Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

For the Love of the Game	By : poepoedawn Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 7594 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
To all my readers:

Here is the next chapter...please enjoy it and review with any suggestions or ideas, and thank you ever so much the reviews so far. Also, I desperately need to thank my cohort and partner in crime beldin325 for his input on how the story has developed so far and also where to go from here.

Chapter 2: What�s the verdict?

Harry knew that she knew. It only made sense that she would read the Prophet�s headline and come straight to him for the facts---day off or not. Truth be told, he had been half expecting her to be here sooner. Once he was satisfied with the condition of his desk paperwork, he leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms across his broad chest and began mentally bracing himself for the onslaught of questions that he knew was coming.

Hermione removed her heavy winter cloak, draping it haphazardly over one of the chairs in front of Harry's desk, and walked over to the expensive wooden sideboard in the left corner of the elegant, but somewhat sparse, and definitely masculine office to busy herself with the ornate Victorian coffee service that had been a gift to Harry from Professor McGonagall when he had taken the appointment as Minister. In an effort to organise her jumbled and reeling thoughts, she began making her beverage and organising the sideboard�s contents. She didn�t drink coffee, but had made it a point when she became Harry�s assistant, to think of everything. This included both hot and cold beverages, as well as the occasional flask of Firewhisky or Elfin Ale.

Harry raised his eyebrows quizzically, obviously expecting her to speak, but waited patiently, knowing from experience that he wouldn�t have to wait long. After making herself her second steaming mug of hot chocolate for the morning and magically enlarging it with the Engorgio charm, Hermione took her seat in the first of two plush, deep green overstuffed chairs at the front of Harry�s extra-large mahogany desk.

Harry cleared his throat and put on his most charming smile in an effort to clear the air. �So �Mione, what do you want to know?� He quipped somewhat sarcastically. Hermione was unfazed by his dry attempt at humour. �Harry, is the Prophet�s report true? Has the owner of the Cannons been indicted by the Wizengamot?� Hermione asked.

Harry nodded in response. �Unfortunately, �Mione, the evidence against him was overwhelming, and the Wizengamot really had no other alternative but to go ahead with the Indictment. We should be hearing the results from the sentencing hearing soon.� Harry said. Hermione sank even deeper into her seat, in silent resignation of the obvious. She seemed completely at a loss for words, and sat contemplating what to do about it all.

Harry took the opportunity to speak while Hermione was still lost in her own thoughts. ��Mione, I knew that there was a good chance it would come to this; the Head Auror had said as much in our last departmental meeting, but being the Minister, I couldn�t divulge that to anyone.�

�If it helps, we were hoping that the news of the Indictment wouldn�t leak to the Prophet until after we had had the chance to complete our investigation and let the staff and players know, but we never got that chance.� �You know that I would never let something like this out without thinking it through, first.�

Hermione nodded her understanding, suddenly glad she wasn�t in Harry�s position. She certainly didn�t envy some of the decisions that he was forced to make. Nor did she envy the spotlight under which, it seemed that he was constantly trapped. He was relentlessly scrutinized and at times like this, she knew that all he really wanted to do was find a deep, dark hole and hide. So much for all that Gryffindor courage!

Hermione looked around the room absently, still engrossed in her own reflections while taking in the hunter green walls, the magical pictures just behind Harry�s chair and slightly above his head of Dumbledore, James and Lilly, and Sirius, the awards that were next to them a little to Harry�s right, the gilded frames on his desk that she knew housed pictures of the three of them at Hogwarts, and two separate pictures of Ginny and the kids on holiday. Harry�s Pensieve sat on the window seat to his left, and the magnificent view of London that served as its backdrop. All these things provided a place of comfort to Harry when he needed to think, or gain perspective. All in all, it reminded Hermione of her father�s den at home. It was masculine yes, but it was homey and comforting, nonetheless.

Suddenly regaining her courage, Hermione spoke up. �Harry, what�s going to happen to the team?� �What�s going to happen to Ron�s job?�

Harry�s brow furrowed as he considered Hermione�s questions intently. �I honestly don�t know, �Mione. It�s really in the hands of the Wizengamot to determine what happens now, but the Cannons have been an institution in Quidditch for so long now, I don�t think they will be disbanded.� He reasoned. �As for Ron�s job, I can�t really say. I do know that the team does still have SOME money in the coffers, but I have no idea how much.� Harry finished.

