Chapter Text
I rolled my shoulders as I waited outside in the corridor of Dr. Lupin’s office; he was in charge of financial aid at Hogwarts Academy, the exclusive private high school where I’d been recruited for four years previously. On paper, I was talented in acting, singing, and a fair few languages, so, for some reason, I’d been sought after. However, being plus-sized, I had my fair share of criticisms—both from professors and fellow students alike—to the point where I spent far more time than I’d care to admit in front of the mirror, inwardly (and, even outwardly sometimes) criticizing myself.
In the rational sense, I understood that I had some talent, as everyone seemed to truly think so; those that mattered, anyway. Ginny Weasley, for example, as well as her twin brother, Ron, were my best friends. The three of us had met each other in elementary school, where our love for all things performing arts began. I considered myself a bit clumsy, so I never went near dancing that wasn’t strictly a waltz, though Ginny was the complete opposite. She thrived in the athletic environment of dance, and was capable of a wide range, but was most notably known for ballet, hip-hop, tap, and jazz. Ron, meanwhile, was quarterback of the football team, alongside Ginny’s boyfriend, Oliver Wood.
I was vaguely aware of the hums of two distinct voices having a conversation behind Dr. Lupin’s door. I didn’t want to be accused of eavesdropping—I was hardly a gossip—but my ears had decided for me that I desperately needed to be privy to this discussion. Other than Dr. Lupin’s voice, I could distinctly hear that the other voice belonged to the very bane of my existence, Draco Malfoy. I found herself automatically rolling my brown eyes.
“Perfect,” I muttered to myself. “Just perfect...”
Draco Malfoy was the very definition of spoiled, bad-boy, trust fund brat. Yes, he was easily the most handsome male specimen I’d ever laid eyes on (I was hardly blind, after all) but it was his sense of entitlement that set my teeth on edge. His body would rival those of Greek statues (I’d seen his admittedly superior upper torso plenty of times during swim classes), while his legs were frequently on display whenever we were forced to run track in the warm weather. Then there was the notion that he inexplicably seemed to be in most, if not all, of my classes four years running. Not to mention the fact that Mr. Black, our drama professor, seemed to think that there was a fine line between love and hate, and would frequently cast us in at-odds roles in productions—Kate Minola and Petruchio of The Taming of the Shrew, Amanda and Elyot of Private Lives, and Eliza Doolittle and Henry Higgins of Pygmalion.
I, however, would take to my grave that Draco Malfoy had been my first kiss (my only kiss) and, not only that, but I very much enjoyed kissing him. I thunked my head backwards onto the wall behind me, decorated with notices regarding the upcoming Heart to Heart Dance, the one to celebrate Valentine’s Day, with ticket proceeds going to the local hospital. Yes, I was more than happy that donations were going there, as my own mother was one of their nurses. However, I hated school dances, hated them; why buy a dress you would only wear once, as well as shoes that shouldn’t have even been invented in the first place? I positively hated high heels of all kinds and, if I wasn’t so preoccupied with my love of performing arts, I would likely become a politician to ban them from the world entirely.
I straightened as Draco raised his voice at Dr. Lupin inside his office.
“...not going to work with her!” he practically yelled. “I have to do all these shows with her on Blacks’ say-so already! We don’t work well together, Uncle Remy—”
I blinked in momentary surprise. I had no idea that Draco was on such familiar terms with the school’s official financial aid officer, I thought to myself.
“...completely stiff as a brick!” he went on; I could hear his feet smacking against the floor, meaning that he was pacing around the office. “I don’t know what anyone sees in someone like her anyway! I know that Black is convinced about a fine line between love and hate, but I—”
Wait a moment, I thought, my mind jarring as I began putting two and two together. I have the sneaking suspicion that Draco Malfoy is—
“...cut out for this world!” Draco was carrying on. “It was one thing to recruit me, because I know all about high-swingers and big spenders and all that—I was born with a fucking silver spoon in my mouth,” he said, annoyed.
“Language, Draco,” Dr. Lupin put in primly, yet with an underlying patience to his tone that he didn’t use on just anyone.
“You know I’m right, Uncle Remy,” Draco said, sounding exasperated.
I rolled my eyes again. Typical rich kid, always wanting to be right, I growled inwardly.
“Why would you even want to pair us up in the first place?” he was demanding next. “On stage is enough torture...”
Torture?! What a dick! I felt my mind screaming.
