Chapter Text
It seemed to Hermione Granger that there were more efficient ways of handling business than yet another gods-forsaken meeting. Perhaps, she mused for the twentieth time, none of the other department heads were literate. Reading a memo? Out of the question, apparently. She subtly slid her foot out of the too-tight stilettos beneath the table, glancing around to ensure the action went unnoticed as Kingsley droned on about the upcoming fundraiser. Of course, nobody was looking her way. She nearly snorted when she caught the glazed expression on Harry’s face, but she could hardly blame him for the disinterest.
The entire meeting could have been avoided, had Kingsley opted to send one well-worded owl. Only Luna Lovegood nodded her head along, enraptured either by Kingsley’s discussion of funds disbursement, or possibly by the wrackspurts she envisioned dancing above him. Thank Godric that Hermione’s work rarely relied on Luna’s ability to file paperwork correctly, or she might have requested a transfer.
Unfortunately, the fundraiser was rather important. For all the effort and planning Hermione had already done, it was remarkable that Kingsley’s desire to hear himself talk was so overpowering that even she couldn’t remain engaged.
“We are, I believe, still waiting on a large donor to pull through. Is that correct Hermione?” Just like that, she missed the moment when she had been bored. Kingsley’s tone had an undercurrent of scolding. Hermione’s brow furrowed slightly at the implication.
Straightening her back, and sliding her foot back into her shoe, she was careful to speak evenly. “There are many generous donors who have made advance pledges. St. Mungos is an appealing cause to most of wizarding society. With the current pledges, factoring in the funds we are projected to raise during the event itself, we are on track to clear our target goal with room to spare.” Sensing the incoming objections on Kingsley’s tongue, she cleared her throat and pressed on. “However, there are a few donors who did not respond to our inquiries. I believe you are referring to Draco Malfoy’s company specifically. I have owled his team three separate times and have yet to receive any communication in return. I’d say it’s fair to assume that he declines the request.”
“Have you owled Draco Malfoy personally, or just his company at large?” Pointed, scolding, and not entirely off-base. Kingsley had a calculating glint in his eye, and Hermione could have smacked him for it.
Harry coughed quietly. She kept her eyes straight ahead to Kingsley, Harry could read her too well. Hermione was very, very careful to avoid conversations about Draco Malfoy. Always. There were things that not a soul knew, things that changed nothing. And things with Ron were unsteady enough as it was this last year, there was certainly no benefit to be had in digging up a grave. Not, she reminded herself, that there had been anything to bury. “We are requesting a company sponsorship. I have reached out through the proper channels.”
“Then it sounds like you know your next step, dear.” Gods, now she could smack him. Her ears felt hot, and a burning sensation behind her eyes had Harry cocking his head to consider her closer. Luna waved her hands through the air, piping up for the first time that morning. “Oh dear, they’re multiplying! Perhaps time to get some fresh air.”
Whatever “they” were, Hermione was grateful for Luna’s unique vision. The nine of them sitting began to stir and collect their belongings from the mahogany table, spurred on by the suggestion of fresh air, and the excuse to avoid the obvious tension in Hermione’s posture. Chairs scraped the ground as each department head stood, quiet murmurs between colleagues began. She clutched her notepad tightly. Kingsley was still staring at her, undistracted by the abrupt meeting closure. He did not speak, instead raising a questioning eyebrow. Her notepad bent slightly in her grip, but Hermione nodded in understanding. Fuck.
When Hermione made her exit, heels clicking down the hall, she held her head high. Harry was paused outside his office, Head Auror inscribed in bold letters on his door nameplate. She didn’t want to talk about it, waving him off with a feigned smile that he surely didn’t miss. Two turns down the winding corridors, a blessed distance away from the hallway traffic, and then came the moment her fingers finally clasped her office door. Normally her place of refuge, her fireplace still crackled with embers called for her to curl up in the side chair. Hermione loved her work, was passionate about it. Her office was her second home, and it was perfect. But for once she wished to be somewhere, anywhere else. The blank scroll she had left on her desk seemed to be mocking her.
Gripping her wand, she kicked off her heels, not bothering to check where they landed. Hermione cast a quick warming charm on her abandoned coffee mug. She pulled her chair underneath her and stared accusingly at her quill.
Time to write a letter. To Draco fucking Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy,
On behalf of the partnership between the Ministry of Magic and St, Mungos Wizarding Hospital, you are formally invited to St. Mungo's Annual Charity Gala. Attached below are the event details.
The Ministry appreciates your generous partnership over the years, we hope to continue to work together on this important cause. Your contributions further vital research and advancements to the medical field.
We hope to speak with you soon to work out the details of our potential partnership. Please do not hesitate to contact Kingsley Shacklebolt if you have any questions.
Sincerely,
Hermione Granger