We Were Gold

The walk back to my desk felt like the walk to the gallows; I had effectively sealed my own fate, ensuring that Granger and Weasley would stay together, regardless of the cracks that were starting to show in their picture-perfect relationship. I had hoped, perhaps, that Potter, who knew her better than anyone, whose advice she would heed, would question Weasley’s treatment of her; the man was surely not that oblivious. The Granger that I knew, the Granger that I had unwillingly fallen in love with, would never allow herself to be treated the way that she has been. She would never beg for the forgiveness of that excuse of a wizard; she would tell him to go fuck himself, and then offer advice on how best to accomplish such a feat. An external force would be required to separate them, someone who could help her realise how much more she deserved.

I pulled a blank sheet of parchment toward, an idea barrelling into my mind fully formed.

Ginevra,

I am writing to you as a friend, but more so, as a friend to Granger. I trust that you will do what needs to be done, something I fear only you can accomplish. I write this as someone who is knowingly biased against your brother, but it needs to be said: Granger deserves more. She has made herself smaller so that he feels bigger; she has put her wants and needs to the side for the sake of his ego. You love them both, but surely you can see this as well as I can. Your husband, unobservant as he is, must know it too, whether or not he can admit it to himself. I trust that this will remain between the two of us (unless you decide that your lesser half can prove helpful).

Yours,

Draco Malfoy

I tucked the folded letter into my desk drawer to be sent when I arrived home; my personal owl was far more reliable than any in the ministry’s owlery. I felt lighter, even just getting the words on paper. I may not deserve her, but she certainly deserved more than the Weasel. I was content to love her from a distance; to be in her life in any capacity was more than I could ever have hoped with our shared history.

Potter, looking cleaner than he had this morning, made his way to my desk. I raised my eyebrow. “I showered in the duelling room change area,” he answered my unspoken question. “Florist delivered the flowers first thing this morning; I organised a chef to come to Grimmauld tonight for dinner.”

I let out a low whistle. “That’s impressive, Potter, well done. She’ll be thrilled. Possibly enough to perform her marital duties.”

He shrugged. “I fucked up. You gave me advice, which I decided to follow, and things seem to be looking up.”

“I seem to be doing a lot of that lately,” I said absently. It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “Granger and Weasley. She missed a lunch date. I simply gave her a suggestion on how to make it up to him.”

Potter crossed his arms and cocked his head. “That was good of you, considering you’re in love with her.”

I swore viciously and threw up the strongest privacy spell I knew. “Not a word to her, Potter. I will not have her tainted by association.”

“You’re not denying it.”

I sighed. “I obviously never intended for it to happen, but it did. It was easy, falling in love with her. I don’t know why more people haven’t; you’ve resisted for a decade, somehow. I woke up one day and it had just happened.”

“For one, I’d rather pluck my own eyes out than think of Hermione romantically. Ginny would also castrate me. Are you just going to sit by and watch her and Ron make each other unhappy?”

I opened my desk drawer and handed him the letter. “No. I’ve called upon an unstoppable force to step in.”

He flipped it over to the addressee and nodded in approval before tucking it into the inner pocket of his robes. “That’ll do the trick. Cancel your spell, I need to talk to you in an official capacity.”

I acquiesced, sitting up straight, racking my mind to identify any possible transgression I had committed since Monday. He must have sensed my trepidation.

“Calm down, you haven’t done anything. I need you out in the field with me. Hogwarts student appeared in Hogsmeade Confunded. McGonagall would like someone to take another look at everything.”

I nodded; it was Weasley’s case, and I was certain he had bollocksed it up in some way.

“Tomorrow. Maybe wear more comfortable shoes, we’ll be walking a fair bit.” He glanced at the hand-stitched, full-grain leather Oxfords I was wearing. “Read the case file.”

I mock saluted as he returned to his office. I summoned the file from Weasley’s desk; he likely wouldn’t notice it was missing amongst the large stack of parchment sitting there. I had just settled in to read his illegible, half-completed case notes when I looked up to see him crossing the bullpen. He smiled triumphantly, before bringing his attention back to his own paperwork.

