The Touch
Hermione rounded the corner and spotted her destination. When she reached the door, she had to squeeze past a couple that was snogging in the entryway. The guy had his hand up his girl’s shirt and was palming her lady mound outside of her jeans. Hermione rolled her eyes at them as she reached for the door handle. Honestly, couldn’t they find a better location?
Upon entering the establishment she found she could barely move. Hermione hadn’t realized there was a muggle university down the street when she had chosen that location and the bar was crawling with young blood; Singles and couples alike looking for reprieve from their studies.
The dim lighting and sultry electronic dance music created a seductive and inviting ambiance. It was the kind of place a person would come if they were looking for a hookup. The booths that surrounded the perimeter of the room were high backed and velvet. The room itself was large, but had partitions throughout allowing for more intimacy; plenty of cozy nooks for necking and other inappropriate shenanigans.
Hermione immediately regretted her decision to meet Ginny at that bar, neither of them were single. Already, one guy was ogling her, his eyes lingering on her legs. She had opted to wear a shorter dress that night; a tight little burgundy number with a deep v neckline, the hem barely covered her arse. Secretly she loved her legs, but in the prudish magical world, she avoided showing them off lest she be labeled a trollop. In her world, people stared at her because of who she was, not what she looked like, but in a muggle pub, she was just another girl. If they looked, it was because of her appearance. Normally she liked the self esteem boost, but she wasn’t in the mood for mingling or fighting off frat boys. She never should have followed the recommendation of a muggle magazine, and never should have worn such a short dress; Ginny would surely have a laugh about it when she arrived.
Since Ginny and Harry had been married six months ago, Hermione could count on one hand the number of times she had seen them. Considering she used to see them daily, it was safe to say that her time with her friends had diminished considerably. She would have loved to see Harry too, but Ginny had made it clear she wanted tonight to be girls only.
Scanning the room for a table and finding none available, Hermione lingered awkwardly near the door. In her periphery, she spotted a couple nearby standing up from their table and didn’t hesitate to make her way over to it.
A group of sorority girls, wearing matching tops with plunging necklines, revealing plenty of cleavage, sighed and rolled their eyes in unison as they watched her take the table they had been heading for. It had been such a long time since she had gone out, but Hermione still knew how to play the game. What was that muggle phrase her parents used to say, ‘you snooze, you lose’? It was simple, Hermione was faster, so she got the table. She looked at them and shrugged her shoulders as a half-hearted apology.
Hermione checked her watch, it was ten minutes past the hour. Ginny was meant to meet her there at 8 o'clock, but the Weasleys weren’t known for their punctuality, so she decided she would grab a drink while she waited. Hermione looked around and realized there were no servers, which meant that if she wanted a drink she would have to forgo her table to get one from the bar. She sighed and tapped her fingers on the table in resolution.
Looking down she noticed that someone had carved a heart into the wooden table top. Inside the heart the letters S + A were scratched. Her mind ran away with her as she contemplated what names the letters could stand for.
Shaun + Amy? Sampson + Ariel? Steven + Amanda? Severus + Albus? She giggled at the last one.
Then she contemplated the number of potential names that could begin with S or A and wondered if it were possible to calculate the number using a formula. It then occurred to her that she would also need to account for surnames and that became too overwhelming, so she gave up on the idea of quantifying them.
Maybe she should inconspicuously put an R + H on the table for her and Ron? It was a childish notion, but students at Hogwarts used to doodle such things into the spectator stands at quidditch matches, and she was feeling nostalgic. She wondered if Ron had ever considered doing that, but then realized it was unlikely, romantic gestures weren’t really his strong suit. He mostly showed his love through quality time and physical touch, both of which had declined substantially in the past eight months.
“You look lost,” said a masculine voice over her shoulder.
Startled from her thoughts, Hermione turned and looked up to meet the deep, gray eyes of Draco Malfoy. She stared with her mouth agape for a moment then fumbled on her words, “Malfroy? What are you– you’re here?”
“Did you just call me Malf-roy?” – he chuckled – “Well, hello, Grange-ear.”
