Machinations

Chapter 5 - - Machinations

- - -

Draco was at the pitch before anyone on Saturday, and by hours. He was very focused as he flew in practiced routes through the air, dipping here, rolling there. He had purchased a book on the position of Chaser and had studied it dutifully over the course of the week; if he was going to play, he would be the best. He watched the world wake up from high above it; the sun slowly rose over the trees, spreading its light through the usual haze that covered the morning sky in the late summer.

Today he was on a mission, and not only to win the game. He needed to learn as much about Hermione Granger as he could, as inconspicuously as possible. A plan for what he would do once he'd won her to his side had started forming, and these Saturday meetings would be essential for ensuring her safety, as well as his.

Top on his list of 'Information to Glean' was what she did for a living, which he suspected was his best shot at finding a way he could make his proposition attractive to her. If it turned out that she did something completely uninteresting, with no hope for advancement, then he would simply offer to hire her. Of course, she could still refuse, but he didn't let himself dwell on that thought. He needed to be relaxed when he talked to Hermione, not anxious over what might go wrong.

He didn't think that she was necessarily the best choice for investigative work. Unless he was very fortunate and she happened to work for the Ministry in an information-gathering capacity, he knew she wouldn't have any particular skills for identifying suspects with insufficient evidence as a guide.

She was the most desirable choice because he trusted her, for whatever reason. His trust was not something he bestowed lightly, nor all at once. It was gained over time in increments. She, of course, was the exception. There was something about her, something about the person he knew her to be, that made her uniquely trustworthy in his mind, without having earned it.

Second on the list was learning about Charlie. If he and Hermione were seriously dating, or serious in any form of a relationship, then the plan he'd been formulating might not be possible. Their interactions had been confusing at best to define, and from the way her friends had acted the week before, none of them were quite sure what was going on between the two.

Draco had spent a considerable amount of his free time analyzing their behavior the previous week. They'd been close with each other, very familiar. She'd linked arms with him; he'd kissed the top of her head. They'd sat together at the meal, but then had barely spoken. Draco had no idea how to get the information he wanted and so decided to focus on finding out her current employment situation first, and worry about her personal life later.

At quarter to ten, people began showing up for the game. Draco remained in the air, others joining him in warming up, until Potter and the Weasleys arrived. As Draco landed, he noticed that Charlie was not among them.

Harry seemed genuinely surprised to see him. "Hallo, Malfoy," he said. "Good to see you."

Draco nodded, glancing around the pitch. "Good to be here." Surprisingly, he meant it.

"Well, then, we should be all right."

"Where's Charlie?" Draco asked, slightly concerned that he wouldn't be able to observe him around Hermione.

"He usually doesn't come. Last week, another of our regular players couldn't make it, in addition to Bill. She'll be here today though."

George came up to him then, grinning, and clapped him on the back. "Blimey, Malfoy. I thought when you sent us out, we were done for. Thanks again, mate. Listen, if all goes according to plan, we'll be opening a shop in Paris in under two months. You'll come to the opening, won't you?"

Draco was slightly taken aback, but recovered quickly. "I can't say for sure, but ... we'll see. Probably. I like to keep tabs on my investments."

Ron and Ginny joined them then.

"Hey," said Ron, meeting Draco's eyes for an instant before looking away. "Here's Dean," he said and then walked away.

Draco looked at Harry and raised an eyebrow.

"No bets today," said Harry.

"Ah."

"He'll come around," said George, leaning on his broom. "Reckon you haven't forgotten that pummeling we gave you during your, what, fifth year?"

Draco grinned. Finally someone mentioned the past. "Sounds right."

"Katie's here," said Ginny, looking between Draco and George and smiling. "Hi, Katie!"

Katie Bell and Angelina Johnson joined them, greeting everyone enthusiastically before finally noticing Draco. Katie's expression went murderous.

"What's he doing here?" she demanded.

"He's, well, playing with us," said Harry, his tone unsure, his eyes darting between Draco and Katie.

"I refuse to play with him." She rounded on Harry. "On either team. In case you've forgotten, he nearly killed me."

Draco thought back to sixth year, of purchasing the cursed necklace from Borgin and Burkes, of having it carefully wrapped, giving it to Rosmerta and forcing her to give to the first girl who walked into the loo, commanding her to take it straight to Dumbledore. It had been a terrible plan, but he'd been desperate. He remembered sitting on his bed after news of the incident had spread, with his arms wrapped around his knees, pulling them as close to his chest as he could. He'd sat on his bed with the curtains drawn and rocked back and forth, thanking any and all deities he could think of that the girl hadn't died.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Draco cut him off.

"It's all right, Potter. She was here before me. Nice seeing you all again," he said, indicating George and Ginny, then started walking toward the woods.

"Malfoy," called Ginny.

Draco turned around. "What?"

"We're having lunch at a nearby pub, so stick around."

"Will ... er, Bell be joining you? I probably shouldn't, if she is."

"No. It's just us."

Though she didn't elaborate, he knew she meant herself, Harry, and all of the Weasleys. And now, him, as well, at least that day.