As I struggled to decipher Weasley’s final summary, I heard him struggle to stand up from his desk, slamming a drawer in the process. Granger suggested Antoine’s for their meal; an excellent bistro whose coq au vin was the best I’d had outside of France. Naturally, Weasley shot her down, suggesting a trendy pseudo-Italian restaurant that would be surrounded by paparazzi; I couldn’t think of anything less Granger.

He then suggested that she change clothes, presumably into something skin-tight and short, considering his lack of imagination. I snorted, wondering where he found the audacity to imply that she looked anything less than stunning whilst he looked like he had just rolled out of bed, having forgone a bath for several days. He turned, fury in his eyes, clearly hoping for a fight; luckily for all present, Granger grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks.

She cast an ironing charm after he claimed that he couldn’t properly cast it (surprising absolutely no one; he was slovenly on his best days), and they prepared to leave, only to be interrupted by a seething Potter. Weasley’s explanation that he was leaving early for a dinner date fell visibly short, Potter slamming his door forcefully as they left. I watched him keenly; Weasley was clearly underperforming personally and professionally, considering Potter’s decision to bring me in on the Hogwarts case.

Something was scratching at my brain regarding the Confunded student, some detail I was missing that would provide clarity. The student in question had had no significant disciplinary issues previously; his parents had both died shortly before the war had ended; he was a Pureblood but had been raised in a home for children orphaned by the war, inhabited primarily by Muggleborns. I rifled through my notes from the six Sectumsempra attacks I had been assigned; all had been Purebloods, and all would be considered blood traitors by my father and his ilk.

The seven cases were connected; all had been perpetrated by one individual, presumably a Pureblood still maintaining the traditional beliefs. I stood quickly and raced to Potter’s office, turning the knob without knocking. A nasty stinging hex raced across my palm.

“Release your bloody wards, Potter. I’ve got something,” I shouted cradling my sore hand. My mother would have been impressed with its efficacy. The door opened inwards, and I bolted in. “The Hogsmeade case and the Diagon attacks are related. It’s the same person.”

Potter cocked his head, looking particularly canine, and gestured to the chair opposite his desk. He leaned back in his own chair, folding his hands across his chest, nodding for me to continue.

“All victims are purebloods; all are also blood traitors. All traveling alone, all suffered a potentially life-threatening attack. Mehindra, married to a Muggle,” I recounted the details of the first victim. “Blackmoore, popularising Muggle electronics, like films and television. Johnstone, three half-blood children. Strongear, on the board of the post-war reparations committee. Dallister, wrote the textbooks used for Muggle Studies at Hogwarts and pushed for it to become mandatory fourth year and above. Connelly, engaged to Finch-Fletchley, famously muggleborn. Hornsbach lives at the Tonks/Lupin Home for Children.”

Potter sat quietly, mulling over my theory. “And the kid?”

“Hornsbach was too close to Hogwarts for Sectumsempra; dark magic like that would have required multiple aurors and significant investigative effort. A grindylow accident could be written off as a tragic accident. I imagine they were very nearly interrupted and a quick Confundus allowed the attacker to get away in time. Were there any signs of the Imperius on Hornsbach?”

Potter shook his head. “Ron wouldn’t have checked, considering how unlikely it would have been deemed at the time.”

I sighed in frustration. “I can try Legilimancy if you’d like. There might be an imprint of it on his memories.”

“I wouldn’t be able to get clearance for that, Malfoy. Not for you, unfortunately,” he replied sympathetically.

I swore, knowing he was right. A former Death Eater, no matter how legitimate now, was never going to be allowed to search through a victim’s mind.

“This is good work, Draco. We’ll go to Hogsmeade tomorrow to look for anything Ron might have missed.”

I swelled with pride. “I’ll keep looking-”

“No, you’re coming to dinner. Ginny will understand; she already got flowers,” he cut me off with finality. “Wrap up here and floo to Grimmauld; I’ll have warmed her up to you intruding by the time you get there.” I gagged dramatically at his lascivious wink.

* * *

I arrived in their sitting room twenty minutes later, loudly announcing my presence lest I catch them in flagrante. I had barely taken two steps before Ginevra stormed in, waving my letter above her head.

“What the fuck is this, Malfoy?”

I swallowed, refusing to be cowed by a Weasley, no matter how nasty her hexes were known to be. “I assume that’s rhetorical.”

