Through the Shadows of War

Hermione stepped out of the Ministry's grand atrium, its enchanted ceiling casting a murky glow over her as a cold draft slipped through the columns. The hall was nearly empty this late, just a few tired employees with their faces half-shrouded in shadow, like ghosts trailing past her. She pulled her coat tighter, a futile shield against the chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

In her hand, the file felt heavier than it should—weighted by the unspeakable darkness it held. Draco Malfoy’s name was scrawled across the cover in red ink, stamped “Access Restricted.” A name that, despite the years, still pulled a sharp breath from her chest.

Why him?

The answer lay somewhere in the Ministry’s classified vaults, where generations of secret alliances and ancient artifacts lay buried, stirring only when disturbed. And yet, after all her years fighting to rebuild the world Voldemort had tried to destroy, here she was, tethered to a past she’d rather forget.

When she entered her office, dimly lit by the flicker of a single candle, she saw the letter waiting on her desk—a seal emblazoned with the Malfoy crest. She didn’t remember placing it there.

“Hermione Granger, Authorized by Magical Artifacts Division. Request for Assistance: Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

The words blurred as she read them, her gaze lingering on the last three, stamped with a sort of inevitability she couldn’t quite grasp. Malfoy had been quiet since his pardon, hidden away at the manor, keeping to himself and his wealth. She supposed he’d taken to solitary brooding in a dusty old library, pouring over ancient scrolls and trying to forget his former life. She snorted softly at the image; he’d always seemed the sort who needed to be haunted by something.

Still, there was no one else. Whatever artifacts his family had once kept were now sealed in one of the oldest, most obscure vaults the Ministry had on record, a vault that had surfaced on her division’s radar only this morning. With its emergence came rumors of powerful dark magic waiting to be unlocked, a spark that could set the entire Wizarding World ablaze once more. And the only key to that vault lay within the walls of Malfoy Manor.

A knock on her door startled her from her thoughts.

The man standing there was different than she remembered, yet unmistakably Draco. He wore a fine black coat, tailored and severe, his pale skin like marble against the flickering candlelight. His hair had been left longer, falling in platinum waves around his face, a face that seemed to bear a thousand untold stories.

“Granger,” he greeted, his voice low, resonant. He didn’t offer a handshake.

“Malfoy.” She forced herself to meet his gaze, defiant in its cool distance. “Thank you for coming.”

He didn’t respond, simply stepping further into the room, his hands in his coat pockets. The silence stretched, weighted by the years between them, the scars they both bore that had yet to fade.

“You requested my assistance?” he said finally, his tone flat, almost indifferent. But Hermione caught the flicker in his eyes, a wariness buried deep beneath his impassive expression.

“Yes. There’s a vault we need access to,” she began, keeping her tone as professional as she could manage. “It’s… complicated.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I’m sure the Ministry has its own people for that.”

“We do,” she replied, voice colder than she intended. “But your family’s legacy is a part of this. There’s an artifact that—”

His gaze darkened, and for a brief, fleeting moment, she saw a spark of something she thought he’d lost long ago. “My family’s legacy, Granger, is none of your concern.”

Hermione’s fingers tightened around the file. “This artifact could be dangerous, Malfoy. It’s bound to the bloodlines of two families—one of them being yours.”

She hadn’t wanted to lay it out so bluntly, but there was no other way. His eyes flickered, and he took a step forward, close enough that she could feel the chill radiating off him.

“And the other?” he asked, voice barely a whisper.

Hermione hesitated. She’d spent years protecting this secret, safeguarding her past. But now, with the shadows of ancient curses and lost magic looming over them, it seemed inevitable that her truth, too, would resurface.

“My family,” she murmured, barely able to meet his gaze. “My bloodline… is the other.”

The words hung between them, thick and heavy, settling like dust in the dim room. She could feel his surprise, the way his eyes narrowed as he looked at her as though seeing her for the first time. She half-expected him to sneer, to recoil at the revelation. But instead, he simply nodded, the movement slow, measured, as though he’d been expecting something of the sort all along.

“Of course,” he murmured, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The Ministry’s golden girl, tied to an ancient curse. Isn’t it always the righteous ones who end up with blood on their hands?”

Hermione felt a flush rise to her cheeks, but she forced herself to ignore it. She’d come too far to let him break her resolve now.

“This isn’t about me,” she said, voice steady, though her pulse hammered in her ears. “It’s about ending this—whatever this curse is—before it drags both our families down with it.”

Draco watched her for a long, silent moment, his expression inscrutable. And then, slowly, he extended his hand, fingers brushing the worn edge of the file. Draco’s fingers hovered over the edge of the file she held, his expression unreadable. Hermione’s pulse quickened as she watched him, unwilling to back down.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and cold. “Tell me, Granger, what’s in this for you? Or has it truly become your mission to save every broken piece of this world?”

Her jaw tightened, but she forced herself to stay composed. “This isn’t about saving anyone. It’s about doing what’s necessary—before something dangerous finds its way back into our lives.”

Draco watched her, an inscrutable flicker in his eyes. “And I’m just supposed to open my doors, dredge up every twisted piece of family history, simply because you say so?”

“Because you know it’s right,” she replied, her voice laced with an edge she didn’t bother to temper. “If you don’t help, you’re risking something far worse.”

He scoffed, gaze shifting away. Silence settled like dust between them, thick and weighted, until he finally looked back at her, something guarded and weary in his expression.

“There’s one thing I’ve learned, Granger,” he said, almost a whisper, “and it’s that good intentions come with a cost.” He looked at her sharply. “Are you prepared to pay it?”

She swallowed, not breaking his gaze. “If it means preventing another war, yes.”

Draco’s face hardened, and for a moment, she thought he might refuse. But then he exhaled, running a hand through his hair, looking somewhere past her as if searching for resolve he didn’t truly feel.

“Fine,” he said finally, voice rougher than before. “But understand this—I’m not doing it for you, or for any delusion of redemption.” He leaned in, his gaze cold and unyielding. “The vault opens on my terms, Granger. And when I’m done, you—and the Ministry—stay out of my life.”

The tension between them thickened as she nodded, the unspoken agreement settling between them like a pact made in shadows. Without another word, he turned, his steps slow, as though each one carried its own weight.

"Tomorrow, at 3 pm" he avoided eye contact and walked away.