Chapter Text
Memories from the war still haunted Hermione, even fifteen years on. Whenever she thought she had moved past them, something would bring them crashing back.
A brisk fall breeze blew in the open window as she sat in her velvet wingback chair behind the Hogwarts headmaster’s desk. She was anxiously awaiting the new school year beginning tomorrow, her third one as headmistress.
Her responsibilities were endless: meetings with professors, comforting worried parents, controlling Peeves, and so much more. But instead of attending to her countless tasks, here she was, flipping through memories from her teenage years.
It was the death threats that triggered the memories, and the recent nightmares, too.
About a week ago, her personal Barn owl soared into her office and laid a parchment on her desk with three simple words scrawled upon it: You’re next, Mudblood.
It’d had been awhile since she’d been called a Mudblood. The Wizarding world hadn’t grown as much as she’d hoped, apparently.
On top of receiving the letter, The Daily Prophet recently started covering different stories of Muggleborns disappearing. Nobody had been found dead, just missing.
Everyone was wondering who was responsible and if this was some splinter cell of Death Eaters, or something different entirely.
In response to the threat, Hermione kept her owl in her office and contacted Harry.
He examined the letter worriedly but didn’t find any clues. No spells revealed any secrets, but he took it with him for some of his coworkers at the Auror division to examine. They came up with nothing.
Nothing else happened until this morning, when an owl she didn’t recognize flew in with another parchment. Written on it: Resign, or we will do it for you.
Hermione felt faint at the sight of the words. Of course she knew some blood supremacists were still out there. Obviously, some of her students and their families disagreed when she was appointed headmistress, but much more than the majority had recognized she was the right person for the job.
McGonagall only provided one candidate for her succession, and it was Hermione. The board voted her in, and the past two years had been a resounding success.
Her new approaches to helping Muggleborns assimilate into their magic were revolutionary, as well as her encouragement of inter-house companionship. She’d started new clubs and charitable activities that helped students work together instead of being driven apart.
But none of it was enough; not her magic, or her brain, or being a war heroine. To some people, all she was was the blood inside her. It was a depressing thought, an enraging thought, but one she’d lived with for many years now.
Death threats though…this was new. At least, new for recent years.
When she told Harry about the second threat, he told her he’d come for a meeting this afternoon, and he’d bring along Head Auror Robards, his boss.
She turned her gaze to the floo, expecting them to arrive at any moment.
“Sit straight, Dear,” McGonagall chided from her portrait. It was a comfort for Hermione to have her nearby, and she sat a little taller in her chair.
The headmaster’s office felt like home. On her desk was a picture of her, Harry and Ron in Hogsmeade drinking butterbeers. The three of them were still friends. She and Ron had tried to be romantic, but the spark was missing. Both of them agreed that friendship suited them best. She was closer to Harry now, especially since Ron had married Lavender, but they still saw each other and were friends.
Another picture, one of her parents, sat on her desk. They still lived in Australia and didn’t have a clue they had a daughter. Hermione didn’t regret obliviating them, but it was a deep disappointment that it was irreversible. She missed them often.
A whooshing sound came from her floo and Harry stepped through the flames. His hair rumpled on his head, as usual, brought fondness to her heart. In typical Harry form, his glasses were askew, and he had a smudge of ash on his cheek.
Robards stepped out behind him. A big, imposing man that Hermione didn’t much care for, but Harry and Ron respected him.
The floo flashed again. A shiny pair of dragonhide boots stepped out. Hermione blinked at the man gracefully exiting the fireplace. Long, lean limbs, crisp Auror robes, with an emerald green three piece suit underneath, and white blond hair shaved on the sides and combed over on the top.
“What are you doing here?” she rudely asked while staring into his silver eyes.
Robards growled, “I presume you aren’t talking to me?”
Malfoy continued to lock eyes with her and opened his mouth to respond. Harry interjected, “she’s talking about Draco, sir. They were,” he tried to find a delicate phrase, “school rivals.”
Snorting, Hermione glared at Harry, “that’s putting it rather generously.”
Her friend only shrugged.
Malfoy still hadn’t said a word as he walked towards her desk. He smirked at her as he finally broke the eye contact and dropped down, luxuriously, into one of the chairs in front of her desk.
Hermione knew Malfoy was an Auror, and she knew he was a good one. Harry had originally hated the idea of Malfoy being allowed into the Auror program, but about 8 years ago Malfoy saved Harry’s life in a nasty raid on a smuggler’s warehouse. Since then, Harry, and even Ron, declared that Malfoy was a decent man and a good Auror. Sometimes Malfoy even went to pub nights with Harry and Ron. It was unimaginable, really.
She wasn’t buying it, though. Harry and Ron weren’t Muggleborns. They didn’t understand the fear that came with that, or Malfoy’s impact on her life. He was a Death Eater, and yes, people could change, but she wasn’t sure Malfoy had the capability. He had also been the first one to call her “Mudblood,” something especially fresh in her mind due to the recent threats.
