Chapter Text
Prologue
The Daily Prophet
Saturday, 12 April 2003
MINISTRY DECLARES 'BLOOD EMERGENCY': NEW MANDATES FOR ALL CITIZENS
By Barbie Cuffe, Editor-in-Chief
In a late-night emergency session of the Wizengamot, Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt (though sources say the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes held the floor) has ratified the Vampirism Containment Act. As the plague continues to sweep through the British Isles, the Ministry has moved from "recommendation" to "requirement."
The new regulations, effective as of noon today, include:
- Mandatory Identification: All confirmed infected individuals must report to the Ministry’s newly established Registration Bureau to receive a Permanent Tracking Sigil. This mandate-enforced tattoo, to be placed on the right wrist, will allow the Ministry to monitor the movement of the infected.
- The Blood Distribution Wing: St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries has opened a high-security wing. The infected must attend weekly appointments to receive a Ministry-sanctioned blood ration.
- The Civic Sacrifice: In an unprecedented move, all witches and wizards over the age of 21 are now legally required to donate one pint of blood per month to the National Blood Bank. Failure to comply will result in a fine of fifty Galleons for the first offense.
The Daily Prophet
Sunday 15 June 2003
BREAKING NEWS: THE RISE OF THE ‘BLOODGUARD’
By Barbie Cuffe, Editor-in-Chief
While the Ministry’s Disease Control Department is still working on a charm to detect and diagnose individuals with vampirism, the Minister has wasted no time in authorizing the Bloodguard Incentive.
This elite task force, composed of seasoned Aurors and specialized ‘Trackers’, has been granted the authority to locate individuals concealing their infection, otherwise known as the Infected.
The message from the Ministry is clear: Register or Rot.
Anyone found to be an unregistered carrier of the plague will be transported to Azkaban immediately. In a controversial move, the Ministry has suspended the right to a Wizengamot trial for these individuals, citing "public health extremity.”
"If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear from the Bloodguard.” The Head of the Bloodguard, Jamie Mackill, has said.
In addition, individuals found hiding unregistered Infected could face up to a year in Askaban.
If you would like to report someone, please either visit the Bloodguard on the 4th floor of the Ministry or send an owl directly to the department.
The Daily Prophet
Friday, 4 July 2003
MALFOY ON THE RUN!!!
By Rita Skeeter, Columnist for Rita Reveals
While the rest of us are rolling up our sleeves for the Ministry’s mandatory blood-letting, it has come to attention that a certain individual of High Society considers himself above the Ministry-mandated rules.
Draco Malfoy, the last heir of the disgraced Malfoy dynasty, has broken his probation by leaving his estate without authorization. After surviving five years in Azkaban for his involvement in the Wizarding War, he was due to serve another ten months of house arrest. However, after being released from prison this past January, Malfoy went on a little "trip" this Thursday. He was apprehended while attempting to leave the country by an unauthorized portkey in Cornwall.
Destination? Unconfirmed. Motivation? Highly suspicious.
His movements were, of course, being monitored, and a group of Aurors reached him just in time. After a short tribunal held early this morning, Malfoy received what this author would call another "slap on the wrist” and was sent back to his home, where he is to be confined until his next tribunal. As you might recall, dear reader, I was vocal when his original sentence was read: five years was a pittance for the heir of the family that housed the Dark Lord.
A second tribunal to discuss his future will be held tomorrow. Many folks are expecting to see the heir back behind bars where he belongs.
For more information, you can read the full article on page 15 alongside an exclusive interview with Miss Padma, who will be hosting the most extravagant gala on the autumnal equinox. It’s surely going to be a night full of good firewhiskey and gossip!
The Daily Prophet
Sunday, 6 July 2003
GRANGER TO HEAD MANOR SWEEP: THE GOLDEN GIRL ENTERS THE SNAKE’S PIT
By Rita Skeeter, Columnist for Rita Reveals
One of the Ministry’s leading—and allegedly "experienced"—Dark Artifact specialists, Miss Hermione Granger, has been appointed as the sole individual responsible for cataloging the dark relics at Malfoy Manor.
For five years, the ancestral home of the Malfoy family has remained a fortress of silence. Despite numerous attempts by the Ministry to negotiate entry for safety evaluations, both Lucius and Draco Malfoy consistently denied access, citing "ancient familial privacy laws."
Following the recent tribunal regarding Draco Malfoy’s breach of probation, a startling agreement has been reached. Instead of returning to Azkaban as many expected, Draco Malfoy’s ten-month house arrest sentence will restart today. In exchange for his freedom, he must allow one Ministry employee to reside within the Property for the duration of his house arrest.