“You’re both extremely talented individuals, Draco,” Dr. Lupin was informing him, while I pressed my ear to the door, swallowing as I listened to the older man.
Definitely talking about me, then, I thought. But why?!
“I don’t know what you experience when the pair of you need to do your scenes together,” Dr. Lupin went on, “but if you could see what I could, what Sirius can—”
“Please, don’t call Mr. Black by his first name,” Draco groaned.
“And why not? He and I have been in a relationship for nearly twenty-five years,” Dr. Lupin told Draco, sounding a bit annoyed.
I raised my eyebrows. I certainly didn’t dwell upon the personal lives of my various professors, or the other administrative staff at the school. I knew it would be controversial, however, if some of the members of the school board of the school caught wind of the relationship between Dr. Lupin and Mr. Black, given the decidedly conservative nature of our city, not that I had any issues with it. Good for Bradford and Black, though, I thought to myself.
“And, if I recall correctly, you call him Uncle Siri,” Dr. Lupin was saying.
I couldn’t hold back a snort at that.
Draco acted as if he was about to say something, but held off for a moment, clearly listening attentively since he’d heard my snort. However, he decided to keep talking, and he huffed. “Not during school hours,” he muttered.
Dr. Lupin chuckled in response. “Well, whether you like it or not, the appointment of Miss Granger as your official partner is going forward,” he told him.
Draco groaned. “Uncle Remy, please—”
“You know entirely well that it’s not up to me, Draco, though I did give my own rousing endorsement for it,” he said softly, while Draco swore under his breath.
I scoffed. Double dick, I mused.
“Now, now,” Dr. Lupin scolded Draco lightly. “The decision is final, and Miss Granger is already aware of it anyhow.”
I felt myself stiffening at his words. Dr. Lupin certainly hadn’t told me anything I hadn’t already heard—!
“You told her first?” Draco was demanding. “Why would you—?!”
“Oh, no, Draco,” Dr. Lupin said lightly. “In point of fact, Miss Granger discovered it at the same moment you did. Come in, Miss Granger!” he called out.
I felt my entire being flushing as I straightened up, all manner of swear words going around in my head (mostly in Italian and Hebrew, as those were tied for the position of my second language) as I reached out and took ahold of the golden doorknob, accepting my destiny. Turning it to the right, I heard the door clicking and stepped into the room as best I could, not wanting to trip over nothing, as I hitched my messenger bag up higher on my shoulder. “You wanted to see me, Dr. Lupin?” I asked, pointedly ignoring Draco completely, who huffed audibly with annoyance beside me, towering a few inches above me.
“Draco,” Dr. Lupin said, fixing him with a brief, dark look, before he turned his attention onto me, his deep brown eyes kind. “I did, Miss Granger,” he confirmed. “As I’m sure you’re aware, normally I would be remiss in informing you that listening at doors is considered to be decidedly unbecoming—”
“That’s one way of looking at it,” Draco muttered, seemingly pleased that Dr. Lupin was potentially dressing me down.
“—however,” he continued, flashing Draco a glare, before turning back to me, “I completely understand why you did so. In this situation, it was warranted.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Draco grumbled.
Dr. Lupin gave me a patient smile, before he steepled his thin, yet strong, scarred hands in front of him, facing Draco head-long. “I have no issues with tracking down some duct tape and putting it to good use, Draco. Am I making myself clear?”
I felt my eyes widening as I looked in between them, momentarily stunned.
Draco awkwardly cleared his throat. “Y-yeah, Uncle Remy, you are.”
Dr. Lupin gave a nod. “Very good. Now, sit down, both of you.”
I promptly sat in one of the visitor’s chairs, taking off my messenger bag and titling it slightly so that it leaned against one of the chair’s legs. I placed my hands in my lap and crossed my legs at the ankle, wanting to seem as polite and put-together as possible. I was a scholarship student, while Draco’s father was able to afford to pay his tuition in full. Though, I was relieved with the notion that, despite my financial status, I never lacked for anything, as the scholarships were very generous, including school textbooks, other supplies, the official uniform (which, for girls, consisted of a deep blue knee-length skirt, blue sweater in the same shade, a white button-down blouse underneath said sweater, black tights, and black patent leather Mary Jane shoes), a gym kit, along with various necessary lunch fees.
