Chapter Text
Hermione hadn't meant to do it.
Well, she very much had, but it wasn't what she had set out to do, per se. When she had joined the Department of Mysteries as a Junior Unspeakable following her eighth year at Hogwarts (a surprise to no one except Hermione herself, who had expected to never be allowed within a fifty-metre radius after the events of fifth year. The Head Unspeakable, a man of indeterminate age and seemingly boundless energy, had simply waved away her concerns (“Honestly, Miss Granger, you aren't a Death Eater, and that's quite enough recommendation for me,") and that had been that) the department had been in such disarray from Voldemort’s regime that the better part of her first year had been spent trying to assist the Senior Unspeakables in simply figuring out what all the active experiments actually were. Muggleborn Unspeakables had fled and the Death Eaters, on top of being unforgivable bigots, had utterly failed to follow any sort of scientific method. (This second offended Hermione more than the first; prejudice she had long ago learned to live with, but disorganisation was simply lazy.)
In fact, the highlight of her first year with the department turned out to be an unexpected friendship with Theodore Nott, the only familiar face among the Unspeakables within a decade of her age. She’d had no strong feelings whatsoever about the former Slytherin until he had sidled up to her on her second day, a cup of tea extended out to her as a peace offering, and said, “Load of shite, all that Pureblood nonsense, isn’t it?” to which she had heartily agreed, then agreed again when he asked if she wanted “to hurry up and volunteer for the Magic Room before we’re stuck somewhere awful, like with all those brains.”
Thus began what Hermione privately considered her most fulfilling friendship, with someone who could both match her intellectually and gently cajole (read: bully) her into taking regular breaks for human functions like food and sleep. (“Yes, Hermione, I agree that Mulciber’s lack of dedication to proper methodology is his worst crime, however it is half seven on Friday and we will be going out for drinks and we will not be back in the office until Monday,” to which she had responded with great huffiness and a very, very small amount of appreciation.)
The only downside to friendship with Theo were his other friends, mostly the remaining unincarcerated Slytherins from their year. After the first disastrous attempt, he hadn’t tried to force Hermione and Pansy Parkinson into the same room at the same time, (Pansy, still an uppity bitch, had sniffed at Hermione’s muggle clothes, and Hermione had cheerfully placed upon her a silencing charm so strong that it hadn’t worn off for three days) but several of his other friends could be found at pub nights or the occasional weekend poker night hosted at someone’s posh home. Though she gripped her wand tightly through their first conversation, Malfoy turned out to be a rather pleasant surprise, carrying on a perfectly polite, surface-level discussion with her for a solid four and a half minutes before they both gratefully turned to their cards, but they were, at least, able to peacefully coexist.
So it continued until a balmy day in June, when Head Unspeakable Cresswell declared that the department was well enough in order that Hermione and Theo could take on their own projects, and that they’d better be ready by the end of the week to present their ideas. Hermione clasped her hands together, a mental list already forming, while Theo gazed longingly in the direction of the Time Room (now just a room, since they hadn’t yet managed to re-create a Time-Turner). “Theo, if you want -” Hermione began, but he cut her off with a wave.
“I’m afraid you can’t get rid of me that easily, Granger,” he said with a grin, linking his arm with hers. “What are we going to be working on?”
Hermione sighed, but was secretly thankful to have a partner. Many of the Unspeakables worked alone, but she rather enjoyed bouncing ideas off Theo, who was brilliant in an unconventional way and also more than a bit mad. He approached problems differently than anyone she’d ever met, and often came up with solutions she herself would have never dreamt up. “I have so many ideas, it’s hard to pick just one,” she admitted as Theo led her down the hallway back to their corner of the Magic Room, which held two small desks that were perpetually laden with books, parchments, assorted paraphernalia, or some combination thereof. “The origin of magic is so fascinating, for example. Why do some people from magical bloodlines not have any magical ability? Where do Muggleborns come from? Is it something encoded in our DNA? Ooh, there’s an idea.” Her eyes glazed over slightly. “Did you know that Muggles have sequenced the entire genome of humans? I wonder what would happen if you sequenced a witch or wizard’s DNA. Would it be different? Or maybe a brain MRI would show different activity when actively using magic.” She was speaking faster and faster, gesturing animatedly as Theo sat her down behind her desk and conjured her a cup of tea.