In a move that borders on the theatrical, it seems our perpetual ‘Golden Girl’ has been anointed as the Ministry’s 'Chosen One' for this particular... intimate assignment.
This writer, however, is intrigued to see whether Miss Granger can maintain her professionalism while living alone with Draco Malfoy, her former classmate. During my time covering the Triwizard Tournament in 1994, it was abundantly clear that Miss Granger was quick to be distracted by a handsome faces. Draco Malfoy may well be the next Dark Lord in the making, as many believe, but even his harshest critics must admit he is quite the visual prize!
One can only hope her thirst for justice is stronger than her well-documented thirst for attention
For a full timeline overview of Miss Granger's past love affairs, please flip over to page 19!
—————————
Hermione
"Live with him?" she asked for the third time.
Normally, Hermione didn’t need to be told anything twice, but the words that had just left her superior’s lips were so clinically insane that she felt she had no choice but to demand a repeat performance.
"Yes. It was his condition," Edgar replied, his voice heavy with the weight of the Ministry’s desperation. "You have until the end of his house arrest to catalog the dark artifacts. You are authorized to carry out any necessary testing on-site and report your findings to the Department, but the objects themselves cannot be removed from the Manor until his ten-month sentence is officially served. Because of that, it would be... practical for you to reside there."
He raised a hand before she could protest. "You aren't required to stay through the weekends, or even to sleep there every night, but it would be significantly more efficient. We cannot establish a direct Floo connection to the Manor due to the existing ancient protections. You would be forced to use the Apparition point at the edge of the gates every single morning."
Hermione felt a flash of irritation. She loathed Apparition; the sensation of being squeezed through a straw in time and space was a miserable way to start a workday. Floo was much simpler, much more civilized. And of course, Malfoy would not allow a Floo connection for her; he wasn’t a civilized person after all. He was the boy who made her teeth grow up to her belly and called her a Mudblood every chance he got.
"Am I right to assume these conditions are Malfoy’s way of ensuring his sentence isn't 'accidentally' extended while we pick through his heirlooms?" Hermione asked, her eyes narrowing.
"Obviously," Edgar said with a faint, tired smile. "Draco Malfoy may be many things, but ‘stupid’ is not a term I would associate with him."
Annoying. Bully. Pretentious. Entitled. Fucking evil. Those were the words Hermione’s mind supplied instantly, each one sharper than the last.
"If you are concerned for your safety, I can request an Unbreakable Vow be made before you cross the threshold," the Minister suggested.
Hermione shook her head immediately. She had told herself years ago that she was done being afraid—especially of people like Malfoy. She wasn't that scared girl on his drawing-room floor anymore.
"I will be fine. And I’ll stay at the house, I won’t have much time to get the work done otherwise,” she stated firmly.
Edgar let out a visible sigh of relief. They had been working tirelessly for years to secure the remnants of the war, but Malfoy Manor had remained the one fortress they couldn't breach. Hermione wasn't about to let a little thing like an insufferable roommate stop her from finishing the job.
“ When do I start?”
———————-
“You can’t be serious?” Ron hissed when she was done announcing her new living arrangements. “'Mione, please don’t do this.”
“She will be fine, Ron. It’s Hermione. She can do anything,” Lavender said from his side, putting a hand on her husband’s arm. Her body posture was calming and affectionate, but Hermione could hear the annoyance in her words. Lavender still hated whenever Ron showed any protectiveness toward Hermione. It had been two years since they broke up, and Hermione had even forgiven him for cheating on her with his current wife.
She had forgiven so many things. Like being slowly excluded from the Weasley clan. That had happened even before they broke up, so it wasn’t Ron or Lavender’s fault per se.
It was her fault. It was always on her.
“I will be fine,” she said, reaching for her gin and tonic. Maybe she should pack only alcohol for her new home; it seemed very necessary to have a bottle of her favorite gin around Draco Malfoy.
“Can you create another coin to communicate with me?” Harry asked, his tone serious. “I’m still rubbish at that spell.”
He was indeed terrible at it; every time they had a new recruit at the Auror Department, she was invited up to create their communication coin. The same thing she had created for Dumbledore’s Army back in the fifth year.
“Of course, and it’s not like we won’t see each other. I’m still helping at the laboratory, and I will be at the Ministry every now and then,” she said.
“Any breakthroughs, by the way?” Ginny asked hopefully. Hermione knew that for Ginny, finding a cure meant saving George. He had been infected a year ago, and it had shaken the whole family. They had already lost Fred; losing George would be like losing the piece of Fred they had left alongside him.
“Not yet, but I’m confident searching the Manor will help. Who knows how many things are hidden there?” She forced a smile toward her friend, and she could see the glimpse of hope in Ginny's eyes, which was enough.
