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Chapter Text

The music rose up as a crescendo, building in a great arc.  Draco felt his emotions lift as if on a current at the command of the soprano’s lilt. A small tear began to well in the corner of his eyelid.  He had never felt anything like this before. It was as if something wonderful was stirring deep within him.  It was beautiful, no she was beautiful.  

WHACK!

The world came crashing down on his head, forcefully shuddering him back to reality.  Reluctantly he dragged his gaze up to meet the eyes of his assailant. 

Blaise Zabini was sporting the most odious and unholy of grins.

“I told you.”

Draco turned his face back to the stage, if only so that Blaise could not see his sneer in disgust at himself.  How could he have let himself get so enraptured by a mudblood?

She was nothing special, rather ordinary looking.  However, from her lips issued this multilayered sound that was so rich and complex it was almost visible, pulling you into its spell.

As he watched her trying to ascertain how she had managed to have this effect on him, he felt something deep within him stir once more.  Her hair seemed to sparkle, her voice lured him in.

Blaise let out a low chuckle from beside him.

Draco shook his head and screwed his eyes shut.  He couldn’t believe that he had almost let himself get enraptured for a second time.  And that Blaise had seen it.

“She’s powerful isn’t she?”

Draco let his eyes scan the audience, his view from the box allowing him the perfect vantage point.  Every person’s eyes were glued to the stage.  

Draco watched as an usher in the far aisle collapsed to the ground and started to convulse.  No one seemed to notice as their eyes were transfixed on the soprano who sang on, each note tightening her grip on her audience.

“I thought you were training me.  Not trying to humiliate me,”  Draco ground out.

Blaise did nothing to conceal the joyful glint in his eye as he replied, “Not my fault if it ends up being both.  Just watch me.”

Draco resisted the urge to remind him that Malfoys didn’t take orders - especially not from childhood acquaintances assigned as ‘managers’ in some bureaucratic joke called the ‘Magical Discretion and Exposure Prevention Office’ - the unfortunate location chosen for his ‘rehabilitation’ into wizarding society following his stint in Azkhabhan. 

“Just explain what is bloody expected of me.”

His supposed role in this cursed department was to track muggles who had been assessed as having some magic but had not met the pitifully low threshold for Hogwarts admittance.  He was failing to see how attending a muggle opera could have anything to do with it.

Blaise’s laugh rang out, cutting like a blade at the last piece of Draco’s self-respect as his arm came down to rest over shoulders.  

“You’re looking at this all wrong mate.” Blaise’s other hand dipped into his breast pocket and drew out a small vial of translucent purple liquid.  “All we have to do is slip this little potion into her drink and it’ll subdue that little problematic latent power she has.”

Draco’s nose wrinkled as he tugged at his ludicrous black tie collar. “And why does that involve us being here, pretending to be muggles?” 

“No one said we couldn’t have a little fun while we were doing it…”  Blaise gave a mischievous grin and turned his face back to the stage.  With a quick flick of his wand he transfigured his programme into the most beautiful rose and flung it down to the stage so that it landed square at the feet of the soprano, whose song was finally coming to a close.

The soprano’s eyes turned to their box and Blaise gave a cheeky wink and blew a kiss.  She paused mid note, eyes flicking briefly toward their box, something in her expression shifting.  Blaise leaned back in his seat, triumph coating his features.

“I think I have secured myself a date for later this evening.”

Draco rolled his eyes.  Blaise had never had trouble getting a date in his life.

****

Draco sat at the bar, watching as Blaise tucked a small tendril of hair behind the soprano’s ear before leaning in and whispering something in her ear.  A small little giggle issued from her lips as her hand gently trailed up his arm.

Draco let out a small snort and turned around disgusted.  He could never suffer a muggle touching him like that. 

He turned his eyes down to inspect the marble floor, hoping that this night would just come to an end.  The stone was a poor imitation of anything even in the most mundane of wizarding buildings.

“Ahem.”

A small heeled foot had come into his eyeline, the impatient tapping demanding attention.  His gaze rose - past a hideous ruffled black skirt and up to a familiar face he had had no wish to see again.  He groaned.  It was Hermione Granger, in all her self righteous moralistic glory.   Any irritation that he had previously felt regarding that evening tripled instantly.

He ran his hand through his platinum locks and tried to compose his face with the perfect stand off-ish sneer. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure…”  He let his voice drip with an insincerity and sarcasm that even Granger could hardly fail to miss.

However, it seemed to do little to deter her from his presence, as she perched herself on the stool beside him so that she could subtly hiss into his ear.

“You know muggles aren’t your playthings.”

“Trust me, I can afford better toys.”

“Malfoy…” her voice purred warningly.

He looked over to where Blaise was holding a cherry lightly between his teeth.  The soprano leaned in.

Malfoy took a deep breath, and let it out in a deep sigh. It appeared that he would have to admit the humiliating truth just to get rid of the infernal witch.

“If you must know, Blaise is training me.”   He took a sip of his drink hoping that that would be that, however, it appeared that these few words would not be enough of a dismissal as he was only met with a scoff.

“Oh, you need assistance and help getting girls then?  I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Hermione did little to keep her voice down low.  Much to Malfoy’s annoyance two muggle women turned round and looked at him curiously.  Their eyes raked up and down his body with unguarded interest.  He suddenly felt naked, stripped down and raw.  How dare she say this to him.

He put a hand down on her leg, letting his Malfoy signet ring glint threateningly in the artificial light.  She took in a sharp intake of breath.  He started to move his hand slowly up her thigh as he whispered into her ear.

“Trust me, I need no assistance.  Care for me to show you?”  

He felt her body tense beneath him.  Finally - she was understanding her place.

However, it appeared that her comprehension was short lived as she roughly brushed his hand off her.

“No” she said a little too abruptly before continuing in quick short sharp words, “I’m here on a date actually.”

He reached and put an arm round her, lounging back across the bar.  She bristled against him, her back straightening at his touch.

“He works for a muggle bank.”

“Oh, he counts coins for a living, how romantic.” 

“He’s very nice.”  There was nothing in her tone that spoke of passion, romance or excitement.

There was something about rankling her that gave him a thrill that he had not felt in years.  Little about his time in Azkhabhan nor the prospect of the next couple of years of indenture in the salaried world he could describe as thrilling.  It was clear that his concepts of ‘entertainment’ had disappointingly dropped.

He leaned back over to whisper in her ear, his lips mere millimetres from her skin.

“I can be very nice too…”

SLAP

He rubbed his face, surprised at the contact.  Two times in one evening, this was not going well.

“Why are you here Malfoy?”  Her voice was stern and unamused.

He picked his glass back up, swirling it so that the ice clinked.

“I told you.  I am here for training.”

“Training for what exactly?”

“A delightful role in the Magical Discretion and Exposure Prevention Office.  She -” he pointed towards the soprano who was now audibly moaning as Blaise kissed her neck,  “was having an uncontrolled magical flare during that performance tonight.  Surely the great, wonderful Hermione Granger did not fail to notice that?”