"All right," said Draco. He waited until everyone was in the air, watching with mixed emotion. He was disappointed not to be playing, something he had been greatly looking forward to. On the other hand, if Hermione was there, as she had been the last time, he would have the entire game to talk to her.

As he neared the woods, he hoped that the scene from the last week would be repeated. Finally he saw it, the hideous orange two-seater sofa, sitting partly in the sun, partly in shade. Most importantly, Hermione was reclining on it, already absorbed in what she was reading.

He felt a slight tugging in his heart at seeing her. She wasn't wearing the white sundress that had so undone him the week prior. Instead she wore a chartreuse green skirt, white top with thin straps, and a light yellow jumper. Once again, a pair of sandals sat on the ground beside the sofa. She looked amazing.

Hermione looked up when Draco approached and slightly tilted her head to the side. When he stopped in front of the sofa, she shifted to make room for him to sit.

He did after removing his Quidditch gear, leaving him in black pants and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. "What are you reading?" he asked, getting comfortable.

"Nothing that would interest you, I'm sure," she replied, glancing at him from behind her reading material.

Draco examined the cover closely. "Journal of Botanics. What's that?"

She put the journal in her lap. "It's a scholarly journal, Malfoy. Researchers perform experiments and publish their findings in journals."

He fought the urge to roll his eyes, but lost. "I know that. What is that specific journal about?"

"Oh," she said, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink. "It's all about the different potions ingredients that come from plants."

"Fascinating," he said, grinning. "Which article in particular are you reading?"

She looked at him strangely, as though she wasn't sure what to think of his behavior. "'Biological and analytical characterization and known and theorized uses of six extracts from asphodel.'"

His eyes widened in surprise. "Asphodel? You planning on offing anyone, Granger?" The powdered root of the asphodel plant was a main ingredient in the Draught of Living Death. More than that, Draco knew it had uses in Dark Magic, especially potions dealing with death and the places between life and death.

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, turning her body slightly, as though preparing to launch into a detailed explanation. She started, paused, and then changed the subject. "It's for some personal research. Why aren't you playing?"

He leaned back, propped one leg up on the other, pushed up his sleeves...the right higher than the left...and put his arm on the back of the sofa. If he reached just a few inches, he could touch her shoulder. "Difference of opinion. Someone didn't care for the fact that I was nearly responsible for her death, and refused to have any association with me whatsoever, including Quidditch. I bowed out."

Hermione gave him a stern look. "You speak of it so flippantly."

"Not at all," he said, meeting her gaze. "I know what I've done and I accept the consequences. I do not take lightly others' injuries when I have been the direct cause. But the pitch is hardly the place to make a proper apology, and as we have already discussed, a mere 'I'm sorry' doesn't mean sod all."

"True, but what you did to her goes beyond the natural way of children as well, don't you agree?" Hermione's tone was gently but insistent; she wasn't going to let him talk his way out of this.

"I didn't target her; she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"So you aren't going to give her a heartfelt confession of the kind you gave me?"

She was baiting him, testing him. It was the first test in a long time that he had to pass. If he really wanted Hermione's help, he would have to follow through with whatever he said he would do. "If the opportunity presents," he said, wiping a few leaves off the cushion between them to avoid meeting her eyes.

"I hope you do," she said.

Her voice was so soft, so gentle, that he looked back to her. She'd returned to reading her article.

"Tell me, Granger. What do you do?"

Again she set the journal on her lap and gazed at him quizzically. "I'm a teacher. I work at Hogwarts."

"What do you teach?"

"Why so interested?"

He chuckled, rapping his hand on his knee. "I'm stuck waiting for this game to end. This sofa is the most comfortable place to sit, and you happen to be sitting here. I would prefer not to sit in absolute silence, but if that's what you wish, you have but to say the word."

"Oh. I ... I suppose I'm not quite sure how to take you, not knowing you all that well," she said, closing the journal and putting it away entirely. "I teach Arithmancy."

"That was one of your favorites, as I recall," he said. He silently cursed his fate; Arithmancy was a fascinating field, but not one that opened many doors for him.

"It was my very favorite, actually. You were quite adept at it as well. Remember in fifth year when we found out we'd been working together and didn't know it?"

"That ridiculous assignment!" he said, angling himself toward her on the sofa. All the students had been required to submit a theorem, which the teacher then paired up and assigned anonymous partners to work on combining the theorems. They were supposed to work separately, submit their results, and then work together to find the best solution.

When their names were announced in conjunction, they'd glared at each other. When they were told to move closer to work on their assignment, Draco abjectly refused. He didn't budge an inch. He got detention, and Hermione ended up doing all the work.

"I have yet to inflict any such misfortune on my students," she said with a smile. "I can't believe you did detention to avoid working with me."

"It seemed the better alternative," he said.

"You're hopeless," she said, shaking her head.

"I was, certainly. I'd like to think I'm not so much anymore." She didn't speak, just stared at the ground. "How long have you been at Hogwarts?"

"This will be my third year of teaching."

"Right, it's nearly time to go back, isn't it?"

"Yes. I've got a week left."