“Hermione, I’m not sure what eighty percent of those words mean, but I don’t think we have one of those… RMI things here at the Ministry,” he said calmly, sipping from his own cup.
“Hmm, yes of course, that would require quite a lot of collaboration with Muggles, which is maybe a bit ambitious of an ask for a first project,” she agreed as her thoughts slowed with the application of a warm, perfectly-sweetened beverage. “What about you, you must have some ideas, Theo?”
He merely waved his hand dismissively. “As you said, maybe a bit ambitious for a first project,” he deflected, though Hermione could see his clever mind at work behind his insouciant expression.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Hermione summoning a packet of chocolate Digestives for them to share. She glanced around as she finished her tea, her eyes snagging on a page of an open notebook on which she’d written assorted notes. She gently placed her cup down, still staring at her own handwriting thoughtfully as an idea sparked, rapidly snowballing into a full-blown scheme. She felt her lips curl, and she glanced over at Theo to find him wearing a matching expression. “Now that ,” he said, setting his cup down as well, “looks like a fucking idea. Tell me everything.”
“Well,” Hermione began, “in all the cleanup we’ve been doing, we still haven’t figured out how the Death Eaters managed to put the Taboo on Voldemort’s name. I mean, it’s pretty easy to curse an object, but a word, said verbally? And linking it with the Trace was inspired.” Theo nodded along enthusiastically. “As far as I know, the Taboo still exists, but I have no idea where that information would go. Not, perhaps, a loose end the Ministry would want to keep hanging forever.”
“Oh, certainly not,” Theo agreed. (Hermione knew he was humouring her, and she adored him for it.)
“Now, it would be much easier to figure out how to break that curse if we first figured out how they did it, wouldn’t you say?”
“Undoubtedly, darling.”
Hermione’s grin turned razor-sharp. “Excellent, so we’re agreed that we need to figure out a way to curse a word so that it’s linked to another spell, so that we can then figure out how to un-link those two things again and break the Taboo.”
“Summarised perfectly,” Theo declared, punctuating his statement with polite applause. “And if I know you, Miss Granger, you already have an idea of what word and what spell we should use.”
Hermione shrugged, her gaze drifting down to the scar on her forearm. Despite the best efforts of the Healers with their potions and spells, time would be her best ally in its disappearance. “A Stinging Jinx never really hurt anyone, did it?” she asked, her eyes finding Theo’s again, and he immediately dissolved into laughter.
“Hermione, Slytherin house was poorer for your absence,” he gasped as his laughter subsided. “Merlin, I’m obsessed with you.”
Pleased despite herself, Hermione smirked at him. “Did I ever tell you that I kept Rita Skeeter in a jar for the entirety of the summer after fourth year?”
Theo’s eyes twinkled as he conjured them fresh cups of tea.
They hadn't gotten much work done for the rest of the afternoon, with Theo convincing Hermione to recount a few more of her less savoury exploits (“You set Snape on fire!? Fucking hell, woman.”) although they had managed a brief brainstorming session before Theo all but dragged her out with him for a drink.
“I can't believe you got into so much trouble and I had no idea,” he groaned as they made their way up to the Ministry Atrium. “Now I really regret that we weren't friends at Hogwarts.”
Hermione smiled, looping her arm through his and patting it affectionately. “That's alright, Theo, we’re friends now.”
“Best friends,” he declared, guiding her out into the street and toward the Apparition Point. They spun together as Hermione tightened her grip on Theo’s arm, letting him guide their journey through space. When they landed, Hermione immediately recognized Malfoy’s favourite bar. Though she'd never admit it aloud, she could appreciate the upscale ambiance and excellent cocktails and was secretly glad whenever they ended up there. She followed Theo along the familiar route, her newly-minted best friend nearly dragging her along in his continued excitement.