Hermione did not say anything as she took a sip of her glass of wine.  He smiled, rendering Granger to silence was a memory he would carefully catalogue for future recollections in times of boredom.

He continued, enjoying flaunting his superior knowledge to her.  “We are merely here to suppress those little talents of hers.”

“You are going to poison her?”

“Whatever made you think that Granger?  No, we are just recalibrating her.”

“Excuse me” a polite voice came from behind the bar.

They both turned at once to catch sight of the sharply dressed barman.

“The gentleman over there has bought the both of you some drinks.”

They both turned to catch sight of Blaise, who raised a glass with a cheeky wink to both of them.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, mentally adding another bullet point to the long list of grievances he had with his former friend and supposed superior.

Nevertheless, he quickly downed his existing drink in one and reluctantly reached over for his fresh beverage.  

Hermione paused her finger tips outstretched towards the glass.  She looked over to Draco, who gave her a small nod as he put the glass to his lips.  

He took a sip, the drink tasting sweet and pleasant.  He took another and another letting himself bask in the warm glow.  

He looked over towards Hermione who he had noticed had mirrored his actions.  His eyes couldn’t leave the spot from where her lips met the glass.  How had he never noticed that they were so luscious before? He tore his gaze away, feeling unsettled.

With one more swallow, he drained his glass, a bolt of electric energy passing through his body as his fingers tips brushed against hers as they set down their glasses simultaneously.

His eyes met her eyes, noticing for the first time their beautiful rich dark mahogany hue.

The room tilted and someone laughed.  And then the night dissolved into black before he could catch the thought forming in his mind.

Chapter Text

FINAL WARNING

Dear Hermione Jean Granger, 

It has come to our attention that you have continued to act with flagrant disregard for  the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy with instances of indiscreet magic use in front of muggles recorded on Thursday 11th March 2010, Monday 15th March 2010 and Wednesday 17th March 2010.  

Please take this as your third and final warning.  If any more instances of indiscreet magic use are recorded you will be prosecuted with the full force of the law.  

You are not above the law Miss Granger and rest assured, this matter has my personal attention.

Yours sincerely, 

Draco Malfoy

Head of the Magical Discretion and Exposure Prevention Office

Ministry for Magic

“Full force of the law”, Hermione muttered, rolling her eyes before setting the parchment alight, letting it disintegrate into a neat pile of ash.  With another flick of her wand, the debris of the letter tidied itself up into a nearby plantpot in which resided the remnants of its two predecessors.  

She gave a satisfied smile as her Conflagatory Iris plant gave a small rustle of its leaves indicating its pleasure. The plant had flourished on his words - every warning seemed to make the blooms flare stronger and brighter.

It had been about seven years since she had last seen Draco Malfoy and she was as unafraid of him now as she was then.  She wasn’t about to stop healing people just because some ministry pen pusher had rigid notions and zero morals.

“Mum - what was that?”

Hermione looked down at her daughter, who skipped into the room, as confident as ever despite her young age.  She scooped her up into her arms and placed a quick kiss on her forehead.

“Nothing for you to worry about dear - now are you ready to go see Uncle Ron and Uncle Harry?”

“Yes!” she squealed as her hair flushed crimson to match her excitement. Her infectious joy filled Hermione’s heart with love.

Erin Rose Granger had been the light of her life from the second she had been born.  Unfortunately, her muggle father had not felt the same way, for the moment that Erin had taken her first breath her hair had started to shift colour and it had not stopped since.

Not a day had gone by when the babe had not decided to change her hair, or her nose or the colour of her skin.  

His daughter's ever changing features had proven too much for Michael Jennings; a move to Canada had apparently been much more appealing than fatherhood.  

Part of Hermione had felt relieved at his absence, given her limited positive feelings towards the man.  Seven years ago, one drink had turned into…something. She didn’t remember consenting, only waking under dull grey sheets with a duller man beside her.

From what she could remember, the only enjoyable thing about that night had been watching Draco Malfoy get off of his aristocratic high horse and queue up for a payslip like the rest of them.  Ironic that he was now head of the very department threatening her livelihood.

Hopefully Ron and Harry could help her figure out how to continue to keep Malfoy out of her life or at least at bay. 

She sighed as she watched her daughter enthusiastically pick up her small broom, her favourite stuffed animal and five books - struggling to balance them all in her arms on her small frame.  

“Just one book! This is meant to be a party!!”

“But Muuuuummmmm!” Erin pouted, her hair darkening into a stormy black to match her mood.

****

Two hours later Hermione’s nostrils were filled with the smell of treacle tart mixing with the smoky charred scent of spent fireworks. Her ears rang with the cries of excited young children, the jaunty melody of a self-playing fiddle and the jovial singing of adults clanging their tankards of butterbeer together.

A smile had rarely left Hermione’s face from the second she had arrived.

“Maybe you should just stop using magic then,” Ron spoke, his voice muffled through the copious amounts of buttercream.

“Ron! You’re asking me to stop healing people?!” 

Ron shrugged his shoulders as he leaned across her to grab another cupcake from the plate which had just floated past her elbow.

She tapped the plate with a pointed stare causing it to spin away out of his reach.

“Mione!” his voice wailed, more whiny and petulant than any of the positive hoard of children in attendance.  

She raised her eyebrow as she hissed, “you haven’t even finished your first yet Ronald, there’s a big glob of icing on your cheek - or were you saving that for later?”

Ron hesitantly put a hand up to his cheek and smiled slightly when his finger returned with a big dollop of icing.  He instantly put his finger in his mouth to lick it off, before he was cowed by the sheer force of her glare.

“Mione, I mean you could be…I don’t know…more subtle about it?”

Ron looked uneasy, shifting his weight from foot to foot as his eyes darted about the room, looking for someone to back him up. Hermione saw his gaze fall behind her head before a heavy arm landed on her back, sloshing her tea dangerously.

“I think what dear Ronnikins is trying to say is, maybe you shouldn’t be taking your wand out in public in order to realign any old muggle’s bones by one-hundred-and eighty-degrees.”  George’s jovial voice rang out as he casually redirected one of his numerous nephews to toddle back towards his mother. 

Hermione felt a small pang of guilt. She hated that George’s words had landed. Maybe she had been a little too reckless and frivolous with her use of magic of late.  It wasn’t like muggle healthcare couldn’t deal with broken bones easily enough.

Ron had obviously noticed her slight change in demeanour, because a smile of triumph broke across his face as he reached over her once again for another cupcake.

She turned her face away, refusing to let the brothers revel in their moralistic victory.  She let her gaze fall back on the children who were zooming around in a huge blur of pale skin, bright red hair and freckles trying to catch Harry on their toy broomsticks as he ducked, dived, and swerved.

“I see that your Erin there has joined our mother in the campaign to make you two officially join the Weasley clan” said George, his eyes following the direction of Hermione’s gaze.

