Chapter Text
Chapter One - Nothing New
Lord, what will become of me / once I've lost my novelty?
Hermione was no longer terrified of the thick parchment that sat upon her desk, mocking her with its bright red script. There was a time when it would have caused her such anxiety that she'd require a Calming Draught to ease the rapid flutter of her heart. By now, she was used to it. The parchment, demanding late rent payment on her office in London, came every month without fail. And for the last four months, she'd managed to scrape together just enough funds to cover the cost of her modest office, if nothing else.
The early days of the Granger Magical Protection Agency had been abundant - she'd booked clients left and right and even received favourable coverage in the Daily Prophet. Hermione wasn't entirely convinced that her positive portrayal in the media wasn't due to Rita Skeeter's lingering fear of her, but she hadn't complained. The customers had rolled in for the first few years, enough that she'd felt confident renting an office in London and hiring five employees to work under her.
When Hermione had first opened her agency, she'd dreamed of doing something new in the wizarding world. She'd worked as an Auror after leaving Hogwarts. While she'd loved it, she disliked being beholden to the Ministry's agenda. She was tasked with protecting those she was ordered to protect rather than those who needed it most. A private agency allowed her the freedom to take on cases that wouldn't otherwise get attention. Since opening GMPA, she'd provided security and safety for everyone from prominent purebloods to house elves.
And that's where the issue came in. Hermione's passion was helping those who needed help, and clients who needed help often fell short in terms of funds. Last month, she'd brought in a total of two paying clients. The rest of her time was spent working for free. And, unfortunately, moral satisfaction didn't cover bills.
Hermione lifted the parchment from her desk just as Ginny Weasley apparated into the room with a crack. Ginny unceremoniously dropped a copy of Witch Weekly on the desk, her lips pursed. "Morning. Did you see this?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes, heart racing. "I told you not to apparate here. This is a muggle building, Ginny."
Ginny shrugged. "It's Saturday, no one is here. Except you. Plus, the lift is out of order - and eight flights of stairs is just too much at this hour."
"You're a professional athlete. Isn't that your version of a warm-up?"
"I simply disagree with unnecessary labour," Ginny said, sinking down into the leather seat across from Hermione. She gestured to the magazine she had tossed on the desk. "Did you see that?"
Hermione glanced down. The swirling purple words on the cover declared Golden Girl Devastated By Ex-Husband's Upcoming Nuptials. The photo beneath showed Hermione as she exited a local restaurant with a bag of take-away, one hand reaching up to brush away an implied tear.
Hermione pressed a hand to her forehead, sighing. "For Merlin's sake, there was an eyelash in my eye. Why would I be crying while picking up kebabs?"
"To start, Golden Girl Likes Kebabs is a far less interesting headline."
"I wish they'd drop this," Hermione said, returning the magazine to Ginny. "Ron and I have been divorced for three years. I'm glad he's moving on."
Ginny snickered. "Mum told me the wedding colours are going to be lilac and hazel."
"As in… Lavender and Brown?"
"Precisely. I'm telling you, that woman lacks a single original thought in her body."
"They seem happy. Happier than Ron and I ever managed to be, as you know. And if Witch Weekly would stop accusing me of having emotional breakdowns while picking up dinner, I'd be perfectly content with this development."
Ginny shook her head. "I doubt that's going to happen. So, perhaps, try to look a little happier. Not in a deranged way. Just… content. A smiling Golden Girl is a less enticing story."
Over the years, Ginny had become something of a self-proclaimed media consultant to Hermione. Though the first few years had been exciting and flattering, Hermione preferred to avoid the attention as of late. She hated the feeling of constantly being watched and picked apart, especially because the stories were often wildly far from the truth.
"I'll smile," Hermione acquiesced.
"Excellent." Ginny leaned back into the chair and propped her feet on Hermione's desk, a few flakes of dried mud sprinkling atop her paperwork.
"Is that all you came here for, or did you need something?"
