His Worth
When he'd donated his 'entire vault' to the war victims, she'd known it was an exaggeration. Obviously, he'd set funds aside for himself.
When those displaced by violence moved to the manor, rent-free, she knew he was living in some other lavish Malfoy property, probably laughing in a posh London flat about how foolish anyone was who fell for his scheme. Hermione knew a good PR strategy when she saw one.
Nothing convinced her it was a farce more than his impassioned speech in the prophet. There he stood, in the enchanted photo, his clothes tattered and his hair disheveled, begging for an end to the divisiveness. Calling for Pureblood families to change, for the Ministry to do more. It was so calculated. She could barely read it.
"I'm telling you, Hermione," Harry pleaded. "I believe him. I saw him in Diagon yesterday. I don't think he's doing well."
She scoffed. "Sure, as if he didn't post up in Diagon for that very reason."
Harry shook his head. "For someone on the winning side, you sure have held onto a lot of hate."
His words gave her pause. Maybe she was being too harsh, doubtful, but perhaps.
She was a woman of logic. She decided to research.
"Ms. Granger, we can't speak on the status of-" Grubgrok informed her.
"Yes, but I was hoping-"
"I wasn't finished. As I was saying, I can't speak to the vault status of clients, but I can tell you Mr. Malfoy is not a client here. Not a single Galleon remains."
"How long have you been living here, Mrs. Entwhistle?"
"We've been here for about six months now—Kevin, me, and the little one." She gestured to the newborn asleep in her arms. The baby had golden blonde hair and was smiling in her sleep. She was safe, clean, and warm.
"Your home in Godric's Hollow was destroyed in the attacks, yes?"
She nodded. "We lost everything. When we heard about living here, we thought it must be some sort of trap, but we had nowhere else to go. It's been a godsend."
"And Malfoy? Does he ever come around?"
She scrunched her brow. "Erm, no. I'm not sure where he's staying."
She tracked him down. The room in Knockturn Alley smelled of mold and smoke. She was waiting for him inside when he arrived.
"Your security here is rubbish."
He shrugged. "Not much worth protecting."
She could feel him including himself in that. He was thin, malnourished.
"You do know there is such a thing as giving too much, right?"
He collapsed on a threadbare chair. "I can't spend that money. It's tainted. It's covered in the blood of muggles and muggle-borns."
"And the house?" she prompted.
"I can't live there. It's haunting. So, I gave it to people who need it."
She spotted a small pile of his things on the bed. "Pack up."
He shook his head. "I can't go back."
She sighed. "Obviously. No, you're coming to mine."