“Draco, darling, you’ve been replaced,” Theo sang as he sauntered up to the most secluded booth at Moste Potente Potions, where the blond in question, looking frustratingly fit in his bespoke robes, merely raised an eyebrow and sipped from his glass of undoubtedly top-shelf firewhiskey. “Hermione is my new best friend, she’s downright devious.”
“I’m devastated,” Malfoy deadpanned, looking anything but as he glanced between the two of them. “Truly, how will I ever recover?” he drawled as he drank again.
Hermione, now used to Theo’s antics, merely tapped the drink menu with her wand to place her order then slid in across from her former bully. “Please, Theo, Malfoy could blackmail Skeeter too if he wanted. He knows her little secret as well as I do.” Her drink of choice, a margarita so sour it made her lips pucker, arrived, and she took a small sip as she regarded him over the salt-crusted rim of her glass. “In fact, with all the garbage she’s printed about the Malfoys, I’m surprised he hasn’t.”
Malfoy frowned, but it was Theo who answered. “That’s because he’s gone all noble, darling,” Theo said as his own concoction materialised in front of him. Despite his impeccable taste in coworkers, the same could not be said of Theo’s choice of libation. Every time they went out together, he ended up ordering something that smelled like it had been distilled from pure rocket fuel, which he would put back with disconcerting equanimity. “Draco thinks he deserves anything derogatory the Prophet deigns to print about him,” he added as he drained his glass with nary a flinch, a refill appearing as soon as he set down the tumbler.
Despite herself, Hermione was impressed by this change in the boy she had known at Hogwarts, and she shot him another appraising glance as he visibly held himself still for her perusal. He’d grown into his pointy features, resulting in an angular jaw and patrician nose that added to, rather than detracted from, his overall attractiveness. His hair was styled into an understated pompadour, not a piece out of place, and his grey gaze was locked on her, awaiting her judgement. “That’s too bad,” she said at last, fiddling with her glass so the still-salted part of the rim faced her. “I personally think nobility is overrated.”
“Rich coming from Saint Potter’s best friend,” Malfoy drawled over Theo’s laughter.
Hermione merely shrugged. “Why do you think I’m here with you two instead of him?” she replied, wrinkling her nose as Theo downed his second glass and dropped a wet, smacking kiss on her cheek. Hermione wiped it away, feigning a lot more disgust than she actually felt, and pushed the menu back toward him. “Here, Theo, order something to eat, or Malfoy and I are going to have to carry you home.”
“Don’t tempt me with a good time,” he leered at her playfully, but dutifully took up the menu, muttering to himself under his breath.
“So were you just rehashing our Hogwarts days, or is there new deviousness I should be on the lookout for?” Malfoy asked before an awkward silence could descend between them.
Hermione did her very best to repress a smirk, but she could tell she was unsuccessful by the way Malfoy raised a questioning brow. “Who’s to say?” she replied. “Certainly not Theo or me, since we can’t.” Malfoy looked amused at her very-much-not-a-denial. “Does your mother still host those Pureblood-only teas or galas or whatever it is that society matriarchs do?” she asked.
Malfoy’s lips twisted in a grimace, his features hardening. “She does,” he confirmed.
“And you attend these on occasion?”
He grimaced again. “Only when I can’t avoid them.”
“Right, well I’m sure you’ll see soon enough whether I’m up to any deviousness,” Hermione replied, righteous indignation at the idea of bigoted tea parties mixing with the tequila in her bloodstream. She had fought and won an entire war against ideas like that, and yet here they were, barely two years later, with the prejudice still alive and well. She was working herself up to a proper temper when Theo interrupted, shoving a newly-arrived basket of crisps in front of her.
“Here, Hermione, help me with these, won’t you?” he asked as another few plates appeared before them, all deliciously unhealthy-looking.
Malfoy, however, held her gaze, his silver stare seeing everything she usually tried to hide. “It isn’t right, Granger,” he murmured, but she could still hear him perfectly. “I’m trying to change them.”
Hermione nodded as an inexplicable warmth spread through her, and she took another sip of her drink so she could plausibly blame it on the alcohol. She was more than grateful for the distraction of food to avoid meeting Malfoy’s eye, but she could still feel his gaze on her long after they parted ways at the end of the evening.