"Wow." Ginny lowered her legs back to the ground. "You're grumpy today."
Hermione let out a breath. "I'm sorry. I'm just overwhelmed. I shouldn't take it out on you." She lifted the parchment labelled RENT OVERDUE, waving it like a flag.
"Again?" Ginny grasped the parchment and inspected it. "How many cases have you booked for this month?"
"Six." Hermione trailed a finger down her agenda. Her friends teased her endlessly for using a paper planner, but there were some things that magic just couldn't improve upon.
"How many paying clients?"
Hermione swallowed. "One. I'm providing security for Luna and Neville's baby shower."
"I'm guessing they were given a friends and family rate?" Ginny raised an eyebrow.
"None of your business."
"What are the other cases?"
"A muggleborn testifying against her abusive husband in muggle court, a young werewolf who has gone missing, and a wizard who has been underpaid by his employer. None can afford to pay my fee, though the werewolf's family did send a basket of scones."
"Hermione, I say this with the utmost delicacy - so please don't snap. But you can't afford to work for free."
"I know." Hermione slumped toward the desk. She used to dedicate her time to volunteer work while her employees took the high-paying (and soul-sucking) cases. But she'd had to let all her employees go over the last year. If she wasn't taking paying clients, there was simply no money.
Ginny pulled a leather pouch from her pocket and dumped a handful of galleons on the desk. "Here. Take this. You need it more than I do."
"That's very generous, but I can't possibly-"
Ginny shoved the coins forward. "Please. I can't sleep wondering if you're going hungry. But do something in return for me, alright? Take a paying job. A good one. I know they're not your cup of tea, but you need to pull a profit if you want to keep doing this work. None of your good deeds can continue without money."
Hermione nodded. "Okay. I promise. I'll take the next one that comes in."
As it turned out, the next paying offer wasn't as far off as Hermione expected. She had just finished escorting a young muggleborn to court when she returned to her office to find someone waiting at the door.
The young woman was tall and thin, dressed in a black dress and expensive shoes. She carried a leather-bound folder, a quill clutched in one hand. She was clearly an assistant but a well-paid one.
"Can I help you?" Hermione slipped her stack of folders into her bag.
"Yes. You are the owner of, um," the woman looked down at a parchment in her folder, "Granger Magical Protection Agency. Correct?"
"Yes. Come on in." Hermione unlocked the door to her office and led the woman inside, guiding her toward the armchair. Hermione sunk into her own seat, bracing her palms against the desktop. "How can I help you?"
"I'm here on behalf of my boss."
"And your boss is?"
"I've been asked not to say anything until you've heard the request. Highly confidential - he doesn't want every security business in town knowing his needs. You understand, I'm sure."
"Of course. What does this request entail?"
"My boss is seeking a longer-term security detail. He's a well-known public figure and most recently, some threats on his life have been made. He needs someone discreet to accompany him to perform risk assessment and attend public events until the threat is neutralised."
Hermione frowned. "That sounds like a better fit for a more traditional company, to be clear. I'm only one person. Your boss likely needs a full detail. Muscle, so to speak."
The woman shook her head. "He's adamant about discretion. He doesn't want brawn. He wants brains. Someone who can see the weakness in advance and plan for it. He's capable of protecting himself should the need require it - but he's a very busy man and needs assistance assessing the risks."
"Interesting." Hermione drummed her manicured nails against the tabletop. "I'm qualified to offer that, as you'll know. Threat detection and risk assessment are my specialties. I'm open to considering the job, depending on who this mystery client is."
"He'll be pleased to know that. He's very particular about what and who he wants, Miss Granger." The woman glanced at the parchment in her hands. "I can assure you he'll pay a handsome fee.
"What was your name again?"
"Aurelia Quinn."
"Aurelia, I'm very interested. But as someone who deals in risk and security, I need to know exactly who I'm going to be working with before I agree."
"He thought you might say that."
"And?"