The boys’ uniforms were strikingly similar, the only major difference being that they wore white button-downs underneath the sweater, along with blue trousers, and a pair of black patent leather Oxfords. Some girls, if they really wanted to, were permitted trousers as well, though these cases were few and far between. I sometimes wore them, however, especially during the cold winter months, when it was pretty much expected for the entire student body to wear them. An understanding had drifted to the school board when it came to the winters in Wyoming by the 1970s, due to the fact that their area could sometimes get up to thirty feet of snow. Snow boots were necessary, though each student was told that they needed to change into their Mary Janes or Oxfords come school time, unless it was time for gym class, in which you would wear sneakers and the gym uniform.
“Miss Granger,” Dr. Lupin began.
“Hermione is fine, Dr. Lupin,” I told him quickly, sensing Draco rolling his eyes from beside me, to which I promptly turned to glare at him.
Dr. Lupin smiles, seemingly impressed at the notion that I’m not taking Draco’s constant criticisms of me lightly. He pulls a file folder towards him and opens it, my mouth going dry as I see my name upon its lip just seconds before he does so. “You attended St. Mary’s Catholic School from pre-kindergarten until the eighth grade?”
I nodded my brown head, unsure why I was called in here in the first place, and why Draco Malfoy of all people is being held privy to my educational file. “I did,” I said, finding my voice at last. “It was a compromise between my parents,” I explained, unsure how to get into it, or even if I wanted to get into it in the first place.
Dr. Lupin looks up at me, his brown eyes filled with compassion. “It was your late father who was Catholic, wasn’t he?”
“He was,” I replied, knowing that, if I didn’t respect Dr. Lupin so much, I would have bitten back with something along the lines of, Hence the surname, genius.
Dr. Lupin turned his attention back to the file. “However, it appears as if you were baptized into the Jewish faith, courtesy of your mother, and wound up attending Hebrew school until the age of fourteen,” he continued.
I swallowed; again, it had been a compromise between my parents, decided from the moment I was conceived, though my father hadn’t been around to see my completion of my middle school years. “Yes, that’s correct,” I said, feeling my fingers knotting together, as they often did when I felt put upon the spot, or nervous.
“Girls have bat mitzvahs in Judaism, right?” Draco asked, clearly curious.
I found herself momentarily surprised that Draco Malfoy didn’t call it Jewism, as so many people our age mistakenly did. “They can, but it isn’t like it’s a requirement,” I replied, giving him a surprised expression before I could stop myself.
Draco shrugged. “Not as if you’re a big partyer,” he mused.
I huffed; so much for compassion, though he did have that right—I had never been too big on parties, as they weren’t really my scene.
“You didn’t have one?” Dr. Lupin guessed.
“No, my mom couldn’t...” I broke off, clearing my throat awkwardly. “I mean, I didn’t want one,” I said quickly, flushing slightly at the implication of my mother lacking the funds for such a celebration, as well as being unable to take proper time off work to both attend and plan the party itself. “Like I said, it’s not a requirement.”
Dr. Lupin took this opportunity to turn his attention back to my student file again, as if he understood my desire not to air my financial status out in the open. “You first discovered your love of acting in the seventh grade, when you received the plum part of Peter Pan in the stage adaptation.”
I swallowed, remembering it well, though I’d been a bit uncomfortable with the green velvet, skin-tight costume I was supposed to wear, which, according to Ginny, was just a sexier footie pajama. “Yes,” I said, shifting awkwardly.
“Never understood why females only play that role,” Draco muttered.
I found myself smirking. “Oh? You’ve not seen the Disney version, then?” I asked, before I could stop myself. “I’ll have you know that it was released over forty years ago, and a young male portrayed him.”
Draco stammered for a moment, but one look from Dr. Lupin shut him up.
Dr. Lupin picked up a pair of stylish reading glasses and perched them upon his nose. “You were also trilingual from the time you were four, speaking English, Italian, and Hebrew,” he continued on, still confusing me, but I remained silent, though I did nod at him in confirmation when he looked up at me briefly. “At Catholic school, you learned Spanish in two years, and then were given private instruction in both German and Mandarin during you middle school years, outside of school.”
Again, I nodded, still unsure as to why I’d been called here in the first place, and what the hell Draco Malfoy had to do with any of this. “Yes, that’s right.”
“You’re also in the Advanced French class,” Dr. Lupin continued, his tone pleased, “receiving top grades from the beginning of your journey. Madame Grubbly-Plank claims that you are more than prepared to take the final examination in June, and that you are more than fluent at this rate.”