Suddenly there was a small but distinct knock on the door. �Enter� Harry bellowed. In the next moment, the door opened and a short, stout elderly woman with big blue eyes and salt and pepper hair stood inside the doorway in her official looking black robes. Hermione recognised her as the aide to the Minister for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. �It�s okay to come in, Camille, you aren�t intruding.� Harry said reassuringly. Camille made quick work of crossing the large office to Harry�s desk, a folded, but thick piece of fading yellow parchment grasped firmly in her hands.

�Thank you, Minister.� Camille said in a soft, but matronly tone. She stopped just beside Hermione�s chair and nodded a quick hello. Hermione responded in kind, and smiled warmly at the grandmotherly assistant. Harry smiled as well, instantly reminded of Professor McGonagall. �Minister, this just came back from the sentencing hearing, I was told to bring it to you straightaway.�

Harry extended his hand and accepted the folded parchment from Camille. He could see the seal from the Minister for Magical Law Enforcement and ran his finger over the seal thoughtlessly while he contemplated the parchment�s contents. He was brought out of his trance when Camille spoke up and asked, �Is there anything else that you need from me, Minister?� Harry looked briefly into Camille�s big blue eyes and said, �No thank you, Camille, you may go, but can you please tell Minister Hawkley that I appreciate the speed of the delegates and if I need any additional information, I will speak with him later?�

Camille smiled warmly, nodded, and promised to forward Harry�s message to her boss immediately. Hermione sat up in her chair eagerly awaiting Harry�s reaction to the parchment in his hand. �Come on, Harry what does it say? What�s the verdict?� Hermione whined impatiently, barely able to contain the excitement bubbling within her.

Harry looked at Hermione intently, smiled and gave a short laugh. He knew Hermione well enough to know that the longer you dangled the �bone� in front of her dogged nose, the more frustrated she became, and she would drive a person mad until she got whatever it was she had been seeking. Harry debated whether or not to toy with her a little to lighten the sombre mood that had overtaken his office. Shaking his head and deciding not to delay the inevitable task any longer, he ripped open the seal and unfolded the parchment.

Hermione huffed out her breath with irritation written all over her face as she rolled her eyes and glared at Harry waiting for him to announce the verdict to her. Harry sat up further in his chair and leaned his elbows on his desk while he read the parchment carefully. Harry immediately recognised the rolling scrawl of Minister Hawkley who had been the Inquisitor on this case. Hawkley had written everything in the legalese, so typical of him, but Harry was able to make out the basic details of the sentence almost immediately.

It seemed pretty straightforward, as far as he could tell. The owner of the Cannons, a wizard by the name of Riordan Parkinson, had been found guilty on all charges of Embezzlement and Improper Wizard Gaming. The parchment went on to detail that he had spent his entire family fortune at the Quidditch pitch, betting incessantly on losing teams throughout the past six years since he had taken over ownership.

When that money had run dry, he had slowly and meticulously started skimming small to medium amounts of money from the team coffers, so as not to arouse suspicion. He had eventually branched out into the Muggle world as well, taking trips to Las Vegas and to Monte Carlo to bet on the horses.

The Muggle authorities had caught on quickly to his shenanigans and had arrested him. One of his co-workers on the coaching staff had been helping the accounting staff during his little �vacation� and had come across some discrepancies in the books. He had immediately notified Gringott�s to have the Goblins do a further investigation, and as a result, the Aurors had started their own Inquiry.

From there, Harry knew that the Aurors had gone to Gringott�s to double check on the bank�s investigation and make an arrest of their own, once Parkinson had been released from Muggle jail on bond. The parchment then featured a full section on the punishment imposed by the Wizengamot. His sentence was a fine of five hundred thousand galleons, which was to be taken from the seizure and sale of all of his assets, along with personal restitution to the team from what remained of his year�s salary, and a stint of six months in Azkaban.