“What the fuck is this?” She repeated, voice getting high with each word.

I sniffed. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. He treats her horribly. If she was seeing anyone other than him, you would have already split them up.”

Potter wandered in smirking. “Love, it will cause a lot of paperwork for me if you hex him. Kreacher,” he called. An elderly house-elf appeared in a low bow. “Could you bring us a drink, please? Martinis, if you could.” He looked at his wife, nearly apoplectic. “In the unbreakable glassware, I think.” The elf disappeared with a pop.

“Hello, Malfoy. Take a seat. Sorry if our hospitality is lacking. Your letter caused quite a stir, as you can tell.”

I sat on a hideously upholstered loveseat and observed Potter’s attempts to herd his wife to the sofa opposite. The house-elf reappeared with a tray of drinks. I accepted one with a nod of thanks and took a fortifying sip. “That is excellent,” I told him, as Potter wrestled the letter out of Ginevra’s hand, and handed her a glass instead. He wiggled his ears in thanks and popped away.

I watched in awe as Ginevra downed her drink in one, doing her best to shatter the unbreakable glass when she slammed it down on the coffee table. Potter looked distinctly amused as he took a sip of his own. “Speak, Ferret,” she hissed.

I set my glass down, and leaned forward, resting my arms on my thighs. “Your brother is, and had been, treating Granger poorly. She deserves better, and someone needs to bring that to her attention.”

She rolled her eyes so severely I was sure something would dislocate. “Yes, obviously, I’m the best candidate for that, considering you and Harry are both tactless. I meant ‘what the fuck is this, how long have you been in love with her and why haven’t you said anything?’”

I looked to Potter who raised his hands, one of which was gripping a martini glass like a lifeline, and said, “Don’t look at me.” I looked back to Ginevra, who rolled her eyes again.

“Harry didn’t say anything. I read your letter and realised it myself. So?” She prompted, tugging Potter’s glass out of his hand and leaning towards me.

I sighed. “Since we went back for our seventh year. No,” I held up a hand when she opened her mouth to speak. “Let me finish.” She nodded, gesturing for me to continue. “We were Heads together, as you know. She was just so present, always in the common room, or my classes, everywhere I looked. Eventually, I started looking forward to her presence, luxuriating in it. She brightened every aspect of my life, made me enjoy waking up in the morning for the first time since I was fourteen. Helped drag me out of the mire that was my existence, even when I resisted. She was kindness personified, and for whatever reason, she directed it towards me, when I had been nothing but cruel. She forced me to reevaluate the trajectory of my life, to become the kind of man she would want to be around, even if it was never in the same way that I wanted her. She knows none of this, of course; believes that I did it all myself, simply because I was given the opportunity. She doesn’t realise that she was the opportunity; the raft in the middle of the ocean, the hand when I needed it most.” I finished my drink with a gulp that would have brought my mother to tears. “And so, it needs to end. She needs to end it herself, to realise that she deserves more. She has to accept that she deserves better.”

They both looked at me, stunned. Potter was the first to speak, wiping his glasses on his shirttail. “Well, what’s the plan?” When I simply raised an eyebrow, he continued. “You know, the plan to break them up, and have her end up with you. What’s the plan?”

I rested my head back against the loveseat, looking up at the ceiling. “There is no plan. You both simply get in her ear about how terrible his behaviour is; how she isn’t the type of witch to allow someone to treat her so poorly. There’s no convoluted plot here, Potter, no trap to get her to fall into my arms. I simply want her to get away from him, so she can live her life to the fullest.”

“I can certainly get in her ear,” Ginevra replied, voice incredibly steady for someone who had finished two martinis in twenty minutes. “But what if her life is fuller with you?”

“You sound like my mother,” I replied. “If she wants me, I’m hers, in my entirety. But, promise me, no meddling. No scheming. Swear it.”

They both agreed, although I could tell neither was happy about it. As I floundered for a new topic of conversation, not knowing what to say after being so uncharacteristically vulnerable, the house-elf returned.

“Dinner is served, Mr and Mrs Potter, and guest” he croaked with a bow, before turning and leading us to the dining room. Evidently, there hadn’t been enough time before my arrival to rid the room of its romantic ambience; candles and rose petals were covering every surface, and a string quartet was in the corner. The table, although it was large, had been set for an intimate dinner for two, with a chair for me added as an afterthought.