I gave a soft smile at that; Madame Grubbly-Plank was, indeed, a kind soul—elderly, with a thickly accented voice, she tended to wear silk scarves to class, and would talk about her days in Paris as a young girl, even slipping into wartimes every now and again. “She is very generous when it comes to her description of me,” I said at last.
Draco huffed under his breath, and was immediately rewarded by a sharp look from Dr. Lupin, who promptly opened one of his desk drawers, and placed a rather large roll of duct tape upon its surface, leading Draco to go quiet again.
“Mid-winter break happens two weeks from today,” Dr. Lupin said patiently, lowering my file back down onto his desk. “Do you have any plans for it, Hermione?”
I blinked; mainly, I’d be working on my various assignments (though, with my time management, I would likely finish with them relatively with the time within the week-long break quickly) as well as ensuring that my younger brother, Harry, didn’t blow up the house with his culinary experiments. All right, I reasoned to myself, that wasn’t really fair, especially given that he was especially proficient at smoking brisket, a perfectly cooked steak, or his own patented chili, not to mention his Italian-inspired cooking, with our late Nonna Luna’s recipes. I bit down hard on my lower lip, half-wondering what Dr. Lupin was getting at.
“Um... Nothing out of the ordinary,” I said softly, shrugging my shoulders. “Looking after my younger brother and homework, I guess. Why?”
Draco, again, scoffed from beside me.
Dr. Lupin immediately picked up the roll of duct tape and slammed it down, hard, upon the surface of his desk, causing Draco to stiffen. “Have you ever been to Denver, Hermione?”
“Denver? No,” I answered, shaking my head. “My travel exploits are limited to The Travel Channel and anything I pick up via homework or from reading,” I continued, the notion that my mother worked too much, and couldn’t afford, to bring me or Harry anywhere a downright depressing, yet normal, circumstance for a fair few American families in the present day.
“You have a car, and a licence,” Dr. Lupin continued, and, at my nod, spoke again. “Do you believe Harry is capable of being on his own for a few days?”
My eyes widened considerably at that; Harry hungered for independence, naturally, as any young teenager would, but hadn’t been granted the opportunity to be alone. I believed he was certainly capable of it; even our mother mentioned it more than once. It just had to do with the fact that I was typically home for him, in case he needed me. On the occasions where I had rehearsals after school, Harry would, in the autumn and winter months, take the bus from his own high school, Cheyenne East High School, and hang out in Hogwarts’s library until I was ready to take him home for the night. In the spring, however, Harry would head home on his own (and had done, when he began attending Carey Junior High School, as he’d been uninterested in a Catholic school experience).
“I mean... I’ll have to ask my mom about it, if he’s going to be alone—”
“Uncle Remy,” Draco said, sounding exasperated.
Dr. Lupin held up a hand in Draco’s direction. “I understand your commitment to keeping your brother safe, Hermione, as well as keeping your mother in the loop,” he said gently. “However, it is imperative that she is unaware of your location in Denver.”
I pulled a face at Dr. Lupin’s words. “I’m not the type of person to just sneak out of my house without telling my only two family members about it, Dr. Lupin,” I informed him, in a rather snippy manner; typically, I wouldn’t be so towards an authority figure, but this was becoming ridiculous. “How do you think that’s going to go over?”
“Well, you’re eighteen, and four months from your high school graduation,” Dr. Lupin said in a patient manner, as if he was discussing the benefits of consuming fruits and vegetables with every meal.
“Yes, and I’ve already got early decision from Carnegie Mellon,” I informed him; I didn’t bother to keep the flippantness from my tone, as I was immensely proud of this.
Dr. Lupin nodded. “Yes, as well as The Julliard School, the Tisch School of the Arts at New York University, CalArts, The Theatre School at DePaul University, and Mason Gross School of the Arts at Rutgers,” he replied, tapping at my file, when I parted my lips to demand how the hell he knew all that.
I leaned forward. “That’s not just an educational file, is it?” I asked.
Dr. Lupin smiled, seemingly pleased at my assessment. “No, it’s not,” he replied. “It also details your personal information—familial, medical history, allergies and whatnot, food preferences, dietary choices—”
Draco raised his hand, waiting to be called on, and, only when Dr. Lupin nodded at him, did he ask his question. “Why do dietary choices matter?”
I caught Dr. Lupin’s eye. “May I?”
Dr. Lupin spread his hands. “By all meant.”
