The Art of Betrayal by katehathaway

Bad Blood

- NOT MY STORY!! ALL CREDITS TO @katehathaway ON A03!!

24 December 1924

BELOVED BACHELOR MISSING: A REFLECTION OF HIS LIFE AND LEGACY

By Rita Skeeter

It is with heavy hearts that Britain comes to terms with the horrific truth of Mr. Draco Malfoy's disappearance. He was pronounced missing yesterday after notably failing to show at this year's Christmas Charity Gala at Buckingham Palace. Mr. Malfoy was expected to give a speech as elected Man of the Year. His mother, Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy, was present at the gala but as of this morning, when the official notice of Mr. Malfoy as a missing person was released, withheld from making any comments on his elusive disappearance.

In honor of Mr. Malfoy's incredibly charitable life and election as Man of the Year, the Daily Prophet has allowed me the distinguished opportunity of writing a reflection on the life of such a young, generous, and kind man and the legacy he left behind. For someone who has been in the spotlight for nearly six years, there is much to cover and I hope to do it all justice as we wait anxiously for any news on Mr. Malfoy's whereabouts and wellbeing.

It's interesting, to say the least, how Rita Skeeter and arguably almost everyone in the United Kingdom believed Draco to be some darling saint sent to cure all illnesses and stop world hunger or something of the like. I knew better. I knew exactly the kind of monster he truly was behind closed doors.

Yet, against every logical cell in my brain, I loved him anyway. Love. Present tense.

You know, reading this pile of rubbish, it occurred to me that perhaps I should reflect on my own life and legacy a bit seeing as it's about to end.

I never really put much thought into how I would die, which is remarkable considering how many times I've faced death. I guess dying for the sake of a loved one is a pretty good way to go. Courageous even. Brave. I can say with absolute certainty that I consider Draco Malfoy to be a loved one of mine, though I wasn't always so sure. In fact, from the very first time we met, perhaps even earlier, I swore to myself I would never fall for a man of his likeness. He was nothing but trouble. I suppose in retrospect it's no surprise that my falling in love with him is the entire reason I'm even in this mess. That I'm about to die. Or worse, get fired.

I know, I know.

I have got to sort out my priorities.

1 January 1920

Hermione Granger was the sort of person who was always prepared. At any given time, one would find approximately three pens, two bobbles, loads of tissues, and a novel on her person. She spent hours and hours reading material on subjects most people found boring or extraneous and studying anything that had even an ounce of relevance to what she was currently working on. Hermione Granger was, plainly put, a hard worker.

It was why her boss had not been at all shocked that she had been available to come into the office on short notice and on a holiday, no less. "It's urgent," he had told her. No other explanation had been given, and no more was needed either. "I'll be right there," she had responded, quickly ditching her casual attire for an office-appropriate dress.

She shook off the snow flurries and handed her coat to the doorman, then hurried up the stairs. Her work was on an ambiguous floor of an ambiguous office building north of the Thames, just like all of the others on this side of London. However, unlike the others in London – including those who shared the same plain building – her work was anything but ordinary, well technically speaking.

Hermione had always admired the police; the brave men – and newly – women who protected the citizens of London and provided them with much-needed safety from the crime ridden city. She'd dreamt of one day joining their ranks and contributing to the greater good, and just a year ago she'd been given that opportunity (the war taking most of their men from them had a lot to do with that, but nonetheless, she was grateful).