Hope. It was all they needed at that time.
“We won a war only to live like this,” Ron murmured, taking a big gulp of his beer. “It’s fucking infuriating.” He raised his voice as anger took over, and Hermione could smell the alcohol on his breath.
She had to make an effort not to turn her head away. She hated beer. It reminded her of too many bad memories. How many fights had she and Ron had when he would come home from a few drinks after work with Harry, smelling of beer and wanting to kiss her? She had asked him to brush his teeth first, and that had been enough to infuriate him and start a fight.
She couldn't stand the smell of beer. But she was trying to get better at it now; she couldn't make people stop drinking their favorite drink just because it triggered bad memories for her.
“We will get through this,” Lavender’s reassuring voice said. It did nothing to ease the tension around the table, but Hermione envied that she was always so optimistic.
At first, when the plague started three years ago, hearing words of reassurance was the norm. They had survived a war, so of course, they would survive this. But then more people had become infected, and more cases had piled on Harry’s desk of people—Muggle or magical—going missing, their bodies bled dry. Then came the fear; people became suspicious of everyone. With no way for them to identify this new vampirism in someone, even with magic, it caused everyone to be on high alert at all times.
They had even gone into a national wizarding lockdown, the first ever in wizarding history. Hermione and Ron had been confined to their flat for six months, and as soon as the lockdown lifted, Ron had started cheating on her with Lavender. She had then had to go through a breakup while still navigating a fucking epidemic.
At least now, they had it somewhat under control. There was no cure in sight, but with the new health measures, the infected could start to have something of a normal life again. Still, the fear of them losing their grip on control and infecting their loved ones was enough for people to be kicked out of their homes, or forced to flee of their own accord. Hermione had helped organize a fundraiser the previous year to build a complex for the "Infected"—as they were now called—so they could at least have a sense of community and a place to live.
“Well, I should go. I’m moving in tomorrow, and need to pack my things and Crookshanks’,” Hermione said, draining the last of her drink before getting up and bidding her friends farewell.
She was approaching the exit when she reached into her trench coat pocket, looking for the hairclip she had discarded earlier, needing her hair loose after the long day. When her fingers didn’t find it, she turned back toward the table. She stopped in her tracks.
The group she had just left behind was laughing and smiling. Hermione took her time looking at them; she rarely saw them so carefree when she was present. Something grew in the pit of her stomach—not quite sadness, just a sharp desire to have that again. She longed to belong to a group of people. She had stepped aside when she and Ron broke up, thinking that her nonexistence would make it easier and more comfortable for everyone. She had been so busy with work anyway that missing family dinners was easy.
But she couldn’t lie and say she was happy being alone most of the time. After being unable to restore her parents’ memories once the war was over, she only had her friends as family. And then she had lost them, too, when she lost Ron.
Standing there, she could confess, even if only to herself, that she missed it. Not them, exactly—just not being alone. She missed not having to watch her words around people. When she had met Ron and Harry at Hogwarts, it was the first time in her life she had felt like she could just be herself, without measuring every single thing she said or did beforehand. She hadn't had to worry about saying the wrong thing and receiving a punch in return. She had been free from that at school, and she had loved it.
But after the war, the loss and pain had lingered above her like a rain cloud she couldn't shake. Ron and Harry had wanted to forget, to move forward, to get married and have kids. But she couldn't. She should have expected that things with Ron wouldn't work out; when he had proposed a year after the war ended, she had said they should wait—that they were too young and had too many things to figure out.
It had been the beginning of the end, and she had been too focused on clinging to what was familiar to see it. Hermione took a deep breath and gazed at the group one final time before turning and leaving for home.
As soon as she Apparated into her one-bedroom flat, Crookshanks came rushing to her, tail high, asking for attention. She crouched down and scratched his ear just the way he liked before kicking off her heels and heading to the kitchen for her evening cup of peppermint tea.
As the kettle boiled, she heard a slight tap on her window. A large gray owl stood there. She moved to open the window. “Sorry, have you been here long? Treats?” She grabbed the pot of treats she always kept by the window and gave the bird a few before it flew away, leaving a small package on her windowsill.
Curiosity took over. She didn’t recognize the handwriting, but since it only said "Granger,” she had a guess as to who it was from. She opened it to reveal a Slytherin green tie.
Hermione chuckled. The audacity of this man. A small note was included:
Your uniform. — DM
Hermione dropped the note back into the packaging and sighed. She had been half-hoping Malfoy wouldn't bother her at the house; surely he had house-elves to do anything she might need. She had hoped her interactions with him would be minimal, but this note showed she was in for a hell of a time.
She took the package and, with a flick of her wand, set it on fire. Then, she packed her things to move to Malfoy Manor.