“I mean – you –”
“It’s actually pronounced Mal-foy, should I spell it out for you?”
She scoffed and quickly composed herself, “Oh, I already know how to spell it, thanks. Let’s see, it’s a-s-s-h-o-l-e. Right?” He responded with a scowl. Malfoy always could dole out the insults but was never able to endure them, it seemed some things never changed.
Setting a drink down in front of her, he said, “Here. Ginny says she’s sorry, but she can’t make it tonight and she couldn’t send an owl on account of you being in a muggle pub.”
She looked at him in confusion, “what?”
“Brightest witch of her age, indeed,” Draco said under his breath. She didn’t miss the comment or his tone. It has been less than a minute and he was already raising her ire.
“It’s just that…I’m sorry, why you?” Before he could respond, she added, “You’re the last person I would expect to see here.” She looked at him and then looked around the room, as if to remind him of where they were.
Hermione couldn’t help but notice how casual and normal Malfoy looked, as if he did this all the time, which was impossible. It irritated her that he was an anti-muggle elitist and yet somehow he looked more comfortable in this environment than she did.
He shrugged, “Let’s just say I owed her a favor”.
The thought of a Malfoy doing a favor for a Weasley was comical.
“You…owed Ginny Weasley a favor?”, she asked, drawing out the two syllables in ‘Weasley’.
He smirked back, “Yes, that’s what I said. Keep up.”
Hermione felt the familiar flame of annoyance that always seemed to occur in Malfoy’s presence. Why did he have to be so vexatious? Was it too much for him to give her an answer that made sense?
She hadn’t seen him much since the war ended but she knew he ran in the same Quidditch circles as Ginny. As far she knew, he was a journalist for the Daily Prophet and covered all things Qidditch, so his path crossed Ginny’s from time to time being that she was a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. Hermione had attended several functions as Ginny’s guest and had seen Draco at a few of them, but they never spoke to one another beyond a cursory greeting, if that. The last time she had seen him was several months ago at a charity event. She supposed it wasn’t too far-fetched to accept that Ginny had sent him there as a last resort. Draco certainly wouldn’t be there on his own accord. Still, her interest was piqued. What could Ginny have done to earn a favor from Draco?
“I didn’t know you and Ginny were friendly enough for favors”.
She grabbed the drink he had placed in front of her and took a sip. It was vodka with cranberry juice, her go-to drink. How did he know her drink order? She was about to ask, but before she could, Malfoy’s lips quirked-up in a side smile, “Well, we are '' he said. His eyes were alight with amusement.
Suddenly his presence was too much for her. “Well, you've delivered your message. I guess you can be on your way. I’m sure you have better things to do than hang out at a muggle bar with me”. She emphasized the word “muggle” as she glared at him.
“I don’t,” he grinned back. Pulling out the chair opposite her, he sat down, leaned back and made himself comfortable.
She stood from the table and started to leave when Malfoy grabbed her arm and stopped her. Hermione almost jumped at the contact as her whole body responded to his touch. It felt as if every hair on her body stood on end. Electricity was gliding over her flesh, like a stimulating caress. Malfoy released her arm immediately and the feeling ceased as soon as the contact was severed. Turning to look at him she found he looked composed and relaxed, but he was staring at his palm. When he noticed her eyes on him he quickly ran his hand through his hair. Had he felt it too? If he did, he made no other indication.
“You should at least finish your drink,” He said.
She stopped and debated, her eyes moved from him to the door and back.
“Oh, come on Granger. Sit down. Have a drink with me.” He tapped the table in front of the chair she had just vacated.
Reluctantly she sat back down, as if some unknown force begged her to do so. He didn’t say a word, but instead studied her as he took small swigs of his beer, making it obvious he was analyzing her. She looked at him and pretended to be unaffected by his scrutiny. He was more striking than she remembered him being. It appeared he had grown into his pointy features. She supposed she could even say he was handsome, objectively speaking. He had filled out some and wasn’t as thin and lanky as he had been, yet he seemed taller than she remembered. He was wearing navy slacks with a brown belt and a white button up tucked in, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows exposing his muscular forearms. His platinum hair was cropped short on the sides, but the middle was longer and the front hung over one side of his brow. She wondered if she could get Ron to style his hair like that, his hair was always a mess. Hermione chided herself for thinking such a thing. Why in the world would she want Ron to look anything like Draco?