Draco nodded, thoughtful. He'd succeeded in learning what she did, but he still had no idea what he might tempt her with. He doubted a lifetime subscription to Arithmancy Today would get him what he wanted, though the possibility still existed for offering to pay her. Surely he could offer her more than she made at Hogwarts, and she wouldn't even have to leave her position.

"I know what Weasley does for a living. What about Potter? Weasley's sister?"

"That was really wonderful what you did for Ron and George. They were so excited that night after meeting with you ... I suppose it was the same day we reached for the same bottle in the Apothecary. They took us all out to a nice restaurant in Diagon Alley to celebrate."

He shrugged. "It was business. Anything connected with Weasley's Wizard Wheezes turns to gold; I was always going to approve their request, I just wanted to have a little fun with them first. Make them sweat."

She swatted him on the arm. "You're terrible."

"Thank you."

"Harry teaches at Hogwarts as well."

"Really?" Draco sat a little straighter. "That is surprising. I figured he would be in the business of saving things ... people, cats, blighted neighborhoods, that sort of thing."

"In a way, that's how he sees his work. He's very passionate about teaching, and the students always love his classes."

"What does he teach?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Draco groaned. "You're joking."

"I'm not. He's excellent. Got a bit of the bug during fifth year with the D.A."

"That little practice group you were in?"

"Yes. It was a wonderful group, we learned a lot from Harry. Plus, it was great doing everything behind Umbridge's back." She sounded triumphant.

Draco was intrigued, but he still hadn't learned anything of use to him. He glanced at the journal and then at her. Botanics had nothing to do with Arithmancy. "What did you do before Hogwarts, then?"

"You're just full of questions today, aren't you?" she asked.

"I talk a lot when I'm bored. You just happen to be here."

She sighed. "I started out in Healer training, but it wasn't long before I realized that wasn't what I wanted to do. However, while I was at St. Mungo's, I got a part-time position in a research lab."

"At the hospital?" he said, his heart thumping a bit louder than before. This was promising.

"Yes. The grant I was hired under was designed to do research on the side effects of various potions thought to be harmless. It wasn't very interesting work, but I learned a lot."

Draco listened intently. There was a fire in her eyes that hadn't been there before, and he was completely captivated by her.

"After I quit the Healer program, I continued working in labs, under various researchers and grants, while I got my teaching credentials. Most of the grants lasted six to nine months, and then it was time for more job-hunting. I still participate in studies, as I can. Summers are very busy for me, as I try to get a lot accomplished in a short amount of time."

"I see. So research is your main passion, like Potter's is teaching?"

It was nearly imperceptible, and had he not been studying her so meticulously, he might have missed her split-second glance at his mouth when he said the word 'passion.' A wave of warmth passed through him, and he settled back into the sofa, putting a little more space between them.

Then she bit her lip and looked away. "I love teaching, nearly as much. But if I had to choose one, it would be research. Minerva has given me the use of one of the old lab rooms in the dungeon for personal work."

That caught his attention and he forgot all about her glance. "You? In the dungeon?" In his time at Hogwarts, a Muggle-born in the dungeons for any reason other than Potions class was trouble. At the least, the Muggle-born would be teased, ridiculed, and lightly hexed for venturing too far out of bounds. "How do you manage that?"

"Quite well," she said, jutting her chin out proudly.

"Do they ... treat you well?" he asked, referring to those in his former house.

"They'd better," she said. "As I'm their Head of House."

He stared at her now in incredulity. Surely he had heard wrong. "You ... you're what?"

"Head of Slytherin house, yes."

Draco shook his head in disbelief. "You're going to have to explain this to me. I'm completely at a loss for what to say."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Things at Hogwarts are very different than they were when we were in school. The four houses still exist, but Minerva has given the Sorting Hat a little ... wiggle room, for assigning students to houses. The houses are encouraged to inter-mingle, and frequently do so."

"Even Slytherin?"

"Yes, though naturally they were the most reluctant to comply. Tolerance is the big word on campus."

Draco scowled. "I've heard enough of that word to last a lifetime, thanks."

"There's nothing wrong with tolerance," she said, bristling.

"Don't get me wrong," he said quickly, shaking his head. "I've nothing against it, per se, but you've got to admit, the word has been tossed around quite liberally, of late. You can do almost anything in the name of tolerance. Including beating up another kid because they weren't being tolerant."

"Oh!" she gasped. "I read about that! What a terrible thing to happen. Completely undermines what the Ministry is trying to do."

"The Ministry can't change people's hearts and minds, though," he said.

"No, but it can at least pass laws that make things more equal," she said. "If you and I had gone to Gringotts ten years ago to apply for separate loans, one look at you and they would have approved you without question. Whereas I would have had to fill out all the paperwork, provide proof of income, residency, and who knows what other bureaucratic nonsense. Now, we both have to go through the same process."

"I am well aware of these ... changes," he said. "I deal with them on a daily basis in my work."

