start again [hermione]

Draco shot one last (wistful) glance back at Astoria, who smiled reassuringly at him--he was rather eager to stay home, now that the day had come, but he could hardly back out at this point--before stepping into the green flames and stating his destination. When he opened his eyes again, he was in the grand atrium of the Ministry of Magic. It was quieter at this hour than if he had arrived with the throngs of witches and wizards first thing in the morning -- he assumed telling him to meet at ten o’clock had been intentional. He wasn’t the likes of his aunt (or, indeed, his father), but his presence was sure to stir up something.

Habitually, the blond wizard withdrew his grandfather’s watch from his pocket, the cool silver chain running through his fingers, and checked the time: one minute to go. He slipped the timepiece back into the folds of his black robes and strode determinedly to the security desk, as instructed in his offer of employment, his footsteps taking on a grander sound in the vastness of the hall. The last time he had been here, at the Ministry, had been for his father's trial, and he tried to ignore the leaden feeling that manifested in his gut as the memory crossed his mind; his father's expression as he was found guilty, his mother's objections, his own numbness at all of it becoming real.

As Draco approached the desk he spotted the familiar bushy hair of Hermione Granger, caught her looking at him, and quickly deduced that she was about to be his minder. Of course, if it wasn’t Potter himself it was bound to be her. “Granger,” he drawled in greeting, doing his best to keep the sneer out of his voice.

The security wizard--Brian, his nametag said--asked for Draco’s wand and he withdrew it slowly, presenting it for inspection: it was his original wand, returned by Potter after his trial. It didn’t quite understand him anymore, but he hadn’t exactly been in a position to waltz into Ollivander’s for a new one. Perhaps, with time, he could. His wand was placed on the scales and a strip of parchment jetted out of the base. Draco half-expected there to be a search of his person, but apparently not; his wand was returned and he was permitted entry.

His hands automatically went to his pockets. “Am I to follow you?”


@Hermione Granger

Hermione arrived at the welcome desk with ten minutes to spare. She couldn’t let Draco Malfoy beat her there and she regretted not getting there earlier, to be quite honest. It would have given her the opportunity to take a few more deep breaths, glance at Brian a few more times out of the corner of her eye-- for what? Reassurance? It was going to be fine. This was like any other new employee, and she had volunteered for this one. Shacklebolt was something of a mentor to her  yet he had asked her opinion about all of this, about Malfoy being employed by the Ministry in any capacity. She’d been allowed to sleep on it before she came back with an answer: they all deserved second chances, even carefully-observed second chances. (And, in the eyes of the law, he had done nothing wrong-- that was the part causing her the most internal conflict.)

She checked her watch as she caught the first glimpse of him-- and he was right on time. But she was his superior now--on paper, anyway--and she reminded herself of that fact as he drew closer. She wasn’t his actual supervisor, but she was certainly about to be his babysitter. Mentor. Colleague. Her new job had been an upward move, not a lateral one (or a demotion) to something in the Office for the Removal of Curses, Jinxes, and Hexes, like the job she had recommended be offered to Malfoy.

Granger, he said, and Hermione smiled, clearly forcing it a little. “Malfoy,” she replied, tilting her head toward Brian as he started the wand weighing process. Would they need to go to a first name basis? Hopefully not.

She took a good look at Malfoy once he was otherwise occupied, remembering the last time she had seen him. It had been his mother’s trial, and she had been there to support Harry, who was testifying. They hadn’t stopped for a chat and she hadn’t returned for his father’s trial. She glanced at his wand after a few seconds, recognizing it immediately and glancing at Brian instead as if she were interested in the process. it didn’t give her shivers like his aunt’s wand had, but still-- it was just another day at the office.

Hermione arched an eyebrow as Malfoy addressed her again. He seemed skeptical but she wasn’t just the Welcome Wagon. “You are.” It was going to be an abbreviated tour--he didn’t need to be shown the courtrooms--and she turned to step toward the lifts. “You’ll be working on Level Two,” she said, her voice louder than usual in the empty hall. There was a reason his employment offer hadn’t been deferred to July when they traditionally brought in the batch of new hires, and why he’d been set to start at ten in the morning.

They got in the lift and she pressed the correct button before continuing; talking was to be her response to her nerves, then, and she directed her words to his reflection rather than to him. “You’ll be sharing an office but your officemate-- Paula-- is on maternity leave, so she’ll be out for a few weeks, still.” She felt bad doing that to Paula while she was out but needs must. At least Malfoy didn’t seem the type to clip his nails in the office like her last officemate before him.