She took another sip of her drink and stared back at him in kind. The whole interaction was odd. She didn’t know what he was playing at, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of shrinking under his gaze. After what felt like an hour, Malfoy finally spoke.
“You’re different,” He said as his eyes roamed over her hair.
She raised her eyebrows in question, “I’m different? What do you mean by that?”
He shrugged, “It’s hard to say.”
He was so irritatingly terse. Knowing Malfoy, “different” was his subtle way of insulting her without actually insulting her. Hermione imagined herself extending her heeled foot out and kicking him in the crotch and smiled. “Well, I wish I could say the same about you, but you appear to be the same arrogant git I knew from school.”
“Think what you want. You didn’t know me then and you don’t know me now.” He said coolly.
Suddenly she was fifteen again. She was struck by the inclination to stick her tongue out at him, but knew she couldn’t allow him to get to her if she were to survive this interaction without dumping her drink over his perfectly quaffed head. Knowing she should leave, but feeling a strange compulsion to stay, she decided to change tactics.
“Ok then, since you're so determined to have a drink with me, let's chat then. How are you, Malfoy? What have you been up to in the past few years? What are your hopes and dreams? Are you a dog person or a cat person? How are your parents? Please tell me what topic you prefer to discuss.” Hermione leaned forward and rested her chin in her hand, feigning interest.
He set his beer on the table and matched her posture by sitting forward and resting his elbows on the table as well, “I’m well. I’ve been mostly working the past few years. As far as my hopes and dreams go, that’s a conversation for another time. I’m a cat person. And my parents' welfare is common knowledge. Any other burning questions that need answering?”
In truth, she hadn’t expected him to answer at all. She shook her head and ran her fingers across the carved letters on the table, not sure how to proceed. Conversing with Malfoy was uncharted territory. She knew he had been exonerated and that he had somewhat redeemed himself, at least with Harry. Afterall, Malfoy and his mother were responsible for saving him during the last battle, both risking their lives to do so. Narcissa and Draco had both lied for Harry and Draco had even given him his own wand so that he could defend himself against Voldemort. The order would have lost had the Malfoys not played their part in turning the tide. But Hermione felt that their good deeds were ultimately selfish acts that occurred out of self preservation, not goodwill. Hermione couldn’t forget the years of torment the Malfoys had caused her and her closest friends. One seemingly righteous act didn’t negate the past.
There was a moment of awkward silence before Malfoy said, “And you? What has the golden girl been up to?” His tone was devoid of mockery or malice. He almost sounded nice. It made her feel fidgety. Malfoy had always caused an adrenaline spike when he was around. Usually she used it to fuel her defenses in preparation for his inevitable antagonism. She didn’t know what to do with the adrenaline when they weren’t fighting. Her leg bounced under the table.
She shrugged, “Working mostly. Nothing too grand”.
“Well, you always were an insufferable overachiever. You’ve already checked ‘saving the wizarding world’ off your list,” he said, “There’s nowhere else to go but down for you, Granger.” The twinkle in his eyes told her that he was trying to get a rise out of her. Damn it all, it worked.
“I’m sure you and your ilk will find some way to destroy it again, then we can go for round two. I assure you, Malfoy, I always come out on top,” she quipped.
He grinned, “Do you?”
Hermione was dumbfounded. Was he flirting with her?! Never, in any universe, would she imagine Malfoy flirting with her. Teasing? Yes. But flirting? No.
She tried to recover, “That wasn’t — I didn’t mean to imply — it wasn’t meant as a sexual innuendo, Malfoy.” Her cheeks were red and her voice had gone up an octave.
“Relax, Granger. I would never presume such a thing,” his smirk said otherwise. She contemplated reenacting the punch to the face she gave him in third year.
“So what’s next for you, Granger. You’re obviously bored at work. What’s the problem? Nobody else needs saving?”
“Actually, yes, there are still lives to be saved. House elves in fact.”