I turned to regard Draco. “Typically, Jewish individuals abstain from pork,” I said. “I, however, am non-practicing; I’m not a practicing Catholic either, so don’t let my father’s roots fool you,” I said, tossing my hair (I always did have a flair for the dramatic). “I, however, have a condition known as hypothyroidism, wherein my thyroid is underactive, and eating pork helps deal with the condition.”
Draco blinked, as if amazed. “Oh,” he said, blinking his silvery eyes for a moment.
I turned back to face Dr. Lupin again. “What else does this file on me contain, other than those subjects previously mentioned?”
Dr. Lupin smiled. “Standard likes and dislikes,” he replied. “It also mentions that you’re left-handed, your favorite novel is The Sunne in Splendour by Sharon Kay Penman, your favorite film is Lady Jane, and your favorite color is a toss-up between rose gold and hunter green. You also drive a sapphire blue metallic 1992 Buick LeSabre which you received for your sixteenth birthday, you live with your mother and younger brother, while your father and both sets of grandparents are deceased, and you’ve also got a maternal uncle, who is married with a family of his own—”
“All right!” I said sharply, holding up a hand. The room was silent for several moments, and Draco seemed to be a bit perplexed at my sudden outburst. Slowly, I lowered her hand as I stared at Dr. Lupin, stunned that the file contained so much information about me. “Why exactly do you have a file on me?” I asked at last, hating that I couldn’t stop my voice from trembling ever so slightly.
Dr. Lupin nodded, as if it was a question he had been expecting. “We pull various student files in various performing arts high schools throughout the country; they do this in Europe as well, and, more than likely, most countries of the world,” he replied lightly. “It’s all part of a larger organization, Hermione, an organization that’s... Well, confidential, to say the least.”
I pursed my lips in consideration. “Next thing you’ll be telling me that this is a super-secret spy society or something,” I said, trying not to laugh, but, when I looked over at Draco, he seemed to be deliberately ignoring my expression. “What? I’m right?” I demanded, turning back to look at Dr. Lupin. “You’re not seriously...?”
“A part of the organization is also rooting out untrustworthy individuals, not just the ones who are talented and capable,” Dr. Lupin carried on patiently. “Looks can be deceiving, Hermione, and you are quite deceiving.”
I shook my head at him. “One minute, you’re calling me trustworthy, and the next you’re calling me deceiving,” I practically snapped. “Which one is it?”
Dr. Lupin’s lips twitched, as if he found amusement in my assessment. “I mean that, in the physical sense, you appear as if you wouldn’t be capable of certain things.”
Draco shifted from beside me, as if he wanted to add something, but remained silent.
“You’re very strong, both physically and emotionally,” Dr. Lupin continued. “Not only have you taken on a parental role in your younger brother’s life, but you’ve also performed many feats in your gym class.”
Draco sighed, slightly begrudging. “Even I was impressed when you were capable of lifting two-hundred pounds,” he said quietly.
I bit my lip, forcing my not to thank him, evening though something within me swooped at the notion that I’d impressed Draco Malfoy of all people. “Okay,” I said softly, doing my best not to look over at him. “So?”
“So, it’s not typically something we’d see from someone who looks like you,” Dr. Lupin told me, speaking plainly.
I sighed, shifting uncomfortably in my seat again. “I’m well aware that I’m not going to win any beauty pageants anytime soon, thank you very much,” I said, my tone clipped; I’d never put much worth into beauty anyway, but it was one thing to hear it from stereotypical teenage mean girls, and another to hear it from someone older, someone I respected.
Draco seemed stunned from beside me, but I ignored it.
“Yes, you’re plus-sized,” Dr. Lupin replied, no condemnation in his voice, “but that doesn’t take away from your attractiveness, Hermione.”
I scoffed, crossing my arms, putting up a physical barrier to distract myself; I was not going to cry in front of an authority figure, or Draco Malfoy, for that matter—I just wouldn’t allow myself to do that. “Okay, you don’t have to lie to me,” I said, a finality in my tone, and I found myself hoping that Dr. Lupin would drop it.
Dr. Lupin seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he reconsidered and opted to move on with the conversation. “The organization believes you would be a valuable asset to them, Hermione, due to your talents—acting, for example, as well as your talent for languages. Not to mention the notion that you come from both an Italian and Jewish background, meaning that you could easily pass for racially ambiguous, so that would work in our favor.”
I chewed on my lower lip, not wholly convinced. “You said my mom couldn’t know about my whereabouts during the mid-winter break...”
Dr. Lupin nodded. “Yes. It is imperative that the organization remain a secret from those who are non-members. It isn’t that we think your mother is a bad person, Hermione, but she hasn’t been given clearance to know the confidential information.”
