Chapter Six

Hermione's office was located in a large two-story office complex rented out to various local organizations. The building was brand new, constructed in an area undergoing "revamping"- realtors had given the neighborhood a fancy new name but it hadn't stuck quite yet and rent in the area was still cheap. Draco had gotten her work address from Ron, explaining that he was helping her with some work contacts.

The hallway to Granger's office was long and carpeted with an ugly paisley pattern. He read the other name plates as he walked down the hall: United Kingdom Public Magical Utilities Department, Inter-Species Empowerment League, Goblins United Against Smoking. Her office was at the far end of the hall, and beside her door was a humble nameplate with Granger, H. printed in small black letters.

He took a deep breath, adjusted his robe, and then raised his hand to tap the door lightly a half dozen times with the back of his knuckle. There was a shuffle and then the door creaked open slightly.

"Malfoy?" Hermione swung the door open widely and smiled at him, bewildered. "What are you doing here?"

She was wearing a white jumper over a gray dress with black stockings and boots, giving her the effect of a schoolteacher. Her office was clean but scattered, as if none of the objects had a place to be quite yet. There was lots of empty space but the walls were lined with towering filing cabinets. He saw her desk in the corner and motioned at it. "I'm here on business."

She frowned. "Business?" she asked as she warily led him to a seat. "How did you find out where I work?"

"Unimportant," he said dismissively. He sat back and removed his scarf, tucking it into his cloak. "I wanted to ask you about your- what do you call it- anti-profit?"

"Non-profit," she corrected. She kept eyeing him suspiciously, as if he had crossed into territory in which he didn't belong.

"Right. That. You mentioned the other night that you recently had a major sponsor withdraw after you called for that mandatory minimum wage thing-"

"A sickle a day is hardly a wage-"

"I'm not trying to argue with you about that," he said, cutting her off. "In fact, I'm proposing the opposite. I want to be an investor."

She blinked and leaned in with her hands folded on her desk. Her nail polish was chipped, he noticed. "An investor?" she repeated.

"Yes. Actually, I have a few ideas I want to propose. I'm looking to be more like a… co-owner. I'm ready to provide up to 100,000 galleons for 50% equity in your business."

She stared at him, then scoffed. "You're joking."

"I'm not." He reached into his cloak and pulled out a file. "In fact, I wrote up a memo for your consideration."

She snatched the file and scanned it over quickly. As she read, her eyebrows turned from distrust to curiosity. She looked up at him, intrigued. "This is actually a brilliant idea."

He couldn't help but smile. "I know."

"I mean, you seem to still fundamentally misunderstand exactly what a nonprofit is, but we can discuss that," she said as she paged through his proposal. "But why do you want to do it?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms, feeling confidence of all things. "You need capital to start this whole venture up, and I've got a good amount of it. My family name is soured with the stains of the war, but if I were to take the remnants of the Malfoy fortune and invest it into small business ventures to rebuild Wizarding England, I could help change that. You get the money you need, I get the good PR, and we both get the satisfaction of helping others… or whatever."

She looked back down at the memo as if she couldn't really believe what he was saying. "It says here that you might be able to get some of the other Pureblood families on board."

"Blaise loves the idea and I've been in talks with the Parkinsons and the Notts. There aren't many reasons not to do it. Conservatively, I think I could procure at least another 20,000 galleons for you within the next three months."

She shook her head and for a moment he wasn't sure if she was angry or confused or ecstatic. Then she looked up at him and he saw she had tears in her eyes. "Granger-"

"Can I hug you?" she asked tearfully.

"I- pardon- what?"

"It's just, when I'm really grateful, I like to hug people…"

If only because he was so shocked by the presence of a crying Hermione Granger, Draco conceded with a nod. "Um, sure-"

She stood and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, squeezing lightly. He sat stock still, petrified by the sniffling witch who had attached herself to his torso. He couldn't remember the last time he had engaged in a hug, and the feeling was foreign and uncomfortable for him. And of all people, he was being embraced by her. She was warm, warmer than he thought she would be, and firm. It was over in a matter of a second, but when she stepped away, he still felt hot.

"Thank you, Malfoy."

He shuffled his feet anxiously. "It really is a mutually beneficial decision."

"I know. But I'm still grateful." She wiped away a tear and straightened herself up. "We should meet soon. I can start owling you materials tomorrow, even. We can talk about the particulars and get all the paperwork out of the way. In fact, I have a wonderful paralegal who can notarize everything for us…"

She rambled on and he nodded, pretending to listen to her endless list of to-dos. His mind, however, was still stuck on her hug. It had been awhile since someone had held him, fastened him to Earth, reminding him I'm here and you're here and we're both here together right now.

"Yeah, sure, whatever you need," he heard himself saying to her. "I can make time to get it done."

She beamed and it made him feel warm again, which scared him. He took a step back from her and ran a hand through his hair. "So we'll go over everything later, yes?"

She was too ecstatic over the news to notice the shift in his aura. "Yeah, of course, sure. I'll owl you tomorrow."

