Chapter Text
Part 7: Mischief Managed
He held her hand as they left the meeting room. He kept on holding it in the elevator, until Hermione used her security tag to take them to Level Six. After that, he released her and they stood together in silence. They were like a couple of teenagers sneaking home after curfew, trying not to get busted.
The mirror in the elevator told Hermione that she looked an absolute shambles, but it was good to know that Bulletproof had not escaped unscathed either. His colour was up, probably owing to their speedy departure from Level Seven. She didn’t think he was the sort to blush easily, but the thought did provide some amusement.
Besides the wrinkles on his jacket and trousers, the front of his shirt looked like it’d been pulled and twisted, which was one-hundred percent accurate. There was a faint, red mark on his neck, nearly obscured by his shirt collar and it wouldn’t be visible at all if he wore his jacket. Hermione had no memory of putting the mark on him, but she was uncharitably pleased to see it. She was pretty sure there were hickeys on her inner thighs, so it felt fair to leave him with one or two tangible souvenirs as well.
Actually, there was another memento–the dark patch on the front of his trousers from when she was in his lap. Hermione felt her ears heat up when she understood why he hadn’t elected to wear his jacket, opting to hold it in front of him instead.
Stop staring at him .
Easier thought than done. His eyes were downcast. But then he returned her glance and Hermione wondered if maybe he’d been tangled in his own thoughts, too? In that fraction of a moment, before his stare iced over, his gorgeous eyes were big, grey and contemplative. He looked a little vulnerable and a lot younger.
Her own gaze dropped lower, to his mouth which was a little swollen and kiss-stung. And oh how had she not noticed his freckles before? He had far fewer than she did, but they were definitely there, across the bridge of his nose…probably also on his shoulders and…
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to try and snap herself out of it. The pain helped.
She wanted to make a quick pit-stop at her suite, to freshen up and fix her hair. But there was no way to do this while Bulletproof insisted on escorting her directly back to the ballroom.
Bing!
He took a step away from her as the elevator doors opened. Hermione was grateful for his discretion because it saved her the awkwardness of telling him to do it. They seemed pretty in-sync when it came to that sort of thing, though she wouldn’t put it past him to push boundaries. He was probably the sort of person to test if a fence was genuinely electrified, rather than take the sign at face value.
Sometimes, a person got all silly after you showed them your tits. Bulletproof hadn’t even seen hers yet, though he did get a closeup tour of all her other bits. So far, no clinginess detected, and no dreaded conversation about exchanging socials or anything. It probably helped that he was a little older than Hermione and probably had some experience with this sort of thing.
But then why did Hermione feel a little sorry for herself? The sorry feeling was similar to the flutter in her stomach when he smiled–when he really smiled, enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes and thaw the sub-zero chill that was his stare du jour . It was a look that said he was amused and pleased in her company and that he might like a bit more of the same, thank you. Only the current fluttery feeling wasn’t the excited, nervous, bubbly kind. It was all bent out of shape and jerky.
The opening of the elevator doors worked like a kind of reset button. This was where Hermione and Bulletproof would go their separate ways. The door would close behind her, providing a handy, non-sentimental goodbye.
Hermione raised her chin and applied her well-honed ‘fuck with me and find out’ attitude that had served her well since pre-school. She stepped out into a mostly deserted foyer, save for the security personnel at the ballroom doors and a few party guests using the foyer lounges for a quiet place to talk. A woman was passed out drunk on one of the sofas and Hermione immediately beckoned one of the guards to take her to what was referred to as the Recovery Room.
But then Bulletproof surprised her by getting out of the elevator as well, instead of proceeding down to Level Three which he was supposed to do .
“Brat.”
Hermione turned around slowly, fully prepared to disembowel him with just her eyes.
Fortunately for him, he maintained a professional demeanour. Onlookers might assume they had just met in the elevator and were now exchanged names.
“Here’s my card.” Bulletproof held out a dense, matte black, business card. “If ever the need arises, don’t hesitate to get in touch.”
It would be unkind for Hermione to tell him that the likelihood of such a ‘need’ occurring was lower than lotto odds. But she had no reason to reject the card, not with eyes on them. So she snatched it from his fingers and slipped it directly into her clutch without looking at it.
“Thank you.” The smile she gave him was straight from the catalogue of Facial Expressions For Busy Executives.
“It was a pleasure to meet you.” He held out his hand for her to shake.
Now, there was a definite dip in his voice and Hermione half expected him to try something cheeky while he shook her hand, but he released it after the appropriate duration.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening,” Hermione said, the implied subtext being, you can go now.
“Oh, I doubt it can get any better from here.”
“Miss!” yelled a familiar voice.
Hermione spun around just in time to see her bodyguards practically flying at her. Cocksure looked livid. The unexpected flurry of movement startled not just Hermione, but the nearby security staff.
“Settle down,” she hissed, but didn’t put much heat into her scolding because of how guilty she felt about making them worry.