“Good Gods, Potter, does the word ‘gauche’ mean nothing to you? It smells like my grand-mère’s potpourri in here,” I hissed.

He flushed but said nothing as he led his wife to her seat and pulled out her chair. Ginevra snorted in an unladylike manner before turning her attention to the chef who had entered the room with three plates.

“For your first course, figs with whipped ricotta, honey and walnuts,” he said, placing our food down and returning to the kitchen. A glass of Prosecco appeared in front of each of us, and we tucked in.

I did my best to avoid looking at either Potter whilst we ate our entrees, well-aware that the menu had been curated for seduction. Unfortunately, my ears were fully functional, and I was treated to a symphony of moans, murmurs and giggles while we ate.

Our dishes vanished as the chef re-entered the room, the next course in his hands. “Quail, leek, and a warm potato salad.”

I took a sip of the excellent Beaujolais that had appeared, and quickly cut into my main course, eyes glued to my plate. I hadn’t thought of quail as a particularly sensual food, but Ginevra Potter was doing her best to convince me otherwise; the way she was attacking the drumstick was getting me hot around the collar.

The chef returned floating dessert in front of him. “Vanilla panna cotta and chocolate-covered strawberries.”

I leapt to my feet as Potter accepted a spoonful from his wife. “Thank you for your hospitality and allowing me to intrude on your evening,” I addressed the wall above their heads before hurriedly making my way to the floo. As I left the room, I heard a chair tip over and a noise that I hoped to never hear Potter make again.

I stumbled into my Floo parlour, nearly tripping over Pollux winding around my ankles. Theo was, blessedly, missing as Pansy had been due to arrive home earlier today. I scratched the kitten behind his ears and at his plaintive mewl, picked him up.

“Hello, Pollux. How was your day? Are you hungry?” He let loose a rumbly purr.

I set him down and he led me to the kitchen before sitting at my feet, watching me as I prepared the food that Granger assured me that he would love. I placed his bowl on the ground, and he stepped forward to take a curious sniff. He sat back on his haunches and sneered at me, a true Malfoy at heart.

“Granger says this is good for you. It’s ‘mixed fillets in jelly’,” I informed him, looking dubiously at the slop in his dish. I looked at him, then back at the bowl. I vanished the “food” before summoning the salmon fillet I had in the refrigerator and dicing it quickly before serving it to him. A bell around his neck, presumably Theo’s doing, tinkled gently against the lip of his dish as he quickly ate. When he’d finished, I scooped him again, placing him on the bed as I turned on the shower. He promptly curled into a ball in the valley between my pillows, and fell asleep, unable to keep his eyes open a second longer.

I stripped and stepped into the scalding water. I had had a long day of paperwork and comforting a crying Granger, but the Potters’ public foreplay had gotten my blood hot. I recalled the image of a teary-eyed Hermione to my mind, eyes watering as she choked on my cock, her curls held tightly in my fist as I fucked her mouth. I pumped into my hand, my right hand coming down to gently tug on my balls, as fantasy-Granger would. I pressed my forehead to tile as I came violently with a shout. With my muscles loosened, and the exhaustion of the day catching up to me on the tail on my orgasm, I quickly finished my shower and crawled into bed, giving Pollux a pat on the head before succumbing to a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

When I entered the auror bullpen the following morning, I was relieved to see Potter’s office was still empty. The man had needed to relax, and I hoped he had gotten some sleep in between rounds. I disabled the wards on my desk, settling in to refresh myself on the Hogsmeade details before going out into the field for the first time.

I heard the ding of the lift doors fifteen minutes later, and Potter approached my desk with a takeaway cup and pastry bag after stopping in his office. I accepted both before smirking.

“I’m impressed to see you up and at ‘em so early, Deputy Head Auror Potter. Did you ever make it to your bedroom, or did you spend the night under the dining table?”

“Ginny sends her apologies,” he said, face the colour of a tomato. “Didn’t mean to scare you off.”

“The thought of seeing your specky arse was almost enough to bring my dinner back up; thought I’d save your elf the trouble of cleaning up after me,” I laughed, lifting my cup in thanks.