He Flooed home to find Cassandra and Benjamin waiting on either side of the fireplace, both staring up at him with guilting eyes. He hadn't taken them on a walk yet that morning. "I know, I know, I'm late," he sighed. "I promise you two were my friends, first. I won't abandon you yet."

Hermione ended up sending over so much paperwork for review that it took a team of three owls four trips each to transport it all. Why she didn't just Floo over to deliver it was beyond Draco, but it was exciting every time another owl arrived with more files. He devoured them quickly: some, like the philosophy and justice articles, were long and boring and he skimmed rather than absorbed, but the ones Granger penned herself were fascinating. There were copies of letters written back and forth with dozens and dozens of people- lawyers, business owners, teachers, government officials, authors, researchers. She exchanged ideas, proposed innovations, and collected knowledge, which she then synthesized into shorter memos. As he read, Draco began fleshing out the vision Hermione had: a place where creative problem-solvers could come to receive funding and support for their social justice projects.

On Tuesday Draco decided to visit his mother. Although he was the sole manager of the family's investments, he was worried his mother might be notified of the fund transfer, and even if not, the residual guilt of his childhood obligated him to at least warn her.

He wrote her in the morning to tell her he'd stop by around five. She didn't write back, which he found unusual but figured she was bitter about the long stretch since his last visit.

When he Flooed to the Manor promptly at five, he expected to find his mother waiting in the drawing room by the main fireplace. Instead, the room was empty, orange evening light filtering in, tiny dust moths floating in the air. Draco took a step into the room and shrugged off his coat. The door to the dining room swung open and the elf looked at him grumpily. With a shrug he gestured to the ceiling and then hobbled off.

Draco looked up and heard a thump from above, causing more dust clumps to fall from the ceiling. He angled his head and heard muffled shouting, and like a bucket of cold water being poured down his neck, he realized exactly what he was hearing. It was the same noise he would wake up to in the middle of the night, alone in his dark room. Lucius' voice echoing through the thick walls, Narcissa's pleas and whimpers.

He felt his fingers curl and his hand went immediately to his wrist. He wanted blood- his father's or his, it didn't matter. It was all the same anyway.

There was another thump and then a sharp yell and the noises stopped. He waited and sure enough in a few minutes he heard the soft shuffle of his mother's house slippers on the carpeted stairs. Narcissa, to any outsider, looked normal, presentable. But to Draco's well-trained eye she was practically disheveled: the baby hairs around Narcissa's temple were frizzed and reaching for the sky, the sleeves of her robes were wrinkled, and her posture was hunched. Luckily, though, there was no sign of external injury. The fight was only verbal.

"Draco," she said wearily. She had forgotten he was coming. "It's good to see you."

He opened his arms and they embraced lightly. Narcissa laid a hand on the nape of her son's neck, briefly clutching him, and then released. She smiled. "How are you?"

"Where is he?" Draco asked, ignoring her question. "I'd like to have a word with him."

Narcissa walked to an armchair by the fire and rested with her forehead in her hand. "Please don't cause trouble, Draco. I have a terrible migraine."

"A man can't confront his son in his own home? Fucking coward." Draco wanted to bolt upstairs and find his father himself, hit him with a Crucio, watch him writhe. It was a familiar fantasy but one he had never dared to live out.

"Stop," Narcissa said. Her command was final. He sat.

"Someday he's going to have to face me," Draco murmured. Narcissa pretended not to hear him. "I'm doing fine," he answered.

"Good." She reached up and smoothed her baby hairs down. Her hair was wrapped in a tight bun, the hair yanked so tight it looked like it pulled her skin. "So what do you need from me today?"

"It's been awhile since I last visited."

"I know that." She sniffed and picked at an invisible hangnail.

"I wanted to visit you," he said honestly. "And I also have some things I wanted to… keep you aware of."

Narcissa nodded. "Is this about the child?"

"Not directly, but-" Draco stopped. He reached into his robe and pulled out his wallet. He took out two photos he had of Teddy- one was recent, a photo of Draco posing with Teddy outside after a Weasley dinner, and the other was a baby photo Harry shared with Draco. "Here he is. In case you wanted to know."

Narcissa didn't say anything but her eyes betrayed her indifference. He knew why- she saw her sister in the boy. She fingered the photos curiously and then handed them back over. "He's a handsome boy."

"Black blood," Draco agreed as he tucked the photos away. "It does a man favors."

Narcissa looked wistful. "You've been spending a lot of time with him, then?"

He nodded. "With all of them."

"What is it like?"

He wasn't sure what she meant by asking this. Did she want him to rebuke them, to confirm that they were as terrible as Lucius once painted them to be? Dirty blood traitors, living like rats, no sense of respectability. Or did she want the truth? Did she want to know that her son was being treated well, with dignity? They certainly owed him no dignity, and she knew that.

"It feels good," he answered carefully. "To have friends."

Narcissa's face twisted into something Draco hadn't expected: a smile. He searched her face for malice but found none, just contentment. "Good," said Narcissa.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually," Draco said. He took a deep breath and let it out in one go: "I wanted to let you know that I'll be liquidating a good amount of our remaining assets to give to Hermione Granger."