Headstrong immediately got on the radio to relay news of Hermione’s return, while Cocksure attempted to fill her in. “Miss, your fa–”
“ Later ,” Hermione interrupted, turning back to Bulletproof, who…was no longer there. She scanned the foyer and when she couldn’t spot him, concluded that he must have taken the elevator back down.
She felt exhausted. Much lighter than she did before, but in need of a quiet moment to herself, to process all that had happened and how she felt about it.
“Is everything still running to schedule?” She really needed to get back to the party before her continued absence caused tongues to wag.
“Yeah. The events team said there’ve been no issues,” Cocksure said.
“Who was the man you were speaking to just now?” Headstrong asked, lifting his sunglasses to look around the foyer. “I don’t think I’ve seen him before.”
“That’d be the bloke she was with, idiot,” Cocksure muttered under his breath. They both looked like they had opinions on the matter, but were holding their tongues.
Hermione was pleased she still had enough energy to blush. “Give me twenty minutes to powder my nose and then you can tell me off.”
The events team were ecstatic to see her.
Contrary to what her guards reported, there were a few mishaps, though nothing they weren’t able to resolve on their own. Delegation and distributed leadership were things Hermione needed to work on in terms of her management style. But she was getting much better at learning what to let go off, and what needed her detailed attention. The growing number of staff under her care provided lots of practice.
It was difficult trying to move through the ballroom without being stopped by guests for a tipsy chat or an introduction, but eventually, Hermione and her guards made her way to the front of the ballroom.
There was a pause in the music as the emcee announced what was possibly the highlight of the evening. The lights dimmed, the drummer delivered a shimmering drum roll and then a warm spotlight illuminated Anthony Granger on stage.
The fedora was a nice touch, Hermione mused. The band began playing Lee Morgan’s The Sidewinder , featuring Anthony Granger on trumpet.
All this was met with loud whistles and cheers from the audience. At this point in the night, people were full, drunk and free with their opinions. Hermione could hear snippets of conversation.
“That silver fox’s still got it.”
“You mean he can still get it!”
“I swear that man must’ve found the Holy Grail or the Philosopher's Stone or something. He doesn’t fucking age.”
“It’s the Granger genes. They bless anything they touch–animal, vegetable, mineral...”
“Have you seen Tony’s kid? Can’t remember the name…”
“Cormac.”
“Nah, not Cormac! That’s the McLaggen cousin. I’m talking about whatzername.”
“You mean Hermione ?”
“That’s the one. Pretty girl. Not much of a rack, though.”
“Mind like a steel trap. A conversation with her can kill the hardest of hard-ons.”
“Well, both those kids got the Granger looks. Curly hair, big eyes, great legs, great skin. Very fuckable.”
Headstrong materialised beside Hermione and whispered in her ear. “Miss, permission to distribute special party favours?”
Hermione was familiar with Headstrong’s euphemisms. She gave him a beady-eyed look. “What kind of party favours?”
“Concussions.”
Her lips twitched. “Permission denied. Resume your post.”
Cocksure tapped her on the elbow, pointing to where the emcee was waving at them. “Looks like they’re asking for you to go backstage.”
Hermione told her men to stay put. She opened a door that led to a sunken, sub-level behind the stage. There was no sign of Cormac yet. Instead, Hermione found Narcissa Black pacing backstage, speaking on her phone in rapid Japanese.
The older woman waved at Hermione just as the call concluded. “You’d think I’d remember it’s only 4am in Tokyo right now. I just woke up one of my office managers,” Narcissa said, shaking her head.
Hermione was used to taking calls at all hours of the day, but tried not to make a habit of subjecting others to the same standard. “Your Japanese sounds fluent.”
“It would have to be, given I lived there for fifteen years.” She gave Hermione a knowing look. “Please tell me that that , at least, is in my file? Otherwise I recommend you demand a refund.”
The candidness of Black Inc.’s CEO really was quite remarkable. Hermione was a little in awe, but was not so far gone that she wasn’t cautious. “That fact’s definitely in there. I’m more interested in all the details that aren't .”
“Give it time, my dear. Give it time.” Narcissa flashed Hermione a conspiratorial grin and linked arms as they walked towards the black velvet stage curtains. She peeked through the gap to look at Anthony playing with the band.
“Your father is very good.”
“He is,” Hermione agreed. “A lot of people don’t know he can play as well as he does.”
“I suppose his musical skills don't come up much at the negotiation table?” Narcissa mused. “I play nothing at all. Horses are more my speed. Draco played the violin for a bit when he was little, but he was always skipping out on lessons. Drove his instructor mad.”
“ Draco ,” Hermione repeated, guessing that Narcissa was referring to her son. “You named him after the constellation?”
“I did, yes.” Narcissa looked pleased that Hermione recognised the reference. “The night sky over Wiltshire is quite something. I stargazed a lot while I was pregnant with him. Metaphorically and literally.” She looked less wistful now, and more…sad. “Can’t say it was time well spent.”
