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The attack left two dead and three in intensive care. Aurors believe the attack was based on blood status. One of these deceased victims, Anya Roberts, 29, was a muggle-born and accounts from witnesses say that she was the focus of the attack with a group of green cloaked figures shouting derogatory slurs. This is the fifth such attack in as many weeks.

-- Prophet, May 5th 2004

~~*~~*~~*~~

“Mr. Potter wants to see you, sir.” The newest cadet squeaked, passing off the message and scurrying away.

Merlin's hairy ballsack, had he ever been that green? Draco shuddered to think.

Shrugging back into his outer robe he spelled his station to be unreachable and marched across the bullpen to the Head Auror’s private office. Draco knew many believed Potter got the position because he was ‘The Boy Who Lived' and they'd be right but not for the reasons one would think. If you had to fight the Dark Lord and all of his various minions since the age of eleven and had the protective instincts of a labrador retriever and the drive for civil service and justice you’d also make Head Auror within five years. It also helped that after rooting out the corrupted members, and the slew of retirements and resignations that came with being burnt out after the war, there were few people to fill the position to start with.

Draco was just fine with being a rank-n-file. The Malfoy name had taken a beating but him being an auror added the sheen of reformation. It wasn’t as if money was an issue. Also the job was interesting and never left him bored, though it would prove no hardship when he retired in ten years to take over Malfoy enterprises when his father was ready to hand over the reins.

“Potter,” he scolded, shoving open the door with no regard. “If you need me, send a flyer like--” seeing the man’s face Draco swallowed the rest of his rehearsed ribbing, closing the door and warding it with a flick of his wand. “What’s wrong?

“Have you read today’s Prophet?”

“Is this about the muggle-born attacks? Do you have more leads? I know Weasley is on it with Weasley, but do you need a real brain on the team?” he joked with a forced joviality. 

Potter would not be sidetracked, seeming almost desperate when he asked, “you still have your pureblood connections, right?”

“Some,” Draco hedged, concerned with how this would reflect on him and his family. 

“There are a few gatherings coming up. I need an in.”

“The one’s organizing these attacks aren’t going to be the ones getting their hands dirty. Behind it, sure. But they aren’t just going to leave evidence out in the open and you’re still going to need a warrant that no judge is going to sign with just hearsay. That would be political suicide.” 

“I know that,” he hissed, more angry than Draco had ever seen him.

Draco sat down on a chair. “Then why do you need the invite?”

“I have a civilian willing to act as bait to lure out the individuals,” he said as if he’d eaten something rancid. 

“I didn’t know we okayed that kind of thing.”

“Oh, we don’t,” Potter said darkly. “But it took me three hours to convince her not to go snooping on her own and instead aid us.”

“Her?” Draco asked, dreading the answer. He felt his wards break a second before the door swung open. 

“Someone’s been practicing,” Hermione Granger sang, closing the door behind her as he shot to his feet in an ingrained show of manners. Nodding, she smiled politely towards him. “Malfoy.”

She looked radiant. “Granger.” 

“I look forward to us working together.” She tucked some hair behind her ear, the barest hint of a blush coloring her cheeks.

Draco blinked, pivoting to look over his shoulder at Potter. “Pardon?”

“Hermione agreed to not go off as a vigilante as long as we can protect the other muggle-born,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“And how the bloody hell can you assure that,” Draco spat. 

“By using me to draw their eye,” Hermione said from the back of the room, sounding smug.

“Oh, for the love of Merlin, I thought you were the smart one. This is the most idiotic plan I’ve ever had the displeasure of hearing and I’ve had to work with Weasel-runt for the last three years.”

“Bias against Ronald aside, it’s a solid plan,” she said cavalierly. “I have the training to hold my own against these assailants which is a whole lot more than can be said for the average witch or wizard. If I make myself annoying enough, which you can attest is my specialty, they will pull forces to silence me and leave the rest of the populace alone until I am dealt with. Therefore giving the auror department ample time to gather evidence and make a case against these arseholes before they can hurt anyone else.”

“I thought the Savior Complex was Boy Wander’s domain.”

“This is no time for jokes, Malfoy,” she scolded primly, folding her arms and staring him down.

“Whose joking?” he snarled, worse case scenarios flashing through his mind. “If they get their hands on you, you’re going to wish you had never been born. You are a prize, Granger, not just as Potter’s friend but because you fly in the face of their beliefs by your very existence. You will not get a simple avada. They. Will. Torture. You. To serve as an example to other muggle-born and because they will find twisted pleasure in doing so.”

She looked him squarely in the eye, refusing to flinch at his gruesome picture. Then she pulled up her sweater sleeve and it was Draco's turn to flinch and turn away.

“I know what awaits me if captured,” she said calmly with conviction. “I've made peace with that. If I can spare another that pain, then I'm willing to risk it.”

Draco snorted derisively. “Like I said, savior complex.”

“That's why I've called you in,” Harry interrupted before they could devolve into throwing jinxes. “Hermione is going to push her proposal for greater and earlier immersion for muggle-born students to draw eyes and gather sympathy votes. I want you to be her unofficial chaperone.”

“No.” He would do everything in his power to make sure she was safe but to stand beside her while she knowingly threw herself in danger ... It would kill him if anything happened to her and he wasn’t able to stop it, if he was once again complacent in allowing it to happen.

It was Hermione’s turn to snort, folding her arms across her chest, one sleeve still hiked up, her hateful scar raised and bruised looking, still apearing only half healed even after all this time. “I told you he would never go for it.”

“That’s enough!” Harry snapped at her, catching everyone off guard with the viciousness of the command. “I’ve met your terms, so you will abide mine. End of discussion!”

She blinked. Glancing between the both of them, teeth coming out to bite her lip, looking more vulnerable than Draco was used to seeing her, before turning and quitting the room.

“You shouldn’t have yelled at her like that, mate,” Draco said softly in the tense air.

Harry sighed, dropping his head in his hands to rub at the pale lightning bolt between his brow. “I’ve tried talking her out of this but nothing I’ve said has changed her mind. She’s my best friend. She’s stood beside me through everything. Walked to the edge of death too many times for me to count so I know how far she’ll go for something she believes in.” 

“Throw her in a cell until this blows over.”

“I threatened too,” he said, “but then she started to throw around words like ‘misconduct’ and ‘lawsuit’.” Harry racked his hands through his already mangled hair. “She’ll do this with or without my assistance and she’s stubborn enough not to come ask for my help again until it’s too late. So I'm assigning you as her security detail.”

Draco stiffened, not liking being handled under the best of circumstances, of which these were not. “That’s an abuse of power.”

“Do you remember, after the war, when you told me you owed me for speaking up on your family’s behalf?”

“Yes.” Draco came to attention. Life debts were no small matter. “I also remember you brushing it off.”

“Well, I’m picking it back up. House Speaker Granger is proposing her controversial bill on Wednesday. It is well within her rights to request auror services until she feels safe.”

“Get Weasley to do it.” He snarled just to cover up how closely it resembled him begging.

“She and Ron are on the outs at the moment. The last thing I need is to add more fuel to any of the dozen fires I have going. I’d do this assignment myself but it would cause too big a draw for them not to take a swing at.”

“How noble,” Draco groused one hand tangled in his hair as he paced.

“I know you’re in love with her,” Harry dropped the truth bomb with quiet grace.

Draco froze, then quickly tried to cover it up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Me and that nosy swot? Ridiculous.”

