The Inspectorate for Elfish Labour Conditions [Dramione]

3 | Regarding Proportionate Working Hours

Music: Lily's Theme, Alexandre Desplat (Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows Pt. II)

                       "The house-elves' bedrooms are located in the attic. I expect the inspectors to remember that this is a private home as we cross the house to reach them."

Before the broad staircase in the entrance hall, Malfoy turned around and looked at Hermione with a sombre expression on his face. Ignoring the inspectors hastily assuring him of their discretion, he held Hermione's gaze.

She froze under his intense look. And she suddenly realised that Malfoy understood. Like Harry, he understood why she'd come to Malfoy Manor and he silently pleaded with her to reconsider. She felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The sound of light footsteps broke the heavy silence and to Hermione's relief Malfoy averted his eyes. A stately blonde woman appeared at the top of the stairs, looking down on the inspectors with some resistance in her cool blue eyes. If Narcissa Malfoy recognised Hermione, her reserved features betrayed nothing.

"It's only the inspectors from the Ministry, Mother. I'm seeing them to the house-elves' dorms now," Malfoy drawled, subtly dismissing Mrs Malfoy.

"Very well. I leave you to it then," Narcissa responded tonelessly.

Malfoy went up the stairs with fast, practiced steps. The inspectors followed with difficulty. They didn't notice when Narcissa took her ringed hand from the banister and disappeared.

                    With all students gone during the days between Christmas and New Years Eve, a wonderful peace and quiet descended upon the grounds of Hogwarts. On her first day back, Hermione did some studying and wandered about the high bookcases in the library, looking for new accessions. It felt nice having Hogwarts almost completely to herself, and the quiet corridors provided her with new room to think. Sitting by the cackling fire in the Gryffindor Common Room with a book had become a bliss, too, as she was suddenly able to nestle on one of the shapeless sofas, Crookshanks curled up next to her, without anyone disturbing her.

As an eighth year student, Hermione wasn't bound to the bedtime curfew for younger students, and so she went on a nighttime stroll through the castle the following evening. Having no particular route in mind, she wandered through the dimly lit corridors at the sound of her own footsteps , merely following where her feet were taking her, while the flickering flames of the torches quietly echoed her travels in the shadows on the walls. Hermione rounded a corner, giving way to a broad staircase which would ultimately lead her to the Ravenclaw Tower, when a silhouette unexpectedly appeared from the shadows.

She let out a startled gasp. "Malfoy!"

Across from her, the person she'd run into came to sudden halt and, mumbling something under his breath, the Slytherin bent down to pick up the towel he'd dropped on the floor.

Hermione let out a long breath to calm herself while Malfoy straightened up again, towel in hand. He looked different, somehow. His hair was moist and messy, and he was wearing only a pair of trousers and a white oxford with the collar buttons left undone, accenting his lean figure. No tie, no jumper, no robes. A small drop of water fell from a strand of his blond hair, from where it ran down his pale neck until it disappeared below his neckline. Something fluttered in her stomach at the sight, but before Hermione could acknowledge what it was, it occurred to her that the Prefects' Bathroom wasn't far from where they'd run into each other.

Malfoy stole a quick glance at Hermione and his face darkened when he saw her staring at him.

"Are you on patrol, Granger?" he asked sharply. He clearly felt caught by the Gryffindor.