They looked at each other, and it occurred to Draco that they were from completely opposite backgrounds, opposite lives, opposing sides of the war. While he felt 'tolerance' was being forced down his throat, she was probably a strong advocate for it. He wasn't against the concept, just the way the Ministry was going about it. Tolerance wasn't something to be forced down the throat of the intolerant. It was something that had to be learned through life experience. Draco had long ago learned that he was in no position to say who deserved what. And he'd lived a happier life for it.

Still, it was clearly a different world they were in now, as they could sit and talk amiably about a subject they didn't quite see eye to eye on.

"What do you do?" she asked.

He was grateful for the change in subject and pleased that neither of them had resorted to name calling or curses.

"I run the family business."

She watched him, waiting for him to continue, but he wasn't going to reveal any details.

"Oh," she finally said.

She looked down at her lap, and he felt a tweak of regret. "I work, Granger. I go to meetings, I answer letters, and I keep up with the ledger, keep people happy ... nothing exciting."

"I know that much, Malfoy. What is your family business?" She paused, frowning slightly. "Or is that something you'd rather not talk about?"

Then a ding went off in his mind, and he couldn't put a logical reason behind it, but he wanted to tell her more. In general, Draco didn't discuss the details of Malfoy, Inc. He worked, hard, end of story. The business was so diverse that very few people knew all the different economic ventures in which his family's company was involved.

When the task of running the company was unceremoniously dumped into Draco's lap at the age of eighteen, he had no idea what his father did. It took three months to learn the extent of the company, and one segment in particular had been quite a shock.

Lucius had invested in Muggle telecommunications.

His father, Death Eater, Muggle-hater extraordinaire, did business with Muggles. Draco had no doubt that his father never once spoke to or saw any of the Muggles in his employ, but somehow, had managed to make things work. When Draco took over, he ventured into the Muggle world to meet with all the executives he now worked with and over the years had come to appreciate certain aspects of Muggle culture, and to validate in his mind their right to exist.

It sounded trite when he thought about it, but the admission was enormous considering his father had frequently talked of wishing the whole lot would fall into the center of the earth.

"It's all right," she said, having taken his extended silence for confirmation. "We can talk about something else."

"It's not that I have anything to hide," he said. "I simply make it a practice not to discuss details. It's terribly boring, anyway."

Hermione nodded and repositioned herself on the sofa. In doing so, she accidentally brushed his arm, causing the fine hairs to stand on end and his heart to skip. He frowned, annoyed by his reaction to her. Whenever he had thought of her in the past week, he pictured her in that white dress, the wind in her hair, the sun making it shimmer, and the serenity he found in her expression. He couldn't get the image out of his mind; it was safe to say he was attracted to her. Ridiculously so, judging from his body's reactions.

"You're really head of Slytherin?" he asked, wanting to move the conversation back in line with his agenda. Draco retracted his arm and folded both against his chest.

She smiled. "Yes, Malfoy, I really am."

"They treat you all right?"

"They do. They have to, really, or I take off points. They're all very respectful to my face, some clearly grudgingly, though I would be a fool to think none of them talked when I'm not around."

"If they're anything like the bunch I was with ... You're pretty lucky not to get any flack."

"These kids ... are different than we were. Our years at Hogwarts were spent leading up to the war. These kids, especially the younger ones, went through the war long before Hogwarts. They've grown up in the post-war era. This coming year, there won't be any students left who had been at Hogwarts when we were. Or, rather, when you were. Last year's seventh-years were first-years during what would have been my seventh year."

Draco scoffed. "If you can consider that school."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know what they taught us? In Muggle Studies especially?"

"I've heard," she said.

"Rubbish. Even I knew that. Of course, I was so busy trying not to make anyone notice me or get upset with me ...."

"Was it awful at school? I guess I've always thought you had it pretty easy, considering."

"Yeah, easy enough." He paused, unsure how much he should...or could...say. He never talked about that year, preferring to ignore it as much as his mind would let him. Her easy, open manner was strangely liberating.

"But I didn't like where I was," he continued, picking at a spot on the sofa. "I wanted nothing to do with the lot of them by then. I wasn't accepted fully anyway because of my failed task. I knew the other side...your side...wouldn't welcome me, either. I stuck to my studies, the library, and my room. Kept quiet. Said the right things, tried not to draw attention."

She didn't say anything, just closed her eyes as the wind blew through her hair. He was so close ... he could touch it if he really wanted, could see if it felt as soft as it looked.

"So I reckon Potter's head of Gryffindor, eh?"

"No, actually. Blaise Zabini."

Draco's eyes widened. "You're not serious! Should I go and try to get the Hufflepuff job, then?" he said, joking.

Hermione snickered. "That would be awful, Malfoy! You'd scare them to death!"

He frowned. "What? Why? I'm not scary."

"You are scary," she said, a delightful grin on her face. "Very scary."

"Yeah?" He chuckled. "Still? After everything ... I don't want to be, you know."

"Maybe you shouldn't walk around looking so sour all the time." Hermione's eyes glimmered with amusement. "You know, smile occasionally."

"If you only knew," he said, weariness constricting his chest, making him feel too old again. He rarely smiled from his heart and couldn't remember the last time a conversation or interaction had even tempted the sour expression from his face.