Malfoy choked on his drink and sputtered, “ Tell me this isn’t about SPEW. You’ve already fixed that problem haven’t you?”
“It’s illegal to own house elves now, yes, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” she waved her hand dismissively.
“Let me guess, now you’re fighting for them to hold office.”
“No, but now that you mention it, I wonder if they would be interested,” Her eyes twinkled with mischief.
He rolled his eyes and snickered, “I’ll be sure to run it by them and let you know their thoughts.”
Had he just admitted that he still had house elves? Her eyes lit up. Malfoy might be able to be of use to her. Perhaps this evening could be saved after all.
“You have house elves!” A few people nearby looked at her with odd expressions. She ignored them.
Malfoy chuckled, “I wouldn’t think that would be something that would excite you, Granger.”
She leaned closer to him and spoke quieter. “No. I mean, yes. Right now it does. See, I happen to be doing research on house elves for a case. There’s an investigation.”
“You want to know if they’re being compensated?”
“No. I want to know the state of their health.”
Draco looked at her like she belonged in the St. Mungo’s mental health ward. What he didn’t know was that there had been a series of house elf deaths reported in the past few months, 4 of them so far. Each report stated that the house elf was unregistered, meaning the ministry had no record of them, and all victims had been found in seemingly random locations. So far the only thing connecting the victims was that they all had died with purple fingertips and toes and could all be traced back to pureblood families. Hermione didn’t perform the autopsies herself, but she was responsible for analyzing the samples that were collected. Her data revealed magical signatures that matched Parkinson, Avery, and Nott. Her attempts to contact them had gone unanswered. There was enough evidence to question the suspected households, but she was going to have to wait for them to come to her willingly.
Protocol stated that they would be given 60 days to respond to the summons before the DMLE took legal action and brought them in. But, breaking into a pureblood ancestral home guarded by centuries and layers of wards was no easy task and finding them outside of their homes was tricky too. The manpower it would take to do it was not something the DMLE was keen on providing, especially for something as low on their list as house elves. Although the Malfoys weren’t tied to the victims, she knew they were close to all of the suspects and wondered if the Malfoy elves ever interacted with elves of other households. Hermione was clever enough to know that Slytherins were notoriously close lipped with anyone outside of their circles and she would have much more luck talking to the elves directly.
“The elves in the manor are all there by choice and I assure you they are compensated. Employed, not owned. They are well taken care of, their health included,” he said defensively.
“As happy as I am to hear that, that’s not the nature of the investigation. There’s a —- ” Hermione wasn’t sure what to call it, but a potential serial killer probably wouldn’t go over well, “ — an illness that seems to only be affecting house elves. There are 4 dead so far. Up until this point I’ve been working in my lab, but I don’t always trust evidence gathered from forensics. I’m never sure if they missed something or followed protocol. When it comes to magical creatures, most people don’t care enough to be thorough. If it’s okay with you, I would like to pay a visit to your household elves.” She left out the part about the pureblood connection.
“Couldn’t you just send an owl or ask around the elves at the ministry?”
“I’ve already spoken to the elven staff at the ministry and you’ll forgive me if I don’t trust written correspondence over physical proof. It’s amazing what information can be gathered with something as simple as eye contact.”
Draco’s eyes met hers once more. He knew exactly what she meant.
“You want to come to the manor?” There was uncertainty in his voice.
Hermione and he both knew what happened the last and only time she had been at Malfoy Manor. It was the night she, Harry, and Ron had been captured by the death eaters. Hermione had been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, Draco’s deranged aunt. He had witnessed the whole thing and done nothing. It was unforgivable. It wasn't childhood teasing, it was life or death, and she could have died, and he still did nothing. He may not have identified Harry that day in the manor, but he also never intervened to save her and it was enough for her to know that Draco didn’t care about any one’s life but his own.
Pain and resentment resurfaced as she recalled the events of that night. She instinctively grabbed her forearm. Although the scar had faded and was nearly invisible after being treated both magically and through muggle medicine, she could swear the brand of it was still under the surface, mudblood. The cruelty of it still enraged her. The man sitting across from her had even called her the filthy word himself. Shame washed over her. What would Ron think of her sitting here having a drink with Draco Malfoy? No matter the reason.