Another cryptic statement. Though Narcissa didn’t elaborate, Hermione thought she might be starting to develop a better understanding of the other woman.
The Dragon was another matter altogether.
Hermione had seen a dragon less than an hour ago. A very beautiful one trapped in ink – a representation of the real dragon who wore his two-dimensional likeness on his own skin. Her mind was reeling. She really was the world’s biggest idiot, which was something, considering the world also contained Cormac McLaggen.
“Where is your son this evening?” Hermione asked, as casually as possible.
“He’s supposed to be here, but I haven’t seen him all night.”
“That’s rather rude, to tell you he’s coming and then not show.”
Narcissa shrugged a delicate shoulder. “Ah, but Draco never makes any promises.”
[“ ...and if you lie to me again, I promise you we’ll be finished here. Do you understand?” ]
That wasn’t always true, Hermione mused.
After all the trouble of not wanting to know a single thing about the man she referred to as Bulletproof, it was hilarious that Hermione was now speaking to the man’s mother about him.
“Where did he study? Was he in Japan with you when you lived there?”
Narcissa nodded. “He completed half his undergrad at Tohoku and then finished up at the University of Geneva.”
“Good schools,” Hermione commented. “I assume he’s going into management at Black Inc.?”
“Not quite. Draco will be our Chief Legal Counsel. We’ve been surviving with a small team of junior legal associates and they’re all firecrackers, but we need quite a bit more gunpowder now that we’re part of the Order.”
So Bulletproof was a lawyer . Now a lot of their banter made more sense.
[ “Permission to withdraw that question, then?” ]
[ “I feel like I’m being billed in six-minute increments…” ]
The tattoos, on the other hand, made no sense, especially for someone in the legal fraternity. Hermione wanted to look up his LinkedIn profile, to know what firms he worked at prior to making the move back to the UK. She could ask Narcissa, but she suspected any further questions would look suspicious.
Narcissa had moved on to other topics, anyway. “I like your hair like this.” She touched Hermione’s hair, which remained down because there was no time to put it back up. “It’s lovely.”
Bulletproof’s voice sounded in her head, speaking that same, simple word.
[ “Lovely…” ]
Hermione could almost kick herself for being so foolish. But she wouldn't because there were already plenty of other people itching to do that for her, whether she deserved it or not.
Now that she wasn’t so caught up in her own personal dramas, she wondered how she missed spotting the physical resemblance between Narcissa and Bulletproof.
Of all the people in the staff party that she could have approached. What the hell was Draco Malfoy even doing there? Did he plan to avoid attending Anthony’s party all night? Or would he have joined his mother if he hadn’t crossed paths with Hermione?
Whatever his reason for putting his temporary anonymity to good use, Bulletproof wasn’t the only one who could step into a different persona when needed. In that ballroom, Hermione wasn’t ‘princess’ or ‘brat’ or whatever else he called her. She wasn’t the girl who cried in his lap, clutching the front of his shirt like he was a lifebuoy in churning waters. She was the Chief Operating Officer of the Gryffindor Group, which itself was a member of the Order, a centuries old, international criminal syndicate with assets in 102 countries.
Yes, her status was going to change soon, but not at the minute.
The music stopped. Hermione couldn’t recall when that happened, but the gap in the curtains widened suddenly and Cormac stuck his head through. “There you are! It’s time for the speeches.”
Hermione stood in between Narcissa and Cormac further back on the stage, while her father took the podium and addressed his guests. Wait staff snaked through the crowd to make sure everyone was provided with a freshly filled glass of champagne for toasting.
“Thank you all for coming this evening and helping me celebrate my birthday,” Anthony Granger said, regarding the sea of faces before him. He looked down at his left hand where he still wore his wedding band. “My Catherine would have loved to be here tonight. She didn’t think I’d live to forty, let alone sixty . If I make it to eighty, many of us will be watching the next slideshow from our wheelchairs while eating apple sauce.”
There was raucous laughter from the audience. The hissing of oxygen tank valves turning on to assist said laughter served as a kind of macabre applause.
“I’ve had a good, long run at GG. And keeping busy probably kept me going after Cat’s passing. Family is important. You can’t take the shiny things with you when your time comes. But wherever we go, I like to think we hang on to the memories, the things that gave our lives meaning. And if our memories are all we have, then you don’t want those memories to consist mainly of regrets. My own father used to give me this piece of advice: make good friends, good enemies, good memories and good decisions. Didn’t make a lick of sense to me until I was much older, when I learned that sometimes, all those things can be one and the same…”
He paused here, almost for too long. For a moment, Hermione was worried Anthony might have lost his train of thought, but then he appeared to regroup. “Tonight, I’d like to announce what I believe to be a good decision. I’ve had a hell of a time serving this company, working with our dedicated staff and collaborating with many of you. There are still members of the old guard here who remember the early days when it was just me and Cat sitting on the hangar floor, drawing factory plans.”
There were a few good-natured jeers from the crowd. “More like Cat did all the work!” someone shouted.
