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Charity	By : Attitudinal Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 6824 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I make no money off of the writing of this fiction. Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling, and all recognizable characters and places belong to her.

Chapter List
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Chapter two

“I need those rune applications now, Granger! We’re setting out in two days, and I need to teach the team! Do you know how many extensions we’ve given you?!”

Hermione looked up, her eyes narrowed with something akin to frustration and rage. Thornhill was one of the best Aurors on the force, being sent on a covert mission, for which they needed several protection runes; stronger than the regulation ones the rest of the Aurors were using. Hermione, of course, as head of the department, was given the task of translating, applying, and casting the runes for this particular assignment. She reveled in her success, thus far, but wasn’t sure if the runes would, well, take.

“Do you even know how difficult it is to translate this into a spell?” she said slowly, running a hand through her messy hair. It was coming out of it’s bun, and framing her face like a lion’s mane. “If I applied these now, you could all very well die in this room. Don’t you lecture me about time, you’ll wait like everyone else. I’ll be done by the end of the day, and if you don’t fuck off then you’ll just have to go with the regulation runes.” She seethed, returning to the massive pile of scrolls littering her desk. Thornhill stood, mouth agape in front of her desk.

Hermione’s job was satisfying, challenging, all the things she’d ever wanted. If only she didn’t have to answer to bloody ignorant Aurors. She translated texts, removed the runes from them, and taught herself how to cast them. Then, before they could be applied to humans, she cast them on transfigured dummies, and tested the results. The worst thing that had ever happened was the dummy’s skin melting into a pile of sticky goo on her office floor.

Good thing she’d decided to test it.

Four more Aurors filed into the room, each voicing a particular request for a rune, or an application of one. She was up to her eyelids in work, but she’d have it no other way.

~

By lunch, she’d completed Thornhill’s requests, and laid the instructions in his mailbox, and started on the relatively easy projects for the rest of the force. There was really no peaceful application of these runes; most of her work had become protection, preservation, and research.

It didn’t pay well, but it was her office, and her position; and Hermione had been proud when she’d moved up from the Spells Testing department. She sat quietly, scooping yogurt hungrily into her mouth, scraping the bottom of the container for the last bits of fruit. She hadn’t brought anything else to eat; she was trying to loose a few pounds as it was.

Her stomach growled noisily.

Maybe out-lunch wouldn’t be so bad today.

Hermione’s heels clicked against the sidewalk as she made her way to the local sandwich shop. It serviced only Wizards, and had a wide selection of milkshakes, and teacups that refilled themselves. Her stomach growled again, and she comforted herself with the thought of the roast beef sandwich she was going to ram down her throat.

She had another twenty minutes for lunch yet; there would be more than enough time to grab her sandwich and go. Another few steps and—

A warm body crashed into hers. Hermione went spiraling to the pavement, only to be picked up, and dragged into the alleyway just beside the shop. She squeaked, and grabbed for her wand, pressing it into the chest of her attacker.

The one and only Draco Malfoy.

He looked disheveled, his short blond hair wild about his head, and his mouth open. He was panting, as though he’d been running a long time, and his pristine white dress shirt was wrinkled.

“What the—Malfoy?” she squeaked, stomping down the fear rising in her throat.

“Keep quiet Granger, I don’t want to die today!” He whispered harshly, backing a little further into the alley.

“What on earth were you running from? And why are you here?” She questioned shrewdly, pursing her lips. “And when you tackle someone to the ground, and rip their stockings, you apologize. I’d have thought your inbred clan would have taught you that,” Hermione muttered, repairing the runs in her tights.

He didn’t respond to her scathing remark, Draco only stared forward at the entrance to the alley, eyes wide with fear. “I was running from a Dementor, Granger.”

Her face paled, and she drew her wand, readying a patronus. It was strange, she didn’t feel the cold bite of the Dementor’s presence, or the drainage of all her happiest emotions.

Suddenly, a woman bounced by, a tight blue sundress adorning her frame. She had rather large breasts, and long curly red hair.

“Drakie? Oh, Draco, where have you gone? I haven’t finished telling you about tea!”

Hermione heard Draco’s breath hitch, and he backed further away. The woman passed the alley without discovering them, and Hermione glanced back and forth between the woman’s retreating form, and his terrified face.

And burst with laughter.

“You’re scared of a girl? Not even a regular woman, a pureblooded socialite? You have to be kidding me!” she laughed hard and long, clutching at her knees, doubled over at the waist.

Draco sniffed. “She’s not just a girl, my mother has every intention of making me marry the chit,” he confided, smoothing his clothes with a spell, and running a hand through his adorably disheveled hair.

Adorably?

Hermione’s mirth faded, and she stood in the alley, contemplating her situation. Nervousness began to eat at her stomach, but she ignored it. She’d been through worse, after all. Her palms itched again, and she scraped them nervously on her pencil skirt. Draco still looked quite mortified, and she harrumphed, and began making her way towards the street again. A hand closed about her wrist, and she yelped.

