The Best Mistake

Chapter Eighteen | A Letter from Lucius

Three days following the absolute shiteshow catastrophe in Diagon Alley, or what The Daily Prophet had so respectfully dubbed "Lunacy at the Leaky," Hermione felt that her best was just no longer good enough.

She blamed herself.

If she hadn't been so wrapped up in her personal life, if she'd just spent more time and energy on the case, Hermione was sure she would've been able to decipher the runes from the ritual space in the Scabior cellar. While she had been able to guess they involved geomancy, she'd never imagined something like this. They should've been prepared. They should've known.

Hermione looked down at the quill in her hands, feeling another tinge of guilt that forced her to swallow. The way they'd been completely blindsided by the Azkaban breakout—it was an utter failure on her part.

For that reason, Hermione had made the conscious decision to put thoughts of the pregnancy, Malfoy, and all of the complications that came with them both out of mind while working. Her job was so important, and she'd been awful, just awful at it lately. She needed to focus on righting her wrongs. Her personal and professional lives would be separate going forward.

That was easier said than done, of course, considering the fact that her partner was the man who got her pregnant, his father was one of their suspects, her boss was her best friend, and she was still nauseous for the better part of most mornings. That wasn't even mentioning the fact that Malfoy kept watching her like she was made of glass, liable to break at any moment.

He was doing it now, across the table from her in the meeting room. Hermione pointedly ignored him, trying her best to listen to Harry drone on as he updated the team on what they'd found at the surge spot outside of Aberdeen for the fourth time in the last three days—nothing but a crater, evidence of the same ritual from the Scabior cellar, and dark magic residue.

Malfoy's stare was so intense she could often feel it, like now, but she refused to look at him. Whatever he wanted could wait. She took her usual detailed notes for her files, despite the fact that they would be identical to the ones she took the day prior.

Hermione wasn't avoiding Malfoy. In fact, she knew she needed to speak with him imminently about their personal lives, but she refused to be distracted from her work.

Besides that, she'd just been too busy with the case to owl him, and he'd had so many interviews with The Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly following his heroics in confronting Greyback alone, he was only really around the DMLE for their ridiculously long, unproductive meetings. The press just couldn't get enough of him at the moment.

It had been to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's great chagrin that the entire affair in Diagon Alley—from Gringotts, to the polyjuice, to the fiendfyre—had been leaked to The Prophet.

"Leaked" was probably the wrong word for Pansy Weasley nee Parkinson giving Parvati Patil an exclusive interview that same night, but that hardly mattered—what did was that Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter were now being worshiped like gods by the wizarding public. Something Harry was quite used to, of course, but it was fresh for Malfoy. Kingsley was even planning on awarding them both with Orders of Merlin, First Class, for their bravery and service to the Ministry.

Malfoy was everywhere Hermione looked, and it made her irrationally angry. Women chatted about him in the lifts and in the Atrium on their breaks, his photograph graced every addition of The Prophet for the last three days, and if Hermione had to see one more Witch Weekly article speculating about what color pants he wore under his Auror robes, she'd be looking into untraceable fire curses to burn their headquarters to the ground.

She wouldn't actually, or course—well, she probably wouldn't.

Hermione took a deep breath and again attempted to focus her attention on Harry. It had been a long while since her vindictive side had shown its ugly head, and really, she had nothing to be vindictive about anyway.