Hermione was pleased to hear it said. Catherine Granger was a trained architect. Her mother’s contributions to GG were well worth mentioning in any recounting of the company’s history.
“Yes, thank you for reminding me that I possess no useful talents,” Anthony said, chuckling. “As co-founder, Cat’s legacy is woven into the very foundations of this enterprise, from our buildings, to our products and services, to our policies and practices. She’s there in our culture. And of course, the most precious thing she left me is our daughter, Hermione.” Anthony looked behind him on the stage and smiled at Hermione.
“But there comes a time when you need to add to the foundations of something good and make it something better .” He let this statement hang in the air for a moment. “Which is why I plan to wind down my involvement as the head of the Gryffindor Group. I’m retiring.”
The audience predictably exploded into chatter, boos and shouted questions.
Anthony held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Now, now. Hear me out. My office is ready to receive all your questions and concerns, but the decision is a personal one. The company is a handful, a beast, not unlike the great mythical creature it was named for. I’m not retiring right away. It’ll be a gradual exit, stage left. And as you know, we at GG don’t do anything half-arsed. I’ll be leaving this company in good hands.”
Hermione tried to relax her grip on the stem of her champagne glass.
“The future of the Gryffindor Group is not reliant on my outdated vision, it’s up to new blood now. Things are changing so fast, my friends. The next few decades are going to bring challenges that us relics cannot even begin to comprehend. We need foresight, imagination and courage. These were the very traits that created the Order in the first place, and I aim to maintain those standards as we enter a new era. And so, I’d like to introduce my replacement…”
Anthony asked Cormac to step forward and provided what sounded like a bullet point version of Cormac’s extremely limited CV. From where she stood, Hermione could only see her cousin’s profile, but that was enough to raise concerns.
Cormac looked serious. A kind of serious Hermione had never seen on him before.
In fact, he looked scared . His blue eyes darted around the ballroom, looking increasingly nervous. He kept staring at the enormous double doors at the other end.
Hermione’s anger took an immediate backseat, replaced with a pricking sensation running up her spine. Something very strange was going on.
The applause wasn’t a downpour; it was a drizzle. Many people in the room only knew Cormac as Anthony’s delinquent, playboy nephew. Hermione, on the other hand, was a proven source of reliable, profitable partnerships with the Gryffindor Group. They had seen her grow up and flourish under the Gryffindor Group umbrella. She was as much a product of the company as she was part of its leadership. And it seemed like the only time she was mentioned in her father’s announcement was as Catherine Granger’s child.
The applause petered out when Anthony resumed speaking. “Of course we will have a proper handover celebration when I officially step down, but in the meantime, you’ll be seeing a lot more of this young man.” Anthony clapped a peaky-looking Cormac on his back and then Cormac returned to Hermione’s side.
Hermione had half a mind to drag her cousin into the wings and slap some answers out of him. Discreet questioning was not possible at the moment, given the curious expression on Narcissa’s face, given the woman was not blind and had also noticed Cormac’s strange behaviour.
“What’s the matter?” Hermione whispered.
Cormac didn’t reply, not taking his attention away from the doors.
“Now, the next order of business is to officially welcome the newest conditional member to the Order,” Anthony said. There was a healthy round of applause as all eyes turned to Narcissa Malfoy. “It was thirteen years ago when I stood on a stage much like this one, and it was the Gryffindor Group that received a similar welcome. Tonight, that honour goes to the CEO of Black Inc, Narcissa Black.”
Narcissa glided across the stage like it was her personal catwalk. After kissing her once on each cheek, Anthony relinquished his spot behind the podium. If Cormac looked like a nervous high-schooler broadcasting announcements at the morning assembly, Narcissa Black looked like the school valedictorian accepting the well deserved fruits of her labour.
“Thank you, Tony.” To the crowd, she smiled and said, “I won’t take up too much of your time this evening because this is a party, after all, and we all have somewhere to be on Monday morning. And depending on which time zone you're returning to, that’s potentially just a few hours away.”
There was laughter and a few commiserating boos from the audience.
“As you all know, Black Inc. is the newest candidate vying for permanent membership in this syndicate of like-minded organisations. Over the next twelve months, we’ll prove to you that Black Inc will be a valuable asset to the Order.”
Hermione had to admire how Narcissa managed to make it sound like it was the Order that ought to be grateful for having Black Inc. join.
It was probably due to the current low level of noise in the ballroom, that the sound of the doors opening was especially audible. Heads swivelled around to look. The doors opened just a fraction, swishing across thick carpet before closing moments later.
Cormac was sweating bullets.
Even Narcissa stopped speaking, but judging from the wide smile on her face, it wasn’t an unwelcome interruption. From her elevated vantage point, Hermione could now see the source of said interruption making his way through the crowd, towards the stage.
Hermione wanted to laugh . She could have sat on the stage, put her head in her hands and laughed until her sides hurt. Not that anything about this was even remotely funny.
