Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter universe!
“Geez! Get a grip, girl,” Hermione practically shouted at herself, hastily trying to clean up the coffee that was now threatening to drip off the counter and onto the kitchen floor.
“Zup? ‘Mione, whaz goin’ on?” said Ginny, between yawns, as she walked into the kitchen. She stood in the doorway, letting her eyes focus on the crazy scene unfolding in front of her. There was Hermione, her usually incredibly put-together flat-mate, on her hands and knees, cleaning up spilled coffee with an old rag. She giggled, taking her wand out of the pocket of her bathrobe.
“Parchevate,” said the redhead, rather lazily. Hermione stood up, watching Ginny’s charm evaporate the brown liquid from both the counter and floor. Then she heard a faint whizzing noise and looked down at her robes as the coffee stains disappeared.
“Thanks, Ginny. I’m running late ‘cause I had to write a letter. I guess I’m just having one of those mornings,” Hermione said in a somewhat frazzled tone. Ginny still stood in the doorway, eyeing Hermione, taking in her friend’s haphazard appearance.
“I guess so. You’re the only person I know who does work before she even goes into to work,” she chuckled back. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink,” she said, still laughing. “Hold on. I can’t let you go like that,” and she looked at Hermione for a few seconds before flicking her wand again.
“Neatus,” she said in a clear tone. Hermione’s moppy curls began to lose some of their frizz and her robes straightened out of their wrinkles. With one more flick of her wand, the bags under Hermione’s eyes disappeared and a healthy rosy glow lit up her cheeks.
“That’s much better, Hermione,” Ginny said, now stepping into the kitchen to fix her own coffee.
“You’re the best, Ginny,” Hermione said gratefully, pulling up her sleeve to look at her wristwatch.
“Oh, I’m going to be late!” She grabbed a stack of now coffee-free parchment from the counter, shoved it all her briefcase, and hugged her friend.
“See you for lunch, right ‘Mione?”
“Absolutely!” came Hermione’s answer, as she raced out the kitchen door to Apparate away from potential muggle eyes. She stood by the trashcans in the alleyway, trying to calm her mind. It was rather difficult this morning, considering whom she was going to be meeting.
“And in less than ten minutes,” she muttered aloud. She forced her breathing to slow down to a normal pattern. She pictured the foyer of her office building. Within seconds, she opened her eyes to a brightly lit room. Taking off her heavier outer robe, she hung it up on the coat stand just outside her office door. She gathered her briefcase and then walked into her office.
She was immediately greeted with the wonderful scent of the flowers that Draco had sent only a few days before. She placed her briefcase on her desk and leaned in to smell their heady fragrance. Irises, she thought. My favorite.
She sat down in her chair, wondering what she should do to prepare for the meeting. With her elbows on her desk, she tilted her head into her hands. She closed her eyes and tried to take deep relaxing breaths.
I am so nervous, she thought. This is Order business. I have got to get a hold on myself. She quickly thought of Louisa’s toothy grin and how she’d waved in some sort of recognition after the puppet show and then again in the park. She thought about the childish handwriting and sweet sentiments of the letter she’d sent on Saturday. She felt herself begin to calm down.
I will never let Voldemort or any of his evil Death Eaters hurt her “ or any other child, for that matter, she thought, feeling that the firm conviction of her resolve had fully returned. I can face him- and we can work together. We have to do this, she thought.
She was pulling out some of the parchment from her briefcase when she heard light tapping at her window. It was Draco’s eagle owl.
Interesting, she thought. He always charms it so it doesn’t actually look like his own owl. Maybe he’s sending me a letter from himself. She smiled at the complicated subterfuge. She opened the window at took the rolled parchment from the owl. She sat back down her desk. Before she could read it, she heard shuffling from the room just outside her office. She quickly hid the letter inside her briefcase. Taking a deep breath, she got up from her desk and walked over to the door.
On the other side of her office door, Draco was trying desperately to quell his own nervousness.
Draco had barely slept the night before. After he rushed out of the Order meeting, he’d Apparated quickly back to his apartment. He had a drink in his hand before he’d even slipped out of his robes, which he supposed were probably still laying in a heap in the living room. He headed directly to couch, propping up his feet on the expensive coffee table. With his wand, he summoned the bottle of firewhiskey. Usually he reserved the strong stuff for recovering from visits with his mother. But tonight he wanted to dull another kind of pain- the kind of pain that comes from unrequited longing coupled with intense self-loathing.
She asked me to have drinks, he thought, taking a swallow of the burning liquid.
“No, she called me by my given name and then asked me to join her and her friends for drinks,” he clarified to himself aloud.
“Well, what does that mean?” he muttered. It means she’s a better person than me, he thought. Well, that’s nothing new.
Another part of him wanted to think about what might have happened if he’d agreed to join her and her friends. It was that part of him that he was trying to drown out with the firewhiskey, though.
He’d been through this before so many times. Well, maybe not this exact situation- after all, he hadn’t technically interacted with her in more than four years. But every time he wanted to reach out to her- to reveal his true identity as Louisa’s father- to show his heart-felt gratitude in person- to just take her hand, and apologize for every hateful word he’d ever said to her- he balked. He was convinced that she’d reject him.