“Wait! Granger, check and see if she’s still out there!” he hissed, and Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’re not at home, you spoiled brat,” she groused. “I don’t have to do anything for you. I’m not required by law to stand in this stinking side-street, and play watch dog.” She snarled, wrenching her wrist out of his grip. Despite all this, she still peeked out of the alleyway, and the redhead was nowhere in sight. She motioned to Draco, and he strolled out, his fancy dress-shoes clicking on the pavement. She turned to him, curiosity evident in her gaze.

“Someone you know?” she asked, straightening her clothes. He stared at her, face passive. Obviously he had no intention of revealing anything to her. She huffed.

Twenty eight, and still a complete brat.

“Well, then, I suppose I should let your friend know you’ve arrived, I’ll just—”

“She’s a soul sucking demon more boring than a sack of flobber worms,” he said haltingly, his mouth set in a grim line. “That’s all the information you need.”

“That’s not nice of you,” she chided, crossing her arms. “I’m sure she just likes you. It’s no wonder your name is all over the tabloids; you treat perfectly nice women terribly.” Hermione started towards the sandwich shop again, but thought better of it. She’d have almost no time to get what she wanted, sit, eat, and return to work in a leisurely fashion. She sighed. They were out of school, and Malfoy was still making her miserable.

“I don’t have time for your shenanigans, Malfoy. Some of us have to work for a living.” She snipped, and he ignored her. Before she could take a single step away from him, two pale arms wound their way about his waist, and Draco’s eyes widened slightly, before his expression turned dismal and defeated.

“Oh, Drakie, I found you! I was so worried I’d lost you in the crowd!” the red-head squealed, ignoring Hermione completely. Okay, maybe he did treat women like absolute shite, but she was obnoxious!

“Who are you?” she sneered, taking in Hermione’s weathered appearance. Suddenly, she felt about two feet tall.

Draco looked pained, as though she were squeezing the life from him just by being alive. “She’s…” he paused, his eyes pleading. Hermione felt confused.

What does he want?

Why is he looking at me like that?

Oh, he couldn’t possibly mean…

He can’t possibly want me to…

No.

I’m not saving his ass, he’s a complete twat, I have no business helping him out of the grave he’s been digging for twenty-eight years!

Shite.

“…His friend,” Hermione said, trying her best to sound saucy. The woman’s eyes widened, and she sneered. Her perfectly manicured nails sunk deeper into Draco’s flesh, and he looked at her imploringly; mouthing the words: ‘Lie better!’

“Drakie has much better friends.” She said dismissively. Hermione fumed, gathering her courage. She wrapped her hand around Draco’s, and tugged him forward, loosing him from the dementor’s manicured grip. Draco remained passive, and went along with it, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “Draco, what are you doing?” the red-head looked positively scandalized, her red lips forming a childish pout. “Shan’t we continue our date?”

Malfoy looked green.

“No, because we’re continuing ours.”

Hermione led him down the street, trying her absolute hardest to keep her back straight, and look confident.

“I understand now,” she said suddenly, loosing herself from him. “That woman is positively horrendous. I see why you tried to… escape.”

He nodded, his composure regained. “I suppose I should thank you, Granger, it seems your kind is good for something,” he said airily, nodding at her. Hermione let the insult go; it seemed like he didn’t thank people often, so she’d just take it with a grain of salt.

This time.

“Yes, well,” she paused, trying to think of the right words to say. “It’s just charity, I suppose.”

~

Draco hadn’t been home for five minutes, before he could hear the angry click of his mother’s heels down the hall to his rooms.

Three.

Two.

One.

“Draco!”

Narcissa had chosen to wear her hair down that evening, her casual dark blue evening dress only accentuating her pale features.

“Yes, mother?”

“You… You went gallivanting with that… that...Granger girl today? If you were seeing her, you might have told me! Instead of allowing me to make a fool of myself by having you court Acantha!” She shrilled, her eyes sparking with hot anger. Draco felt his throat constricting, and gripped his wand tightly. She wouldn’t be forcing him into another oath if he could help it. They stood in silence for a while, and then finally his mother spoke.

“If you’d like to court miss Granger, you must bring her this evening to dinner. You’ll have to formally renounce your courtship of Acantha, the poor dear and—”

“I was never formally courting Acantha to begin with, you attached her to me like a leech. I’m not courting Granger either, she was just…”

How could he explain to his mother that he had been running scared, terrified of Acantha’s clinginess, and Granger had helped him out of it? It wouldn’t do at all. Perhaps…he could continue the charade a tad bit longer? It wasn’t as though Granger couldn’t use the publicity. She’d been trapped behind those two glory hogs she called friends for too long anyway. Narcissa stared at him intently, her blue eyes cold and calculating.

Draco had never wondered if his mother loved him, he knew that she did. She also, however, loved their status, and would do anything to protect it. Acantha was a means to an end; and Draco suspected his mother didn’t even really like the girl.

“She was just what, Draco?” she asked, her voice dangerously light.

“Well, I didn’t want anyone to know, she’s well, she’s not exactly open to the idea of marriage, and I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he said, trying his hardest to play the role of the caring son. Family dynamics in his home were different. Draco didn’t know, and didn’t particularly care if his father loved him; because Lucius would do whatever was in his family’s best interests. And as heir to the Malfoy family name, Draco would soon be expected to do the same.