Draco nodded once and followed Granger to the elevators. Level Two, she said, and he nodded again, smally. He had been surprised to be offered a job at all, let alone one in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement -- but it wasn’t like they were asking him to be an Auror (nor would he want to be one, even if he were trusted that completely -- he’d had quite enough of that sort of thing to last him a lifetime). No, he was to be placed in the Office for the Removal of Curses, Jinxes, and Hexes, and now that he’d been met by Granger at the door, he understood how they’d come to that decision.

Draco stepped into the elevator after her and fell in beside his former foe. As the doors closed on them he took the opportunity to use the shiny reflection and look at her properly without being too direct about it; she was very much how he remembered her, if not a little more witchy in her robes than the last time he had seen her in her mud— muggle clothes.

He would be sharing an office. Draco turned his head to the side to look at Granger, consider that information, then faced forward again, hands still in his pockets. Well, at least she wasn’t his officemate. Still, he was not prepared, nor willing, to pretend to be interested in someone’s baby. Merlin help him.

More importantly, Granger hadn’t explicitly stated that he was going to be unmonitored for those few weeks. “Am I to be left to my own devices, then?” he asked, sensing the answer.

The elevator dinged, and Draco realised that he had just missed a moment entirely alone with Hermione. He hadn’t expected to see her so soon -- he supposed that had been what had thrown him off, being confronted with her as soon as he was in the door. He and Astoria had gone over what his best approach might be, to truly give him the best chance at moving forward, and Granger was undoubtedly going to be the easier hurdle. Draco pressed his lips together firmly and followed her out of the lift.

Malfoy didn’t comment on his sharing an office, nor about his officemate and her maternity leave. Maybe he had finally figured out the virtues of if you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all--or more likely, he still thought himself above talking to her, but she only entertained that possibility for a fraction of a second--but he had turned to look at her, so she could assume he had heard her, at least. Hermione pressed her lips together a bit harder, keeping herself from doing any more nervous talking when it was clear he was giving her the silent treatment.

Or not. “No,” she said simply. He wouldn’t be left to his own devices. He wouldn’t have devices to be left to. Not yet anyway.

They arrived at Level two and they were off the lift and moving before the announcement about all the offices had really started. There were two corridors, two distinct sides to the department. One was clearly better lit, looked a little cheerier, had a better canteen and cleaner toilets; Hermione led them down the other corridor, heading toward Malfoy’s new office.

She pointed at a closed door--she still had to do a little tour--as they passed it. “Caliban Jones.” Malfoy interviewed with him, considering he was the Head of the office, but just in case: “You’ll be reporting to him.” But Jones was in a meeting, as planned, because the Minister had wanted Malfoy to meet with Hermione first. “Canteen is around the corner.” She didn’t mention he would have to make his own tea, or tell him that there was a coffee cart in the atrium. “WC,” she said, pointing at a pair of doors; one WC shared a wall with Malfoy’s office--his nameplate had already been added to the door--and she motioned him into his office before following him in.

“You have a meeting with HR at eleven o’clock,” she said, forming complete sentences again. Hermione closed the door behind her and stood by it awkwardly for a second before stepping further into the office and taking a seat across from where Malfoy would be sat at his desk. “But there’s a few things we need to go over first.” She folded her hands in her lap, looking up from them after a second to meet Malfoy’s eye. “HR will tell you about the standard probationary period, but not everyone is privy to your--” she hesitated briefly before continuing-- “Special circumstances.”

Hermione had thought it best that they lay everything out on the table, rather than keep Malfoy in the dark about the job. She had advocated for this second chance, but he didn’t need to know that. “You won’t be reporting to me, but we’ll be working together. At the Minister’s request.” She paused, not looking away even though she wanted to. “Do you have any questions before we go on?”

He could have placed a good bet on that answer, not that he imagined he would have received great odds.

Draco lingered for a brief moment, casting his gaze down the much more appealing corridor to their right, then he followed Granger down the corridor to the left. He looked at the door she pointed out, his light eyes scanning over the name on the brass plate as she said it. He didn’t know what to really think of Jones, yet, and he was rather certain that the feeling was mutual.

Granger informed him that the canteen was around the corner and Draco managed to keep his face neutral (barely) -- he didn’t suppose he would be making use of it. He might make use of the water closet, however, and was about to commit its location to memory before he was directed to the door next to it— He spotted his name almost immediately and wasn’t composed enough to hide the scowl that flashed over his features. Was this their idea of a joke?

He refused to let Granger have the satisfaction of seeing him walk out within the first ten minutes on his first day. The blond wizard stepped into his office and stopped abruptly -- it was smaller than he had anticipated, even with it being designed for two persons. The desks were arranged such that he and his officemate would be facing one another. Wonderful.