“Oh, you’re very good at keeping it close to your chest but I’ve seen the way you look at her. The way you always jump at meeting for drinks or dinner when you know she’s going to come. The latest copy of her books in the top drawer of your desk.” 

He sneered. “Snooping are we, Potter?”

“People seem to think that I’m so unobservant that I can’t see what’s right under my nose. You’ll do this because you don’t want to see her hurt. And together we’ll put these bastards behind bars so she’s safe. I’m trusting you with her, Draco. Don’t fuck it up.”

Getting back to his desk, he sent off a note of when she would be free to meet, offering up his home as it was the most secure and private. Her reply, nearly an hour later, said she’d be free at six.

He pushed aside musings about dinner. This wasn’t a date! This was to lay ground rules for how the reconnaissance would run. He would be professional. He would not yell. He would not get caught up in how her lips moved, or the hundreds of microexpressions that flooded across her face like words on a page allowing him to get a glimpse of her every thought. He would not think about what being so close to her would do to him and his already terribly bruised heart.

Staring contemplatively into the flames that warmed his study, an untouched snifter of scotch in his hand, there was a terrifying feeling of free fall when his house elf Enry informed him of her arrival. Taking a deep centering breath, he set aside the glass and pushed to his feet, palming the expertly crafted ring box that had been in the Malfoy name for nearly four hundred years. 

He flipped the lid. They may tease and banter when they passed in the halls, or got into heated debates on anything from magic theory to children’s literature whenever the group met for pub night, sitting close while others rolled their eyes, but he really was a poor sod, picking out jewelry for a woman who saw him more as a colleague than a friend. The worst part was he had this picked out for several months, when she had let slip in passing right after Yule that her favorite stone was a fire opal. He had thought of trying to pass it off as a birthday gift in September but with the recent muggle-born attacks he had layered extra protections and was trying to concoct ways of getting it in her possession that didn’t lead back to him.

At least this asinine stunt would work for something. 

Plucking the golden band from the black velvet that cradled it, he left the box and palmed the ring as he left the room to meet her. 

“Here, put this on.” He tossed her the priceless family heirloom as if it were nothing the second he entered the parlor so as not to lose his nerve. 

She caught it, surprisingly dexterous, rolling the ring around in her fingers to get a good look at it. “What is this?”

“A tracker among other things. It will ping your signature every fifteen minutes. If you’re in immediate danger, place your finger on the face and hold for a count of ten.”

Her brow arched. “A bit overkill, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t.” Taking it from her, he slid it on her left pointer finger, feeling a longing to have it two digits down. “Don’t take it off until this is over.”

She stared at her splayed hand, the prismatic stone winking in the light, glowing with it’s own internal flame. “The giant engraved ‘M’ might raise some questions.”

“Better questions than your safety. Promise me, Hermione, or I will go to Potter now and end this.”

“Melodramatic much,” she rolled her eyes. 

He held firm.

“Fine,” she huffed, holding her hand protectively to her chest. “The ring stays on. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he quipped dryly. “Now let’s come up with a plan that is more than just Gryffindor heroism.”

The plan was simple. He would get her into whatever swanky party a political mover and shaker wouldn’t be untold to be at. She would shake hands and present her speech and give him the name of any person that set off her sixth sense and he would discreetly look into them with both his Malfoy and auror resources. 

Draco had had his mother pull several strings, none that could be traced back to them, to get Granger an invitation to the next pureblood function, some gala or another for the betterment of some pet project the host was lying about being involved in as an excuse to throw a party under the guise of helping the downtrodden. It was exactly the kind of event he tended to avoid like the plague as he found the type of people who attended small minded and tiresome. But it was more than likely the exact place they would find a lead. 

They arrived together. The plan was for her to always stay within his line of sight and never go off alone with someone. If she had a feeling about someone she was to fiddle with her ring.

What had not been part of the plan was for her to throw herself at every pureblooded male within fifteen years her age.

“What are you doing,” Draco hissed, dragging her away from one of the Greengrass cousins who had just graduated from Durmstrang. 

“Flirting,” she giggled drunkenly, downing her third martini of the night, loose-limbed and smiley. Spying a passing waiter she made a successful swipe at a champagne flute.

“That's enough of that,” he said, taking control of both glasses and passing them back to the waiter with a harried nod of thanks. 

“Oh you're no fun,” she pouted, swaying precariously on her thin heels. She’d chosen an eye-catching red number that floated around her body like flames with her hair loose and tumbling around her shoulders in thick curls; she looked stunning. Several others seemed to think so as well as she was never without a dance partner and the two times Draco had attempted to take her to the floor they had been cut in on, much to his irritation.

“Yeah, yeah, a real stick-in-the-mud,” he said, trying to steady her. He had never seen her this drunk before and it was taking everything in him not to yell at her for allowing herself to get to such a state knowing the dangers. “Let's say our goodbyes and get you to bed.”

She tried to squirm away. “I'm not done yet.”

Draco felt eyes on them, disgusting eyes, judging eyes, and he wanted her to get her as far away as he could get her. “Granger,” he said, taking her firmly by the shoulders, forcing her attention, “you're pissed. Let me take you home. Please.”

Something must have finally gotten through to her because she acquiesced. “Alright, fine,” she huffed, following as he got them to the floo, by way of the Manor as it had stronger wards and he didn’t want to chance someone hearing her personal addresses.

The second they stepped through the flames, her shoulders straightened, the uneven tilt of her gate disappeared as did the glazed look in her eye. “Well that went well,” she said in her crisp tone, all traces of her drunken slurring gone as if she’d downed a sobering potion in the span of a heart beat.

Draco blinked at her, floored. “What the hell was that?”

“Phase one,” she said, moving to help herself to the decanter of scotch at his desk, the multiple panels of her skirts breaking to show a toned leg to the thigh, before consuming it again in a wash of red silk.

Draco blinked, distracted, finally hearing what she’d said. “Phase what!?”

She met his stare, eyes like that of a siren, over the rim of the glass with a coy smile. “You didn’t think I was throwing myself at those boys for my health, now were you?”

“There was no throwing yourself laid out in our plan. There were no phases in our plan!”

She shrugged, unconcerned. Fucking shrugged! “Because I knew you wouldn’t go for it. But you played your part brilliantly,” she praised, seeming to sense his frustration towards her. “Aloof enough to be non-threatening but annoyed enough to be put out by my presents. Perfect cover for you paying a debt as the reason that you let me ride your coattails.” She yawned, covering it delicately with her hand. “Well I’m off to bed. Good work today.”

Draco caught her arm when she made to step past him to get to the floo. She looked up at him with a confused frown that had Draco swallowing his temper. “Don’t do that again. I can’t protect you if you go off script.”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t need a babysitter, Draco. And you have no say over what I do.” She pulled her arm out of his hold firmly. Heels clacking as she stepped into the floo. “I’ll keep you apprised on how phase two goes.” Throwing down the powder she was gone in a swirl of green flames.

“Potter!” Draco slammed into the Head’s office first thing Monday morning, throwing the newspaper down on his desk. Hermione sat front and center in a gorgeous little sundress that showed off her figure brilliantly. Her dining partner was Alexander Slughorn, who was three years older than them and grandnephew to Professor Slughorn. They were sitting across from each other at a quaint little cafe, flirty smiles on both their faces as they chatted. The article went on to inform that the man was just back after an extended holiday from the States where Draco knew he and his mother had fled to at the start of the second wizarding war. 

“I can’t do this,” he hissed, hair in disarray from how much he’d been tugging at it. “She’s going to send me to an early grave!”