Hermione met Malfoy’s eyes. Whatever animosity he had held toward her in their youth wasn’t evident in them now. What she saw in eyes at that moment was shame, to match her own. A few seconds of silence passed between them. It was then that she noticed his dark mark. She froze for a second realizing that their sitting positions mirrored one another and their darkest memories were represented in the same location on their person. His mark was still there, but it was now disguised in a more intricate tattoo that wrapped around his whole forearm. It was colorful, but before she could get a good look at it, he quickly moved his arm off the table and into his lap. When she looked back up at him, he was scowling again.
“Well, do you?”, he said, bringing her back to the present.
Of course going to the Manor wasn’t something that Hermione wanted to do. It was something that she needed to do for the greater good. It wasn't about what she wanted. Plus she was a Gryffindor, face your fears and all that; however, that didn’t stop her heart from sinking. The truth was, she hoped never to return there.
Putting on a brave face she answered, “Well, yes. If you’ll allow it. It’s probably the easiest way.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. This whole conversation was weird. She hadn’t expected having a drink with Draco Malfoy or discussing work, and now she was talking about going back to his manor. It was all too much. She didn’t even know what his current views were on blood purity. Would his mother even allow her to enter? Would Lucius? Having second thoughts, she started back tracking “Or, actually, maybe you could talk to them and they can come see me at the ministry at their earliest convenience. I don’t want to impose…or anything. I mean, it’s not necessary for me to go there, they could just as easily—”
“Granger.” he cut her off. “It’s fine. You are more than welcome to come to the Manor. I’m sure my mother would appreciate it.” He finished the last dregs of his beer and stood up.
She stood up too, unsure what the protocol was for whatever that evening had been. Draco’s eyes flashed down to her legs then raked up her body so quickly that Hermione was sure she was seeing things. Then his eyes met hers and seemed to darken before returning to their usual shade of silver. Gods, she hated herself for wearing that dress. Was that judgment on his face?
“I suggest you wear something more modest when you meet my mother,” he said.
Her mouth fell open.
Before she could defend herself he added, “Come over tomorrow. Three o’clock. You can use the floo. I’ll let my mother know you’ll be joining us for tea.”
“What? You just assume I’m available for tea. I need to check my schedule and then I’ll owl –”
“Have a good night, Granger. See you tomorrow” He turned and walked out of the bar leaving Hermione flustered and fuming. He really was an ass.
~
As Draco stepped foot outside the bar he released a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. His interactions with Hermione were always both intriguing and infuriating, but that evening it was amplified by twenty. It was shocking, the amount of effort required to remain civil. Her blood status wasn’t what bothered him, nor their history, it was simply her. Her presence was loud. After all these years, she still had a way of making him feel inferior. No one in the history of his life had made him feel that way.
He crossed the street and then looked back at the pub. Through the window he saw that Hermione had sat back down at their table, unmoving. Maybe she was as perplexed by their interaction as he was.
He stiffened as he watched a dark haired wanker approach her. He couldn’t see Hermione’s face, but she must have brushed him off because she stood up to leave and the man didn’t go with her. Draco reminded himself that she was engaged to Ron, so of course she wouldn’t be entertaining strangers. Why Draco cared, he didn’t know. He reflected on the events of the evening and couldn’t decide what he was feeling.
He had arrived at the bar before her and watched her for several minutes unnoticed. Never before had he paid much attention to her body, but when she showed up in that short dress he did a double take. She was always such a prude in school. He had no idea that body was hidden beneath her robes all those years. Her legs weren’t long, but they were smooth and tan and sexy, he hated himself for thinking so. If they were attached to a different person he might have tried to take her home. There was nothing like a sexy pair of legs wrapped around him; however, the legs in question belonged to Hermione, so sex was the furthest thing from his mind.
Admittedly, It was a little fun for him, shocking her with his presence. He had intended to just buy her a drink, apologize for Weasel-ette, and be on his way, but the way Hermione looked as she sat there with her thinking face made him want to stay. She was practically begging to be riled up.