It took her a few moments, but finally, a flash of red caught her eye - Erin, laughing as she performed a somersault in midair. With pale skin, freckles, red hair and a nose just like Molly’s she now blended in perfectly.

“Hey Mum! Look what Uncle Harry taught me to do!” Her eyes were wide with unabated delight as she soared away after her friend, her hair brightening to an effervescent orange with the thrill.

Hermione swallowed, trying to ignore how her previous pang of guilt regarding her medical practices had now morphed into something altogether more cutting. She knew that her daughter looked at the Burrow and only saw what she was missing.  

She tossed her hair, and straightened her robes, the mask of a smile fixing into place. This was Louis’ birthday, a child’s; it was not the time and place to dwell on her own shortcomings.  She let out a small high pitched laugh, hoping that Ron and George would not see her true feelings behind it.

“Why, what has your mother been doing?”

“Oi!” shouted Ron as George grabbed the cupcake right out of Ron’s hand and shoved it into his mouth in one bite.  He chewed for a few seconds before swallowing and answering.

“Oh, let’s see…this week I was mysteriously gifted two free tickets to the new Flourish & Bott’s branch opening, my mother has mocked up some designs of what our children might look like, oh and of course, the pièce de résistance,” George reached into his pocket and drew out a small black velvet box, “A Ring! For my future fiance which apparently goes perfectly with brown hair and eyes.  Funny that.”

“Oh God no! Put it away!” she exclaimed, struggling to hide a small chuckle.  But her momentary smile was quickly wiped off of her face as Molly’s gaze pinned her from across the room.

George laughed as he tossed the box into the air and caught it.

“Don’t worry Granger,” George said with a wink. “You have nothing to fear from me.” He then paused before clarifying, “Excluding any essential product testing, of course.”

Hermione’s mouth curled as her eyes flicked back to Molly who was still watching.

“But I do from your mother.” George and Ron looked at each other and then looked back at her before completing a perfectly synchronised shrug of their shoulders.

“INCOMING!” came a shout from across the room as all three of them ducked to avoid the hurtling child on a broomstick.

One loud crash followed by a minor explosion later the Weasley party carried on as any Weasley party was apt to do.  It was a modicum of controlled chaos tempered only by the peace brought on from a full stomach following too much food.

Hermione knew it was time to depart when she found Erin curled up beside Harry’s daughter Lily, her chest rising and falling as her mouth emitted gentle little gurgling and whistling sounds.  

Her hair had fallen down in a natural cascade of platinum blonde curls, shielding her now freckleless features from view.

Hermione smiled at the sleeping child, gently brushing her locks away so she could admire her child’s unaltered face. She thought Erin was the most beautiful creature in the world no matter what her hair or skin colour happened to be that day but there was something so hypnotic about seeing what she really looked like. 

Erin’s eyes flickered open momentarily flashing her unique shade of fiery umber before returning to her preferred deep shade of blue. Red overtook her platinum locks, setting it alight like flame to a tinder.

“It’s time to go sweetheart.”

Erin yawned softly, rising unsteadily to her feet. Hermione took her little hand and led her over to the fire grating, taking care to step over the many, many bodies of sleeping children and not accidentally tread on any small fingers or toes.

She reached into the floo powder bag kept by the hearth, and was about to toss it into the flames, when a hypercritical voice whispered over to her.

“You really should let her spend more time with wizarding children Hermione dear, it’s not good for her to be constantly outside of the magical community.”

Hermione immediately bristled at the insinuation. 

She took a deep breath and counted slowly to three before turning around to greet the overconcerned expression she knew that she would find there.

“Don’t worry Molly, I am sure she will be fine,”  she could hear that her voice was sickly sweet, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. She looked around desperately, looking for any idea that would help her prove her worth as a magical parent.  Her eyes settled on the hearth.

“In fact! I was about to allow her to do her first solo floo trip.” And with that announcement she plopped the bag of powder into her young daughter’s hand, emitting a glittery puff as it hit her palm.

“Are you sure that’s wise? She’s only six! Ginny travelled with me all the way up to Hogwarts.”

Hermione could feel the nausea and bile of doubt rise in her throat.  But she swallowed and kept her composure.

“I’m sure my daughter will be just fine.” She really wished she could stop herself from repeating the word ‘fine’.  The more she said it the more it felt like a lie on her lips.

“Harry ended up in Knockturn Alley when he was twice her age!”

Hermione felt a little tug on her robe.

“Mum? Do you really mean it? Can I travel by myself?”

The face looking up at her was so full of hope that she couldn’t go back on her word now.  She cursed herself for having got into this situation.

“Well I really must insist that you put a tether on her - I wish we had done so with Harry.”

“Of course I’m going to put a tether on her - what sort of mother do you think I am?” Hermione snapped, but internally she was grateful that the Weasley matron had reminded her of the failsafe.

“I think I may have one in the back…” muttered Molly as she shuffled away to the kitchen to momentarily return with an awkward looking black harness covered in cobwebs only a few moments later.  

Neither woman commented on the fact that if Hermione had really intended to allow her daughter to solo floo travel, she would have already produced one herself.

Hermione did not stop Molly as she patiently directed Erin to step one foot inside the harness and then the other.  The bulky thing swallowed her whole, a twisted cage of Hermione’s own making.

“Just simply point your wand at this part here,” gestured Molly to a luminescent circle sitting squarely over Erin’s chest, “and say the desired location. If Erin safely arrives home the flames will go green, but if something goes wrong the flames will go red.  Then it’s simply a matter of tugging her back.”

Hermione did as directed and hoped that Molly couldn’t hear the rapid beating of her heart.  She crouched down and looked Erin deep in the eyes, eyes swimming with excitement and anticipation.

“Now you know what you have to do?”

“Of course! I’ve read so many books about it.  Just throw the dust into the fire, allow the flames to turn green, step into it and then speak clearly,” she gave a mischievous grin that melted her heart.

Hermione rubbed her hand up and down her arm and forced herself to rise back up to standing.

“Off you go then” she said, hoping that neither Erin nor Molly could hear the faint crack of her voice.Hermione’s grip tightened on the tether, her knuckles turning white.

Without waiting for another command, Erin confidently bounced towards the fire, flinging a tiny fistful of the powder into the flames.  The second that they had flared emerald green, she leapt into the flames without hesitation and shouted, “HOME!”

Molly pursed her lips as Hermione held her breath.

Home wasn’t exactly a specific location.

They were eating their dinner in the small parlour room, an activity that had only become frequent following Voldemort’s departure from the Manor. The memory of disembowelled corpses floating over roast beef had permanently deterred all occupants of the manor from eating in the dining room.

Draco did not mind the lack of grandeur in his surroundings, there was something wholesome and comforting about returning to the rooms of his youth.  He had particularly vivid memories of a stressed governess hiding from a spinach tornado as his magic flared.