With a resigned sigh Harry picked up the Profit, examining the article and accompanying photos that had set him off. “What exactly is the problem here?” Harry asked.

“Can’t you see?” Draco groused, eyeing the photo and the possessive hand Alexander had resting on top of Hermione’s. “She’s going behind my back and trying to conduct her own investigation.”

“Or maybe she’s just out on a date.”

“With a pureblood? Just hours after flaunting herself in a room full of them? You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

“I’ve already talked to her about it, Malfoy.” Harry sighed, tossing down the paper and rubbing his eyes. “They hit it off at the ball and decided to see each other again.”

“She doesn’t date,” he spat the word like it personally offended him. “She’s too busy saving orphans and getting house elves’s rights and all that swotish rot.”

“Look, Draco,” Potter said, fatherly, which was a hoot as the boy wonder was nearly two months younger than him. “I understand what you’re going through, and its fine to feel a little upset, but you can’t expect someone like Hermione to sit around waiting for you forever.” 

“This has nothing to do with my feelings Potter, which I am neither confirming nor denying I may or may not have. She is up to something!”

“Right,” Harry drawled, clearly not believing him. 

“I am not jealous,” Draco sneered. “She can date a hundred blokes for all I care! It’s her life. All I’m concerned about is making sure she gets to live it and she’s making if fuck-all easy!” Unable to listen to any more of Potter’s blathering, he stormed out of the office.

Draco was posted behind her desk, folding a sheaf of paper into the shape of a dragon with his feet kicked up, when she stepped into her office at six minutes to eight; not that he was watching the clock. Entirely too enamored with his creation to bother looking at her, he asked with a bored kind of arrogance, “how was your ‘date’?”

Amusement filtered across her face, quickly suppressed. Closing the door, she made the three paces accost the room, resting her purse on the edge of her desk and crossing her wrist over the top as she eyed him. “I take it you’ve seen the paper?” she asked pleasantly.

“Do you really fancy having Slughorn as an Uncle?” he questioned, focusing on getting the sharpness in the wings of his creation just right with his fingernail. “I knew you found him tough enough to swallow when we were in school. Being related to the blighter would be even worse.”

“Agreed,” she said. He noticed her amused smile out of the corner of his eye. “That’s why I’ve scheduled something with Brenton.”

His jaw dropped as he turned to her, origami forgotten. “Brenton?” he demanded, surging to his feet and slapping his hands on the desk. “Brenton Rosier? Are you out of your mind? The only reason his grandparents aren’t sitting in Azkaban right now is because the arresting auror couldn’t find enough evidence to hold them.” 

“Brent has assured me he doesn’t hold the same opinions as his Mema and PopPop,” she said solemnly.

“You call him Brent,” Draco fussed under his breath, grabbing his head and pacing around the cramped confines. Narrowing a glare at her, he offended, “what are you playing at?”

“Why would I be playing at anything?” she asked innocently. It would have been believable if not for the little spark in her eye and she bloody well knew it, too. “If all you’re going to do is sling insults you may leave. I have work to do.”

He caught her hand, glaring at the naked finger. “Where’s your ring?”

On a sigh, she waved her free hand over it and the metal band appeared, nestled snugly on her left ring finger. He caressed his thumb over it, a burst of possessive pride as seeing it where it belonged. 

“It didn’t fit right on the first finger,” she said, quickly snatching her hand back, all but tucking it behind her back with an embarrassed blush. “It kept getting in the way.”

“Why are you charming it?”

She bit at her lip. “I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

“Like your dates?” he sneered.

Her eyes refused to meet his. “Among others.”

“Well stop it. And while you’re at it, cancel your other dates. If you need a pureblood male to play the part, you have me.”

Her glare, and the way it scrunched her nose, made him want to kiss her. “I’m not painting a target on your back.”

“So you admit you’re just using these boys to get a reaction.” She didn’t answer, staring at him defiantly. “You might have got Potter fooled with your little act but not me.”

“You have work to do, Mr. Malfoy,” she said coolly, not liking the fact that he was calling her on her con, “as do I. Please leave my office.” 

He stood straightening his auror robes with a decisive tug. “Owl me the details of your next ‘date’. I’ll make myself available for target practice.” Making for the door, as he passed her, he leaned in close and whispered against her ear, “and it’s Lord Malfoy.” Refraining from pressing his lips to her throat, he brushed past her slamming the door behind him.

When the requested owl didn’t arrive by a quarter to noon, Draco gave up on getting any of his reports done and once again made the long trek across the Ministry to annoy her into giving in. Only to see her stepping out of her office in a lovely wrap dress that clung to her curves. A lovely Slytherin green wrap dress that looked amazing against her skin tone but would look even better on his bedroom flo--

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

Startled, she looked up from where she was digging around in her purse. “Oh, just out to lunch. What are you doing here?” she said with a casualness that instantly set Draco on guard.

“I didn’t get your owl.”

“That might be because I didn’t send it.” She shrugged, stepping around him and that was when he realized she wore a pair of strappy heeled sandals that made her legs look a million meters long. Not her usual mode of dress and definitely not what she’d been wearing that morning. 

He fell into step behind her, going on the attack. “Where did you say you were going to lunch again?”

She feinted. “I didn’t.”

Direct lunge. “Mind if I tag alone?”

Swift parry, “Yes, actually. I have plans.”

“Plans with?” he pressed, keeping pace even though she tried to speed up, not getting very far in her heels.

Stopping, she spun around, planting herself in front of him with her arms crossed, drawing his eye to the low V of the dress and the little bow tied at the dip of her waist. Like a present. His hand flexed, palm tingling.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

His eyes flashed up to meet hers. Professional, he was a professional. “Who are you going with?”

“That is none of your business.”

“It would be easier on both of us if you just told me.” He caught her hand showing off the ring she had left unglamoured, though still turned around so only the utilitarian band showed. “Or I’ll just use this to follow you.”

She snarled, stepping in close, “use it to keep tabs on me and I take it off!” 

His hand tightened around hers, innate fear permeating his senses. She was not one to make idle threats. “It is for your protection.”

“Then don’t use it as a weapon.” Jerking free she stormed off.

He contemplated following her but in their current mood one of them would end up hexed, and his money was on him. Instead he spent his whole lunch hour pacing her office, worried out of his mind and checking the mate to her ring on his finger for any change in temperature that said she was in trouble. Running through scenarios of what he would do if she was late. Should he go directly to Potter and get a team mobilized or try and handle it himself. If anything happened to her…

The door clicked open exactly on the hour and Draco was out of his seat, rushing her. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” she said, dragging herself across the room and sitting down heavily on her chair. The first thing she did was peel her heels off and toss them under her desk. She looked exhausted and worn down. 

Kneeling at her feet, hands resting on green clade knees to forge a connection she seemed hell bent on ignoring. “Why?” he asked. Why are you doing this to yourself? Why wont you let me help? Why are there shadows in your eyes and how do I get rid of them?

“With great power comes great responsibility,” she said, eyes closed. At his confused silence, she smiled, tilting her head back to rest against the high back of her chair to look at him. “It’s a quote from a muggle film. You’d probably like it.” She sighed. “The reason that I’m doing this is because someone has to.”

“And that someone has to be you?” he demanded bitterly.

Her hand came down to rest on top of his. “I’m not going into this blind, Draco. Every step I’ve taken in my career and life has been meant for this moment. I’ve been meticulous.”

“And how does going on dates with these bigoted flops accomplish anything but put you in danger?”

“Because ‘in danger’ is what I’m trying to accomplish.”

He blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“I’m being seen with the younger pups who were not quite as ingrained in the pureblood rhetoric as their older counterparts. I am hoping this will get the old generation upset enough to sic their minions on me instead of these organized attacks elsewhere.” 

“What about the events I’m taking you to?”

“That was phase one. I told you, I’m working on phase two now.”

“How many phases are there?”

She sighed. “However many it takes.”

“Malfoy!” It was still relatively early, just past eight in the evening and Draco was relaxing in his study with a nightcap, a handful of chapters in number twenty-four from that years Witch Weekly's Brightest Witches Top Fifty List, when Harry’s disembodied head called from his fireplace tight with panic. “Grimmauld place. Come quickly; it’s Hermione.”

Not bothering with a shirt, Draco grabbed his wand and was charging through the flames within seconds of getting the message. Seeing Hermione tucked up in a huge, overstuffed armchair in Potter’s living room, knees drawn up to her chest, head down as she hugged herself tightly. Hearing the floo activate, her head shot up, tear stains on her cheek. Seeing him she gave a wain smile as new tears fell. “Phase three.”

Scooping her up, he eased his way beneath her on the chair, setting her back down on his lap as he held her close, pressing her face to his shoulder as she sobbed. Pressing a kiss to her temple, he met Potter's eyes over the top of her head, demanding answers.

“Her familiar,” Harry mouthed, concerned eyes on his best friend crying as if her heart had been broken. “I have a unit there now to see what they can find. Hermione, I know it's hard, luv, but can you tell me what happened again?” 

She hiccuped, trying to collect herself enough to speak. “I stopped off for drinks with a few of the women from the office. I wanted to be home before it got dark but they talked me into one more. That's what I noticed first, something hanging from the light fixture above my door because it was casting a shadow. I couldn’t tell what it was because it was so mangled.” She shuddered and Draco tightened his arms around her. “Then I saw the message written in blood on the door.”

“Sir?” a voice called from the flames.

Harry turned to answer. “Report, Gibbinons.”

“We found the cat, sir. Seems to be fine but it took a chunk out of Murphy when he tried to pick it up and is now hiding underneath the garden shed. Permission to use force, sir?”

“Denied. I’ll be right over.” Disconnecting, he turned to the couple and kneeled down beside the chair, placing a gentle hand on the witches shoulder. “You hear that, Hermione? They found Crookshanks. I’m going to go pick him up and bring him to you, alright?” The witch just continued to stare into the middling distance, eyes wide but vacant as she huddled against Draco’s chest. Concerned, Harry looked up to meet Malfoy’s eyes.

“Go,” Draco said softly, shifting her closer. “I’ve got her.”

Nodding, Harry gained his feet and left with a roar of the floo.

Draco just brushed his hand over her hair, waiting for her to come back to him.

“If it wasn't Crooks that means it was some other cat,” she said after a time. 

“For fucks sake, Hermione it could have been you!”

Shifting, she pressed a hand to his chest to sit up and look at him. “That means they weren’t able to get though my wards.”

He searched both her eyes, not liking what he saw in their depths. “You’re not going back there.”

Her brows lowered, obstinate. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.” She tried to get up from his lap.

He caught her hand, keeping her in place. “I’m serious Hermione. They know where you are, it’s not safe.”

“Phase three--”

“Fuck your phases!” he shouted. She could have died tonight and here she was already ready to jump back into the flames.

Harry flooed back with a yowling mess of orange fluff in his arms. Sensing the tension in the air, his eyes cut between them. 

Pulling away, Hermione gathered her familiar, whispering into its fur as she hugged it close as it calmed in her hold. Turning to Harry, completely ignoring Draco’s presence, she asked, “Would it be alright for me to spend the night? I’m not sure how much more your people need to do at my place and I’m knackered.”

“Yeah, of course,” Harry gestured vaguely towards the stairs. “Gin has the boys this week, take whichever room you want.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, disappearing with her cat.

Harry turned to him with a raised brow. “I though you said you had her?”

Draco buried his head in his hands. “Oh, fuck off Potter.”

“You tried to tell her what to do, didn’t you?” he said, eyes as smug as his grin.

“I said fuck off.” Pushing angrily to his feet Draco stormed into the kitchen. Nothing had been changed since the née-Weasley had left a year and a half ago. When Draco had asked about it, Harry had shrugged, claiming it was easier for him and the kids to keep it the same. For fucks sake, he even had the same potholders.

Slamming cabinets he filled a glass with water from the tap, sipping at it in the hopes it could extinguish the fire in his belly before he did something stupid. Like follow her. Wrap her up in every protective charm known to wizarding kind so that no one could hurt her. Tell her he loved her.

“Why is this so hard?” he demanded of the silent shadow behind him.

Harry shrugged as if the answer was obvious. “Because you care.”

“She can’t go back there.”

“Her wards were never breached. It looks like they tried but couldn't manage it and that’s when they went for the cat and wrote on her door.”

“Hermione already came to that conclusion. But that’s too close.” He met Harry’s eyes pointedly. “We need to do something.”

Boy wonder blew out a harsh breath, raking a hand through his hair. “She’s not going to like it.”

“No,” Draco agreed, turning to stare out the little kitchen window with his glass of water, “she’s not.”

The door closed behind Hermione as she eyed both men with instant mistrust. “I take it the underling you sent for me didn’t make a mistake when he asked for my wand?”

“He did not.” Potter took point, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Please sit.”

“I think I’ll stand.”

“Now, I want you to be open minded about this, Hermione.” She scoffed, but Potter forged on doggedly. “After what happened last night, we believe it’s the best course of action for you to remain under round the clock auror protection.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she hissed hands on her hips.

“We’ve set up a cell--”

“I’m not listening to this idiotic endeavor any longer,” she interrupted turning for the door. Draco slide infront of her, blocking the exit with his larger frame.

Her glare was enough to drop a sphinx. “Malfoy, get out of my way.”

“I can’t do that, Granger.”

She spun to The Man Behind The Desk who flinched at the witch’s ire. “Harry, are you really doing this? To me?”

"If it means keeping you safe, then yes."

"You don't want me as an enemy,” she said dangerously. “You more than anyone knows that."

"Think reasonably, ‘Monie,” he tried to placate.

“I'm clearly the only one who is. This is a blatant abuse of power not to mention breaking civil liberty laws. I say this as a friend; I. Will. Bury. You.”

Potter straightened, his auror mask locking into place as he stared down his best friend. “Auror Malfoy, please see Miss Granger to her cell. We'll start with threatening an officer. If you can get her to deck you it will make my life easier and I’ll officiate your promotion.”

“Righty’O, boss,” Draco cut in cheerfully. “Miss Granger, if you’ll follow me?”

She jerked away from his corralling hand. “Touch me and a promotion will be the last thing on your mind,” she hissed, sailing past him under her own power.

“This is for your own good you know,” Draco informed as they neared the private cell outfitted with every comfort, per Head Auror Potter's demands.

She’ll growl and pout for a while but if I stick her in an unfurnished cell I'll never hear the end of it.

She pretended not to hear him, glaring pointedly ahead. Draco sighed, flicking his wand to unlock the cell, tucking it back in his hip holster as he held the door open for her. Stomping over her foot caught on something, pitching her forward and slamming her into him as he moved forward to catch her.

“Are you all right?”

“No,” she whimpered, bending down to clutch her ankle. 

He crouched in front of her, concern evident. “Here, let me see.”

She twisted away, “don't touch me.”