At least Cormac seemed to nearly deflate from relief. Whatever he’d been dreading had not come to pass. Unfortunately, this just meant he was once again watching the doors.
“Great companies don’t run on their own inertia,” Narcissa continued. “I think Tony would be the first to agree with me on that. We need talent and passion at the helm. I already have an exceptional team, but it will now be complimented by a new addition to our panel of directors. I’d like to introduce you to my son, Draco Malfoy, Black Inc.’s newly appointed, Chief Legal Counsel.”
The room exploded into whispers. People were openly shocked. In their community, accurate information was more valuable than uncut diamonds. And clearly, their information on Narcissa Black had been woefully incomplete.
Draco Malfoy didn’t use the steps like a normal person. He simply vaulted up onto the stage next to his mother and stole her glass of champagne.
Bulletproof has somehow managed to find himself a new pair of trousers. How resourceful of him. The new trousers didn’t quite match his suit jacket, which he was now wearing, but they were dark and most people were too drunk to notice or care at this point. Every white-blond strand of hair was back in place and not a single square inch of his tattoos was visible. He still didn’t look entirely respectable though, Hermione admitted. There was a contained wildness about him.
Malfoy wasn’t invited to say anything, but that didn’t stop him. The podium microphone was perched on a thin, flexible stand. It was too low for him, so he reached down to bend it upwards.
His amplified voice was just as Hermione remembered it from earlier in the evening. Only it was a little breathier over the audio system.
“You have questions, I’m sure,” he drawled. A sea of annoyed, shocked faces stared back at him. “I apologise for my tardiness, Mother,” he turned his head to smile at Narcissa, who rolled her eyes. “Due to an unexpected, last minute…engagement, I’m afraid I’ve missed what looks to have been one hell of a party.”
He kissed his mother on the cheek. Narcissa shooed him away and pulled the microphone back down to its previous position. There was laughter from the audience at this playful bickering between mother and son. “On that note, on behalf of Black Inc., my son and I would like to thank you for having us here tonight and we wish Anthony Granger many happy returns.”
Narcissa raised her glass to lead the first toast of the evening. “To new blood.”
Hermione wished she had something far stronger than champagne in her glass.
After the speeches, came the schmoozing. And given the fresh revelations, this mainly consisted of guests asking each other what they knew and who they heard it from. When no reliable data was available, gossip and speculation bloomed.
Hermione caught up with several colleagues, shrugging off well-meaning questions about her future at GG, stating that it was too soon to comment. And indeed, it was. Her bodyguards remained at the periphery of the party floor, joining the other security staff. Hermione wondered where Malfoy’s guards were, or if he even had any. Had she already met them at the staff party?
Anthony and Narcissa, meanwhile, were whisked away to speak to various VIPs.
“You should go with them,” Hermione said.
“I’m happy where I am,” Malfoy replied.
Hermione gave Malfoy a look of contempt. “I was talking to my cousin .”
“I’m happy to stay here, too,” Cormac said. He looked bloodless.
She frowned at him. “What on earth is the matter with you? Are you ill?”
Before he could answer, a small contingent from Badger Holdings walked over to speak to him, which unfortunately left Hermione alone with Draco Malfoy.
Her expression remained serene. “So did you know who I was all along?”
Malfoy had one hand shoved in his trouser pocket, while the other held his glass of champagne. “Let’s just say I had my suspicions. But I wasn’t sure until we got to know each other a little better.”
Someone from GG called out and waved at Hermione. She waved back, taking a sip from her glass. “That’s funny, given we don’t know each other at all.”
“You know what I taste like when I come. I’d say that counts for quite a bit of ‘knowing’.”
She nearly choked on her champagne.
Any further outrageous behaviour was thwarted when a senior partner from Raven & Claw came over to talk to Malfoy. After introductions, the conversation moved to transnational subsidies and foreign investment screening.
Hermione listened to Malfoy’s thoughts and replies to the questions posed by the R&C partner, and acknowledged (grudgingly) that he was not an idiot. Oh, she knew he was clever, but in the way conmen were clever.
She couldn’t be blamed for being suspicious about his alleged qualifications, given that Hermione had no formal qualifications of her own and yet occupied a similar position. But as she said to her father earlier in the day – nepotism, privilege and some level of temporary necessity placed Hermione in her current role. However, the fact that she was successful in that role was due to her own merits. Cormac would go through a similar trial, and for him, it was going to be very public and very brutal.
For the first time since hearing about her father’s plans, Hermione wondered if Anthony had given any thought to how difficult this was going to be for Cormac. It wasn’t just that Anthony had thrown Cormac into the deep end. It was that Cormac didn’t even know how to swim.
After the R&C attorney left, Hermione tried to draw her cousin into conversation, but he was too preoccupied being damp and jittery.
In the end, Malfoy took the initiative. “Congratulations on the appointment, McLaggen.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Neither man sounded sincere in the slightest, though in Cormac’s defence, he was distracted by the ballroom doors opening again . This second entrance was less noticeable than Malfoy’s, given the amount of noise in the room, but Cormac noticed because he’d been expecting it.