“How’s work?” his father asked, the familiar tick in his jaw better controlled than normal.  His father had never quite gotten over the fact that a Malfoy heir had been forced to work, much less that said Malfoy heir had chosen to continue to work after his enforced ‘rehabilitation’ stint.

“We are looking at new regulation to better oversee the education and upbringing of magical children,” said Draco, already noticing that his father’s eyes were glazing over.  

Draco gave a knowing sidelong glance to his mother as he continued to speak, ensuring that his voice kept the same monotonous tone, “I am proposing that all muggleborn children with magical prowess be raised here at the Manor, what do you think father?”

“Yes, yes, all sounds very sensible,” grunted his father distractedly as he precisely pronged another portion of food onto his fork.

Narcissa covered her mouth with a small cough, stifling the unladylike laugh that Draco knew he had induced by the tell-tale sign of a dimple on her left cheek.

Silence settled over the room once more, as they quietly finished the remainder of their food. The only sounds were that of cutlery against porcelain. Most evenings ended like this, with them each going their separate ways to while away their nights alone.  

They had all spent some time in Azkabhan following the Battle of Hogwarts, Narcissa the least and Lucius the most. Only Draco had been made to do the ‘rehabilitation’ given his supposedly young impressionable mind.  

But the horrors of the time of Voldemort’s sojourn in their lives combined with prison and their differing outcomes had driven an irreparable wedge between the members of the Malfoy household.  They were not a family anymore - just a collection of people who were now inmates of the same gilded cage.

Lucius stood up, the scraping sound of his chair cutting through the stifling stillness.  

“I think I better go and read the Prophet, see how the stocks are doing.”

He was just about to make his exit when he was stopped by a sudden roar. The old parlour fire had come to life in the grate.

They all watched in dumbfounded horror as the flames flared green as a small fiery whirlwind rolled and tumbled out of the flames depositing themselves as a heap on the rich Turkish carpet.

Draco peered over the table and was astonished to find that the small whirlwind was actually a young girl. She had an unruly spill of tangled red hair and her face was covered in a smattering of freckles. But it was her eyes that enraptured Draco - it wasn’t their colour that held him but their depth, there was an uncanny familiarity there that Draco could not name.

The child looked up and caught him looking at her.  Her face screwed up into a look of confusion as her head started to turn taking in her surroundings.

“This isn’t home” she said, her voice trembling slightly. Her face was covered in smudges of ash and a small tear had begun to fall down her face, tracing a clean line  through the grime. 

Narcissa’s chair scraped back before the girl had even finished speaking. Her gaze was soft, and her spine no longer held that rigid posture that it had all evening. Draco recognised that expression, it was an unguarded warmth that she used to reserve for him before everything had changed. 

However, before Narcissa could reach the child, the flames burst into life once more and the child was yanked by an invisible force presumably back to wherever she had come from.

They all looked at each other, trying to ascertain what in Merlin’s beard had just happened.  His mother looked pained, his father looked angry. There was an unspoken truth that hung between them - the parlour fire was a private fire only permitting entrance to those of Malfoy blood.  

Whoever the child was she should not have ended up in the parlour of Malfoy Manor by accident or design.

Chapter Text

A few days after the regrettable floo incident Hermione sat at her desk trying not to dwell on all her inadequacies as a mother. How had she let that happen? How had she let her own pride brought on by the judgemental gaze of Molly Weasley get in the way of good sense?

She still had no idea where her daughter had even gone, what horrors she had seen…All she knew was that her daughter returned terrified, upset and refusing to talk about it. Had she managed to scar her forever?

The ding from her computer monitor brought her back to the present, back to another reality full of a whole array of potentially dire consequences.

Hermione crossed her fingers under the desk as she clicked on the email waiting for it to load.  Her heart plummeted:  Squamous Cell Carcinoma.  She had suspected as such when she’d taken the biopsy of the angry lesion on Rachel’s tongue last week, but seeing it in black and white felt like a punch to the ribs.

Hermione’s hand twitched to grab the wand hidden under her desk.  

She had told herself that the unhealing ulcer was probably something benign given Rachel’s age and lifestyle.  However, the results were irrefutable  - tongue cancer.  

Hermione knew what lay ahead for Rachel: a life changing operation which had a chance of stealing away her ability to talk and to eat forever.  Hermione’s hand flexed once more.

“Well?” Rachel asked, looking at her wide-eyed and expectant. “Aren’t you going to say something?” She gave a small high-pitched laugh which only served to make her sound more fragile, more brittle.

Hermione’s hand closed around the wand and subtly put it into her pocket within easy reach.

“Just a folic acid deficiency, as I thought” she said as she reached over for her prescription pad.  “One tablet, once a day and I’ll review in a month.” 

She ripped the script off the pad, the tearing sound removing any last resistance she had to her planned course of action.

“Oh thank you Doctor Granger! That’s such a relief!” The girl laughed too brightly as she snatched the paper from her hands. It was the kind of laugh you used to smother the fact that you’ve probably been up googling symptoms late into the night. 

Hermione gave her a huge grin in response.

“Just avoid hot drinks and spicy foods while it’s healing.”

The girl giggled, “I’ll just tell my boyfriend then to lay off the curries!"

Her happiness was infectious and Hermione felt zero guilt about what she planned to do.  The ministry had no right to stop her, not when the outcome was this.

Rachel stood up to leave, her back to Hermione as she exited the office.

The second her hand touched the doorknob, Hermione pointed her wand square at her head and muttered the required transfiguration spell. A ripple shimmered through the air, pinning Rachel in place.

Rachel visibly flinched as she rubbed her jaw.

She turned round back to face Hermione, who had already tucked her wand safely back into her Doctor’s coat.  

“What was that?” she asked, a panicked look on her face.

“Oh, sorry dear, the static electricity in here has been something dreadful lately, see you in a few weeks!”

Rachel hesitantly put her hand back on the knob, turned it and left. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

CRACK

The lights in her room flickered as the papers on her desk fluttered.

“Granger….” 

Draco Malfoy was standing in front of her in the flesh, this was no letter.

Hermione straightened her papers and did not look up at him as she replied. “Malfoy, it’s never a pleasure.”

“Richard Jenkins,” growled Malfoy.

Thump. A large manila folder fell onto her desk.

“Emily Cheung.”

Thump.  Another folder landed neatly on top of its predecessor.

“And at least forty-seven other cases that I know of.”

Thump. Thump. Thump. Folder after folder materialised from thin air landing neatly on top of the now precarious stack.

Malfoy did not wait for her to answer before walking over her desk and pressing his hand on top of the stack, compressing the pages so that he could loom imperiously over her. His shadow made the air around her feel cold.  His cologne was overpowering, clawing at her nostrils, demanding her attention.

“Three letters Miss Granger. I was confident that you had not forgotten how to read but it appears I may have overestimated you.”

However, Hermione was non-plussed as with a flick of her wand she sent page after page off in a steady stream to feed the shredder turning them into beautifully symmetrical centimetre strips.