Narcissa's smile turned to a pucker, as if she'd eaten something sour. "Excuse me?"

"I manage our profiles, so this is less of an ask than a courtesy. I'm not asking for permission, I just wanted you to hear all this from me."

"You're giving our money to Hermione Granger?"

"Not to her. To her charity," Draco explained.

"Oh, are you a philanthropist now?"

"You were always a proponent of philanthropy."

"Yes, when we were wealthy."

Draco scoffed. "We have plenty of money left."

"We have money left because your father didn't throw away our money to whatever young woman caught his interest," Narcissa said, her voice dripping with disdain.

Draco balked. "Excuse me? Don't you dare try to purport that my father made wise choices. And as a major donor I'll be chair of her board, helping oversee how she spends the money. In return, I might manage to recover some of the dignity my father stripped of the Malfoy name."

Narcissa took in a sharp breath. She had no counterargument other than the simple fact she didn't want her money given away to a Muggleborn, and Draco knew that. He continued: "This is a good idea. I refuse to hear anything to the contrary, especially if it has anything to do with my father. However, I would be happy to share with you the proposal I shared with Ms. Granger as well as the paperwork outlining exactly how much of our assets I'll be liquidating."

Narcissa gave him a tight-lipped nod. She stared at Draco, long and measured, and suddenly her lips twisted into something resembling a smirk. A Malfoy smirk. "I respect your ardor," she said, smoothing down her robe. "I can't help but wonder, however, how much of this might be due to Ms. Granger herself."

Draco felt himself go red and he tried to calm himself so it wouldn't show on his pale face. "I don't like what you're implying."

"All I will say is that while I trust your abilities and have faith in your intelligence, I can only hope you think with your head and not with your-"

"Stop," Draco said, shaking his head, not wanting to hear whatever was about to come out of his mother's mouth. "I just wanted to stop by to let you know what's going on so you wouldn't be surprised. I don't want advice right now."

"Fine," said Narcissa. She remained seated while her son got up to leave. "I hope you'll stay in touch, Draco. And if I can help you at all…"

Draco stopped before he reached the fireplace. "Actually," he said. "Who was that fellow you hired after the war? The media strategist?"

"Herman Galgantio," Narcissa said.

"Yes, him. You can send me his information. I'll be sure to have Missy post you a copy of the proposal and investment paperwork," he said as he tossed some Floo powder into the fireplace. "Good to see you, Mum."

Herman Galgantio was a tall man, broad-chested and sharp-jawed with a winning smile and a strong but approachable physique. He was the time of man with eyes you could trust, and a tongue that could win you over if the eyes didn't work.

He was friendly in a superficial way and Draco could tell he only knew an artificial etifice of the man. Herman was so good at his job that he became his own client: a human programmed to excel at friendly conversation, equipped with a jolly laugh, a firm handshake, and a quick tongue.

Blaise, who was the first person Draco confided in about his investment idea, agreed to attend Draco's first meeting with Herman. "If I'm going to be a major donor in your strangely benevolent endeavor, I should probably see what nonsense I'll be funding," he reasoned.

They met in Herman's large penthouse home, decorated garishly by Draco's standards- Narcissa always said too many gold accents are a dead giveaway of the nouveau riche- but it was tidy and aesthetically pleasing. Everything about Herman, it seemed, was tidy and aesthetically pleasing, which made sense given his career.

"Would either of you care for a drink?" Herman asked as he settled the men onto a couch in his living room. The penthouse was open-concept: the foyer opened directly into the living room, where there were a few couches organized around a coffee table with a minibar nearby. Past that was a partially closed off kitchen, which appeared as if it hadn't been used at all: the pots and pans that hung from the wall were unstained and gleaming, and there wasn't a dirty plate or mug in sight. The bar, however, was full of half-full bottles.

"Gimlet, please," Blaise requested. Draco declined, preferring to stay sober during these types of first encounters. Herman was glad to take Draco as a client, remembering Narcissa fondly. He offered Draco a fifteen percent discount on his services being that they were consulting on the behalf of a nonprofit, and one with Hermione Granger's name attached to it to boot. Draco didn't mention the consultation to Hermione in case Herman turned out not to be useful.

"So," Herman said, passing Blaise his drink. "What can I do for you?"

"We're looking to contract someone to develop a media and public relations strategy," Draco said. He had spent the night before reading through some material Hermione had owled over and came prepared. After reading Hermione's files he had come to better understand the fundamental structure of what she was creating, and the more he learned, the more ideas he had. He imagined a grand kickoff fundraiser catered by five star chefs, where Potter and company would make inspiring speeches. Perhaps Herman could secure them some newspaper or magazine interviews.

He handed Herman a bullet list of projects Hermione was planning on funding and another list of influential names they could utilize. Herman's eyes grew wider and wider as he scanned the list. "This is ambitious," he said. "But you're well-equipped if you have these people on your side. These people, with your tenacity and my skill… we could do big things."

Blaise sipped his drink and leaned forward. "Bear in mind that this is not Draco's endeavor. It's Ms. Granger's, and we're here on her behalf to see what you have to offer."

