The Intern

Despite her lack of hope that any worthwhile candidates would apply for an unpaid internship, Hermione wrote an extensive job description and posted adverts for the role in several major wizarding newspapers.

Work was as busy as ever, giving her little time to sort the applications as they came in, so she spent most evenings at Harry and Ginny’s, enlisting their help to select the best candidates for interviews. She split the pile of applications each evening, giving half to Harry and taking the other half for herself while Ginny provided entertainment and endless wine refills.

The first round of interviews began two weeks after posting her job adverts. However, as Hermione had expected, most candidates came with the misguided belief that the position could be salaried, despite her clear statement otherwise within the job description.

A couple of candidates had been at retirement age, looking to do something with their time but unhappy to commit to the workload Hermione planned for whoever took the role. Some interviewees were still studying at Hogwarts, hoping to take the internship as a summer position, rather than full time, which would never suit the sort of support she needed.

Plenty of people clearly only applied for the opportunity to speak with the famed war heroine they’d heard so many stories about. One wizard had even walked straight back out after seeing the dismal state of her tiny office.

Each new candidate she spoke to left Hermione with a renewed sense of defeat. Thursday and Friday, she got no work done, dedicating every minute of her time to interviews. Half of the candidates were unknown to her, selected and slotted into her diary by Harry. Only one more of his choices remained, then she could take the weekend to decide who, if any of them, were suitable for the role. Perhaps she was doomed to spend life in the Ministry alone, slaving over a task that would never end.

She prepared a cup of tea for herself before sitting down to read through the final application. A headache bloomed in her temples. This couldn’t end soon enough.

She sipped her tea and settled back into place at her desk, pulling the application closer to learn about the final candidate Harry had selected.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

“Shit,” Hermione muttered. “Come in!”

She took another gulp of tea and opened the application, hoping to skim a few lines before the final candidate came into the room. However, upon seeing the name of the applicant, she gasped, inhaling the mouthful of tea she’d taken. She choked, spluttering her drink over the desk and application.

“Is now a bad time?” A voice—deeper than she remembered and laced with amusement—asked. “I can come back in a few minutes.”

Hermione coughed, cheeks aflame as she pounded a fist against her chest. When she was able to breathe again, she gaped at the man standing in her doorway.

Draco Malfoy.

“What are you doing here?” she croaked.

“I was under the impression that I was interviewing for a job.” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“This must be a mistake. Is this a joke?”

“Not to me.”

Malfoy closed the door behind him and approached the chair opposite Hermione, shoulders straight, robes immaculately pressed. It was all she could do to stare at him, mouth ajar, brain whirring to make sense of the sight before her. Draco Malfoy was in her office. The faint musky scent of cologne drifted to her as he sat down.

He had grown since she’d last seen him—taller and broader. His pale hair lacked the swathes of gel he’d favoured when they were younger, now parted in the center and falling to effortlessly frame his face. Once-pointy features had evolved into a structure that could only be described as chiselled—a more generous witch might even say handsome.

His robes were modern in their cut, more fitted than some older generations favoured and no doubt worth more than Hermione’s last paycheck. She stared, unabashed, as he sat down, crossed one ankle casually atop his knee, and briefly adjusted his sleeves before laying his hands in his lap and meeting her gaze.

He cleared his throat when she failed to form any thoughts coherent enough to vocalise. “Isn’t this the part where you ask me some questions?”

Hermione frowned, closing her mouth when she realised it had been hanging open. “Why are you here, Malfoy?”

“I told you, I’m interviewing for a job.”

“You know that’s not what I mean. You hardly need a job. Aren’t you busy living off your extortionate generational wealth?”

“You invited me to interview, you can’t be that shocked that I actually turned up.”

“Actually, I didn’t invite you to this interview, Harry did.”

Malfoy frowned. “Potter works in this department too? He told me he was an auror.”

“When did you speak—never mind. No, Harry does not work here, he was just helping me sort through applications for this role. He must have arranged this as a joke, as if my time isn’t precious enough,” she grumbled, dabbing at the tea-stained paperwork on her desk to keep her hands busy and avoid confronting the nerves she felt speaking to Malfoy again.

She hadn’t hesitated to defend him at his trial, years ago. There, she’d met his gaze from a distance and felt no sense of panic. Chatting up-close like this was considerably less comfortable.

“I don’t know why you’re convinced this must be a joke when your concise response to my letter seemed to encourage this very thing. I’m here to work with you, in whatever way you’re planning to transform society for the better.”

Hermione glared at him. “My response did not encourage anything of the sort. I only meant for you to put some of your money to good use, donate to some charities or something, not come to my workplace and waste my time.”