“Well, she’ll find out pretty quickly that I’m not at home with Harry. I swear, the woman has eyes in the back of her head,” I muttered, hearing the stifled chuckle of Draco from beside me, while a smile seemed to play at Dr. Lupin’s lips. “I obviously don’t want to lie to her, but I know I’ll have to, in some way. Isn’t there a compromise, or something? I mean, what if we told her it’s a week-long acting excursion or something? That the school is providing for financially, of course, as she really doesn’t need another bill right now...” Damn, Granger, do you really need to spell it out for Draco Malfoy of all people that your family is struggling financially? I demanded of myself, the criticism of my inner voice bracing.
Dr. Lupin raised an eyebrow. “That could work,” he agreed, “since Draco is going to be with you the entire time...”
Draco straightened in his seat. “Wait a minute. I never agreed to—!”
“And Mr. Black will be there as well,” Dr. Lupin mused.
I arched an eyebrow. “Mr. Black is in on it, too?” I asked.
Dr. Lupin smiled.
“Ah, I see,” I said, nodding. “Well, it makes sense, considering that the two of you are an item and everything...”
Draco huffed, crossing his arms. “You were listening at the door...”
I promptly rounded on him. “If you think I’m going to give Dr. Lupin and Mr. Black a hard time about their romantic relationship, you’d be sorely mistaken,” I snapped. “I’ll have you know that someone very close to me identifies as gay, so I’ve no issues with it whatsoever.” I turned back towards Dr. Lupin, and folded my hands back in my lap. “All right. What else do I need to know about all this, then?”
Dr. Lupin smiled, as if he’d won this round, before he opened the center-most drawer of his desk, and pulled out two different file folders, handing one each to me and to Draco. “You are posing as a newlywed couple on their honeymoon,” he explained, while Draco groaned audibly, and I grimaced.
I opened my file folder, not holding my breath that any of this was going to be easy. My undercover name was Vanessa MacKenzie; I was full Italian, newly married to a young Scottish heir, hence the Scottish surname. They would be spending an evening in the Cruise Room, an event room at The Oxford Hotel, where they would be doing observation on a band of criminals who would be using that room that evening for a jewelry auction. I grimaced again; I hardly had the funds to pass myself off as a newly-married millionaire’s bride, given what I’d seen passed for high fashion these days—
“Your base will be the Malfoy lodge in Aspen,” Dr. Lupin continued patiently, as I looked up, and Draco looked decidedly uncomfortable. “It has its own private airfield, and you will be transported directly via the Malfoy private jet to and from Aspen, as well as Aspen to Denver throughout the week,” he went on, folding his hands upon the surface of the desk.
I sighed. “Dr. Lupin, I’m not the right person for this assignment,” I said quietly, leading Dr. Lupin to raise his eyebrows. “It’s not that I’m incapable of playing the part,” I said, giving Draco a glare as he guffawed from beside me, “because, really, I play opposite this buffoon on a daily basis, given that Mr. Black is convinced we have chemistry.”
“Hey!” Draco shouted.
“But it’s the expense,” I continued, ignoring Draco’s outburst. “I realize that the Malfoy private jet is taking care of transportation, but I hardly think my school uniform will be appropriate for any of these excursions you’ve outlined here. After all, I’m supposed to be a newlywed bride to a millionaire, not a schoolgirl,” I said quietly, pointing to the skiing, dinners out, a flight over Rocky Mountain National Park, traipsing through Larimer Square, a private parlor car trip on the Georgetown Loop Railroad, a concert at the Red Rocks Amphitheatre, high tea at The Brown Palace...
Dr. Lupin chuckled. “An official stylist has been assigned to you, Hermione,” he said, and nodded down to my file folder.
I blinked, scanning the file, until I saw Official Stylist for Miss Hermione Granger a.k.a. Mrs. Vanessa MacKenzie – Kingsley Shacklebolt. “Oh,” I said, my cheeks flushing, a wave of stupidity momentarily flowing over me. “Well, that’s certainly helpful...”
“Kingsley is very good at his job,” Dr. Lupin replied, his voice soft. “He was born in Grenada, to a diplomat father and a textile factory worker mother. He attended The Royal Academy of Fine Arts in Antwerp, Belgium, where he and his parents moved after his father’s diplomatic duties ended in the Caribbean. His father is Belgian, and Kingsley speaks several languages, including Creole English and Patois, Dutch, English, French, and German,” he added.