“I need to speak to Ron when he arrives, and then you and I will be floo-ing directly to the Headmistress’ office to speak to her before we head to Hogsmeade.”

I nodded, clicking the heels of my dragonhide boots together. “I wore these for you Potter, so the least you could do is acknowledge them.”

He rolled his eyes before walking back to the lift, clearly intending to pounce on Weasley the moment he arrived. I watched the lift doors open and Weasley lead Granger out. They quickly went their separate ways; Granger going towards legal and Weasley trailing behind Potter like a recalcitrant child. Potter strode past me without another glance, but Weasley stopped briefly to thank me for advising Granger the day before. I responded dazedly, in awe that he could appropriately express gratitude. He continued into Potter’s office, where I got a glimpse of an irate Potter before the door slammed and privacy spells activated.

Five minutes later, a shamefaced Weasley slunk back to his desk, refusing to acknowledge anyone in the full bullpen. I peeked at him under the guise of reading my notes; he had glumly dropped the mountain of paperwork back on his desk.

I was prevented from watching him further by Potter re-entering my cubicle. “Ready, Malfoy?”

I nodded, grabbing my badge, and ensuring my shoulder holster was secure. I shrugged back into my suit jacket and fell into step with him as we walked to the lift. I could feel Weasley’s glare on us as we left.

I stepped out of the grate into the Headmistress’ office after Potter, brushing soot off of my coat. She greeted both of us warmly; she and I had become close during my tenure as Head Boy. “Biscuit, gentlemen?”

We thanked her before sitting on the spindly-legged chairs around a small, round table in the corner of the massive room. “Thanks for speaking with us, Headmistress. I know you’ve already answered the questions of Auror Weasley, but Auror Malfoy and myself will be taking over the investigation.”

She passed a tin of biscuits to us, and I took over. “Professor, I know there was no indication to check, but did Hornsbach display any signs of having been under the influence of Imperius?”

McGonagall gasped. “It didn’t even cross my mind to check. A Confundus would have been an excellent cover for it.”

Potter indicated for me to continue. “There are quite a few similarities between this circumstance and several attacks that have taken place in Diagon Alley, all of which have required hospitalisation. I find it unlikely that a fourth year would walk into a pond off the beaten path of his own volition, and the odds of a grindylow being present naturally in said pond are preposterous.”

She nodded. “I tend to agree with you, Mr Malfoy. The scenario which Mr Weasley presented was absurd. Did you need to speak with Mr Hornsbach? He is in Herbology at the moment but can be summoned if you require it.”

Potter shook his head. “No thanks, Headmistress. We should be on our way. Thank you for your time.”

“I will see both of you in here for a cup of tea when you’ve finished,” she said, leaving no room for argument.

We made our way through the thankfully empty castle; I was too anxious to deal with accusatory stares from children whose lives had been shaped by the war. Walking next to Harry Potter wasn’t enough to erase my past.

“You’d be good for each other,” he offered conversationally as we crossed the boundary into Hogsmeade. “You and Hermione.”

“Yes, I am aware who you were referring to. I am unaware why we are having this conversation at all, let alone while working,” I sneered.

“Technically, we’re just walking. Haven’t made it to the crime scene yet.

“Drop it, Potter. It’s a right here,” I pointed, stepping off of the path. “Can you feel that? That’s the boundary of a ward, a strong one.”

He drew his wand, and I followed suit. “I’ll start dismantling it, you mark the perimeter, see if you can find anything else.” I nodded, continuing onwards.

Twenty metres away, I was almost in the shadow of the Shrieking Shack when I felt the prickle of Dark Magic on my skin. I could taste the bitter aftertaste of it lingering; a metallic smell imprinted on the air. “Potter! Something stronger than a Confundus was used here,” I shouted, marking the spot with sparks.

He waved me back. “Just need two people to get this last spell down. One, two, three- Nunc Intrabo!”

With a flick of our wands, the final ward disappeared, revealing a clearing in the woods that had obviously been occupied recently. I waved my wand, searching for a magical signature to compare to the Diagon offences.

“It’s him, Potter.”

He nodded grimly. “Good work, Malfoy. Nothing worth noting here,” he gestured to the wood. “Let’s go have a cuppa and let Robards know we’ve got a lead.”