Harry finished reading the parchment and laid it haphazardly across the front of his already dishevelled desk. Now to explain the facts to Hermione, and pray to the Gods that she didn�t do something drastic. This was going to be fun, Harry thought dryly. He looked up from his desk and cleared his throat, taking his time to carefully think out his next statement. �Well, �Mione, you realise that none of this goes beyond the walls of this office, and that I can�t tell you a whole lot, other than that it's pretty clear cut. The Wizengamot has sentenced the owner to 6 months in Azkaban and restitution to the team for the money he took. He will also have all of his assets seized and then sold to help repay the debt.� Harry stated. Hermione nodded her understanding and agreement that the information would go no further than the confines of Harry�s office. �So the team is going to be sold?� Hermione asked. Harry nodded in confirmation.

Hermione was floored beyond belief. Not to mention completely exhausted and drained from all the emotional turmoil of the previous couple of hours. She stared down at the mug in her hands blankly, her hot chocolate having long since gone cold and been forgotten. She took a couple of minutes to process all that Harry had just said. This meant that the Department for Games and Sports would be overseeing the everyday workings of the team until a new owner could be found. That much was a relief; at least the team wasn�t being disbanded.

Taking consolation in the small mercies that the Gods had provided, Hermione let out a sigh and got up from her chair to dump the remains of her hot chocolate into the fireplace. Before she had the chance to accomplish her task though, she heard the familiar whoosh of someone calling to Harry through the Floo. Not a second later, she recognised the chiselled features of the very person they had been discussing, Ron Weasley appeared within the green flames. From her vantage point midway across the office toward the fireplace, it looked as if he wasn�t very happy. Not happy at all. Not that she could blame him.

�Oi, Harry, �Mione, you two have some explaining to do!� Ron said as Harry nodded for him to join them. �What the Bloody Hell�s goin� on with the Cannons? I got to the complex for practice this morning and no sooner did I make it to the locker room and I found this!� Ron exclaimed as he held up his own copy of the Daily Prophet. Hermione bristled as Ron ranted. Harry held up his hands in a sign of defence and gestured to the vacant seat next to Hermione�s for Ron to sit down.

Ron quickly brushed off the remaining ash from his journey through the Floo and crossed in just a few short strides to the chair that accompanied Hermione�s in front of Harry�s desk. Hermione threw her remaining hot chocolate into the fireplace now that Ron had vacated it, and made her way back to her seat to help Harry explain things to Ron.

�If you will just calm down Ron, I�ll fill you in on what I know.� Harry began, somewhat agitated at Ron�s innate ability to let his temper get the best of him before he found out the facts. Hermione sat back and smiled ruefully at Harry, fully understanding what they were up against when it came to Ron�s volatile temper.

Harry sighed deeply and set out to begin his explanation. �Okay first, the headline in the Prophet is correct. Second, I knew about the allegations and the ongoing investigation, and had intended on telling the team staff and players of the developments with the help of some of the Aurors, but someone leaked the story to the Prophet before we had the chance to act. Third, Mr. Parkinson was convicted and sentenced, and I have the verdict right here. Hermione and I were just discussing it before you called.� Harry finished, a little out of breath for his efforts. Ron had listened intently to what Harry had said and now he understood just how serious the situation really was. Taking a cleansing breath to calm his nerves he asked quietly, �So what happens now?�

Harry looked directly at Ron and made sure he had his undivided attention before continuing. �Mr. Parkinson has been sentenced to six months in Azkaban for the charges and he has to pay back what he took from the team. His assets are being seized and the team will be sold in order to help repay the debt. For now, that�s all we know. I will have to discuss the finer points of the sale with the Department of Games and Sports.�

Ron slumped in his chair, unable to believe the horrid luck that had befallen him. First he had gotten completely blitzed and was almost benched by Dorkins for his drinking, and now, he didn�t have a clue how much longer he was going to have a job. Harry and Hermione both looked at him sympathetically. Hermione placed a comforting hand on his left shoulder and squeezed gently in a small show of support. Ron barely noticed, since he was so lost in his own little world. It was then that Hermione found her voice and said, �Harry and I are here for you Ron, you know that, right?� Harry mumbled his agreement, hating to see his best mate in this position. It was heartbreaking. Ron loved the Cannons; anyone who knew him knew that. He had finally achieved his dream and now this. Harry felt the need to explain the process a little further and spoke up. �Ron, I can�t say anything definite until I talk to the Ministers for Games and Sports, but I would venture to guess that they will probably hold an auction for the team, with only those wizards who have the money having a bidding war for it.� Ron nodded his head in agreement and returned back to his wayward thoughts for a moment.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look of sadness between them and suddenly Ron broke the deafening silence as he shot like a rocket out of his chair, thus sufficiently sending it flailing to the floor, and practically yelled, �Harry, �Mione, I have a brilliant beyond brilliant idea!�

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9:30 am, at Malfoy Manor....