“He’s good at his job,” Draco put in, though his tone was slightly begrudging. “He’ll be all over you in five seconds.”
I felt myself stiffening at Draco’s words. “What a thing to say...”
“Draco,” Dr. Lupin scolded, before turning to address me calmly. “He is very committed to his partner, Alastor Moody,” he said, smiling at me. “Alastor is one of our hackers, and is always up-to-date on new and emerging technology.”
Draco promptly huffed from beside me. “Don’t cross Alastor; he knows things about you that you may not even know about yourself yet,” he muttered.
Dr. Lupin huffed. “Anyhow,” he said, obviously knowing that neither Draco and I were exactly jumping for joy at the prospect of this assignment, “I have the utmost faith that the two of you will do excellently working together on this mission.”
I put my thumb into my folder, leaning back in the chair. Obviously, this was a job, and super-secret spy societies had pull—at least, they did in books and films. “I know that it’s highly imperative that I keep this mission a secret,” I said quietly.
Draco groaned. “I think we covered that—” He immediately went silent as Dr. Lupin inched his hand towards the roll of duct tape again.
“It is,” Dr. Lupin confirmed, moving his hand back, away from the tape. “Your contract can be found in the back of your folder. It only covers this mission,” he was quick to explain, as I opened the folder up again and flipped to the back, my eyes scanning the page quickly. “Think of it as a trial period; if we think you do well on your first mission, a more permanent arrangement will be put in place.”
I felt my jaw dropping as I saw where I was supposed to sign it. “That’s not a joke, is it?” I asked, my voice, quiet, as I showed the portion I was concerned about to Draco.
Draco, mercifully, looked over, before shaking his head. “Not a joke; it’s very real,” he told me in a dispassionate tone, before he sat up straight in his own chair again.
I looked up at Dr. Lupin again, who was sitting calmly, watching me. “You actually want my fingerprint, in blood, next to my signature?”
Dr. Lupin smiled, and, thankfully, there was nothing malicious about it. “I assure you, Hermione, it’s considered standard procedure,” he replied. “Not to worry, though. As stated previously, we have your medical records on file, including your blood type, should anything happen, and you’re in need of it.”
“Okay,” I found myself saying, nodding my head in a decisive manner. I took another moment to read the contract, my eyes widening when I saw the incentive for my participation in the mission, whether or not it was successful—I was permitted to keep my new wardrobe (as it would be tailored to my size specifically), I would be given a Nokia 2110 for the duration of the mission (and would be permitted to keep it if I remained with the organization), an Apple PowerBook 500 Series (which wasn’t due to be released until May, but, apparently, Alastor had connections in the computing world), a MiniDisc player (a niche option to listen to music on the go, but the price had been too much to even consider), the mortgage would be paid off on my childhood home, and I would be granted admittance into any university I wanted in the world. “Could I add an addendum to the list of perks?” I asked.
Draco scoffed from beside me.
Dr. Lupin ignored him. “What did you have in mind?”
“I already have my full ride to Carnegie Mellon,” I replied, biting down hard on my lower lip. “I want to ensure that the money that would have been spent on my university education goes into a private fund, acting like a scholarship, for my younger brother.”
Dr. Lupin gave a small smile, nodding. “Immediate family is permitted to benefit, as long as the organization remains secret,” he told me.
I sat forward on my chair. “Well,” I said softly, removing one of my sapphire earrings from my ear, which I always wore, “I guess I’m in.”
“What are you—?” Draco asked, actually sounding stunned.
Methodically, without answering him, I took ahold of my earrings’ needle, and stabbed my finger, gently moving my thumb along its pad for a moment, before a single drop of blood was exposed. Next, I flipped over my hand and pressed my finger into the indicator where I was required to sign in blood, a bloody index print filling the square. I looked up at Dr. Lupin with a smile, and he considerately was already handing over a sanitation wipe and a bandage. “Would you be so good as to permit me to borrow a pen?” I asked him, smiling.
Dr. Lupin chuckled, shaking his head indulgently, and handed over one of his pens. “Nice earrings,” he said, as I slowly returned the one back into my ear.
“Thank you. A gift from my grandmother,” I explained, uncapping the pen and signing my name in its entirety—Hermione Jean Granger.
“Do you think I could borrow them?” Dr. Lupin asked.
I looked sharply up at him, handing him his pen back, as I slid the contract across the desk towards him. “Why?”