“Oh, are you not HR?” he asked mockingly, knowing full well that she was not.

Draco moved to sit in his seat, and Granger took the other one. They met one another’s eye and he held her gaze. His jaw clenched softly as she mentioned his special circumstances -- they were obviously not that secret, if she knew about them. He wondered if she’d had a say in that, too. He tried to sit in a manner that looked relaxed, rather than tense, but ended up somewhere in the middle; his hands were folded together in his lap.

His eyebrows rose in genuine interest. “Really,” he said, though it obviously wasn’t a question. Draco glanced around the small room, noting that the walls were devoid of anything bar a calendar stuck on February 2003 on Hermione’s side of the desks, and that there were a few other trinkets arranged tidily. He gripped the edge of his own very bare desk and scooted his chair closer. “No.” He brought his hands together again, atop the desk, and fiddled with the band on his left hand absently. “What is it that we will be working on?”

Malfoy asked--insinuated--that she was HR and the muscles in Hermione’s jaw twitched as she clenched her mouth shut to stop herself from answering him.

He didn’t have anything to say about his special circumstances, however, and she felt slightly vindicated at that. She had worked carefully on that wording, though, so it was a bit disappointing to not get any reaction. But she caught his attention when she told him they would be working together-- she was certainly smug about it, now, but she didn’t let it show. “Yes,” she said, simply. “The Minister thought it best.” It had been her idea, in the end, but Shacklebolt had approved of it (and of her initiative).

There were no other questions; Hermione nodded, her gaze dropping to Malfoy’s hands as he fidgeted. She looked back up as soon as she realized what she was looking at: a wedding band, no doubt. Should she excuse herself and owl Ron now--because blech--or should she wait to tell him in person so she could see his reaction? Should she invite Harry to dinner to tell them both together or--

He asked a question, then, and Hermione was reminded of what he had just said: that he didn’t have any questions. She blinked, once, before she answered him. “You’ll be starting with cataloguing what items the Office receives.” Of course, she would catalogue them first, before they were handed over to him. And then she would be checking them again, after he had handled them, to make sure everything was still accounted for and unchanged. So she had effectively volunteered to double her workload (or, triple her actual paid workload, all her volunteer things aside).

“That’ll include transcribing the field reports, either from the Auror Office or the Oblivator Office.” She paused, uncrossing her legs, crossing them back the other way.

Draco smirked softly at the perceptible clench in Granger’s jaw — there was an undeniable satisfaction that came from knowing he could still get under her skin (even if he could hear Astoria’s voice gently reminding him to be nice).

Then it was Hermione’s turn to be smug, apparently, bringing up the Minister in the same casual manner that Draco’s father had once done at every given opportunity (different time, different Minister). But more importantly, did this mean that the Minister for Magic was keeping personal tabs on him via Granger? Hermione was a lot of things but she wasn’t stupid or shallow, and Draco knew she hadn’t mentioned Shacklebolt for bragging rights — it was a thinly veiled threat.

He caught her looking at his fingers—at his wedding band—and clamped his right hand over left gently to hide the flash of white gold on his ring finger. He met Hermione’s eye and held her gaze for a long moment, fighting the urge to glance (pointedly) at her own hands and look for a ring from Weasley — it wouldn't do to compare, not that there was any comparison to be made of course. He wondered, though, if he ought to say anything — but what did one say in this situation?

Granger answered his question—about the work—and her response distracted him sufficiently from trying to explain that he was allowed to have a life after what he had done: he would be cataloging items. Draco bit the inside of his cheek softly as she elaborated on his responsibilities, then shifted in his seat. “So, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m a glorified quick quotes quill?”

He rested back in his seat and his light eyes focused on a filing cabinet in the corner. “I had assumed—” he started indignantly, then stopped; he shouldn’t admit to assuming anything but also, what was he doing here if not to be useful? Did she think he needed the job for the money (laughable, because the pay was pitiful)? Draco tried to adopt a more even tone as he looked back at the witch across from him; “Given my experience, I thought you would want to make more use of me.”

Hermione breathed steadily through her nose, doing her best to ignore how he was moving his hands again. She wouldn’t look, wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

She went over his responsibilities instead, making them sound every bit as mundane as they really were. He didn’t deserve anything being sugar coated, but when he asked if he was a glorified quick quotes quill, she said, “No,” despite the answer being much closer to yes. However: “The quick quotes quill’s algorithm isn’t sufficient for the work.” It was good for work without details, which wasn’t this work.

He wasn’t looking at her, then, which meant she was doing well.