If he were honest, which most of the time he wasn’t, he would have to admit that he had always been drawn to Hermione despite her being a total swat and a mudblood. She was forbidden fruit though, so that made her tempting in a way. Whatever magnetism she possessed, he responded to by provoking her. Fighting with her was always a pleasure, but tonight at the bar things got weird. He had touched her, and his magic responded, like it recognized her. His whole body tingled and hummed. It stopped as soon as he released her. He suspected she felt it too, but he knew she wouldn’t say anything about it. He was going to have to figure out what it was and stay far away from her until he had some answers. He was an idiot for inviting her to the manor.
The more Draco thought about it the more suspicious he became. Maybe the she-weasel was responsible. Maybe she spelled him somehow, put some kind lust spell on him? But did he lust after Hermione, the thought made him sick, at least it should have. He stopped his train of thought when Hermione exited the bar. He didn’t want her to see him, so he quickly ducked into the shadows and waited.
She headed south, making her way to a safe apparation point. He followed her from a distance, being careful to remain unseen. When she walked down an alley a few blocks away, he waited a moment before peering around the corner. He caught sight of her just as she apparated and wondered where she we’re going, then remembered he didn’t care. Why was he following her? Draco had questions that he didn’t have answers to and it was pissing him off.
~
Malfoy arrived at the Nott residence just a few minutes after leaving Hermione. He was too hyped on adrenaline to go home. When he arrived he made his way to the billiards room. It was there he found Theo engrossed in a game of wizard’s chess with Blaise Zabini.
The guys were seated at a small table that was positioned in a windowed alcove opposite the fireplace. Two billiard tables were centered in the rectangular room and a bar took up most of the left wall. Draco had spent many hours of youthful debauchery in that room over the years and he was quite fond of it.
Blaise looked up from the game as Draco entered, “Ah, you’ve arrived just in time to watch me finish off poor Theo.”
Draco made to exit and said jokingly, “Oh, sorry. Should I leave you two alone for a few?”
Theo turned and threw a decorative chair pillow at Draco, “Can it, you twat! I’m trying to concentrate.”
Draco laughed, dodging the pillow. As he approached them he watched Blaise’s black knight move and decapitate Theo’s Bishop. “Check mate”, said Blaise.
Theo sat there stunned, staring at the game board as Blaise shot off tiny fireworks from his wand. “Woo! Finally!”
“Am I witnessing the first ever defeat of Theo?” Draco’s eyes bounced from Theo to Blaise and back.
“Yes”, said Blaise, “And it feels bloody fantastic.”
Theo flipped him off then stood and walked to the bar, he poured himself more whiskey while he sulked. “I still maintain that you cheated, somehow. You’re rubbish at chess, everyone knows it.”
“It’s true. Which begs the question, what has you off your game tonight?” Blaise turned to Draco, “He’s been a clumsy dolt all evening. Practically let me win, he did.”
Draco eyed Theo curiously.
“I just have a lot on my mind, is all,” Theo shrugged.
Theo wasn’t usually the secret keeping type, that was more Draco’s territory. Draco poured himself a firewhisky and looked at Theo expectantly.
Theo took the hint and sighed as he plopped down on his chair. “If my father finds out I told you. I’m dead. I’m dead anyway, but I’ll be more than dead.” He finished the rest of his whiskey, “So, one of our house elves died a few weeks ago, Doda. She used to be my mother’s personal elf, but she’s been working with the kitchen elves since my mother passed. Anyway, my father made me…” He dropped his voice to just above a whisper, “dispose of the body. I didn’t know what to do with it. He just told me to take it off our property and make sure I wasn’t seen. I didn’t have anything to use to bury the body, so I just left it in the woods. I figured the animals would take care of her.” Theo closed his eyes, his face, pained.
As nasty as Draco’s father could be, Theo’s was worse.