“Destroying Ministry property Miss Granger is an  offence as per decree four hundred and one as I am sure you well know, as such it will be added to your case file.”

Hermione tilted her head to the side, studying the unwelcome intruder properly for the first time.  Seven years may have carved new lines into his face and his shoulders had broadened, but he still bore all the sharp angles of ‘good breeding’. The swagger was there too, along with the same cold calculating grey eyes and ruthless grin.  

However, there was something new - a bureaucratic superiority which seemed altogether more dangerous than his previous aristocratic arrogance.  He spoke with a quiet confidence, he did not need to raise his voice to deliver threats.  But it was this superiority, more than anything, that dared her and invited her to push back.

“Get to the point, Malfoy. You are distracting me from my job.”

“Quite simply,” he said, every syllabic clipped with precision,  “if you do not come into line soon and stop using your magic in an unlicensed manner on muggles, you will not be using your magic in any way at all. Do I make myself clear?”

His stare bore into her, trying to grind her into submission, but all it did was send a dangerous thrill right down her spine.

“So tell me.  How would it look in the Daily Prophet if you arrested the Golden Girl, the saviour of the wizarding world?”

Malfoy scoffed.

“Get over yourself Granger. You are a saviour to some people. Not the saviour. Moreover, asides from attending a few Weasley gatherings you seem to have abandoned the wizarding world completely. Absence does not make the heart grow fonder.”

Hermione couldn’t deny that perhaps he had a point.  Moreover, the wizarding press had rarely been kind to her when she was but a child, even just after the war, let alone an adult.

Malfoy started to pace around the room taking in the neat filing cabinets and the artwork that adorning her walls.  His finger traced along her pristine bookcase and he tutted as he wiped what could only be imaginary dust off of his finger.

“Remind me again Malfoy, my crime is…saving people?”

However, Malfoy was ignoring her as he picked up a photoframe from her desk.  “You actually managed to find someone willing to procreate with you, Granger?”

Hermione flicked her wand and caused the frame to soar across the room and put itself away neatly in a drawer.  Her daughter was off limits.

Draco chuckled.  “It appears I have found the sore spot.”

“Not the sore spot.  Just something that is completely irrelevant to you.”  Hermione could feel her palms grow clammy despite her words.

“Don’t worry Granger.  I have zero interest in what I am sure is your very ordinary child.  But -” he quickly closed the gap between them so that he stood over her once more.

“But….?” Hermione said, straightening her back in the chair and tilting her face up towards him so that in no way it would look like she was cowering beneath him.

“There will be consequences, Granger, if you continue your behaviour.”

Hermione just stared up at him, unwavering and unblinking.  She would not crack.

“I’m sure I’ll be in touch.”

And with that he disappeared the way he had come.

Draco was fuming.  His subordinates scattered the moment he entered their office floor.  He didn’t need to say anything, they just knew.

He prowled across the floor, his eyes darting around the room for a suitable target.  Rage swirled around his thoughts, holding him captive to their will. He needed release.

He heard a small squeak to his left as Penelope Clearwater fumbled, dropping a mug of coffee.  With a quick flick of his wand, he halted the coffee in mid air, preventing the stream of scalding liquid from making its escape.

“Thank you s-s-sir!” she stuttered out breathily as she bent down to retrieve it. However, he plucked the mug from her hands before she could even take a sip.

The first mouthful burned,  the hot warming liquid coated his brain like a balm, refocusing his mind.  He strode across the office with his makeshift salvation in his hands.

“Goyle - no one is to disturb me this afternoon.”

“Yes sir.”

Goyle nodded as he stood to attention at Draco’s office door.  His grimace promised deep bruises and broken bones to anybody that might dare approach.

However, much to Draco’s chagrin his office was not the solitude he had been seeking.  Blaise was sitting there, lounging in his chair with his feet up on his desk.  

“Malfoy, I need two weeks in August off work.”  His words were not a request, merely informative.  The beast inside Draco growled.

“It’s not the time, Zabini.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow.

“What’s got you all het up?”

“Nothing,” Draco spat out.  He would not be admitting to anybody that that damn Granger girl had managed to get under his skin the way she had.  He was professional.  She was belligerent.

Completely unfazed, Blaise started to flick through the pages of Draco’s own personal planner.

Blaise gave a sly grin.  “Granger….” he purred.  “Didn’t know our great boss was taking on an active case load nowadays.”

Draco cursed, he knew he would regret not putting a concealment charm on that diary.  

“You know just as well as I do that this matter needs to be handled with tact.”

The beast in Draco’s mind raised its hackles once more.   He had tried to play it off earlier, but Granger had been one hundred percent right when she had claimed that his department could not arrest her without a personal relations disaster.  

It has taken years of pencil-pushing servitude for Draco to regarnish the Malfoy name with any kind of respect, a respect which bordered on mere tolerance.  However, this one arrest could destroy all of that in a single action.  The wizarding world had most certainly not forgotten the ‘golden girl’.

He could imagine the headlines now.

‘Former Death Eater takes revenge as he arrests Golden Girl for saving lives’

‘Disgraced Malfoy dynasty misuses ministry power to arrest Harry Potter’s best friend’

‘Fire him! What happens when we forgive Deatheaters!”

However, the alternative was just as bad.  She was getting more bold, more blatant.  She didn’t seem to care if a muggle saw her or not.  In the era of muggle ‘smart’ phones and videos the entire statute of secrecy was a fragile law, ready to break at any moment.  Draco was determined it would not be due to his incompetence.

“You know she has a child?” Draco blurted out, trying to chase away the spectre of the headlines through a change in topic.

“Mmm….yes I do remember hearing some chat in the canteen a few months ago?  I think she applied for use of a suppression potion on her daughter?”

This piqued Draco’s curiosity.  The potion, made from the tail feather of an exceedingly rare breed of unicorn, was a highly controlled substance that suppressed all magic for the wearer.  It was only meant to be used in Azkabhan or in last resort medical settings because historically the use of the potion was too easily abused.

“Whatever reason could she possibly have to use that potion on her own daughter?”

Blaise laughed, “Something about attending a muggle primary school?  Something she was quite self-righteous about anyways I imagine.”

Malfoy nodded, absorbing the information. He did not want to use the child, but all information was power and this was a game he could not afford to lose.  He waved a hand dismissing Blaise from his presence.

Blaise finally got up from his chair, gesturing dramatically at the vacated seat.  Draco did not acknowledge him as he pushed past him to take up his rightful spot behind the desk.

However, Blaise did not immediately depart.

“Malfoy - my leave?”

“What's it for this time, Zabini?”

“Oh you know,” Blaise said airily. “Getting married. Late summer wedding.”

Draco groaned.  “Seventh time lucky?”

“Sixth was promising…unfortunately she died last week.”

By Draco’s count, this would be his third wife to die of what the healers always swore were "entirely natural causes.”  Oddly enough, only wives whose deaths would have burdened Blaise with childcare responsibilities were still alive.