* * *

After leaving Hogwarts, Potter had immediately gone into his office with Robards, door closing behind them. I looked up to catch Weasley’s eye who scoffed before turning back to his haphazard pile of parchment, all earlier amity forgotten. I reached for my own quill and began jotting down my own case notes. A ghostly stag cantered to my desk before disappearing, a summons if I’d ever seen one.

I entered Potter’s office and took a seat next to Robards. “Go ahead, Malfoy,” Potter prompted.

I took his cue and recounted what we had seen in Hogsmeade; why I had originally thought to incidents were connected, and what had firmed up that belief. Potter nodded enthusiastically throughout; at one point it looked like he was giving himself whiplash.

Robards stroked his chin and nodded absently. “Good work, Auror Malfoy. I presume you’ll be focussing your efforts back in Diagon.”

“Yes, sir. I think the Hogsmeade attack was purely to see if he could do it successfully. He couldn’t, so I think he’ll go back to where he’s comfortable.”

“Excellent. You and Berrycloth will be patrolling on Saturday. Gentlemen,” he said, exiting with a tilt of his head.

I let out a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding. Potter was grinning manically. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Standard protocol before going out on your first patrol; refresher of all the legalities, procedures, et cetera associated with arrests,” he replied. “Barrister Granger will be waiting in her office for you.”

I groaned. “You’re worse than my mother, Potter, and I hope you take that for the insult that it was.”

He made kissing noises as I left his office, two fingers up as I shut the door behind me.

I walked through the bullpen to legal, nodding to Berrycloth as Robards briefed him at his cubicle. I found myself at Granger’s door, hand raised to knock when she called “It’s open, Draco,” is a soft voice.

She beamed at me when I entered, and it took my breath away. She was stunning, had always been, I had just been so close-minded that I couldn’t see what I now found obvious. I realised I hadn’t returned the greeting when her face started to fall, and I smiled broadly. “Hey, Granger. Reporting for duty, ma’am.”

She giggled and pointed to her visitor’s chair. “This is just a reminder. You’ve already passed an exam about the topics we’re going to quickly cover.” She pulled a file off of the cabinet behind her desk and passed it to me. “Standard procedure before any auror interacts with the general public in a professional capacity for the first time; we need to make sure you don’t violate any laws or regulations while on duty. Repercussions are quite severe for aurors who overstep the law.”

I nodded, remembering the lectures from training. “Just read this and sign it?”

“If you’d like, I can review it with you, clear anything up you’re confused about,” she offered sincerely, doe eyes peering at me.

“Granger, I appreciate that, but if I asked you to read this with me, you’d lose all respect for me, and you know it. I was second only to you at Hogwarts, and I haven’t lost my edge, unlike some other wizards,” I winked, pleased to see her eyes flick down to the smirk on my lips.

“Yes, well, some people find it helpful to have a second set of eyes,” she said breathily, clearly affected by my flirting. I had held back for so many years, but with the goal of separating her from Weasley on my mind, I wasn’t holding any punches.

“I find it more helpful to have a second set of hands, in most instances,” I said, running my tongue along my teeth, doing my damnedest to keep her eyes on my mouth. Her tongue mimicked mine, and I swallowed a groan. She was beating me at a game she wasn’t aware we were playing.

“Yes, well,” she cleared her throat, blinking rapidly. “When you’re finished with that, I just need you to sign it.”

I nodded, reading over the document quickly. I signed it with a flourish, allowing our fingers to brush as I handed it back to her; the contact sent a shiver through her. I knew that while she was with Weasley she would never act on the thoughts I could see flitting through her mind; she was loyal to a fault, clearly. I didn’t need her to act on them, I simply needed her to think about them, preferably at night, in their shared bed; to think about how I could make her feel without even touching her and compare that to Weasley. No matter what I told the Potters, no matter what I told myself when in the depths of self-loathing, I wanted her to leave him for me. I wanted her to see me as an option. After so many years of behaving in a purely platonic manner, I could feel the floodgates of my desire for her opening; soon flirtation would colour every interaction we had.

I stood up, offering a smile as I turned for the door.

“Congratulations, Draco. You’ve worked hard for this; I’m proud of you,” she said shyly, unsure if she was overstepping the boundaries of our friendship.

My smile widened. “Thanks, Hermione.”