“Don't be stubborn.” He crab-walk sideways to catch her foot. Being mindful of the pain, he gently felt along the delicate bone of her ankle. “Nothing feels broken. Can you put weight on it?” He asked, keeping his eyes on the appendage as she did what he asked.

“Hey, Draco?”

“Yeah,” he asked. Glancing up at her from his crouch three things became abundantly clear.

One, his back was in front of the open jail cell. 

Two, his wand was in Hermione Granger's hand. 

Three, both Harry and him, knowing full well what she was capable of, had none the less underestimated her.

Seeing the realization dawn in his face she had the gall to smirk. “I hope you get that promotion,” she purred before placing her palm to his face and shoving, sending him arse over teakettle into the cell. Shutting the door behind him and locking it with a flick of his stolen wand.

“Don’t worry,” she said, tossing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I’ll see that it’s returned once I’ve picked up my own wand.”

“Hermione, get back here!” he growled, slamming his hands against the bars in frustration. 

Surprisingly enough, she did as he demanded, stepping in close to the door.

“Let me out of here,” he tried to reach through the bars to grab her but was given a good jolt that didn’t hurt but was a clear warning that the cell’s wards were up and functioning.

Ignoring him, she stuck a key in the lock, twisting it twice to the left and tapping the mechanism with his wand before pulling it free. “Now anyone who tries to open this with magic will get locked in with you.” With supreme satisfaction she set the keys on the guard desk just to fuck with him. “When you see Harry next, let him know I’m not mad, just disappointed.” Flashing him another smile she turned to leave. “Oh, I almost forgot,” turning she flicked the wand once more (it seemed to do her bidding with no trouble, the traitor) she enclosed the cell in a silencing charm. “Just so you don’t let the game off too soon. Be a dear and let me know how many wizards I catch. I’m aiming for six.”

Draco angrily slapped his hands to the bars, the violence of the act odd without the accompanying bang and rattle.

Hermione blew him a kiss before leaving, for real this time, a smug skip to her step.

Not a person questioned her on the way out, she was the Hermione Granger. Just because the Head Auror had requested her presence didn’t mean anything; they were friends, she was visiting all the time. Retrieving her wand from the young cadet that had nervously collected it from her on her entrance, she thought better of returning Draco’s at this time. Might bring up questions she didn’t want to answer. No, she’d keep it a bit longer, it wasn’t like he would need it anytime soon. Yes, that would do nicely. 

Returning to her flat she packed all her important paperwork, the things for her day-to-day, anything that would be impossible to replace if worse came to worse, along with a week's worth of clothes in her suitcase. If it took Harry longer than that, she’d be doubly disappointed in him. Shrinking everything down she disengaged her floo connection. That’d be a bitch to set back up but it was better than having it be a back door right to the heart of her home. Scooping up Crookshankes, she warded the place tighter than Gringotts then between one step and the next apperated to Malfoy Manor.

Draco flooed to the Manor after a sleepless night. By eight the previous evening the cell Hermione had locked him in had been crowned with no less than ten fellow officers, one being the boy wonder himself. Not being the trusting sort Draco kept one eye open and all senses engaged as the others claimed their small pad of cement to while away the night. They’d all been freed less than an hour ago and after an unpleasant, and frankly embarrassing, debriefing he’d been cleared (read ordered) to go home and get some rest. 

So he arrived exhausted and out of sorts from the scolding he’d received for letting Granger get the upper hand. Pointing out to Potter that she was his best friend and yet he had been right beside him in the cell hadn't earned him any favors.

“Draco?” He heard his mother’s voice call from the direction of the formal dining area, appearing a few seconds later as lovely as ever in a designer dress and accessories even at so early in the morning. She had a concerned look to her face that few would be able to discern. “Are you alright? You usually owl if your shift runs overnight.”

“I’m fine,” he soothed, allowing her to fuss over his hair. “Just a bit of a domestic I got caught up in. I should have owled. I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright, dear. Come, have breakfast.”

He resisted when she made to lead him to the dining room. “Too much was happening for me to sleep last night and I’m dead on my feet.” He dutifully kissed her check. “If you need me, I’ll be in my room.”

Concern flickered over her face once more and she reached up to cup his cheek. “Alright, dear. I’ll let your guest know.”

“Guest?” Draco questioned, foot paused on the first step to the upstairs, disbelief filling his chest. It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t be that wreckless … would she? “What guest?” 

“Why, Miss Granger. We were just sitting down to breakfast.”

“How did she get here?”

Narcissa paled at her son’s shock. “The wards let her in yesterday afternoon. Since it felt like your trigger, I assumed you granted her permission. Was I wrong?”

“No, no,” he heard himself saying from far off, changing his trajectory to march into the family dinning room. “Must have slipped my mind yesterday with all the excitement.”

She was sitting there, at his table, a fine china tea cup cradled in her hands as she sipped. Having caught their entrance out of the corner of her eye, she looked up and had the audacity to grin. “Ah, Draco. Good morning. How was your night?”

“Exhausting. Yours?”

“Oh, I slept quite well, thank you. Your mother is a wonderful host. Made me feel right at home.”

He nodded along engagingly before hoisting her from the chair and over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

“Draco!” his mother scolded, aghast by her son’s boorish behavior. She had raised him better than that.

“It's fine, Narcissa,” Hermione soothed completely at ease, bracing herself up with one hand on his back while she tossed her cloak of curls from out of her face. “Just a disagreement we had yesterday. Your son is a bit of a sore loser.”

In retaliation he swatted her arse. If he hadn't had such a tight grip on her she would have launched herself right off his shoulder. Entering his bedroom with firm steps he slammed the door shut behind them, twisting his arm behind his back he held out his hand. “Wand,” he commanded.

She huffed, rotating her hips to pull something from her muggle jeans and slapping at his hand. “I promised I'd return it.”

Taking a second to revel in the fit of his chosen wand in his hand he flicked his wrist to activate the wards on his room that were entwined deeply to the manor. Even that would give the witch pause. Or at the very least give him enough time to wake up before she escaped. 

With Hermione balanced on her perch he kicked off his shoes. Setting his wand on the bedside table to free up both hands he tossed her to the mattress, not giving her enough time to right herself before he was crawling up and covering her with his weight, her front to his.

Angrily swiping the hair from her eyes she glared at him. “You didn't have to be so crass.”

Draco glared right back. “It was either this or throttle you, and I knew my mother would have been forced to step in at that.”

“What,” she questioned, skimming her hands across the sharp plains of his face to cradle his head. “Angry Harry reneged on his promotion or that you had to spend the night in a jail cell with him?”

“Him and nearly a dozen other officers,” he snarled, pressing into her touch, weak with relief and exhaustion.

Hermione cackled.

He settled more firmly between her legs, resting his cheek on her sternum and locking his arms around her waist. “When I wake up, we’re going to have a talk about why you came to the Manor, a place you’ve said on dozens of occasions that you hate, instead of protecting yourself in the center of Auror Headquarters,” he grumbled fussily against the cotton blend of her shirt, already half asleep.

“I look forward to it.” The feeling of her fingers carding through his hair followed him down into oblivion.

Slow, absent-minded touches, gently drew Draco from his deep sleep. Instantly alert he took stock of surroundings and relaxed when he realized the scent surrounding him was Hermione’s. The hollow thump of a book closing sounded close to his right ear. 

“So, Sleeping Beauty finally decides to grace us with his presence. Off, please. I've had to pee for an hour.”

He shifted enough to let her scooch out from under him sitting up in the center of his bed to watch her scamper to the ensuite. Glancing around he was happy to report she hadn't destroyed his room in a bid for freedom. The only thing out of place was a book tossed haphazardly at the head of the bed. 