Herman put down the papers and nodded intently. Draco could see the wheels turning in his head: the man had ideas. "I have a strong background in unconventional media. This is how your mother found me," he said to Draco. "Other public relations specialists, they occupy their time with managing celebrities and squashing trivial drama. My skills are unique. I have a knack for shifting perceptions, subverting assumptions, and changing the way the mind perceives what's before it."

It sounded a bit like snake oil but there was no denying that Herman played a strong part in keeping the Malfoys out of Azkaban. Herman continued: "I'll need a clear strategy before offering any particular recommendations, though. What's your goal here? Fit it into one sentence, two maximum. It's impossible to do good work without a clear strategy to guide you, a Northern star to point to when you're lost in the weeds."

"We don't have one of those yet," Draco said. "But I can get you one within the next week. If you can provide some credentials, maybe a few references, that would be good to convince Gr-Hermione."

Herman leaned in, studied Draco carefully. "I want to know your motives, though. I have a feeling they might be separate from Ms. Granger's."

Blaise interrupted. "Draco's motives are neither here nor there."

"I don't judge," Herman said with his hands in the air. "I was the one to take the Malfoy name and keep it from being entirely dragged through the mud. I'm no stranger to controversy and I have no problem with defending those who have questionable intentions. It's easier to do my job, though, if those intentions are made clear from the start."

Draco swallowed. He wished he had the room to be indignant, but the truth was, his motives were different from Hermione's. He wouldn't have given her the amount of money he did if he didn't think it would help lift him from the depths of public shame. But he also was interested in Hermione's ideas and the more he learned about them, the more he cared.

"I won't try to pretend like this won't be good for my reputation," Draco said. "But it would be equally dishonest to say I don't care about Ms. Granger's cause. I'm firmly dedicated to rebuilding a stronger magical community and I'm looking for people who will help me do that."

Blaise gave Draco an impressed nod and raised his glass. "I'll drink to that. Mr. Galgantio, I have some questions from a legal perspective. Can you speak to your experience with defamation law?"

Draco was pleased with himself. As he vaguely listened in to Herman's droning he picked at his left shirtsleeve, and noticed his wrist. The bruises were light and faded- he hadn't thought to pinch himself in days. He couldn't remember a time in the past few years when his wrist wasn't some shade of deep indigo. In fact, he wasn't sure his skin would be able to fully heal after the years of damage he'd inflicted. But there his wrist was, a mottled pink and blue… healing.

Somewhere next to him Herman was showing Blaise a portfolio of past media clippings and photoshoots, but Draco was in another world. He gently stroked the delicate skin of his wrist, in awe of his body's ability to heal itself despite the abuse.

"Mr. Malfoy," Herman said, interrupting Draco's thoughts. "Here is what I propose: I will review these documents and come up with a preliminary strategy. I wish to meet with both you and Ms. Granger to ensure I am getting the complete picture. Will that work?"

Draco looked at Blaise, who nodded. The portfolio must have been impressive. "That sounds like a fine plan."

They chatted for a little longer- Herman was eager to share stories about past clients and their subsequent successes, but Draco struggled to focus. He felt something he thought was reserved only for those with less to repent, with less burden to shoulder. He looked down at his mending wrist. He felt hope.

That night at Weasley dinner, Draco caught Hermione before the meal began. He gestured for her to come to the side and they stepped into the stairway away from the others. Hermione had been whisper-talking to Potter and Weasley, a common sight during group gatherings. The three of them huddled together in a way that made anyone around them feel like an outsider. They had an inherent trust in each other, the type of bond that could only develop as a result of undergoing collective trauma. Draco wondered what it would be like to have had someone to go through his trauma with. Company would be comforting, but it would mean that another human would have to go through what he went through, and he wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy. Which in a way, was himself. He reached for his wrist and then stopped. You've been doing so well.

When they were out of earshot he shared the news with Hermione. "I wanted to tell you," he said. "I met with that PR consultant- the one my mother hired- earlier today. Don't be angry, I didn't share anything confidential, I just wanted to see if he might be a good fit. He has some excellent ideas and I think he would be an asset on our team."

Hermione blinked, surprised. "That's great. I'm surprised you're already getting out there to find people."

"I told you, Granger, I'm in this. Besides, I'm not going to throw my money around without exercising some level of control over how it's spent." Draco's demeanor around Hermione was so unlike how he behaved in private or around strangers or acquaintances. He hardly knew her but around her he felt confident, cocky even. He peacocked more around her, wanting to prove to her that he was her equal. I can keep up, he was trying to say. You don't scare me.

Unfortunately, that confidence bordered on arrogance, which made Hermione bristle. "This is a partnership," she warned. "We'll make all the decisions together."

"Right," Draco said. "Which is why I told him very explicitly that I wouldn't hire him until and unless I had your full review and approval."

Hermione smiled. "Good," she said. "Thanks. Speaking of doing things together, I finally set up a desk for you at the office. I'd love to have you start coming in full time this week if you're up for it."

"Of course," he said.

"Or you could come in part time, don't feel like you have to put too much time into this."

Draco shrugged. "I want to help," he said honestly.