Malfoy started again, telling her he had assumed-- Hermione raised her eyebrows, eager to know exactly what he had been assuming. He met her eye, went on, and it was no small feat keeping her expression impassive as he did. “Ah.” She rolled her shoulders back as she sat up a little straighter in her chair.

“Unfortunately,” she started, maintaining eye contact, “None of your… experience can be placed on your CV.” It was careful phrasing--the door was open--but they both knew what they were talking about. (They were talking about his family’s association with the Dark Arts and oh, also Voldemort, in case anyone had forgotten.) She waited a minute to let it sink in; he would have to do good work to get promoted to a position where he would be able to use his experience. “If--while you’re transcribing field reports--” she began again, getting back to business, “You feel you have something of value to add, there are proper channels for communicating that.”

“Well, thank Merlin I’m more intelligent than a quill,” he sneered.

Draco’s face contorted slowly into a trademark scowl. He had been wondering how long it would take for someone to bring it up—directly or indirectly—and he couldn’t tell if it was more or less ironic that it was Granger. He squeezed the fingers of his right hand around his left fist, knuckles flashing white and the metal of his wedding band digging in uncomfortably, in an effort to expel some of the anger. He wanted to tell her that it hadn’t been his fault—he’d had no choice—but as much as he believed that was true, he knew that someone as righteous as Hermione Granger would only tell him that there was always a choice, or some sort of rubbish along those lines.

Hermione continued on as though she had said nothing amiss. Draco reminded himself that snapping at her would only prove her and the rest of them right, and he forcibly relaxed back into his seat. Proper channels, she said. His expression hadn’t lightened any. “Let me guess, through you?” He was beginning to suspect his office-mate wasn’t on maternity leave at all, and that it was all an excuse to have Granger nearby.

“Fine,” he said after another moment, waving his hand dismissively. “Any other rules and regulations I need to adhere to with my special circumstances?”

“Yes, we’re all grateful for that.” Hermione breathed evenly through her nose, doing her best to keep her expression even.

Malfoy had nothing to say, somewhat surprisingly, so Hermione carried on. There were more important things to cover--although reminding him that he was here only by the courtesy of the Minister was incredibly relevant--so she was pleased he didn’t stop her, or try to argue with her. He was scowling, of course, but that was to be expected (and she was rather used to that, too).

Hermione smiled smally, dipping her chin into a slight nod. “Me, yes.” Malfoy’s supervisor Jones didn’t want to be tasked with the extra paperwork that his special employee was bringing him, so that would fall to Hermione. Too much of it was falling to Hermione, honestly, but considering the special request from the Minister, specifically asking for Hermione’s assistance… in the end, everyone was unhappy with the circumstances as they were currently laid out. That seemed to be the best (and only) way to handle things.

It took him a few seconds, but he agreed. (The possibility of him not agreeing was why they were having this meeting before the one with HR; she would be able to save them the time and effort of meeting with him if he couldn’t abide by the circumstances created by his choices.) Hermione opened her mouth to answer him, but closed it again after half a second; it wouldn’t do to tell him to try not to muder anyone, for starts, and she blinked a couple times to reset.

“That should do it.” She nodded again, slightly. “For now.” She uncrossed her legs and stood up. “You have a meeting with HR. Paperwork, get you on the payroll, the like.” She swallowed and nodded again, heading out of the office and trying not to dwell too much on the fact that she was turning her back on him-- she’d have to be less jumpy if this was going to work.

[[ out ]]

Me, yes. Draco rolled his eyes — of course. He suspected he was going to see far less of Caliban Jones than he was of Hermione Granger. He noted that she at least wasn’t being smug about it, surprisingly — had the shoe been on the other foot, he certainly would have been a deal more smarmy.

Granger opened her mouth, then apparently thought better of whatever she was going to say, and closed it again. Draco similarly kept quiet, silently reminding himself that he was so close to making it through his first interaction as a Ministry employee without a bad mark — and with one of the golden trio, at that.

Draco’s eyebrows flicked up slightly in surprise before he regained control of his expression. Was it really going to be that easy? He’d thought that there’d almost certainly be some sort of trickery involved, some intent to trip him up — apparently not. There was still time, he supposed.

He let out a light scoff when she mentioned getting him on the payroll. “I’m not doing this for the money, Granger.” The pay was absolutely abysmal — if he had needed the money he would have picked something better paying. (Having said that, he wasn’t going to work for free, either.)

Hermione got to her feet and walked out of his ‘office’. Draco glanced around the small room once more, taking it in without her scrutiny on him, before pushing himself upright out of his chair to follow her down the corridor.


[ end ]