“I’m starving,” she said coming out of the bathroom, tying her hair back in a loose bun. “Can we go down and get lunch? Someone kidnapped me before I could finish breakfast.”

She made for the door, a casual smile on her lips. He caught her arm as she went to breeze past him.

“Why are you here?”

“Like I said, someone went all cave man and carried me to his bed.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

She sighed, dropping the act and he realized how tired she looked. “This is the last place anyone would think to find me. One, because of our rocky history and two, as an auror, it’s assumed Harry has your complete loyalty.”

“How do you know he doesn't?”

“Oh, he does.” She grinned. “But I have a better chance of getting you to see reason then I do him right now. For as much as you and Harry seem to think, I'm not an idiot. I'm not going to run half-cocked into an unknown situation. I'm going to research and plan. Then I'm going to find these motherfuckers and make them wish they'd never been born. And if I get a little bloody in the process,” she said darkly, “all the more fun for me.”

“And the reason you can't plan and study within the protection of the Ministry?”

 She crossed her arms and looked at him. “Is it the safest place?” 

“Of course.”

“Let me rephrase,” she skiddled in close, tilting her head back to stare up into his eyes, “is it the safest place for me?”

About to defend his position he closed his mouth and thought about it. There were quite a few people within the Ministry that were none too happy with some of the changes she was trying to bring about and even less happy with the changes she had pushed through. Not enough to kill her outright themselves, the publicity alone would tank their cause, but maybe leave a door open so a dying cult could enter and eliminate a problem in a last-ditch hurrah. Wards were only effective if they were closed and while the Ministry’s were some of the best in the country, its foot traffic left it woefully vulnerable. And easily manipulated.

She smirked seeing him come to the same realization, as she rolled back on her heels to stroll out to the hall. 

He followed without thought. “Why didn’t you tell us this yesterday instead of throwing a tantrum?”

“Because I was due a tantrum,” she said over her shoulder, indignant. “Harry doesn’t get to ignore my wishes because of his hero complex and neither do you. I said no and that should have been the end of it. Instead he tries to lock me in a cell,” she spun, jabbing him with a finger against the chest, hard, “and you help.”

“We were trying to protect you,” he defended.

She snorted, whipping around with enough force that her hair slapped him in the face.

“This isn’t some game, Granger,” he seethed as she dipped into his study. “This is about your life!”

“You’re right, it is and I don’t appreciate you and Harry trying to control it.” Without a by your leave, she situated herself at the desk, meeting his eyes candidly. “You don’t get to swoop in and play hero and cast me as the damsel in distress. We are partners.”

“Partners?” he spat. “You mean how you went off, alone, on ‘phase two’ and left me reeling in the aftermath? Or what about phase three? When I got the floo call from Potter I though you had died. You get on our case about playing the hero but what about you!”

Her eyes were that of a basilisk, poised to kill, but instead she sat back in her chair and laced her fingers in her lap. “Do you know how many muggle-borns there are in England?”

Caught flat footed by the question, he scrambled for an answer. He remembered something from fifth year muggle studies of muggle-borns making up roughly a tenth of the population. “Some five hundred,” he said with a pretense at conviction.

“Wrong,” she said calmly, though her eyes snapped at him. “As of the census done last year, in the whole of the British Isles, there were eighty-seven muggle-borns living. That number is artificially low, I say some double that fled during the last war and maybe another double in the war before that. As of today, there are Eighty-one.” She closed her eyes, reciting by heart like a prayer, “Anya Roberts, Braydon Williams, Aisha Ojha, Zarckary Kigel, Forest Huntington, Debra Riley.”

She let their names hang in the air as heavy as ghosts.

“I don’t give a fuck about being a hero,” she said quietly. “I care that Sarah Roberts won’t have her sister there when she graduates from Uni next month. I care that Mrs. Kigel didn’t even know her son was dead because no one thought to inform her because she was muggle and therefore not important. I will do everything in my power to make sure whoever is behind these attacks are stopped. This,” she laid a reverent hand on the stack of parchment on the desk, “is how I do that. I create legislature that changes laws and changes minds. There are always going to be people that will want to stop me but the more I can break ground the easier it will be for the next person to build on if I can’t. If you can’t accept that, I'll go.” She was dead serious. She would walk out his front door and disappear until this all blew over or she brought it to a head.

And he’d worry every second he couldn’t confirm for himself that she was safe.

Nostrils flaring he cracked his neck, tension making it tight. “I don’t want your name to be another one memorized.”

“Oh, come off it,” her childish expletive cut the tension expertly. “I’m not going to die by this clown car of dingbats. I survived the Dark Lord when I was a teenager, for Godric’s sake! At most, they will be an annoyance for only a short time more because they’ll grow bored and get sloppy, or do something grandiose and stupid, then get caught. Besides, I’m safer here than I would be anywhere else in the world. Malfoy wards date back over a thousand years. You don’t entertain unless it’s your trusted few and your wards get mean if someone tries to get in uninvited.”

Safer with him? “Is that the only reason?” he asked, kicking himself for acting like a love struck teenager

She looked away quickly, distracting herself with digging in a briefcase. “What else would there be?” she asked, 

Well that was a nasty blow to his ego. He sighed, stepping back, raking his hands through his hair to release the tension her words instantly caused him. “What about work?”

She tapped the stack of papers into a neat pile. “I can work remotely for a time. I spent two hours yesterday rearranging meetings and packing what I would need. You have until Tuesday to get who you need arrested because I have a budget meeting I need to be there for because if they mess with my numbers heads will roll.”

“So, that’s it then,” he mused, amused, leaning a shoulder against the door jam of the study she had commandeered. “You just move in and set up shop?” Stay. Please stay. What do I need to do to get you stay? Fool, fool, fool.

“Like I told Harry, my life doesn’t just stop because someone wants me dead. I’ll be careful,” she vowed. “I’ll take precautions but I will not let them win.” 

“Anything else while I leave you to collectively thumb your nose at my ancestors from within their own home?”

“Lunch.” Already absorbed in her work she didn’t acknowledge his attempt at humor. “And tea at three. Jasmine, I take cream,” she ordered passively, looking over a report, flicking her wand and accio ing a book to her hand.

He smirked, a little more in love with the witch then he was just twenty-four hours ago. Bowing with a flourish that was wasted on her inattention he said grandly, “as My Lady commands.”

Potter was an absolute wreck when Draco showed up for his shift the following day. The official story they’d curated was that Granger had taken a few days off to visit family, an aunt or cousin or something, and would be returning presently. Only a chosen few were aware she was AWAL and Potter was all but climbing the walls from stress. Draco vacillated between extreme guilt and abject amusement to see the Savior of the Wizarding World spiral. 

It helped that Hermione had sent an owl to Potter first thing with a stack of files she needed submitted immediately. It gave Boy Wonder the peace of mind that she wasn’t being tortured to death while still showing her annoyance by making him into her errand boy. Draco approved the Slytherin-esk reassurance.

Minimal headway was made on the case, which frustrated the whole department to no end. There were no more attacks since the one on Hermione’s residents, which was both a blessing and a curse. Blessing because civilians were not actively being hunted down or hurt. Curse because all leads they had gathered had gone cold and they were forced to go over previously gathered clues and hope something jumped out at them as they all waited with bated breath for the next attack. 