Both Draco’s and Theo’s fathers had served 3 years in Azkaban as retribution for their crimes. They were let off fairly easily because neither had killed anyone, at least not directly, and both had money, which miraculously shortened sentences. In the first few years after the war, Draco and Theo had been able to breathe easily for the first time without their father’s breathing down their necks. Theo had become increasingly more anxious over the last 2 years since his father’s return home and Draco couldn't help but notice how childish Theo looked at that moment, sitting on the sofa looking small, as if he were a 16 again.
“We would have helped you, mate. Why didn’t you tell us?” Blaise grabbed Theo’s empty glass and filled it up, before handing it back to him.
Draco said nothing, but he moved closer to Theo in solidarity. He knew how harsh Theo’s father could be. He and Blaise had seen the evidence of it on Theo’s back, not to mention his soul.
This wasn't the first time that Nott senior had had his son do a horrific thing. Draco had a flashback of when they were 10 years old. Theo had begged his father for a dog and finally Theo was given a basset hound, which he named Nigel. His father made him swear to care for it on his own, so Theo did. He fed it, washed it, walked it, and loved that Dog for a year or so before he left for Hogwarts. When Theo returned home on holiday, he found Nigel’s dead and rotting carcass in the gardens. Apparently Nigel starved to death. Nott senior had forbidden the staff to care of the dog in Theos absence as Theo had promised to care for the dog himself. Theo then had to bury the beast without using magic as his punishment for leaving the dog uncared for and ruining the gardens with its reeking flesh. It was the first time Draco remembered seeing Theo cry.
Theo stood up and started pacing, “The worst part is, the body was found and apparently they traced it back to us. The ministry sent an owl. I was able to intercept the letter before my father read it, but it’s only a matter of time before he finds out.”
“Why didn’t you inform the ministry when the elf died?” asked Blaise.
Draco answered for him, “Because their elves aren’t compensated. They are technically still slaves. The ministry isn’t supposed to know they are here.”
According to current wizarding law. All elves had to be registered with the DRCMC. If they resided with a wizarding family, the family had to submit proof of employment and compensation for each elf. Under normal circumstances, a family with elves would immediately notify the ministry if a member of their household staff passed away.
Blaise sucked in air through his teeth, “Shite” he said, shaking his head.
“Now my father is going to be facing an inquiry at the ministry.” Theo put his head in his hands, “Then, there’s the Lovegood thing… Merlin, I’ve been a mess.”
Draco and Blaise looked at one another in question. What the hell was the Lovegood thing?
“What do you mean, ‘the Lovegood thing’?” asked Draco.
Theo waved his hand dismissively, “It’s nothing. I just ran into her a while back and she’s kind of been obsessed with me. It’s more annoying than anything.”
Blaise was about to speak but Draco silenced him with his hand. “That can wait. We need to figure out the elf thing first. Granger’s on the case. She told me tonight that there's some kind of illness or curse that’s killing house elves. She doesn’t know the cause, but she asked to come to the Manor to speak to our staff as part of her investigation. I’ll see what I can find out from her. In the meantime, pay your elves, free them, whatever you have to do to show proof they aren’t slaves.” Draco moved toward the fireplace and grabbed the bag of flu powder. “Also you should inform the rest of the household, it’s probably too late, but whatever it is, it’s catching. Then write to the ministry and inform them that Doda had gone missing and you’re grateful they found her.” Theo watched him and nodded as he took in every word. “You can spin it to make you and your father look more favorable. Appeal to their sympathies by saying something about how you forgot to register them in the midst of your grief at your fathers sentence and your emotional trauma from the war. Your father doesn't have to know a thing.”
Being a Malfoy meant knowing how to cover your tracks and how to get what you wanted. Draco wouldn’t treat this predicament any differently. The Nott’s didn’t have the natural knack for manipulation that the Malfoys seemed to possess.
Blaise came to stand between Theo and Draco, “Wait, I still want to know more about this Lovegood thing.” Then he whirled on Draco. “And since when do you hang out with Granger?”
Draco ignored the question. He wasn’t ready to talk about her.
“I owe you, mate.” Theo saluted Draco in thanks.
Draco had gone to Theo’s to clear his head but now his thoughts were more muddled than ever. Perhaps Hermione was right and the elves actually did need saving. It made him want to punch something.