“ Shite ,” he said. He appeared to be undecided on whether to fight, fly or freeze.
“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked.
All conversation within earshot abruptly stopped. It was like someone hit the mute button. Upon noticing the trajectory of the newcomer’s path, Headstrong and Cocksure broke off from the edge of the room to join Hermione and Cormac.
“This can’t be good,” Cocksure said. “He only comes out of his den during hunting season.”
Headstrong whistled low. “Oh boy, he looks pissed.”
“He always looks like that. The man’s got Resting Bitch Face.”
“Mate, I dare you to call Theo Nott a bitch to his face, resting or otherwise.”
Hermione didn’t think there could possibly be any more big surprises that evening, and yet one was walking up to their group right now. The newcomer was a tall, slim, dark-haired man in his late twenties. He was walking towards them.
Theodore Nott.
There was only one logical explanation for why an Order Enforcer was at her father’s birthday party.
“Cormac, what did you do ?”
He shook his head. “I… n-nothing! I swear!”
Hermione turned to Cocksure. “I don’t see my father anywhere. Can you please locate him and let him know Theodore Nott is here?”
Malfoy was still and quiet as he observed what was happening. Ironically, this did nothing to calm Hermione’s nerves because it felt like she was standing next to a gas main while an open flame was on approach.
She shoved Cormac behind her. “Shut up and let me do the talking.”
No one would mistake Theodore Nott for a party guest. The man didn’t even look like he was dressed for work. He might have resembled a tourist if it wasn't for his grim expression and the thin scar that cut across his face diagonally, from the corner of his left temple to the right side of his chin. In sharp contrast to the extremely well dressed crowd. He wore dark, faded jeans, scuffed boots, and a long-sleeved black, cotton henley. The fact he was carrying a worn, leather knapsack was a minor miracle, given the security checks outside the ballroom.
Nott must have pulled rank with the guards to be allowed to keep his bag on him. And if he did that , there was probably an active investigation happening, and if that was true, it meant that currently, Nott outranked every other guest at the party, including Anthony Granger.
Hermione saw no reason to hide her agitation. “Mr Nott, what are you doing here?”
He stared at her, and she knew he was trying to put a name to her face. Granted, they’d only been formally introduced once before, but Hermione was getting heartily sick of–
“Hermione Granger,” he said, with a microscopic nod of acknowledgement. Hermione realised she was dealing with the same brand of impassiveness favoured by Draco Malfoy. “I’m here on official Order business.”
“You must be,” she said, “because I don’t recall sending you an invitation.”
Nott was used to a hostile reception. Enforcers were the Order’s version of judge, jury and executioner, combined. They were harbingers of someone’s doom. Preferably, someone else .
“Coming here in person was not my preference, but Mr McLaggen has ignored our attempts to contact him via the usual means.” The Enforcer’s light-gold eyes bore into Cormac as he spoke. “My instructions are to take him back to Central with me. I have a plane waiting.”
“You want to take Cormac to the Order HQ in Zurich?” Hermione said, frowning. “Why?”
“He may have information we need.”
“So you crashed Anthony Granger’s birthday party to ask a man some questions about information he may or may not have?” Draco summarised. “Have you heard of email?”
Nott’s feline-like eyes flickered to Malfoy, as if only just noticed him standing there. Hermione found this hard to believe. Draco Malfoy blended in like a disco ball at a funeral.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Nott said. “I’m Theodore Nott, Director of the Order Enforcement Unit.”
Malfoy gave him a sceptical look. “Are you sure? You seeem a little young to be running the Order’s Geheimpolizei. ”
Hermione groaned internally, but Nott was unruffled. Headstrong was less subtle. He gasped.
“It’s a team effort,” Nott said, and now there was a shimmer of something other than ambivalence in his eyes.
Hermione felt her skin prickle again. It got like this sometimes, when meetings or exchanges degenerated into standoffs, shirt-fronting, and on rare occasions, explosive violence. Difficult and dangerous men , her father had warned. They were nothing new, but definitely not a highlight of her work.
“Nice to meet you, Theodore Nott. I’m Draco Malfoy, Mr McLaggen’s solicitor.”
Cormac and Hermione stared at Draco in surprise.
“Malfoy,” Nott said, and Hermione got the sense he had just made a mental note, but his expression gave away nothing. “Mr McLaggen doesn’t need a solicitor.”
Malfoy sucked air through his teeth. “Ah, but that’s precisely when you know you need a lawyer – when the other party says you don’t .”
“Are you aware of how Enforcers operate, Mr Malfoy?”
“How much I know or don’t know doesn’t change the fact that Cormac’s not going anywhere with you, kid.”
Kid?! Hermione wanted to throttle Malfoy. If GG wasn’t issued a hundred demerits before the night’s end, it would be a miracle.
Cormac finally located his voice. “You heard my lawyer. You have no authority to detain me.”