“And why wouldn’t she?” he asked. She has real friends. Friends who have always seen her for the amazing person that she is. She doesn’t need me, he mused.
“Though I need her,” he whispered.
He poured himself another drink in an attempt to wipe out the traitorous admission. When he began to feel the effects of the numerous drinks take their toll, he mumbled a wake-up call charm to his wand and then stretched out onto the couch. He slept fitfully, tossing and turning. In the pre-dawn hours, he finally nodded off into a deep sleep.
When he awoke, he felt the telltale signs of a hangover. He gave himself the usual charm and headed to the shower. He then spent a good amount of time considering his clothing options for the day. He’d be seeing Louisa for lunch and he didn’t want to risk being late just to change his clothes. He settled on a pair of khakis and an olive green sweater. He could wear it under a plain set of robes that he could then transfigure into a Muggle jacket for his lunch date. He made sure he had his still-miniaturized Firebolt in his pocket before walking into his kitchen.
Once he had a strong double-espresso in hand, he walked into his library. He still had forty-five minutes before he was expected at Hermione’s office. He sighed as he looked down at a blank piece of parchment. For several years now, he’d written to Hermione at least every Monday “ just to check in, he told himself. As he dipped his quill into some ink, he heard a tapping at the window behind him. He looked up, unaware of a small smile surfacing on his face. Hermione’s owl was perched on his windowsill.
He opened the window and then relieved the owl of its letter. The owl didn’t wait for a treat but turned around and flew back towards the city. He took the scroll back to his desk.
To my friend,
I do not wish to alarm you but I need to put you on your guard. I have become aware of some rather evil plots to terrorize magical children living in the Muggle world. As a precaution, magical children are being identified so that they can then be better protected. I know that you wish to maintain the secrecy of your daughter’s identity. However, I implore you to consider confiding in at least one person who could protect your child- Albus Dumbledore. I know that he would keep your secret. The alternative is that your daughter may be identified and thus, your cover may be unwittingly revealed.
As always, I am here for you- and your child.
Yours,
Hermione
Of course, he thought. She’d want to warn me after last night’s meeting. She doesn’t know that I already know all of this. He looked at her letter again- there was something a bit different about it.
She addressed it only to ‘my friend’ and not ‘friend-in-need’ and signed it as just ‘Hermione’ without her last name, he thought.
“Does that mean anything?” he wondered aloud. He then chided himself for thinking like a schoolboy. She was in a hurry, that’s all, he thought. And now I need to either write something back or be on my way.
He put his quill to the parchment. He considered what he could write to her. He usually tried to be honest about as much as possible in his letters to her. He respected her intelligence and knew that she’d see through most lies.
Dearest Hermione,
Thank you so much for your concern.
Please let me assure you that my daughter is well protected. I, too, have heard rumors of Dark activity against magical children in Muggle London. Her home has some of the best protection charms on it that galleons can buy. Also, I told Dumbledore years ago of my child’s identity. He knows who she is and where she is, as well.
Again, my thanks for your intentions. You have been the most thoughtful and caring friend that I have ever had.
Most sincerely,
Your friend
He rolled up the parchment before he lost his nerve. He’d taken some risks in the letter. He’d told her about Dumbledore, indicated that he heard rumors that supposedly have been sequestered away from the media, and allowed some of his feelings to show in his wording. He tied the letter to his owl’s leg and sent him on his way, unable to suppress his excitement at taking those risks.
He took out his pocket-watch. He still had time enough to get to Hermione’s office. He felt like a brisk walk was just what he needed to gain some composure. He locked the door and walked out into the crisp morning. With a confident stride, he headed in the direction of Hermione’s office. The closer he got, the more nervous he became.
He willed himself to think of Louisa rather than the woman he was on his way to meet. Louisa was a source of strength whereas Hermione made him feel like the recipient of the Jelly-legs Curse. Thoughts of her toothy grin, her mad brown curls, her disarming giggle, and her loving gray eyes soothed him. By the time he was in front of the neat old building that housed Hermione’s office, he felt like he had reclaimed some of that trademark Malfoy confidence. He could get through this.
No, I must get through this. There is no way I’m going to let anything happen to Louisa, he thought, as turned the knob to the front door. He walked into the main hallway. It was brightly lit. A quick glance to the sign on the wall told him that Hermione’s office was on the first floor at the end of the hallway. He walked towards the back of the building. He came to a red door with a golden plaque hanging on it.
Hermione Granger, Special Consultant was all it said. He opened the door and stepped into a cheery foyer. It was now two minutes until eight o’clock. He took off his robe and hung it up next to a pretty dark green one on a coat rack. He stood in front of the door to her office, taking a deep breath, feeling some of the nervousness begin to return.
She opened the door. Gray eyes met brown. For about thirty seconds, they both stood there, just looking at each other.
“Er- please come in,” Hermione finally squeaked. He followed her in as she closed her office door. Unbeknownst to each other, they each took a deep breath and confirmed their resolve to get through the meeting for the love of the same little girl.