for several weeks. While the assignment itself, which involved collaborating with Muggle and Wizarding authorities of several European countries in order to detect wayward supporters of Voldemort and other Anti-Muggle movements, highly appealed to Hermione, she obviously had several reservations about her partner. First and foremost she was worried that Malfoy wouldn’t want to work with her. After all, she had just drastically altered his physique. To borrow Ron’s words, he had bloody wings.
However, Malfoy seemed to be highly amused by the new assignment. “Shacklebolt wants to test us,” he explained when he saw Hermione’s confused look. “If our story were to be true, we wouldn’t have a problem working together since we supposedly bonded over costume-making. But if, as he suspects, we are lying, chances are we will start fighting sooner or later and give ourselves away.”
“But we are lying, Malfoy.”
“Maybe. But we’re still not going to let him win,” Draco replied, an amused spark dancing in his grey eyes.
Hermione mentally added her inability to understand the entertainment value of political scheming to the list of reasons why Slytherin would have been the wrong house for her and concentrated on their assignment. To her surprise, Malfoy and she worked rather well together when they desisted from hexing each other into oblivion.
*****
The rest of the week, Hermione spent her days working with Malfoy at the Ministry and her evenings working with Snape on a cure for the wings. Both collaborations turned out to be more productive than she would have ever imagined, although the solution for a cure remained elusive.
Working with Draco was accompanied by a myriad of mixed feelings for Hermione. A lot of her former hatred for the youngest Death Eater in history seemed to have burned up in the fires of her own guilt. Despite everything, she truly hadn’t meant to cause him any permanent damage. Delivering punishment was the job of the Wizengamot. Vigilantism was something Hermione thoroughly despised, and the mere thought that that was exactly what she had done, even though she hadn’t intended for things to turn out the way they did, never failed to make her flush in shame.
At the very least, it seemed petty to still hold onto a grudge due to all of Malfoy’s childhood torments. He might have mocked her for her buck teeth or her hair, but at least he hadn’t actually charmed her hair to look the way it did, and while he once had hexed her teeth, Madam Pomfrey had easily remedied that. She, on the other hand, had gone and given him wings, and she would have had to be blind, deaf and stupid on top not to notice how their fellow employees at the Ministry teased him about that.
This is not to say that their collaboration on their latest project went smoothly. Even if she disregarded their rocky past, Malfoy was still an insufferable, arrogant prat, and more often than not Hermione wished she could hex the annoying smirk right off his face. But at least he knew his job well and was dedicated to his work, even if he used every opportunity to skive off the more menial tasks to her.
Therefore, to their own surprise, and no doubt to the Minister’s disappointment, Draco and Hermione managed to work together for the entire week after Halloween without starting another duel or even so much as a shouting match, not to mention that they got a lot of work done.
Working with Snape also turned out to be nothing like Hermione had expected. In his classroom Snape had been a despot, deliberately abusing his privileges as a teacher and belittling his students every chance he got. In the privacy of his own lab, Snape didn’t bother with petty viciousness. His people skills still needed a lot of work, in Hermione’s opinion, but he more than made up for it with intelligence and competence in the field of Potions. Hermione learned more assisting him in trying to develop a cure than she could have ever learned if she had studied every Potions textbook in the library of Hogwarts; although, she would have rather chosen to bite off her own tongue than admit that to anyone.
Despite their combined efforts, however, it seemed to be more and more likely that there was simply no cure to the potion Hermione had brewed to make Draco sprout wings. Every theory they pursued, every potion they brewed, proved to be ineffective, and by Sunday evening, more than one week after the Halloween ball, Hermione was almost ready to admit defeat. There were still a few alleys that they hadn’t explored, but essentially they were running out of ideas to counter the effect of the Hellebore.
“One of us should probably tell Draco that we can’t seem to find a cure anytime soon,” Hermione said gloomily when yet another one of their attempts went up in smoke. Literally.
Snape only shrugged, but didn’t look up from the cauldron he was currently stirring. He was generally a man of few words, unless he was busy insulting what he deemed to be his inferiors, so Hermione interpreted his silence as confirmation. He was not going to volunteer and tell Draco about their ongoing lack of success, and Hermione couldn’t blame him. She wasn’t looking forward to that particular conversation either.
She cleaned up her work space and went upstairs to find Draco. He was generally around when they worked in the lab, just in case they required him for testing. When Hermione couldn’t find him inside, she correctly surmised that he must have gone outside, despite the early November weather being frosty at best. Hermione bundled up in her winter cloak and tugged her scarf tightly around her throat before she stepped outside. She finally found Draco standing at the edge of the cliff, gazing down into the ocean below.
“I take it by your lack of enthusiasm that you still haven’t found a solution,” Draco said without taking his eyes away from the abyss in front of him.
“No. I’m sorry,” Hermione said, staring absently at the huge wings on Draco’s back. “Professor Snape is going to contact a colleague in Somalia next, who might be able to help, but it’s only a long shot.”
“So, I’m stuck with the wings for now? Maybe indefinitely?” Draco asked. He turned around to face Hermione, and she was surprised to notice he didn’t seem angry at all. Resigned maybe, but his features were smooth. He didn’t even sneer.
“I’m sorry,” Hermione repeated.
“So you’ve said.” Draco turned back to the cliff.
“You’re not mad?” Hermione asked, trying to decipher his mood. But he still seemed uncharacteristically calm.
“Of course I am,” Draco snorted. “But you and Severus seem to be my best bet for finding a cure, so causing you bodily harm would be detrimental to my cause, however gratifying it may be in the short term.”
Hermione swallowed. “Glad to hear it.”
“How good are you with Levitating Charms, Granger?” Draco suddenly asked.
Hermione just stared at him bewildered. “I was the first in our class to learn the Wingardium Leviosa, if you remember,” she finally said.
“Good. I trust you won’t let me fall to my death. The Minister is already less than impressed with you for making me have wings, I fear it will go on your permanent record if you actually manage to kill me off.”
“What? Malfoy, what are you talking about?”
“What do you think?” He never looked back to check if Hermione had taken out her wand. With one strong move, he stretched his wings out to their fullest, and then he leaped off the cliff.
Hermione screamed when she saw him jump, desperately pulling her wand out of her pocket. But before she had the chance to cast a spell and safely levitate Draco back up the cliff, the wind caught underneath his wings and he soared through the air. Then he started to beat his wings and with every strong movement, he climbed higher up into the sky, until Hermione had to crane her neck back to keep him in her field of vision.
Draco flew a circle around Snape’s house and then glided back towards the edge of the cliff where Hermione was still standing, her mouth wide open in surprise. Draco folded his wings and landed swiftly in front of her.
“You flew!” Hermione whispered astonished.
“Well, that’s generally what wings are for. I thought I should give it a try,” Draco drawled but his eyes betrayed his excitement. He was slightly out of breath and his hair was hopelessly dishevelled.
“Incredible,” Hermione breathed.
“I still want you to find me a cure,” Draco said sternly. However, he was already eying the edge of the cliff again.
“Of course,” Hermione assured him immediately. “Again, I am so sorry-”
But Draco didn’t listen. Once more he unfolded his wings and jumped off the cliff. Hermione watched him fly for a while, before she headed back inside, shaking her head. What was it with boys and flying anyway?
tbc
A/N: Reviews are love.
Click here to go to the story index.