Hermione's grin turned to look of concern. "What do you mean?"

Draco shook his head and tried to give her a careless smile. He had no intention of ruining their conversation with talk of his troubles. "Never mind. Where's Charlie today? I was looking forward to talking with him." It wasn't entirely a lie; Charlie had been the one Weasley Draco had most enjoyed interacting with the previous week. Truthfully, he also needed to make headway on the second point on his list.

"Oh, he's not usually here. Last weekend was a fluke, really. See, usually, it's Harry, Ron, George, Katie, Bill, Dean and Ginny. We've known about Bill leaving for awhile, so Harry got Angelina to play for him. Then Katie told him that she and Angelina had a thing to do last week, so Harry asked Charlie to play, since he was in town." Hermione paused. "I guess they didn't need you this week after all."

Draco shook his head. "I appreciate the invitation, though. So Charlie spends most of his time in ... Romania, is it?"

She nodded. "He said you were, and I quote, 'decent enough.'"

"Ah," he replied, mindlessly scratching the arm that had at one time borne the Dark Mark. Now it was a scar in the rough outline of the Mark, as though the magic that had been imbedded beneath his flesh ran so deep that even though the Mark had faded with Voldemort's demise, the skin would never heal properly.

But Charlie and Hermione had discussed him after he had left. He felt a mild annoyance with the Weasley before realizing that the entire table might have talked about him, and she had only repeated Charlie's comment because he was the subject of conversation.

"I'll bet the conversation erupted after my departure," he said.

"It did, but then Molly told everyone to stop. George was undecided about you until that presentation he did, Charlie never had anything specific against you in the first place, and Ginny is inclined to give you a chance. Ron ... he's still hesitant."

"Not surprising," Draco muttered, more to himself than to her.

"You can't really blame him, can you?" she asked.

"What about you?" He met her eyes.

"Me? I ... Well, I'm all right with you being around." She held his gaze, not flinching or giving any indication she was lying.

He exhaled and turned his attention to the game. "How long do these things last, anyway? I didn't notice how long last week's game went."

"A couple of hours, usually."

Draco sighed heavily.

"If you want, I can let you know when they're done," said Hermione.

"How?" he asked, knowing he wasn't going to move off that sofa until she did.

"Have you got two Galleons?"

He looked at her incredulously. "Oh, no. Not doing that."

"What?" she said.

"You'll Charm the coins and mine will get warm when you tap yours with your wand. I want no part of that. I used that, you know."

She grinned. "I know."

He stared at her, momentarily rendered speechless, and then allowed her a strained smile. "You speak of it so flippantly."

Her expression was unreadable. "Guess we aren't to the point where we can joke about our tragic pasts together?"

Draco didn't know what to think of that. She was watching him; her eyes alight with mirth and peace. He didn't think they were at that point yet, but he was starting to like the idea of getting to it.

Not wanting to lie or reveal too much of his emotions, he ignored her question. "Tell me about your current project," he said, an amiable smile on his face.

ooo

They talked easily. Hermione was happy to talk nearly non-stop about her research. She went into great detail, including her most recent...accidental...discovery involving the Felix Felicis Potion. When a counter-clockwise turn was added after every seventh clockwise, the reckless component of consuming too much of the potion was diminished by 35%.

"It hardly seems important," she said. "And I certainly don't condone the use of the potion in many instances, but it can have its place in specific situations."

Most importantly, he had a hunch that she was interested in developing potions to counter the effects of the Cruciatus curse. She mentioned it in passing, quickly, while going through a list of past and other current interests, but he thought he caught a slightly strangled undertone to her voice when she spoke the curse's name. He filed it away for future reference.

When two hours had passed and the game was still going, Draco considered leaving. His mind was racing with additions to his list; he had research of his own to do now. However, he had given his word to attend lunch and refused to back out. He was about to suggest that they go ahead and get a table when a cheer went up from the game. Potter was victorious once again.

"Does he ever lose?" Draco muttered.

"Nope," Hermione answered, leaning over to put on her shoes.

The two of them stood and Hermione shrunk the sofa and her journal, putting them both into a two-compartment bag that he hadn't noticed before. He had seen similar bags many times; one compartment was magicked to hold far more than the physical space allowed, and the other compartment was non-magical, for things the carrier didn't want to shrink, such as money or certain non-shrinkable purchases.

"So," Draco said, the reality of what he was about to do sinking in. "A pub?"

"Typically, we go somewhere after the games, usually the pub in the nearby village. Today's the last game, since Harry leaves for Hogwarts next week. They just play in the summer."

Hermione didn't go out to meet the approaching players, as she had done the week before. Draco suspected it was because Charlie wasn't there, and he felt an odd rumbling of discontent at the thought. Soon, excited voices could be heard, and then everyone came into view.

Ron glanced at Draco and Hermione, and then gave a slight frown before returning to his conversation with George. Katie, Dean and Angelina must have gone another way because they weren't with the red-headed bunch.

"What was the score?" Hermione asked once everyone had joined her and Draco.