"You might know him, Miss Granger. Draco Malfoy?"
Hermione's mouth dropped open. Of course, she'd heard and seen his name a million times over the years, splashed across newspapers or dripping from his endless fangirls' mouths. But Draco Malfoy in relation to her? Not in a decade. A sudden image of his face, upper lip curled in disgust as he looked at her, flashed into her mind.
She shook her head. "Unfortunately, I can't accept this case. Please send my regrets to Mr. Malfoy."
"He also thought you might say that." Aurelia smiled knowingly. "He's willing to pay a consultation fee if you'll meet with him to discuss the details of his request. Your fee is listed at three galleons for a thirty minute consultation. He's willing to pay ten just to meet. No commitment beyond that."
Hermione picked at a thread in her trousers. It was difficult to deny - in a half-hour, she'd be able to cover a quarter of her office rent. She hadn't been in the same room as Draco Malfoy in ten years. The idea of doing so now sent a shiver of discomfort up her spine. She'd spent her adulthood growing into herself, learning to trust that she deserved to be a powerful and influential member of the magical community. The last thing she needed was the memory of the words mudblood tumbling from the pinched mouth of that angry, judgmental ferret.
Of course, Draco Malfoy had done everything in his power to dispel his old reputation. After leaving Hogwarts, he had managed a reinvention of sorts. Hermione imagined he'd employed some extremely talented public relations experts in order to manage the shift he had. He'd cut ties with his parents - both imprisoned in Azkaban for their crimes during the war - and made several public apologies about his involvement, chalking it up to his youth and fear. Once he'd garnered enough public sympathy, he'd invested his money in everything he could touch: restaurants, wandmaking, bookselling, and real estate. But his most successful venture, by far, had been hotels. Malfoy Residences existed in nearly every major city in Europe. He was universally adored for what others saw as his altruism, commitment to change - and, undeniably, his good looks.
Hermione didn't buy it. He may not be a war criminal as she'd once thought, but Draco Malfoy was pretentious and judgemental. She was sure of it. Perhaps he owed her for all the pain he'd caused in their youth. There was no way in hell she would take his case. The idea of working alongside him long-term was unfathomable. But perhaps she could waste his time, earn much-needed funds, and pour his money into her beloved business.
Hermione nodded casually at Aurelia. "Please tell Mr. Malfoy that I'd be willing to do a consultation, for twelve galleons. My schedule is very booked, so it'll have to be tomorrow morning. Eight o'clock. Thirty minutes, no longer."
The next morning, Hermione sat anxiously in her seat at a quarter to eight. She wore a red sheath dress usually reserved for dates and a pair of black stilettos. She'd put extra care into her makeup, though she'd left her hair as wild as possible. She felt a small swell of embarrassment at the realisation that she was dressing up for her childhood bully - but she needed him to know she wasn't the same girl. She was a grown woman who wouldn't dare crumble under his judgment.
She sipped her tea, eyes trained on the door. At eight o'clock precisely, it rattled with a firm knock. She raised her wand, and the door creaked open. Draco stepped inside.
Though she'd seen him in the papers over the years, Hermione wasn't prepared to see Malfoy in reality. He was taller than she remembered. His boyish good looks had transformed into something darker - sharp cheekbones, full lips, and grey eyes framed with thick lashes. If he was handsome in photographs, he was devastating in person. It was no wonder he'd been able to shift public opinion so successfully. Beautiful people were always given more grace.
Malfoy wore black slacks and a white button-up, sleeves rolled to reveal tattooed forearms. She imagined the ink was intended to draw attention away from his Dark Mark, and it did the trick. The mark was almost entirely camouflaged by a landscape of intricate images. Hermione flicked her gaze to meet his face and stood, fingertips pressed to her desk.
"Malfoy. Come in. It's been a long time."
"Hello Granger. A decade, I'd say?"
"Just about. Have a seat."