Draco made the mistake of mentioning the case going stagnant to Hermione over breakfast one morning, just the two of them, his mother having prior commitments. The next day’s Prophet showed her cosying up to another pureblood male, flirty smile and decadent dress included. When he’d confronted her about it at dinner she shrugged, the one that made him lose his Merlin rattled mind, and said she didn’t want her biggest fans to forget about her and start looking for other people. 

That little outing seemed to both soothe Potter and kick his labrador retriever instincts into hyperdrive. Draco was beginning to see a pattern. He refused to examine too closely that if he would find himself in a similar cognitive mess of being overjoyed to see physical proof that she was okay while having the crippling anxiety of not knowing if she would stay that way if he didn’t have the insider knowledge of where she was. She may go out to thumb her nose at the bigoted fools that targeted her but she had the nigh impenetrable safety of the Manor to fall back on in a pinch. 

Draco’s guilt was starting to over take his amusement with Potter and as the week wore on he found himself almost coming clean and telling him everything. The only thing stopping him was the undeniable knowledge that if Hermione felt pushed to it, she would disappear again. And as bad as he felt for Potter, Draco wasn’t willing to put himself in the same boat if he could help it.

But that boat seems determined to set sail.

“Were do you think you’re going?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously. 

She wasn’t a slob by any means but for the last six days she didn’t put as much care into her wardrobe. Now she wore a tan power suit over a burgundy striped vest, belted to accent her trim waist and a pair of white pumps that made his mouth water. He loved her in a dress, but something about her in a pair of trousers with that confident look in her eye, like she was about to step into a packed room and take control of it, with his ring on her finger, did things to him.

“I told you I’d give you until Tuesday,” she told him, spritzing a pump of perfume against her neck and wrists. “My budget meeting is at ten, then I have my preliminary hearing for my bill at two. Depending on how both those go I may be back late.”

“Or you could just not go at all and whatever they don’t grant towards your budget I’ll make up out of my own coffers.”

“What about my hearing, money bags?”

“You said it was a preliminary,” he shrugged, hands in his pockets so he could keep from reaching for her and kissing her senseless. “Besides, it’s already a done deal. Do you really want to listen to long winded nincompoops that you have to mollycoddle as they ask questions that are clearly laid out in your proposal?”

“You’re cute,” she said indulgently, patting him on the cheek as she moved past him out of the bathroom.

He trailed behind her. “There’s nothing I can do to get you to stay?”

She smiled contritely at him as she fit pearl studs in her ears. “No.”

He sighed, pushing down his emotions that were screaming at him to wrap her up in wool and hide her away, that something bad was going to happen and it would be all his fault. Centering himself, he straightened his shoulders, putting the secret lover away and bringing back to the forefront the warrior. “Alright. But I’m staying at your side the whole day, understood?”

“What about if I have to go to the bathroom?” she teased.

He was in no mood for her jest and said as much with a dry look. “I’m sure we’re both adult enough to get over it.”

She pursed her lips, fighting a smile. “Will you hold my hand?” She wiggled her fingers invitingly, the fire opel catching the light. 

Huffing out a growl, he grabbed her by the hand and towed her out of the room. Her laugh followed them through the floo.

Potter was the first one they ran into, Draco having steamrolled their travel through the Ministry. “Hermione!?” he gasped. “Where in Godric’s name have you been?”

“Holiday,” she said dryly, seeming still not ready to forgive her friend for trying to lock her in a jail cell. Draco thanked his lucky stars that she’d deemed one upping him and the resulting social embarrassment sufficient punishment. Hermione Granger was not a witch you wanted to be on the wrong side of.

“You had me worried bloody sick! If I didn’t know you were owling in reports three times a day I would have thought you were dead!”

“Potter, maybe the halls of the ministry are not the best place to have this conversation,” Draco intercepted smoothly, shifting Hermione in front of him to be less visible as his eyes clocked everyone that lingered just a little too close to stare at two-parts of the Golden Trio having a tiff at work. 

Harry shifted, his demeanor changing as he remembered his position. “Right. It’s good seeing you, ‘Mione. Want to grab lunch today?”

“Can’t. Meetings,” she dismissed, stepping around her friend and striding down the hall. Harry deflated. “But I’ll be by to grab you for dinner at six. We’re celebrating.” Harry perked up, reassured of his friend's forgiveness.

Draco shook his head, falling into step with Granger, keeping his eyes on the swivel. If those eyes happened to land periodically on her very shapely backside, well, he was just being thorough.

Her budget meeting went to her liking if her smug smile was anything to go by. A few interns from accounting looked decidedly queasy after, and other senior managers were pale faced and sweating when they filed out. 

“Oh, Mistress of the First Quarter, does your miserly self have time for lunch before you make another room of grown adults cry?”

She glanced at her watch. “I’ve got forty-five minutes to spare.”

“I thought your said the preliminaries weren’t until two?”

“Yes, but I want a solid hour to go over my notes once more, fifteen minutes for travel time, and I still want to be early. Since we'll be eating, I'll want some time to freshen up. Nothing says ‘I know what I’m talking about’ like food in ones teeth.”

“Hey,” he caught her hand, bringing her to a stand still and squeezing it softly. “You’re going to do wonderfully. It wasn’t empty flattery when I told you this was already a done deal. You have the public backing to move forward even if the council tries to railroad you. Now, let me feed you so you don’t faint from hunger on your way to save the world.”

They were walking back to her office, takeaway bags in hand from her favorite Chinese restaurant, when the hallway burst into flames blowing Hermione and Draco back a good dozen feet and rocking the whole of the ministry with the explosion.  

They hit the floor with jarring force, collecting a medley of superficial cuts and bruises as they were tumbled like discarded dolls. Only a hastily cast shield charm on Draco’s part saved them from even more severe injury.

Ignoring the pain radiating from his shoulder, Draco was up and covering Hermione in a flash, quickly checking her over for anything major before his eyes spread out to take in their surroundings. “We need to move. Get you to a secure location,” he barked, his anger hanging on by a thread as he saw the burned out ruins of her office. Fifteen seconds more and she would have been inside.

“I don’t want to tell you I told you so, but…” she groaned, rolling over to try and get her bearings, a call back to her argument against the Ministry being the safest place for her.

“And I wanted you to stay home. But gloating can come later, let's get you out of here.” Forcing her to her feet, he steadied her when she swayed a bit. “Can you walk?”

Taking stock, she nodded. “Just sore.”

“Good. Get your wand out and stay behind me.”

“We should head for Kingly’s office. They’re probably lying in wait around the main entrance floos to make a spectacle when they try to kill me.”

“And how will trapping ourselves in the Minister’s office help?”

“Secret, secure floo connection. I’m one of a dozen people warded to its use. It goes to a safehouse in London within apperating distance of Mungo's.”

They barely made it around the corner before Draco was dragging her back to cover by the scruff of her collar as a shower of spells rained down on them. 

“Well at least we know they didn’t forget about me,” Hermione quipped from behind Dracco’s right shoulder, flashing his sour grimace a breathless smile.

“Could have dealt with a few less fanboys. On the count of three, keep your shield up and I’ll cover while you--” A red crackle of energy punched the wall beside their heads. “Three!” 

It had taken Hermione’s brain a second too long to realize the spell had come from behind them, further down the hall towards the ruin of her office but Draco was already shoving her forward, his larger frame curling around hers as they sprinted the open space through a hail of spell fire.

Thinking on her feet, Hermione cast a bomdarada and a tangle vine hex over their shoulders to slow their pursuers in a snarled mess of office furniture and cubicle walls.