Beyond the hallway in the dining room, Molly was putting down plates and ushering people in from the backyard. Hermione looked out at them, and then back at Draco. "By the way," she said, slightly nervous. "I told Harry and Ron about the money. I know you wanted to wait but… they kept asking why I wasn't stressed about funding anymore and I tried to keep your name out of it but then Ron guessed it was you-"

"Weasley guessed?" Draco said, surprised.

Hermione shrugged and smiled impishly. "He must see through you more than you think."

"There's nothing to see through," Draco said stiffly. "You get what you get."

Hermione rolled her eyes and gestured for them to both go sit. "Come on, now."

As they tucked in for dinner, Draco watched Harry and Ron to see if they would treat him any differently. He couldn't pinpoint anything particularly out of place, but he could swear he was getting more glances than usual from across the table. At one point he caught Fleur staring at him intently— when he met her gaze she immediately stared down at her plate, her cheeks red.

In the middle of dinner it began to shower outside. It was heavy rain that fell in large droplets which echoed on the many rooftops of the Burrow.

"It's that time of year," Molly said, sighing. "It always ends up flooding in at least one of our rooms. Arthur, can you make sure the hole we patched is holding up? The one from last week when it was storming?"

"I will, but I should go de-gnome the yard first," Arthur said.

"Why's that?" asked Neville.

"Rain drives them out of the ground. They're easier to chase out when it's raining."

Bill waved for his father to sit. "I'll take care of the gnomes, Dad," he said.

"It's a two-man job," said Arthur.

Bill looked across the table and settled his eyes on Draco. His expression was blank. "Malfoy, shall we go at it together, then?"

Draco sat frozen like a deer in headlights. Him? Why would Bill want him to help? "Er- sure," he said hesitantly. He looked to his left at Hermione, who appeared equally bewildered.

"Great," Bill said. They trudged out to the lawn and put up their arms to shield themselves from the rain. Bill cast a charm and suddenly they were both encased in a warm, dry bubble.

"Thanks," murmured Draco.

"Let's get this over with then," said Bill. Draco followed him to the side of the lawn, willing the earth to spontaneously combust or swallow him up whole. They reached the side of the yard where the gnomes were hiding and began chasing them down and yanking them from their hiding spots.

"Can't we spell them out?" asked Draco.

Bill shook his head. "They've been around for so long that they're immune to standard removal spells. It's easier to just yank 'em and then Confund them so they can't find their way back."

Draco nodded and pulled one out from a gnarled rosebush. He thought about saying something to Bill, offering some sort of apology or peace offering. He hadn't spoken to him since Andromeda's funeral and wasn't sure if the animosity between them remained. He tried more than once to open his mouth but each time words failed to come out. He took a break from gnome hunting to press gently against the old bruises on his wrist, feeling guilty about how the tension eased with the influx of pain.

They worked in silence for the next ten minutes; Draco hurled so many gnomes over the fence that his arms grew sore. Mr. Weasley was right, the rain really did drive them up and about. He never had to degnome his own home- there were always elves or servants to do that work for him.

When they finished, they both stood and looked at each other momentarily. Draco never paid much attention before to how bad Bill's scars were. They ran jagged across his eyes and nose, making his features distorted and off-balance. He thought about Bill's daughter, about how it would feel to know your own daughter might be afraid of your face.

"Bill," he started.

"I heard what you did for Hermione," Bill said, cutting him off.

"What?" How had Bill heard?

"It's good. It's a good start." Bill cleared his throat. "Good start," he repeated. "Just wanted to let you know."

He nodded at Draco and then walked briskly back to the house, leaving Draco to smooth the garden soil over himself. When he was done he released the drying spell and let the rain clean the dirt from his palms and knees. He relished in it for a moment, ignoring the throbbing numbness in his fingers from the cold. Bill had begun to forgive him. If all it took for Bill Weasley to start to come around was a mere rumor that he was helping Hermione, Draco couldn't imagine what the entire launch and campaign would do for him.

He laughed into the night sky, free and light. This was absolvement, he thought. And it felt amazing.

When Draco came into the office for his first official day, Hermione had completely rearranged her office to accommodate him. There was a new desk across the room from hers with some cabinets in between to provide some level of privacy. Still, if he craned his neck he could see her easily over the barrier.

He wore his best office casual: a dress robe with a button-down, tie, and slacks. Missy shined his shoes and packed him lunch. He felt coddled but hadn't thought to pack one himself and was grateful to have the attentive elf in his life.

On his desk there was a folder, a notepad, and a fresh white quill and ink. There was also a shiny gold engraved nameplate. D. Malfoy. Seeing it made him swell with pride. It occurred to him for the first time that this was his first real job. Never before in his life had he sought employment and secured it. After Hogwarts he worked for his parents' estate like many other Purebloods and hadn't given it a second thought. This job, while far less lucrative, filled him with a sense of purpose he had never felt before.

Inside his folder was a first day agenda, typed and neatly hole-punched.

10:00 AM: Introduction to the office

11:00 AM: Strategizing session

1:00 PM: Lunch

2:00 PM: Review Galgantio's proposal

4:00 PM: Strategizing cont.