“I already regularly donate to several charities, Granger, and I fail to see how my presence here is a waste of your time.” Malfoy’s frown matched hers.

“You obviously don’t actually want this role.”

“I wouldn’t have applied if I didn’t want the position. Do you treat every candidate like this?”

She took a slow, deep breath, rubbing at her temples. “Fine. We can go through this charade. Tell me why you’re suited to the advertised role.”

He straightened in his seat. “I will admit that your letter prompted my application, but I truly believe I would suit the role. I am committed to learning more about Muggles and Muggle-borns, to helping heal the rifts that still exist. I’ve spent the past two years completing my education, the results of which are in my application.” He gestured to the papers in front of her. “I have a good enough relationship with plenty of other Ministry employees and have access to resources that may benefit the office. Plus, as you’ve mentioned, I’m filthy rich, so the unpaid aspect won’t be a problem.”

“I don’t believe that’s quite how I phrased it.”

He smirked.

“How may other people even applied for this role?”

“Plenty, actually,” Hermione snapped. What had Harry been thinking?

“And how many are you seriously considering?”

“That’s beside the point.”

The smirk returned, smug as ever.

“Malfoy, you aren’t suited to this role. My goals revolve around improving the accuracy of wizarding perceptions about Muggles and eventually to, hopefully, dismantling the prejudice and stereotypes prevalent in typical wizarding world views. You have consistently made your disdain for Muggles and Muggle-borns clear.”

“Didn’t you read my letter before replying?” He frowned, grey eyes intense. “That’s all behind me.”

“You can’t simply remove ingrained beliefs like that overnight.”

“I’ve had over three years to work on it, Granger, and I started questioning those beliefs long before the end of the war. At the time, I believed it was unsafe for me or my family to act differently, but that doesn’t mean I don’t regret it, or that I would act the same if I had the opportunity to redo anything.”

True, over three years had now passed since the end of the war, since they should have graduated had their educations not been interrupted. Hermione had, of course, returned to finish her studies, but she’d heard nothing of Malfoy back at school. Several Slytherins had returned as Eighth Years, but the shock of white hair in front of her had been noticeably absent from the hallways.

If he really had been questioning his prejudice for so long, why had he avoided Hogwarts? McGonagall certainly would have encouraged him, like she would have any student, to finish his education despite the restrictions placed on him following his trial in the summer.

Hermione shifted in her seat.

“Regardless, you’re still a pureblood. You’re exactly the type of person I’ll eventually be targeting when the administrative side of my task is complete and I can get started driving real change.”

“All the most reason to hire me,” he insisted. “I know how other purebloods work. If they see a Malfoy embracing Muggle-born culture, they’ll all want to start. Nothing fuels change faster among purebloods than competitive altruism and fear of judgment. Plus, my partnership will make you more credible to the more stubborn ones. We both know that prejudice is alive and well for many in the older generation, but I know how to motivate them and manipulate them into supporting your cause. They’re more likely to listen to me, as unfair as that may be.”

Hermione could feel that her frown had evolved into a scowl, but didn’t seem able to relax the muscles in her face.

“You know nothing about Muggles. It would be counterproductive to hire you.”

“I took Muggle Studies like every other Hogwarts student.”

“Muggle Studies was a pitiful excuse for a class that focused more on rubber ducks and outdated fashions than anything significant Muggles have contributed to the world. Besides, don’t pretend you didn’t spend every single one of those classes messing around with your friends instead of learning.”

“Keeping an eye on me, were you?”

“It was impossible not to when you were constantly interrupting the lessons!”

Malfoy shrugged, undeterred by her annoyance. “You can teach me what I need to know. I’m a fast learner.”

She glared at him, sifting through her thoughts to find another line of attack.

“You’re running out of reasons to keep saying no. Come on, admit it, I am a good candidate. Probably the best you’re going to get since you aren’t offering a salary. And, if money is on your mind, let’s not forget that I don’t have much else to spend my family’s galleons on at the moment. Why not pour some into my work when I’m hired? It certainly looks like this place could use it.” His grey eyes glittered, flicking to the moth-eaten carpets and damp-stained wallpaper.

For a moment, Hermione let herself consider it. Her office was severely underfunded, like every other part of the Ministry. Any of her future work that required funding would likely necessitate fundraising efforts if she had any hope of affording it, and that would only add hours of work to her already packed schedule. It was overwhelming. The allure of Malfoy’s financial assistance as well as an extra pair of competent hands was undeniable.

But, it was Malfoy.

As if he could read her thoughts, he spoke again, voice more reserved, quieter than it had been moments earlier.