Draco grunted in pain, his hand firmly pressed to his side as they took what little cover they could crouched around a freestanding wall. “Bloody hell, Granger, why can’t you ever fucking do what your told.”

“It must be your charming personality,” she barked back. Softening, she reached out for him. “Here, let me see.”

“Leave it,” he hissed, eyes constantly on the move to keep anyone else from sneaking up on them. “It will keep, we need to get you out of here.”

Ignoring him she ripped the ruined shirt out of the way and flicked a quick diagnostic charm. “You’re hemorrhaging internally.” She said coolly. Another flick of her wand and cool relief spread over his side and he took a grateful breath. “That won’t hold for very long. You got ten minutes to play the knight in shining armor before you’ll be out of commission.”

“Plenty of time,” he grinned, sweat clinging to his paler than normal features.

Refusing to give into panic she rolled her eyes instead. “How many do you think there are?”

“Don’t know, think I counted three separate spell arches.”

“Plus the one behind us. Think anyone’s ahead?”

Grunting, he pushed himself to standing, once more tucking her to his side with his wand outstretched as they turned the corner.

It was a good thing the Ministry was such a labyrinth, they ran into no other fanatics as they limped their way to the Office of the Minister. It seemed that Hermione was once again correct, when they lost them they must have converged with the larger group at the front to wait for her.

“Yes, yes, I’m very smart,” she panted to his slurred musings as he grew heavier and heavier against her side. “Come one, stay with me. We’re almost there.”

They were a dozen yards from the Minister’s office door when a pair of masked individuals in dark green robes turned the corner behind them. With cries of glee at having found their quarry, they speed forward with wands drawn. 

“Go,” Draco shouted, gathering himself to stand straight. “I’ll hold them off.”

“We don’t have time for this,” she hissed, resisting his attempt at trying to urge her forward to safety. Instead she anchored her arm more firmly around his waist and spun back, brandishing her wand at the two gaining insurgents. “Depulso!”

It caught the two individuals squarely, sending them flying back a dozen feet to smack soundly into a wall before collapsing to the ground motionless. Casting a binding charm for good measure before settling Draco’s weight more firmly across her shoulders as they continued to limp into the Minister’s office. 

Brushing her hand off on her ruined suit pants, she pressed it to the door, reciting her name clearly and the door popped open. Wasting no time, Hermione forced them inside and shut the door tightly behind them. 

Hermione immediately called forth her patronus, a wispy blue otter. “To Harry,” she told it. “Superficial injuries but Draco and I are safe. There’s two assailants tied up in the third floor corridor outside Shacklebolt’s and possibly a few more in the clerks section. Heading to Mungo’s now. Be safe.” Sending it off with her message, they took a second to breathe in relief.

Draco felt wet warmth on the hand he hadn't realized he had pressed up against his lower right abdomen. Looking down he saw his palm was smeared with red. Odd, he didn’t feel any -- his legs collapsed out from under him, the world tilting sideways as he hit the ground hard.

“Draco?!” A panic voice from far off. Blinking as his vision swam he brought Hermione’s worried brown eyes into focus.

Merlin, was she beautiful. He was a fool for having never told her. He didn’t want his last look of her to be with concern, he wanted her smile. She had the best smile.

“This is not the last time you’re going to see me, you melodramatic prat!” She hissed, and he grunted in acute pain as she latched on his wand holster and shirt with both fists and dragged him across the ground

She looked so fierce, his little lioness. So determined. So damn sexy. If only he’d told her.

“You can tell me after,” she grunted. “Just keep your eyes open!” Standing over him, one fist locked tightly around his collar, she cast down a hand and green flames erupted around them before spitting them out in a too bright room.

“Healer! I need a healer!” were the last things he heard as he slipped fully into unconsciousness.

“You didn’t tell me that you dislocated your shoulder.”

“Must have slipped my mind.” Or that might have been the concussion. His arm was in a sling, strapped to his chest to give the muscles enough time to strengthen. A dose of skele-gro had taken care of the four cracked and one broken rib. Two rounds of replenishing potion were needed after they’d stopped the hemorrhage in his abdomen.

Rolling her eyes she forked him a bite of the cake. 

“We should go on a date,” he said after he swallowed. Nearly dying made one realize just how short life could be. Also the pain potions were very nice and had removed the filter that usually kept him from making a fool of himself.

“And why would we do that?” she asked, stealing a bite of his dessert. 

It was fine. He liked sharing with her. He would share everything with her, even his last name. Unless she wanted to share hers.

“Whoa there Casanova, it’s a bite of cake, let's not jump to pick out our wedding colors or the name of our kids' quite yet.” 

“But I want to. I want you. And I think you do too or else you would have never chosen to hide out in my home for a week.”

She sighed, but it sounded kinda wishful. “It would never last. Adrenaline induced feelings will fade once there is nothing to feed the adrenaline. Or thinking you were going to die and being on very strong pain potions. On that note, remind me to tell the healer to cut you off.”

“What about if I told you I’d admired you for years and had a crush on you since Third year?”

She blinked and if Draco didn’t know any better he might say he’d managed to surprise the Great Granger. “Fourth.”

“No,” he said, thinking back, “it was definitely third. I remember because I had an e-- uh -- unfortunate reaction from you punching me in the face.”

“I’ve had a crush on you since fourth year.” She stole another bite of his cake as she confessed, unable to meet his eyes. 

“Oh,” he said quietly.

“Yeah.” She busied herself with scraping frosting from the plate. 

“So about that date…”

“Talk to me again once the potions wear off.” She sounded unconvinced but she did offer him the last bite of cake.

“Lyra,” he said redirecting the fork back to her own lips with his good hand, entranced as she opened them breathlessly and accepted the morsel. “Or Scorpius.”

She choked, covering her mouth and coughing. “I am not naming my daughter ‘Scorpius’.”

“I was thinking that one for our son.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“I like Scorpius,” he defended. “Created by a powerful woman to protect others from needless slaughter. I think it’s fitting.”

“Artemis was a goddess.”

He shrugged then winced as his shoulder reminded him just how bad an idea that was. “I said what I said.”

She stared at him a long minute, something he would say looked close to longing if he were to glimpse it in a mirror. “You should get some sleep.”

“Don’t wanna,” he pouted, shifting his lethargic body to try and gain a modicum of comfort in the hospital bed. He’d sat on stone benches with more padding. “If I go to sleep you’ll leave. I don’t like it when I don’t know you’re safe.”

“I’m safe. You made sure I’m safe. Sleep,” she ordered softly. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“I like periwinkle,” he slurred, eyes closing as if she’d cast a spell on him. “For wedding colors.”

“I’ll think about it.” Draco felt soothing fingers brush through his hair. “Ask me again later.”

~~*~~*~~*~~

Artemis Hall officially opens its doors next week. As it is known, House Speaker Granger’s Early Immersion for Muggle-borns Act, colloquially known as Granger’s Bill, passed last August with a 12 to 5 majority. The act legally recognized the need for a transitional institution to bridge the gap between the muggle and magical worlds for students before transitioning to Hogwarts starting September 1st after their eleventh birthday. Artemis Hall is the first establishment opened to fill this niche, allowing for children ages six to eleven of all magic inclination to attend a learning institution in the newly refurbished north wing of Malfoy Manor. They already have forty students and host an array of classes of both magical and muggle inclination with five full time teachers and two part time.  

When asked for comment on opening his ancestral home to muggle-borns, Mr. Malfoy-Granger(married early last month and just returned from his honeymoon with House Speaker Granger) stated ‘I’d do anything for her smile.’ 

-- Prophet, May 4th 2005