"You made an agenda?" he asked, calling out so Hermione could hear him across the cabinets.

"Hm?" she said. "Is it already 10? I can start the tour if you're all settled in."

"Tour?" he asked. "It's one room."

She stood, staring at him incredulously. "Everything in this room is organized according to a particular system I carefully developed. If you aren't adequately trained in the system everything will fall apart."

"This is organized?" he said, gesturing at some of the cabinets, which were stuffed to the brim.

"Like I said, it's a very particular system. But it works."

Draco looked up at the clock, which read 9:55 AM. "Well, let's get started. I'd like to see how your brain works, Granger."

It turned out that Hermione should have budgeted much more time for her tour. By the time they had completed a loop around the office, it was almost time for lunch and Draco's head was pounding. Hermione Granger's brain, it turns out, was a cavernous maze ripe with trap holes and stairs leading to nothing. As much as he tried to commit to memory the strange way she organized her thoughts, nothing made sense. They spent half the tour bickering- Draco offering "better" ways for Hermione to do things, and Hermione taking twice as long to then dissect his suggestions and reveal their technical flaws. By the end of it, Draco was none the wiser and the tension in the room was palpable.

"I'm going out for lunch," Hermione said when the clock hit one o'clock. Draco spent the time alone in the office re-reading her guide, loosely based on something she called the dewy dec-mal system, which sounded more like one of Teddy's cartoons than a way to properly organize information. But the more he inspected her work, the more he realized its ins and outs, the more he came to understand the ingenuity of it. Frustration melted into respect. It was starting to make sense why she always had top marks.

It was raining hard, and when Hermione got back she had to shed her layers before settling back in. As she was reaching to unravel her scarf from under her parka she looked at the row of file cabinets strangely. "You moved things," she accused. "What did you move?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco said, amused. While she was gone he found a mistake and corrected it- he was surprised she already noticed the slight change.

Hermione finished unbuttoning her coat and then went to inspect the papers. She took the folder that had been moved and went to return it to its proper place when Draco stopped her.

"Read the publication date on that," he said without looking up. He heard her pause. And then:

"Oh."

He peeked up and she nodded at him with respect. "Good catch," she said. "So you've come around to my system?"

"It'll take some getting used to."

She smiled pleasantly. "I'm sure you're up to the task," she said brightly as she came over to his desk and tapped his agenda. "Shall we review Mr. Galgantio's proposal, then?"

Draco learned, as he and Hermione worked through the list of services Herman offered, that their brains worked in very similar ways. While their processes were different, their natures were identical: they were analytical, critical, and detail-oriented. There was no stone left unturned, no option unexplored. They spent the entire afternoon working through Herman's list of ideas. Unsurprisingly, Hermione had a lot to say about almost everything. Some things Draco agreed with, many he didn't. It was four-thirty when they finally decided to hire Herman, a decision that Draco felt could've been made in half the time. This was her process, though. As they argued over ideas and scratched things out on paper it became more and more clear to Draco that he was less of a co-pilot and more of a backseat driver. Still, he found ways to get his opinions through- he noticed Hermione was insecure about making final decisions, and he used her hesitation to his advantage. He also realized she hated conceding to him, so he tried to frame certain things as though they were her idea to begin with.

Draco stood awkwardly when the clock hit five. It was his official cue to leave. As he carefully packed his briefcase, he noticed Hermione made no motion to leave. She had looked up when the clock hit, barely seemed to register the time, and went back to reading.

"Are you going home, Granger?"

"Hm?" she asked, dazed. "Home?"

"It's five o'clock."

"Oh," she sighed. "There hasn't been a single day this month where I worked regular hours. I'm usually here until seven or eight o'clock, and that's on good days."

"What's left that can't wait until tomorrow?"

She looked at him ludicrously. "We only got halfway through today's agenda. Now I have to do preparatory work so we can expedite tomorrow's strategy session, otherwise we're at risk for not coming up with a name and mission statement in time."

He put down his briefcase. "So I'm going to go home while you stay here and do the work?" She shrugged. "No, this is supposed to be a joint effort. If you're staying, I'm staying."

She looked confused. "You don't want to go home?"

"Granger, what exactly do you think I go home to?" he asked in a moment of rare honesty.

"Oh," she said. She pulled together some papers and held them up to him. "Well. Then here, make a copy of these and get started."

It was funny, the way she got so absorbed in what she was reading that she couldn't focus on anything else. When she was aware of them she tried her best to be mindful of her manners. The problem was, she seemed to always be lost in Hermione-land, buried in whatever thought was currently occupying her head.

He tried to focus on the papers but his mind kept dancing away. They were boring: rambling reports on the psychology of adjectives, press release clippings, and even a graph about the power of colors. Finally he stood and walked over to Hermione's desk. "Granger, this is ridiculous," he said. "Why are we reading all of this?"

"So we can decide on a name and a mission-"

"No," he said. "This is more than anyone would ever need to develop those things. In fact, stuff like this is the reason we hired Herman. This doesn't have to be a one-man show anymore. You don't have to think of everything."

"But I like to think of everything," she said.