Harry made a placating gesture and continued, “just hear us out Hermione. You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”
That was true, but sometimes Harry didn’t quite think through everything. That was her job. She decided to lean back into her chair, at least to give the appearance of relaxing.
Robards leaned forward and carefully grabbed a Bertie Bott’s Bean from the bowl on her desk. It was light blue. A safe one. He chewed with his mouth open while he talked. “Headmistress, you’ve received two death threats that are highly concerning. We have four confirmed cases now of Muggleborns disappearing, and we are worried you could be next. You’re in a position of great power, and if anything should happen to you, it would be a devastating statement to the wizarding world. You must be protected at all costs.”
It rankled Hermione that her status was the cause for concern, not the fact that she was a human being.
Malfoy and Harry sat attentively in their seats while Robards spoke, but Hermione couldn’t stop noticing the way Malfoy was dexterously spinning his wand in his hand.
She asked, “do you have a speculation as to who is behind these threats?”
“Not yet. The four disappearances have had almost zero leads. It could be anyone, but due to the nature of the disappearances, we can only assume it’s blood supremacists. Until we can solve this case, Potter and I both think it’s best that you have a bodyguard here at Hogwarts. We want you under constant protection. Malfoy has volunteered to step into the role.”
This was preposterous! Hermione looked at Harry, bewildered, “I can defend myself very capably, and he,” she pointed at her best friend, “knows that quite well.”
“Of that I have no doubt. Regardless,” the head Auror spoke with a condescending smile, “I need eyes and ears inside this castle. A bodyguard is an easy way to provide that. It will also ensure you have someone watching your back. You have to sleep at some point, Headmistress.”
Her blood boiled. “I will not allow it. I am perfectly fine on my own, and I could easily write you a report on what’s happening inside Hogwarts.”
Harry reached out and held her hand.“Hermione, I’m worried for you. We thought we had to do everything on our own during the war, but it’s different now. We have help. Please take it. These threats are real, and they are dangerous. I truly couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”
“Then why don’t you be my bodyguard?” begged Hermione.
“Ginny would kill me if I left for the middle-of-nowhere Scotland for who knows how long, just a few months before our wedding. And before you say Ron, you know he can’t. He’s married and is a father. It’s not possible. Most people have family ties, but,” Harry gestured to Malfoy, “he doesn’t. Malfoy has no important connections and is one of our best. I trust him, Hermione. You know I don’t say that lightly. You can trust him, too.”
Malfoy crossed his leg over his knee as he drawled, “thanks for the resounding recommendation, Potter.”
It was delivered with sarcasm, but Harry smiled like it was playful banter between friends.
Hermione sputtered, “Harry, you’re telling me that you want me to say yes to this?”
Her friend nodded.
“For how long?”
Robards shrugged, “for as long as it takes. We are working diligently to find the missing Muggleborns, but without many leads, this investigation could take a very long time.”
Finally, she looked directly at Malfoy. His silver eyes were waiting for her like they wanted to play the eye contact game again. She asked, “and you’re okay with this?”
Malfoy nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Why?”
He braced his fingers, “as Potter said, theres nothing keeping me at home. In fact, I’d rather get as far away from home as possible. I am a good Auror, great even, and I would trust no one more than myself to protect our first muggleborn headmistress.”
She gaped, “but you…you hate me.”
He cocked his head to the side, “things change, Granger. I don’t hate you for your blood anymore, I just hate that you’re an annoying swot.”
Hermione crossed her arms and glared at him while heaving a sigh. “You all truly want me to put up with this? I already have an entire school to run. I don’t have time to be followed around by an arrogant arsehole.”
“Please, Hermione,” Harry pleaded, “you know I wouldn’t ask it of you if it wasn’t important.”
She tapped her foot impatiently, questioning, “what would this even look like? I have private meetings that can’t be overhead.”
“That’s what silencing charms are for, Granger,” Malfoy rolled his eyes.
Hermione looked directly at Robards, “you trust him to follow me around all day? What about when I need privacy? I do shower, you know.”
Robards began to answer, but Malfoy cut in, “as much as I doubt you often wash that ridiculous mane of yours, when you do take the time for it, you can be assured I will not be watching.”
Before she could retort, Harry spoke up. “He will follow you whenever possible, and when it’s not, Malfoy will asses the places you are going for potential threats, as well as inspect anyone coming to meet with you. It won’t be as invasive as it sounds. Before you ask, you can sleep alone. Draco can sleep in that guest room off of your suite.”
She thought it over. It wasn’t ideal, but another alternative was not presenting itself. “Alright, if it’s what you think is best. But if he makes me uncomfortable or is useless, I will hex him and send him back to you immediately.”
Malfoy’s smile grew a little bigger at that. It appeared he liked a challenge.