“You know, I’m going to stop getting you wedding gifts.”

Blaise chuckled as he walked out of the room.

“What? And miss a chance for a piece of your mother’s hideous china?  I'd be heartbroken”

Malfoy once again thanked his lucky stars that he had no eligible female relations for Blaise to be interested in.

“Can you send Goyle in here?”  Malfoy called out after him and moments later Goyle appeared.

“Goyle, can you find out why Granger’s child needs a suppression potion?”

Goyle looked at him perplexed and confused.  “Suppression potion……?”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled slowly.  Draco had only hired Goyle partly from guilt, partly from an increasingly misguided sense of loyalty.  

“Don’t worry, I’ll do it myself.”

Goyle enthusiastically nodded and stepped back outside the office door.  Draco could see the outline of his shadow through the frosted glass. Goyle was not a brilliant secretary, however, he was an excellent guard dog.

The girl’s face rose from the silver depths, frozen mid-tumble. Her hair shone like a blazing beacon of hope.  Narcissa slowed the memory until it crawled, pausing at each beat so she could memorise even the smallest fraction of a moment.

She couldn’t get the sight of that child out of her head.  Her little voice had awoken such a profound longing in her.  She wanted…she needed…family. 

Images of that small sweet girl filled her dreams.  She could imagine the weight in her arms as they cuddled under the night stars.  She envisaged experiencing imaginary worlds together brought to life by the text on a page.  She even romanticised doing quaint things like baking cookies.  Activities she had never even done with her own son.

Once, her imagined grandchildren would have had Draco’s platinum locks and sharp features but now all the past phantoms had morphed into one that sported bright red ringlets.

Reluctantly she dragged herself out of the basin’s depths and readied herself for her guest.  She siphoned the memory back into the vial clutching it like it might disappear any moment.

Was she really making the right decision?  Was this a secret that should be held tightly in a box never to be opened?  What would happen if she was wrong? Or even worse…if she was right?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a high pitched squeak “A guest for you mistress.”  Even without turning the smell of stale pipe smoke informed her that it was who she had been expecting. 

With a small wave she dismissed the elf and off it went to wherever they chose to reside during the day.

“Mister Fletcher.  Thank you for coming,” she spoke in the professional tone of one used to hiring others to do her bidding.

“I have to say, I was surprised to get your call, “ Mundungus chatted with a casual over-familiarity as though they were equals. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

Seeming entirely too comfortable, he walked over to a painting running a grubby finger over the gilded frame,  “A Holbein?”

“Get your grubby common paws off of me!” snapped the portrait ineffectually as Mundungus gently prised at the corner to see if it was stuck to the wall. 

“Please,” she said, smiling through her teeth. “Sit.”

Her jaw clenched as the man lowered himself onto the silk cushions that she had fluffed not twenty minutes ago.

Narcissa snapped her fingers and the silver tea service appeared.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“Three sugars please and plenty of milk.”

The tea service served Mundungus automatically as he piled five biscuits onto his plate with one hand.  Narcissa pretended not to notice as he pocketed a silver spoon with the other.

As crumbs began to rain down on her sofa, Narcissa took a deep breath.  Sacrifices had to be made for the sake of discretion.

“Mister Fletcher.  I have a job for you.”

“Mmmmm” Mundugus murmured, mid quaff of his tea.

“In this vial, there is a memory of a child.  I would like you to find that child.”

Mundungus reached out eagerly for the vial, but Narcissa pulled it away from his grasp at the last moment. 

“I must emphasize that this is a private matter.  There are reasons I am using you and not my normal contacts.  Do we have an understanding?”

He tilted his head to the side, his gaze gaining an almost predatory quality.

“My understanding can always be bought.”

“And so can your permanent silence.”

Narcissa held out the tube again and she let out a deep breath as the vial disappeared into one of his many coat pockets.

It was done.  

“You can leave now.”

“Now?  Am I not going to get a tour of all the beautiful things in this house?”   Mundungus’s eyes flitted greedily about the room, his gaze lingering on a dragon Fabergé egg for just a second too long.

“Now.”  Narcissa clicked her fingers and two house elves appeared to escort Mundungus out.

The second he left the room Narcissa found herself collapsing back onto the sofa, grabbing for a cup of tea like it was a lifeline.

There was something about that child that had called to her.  While she was not aware of any red-headed dalliances of her son, or even her husband, there was no doubt in her mind that that child was somehow connected to her.  She couldn't believe how flippantly the males in her life had dismissed the whole incident as a fluke.

The Malfoy fireplace would not have made a mistake.  Or at least she prayed it hadn’t.

Chapter Text

“Blaise Zabini’s marrying again, mother.  Send some china.”

His father snorted, but did not raise his gaze from his newspaper.

“Of course dear” his mother obediently replied.

Draco nodded and returned to his coffee cup, satisfied that his morning obligation of a single conversational gambit had been fulfilled.  Even more successful as it had been so brief.

He would live at his office if he could, if only to avoid the emotional vacuum that the Manor seemed to invoke. But even he thought that was a level of impropriety he could not quite bear to sink to.  

He was just contemplating the merits of placing productivity observation charms on his latest hires when his mother cut through his thoughts.  

“How many children does Blaise have now dear?”

“Erm…4?” Draco said hurriedly.

“Which wives had offspring again?  I always liked the second girl.  Cecily was it?”

Lucius turned down the corner of his paper so that he could raise an eyebrow at his son.  They both knew that a second conversation was most uncalled for.

“No, she died. Wife one and three each have one and wife four has twins,”  Draco rattled off, getting up abruptly so that he could vacate the room before the second conversation could lengthen.

However, his mother continued, wistfully looking past him with a vacant expression.  “You were such a sweet child.  I’d love to see little Draco’s about the place…”

Draco picked up his pace but the door seemed to stretch further and further away with each stride.    Had his mother somehow charmed the door in order to make his escape impossible?

“I’ve compiled a list of eligible brides for you and started sending query letters.”

Draco turned round in horror, this was too far.  Lucius put down his paper and smirked.

“Pure-blooded I hope?”  drawled his father.  Draco shot him a warning glance. It was not fair that for the first time in the past twelve years that they had decided to support one another it was to conspire against him.  

“Yes, of course.  Although, I did send a few owls to some rich half-bloods for aesthetics,” Narcissa said sweetly, her eyes still focussed on neither her husband nor her son.

His father nodded, pleased at her answer. “Good. I’ll start drawing up some draft paperwork.”

“The D’Arcy’s youngest is brilliant with children I believe?”

“The father is a terrible conversationalist,”  Lucius said drily.  “What about the Castors? They have an excellent family vault.”

Narcissa tilted her head to the side, considering her answer.

“Regrettable nose though.”

Draco’s eyes darted between them.  They absolutely could not decide this for him.  At thirty, Draco knew that marriage came with blood ties, legacy and obligations.  These were all things he had had enough of.