He sighed. "Have you ever heard that saying- perfection is the enemy of progress? Or something like that?"

She furrowed her brows. Her hair was now pulled into a loose bun and she had on her reading glasses. "So how would you have us do this, then?"

"You're overthinking everything. We need to break it down. Do you have a list anywhere? Have you brainstormed?"

"I wanted to be more prepared before I brainstormed," she said sheepishly. He shook his head.

"No. Here's what we do: we say whatever comes to our mind until we come up with something we like."

She frowned. "I-"

"Let's just try it," Draco said, shutting her down. "I'll start. The Fund to... Restore... Justice." He wasn't proud of the suggestion but it was the first thing that came to his mind.

"What? That's terrible," she said.

"You come up with one, then!"

Hermione's face went blank. "Um…"

"See?" he said. "You were reading all about imagery. What are we trying to do here? What would get our point across?"

"Well, it's money to help rebuild England," Hermione reasoned. "So I like the idea of restoration."

"Born-Again Foundation," Draco said jokingly. She was unamused.

"Reborn… rebirth," she reasoned. "Something about cycles?"

"That's vaguely menstrual, is it not?" he said with a smirk while she rolled her eyes. "Let's back up. Should it end in agency? Fund? Foundation? League?"

Hermione thought about it. "We're going to serve as an intermediary to process big ideas and fundraise on behalf of grassroots organizations so they can help implement those ideas. So we're a fund and a think tank."

Draco thought hard. There needed to be some thematic aspect to it- it needed to be creative without being confusing, and descriptive without being verbose. "What about the moon? It waxes and wanes throughout the month, but always becomes full again. We could use the symbolization of the moon in the name."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. "I like it, but I feel like it would take too much explaining." She settled her chin in the palm of her hand, her fingers wrapped around her lower lip. Suddenly she lit up. "The phoenix! How did I not think of that sooner? Harry would love that, too, and we could use the story of Fawkes…"

"That's good!" Draco said. He wasn't sure who Fawkes was, but the symbolism of a phoenix was perfect. "I like it. We can call it the Phoenix Fund."

"The Phoenix Fund," Hermione said, testing out the name on her tongue. She smiled. "I like it. I like it a lot."

Once they decided on the name and coronated it by writing it down, circling it twice, and highlighting it, Hermione decided to order Chinese takeout to celebrate. Draco hadn't had this "takeout" before but trusted her judgement. He'd been to China before, so he knew he liked Chinese food. As they waited for the food to come they began working on the mission statement. Draco knew this one would take longer and they had barely put together half a sentence before the delivery arrived and they decided to quit arguing over commas, and eat instead.

Once they were both sitting at Hermione's desk, hunched over chow mein and dumplings, it felt inappropriate to keep talking about work. Draco reverted to silence, but Hermione tried to make conversation. "So you and Ron play chess together now?"

Draco flushed. "It's just once a week."

"I think it's great," Hermione said encouragingly. "I didn't mean to judge."

"He's not as dumb as I once thought. Granted, I originally thought him on par with a concussed troll-"

"Malfoy-"

"But he's really more like a well-educated house elf."

"Malfoy!" she chastised, but she was smiling nonetheless.

"He told me you were rubbish at chess, which was surprising," he continued. "Hermione Granger, smartest witch on this side of the Atlantic, terrible at the ultimate game of strategy."

"First of all, that is very debatable. I can think of at least four more strategy-based games."

Draco smirked. "Like what?"

"Like… like Go. Or Risk."

"What's Risk?"

"It's a board game where you take over the world. It's honestly rather violent, like a miniature game of colonization."

"Why have I never heard of this?" asked Draco incredulously. "Our dorm would have loved that."

"I'm sure the Slytherins would have been great at it," she said with a tone of playful disdain. He bristled at her words: he hated when his house was used against him.

"Well, let's go play it, then," Draco found himself saying.

"Pardon?"

Draco wanted nothing more than to pretend he said something completely different, but instead he doubled down. What was he doing? "Let's play it." He looked up at the clock on the wall and cursed himself. It was seven in the evening. What was he doing?

"I do have it at home," she said, surprisingly open to his suggestion. "I could run and grab it."

Draco shoved a dumpling into his mouth and shrugged. Hermione took this as a yes and made a quick Floo trip, returning with a large box.

"So how do we play?"

Hermione laid out the rules in detail while Draco listened, surprisingly patient. When she finished, he had no questions. "Excellent. I'll be blue."

"You get it?"

"You're quite thorough."

They took turns laying out their pieces, and then the warfare began. Draco could tell she was aiming to collect Africa (interesting choice) while he was far more occupied with conquering Europe (obviously). He rolled sixes three times in a row, prompting her to check that he hadn't charmed the dice in his favor.

"I'm offended you think so little of me," he said once she reluctantly confirmed his innocence.

"Don't act like you're above such slimy tactics."

He smirked. "Actually, had you been anyone else, I probably would have rigged the dice."

"And what makes me so different?"

He moved to collect her fallen troops and tossed them into her pile. "You're the only one I know I wouldn't be able to sneak it by."