“Because I think it would be beneficial if Alastor took a look at them,” he explained. “I can assure you, he won’t break them, Hermione.”
“No, he’ll just momentarily tamper with them,” Draco muttered.
I blinked, looking back and forth between them. “Communication device?” I asked, smirking as Dr. Lupin looked quite pleased with me.
“Very good,” he praised me.
Draco huffed, crossing his arms, and looking quite put out.
“How long will it take?” I asked him softly, taking them out of my ears and handing them over to Dr. Lupin, who took them carefully. “My mom is working the night shift tonight, so she won’t be there when I get back, and will be in bed by the time I leave for school tomorrow. She will notice if I’m not wearing them, though,” I added quickly.
Dr. Lupin nodded. “Don’t worry; Alastor works quickly,” he assured me.
I nodded in understanding; it seemed like the best route to take. “They were my paternal grandmother’s,” I said quietly, surprising myself with my willingness to impart this information, as I seldom discussed my deceased family members. “There wasn’t much love lost between my mother and them, but that’s a whole other kettle of fish. Suffice it to say, despite that, I don’t wear any other jewelry in a typical manner, so...”
Dr. Lupin gave a small, compassionate smile. “I understand,” he said softly. “Alastor will take very good care of them. He often works on sentimental items, such as Draco’s late grandfather’s ring he always wears,” he said, nodding towards Draco’s hand.
I found myself following his gaze to stare at the ring Draco always wore; it appeared to have a family crest upon it, with a serpent and a dragon as its focal point. “Is that a communication device as well?” I asked, hating my curiosity, due to Draco’s gaze snapping to mine.
“No,” he said shortly. “It’s for my blood.”
I blinked. “Sorry?” I asked, confused.
Draco grimaced, shifting awkwardly in his chair.
“Draco has Rh-null blood, otherwise known as ‘Golden Blood’,” Dr. Lupin informed me in a patient manner. “There’s a sensor inside it, which goes off if he’s injured in a critical manner, which lets us know to get our people in there immediately to extract him. We always have a concealed helicopter on site for this very reason, wherever Draco is on a mission, ensuring that we airlift him to the closest hospital with a trauma ward at a moment’s notice.”
I raised my eyebrows, having a new kind of respect for Draco, literally putting his life on the line for national security—or whatever it was the organization was for—given the fact that so few people in the world shared his blood type. “Do you ever get scared?” I whispered.
Draco fixed me with a look. “No,” he said shortly. “I’m trained, aren’t I?”
I swallowed, shaking my head. “That wasn’t what I—”
Draco rolled his eyes, which cut me off, before turning to Dr. Lupin. “Can I go now, please? I have to get to AP Euro...”
Dr. Lupin gave Draco a put-upon expression. “Don’t you and Hermione share that subject?”
“Unfortunately,” Draco muttered, motioning to my bag. “Come on. Put that in your bag so no one sees it,” he said, his tone clipped, as he got to his feet, shoving his own itinerary booklet into his own bag, and turned to Dr. Lupin. “Can I get a note?”
Dr. Lupin’s mouth thinned. “I won’t even ask you to put a ‘please’ at the end of that sentence, because we’ll be here all day arguing about it,” he muttered, but nevertheless wrote out two excuse notes for the two of us.
I took the note, after carefully putting the itinerary booklet into my own bag. “Thank you, Dr. Lupin,” I said quietly, and moved to slip from the room, completely aware of Draco just behind me.
Draco, meanwhile, once the door was closed, took ahold of the strap of my messenger bag and pulled me so that I was stood next to him. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said, practically growling, as I glared up at him, “just because we’ve got this assignment doesn’t mean I’m going to suddenly be all nice to you...”
I laughed up at him, shaking my head, as I reached upwards to pat his cheek. “Don’t worry,” I assured him, my tone sarcastic. “I would think you’d be abducted by aliens.” I deliberately pitched my voice lower. “So don’t let your panties get into a twist, hubby,” I told him, my tone scathing, “total bastard is decidedly not my type. Go after Pansy Parkinson if you want some physical affection, because, when we’re on this assignment, it’s going to be strictly minimal. It’s bad enough I have to kiss you in class,” I said, grimacing, and noticing the flash of something in Draco’s eyes, but didn’t let myself dwell on it. “So, go make out with the head cheerleader and get oral from her before our mission. It’s not going to come from me,” I said, before spinning around dramatically and stomping down the hallway, gritting my teeth to keep from screaming at him even more.