A tall and imposing young figure paced the plush slate-grey carpeted floor of the room located in the uppermost part of the tower, in the East Wing of Malfoy Manor. It was here, in the inner sanctum of his grand and quiet study, surrounded by his favourite books and the soothing ambience, that Draco Malfoy could think and concentrate without outside influence. Here he walked and walked some more, his anger increasing with each stride. Life as he knew it was not going according to plan. Bollocks!

Sure, on the surface, all was well with the world. He now owned the elegant and opulent Manor house in which he stood. His mother had passed ownership on to him upon his father�s incarceration in Azkaban. She had insisted that he take over what remained of the family assets, stating that she �couldn�t be bothered with such things,� and �that was your father�s department.� Not that he minded taking the family reins. No, that wasn�t the problem.

The problem was his employment status. He had tried everything. Working for the Ministry, as it turned out, was a total wash. They seemed to think that since his father was a convicted criminal, the same liberty should extend to him as well. It was at times like this that Draco admitted, only to himself of course, that he HATED being a Malfoy. He had tried every available outlet of the Ministry that he could think of, and still the same result. As long as he was a Malfoy, his life was cursed.

He had already tried to get an Apprenticeship using his Advanced notice of Potions, but after the death of his godfather and mentor, Severus Snape, at the hands of his father for his betrayal of Voldemort no one would touch him, simply because he was Lucius Malfoy's son. Of course, they had made every excuse to be polite in their brush off, but it still put him in the same position. Still, he had been determined that there had to be somewhere in the Ministry that he could contribute and had tried a second time at a position, this time choosing the Curse-Breaking division at Gringott's.

Here, he had received a bit warmer reception initially, but the Goblins had insisted that he had a thorough interrogation, even subjecting him to Veritaserum to make sure that he couldn't change his answers. Though humiliating, this had been the easiest step of the hiring process. His fate was sealed when the Goblins told him that all final hiring decisions were to be made by the Head of the Department. And who else could be the Head of the Department? None other than Bill Weasley, himself.

So, here he was, wearing a hole in the floor, in front of his large L-shaped cherry desk, trying to figure out what to do next. He really didn�t need the money, since his father had had quite a few assets that the Ministry had not been able to seize when he was captured. In all, they had taken about one-third of the family fortune. The rest was discreetly and thoroughly dispersed throughout the family's hidden accounts. No, the primary reason for his frustration was a need to have something productive to do, and a means to contribute to Wizarding society.

He knew that he would never escape the curse of the Malfoy name completely, especially not after his father had botched things up the way that he had, but he had to figure out a way to prove to the world that just because he shared the same family name, didn�t mean he was a Death Eater himself. Sure, everyone thought he was, but in truth, he had never actually been given the Dark Mark. Every time the Death Eaters had tried to perform the ceremony with him, he had somehow managed to come up with a convincing excuse not to take the mark at that particular time. His father had become increasingly more agitated at his lack of initiative and had insisted he take the mark on more than one occasion. However, as it had turned out, Voldemort had been defeated before the Death Eaters had had a chance to hold another clandestine meeting, and what then followed was his father�s arrest, trial and subsequent trip to Azkaban for multiple counts of torture and abuse.

Once free of her husband�s iron hand, his mother had calmed down considerably; settling into a comfortable life and had shifting her focus to him. She had decided that since she was his only remaining parent, she needed to do something, and she had taken it upon herself to concentrate entirely on undoing all the horrible wrongs that Lucius had done to his only son over the years.

It was because of this, and a need to see him finally find happiness in something, that his mother had suggested that he find something that he could be content in doing, and use it as an outlet for his energy, as well as a means of income. �After all, in a year, once the handfasting contract has expired, you will be married and will need to prove yourself as a stable and dependable husband to Pansy,� she had said.