He approached, surprisingly feline in the way he moved, then lowered himself into the chair across from her. "I'm grateful you could take the time to consult with me despite your schedule." He raised an eyebrow as if to indicate his full awareness that she was not nearly as busy as she pretended to be.
She sat, crossing her legs. "Your poor assistant looked terrified she might lose her job if I didn't acquiesce."
"I wouldn't fire someone for your hardheadedness. That would've been setting her up for failure."
Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes like an adolescent. "Very funny. Let's discuss details. Aurelia expressed that you're needing a longer-term arrangement?"
He nodded. "As I'm sure you're aware, I attend many public events throughout Europe."
"I wasn't. I don't keep up with your career," Hermione lied.
He smirked. "Regardless, it's absolutely imperative to my brand that I'm visible. There have been some threats, as of late. I need someone who is able to not only help prepare for my appearances, but be present at them to be abreast of all potential security breaches."
"Aurelia stated that you're capable of protecting yourself. Why the need for security, in that case?"
"The impact on my image would be disastrous if I were engaged in a violent confrontation at an event. I need things to run smoothly - and that's where you come in."
Hermione idly tapped her wand against her desk, studying him. The man in front of her was nothing like she'd expected. A part of her had been waiting for a teenaged Draco to waltz into her office, spitting insults and threatening to call his father. Instead, he moved with a confidence and ease that set her on edge.
"I'll be honest, Malfoy. I take this business seriously. I can't, in good faith, work alongside you. We hate each other."
His expression remained neutral. "Do we?"
"I…" she sipped her tea. "Yes, I'd say so. Or, at the very least, we've always disliked one another. I'm not even sure I understand why you'd want to work with me. Surely, there are other options out there."
"There are. I'm a thorough man. I've researched them all. But I don't do things halfway. I won't settle for anything less than the best. And, as it turns out, you're the best, Granger."
She wasn't immune to recognition. The teenager inside her - constantly fighting to be valued - smiled smugly. She was the best. "I'm listening. What's your offer?"
"A standing salary for your services until the threat is neutralised. Four-hundred galleons a month. An additional four galleons an hour for any events you attend alongside me. And a suite at our London location for the entirety of your contract."
Her face flushed. It was a lot of money. Enough to pay her rent and put some aside for additional expenses. "I have a home. I don't need to be bribed with a suite."
"It appears you do." Draco's eyes landed on the small suitcase in the corner of the room. She hadn't even told her friends that she'd been staying at her office, giving up her flat to save money. And he'd noticed within fifteen minutes. Delightful.
Hermione shrugged. "I work late often. It's nice to have some things here."
"Makes sense." His eyes twinkled with something like success. "Do we have a deal?"
"I have other cases. People who need my help."
"You'll have time. You don't have to give up on your charity cases. Don't fret."
"I'm not fretting, Malfoy. But I have responsibilities. I can't drop other clients just because you're used to getting what you want."
He winked. Winked. It was like an alternate reality. Hermione had to stop herself from laughing from the sheer absurdity of it all.
"Do we have a deal?"
She did the numbers one more time in her head. This could be the thing that saved her business. Yes, it meant working alongside Draco Malfoy. But it was a small sacrifice, perhaps, to help people who needed it most.
She nodded slowly, worry twisting in her gut. "Yes."
He smiled, almost wolf-like. "Excellent. I'll have Aurelia send an owl with the contract. I have a restaurant opening in London this Friday that I'll need you to attend. Can you begin tomorrow? I'll need to have my team brief you on the plans. I can have your suite ready this evening."
Hermione had never even been in the lobby of a Malfoy Residence. She had once joked to Ginny that she was too poor to look directly at the building. For the past two months, she'd been transfiguring her chair into a twin-size bed and brushing her teeth in the shared office bathroom.
She almost smiled at the thought of a real bed. "That will do. I'll be there around six."
"Pleasure doing business with you, Granger." Malfoy stuck out his hand, and her eyes immediately darted to the artwork that mapped every inch of available skin.