She looked surprised, but flattered, by his words. "Oh."

He got invested into the game quickly, enjoying the feeling of conquering new territory. He had just relinquished control of East Asia when he looked up at the clock and saw that they had been playing for nearly an hour. He was getting too comfortable and so was she- her legs were folded criss-cross like a yogi's and her chin was nestled into the palm of her hand as she contemplated her next move. She had the most intense expression when she was thinking. He saw it on her at least dozen times just that day: furrowed brows, lower lip drawn between her teeth, leg bouncing anxiously. Against all logic, he had the urge to reach out and rest a palm on her flesh: calm down. You're brilliant. You'll figure it out.

He buried the urge deep inside his brain where he didn't have to think about why it was happening. To distract himself, he reached into his pocket and slipped out his wand. He murmured a spell and one of his blue plastic men suddenly sprang to life.

"For England!" it squeaked as it toppled over one of Hermione's infantry.

"Hey!" she exclaimed. She smiled, entertained. "I believe that's cheating."

"You made no mention of spontaneously bringing my pieces to life in the rules."

"Fair enough." She drew her wand as well and suddenly a dozen of her men were shooting sparks at his soldier, melting his little plastic body.

"To die defending one's homeland is the greatest honor," the blue man squeaked as he melted into a shiny plastic puddle.

"Great, now my set is ruined," complained Hermione.

"The sparks were your idea," Draco said, tucking his wand away. "This game isn't nearly as strategic as chess, anyway."

"You're just jealous because you were losing," she teased.

"I was not-"

"Typical Slytherin, destroying the game while you're behind."

His smile fell away. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

"Do what?" she re-positioned herself and he averted her eyes so as not to look up her skirt.

"Make all those snide remarks about my house," he said. "I didn't choose it and being in Slytherin doesn't automatically hold me responsible to everything anyone in my house has ever done."

She nodded solemnly. "True."

"Can we- can we try for a clean slate?" he asked.

"How do you mean?"

He picked up one of the plastic soldiers and fiddled with it. "I mean putting the past in the past. Not holding past transgressions against one another."

"As I recall, I have far fewer transgressions to be held against me."

He bowed his head, trying not to let her see his discomfort and shame.

"But I'm willing to try," she said. She smiled gently, bowing her head to make eye contact. He tried to keep himself from reaching for his wrist- it was odd, how he felt the urge to give himself pain even when his emotions were positive ones. He couldn't handle any of it, good or bad. He was used to hiding it all for so long.

"Thank you," he said, his voice slightly hoarse.

"I think the game is probably over now," Hermione said, gesturing at the board. "Plus, it's getting late."

Draco sighed in relief. Finally, he could escape. "I should really be getting home. Missy will get angry at me for working too much."

She laughed. "She's such a sweetheart. Go home, Malfoy. I'll clean up for the night."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I have some extra-"

"Filing to do?" he finished. She grinned.

"You know me too well."

He stood, grabbed his coat and briefcase, and headed for the Floo. "Goodnight, Granger."

"Goodnight, Malfoy."

One of the unfortunate downsides to being a disgraced war villain, of which there were many, was the number it did on one's sex life.

It wasn't as if Draco couldn't have gotten laid if he really wanted to. There were certain subgroups of women- foreigners, those from wealthy pureblood families who wanted to secure cleaner bloodlines, and the politically ignorant, for instance- who would sleep with him. But Draco was too self-isolating to pursue anything with anyone. There had been a few encounters, women he found in bars, including one who named a price but after chatting for a moment took him upstairs for free. These nights felt ritualistic, as if he was performing a duty out of obligation to himself. Afterwards he could go retreat back to his house, alone, a hermit, satisfied for the foreseeable future.

Despite his infrequent sex life, Draco hadn't had a wet dream in years. But here he was, deep in sleep, acutely aware he was dreaming but indifferent towards that fact. There was a woman bent over in front of him, after all. Why would he question anything about it?

Their bodies were suspended in navy blue nothingness, as if floating in warm water. Her skin was glowing brown, glazed in sweat, and her face was pushed down to the side. Thick brown hair covered the top half of her face, leaving only nostrils and a mouth. He could only focus on a few square inches of her at a time, the rest of his vision blurry. Her hands, held tightly behind her back by his own, her hair stuck to the nape of her neck, her lips open slightly, pressed to an invisible surface.

He was inside her but didn't feel it and couldn't see it, he just knew he was. His skin felt like it was on fire- it was pain on the edge of pleasure.

He reached forward, tried to move her hair out of her face. He was moving faster inside her, faster, faster. Her hair smudged instead, everything became blurrier, his body was even warmer, it hurt now.

Then he heard her.

Draco.

Oh…

That was…

Was that Granger's voice?

He came hard and hot and promptly fell unconscious into dreamless sleep.

a/n: "the next chapter should be out in a matter of days" [cut to like three weeks later] OOPS, quarantine life has not been treating me well. this chapter is very long though, over 8000 words, so i hope that makes up for it! plus, things are starting to get spicier. how are y'all doing out there? i hope this story can help distract you from the chaos of the world right now, even if only for a few minutes!