That wasn’t entirely true. Enforcers could detain witnesses for questioning in the event of a formal investigation.
“I’m not detaining you, Mr McLaggen. I’m asking you to come with me.”
“Enlighten me as to the difference between the two?” Malfoy asked.
“Detention results in a lot of paperwork,” Nott said, and then he actually smiled. It was incredibly creepy and Hermione wished he would stop. “I hate paperwork.”
“Oh, mate. Same ,” Draco agreed, nodding. “But given that even Enforcers have rules, I believe you’re meant to exchange a writ-token with Mr McLaggen’s family to indicate that he is in your custody? If you don't return him, his family gets to keep the token, and if enough tokens are accrued by Order members, they can be exchanged for penalties applied against your unit."
Writ-token? Hermione had never heard of such a thing.
Now Nott was showing the first signs of actual irritation. “The writ-token system hasn’t been used in over three hundred years.”
Draco shrugged. “Call me a traditionalist.”
OK, so maybe Malfoy had done his homework on the Order? Hermione was about to launch into another attempt at diplomacy when she belatedly realised that Malfoy was deliberately stalling Nott to give Cocksure more time to find her father.
Possibly, Nott knew this, too, because it looked like he had run out of patience. “McLaggen, come along. I’m not asking again.”
Cormac didn’t move from his spot behind Hermione. Nott reached around her to grab Cormac’s arm, causing Headstrong to hold on to Cormac’s other arm. Hermione tried to pry Nott’s hands off of her cousin, but Nott deflected her grab using the side of his hand. It was the world’s most tense game of patty cake.
Hermione winced. Though Nott barely made contact with her wrist, the swipe still stung.
There wasn’t much space between Hermione and Nott, but Malfoy remedied this by stepping in between them .
The two men were nearly the same height. Nott might have been a couple of centimetres shorter. Hermione was only able to discern Malfoy’s whispered threat because she was right up against his back. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.
“If you want your hands to remain attached to the end of your arms, I suggest you keep them to yourself.”
Behind her, she could practically feel Headstrong about to launch into something that was going to be the exact opposite of de-escalation. But then, to her immense relief, she saw her father standing behind Nott, with Cocksure and no less than a dozen men.
Anthony Granger looked like he was about to murder someone. “Are you alright, sweetheart?”
“I’m fine,” Hermione said.
“Theo, I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you personally. If only we’d known to expect you.” It was a not-so-subtle reprimand from Anthony. “How may I be of assistance?”
Nott restated the purpose of his visit, leaving out the fact that Draco Malfoy was representing a member of the Granger family.
“Is there some other way we can do this? I’m not keen to end the night one nephew short,” Anthony said.
He was an odd duck, was Theodore Nott. Blunt like Malfoy but without the charm. He didn’t have the best people skills, either, but then Hermione supposed his role wasn’t exactly designed to win hearts and minds.
Nott sighed. Hermione thought the man looked in dire need of a cup of tea and a nap.
“McLaggen."
“Yes?”
“You have forty-eight hours to report to Central. And since you would be doing so voluntarily , I trust that removes the need for a writ-token exchange?” The second sentence was directed at Malfoy.
Malfoy beamed. “I believe it does.”
When Cormac continued to remain silent, Anthony replied on his behalf. “My nephew thanks you for the reasonable compromise.”
“Oh, and by the way, McLaggen, your accounts are frozen and I have your passport.”
Now this managed to goad Cormac into opening his mouth, but whatever he was about to say was waylaid by Hermione stepping on his foot.
Anthony gave his daughter a grateful look. “Well, then. It looks like that’s all sorted for the moment. I shall leave you young people to enjoy what’s left of the evening while I have a quick chat with Mr Nott.” He held his arm out to the Enforcer. “Shall we?”
Nott was escorted from the ballroom by Anthony Granger, Cocksure and the rest of Anthony’s men. Hermione hoped her father had better luck in determining the reason for Nott’s interest in Cormac.
Half the guests had already left, unwilling to be caught in the crossfire of a dispute with the Enforcers. Those that remained were staring at Cormac, and by extension, Hermione. She was used to this, but Cormac bristled under the attention.
“I’m going to my room,” he mumbled.
“You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”
“Look, can it wait? I need..I’m not–” And to Hermione’s astonishment, he began to tear up, roughly swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.
He looked awful, actually. She took his hand and said, more gently, “Fine, go rest. But you’re staying in my suite, got it? I’ll have someone move all your things from your room.”
It was an indication of how out of sorts Cormac was that he simply nodded. Hermione instructed Headstrong to take Cormac up to Hermione’s top floor suite and to remain with him until she got there.
Though there was technically still an hour and a half left, the party was not going to regain its earlier momentum. At least the music had restarted and people were talking again (probably about what just happened). Hermione wondered where Narcissa had gone during Nott’s brief visit because she wasn’t in the ballroom and hadn’t returned with Anthony. Hermione knew could always ask Malfoy, but she wasn’t going to.