He knew by her reference that what she had really meant was, "Spare yourself, so the two of you won�t end up hating each other, like your father and I did by being in the same house together all the time. This thought had him smiling knowingly to himself, as he continued his pacing. He really was his mother�s son; she knew him better than anyone else.

His mother had told him during one of their many afternoon discussions over tea, that while she approved of the match between the two of them, she also knew that it wasn�t truly for the right reasons. She had known that he and Pansy weren�t really in love with each other, just as she and Lucius never had been, but instead, were companionable toward each other and made a good match according to blood. Not that he minded, after all: he and Pansy had been on somewhat intimate terms throughout their time at Hogwarts and now, life in the Manor was much the same. Until they were officially married, both Draco and Pansy insisted on remaining true to their current arrangement. No sexual intercourse; only pleasuring each other enough to get the job done.
Draco was suddenly brought back to reality by the faint popping sound that accompanied the arrival of the family house elf. Dinky had popped into his study at his mother�s insistence, despite his own edict that he not be disturbed while he was in his sanctuary. �Master Draco, sir, Mistress Narcissa said you was to come down for breakfast, sir. She said Dinky was to come get you no matter what.� The petite elf said shakily while she awaited her Master�s response. Draco suddenly stopped his personal assault on his study�s carpeted floor, turned, and gave a curt nod to Dinky. Once she had popped away, Draco stepped to the floor to ceiling window that was just behind his desk and looked out at the expanse of gardens below. Running his long and well manicured fingers through his shoulder length silvery-platinum hair in exasperation, he concentrated his ice blue eyes on the view and allowed its influence to calm his tired muscles and jangled nerves.

He could see the blur of the well manicured lawns on each side of the narrow lane, through the fat drops of the rain outside, the flower garden that his mother loved to sit in in the early mornings and mid afternoons to take her tea, and the vegetable garden that the house elves tended in order that they have only the freshest produce. If he looked hard enough, he could even see his father�s beloved albino peacocks standing sentinel at the front gate, just mere blurry specks of white in the distance. He loved it in here. The view itself was breathtaking and was just the right medicine for whenever he needed to relax.

He still hadn�t come any closer to solving the predicament that he was in, but with his mother�s instruction to come down for breakfast, he decided he was going to have to continue this brainstorming session later. He knew from experience that if he didn�t show up, soon, she would climb the three floors of stairs herself (just for the exercise) and drag him out by his ear, if necessary. Resigning himself to his fate, Draco reluctantly tore his gaze from the magnificent view and walked to the centre of the study to Apparate down to the dining room and his waiting mother and fianc�e.

His Apparition complete, Draco took his seat at the head of the long and magnificent oak table in the sturdy oak chair that accompanied it. It was engraved with the Malfoy �M� and further signified the grandeur of the dining set that stood as a centrepiece of the dining room. Dinky had already been hard at work on breakfast and he could see that she had dutifully placed the silver breakfast tray at his place and placed a warming charm on the tray�s contents to keep them warm until he arrived. He looked up from his seat while placing his napkin in his lap, and greeted his mother, who today was wearing a set of deep blue robes; a colour that he felt suited her best. It brought out the brilliant blue of her eyes and set a stark contrast to her blonde hair and porcelain skin. He swivelled his gaze to his right, where Pansy normally took residence, and noticed that she had not yet joined them for their meal. This latest turn of events didn�t entirely surprise him, since he knew that Pansy loved to enjoy her �beauty sleep� and often slept later than both he and his mother.

Grasping the cover to his breakfast tray, Draco sniffed approvingly at the fine array of eggs, bacon, sausages, scones, and hash browned potatoes in front of him. Accompanying the tray was a tall glass of orange juice and his morning coffee. He also could see the clotted cr�me and an assortment of marmalades and jams laid out on the matching oak sideboard next to the entrance to the kitchen.

He stood up and surveyed the assortment, trying to decide between apple, orange or strawberry. He decided on orange for this morning and moved back to his seat at the head of the table, the jar of marmalade in his large hand. His mother eyed him questioningly, quirking an elegant eyebrow. Usually he would demand that one of the house elves perform such a simple and mundane task for him, but today he seemed to be content in doing things himself. Noticing the look on her face, he shrugged and busied himself with spreading marmalade on his scones.