"Who cares?" said George with a giant smile. "We won! More importantly, we're hungry. Let's be going, shall we?"

"Ever been to Trafford, Malfoy?" Harry asked. "It's near Manchester."

"It's got a small wizarding section, if I'm not mistaken," he said.

"Right. There's a pub there, The Bird I' th' Hand. That's where we're going. The owner is related to Arthur's second cousin's nephew. Nice bloke."

"I've never heard of it," Draco remarked, knowing that he would be required to Side-Along Apparate with someone.

"You can come with me," said Harry, letting go of Ginny's hand.

"Wonderful," Draco muttered under his breath.

Hermione heard him and smiled.

Not ten minutes later, the six of them were seated around a table in the pub, their first round of drinks before them. They looked at their menus, speaking only to point out something, or to say how much they had enjoyed a particular dish on their last visit.

Draco knew that his presence was hindering what was typically a warm, friendly meal between friends. Now they were all concerned about what to say to him and in his presence. Hermione, who was seated beside him, recommended the fish and chips. George, on his other side, told him he couldn't go wrong with the kippers. He didn't care either way and wasn't especially hungry anymore.

The waitress came and he went with Hermione's suggestion. When they no longer had their menus to hide behind, it quickly became apparent that the entire meal would be interesting, to say the least. Ron wouldn't look at him, Ginny constantly frowned at him, and George started talking to no one in particular about opening the shop in Paris.

"Ron and I went to Paris yesterday and looked around. The Place de Magie has a few empty business and we've put down a contract on two side-by-side shops, with the idea of making them into one."

"That sounds lovely, George," said Hermione. "Have you decided what you'll do about getting someone to run the shop?"

"Not yet. Though Fleur might be interested."

Ginny snickered and exchanged a look with Hermione. "You'd let her? Aren't you worried she'll be so busy making sure her hair is in place that she won't notice the customers?"

"Fleur is a very intelligent witch," said Harry.

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"She is! There's no way she would have been chosen by the Goblet of Fire if she weren't."

"She and Bill live in Paris already," continued George. "You know Fleur, she isn't ... well, she's not like mum. Doesn't like sitting around the house all day. She's excited about working at the shop. We're going to set up a small room in back where the kids can play until they're old enough to go to school."

"So it's decided then?" Hermione asked.

"Nearly," said Ron. "Gabrielle might help her out. She's just finished her schooling and Fleur wants her close by."

"Two people sounds like enough," said Harry.

"Right. We've got just two employees at a few of the shops."

"But this is Paris," said Ginny. "It's no Trafford, or even Hogsmeade. Paris is nearly as large as London. I think you'll need at least one, perhaps two more people."

The food arrived then and Ron grinned at his place. "Tuck in, all," he said and then went to work on his meal of shepherd's pie.

"Have you been to Paris ... Malfoy?" Ginny asked.

He glanced up, surprised at being addressed, then nodded. "Quite a few times. My mother goes at least once a year, and occasionally I accompany her."

"It's beautiful," Ginny continued.

Draco was aware of the fact that Harry and Ron were watching him intently, and he remembered that Hermione had said Ron was still getting used the idea of being in the same room with him. He suspected she was being too nice; Ron didn't appear to want anything to do with him. Not that Draco could blame him.

"Quite," Draco replied. "Especially in the spring. Fall is nice as well, and will make for a pleasant backdrop for the opening of the shop." He hoped that conversation would return to the endeavor, and he could spend the rest of the meal as unnoticed as possible.

"What's your favorite part?" Ginny asked.

He bit back an impatient sigh. "Le Tour Eiffel. There's something about it that I can't quite explain."

"It was built by Muggles," said Ron, his tone accusing, as though he wanted to catch Draco in a lie or ruin his enjoyment of the monument.

"I am aware of that," he said, amused. Whenever he visited the City of Light with his mother, he would escort her around a few shops, then excuse himself and go for a walk along the river until he reached the Tower. What he did next varied. Sometimes he took a newly purchased book and sat on a bench with a good view of the monument. Other times, he took the lift up to the very top and admired the incredible sights before him. A few times he had ordered a coffee and a pastry in the café and slowly ate his snack while watching the sun set.

Ron scowled and looked away. Conversation halted for a few moments.

Then Hermione addressed Harry. "Are you ready for the new school year to start?"

"Mostly. I need to get to Diagon Alley for a few last-minute supplies, but I'll be ready to leave for Hogsmeade on Tuesday. I know you've been ready for weeks, haven't you?" He grinned at her.

"As a matter of fact," she glanced at Draco then. "I was short on one item and wasn't sure I would be able to get it on time, but a special delivery arrived just yesterday."

"Short, as in, you only had two full bottles instead of three?" said Ron, chuckling.

Hermione gave him a hard stare. "Very funny, Ron."

"So, Malfoy," said Ron. "What's it like having your dad back? Just like old times?"

Ginny smacked the back of Ron's head and Hermione kicked him under the table, but Ron continued to stare directly at Draco.