"Pleasure," she said through grit teeth.
She was surprised by the jolt that ran through her body as she took his hand. Static electricity, she told herself.
Hermione stared up at the looming hotel, her heart hammering in her chest. While any passing muggle would see only an under-construction building, her view was awe-inducing. Malfoy Residences London towered over the other buildings beside it, stretching to at least fifty floors. It appeared to have been wrapped entirely in gold, reflecting the setting sun blindingly. A green carpet spilled out from the main doors, a black cursive M adorning its centre. She stepped inside, casting her eyes upward to take note of the ceiling. The ceilings of Malfoy Residences were their signature - the lobbies were charmed to maintain an ever-present copy of the night sky. Constellations twinkled above her, the starlight reflecting on the black marble floor below.
"Miss Granger! Welcome."
Hermione looked back down. Aurelia stood a few steps away, holding a tray of champagne flutes.
"Hello, Aurelia. This is lovely."
"Isn't it?" Aurelia plucked a champagne glass from her tray and shoved it, almost aggressively, into Hermione's hand. "Is that your only bag?"
Hermione glanced down at the suitcase in her opposite hand. "Yes. I don't expect to stay long. I work quickly."
"Excellent." Aurelia set her tray on a nearby table and pulled her wand from her pocket. She pointed the wand at Hermione's bag and muttered something unintelligible. The bag vanished from sight. "It'll be unpacked and waiting in your suite when you arrive."
Hermione was suddenly caught off-guard by a flash of a camera and a shout of her name. She covered her eyes with her forearm, trying to force a relaxed smile. She could almost hear the voice of Ginny Weasley in her head, scolding her for not preparing for this eventuality. Of course, the hotel would be crawling with reporters. She tucked her curls behind her ears and gave a small, casual wave toward the flash.
"Follow me," Aurelia gestured toward a set of lifts just beyond a check-in desk.
Hermione followed Aurelia, grateful that a lift opened in perfect timing as they approached. The doors closed, and the lift started to rise automatically. The walls were completely smooth - there were no buttons or dials to indicate the floors.
Aurelia noticed Hermione's confusion. "Rooms are linked to your wand. The lifts open when you approach and deposit you to your destination."
"Oh." Hermione studied her reflection in the large mirror as they continued to rise. "Are there always reporters in the lobby?
Aurelia waved a hand dismissively. "They're just looking for something for the front page. And I'm sure they're excited to see you."
"It's a misguided excitement," Hermione said.
"No. I used to love following you in the papers after the war." Aurelia looked embarrassed. "I even had a Golden Girl doll."
"I had forgotten about those," Hermione said, shaking her head. A few years after the war, a toy company based in Diagon Alley had released a collection of dolls modelled after Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Hermione thought they were horrifically ugly and was thankful they were no longer in production. Every so often, she'd see a little witch or wizard clutching one, and she was filled with the need to tear it from their hands and offer them a proper doll.
The lift stopped at floor fifty-four, and the doors opened. Instead of a hotel hallway, they stepped out directly into a sumptuously decorated living space.
Hermione studied the space as the lift closed behind them. "Where are we? Where is my room?"
"This is your room, Miss Granger. Floors fifty-four and fifty-five are penthouse suites. You'll have access to all of it during your stay here, as Mr. Malfoy promised. I'll give you a quick tour."
Aurelia walked Hermione through the suite. Two leather couches in front of a roaring fireplace flanked the sitting area. A audacious chandelier hung in the centre of the room, casting spots of light across the plush carpet. A small hallway to the left led to a bathroom that had her mouth watering - a rain shower, clawfoot tub, and floor to ceiling mirrors that made the enormous space appear doubly large. To the right, a second hallway led to a bedroom. A vast bed was pressed against one wall, covered in no less than fifteen fluffy pillows.
Hermione approached a wardrobe on the opposite wall and opened the double doors. Inside, she recognized a handful of outfits that had been pulled from her suitcase. Beside them, however, hung at least another twenty brand-new dresses, shirts, and trousers.