Draco’s jaw tightened as he ground out his words, “I do not wish to get married.”

But neither of his parents paid him any heed.

“What do you think of a ball next month?  The Fairmonts and the Goodelbows should be in town for the summer?”

“I was just saying to Parkinson that he really should have added in a blood-check clause in the contract for his girl - the scandal it caused…”

“Oh Draco would look so good in purple, I’ll call up Madame Malkim and put in a special order.”

Draco left the room in silence ,closing the door shut with a whisper. Neither of his parents remarked on his departure, choosing instead to use their rusty vocal cords to focus on their own nefarious schemes. 

It was only after he had left that he had realised what his mother had been staring at: her eyes had not once left the parlour fireplace.

***

The second Malfoy entered his department the sounds of magical typewriters, the smell of burnt coffee and the murmur of his dedicated workers successfully wiped away all thoughts of maternal plots and paternal smirks.

There was Penelope neatly rearranging her desk so that everything stood in perpendicular rows.  There was Zabini lounging against a wall with an intern whispering something in her ear as she giggled.   And finally, there was Goyle, his eyes screwed up in concentration and his lips moving slowly as he tried to read a letter.

He breathed a sigh of relief.  More than ever, he was glad to be back.  He strode down the corridor to his office, a jaunt in his step, sending one of Penelope’s quills askew as he went.  He pretended not to notice the subsequent squeak issuing from the girl.  

He leaned over Goyle’s desk before entering his office. “The word is inaugural, Goyle.”

Goyle did not look any the wiser, so Malfoy clarified, “It means the first of something, Goyle,” he then paused for a second before adding, “Tell Blaise to come in here later so that I can remind him of our human resources policy.”

He entered his office, happy that his day was starting to get a lot more productive after its abysmal start.  He gratefully reached out to select the first in a long list of memos that had built up over night.  But his fingers had barely graced the page when another shot through the air and landed right under his nose.

“Magic in front of a muggle detected.  Miss Hermione Jean Granger.  Coagulatio spell detected at 08:46AM on Tuesday 11th May 2010.”

She had not even lasted a week.

A cruel grin broached the corner of his lip.  If she wanted to ignore him, he would make sure that it was as hard as possible to do so.

Hermione sipped her cup of tea; every dip of chocolate digestive a small act of self-care.  Today had been blissfully boring: she dealt with nine straightforward cases: a prescription here, a plaster there and they were gone.  All perfectly within every muggle and magical law.  Even Malfoy with his cruel sneer and high standards could not complain.

Yesterday, though?  Well, her and Malfoy's moral compasses had clearly been manufactured with opposing polarities.  She hadn't been seeking an opportunity to flaunt the law, merely commuting, when fate had thrust the moral quandary upon her in the form of passing a car crash.   Naturally the only choice, being someone with a conscience, was to fulfil her hippocratic oath.  

But unfortunately she had paused for too long to make a difference.  And that hesitation was solely his fault.

Consequently every second of the past twenty-four hours she had been worried that he might appear. Every mysterious sound or odd breeze caused her to flinch. Yesterday afternoon she had nearly shouted for help when she saw a pale figure outside of her surgery window only to discover that it was a patient’s reflection in a mirror that she herself had hung.

She had tried to calm her nerves with a constant stream of hot caffeinated beverages and chocolate digestives but the nagging feeling remained: Malfoy was plotting something.  Something nefarious.  

The receptionist popped her head round the door, “Phone for you Doctor Granger.”  Hermione jumped at the sound, nearly spilling her ninth cup of tea of the day.

“Just ring it through please Lottie” she gasped out, her hand to her chest.

She waited for the beep, then picked up the receiver.

“Hello, is that Hermione Granger?” came a polite voice on the other end.

“Yes, speaking.”

“It’s Principal Stott here from Lancaster Integrated Primary.  We require a word with you in the office when you collect Erin.  Please don't be late.”

Panic detonated.  Her chest tightened.   Malfoy couldn’t have done anything to Erin...could he?

“Is everything ok?  I can come now?!”  Hermione did not bother to conceal the panic in her voice.

There was a long tortuous pause before the answer finally came. “Nothing’s wrong with Erin.  We just need to remind YOU of the rules.”

“Oh…”  Hermione floundered for words struggling to think of a rule she had bent let alone broken.   Was spending only £4.50 at last Wednesday's bake sale considered stingy?  Erin’s schoolbag was missing a red pencil?    

“ I…I guess  I will see you later?” she eventually managed to stammer out.

“Goodbye Doctor Granger, “ and with a click the line went dead.

A few hours later Hermione was sitting in the principal’s office opposite the imperious and intimidating Principal Stott. Her hair was scraped back in a tight bun as her lips were pursed and her arms crossed.   Her daughter was perched uncomfortably beside her on a chair far too big for her, her head solemnly face down to the floor as her legs swung lamely.

And all the while, Erin’s hair blazed an ostentatious impossibly bright pink.

“....so as I was saying Doctor Granger, we do not permit unnatural colours at this school, even less for our students to dye their own hair at school.”  Principal Stott paused in her tirade, stealing a sidelong glance at Erin.  “Though I must admit that the speed, precision, and lack of mess was...unnervingly impressive for her age.”

“It’s just a special hair spray, it’ll be washed out by tomorrow” Hermione murmured quickly, willing Principal Stott not to dwell for too long on the improbabilities.

“Special hair spray or not Doctor Granger.  This is highly inappropriate.  I thought more of you.”  Hermione flinched at the words of disappointment at her parenting but there was nothing she could do to defend herself.

“It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“It better not, Doctor Granger.”  Principal Stott stood up abruptly, her hand shooting out to direct Hermione to the door.  It was clear that she was dismissed.

Hermione clutched her daughter by the hand and led her away.  They crossed the car park in silence, Hermione was just trying to make sense of what could have happened.  She had only brewed the suppressant potion that very morning.  Had she done something wrong?  Stirred it once too many times clockwise?  Maybe she had bruised the datura root past pallor? 

A small voice tore her from her thoughts.  “I’m sorry Mummy.”

“It’s ok dear, what happened?”  Hermione softened her voice, this was not a time to be angry.

“I was just playing with Gemma.  We were pretending to be bubblegum princesses…and it just happened…I didn’t do it intentionally Mum - I promise!  We were just having fun.” 

“I know you didn't, dear, but it’s very very important that you don’t change your appearance at school.”

“I know,”  Erin said dejectedly as her hair transformed back into the straight brown locks she typically wore at school.  “Is Principal Stott going to expel me?”  

Hermione could see the fear in Erin’s eyes clear as day.  

Hermione laughed hoping that Erin would not be able to detect the falsity to it.  “Not if she doesn’t expel me first!” she squeezed Erin’s hand and forced her into a skip.  "Come, let’s get home.  There's pizza waiting - AND I won't even make you eat the crusts!”

Erin’s face transformed into one of glee.  Hermione wished her own fears could be quelled so easily.