Buggery.

“Wonderful! I should very much like to meet miss Granger this evening. She’s not… well, pure, but her magic is strong enough, and her status in society isn’t so incredibly low,” his mother said calculatingly. She wasn’t particularly speaking to him anymore, but Draco didn’t care. As long as she was off his robes for a while, he’d do anything for a little peace.

~

Hermione Granger’s flat was very small, compared to his rooms, Draco decided, staring disdainfully at the sofa. He was afraid to sit on it, it looked so old and weathered. Shite.

“Are you even listening, Malfoy?” Hermione’s shrill voice pierced his thoughts, and Draco winced. What was with the women in his life and yelling at him today?

“Not particularly, no.” He said, smirking inwardly. She was such a spitfire, he thought, delighting in the red tint her cheeks grew at his response.

“Then I’ll say it once more. What the bloody hell are you doing in my flat?” she shouted, stamping her foot. Her orange monstrosity of a cat hissed at him, and Draco lifted an eyebrow.

“You might have just asked, although you did seem to enjoy shouting at me,” he drawled, inspecting his fingernails. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Oh shut it, ferret.”

He ignored her insult.

“After your…scene, this afternoon, it seems as though all of wizarding high-society thinks that we are… courting.” He spat out the word distastefully, and Hermione’s mouth dropped open unattractively.

“What? C-courting? My scene? I was going to leave, you begged for my help!” she argued, frowning. “As far as I’m concerned, this is your problem, and your problem alone!”

Draco pinched her cheek, and smiled lasciviously at her, before stepping back to avoid her swing.

“Au contraire, Granger. I never asked you to pretend we were…out.” Hermione looked scandalized at his comment, and pursed her lips.

“Because YOU asked me to!” she hissed, narrowing her eyes.

“I did no such thing. And believe me, Granger, this isn’t ideal for me either.” Draco schooled his features into something resembling boredom, assuming that it would get her even more annoyed. It did. Her eyes narrowed even further, and her breath began coming in short pants. Her hair seemed to stand on end, rising about her face like a mane, or a halo, Draco couldn’t decide.

Why was it that he enjoyed riling her so?

“But, fortunately for you, I can make this go away,” he replied, and she relaxed a tiny bit.

“How, Malfoy? If there’s anything I’ve ever learned it’s don’t upset hippogriffs, and don’t trust a Slytherin.” He felt his arm throb in remembrance, and sneered.

“Oh, come now. I’m sure you know we Slytherins can be quite agreeable when it comes to something we want? All I need is for you,” he paused, and tapped her nose lightly. She snapped her teeth at him. “To attend a dinner with me this evening, and possibly a few functions, before we tragically end our relationship.”

“I don’t owe you a damn thing, Malfoy, why should I help you? Since you’ve no problem being self serving, I don’t either. What’s in it for me?”

Damn. She wasn’t folding as easily as he’d expected her to. It was time, he supposed, to play at the goody-two-shoes inside every Gryffindor.

He collapsed to the couch, his head in his hands. He heard her gasp, and felt her hand on his back.

“Malfoy?”

“I…my mother has been quite… ill of late, and nothing would make her happier than to see me in some kind of relationship. I… I understand if you don’t want to pull this charade with me Granger, it’s not as though we’re friends, but…” he paused for effect, keeping his hands over his face.

“Fine. What do I have to wear?”

“It’s not that simple Granger,” he said, wiping at his eyes dramatically. “I’m… well, I need to be sure that you’ll do this,” she sighed heavily.

“You want me to take an oath, Malfoy?” He nodded slightly, willing his eyes to loose their triumphant gleam, and look sorrowful. Hermione hedged a bit.

“I suppose, in spite of you being a massive git, I can… I’ll help you.” She retrieved her wand from the pocket of her sweatpants—which rode delightfully low on her shapely hips—and held his hand. His smile was watery.

“No need,” he said, fingering his own wand. “I’ve got mine.” He felt the magic swirling in the air before they even began; breaking against his skin like a light electric current. “Do you, Hermione Jean Granger, swear to assist me in this endeavor, until I no longer require your help?”

“I do.”

“And do you swear to adhere to the rules and norms of my society, in order to better prove our ruse?”

“I do…?”

It was done. Draco smirked, tapping his chin with his wand. “Oh, thank you, Granger, I do so appreciate it.”

Her expression soured as realization came over her in waves. His mother was just fine, and she had just agreed to help him. For nothing. “Come, now, Granger, you said yourself, I am Slytherin.”

“You lying, pathetic, sack of puss!” she growled, taking a step towards him. “You lied to me!”

“I did no such thing. Mother just got over a terrible cold last week. And nothing would make her happier. I just displayed the facts in a light that was most conducive to getting what I wanted. I’m a Malfoy darling. We always get what we want.” He turned on his heel to leave, and crooked his finger at her.

“I’ll be back at nine-fifteen, try and look presentable, lioness?” he purred, watching her face contort in anger. “Thank you so much for your…charity.”

He apparated away, and the vase she’d lobbed at him hit the wall, and shattered.
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Charity