After he had eaten the majority of his breakfast, in a satisfied and companionable silence, he looked at his mother and began the conversation for the morning. �Mother, why was it that you told Dinky it was important for me to come down for breakfast right away? Is there something I should know about?� His mother placed her fork and knife on her plate elegantly. �Draco darling, I sent Dinky to get you so urgently, because of the latest headline in the Daily Prophet. I know that you had been considering professional Quidditch as an avenue for your employment. You really should take a look at it.� she said quietly, not wanting to give anything away.

Draco picked up his copy of the Daily Prophet which had been laid next to his napkin. He hadn�t paid any mind to the paper up to this point, and upon further inspection, he could see why his mother had been so concerned. The headline read: �CHUDLEY CANNONS OWNER INDICTED FOR EMBEZZLEMENT BY WIZENGAMOT; TEAM'S RETURN TO QUIDDITCH PLAYOFFS QUESTIONABLE� Below the headline was a moving picture of the team owner, and a distant relative to his fianc�, Riordan Parkinson. Bloody hell and Bollocks! That�s all he needed, more scandal surrounding his family.

He could only imagine Pansy�s reaction to this latest stain against her family name. To top that off, the Cannons were one of the longest standing Quidditch teams in all of England, despite their horrible record. He glanced over the article and couldn�t believe his rotten luck. Not that he really wanted to play for the Cannons. He would have much preferred the Falmouth Falcons, or the Appleby Arrows, or even Potter�s favoured Puddlemere United, but he was realistic enough to realise that he would not have a choice. All he could do was audition for the team; it was up to the powers that be whether or not he would have a job.

He had even begun making inquiries into some of the specifics of the auditioning process, thanks to his friend and former Hogwarts captain for Slytherin, Marcus Flint. Flint had told him that he needed to contact the manager for the team, find out if they were holding open tryouts, and for what positions, and if they were, they would set up an audition for a potential player to come in. Flint had seemed optimistic that he would be able to find something, at least as part of a team�s reserve, but at this latest news, he now wasn�t so sure. He frowned as he folded up his copy of the paper in disgust. His life had just gotten a great deal more complicated.

Narcissa watched her son intently, taking in his every expression as he read the latest news. Her concern was indeed well-founded as he swore and then folded up the paper, and discarding it with a cursory slam on the table of his fist. She knew that he had been looking forward to speaking with some of the team managers and that many mornings while she was enjoying her tea in the peace of the gardens, he was high above the house on his broom, practising his lightening-fast Seeker reflexes with various drills and exercises.

Narcissa spoke up, suddenly breaking through the silence of the room. �Draco darling, I don�t think this is the end of the world by any means. I think that you should just view this as a setback. I know that you were a good enough player in your Hogwarts days that any team would be lucky to have you.� Draco looked at his mother, an unreadable expression on his face. He knew that his mother was right, but for the life of him, he had no idea what he was going to do now. If anything, he was more confused than ever.

Needing a way to vent his frustration while not worrying his mother, he suddenly rose from his seat at the table and crossed through the remainder of the dining room to the outer hall closet to find his Firebolt, his gloves and his cloak. Narcissa followed him, and only sighed heavily as she watched her son try to wrestle with his inner turmoil. Knowing it was best to leave him alone at a time like this, she quietly returned to her place at the table and began to refill her tea.

It seemed that adversity had a heavy grip on the house of Malfoy these past few months, but she knew that like all things in life, a day would come that this would only be a distant memory. She only hoped that day came sooner, rather than later. Lost in her thoughts, she hadn�t noticed Draco come up beside her to give her a kiss good morning until she felt him lower his head to her cheek, his large hand resting on her shoulder. She jumped, startled, and looked up at him. He smiled, and kissed her cheek lightly and then informed her that he was going out for a bit on his broom to clear his head and try to come up with a plan for what to do next. She nodded in response and watched silently as her son made his way out of the room and beyond her view. Not a moment later, she heard the front door close with a resounding slam.
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For the Love of the Game