Later that evening, her belly full of pizza and her mind full of worry, she lifted her wand to light a fire so that she might ring Harry.  She always found it most effective to chat through enigmas with him even if his contributions were minimal.

However, when she pointed her wand at the empty hearth nothing happened.  She flicked her hand again and not even a whisper of smoke left its tip.  

She furrowed her brow, lifting her wand up for inspection.  Nothing seemed wrong with it, she could not see any scratches or bends in the wood.

Shaking her head, she pointed her wand at the fire again and tried a verbal incantation.  Maybe it was just the stress of the day that was preventing her from having the wherewithal to perform spells as she normally would? But once again the tinder in the fireplace remained unharmed.

She tried to summon a matchbox but to no avail.

She sat down and put her head in her hand.  Something was very, very wrong.

“Mummmmmyy! Muuummmm!” came a shout from the next room.  It was not a happy shout.

Hermione ran as fast as she could to the next room envisaging all sorts of horrors only to find her daughter sitting dejectedly on the sofa by herself with tears flowing down her face.  

Hermione leaned down and pushed her platinum strands of hair off of her face so that she could look at her deep in the eyes.  

“What’s wrong sweetie?”  Hermione asked as she inspected her daughter, gently rubbing up and down her arms but she couldn’t find any bumps, scratches or scrapes.

Erin sniffed, wiping her nose with the cuff of her sleeve.

“I can’t shift.”

Hermione had been so focussed on scanning for physical harm that she had missed the obvious: Erin was in her ‘true’ form.  

For Erin, changing her features was instinctive.  It wasn't vanity, it was merely how she expressed herself.  Convincing Erin to take the potion at all had been a slow and delicate operation. In the end Hermione had only managed by framing it as a 'costume', a disguise of a brown haired blue eyed girl that could be locked in for the school day with no fear of any accidental slip-ups.  The potion wasn't perfect, but it was a compromise that had to be made for Erin's education.

Every morning as they drove to school Erin would wait until the very last moment to take the potion.  And the moment she got back into the car at the end of the day she would be clamouring for the antidote, eager to grow fangs, turn her eyes black or to create zig-zag patterns in her hair.

She held her tightly in arms letting Erin sob against her.

“Sweetie, you’re you no matter what you look like.”

“But I don’t like this hair.  I want to look like you.  Or Uncle Harry or Uncle Ron.  I don’t want to look like this.”

Erin screwed up her eyes, her face contorting into one of utmost concentration.  One single pale blond strand flickered from platinum to red before changing back to its pale hue.  Her face collapsed into helplessness.

Hermione’s heart broke.  She wished that her daughter could love herself as much as she loved her.

But for now, she just wanted to understand what was happening, what had caused her daughter’s pain?  

Today had been the inverse of normal.  The laws of their magical routine had been disrupted.  It was as if they both had lost the ability to do magic.  The potion she had brewed had not worked.  Erin could not shift.  This evening she could not perform the most basic spells.  It was like both of their magic had been removed.

She caught sight of the conflagatory iris plant, the one that had flourished on Malfoy’s letters.  She then remembered his words from her office, they echoed like a bell inside her head: ‘if you do not come into line soon…you will not be using your magic in any way at all.’  

Her eyes focused.  Her despondency transformed to a steely determination peppered with rage.

“I’m going to fix this.”

Erin hiccupped.  “You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Mundungus.”

A quiet voice cut through the night, instantly chilling Mundungus’ blood.

He didn’t even turn round as a cracking sound emitted from his body.  However, the crack rang out loud and sharp but faltered, disintegrating into a soft squeak.  Then and only then did he turn round, a look of horror in his eyes.

“Incarcerous”

Ropes flew from the figure, twisting towards him like snakes.  He tried to run, but his feet were no competition as the ropes slithered up his ankles, yanking him hard to the cobblestoned street.  He clawed for his wand, but it was too late.  His arms were lashed down tight to his sides.

A dark shadow covered his assailant’s face in the darkness, he couldn’t see what expression it held but Mundungus knew that he should feel fear.  This was a sidestreet off Knockturn Alley, this was not a place where one found heroes waiting to come to your rescue.

“I’ve heard that you are a man of fine antiquities.  I am looking for some professional advice on a matter of my family heirlooms” the voice growled out.

Mundungus gulped.  This conversation was not going to go well.  

The man reached into his pocket and withdrew a silver teaspoon, he sent it over to Mundungus so that it hovered mere inches above his nose

The moon burst forth from the cloud, casting a soft light illuminating the Malfoy crest on the teaspoon at the same time as the features of Lucius Malfoy came into view.  

“Fourteenth Century, ninety-nine point seven percent silver, worth about 38 galleons.” Mundungus let his words tumble out, the quiver in his voice unmistakable.  “Glad to be of service, happy to provide estimation on anything else in your remarkably fine collection.”

Lucius raised his eyebrow before placing a foot softly on his sternum.

“My collection? Not if it’s sitting in Madame Toujenny’s window now is it?”

“Oh! How unusual, I am sure your ancestor was loath to let it go…but as you know we all fall on hard times occasionally.”

Lucius’s foot pressed down harder.

“Even more peculiarly Madame Toujenny seemed to be under the impression that YOU had sold it to her.”

“Oh..How…Peculiar…” Mundungus coughed out as the pressure on his lungs increased.

“Now do tell me however did you manage to get inside Malfoy Manor?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” stammered Mundungus.

Lucius removed his foot and began to pace around his body; a predator circling his prey.  The tapping of his cane felt like an ominous countdown to his demise.

“Legilimens.”

Knives stabbed at Mundungus’s skull.  He struggled at his bindings, trying to free himself from the curse, but it was fruitless. The truth was carved out of his brain with blunt blades.

The fireplace.  The child.  The request.  Lucius Malfoy knew it all.

“So my wife has hired you then.”

Lucius’s expression was unreadable.  Mundungus’s mouth went dry as he tried to find words that might get him out of this mess.  There may be a chance that Lucius wanted the same things as his wife.

“Yes sir.  Fine lady she is too sir.  Believe me when I say that I am applying myself with the utmost diligence.  Your wife can expect an update in a few days.”

The truth was that Mundungus had barely given any thought to the matter since leaving Malfoy Manor.  Taking money for a task that he had no intention of trying to complete when the hirer would not advertise his failure was an easy decision. 

“No.”

“No?” Mundungus squeaked.

“No.  You will report to my wife and tell her that the search is difficult, that you do not have enough information.  That you need more time.”

Mundungus nodded eagerly, that was exactly what he had been intending to do anyway - but Lucius did not need to know that.  However, his heart plummeted as the instructions continued.  

“But you will find the child.”

There was a beat of silence only broken by the dripping of water off a roof.

“And you will kill her.”  The silver spoon fell from its hover, clattering onto the street.  “Your first payment.”

Lucius stepped over him, as his footsteps faded off into the night.