"What are these?"
"Mr. Malfoy asked that I ensure you'd have an appropriate wardrobe for your role. The clothes are Perfectus brand, one of his newest investments. Everything is charmed to fit the wearer, so no concerns about sizing."
"This is too much." Hermione's mouth went dry as she noted the price tag still hanging from one dress. It was more than two months of her office rent.
"Image is important, Miss Granger. Mr. Malfoy expects that of everyone under his employ."
"I bet he does." Hermione closed the wardrobe. Twenty-four hours ago, if someone had suggested she would be standing in a penthouse suite at Malfoy Residences, staring into a closet of custom-charmed clothing, she would've assumed they were going mad.
"Why don't you get some rest? I'll have our kitchen staff send dinner shortly. I'll collect you for our staff meeting tomorrow morning to debrief Friday's event."
Hermione watched Aurelia exit down the hall, then thumbed through the drawers of her wardrobe. It appeared she'd been provided several pairs of silk pyjamas, monogrammed with the initials HG . Though it was tempting, she pulled out her own sweatpants and tee-shirt. Wearing pyjamas purchased by Draco Malfoy was too bizarre to swallow for tonight.
She moved into the sitting room and sank into the couch, realising she should send word to Ginny and Harry about where she'd be staying temporarily. Ginny would be thrilled to know Hermione was making good money, no matter the person behind it. On the other hand, Harry would likely be more than happy to express his reservations.
While searching the room for spare parchment and a quill, she found a stack of Daily Prophets dated over the last several weeks. The first paper of the pile was emblazoned with the words: Draco Malfoy's Newest Leading Lady - Who Is The Mysterious Blonde?
In the picture, Malfoy was exiting a room through a side door. One hand brushed his blonde hair from his forehead, while the other seemed to be reaching for someone on the other side. Through the frosted glass, only a sheath of blonde hair was evident. He looked back and forth between the camera and the person behind the door, looking both mysterious and amused. Hermione scanned the article below the photograph.
Hot off the heels of this year's shocking divorce announcement, insiders are reporting that Draco Malfoy has been courting a mysterious blonde witch for the past several weeks. Malfoy, 28, attended his most recent hotel opening solo, but eyewitnesses report that a beautiful young woman was waiting in the wings to celebrate with an amorous kiss behind the scenes. This comes only weeks after the handsome hotelier announced his separation from his wife of seven years, Astoria. The handsome Malfoy certainly doesn't waste any time.
Hermione dropped the paper to the table, pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance. The Daily Prophet once prided itself on being a source of news , but now it seemed they'd fully embraced their identity as nothing more than a gossip rag. They were no better than Witch Weekly at this point. Out of curiosity, she flipped through the remainder of the stack. Nearly every paper was some iteration of the same thing: Malfoy's recent divorce and speculations of his newest romance. The only shifting factor was the suspected identity of his alleged paramour. Either the reporters at The Daily Prophet were terrible at gathering accurate details, or Malfoy was romancing a new woman every week. Both seemed plausible.
A few minutes later, a rolling tray appeared in the centre of the living room. Beside a heavy silver plate cover sat a freshly corked bottle of her favourite elf-made wine and a single glass. She poured herself a drink, sipping as she settled onto the couch. The cart rolled toward her, settling in at the perfect distance and height for her meal.
There was a time in Hermione's life when she had accepted and enjoyed a certain level of luxury - in those early days after the war, free meals and gifts were par for the course. It always made her a touch uncomfortable. Yes, she and her friends had made innumerable sacrifices in the war. But the victory was an effort of so many. Most of those brave witches and wizards were not recognised or compensated for what they'd given up. So, while she'd appreciated those perks temporarily, they always left a sour aftertaste. At least this luxury was payment for honest work.
Stomach rumbling, Hermione lifted the plate cover to reveal her dinner.
Kebabs.
Someone had a sense of humour.