Draco thought very carefully about what he was going to say. Certainly he owed these people nothing. They had and always would believe what they wanted to believe, and he didn't think telling them otherwise would do any good. He also knew that this was some kind of test, though he didn't know how to get the right answer, or even if there was one. Naturally, his first inclination was to say something snide to rile Weasley further, but that would only turn the outing sour while accomplishing nothing other than showing the red-head exactly what he wanted to see: Draco hadn't changed.

So Draco took a long drink from his glass before speaking. "My father and mother are on holiday at present. He won't return for at least seven weeks. Perhaps at that point I will be better able to answer your question."

Harry let out a breath.

"Couldn't wait to get out of the house, I reckon," said Ron. "Can't really say as I blame him."

"That's enough, Ron," said George with an air of authority. "Malfoy hasn't done anything to you..."

"You're right. It was bad form." Ron was still glaring at Draco as though he might suddenly attack them all. "Just a matter of time, really."

Draco was nearly fed up and he considered leaving. The only thing that kept him from going was the knowledge that it was exactly what Weasley wanted. Neither he nor Ron spoke again during the meal, only sending glares at each other while the others tried to ignore them and continue eating in peace.

ooo

After the meal, Draco had left quickly. He Apparated home, angry at himself for letting Weasley get to him. He hadn't retaliated, despite wanting to, because it wasn't worth his time or energy. Plus, it was exactly what Weasley had wanted, and Draco rarely allowed himself to react. He preferred being proactive, and a few words from him weren't going to change Weasley's mind about him, so why should he bother? If it weren't for his plan, what he needed from Hermione, he wouldn't have even gone out to Quidditch that day, no matter how much he enjoyed playing.

Still, it would have been nice to actually play.

Draco sighed as he removed his still fresh Quidditch gear, tossed it into the closet, and slammed the door shut. He pulled off his T-shirt on his way to the bathroom, where he turned the hot water on full force. Then he caught sight of his reflection and paused, grimacing at the scars that splayed across his chest.

The largest and most prominent was...ironically...a lightning shaped slash that began just under his right collar bone, then went across his chest to the left ribcage, cut back horizontally along the base of his ribs, before slicing downward to disappear underneath his trousers. He hadn't even known what curse Potter had used until Severus had explained it in the hospital wing. It was a Dark curse and, as such, would never disappear, nor would it heal properly.

There were scars on his back, he knew, from Amycus Carrow, who hadn't been pleased when Draco had hesitated when commanded to use the Cruciatus on a schoolmate. Amycus had struck him just once with a scourge, but it had been enough. He'd never hesitated again, though he saw the faces of the people he had hurt in his nightmares.

He also bore a scar on his left arm from the remnants of the Mark, and one on his right cheek, where Bellatrix had backhanded him, and her ring had gouged his face. He was most proud of that scar, for he had actually stood up to his aunt, refused to do something she had demanded. Bellatrix had been about to turn her wand on him, but Narcissa had intervened.

Another scar, which ran from his right groin to his left thigh, barely missing anything vital, had been another punishment from the Dark Lord. He'd been so angry at Lucius when Potter, Weasley and Granger had escaped that he had intended to end the Malfoy line forever. Draco shuddered at what had almost been.

As he stood under the steady stream of water, he thought about his scars. They were all indications of the life he had chosen and then wanted to escape, but couldn't. They weren't battle scars that he could look at and know that good had come from the slices he had incurred. The lightning scar told of his shame at being caught sodding crying in the bathroom. The scourge marks told him that he'd been too cowardly to stand up to the Carrows, reminded him of the people he could no longer look in the eye. The hidden scar showed him what lunacy was capable of, and his mauled arm served as a constant remembrance that he had willfully given his life up to obtain an elusive power that had nearly ended it.

He wondered if Weasley had any scars or blemishes that told tales of his efforts to rid the world of the madness that was the Dark Lord. He thought about the fact that Katie Bell hadn't been the only one who had nearly died because of him. Perhaps Weasley was more like Hermione than he had previously considered, and he couldn't simply call it all 'being children.' The thought, however, of apologizing to the red-haired git was nauseating. Hermione ... she was sensible, understanding, and he had known she would listen to him. Not so with Weasley, who might be almost as stuck in his ways as Draco had been.

Draco sighed and shut off the water. He dried himself and dressed in comfortable trousers and a shirt underneath a set of fine, black robes. He had been invited to the Goyles' for dinner, but he had an entire afternoon before him that he didn't want to waste. The sooner he gained more information about Hermione, the sooner he could approach her about his problem.

From the fireplace in his room, Draco Floo-called Blaise Zabini. They had never been especially close in school and still weren't, but Draco had made sure to hold on to favors due him for when they could be used to best advantage.

It took a few moments for Blaise to appear, and he was startled when he saw Draco's face in his fire.

"Draco," he said, kneeling down in front of the hearth. "You never call."

"Not usually, no. I need a favor."

Zabini paled slightly and nodded, his eyes darting around the room. "What exactly do you want?"

"It's about Granger. I know you work together at Hogwarts."

"Hermione?" Zabini frowned. "What could you possibly want that has to do with her?"

"I need information."

"What kind of information?"

