Draco absentmindedly flicked his wand in front of him, practicing defensive spells as he leaned against the doorway, wishing he were in the lab with Hermione as she typed furiously away at her computer. She had spent months researching the early aboriginal fertility rituals and testing the hypothesis that they would have incorporated magic before Great Britain's colonies had driven the practices underground.
A smirk played on his lips, he’d had fun testing those, and magic was definitely involved.
They’d danced around each other for years since he’d been assigned as a bodyguard during a debacle where a few very influential wizarding groups had opposed her proposals for finding subtle ways to introduce magical cures into muggle healthcare spaces. They were even more mad when suggesting that the best way to achieve the goal was to pose as a muggle nonprofit pharmaceutical company with the earnings going to further research and development.
The Malfoy name had ended up pushing it through and funding the initial investment. It was a convenient “Fuck You” to his father’s legacy and the perfect way to bribe Hermione to consider one date. The second date took considerably less bribery. The third only cost him a letter of introduction to a famous Nigerian researcher who had already been looking for a way to contact her.
It had become their running joke. She thought he had stopped, but he still made an 100 galleon donation to a local charity every time they went out to dinner. He hoped to present her with it as an engagement gift, if she would ever let him propose.
Drco pressed his ear to the door. The speed at which she typed was often a good predictor of what her mood would be when she emerged. He’d been extra vigilant recently, rumor had gotten out that she was working on uncovering some ancient magic that had been lost. Which was technically true, but the rumors had gotten out of hand and now they were worried that people might try to break in and attempt to steal the research.
The room was silent, which wasn’t unusual. Hermione spent as much time editing and reading as she did typing sometimes.
Then he heard a sniffle. His heart seized at the sound.
Hermione rarely cried. He’d caught her in the shower once or twice after a hard day, but in her office? Something was wrong.
Normally he was good about not interrupting, but nothing would hold him back from getting to her if she were in distress. It took all of his training to not burst in. If there was someone in there with her, hurting her…. He breathed deep through his nose. He checked the wards, she was alone.
Draco eased the door open, wand ready.
Hermione sat, one leg pulled up to her chest, staring at the laptop screen in front of her. The cold white light highlighted fresh tears as she let them fall silently. Draco’s breath caught, what was he supposed to do? There was no intruder to attack, but he felt outmanned by the devastation on her face.
Before he could move further into the room, Hermione had jumped from where she sat run into him, barely missing impaling herself on the tip of his wand as she threw arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest and let out a tired wet sob.
“What?...” Draco didn’t even know what to ask, “Are you ok?” He finally settled on the easiest one. They both could see she wasn’t.
“They took it. They have it all!”
Draco mentally ran through the rolodex of valuable information and equipment she had.
“What did they take?” They would get to the who later.
Hermione’s curls hung limp, a clear sign she had been running her fingers through it anxiously. One curl was almost a dreadlock from twisting and untwisting it.
“The paper, my research!” Her voice was muffled, still pressed into his warmth, “I sent it to a friend to look over who is doing similar research and they fucking uploaded it to a huge group where they share research and talk, but they uploaded everything, unpublished, my raw notes, even stuff I hadn’t realized I sent them.”
Draco didn’t fully understand the intricacies of the internet, but he knew about work getting stolen. It had happened in smaller scales in Hermione’s department before and she had always vehemently fought for the rights of each one from research assistants to seasoned professors.
And now someone has done it to her.
“Who was it?’
“I don’t know,” she pulled back, wrapping her arms around herself, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. “We had met in a research forum and chatted sometimes. They hid behind a fake username and photo. They were so nice and helpful I assumed they would be respectful. I sent them the disclosure to sign, there was nothing that would make it seem off. But I knew this happens, how could I be so stupid?” Hermione pressed the balls of her hands into her eye socket as if she could force the tears back into her eyes. “I am an idiot. An imbecile. And now it’s all up there. All of it.”
Draco reached for her, needing to hold her in his arms while they had this discussion.
But she resisted, blushing furiously, tears spilling down.
“You don’t get it Draco,” her voice was rough and angry, “I accidentally shared all of it with them. My notes, those notes.”
Draco felt sick. Suddenly the memories of testing out her theories weren’t so sweet and he felt the realization like a punch in the gut.
“But they were anonymous, right?”
“No, they were the unedited ones! We haven’t had a chance to pass it on for testing anyway, so there’s no one else it could have been if they were!” Hermione's voice was growing hysterical.
“Draco,” her voice was a shrill whisper, as if she couldn’t get a full breath, “I know people in that group, I have colleagues.” She didn’t resist as he pulled her back into his arms. “They’re going to read all of that, how are they going to look me in the eyes again? I am going to wonder if any of them have read it.”
Draco let her talk. In between bouts of tears Draco was able to get her home and made note of every detail she shared.
Draco didn’t have many connections in the muggle/muggleborn world, but Potter did, and he had a name and address within an hour of sending off the owl with as many details as he could find. Turns out, people who are free with other people’s private information and work aren’t that hard to track down.
Harry had wanted to come, but Draco needed an alibi. No one would suggest the chosen one would cover for what he was about to do.
The woman was a squib. Harry had included a printout of a photo for him, your typical middle-aged suburban mother. White, bottle blonde, unhappily married if her posts with overly bright smile and long rants that talk about everything but her husband was anything to go by. Harry had been thorough.
Draco almost felt bad looking at the log of activity. Her whole life was this shady facebook group.
Post after post looking for praise and attention. Excuses and lies covering up harassment and theft. Poor woman, but that didn’t justify making others miserable.
Draco used his wand to check how many bodies were in the home. They were in another time zone, so he wasn’t expecting to see many bodies home at 2 in the afternoon. And he was right, only one.
The home was unwarded, dumb for someone who dealt in magical research. He was able to apparate directly behind her where she sat on her couch, scrolling through her phone.
The woman jumped at the loud crack, turning around to see what might have fallen and flinching when she discovered Draco looming over her.
Her mouth opened in a silent scream, too shocked to take the breath required to summon a neighbor.
With a flick of his wrist her mouth was shut and he met her eye, exploring her thoughts and memories, trying very hard to avoid anything too personal, extracting usernames and passwords, finely extracting names of scholars that she had wrong or was planning to. Erasing small pieces of a larger puzzle so that she might never be able to piece her network back together. Taking everything about Hermione and leaving an unsettling associated with the name deep in the recesses of the woman’s mind.
He finally withdrew, putting a light sleeping spell on her before sending off a series of messages. Harry had access to a series of hackers who would take down anything online and ensure that the online group would never be able to be recovered.
Draco had been murderous when he had seen the look on Hermione’s face, but looking around the boring suburban home, he only felt pity for the woman who built her life around scraping the dregs of other people’s works.
Even her facebook group had been built off of the work of others, promising access to others' work.
She was a voyeur, coveting the creativity and genius of others without any of her own.
Draco walked through the home, trailing small spells behind him. They were petty, harmless. Ensuring that there were always a few specks of glitter stuck in her carpets, that her oven will always over or undercook dinner, and her pillow will always be warm. She will never have a matching pair of socks again.
Hermione would never forgive him if he did anything more, but he could have the satisfaction know that this woman would never have a fulfilling day for the rest of her ife.
And if anyone had a problem with it, they can just die mad.