“Your cousin needs his own guards and you need to have yours with you at all times.”
It was remarkable how quickly Malfoy shed the slippery lawyer skin he’d been wearing earlier. He seemed so serious now, so cold, and sharp. There was no hint of the smirking arrogance he’d used to deal with Nott.
“That’s in the works,” Hermione said. “He only turned up yesterday. In the meantime, he doesn’t go anywhere alone.”
Hermione placed a hand over her eyes, shutting them for a moment. Her head was killing her. She was thirsty and irritable. A bath had originally been on the cards, but that felt like too much effort now. More like a hot shower, some room service, strangle Cormac, and then sleep for ten hours…
“When’s the last time you had something to eat?”
“I can’t remember.” She moved her hand from her face to the back of her neck. “Breakfast early this morning, probably.”
Hermione was startled when she felt Malfoy’s hand cover hers, under her hair. She pulled her hand away, but his remained. He began massaging the back of her neck, fingers pressing into sore muscles and tendons. Whatever retort Hermione was about to make died in her throat. It felt so unexpectedly good that her eyes fell shut again and she made a soft, happy sound.
The other unexpected side effect was the burning heat behind her eyes and the lump in her throat. Maybe whatever Cormac was suffering from was contagious? She knew she had to step away. Now… now . Was she really so pathetically touch-starved that she was willing to receive a neck rub from this man, in front of the very people whose respect she’d been trying to earn for the last dozen years?
“Stop,” she whispered. “Please.”
And he did, immediately. Looked damn apologetic, too. “Sorry.”
“Your threat to Nott about losing his hands applies to you as well, if you touch me again without my consent.”
“Fair enough. I’ll only touch you again when you ask me to.”
Good, she thought, but then realised what he’d just said. “ When ?” Her voice was shrill. “There will be no ‘when’! There's not even an ‘if’! Consider it an ‘indefinite no’!”
She wanted to throw her drink in his face. Hermione seldom lost her temper or raised her voice, but if anyone had the capacity to push her buttons, it was Bulletproof. With a growl of frustration, she stormed off, intending to find the events team and begin the process of wrapping up the party early.
“ Hermione .”
God damn it. She stopped and turned around, against her better judgement, and not at all because he said her name for the first time.
“I’m leaving Paris early tomorrow morning and I’ll be travelling for the next few months.”
“How nice for you,”she said, because he left a lengthy pause and Hermione didn’t have the patience or energy right now to win that old game.
“The card I gave you has my direct number on it. I meant what I said about calling me if you need to. Will you promise to do that?”
The fuck? Who did he think he was to ask her for anything, let alone a promise? She remembered what Narcissa said about Malfoy not being a fan of promises. And here he was asking for one.
He looked…unsettled. Bothered. And Hermione didn’t think it had anything to do with their hookup. Nor did she think it was a regular occurrence for him to reveal what he was currently revealing to merely anyone. Was this trust, then? If Malfoy trusted her so easily, he was a fool. She’d sell him out for a pair of Manolos and a spa weekend.
“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked.
Damn it. His unease was contagious and she detested her natural instinct to cajole the worry out of him. She already had her hands full trying to drag information out of her stupid cousin.
Malfoy appeared to be choosing his words wisely. “I’m not sure yet. It’s a feeling I get sometimes.” His gaze unfocussed, and for a moment, he was looking through her, not at her. “And I really wish I was wrong more often than I’m right…” He seemed to be as intrigued by his own behaviour as she was. “Just do me a favour and watch your back.”
Hermione had to laugh. It was a genuine, full-throated laugh, fuelled by the absurd events of the past twelve hours.
“Darling, this is the mafia . Anyone who doesn’t already do that isn’t alive to tell you what happened to them.”
And then she walked away, putting Draco Malfoy out of her mind. Even without him in the picture, it was going to be a very interesting year.
Author's Notes
And that’s a wrap!
It feels fitting to be posting the last chapter to this story on NYE 2022. Thank you for voting in the theme selection poll, for reading and for leaving a comment. I hope you enjoyed this little slice from Hermione’s alternate mafia universe.
A few people have asked if there’s going to be more to this story. The answer is YES, BUT not as fan fiction. I had a ridiculous amount of fun writing this. It felt therapeutic compared to a lot of my writing this year for other projects that’ve been more regimented and goal-based (if that makes sense?).
TL;DR - I thought I’d have a go at turning this into an original story.
In the end, it became two stories. One with ‘Draco’ and the other with ‘Theo’. The stories are connected; the same characters appear in both books and they deal with the same Big Bad. There are two different female MCs, but they’re more or less different versions of our Hermione. I’ve written the first drafts (around 60-80k words, respectively) and have the next 6 weeks of annual leave to finish editing!
If you’d like receive a notification when the books are available, my mailing list is here: https://www.soniaseddiq.com/mailing-list
I hope you all have a wonderful new years <3
Oh, and I post snippets of my writing on Twitter all the time, so come be moots if you wanna check it out!
Rizzle