“Of course, I do understand if you’d rather not be around me. I know a written apology is hardly appropriate after everything I put you through at school, but I did mean it, Granger. I’m sor—”

“You don’t need to apologise again,” she interrupted, heat flaring in her face. Discomfort writhed in her stomach. “I can put the past behind us, Malfoy. It isn’t your fault you were raised into such hateful beliefs. I think it’s admirable that you want to change.” She took a deep, shaking breath, hardly able to believe the words she was about to say. “Have you read through the job description?”

He nodded, surprise lighting up his eyes.

“So, you’re aware that your daily tasks would be extremely varied and more often than not would involve sorting through paperwork and updating documentation?”

“Yes. I’ve spent enough time locked away in the manor that confinement and tedious tasks are nothing new.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. From her brief traumatic experience at Malfoy’s home, she knew it was significantly more luxurious than their current location. She could hardly imagine Malfoy experiencing much tedium surrounded by all of that splendour. Rumours at Hogwarts had suggested he had a library that spanned almost an entire wing, for goodness’s sake, how could anyone get bored with that at their disposal?

She shook her head, bringing her thoughts back to the present.

“And you’re aware that you’d be reporting to me? Which means you have to do what I instruct.”

He nodded again, cheeks rounding as if he was suppressing a smile.

She swallowed.

“Can you start on Monday?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Absolutely.”

She nodded once. “Fine. Good. Be here at nine. I’ll finalise the details of your contract over the weekend.”

He grinned.

As soon as Malfoy left, Hermione abandoned the work she’d intended to finish and took a Ministry floo straight to Harry and Ginny’s flat.

They were cuddled up on their sofa when Hermione burst into their living room. However, her intrusions were so frequent these days that her arrival didn’t startle them. They simply watched her stumble through the fireplace, dust decorating her hair and shoulders, anger lining her face.

“You!” She pointed at Harry.

“Me?” He raised his brows, exchanging a concerned glance with Ginny.

“What were you thinking?” Her voice rose a octave.

“What did you do?” Ginny asked, straightening to glare at her boyfriend.

“I… uh, I…” Harry’s blank expression only fuelled Hermione’s fury.

“I just finished my final interview of the day,” she prompted him. “It was one that you scheduled.”

Understanding dawned on his face.

“Ah.”

“What do you mean ‘ah’?” Ginny demanded. “What happened?”

“Imagine my surprise when Draco fucking Malfoy walked into my office!”

Ginny gasped, eyes widening.

Harry shifted with discomfort as the two women stared at him. Hermione placed her hands on her hips.

“How did it go?” he asked, after a moment of silence.

“That’s besides the point, Harry. You could have warned me that our childhood bully was coming to interview for a position in my office. His family wanted you dead during the war, and almost got their wish, might I add!”

“I think he’s changed though, Mione,” Harry insisted. “He wrote both Gin and I very heartfelt apology letters. I’ve actually bumped into him in the Leaky a few times over the past couple of years. He always stops for a chat. Always polite.”

Hermione scoffed. Despite the fact that Malfoy had seemed nice enough in their interview, it was no excuse. There was no guarantee he was any different from his nasty childhood self.

“Regardless of how you think he might have changed, it wasn’t fair of you not to warn me he was coming in.” She crossed her arms.

He nodded, raising his palms in defeat. “I know, I’m sorry. I just thought you had enough on your plate to be worrying about that, and I thought he genuinely might be a good choice. He’s smarmy and smug, but he’s a competent wizard. I scheduled him right at the end of the week so you’d see any better candidates first. Plus, I can’t imagine the unpaid aspect would be an issue for him.”

Hermione sighed and threw herself onto the armchair beside Ginny.

“No, he actually alluded to using his own money to fund our work since the Ministry budget is so tight at the moment.”

Harry snorted.

“What are you going to do, then?” Ginny asked. “What were the other candidates like?”

Hermione scrunched her nose. “Most of them were totally unsuitable. I’ve, uh,” she glanced sheepishly at Harry, “I offered Malfoy the role. He starts Monday.”

“And you came here shouting at me! I knew he’d be a good choice!”

“Fine, I’ll admit you made the right call, but you still should have told me. And I still have no idea how it’s going to go. I mean, it’s Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake. He hates Muggle-borns, and now he’ll have to spend the best part of every week learning about them.”

“Mione, you’re the most determined person we know. I’m sure you’ll whip him into shape in no time.” Ginny grinned.

“Yeah, and if you can convert a Malfoy to liking Muggles, the rest of the wizarding world doesn’t stand a chance,” Harry added.

A small, stubborn smile curved Hermione’s lips.