Draco told him and Zabini agreed to find what he could. Next up was a call to Merilyn Flinchberg, who was in charge of the largest lab under Malfoy direction, to inquire about space, equipment costs, and general questions as to how a research lab worked. Last call of the day was for Caleb, Draco's secretary.

"You know I don't generally bother you on the weekend," said Draco when Caleb appeared with a quill and parchment at the ready. "This is a request of a personal nature."

"Do you need an escort for the evening?" Caleb asked immediately, reaching for a small, thin black book he used for such occasions.

"No," Draco snapped. "I would like you to find me a list of any and all articles published by Hermione Granger, be she the top researcher or the woman who cleaned the cauldrons. If her name is in the article, I want to know about it. They'd be in Potions journals, most likely, but I want you to check everything."

"All right, sir. Would you like copies of the articles as well?"

"Yes. Two copies of each. Also, contact Sophia Bernard in the Office of Publications, see if there have been any submissions by Hermione Granger that have not been approved."

Caleb nodded, scribbling furiously. "Isn't Hermione Granger that friend of Harry Potter's?"

"Yes," Draco replied curtly.

"When do you want me to start?" Caleb asked.

Draco could see the man's eyes pleading that it not be that minute, and preferably not the rest of the weekend. Draco sighed. He was impatient and eager for the information, but he wasn't heartless, contrary to what some people might think.

"Take Monday off to work on this," Draco said finally.

"Do you want me to call Leslie in?"

Leslie Patterson had once been Draco's secondary assistant, the person he called whenever Caleb couldn't come in for work. On the last occasion, however, she had done more than provide work-related services, and Draco didn't want her to think he was interested in repeating the experience.

"No. I'll take care of it," he said.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy. I'll have this to you first thing Tuesday morning."

"Good. Enjoy your weekend, Caleb."

He terminated the connection and went to his favorite armchair. His spirits were higher than he could remember them being ... ever. He was finally doing something, and he admitted that he should have tried much sooner. However he felt strangely confident that he would be successful, especially with Hermione at his side.

ooo

Three nights later, Draco sat at his desk with his dinner plate barely touched and a glass of wine, half full. His eyes were closed as he sat in meditation, a technique he had learned a few years before to try and help him relax.

To the left of his plate sat a stack of journals, many with slips of parchment sticking out, marking certain articles. Somewhere in the stack was a letter from Blaise that listed all the journals Hermione subscribed to. As soon as Draco received it, he'd ordered back issues for the last five years and started reading, searching for anything related to asphodel and then anything related to those articles. He had a hunch as to what she was researching, based on what he knew about Hermione, but it was only a hunch. A gut feeling. However, Draco had learned to trust certain gut feelings, and this was one of them.

Sitting to the right of his plate was a stack of mail, atop which sat a colorful postcard from Pansy. She was in Fiji, staying at the luxury resort on Yasawa Island. The idyllic setting was agreeing with her, and she claimed she might never leave. Draco knew not to take her seriously, but he was glad to know she was enjoying herself.

She also swore that she was staying away from men and focusing on herself, which Draco had a very hard time believing based on her history. Pansy's Modus Operandus whenever she went on vacation was to find a resort and find a man, not necessarily in that order.

Draco hoped she was being sincere. He wanted her to return when she was ready with a new outlook on life and relationships with men. He wanted her to know that there were men who could see past her haute couture wardrobe and latest hairstyle, who could peer through the layers of external and see her for who she really was.

Greg came to mind, of course, but Draco wasn't sure Pansy would ever look at him differently. In their world, she had her place, he had his, and as far as she was concerned, they'd never intersect in any meaningful way.

The fire popped and Draco adjusted his position , folding his hands in his lap and taking a deep breath.

One of the articles mentioned that in ancient wizarding mythology, there was rumor of escaping the Asphodel Fields, the place where indifferent souls went after death, through volcanic activity. If one could break out of the monotony of daily life in the Fields, he could seek the base of a volcano and hope for an eruption, which would return his soul to the living world where he could try again.

The mention of asphodel, the same thing Hermione had been reading about at the match, stuck in his mind. There were volcanoes all over the world, but more specifically, in Fiji. Where Pansy was. Perhaps he could collect a few samples of volcanic ash for study, to see if there was any truth in the mythology...as was often the case. Maybe there was something about the volcanic activity, specifically, that worked with the asphodel to achieve the desired end.

Only Draco certainly couldn't leave the business to go island hopping in the South Pacific. He would have to send someone...who better than his closest friend, whom he trusted more than anyone with the task?

He would tell Greg that Pansy was there and leave it at that. Who knew what might happen if they met up in a different corner of the world?

ooo

A/N: Thank you for reading!! The Asphodel Fields are from Greek Mythology (go here for more information), and since asphodel is used in the Draught of Living Death and is associated with the afterlife and the underworld (reference), I combined the two to create my own mythology.

Thanks as always to my wonderful betas: manda, z, pokeystar, & drcjsnider. Thanks to inadaze22 for the playlist!

Art credit: This chapter's awesome art was done by the very talented melia_eothria of LiveJournal.