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Chapter Text

It was a Wednesday afternoon in early-October, yet Flourish and Blotts had never been more crowded. There was hardly an empty spot in the store as witches and wizards of all ages stood shoulder to shoulder in the cramped aisles, doing their best to avoid bumping into each other as much as they could help it. A few chairs were organised in haphazard rows, all of which had been filled hours prior.

The sound of the bell at the front of the store tinkled as more people crammed their way inside. The crowd grumbled at the late arrivers who tried to shove their way forward, all of them impatient for the highly anticipated author. Lucky for them, he wouldn’t keep them waiting too much longer.

Draco peered out at the hoards of people and grinned to himself. The war may have left a lot of things in ruins, but the Malfoy name was not one of them. The Malfoys had always had a knack for, for lack of a better word, weaselling, their way out of trouble. After all, his father had managed to evade Azkaban after the first war, why should the second war be any different? All they had to do was lay low for a few years, and when they eventually emerged from behind the gates of Malfoy Manor, the vast majority of the wizarding world had been all too willing to let the past stay in the past and accept them back into their good graces.

Of course, his memoir had certainly helped in that process. The war had ended years ago, yet people still scurried to read about the sordid details — and life inside the Malfoy Manor during that time piqued nearly everyone’s interests. There were moments where he and his family didn’t come off in the best light, but that had been a necessary element in the storytelling. He wasn’t daft enough to portray his family as entirely infallible; no one would accept his trustworthiness as an author otherwise. It also didn’t hurt that people were quite forgiving when your mother was the one who lied to the Dark Lord to save their precious Potter.

Draco walked out from behind a bookcase, and the crowd broke into low applause as he made his way to the table. In the sea of faces, he saw a mixture of emotions. A collection of witches and wizards in the front row smiled as they clapped their hands in appropriate decorum, while in the far corners of the room, there were patches of witches and wizards with stern faces and arms folded against their chests.

This came as no surprise. They may have all come to hear him speak, but he was fully aware that many still considered him an enemy not worthy of any sort of ovation. He supposed there was some truth behind that, but it didn’t bother him. It didn’t matter if the person attended because they sincerely enjoyed his book or just wanted to get a glimpse of the infamous Malfoy. Regardless of their motivation, they were there to see him, and that alone proved that his status in the wizarding world wasn’t one of the victims of the war.

With one firm ahem, the crowd grew silent. Draco briefly wondered what else he could make them do with such captivation, but thought better of it, opting to proceed with discussing his book as they all listened with careful ears and the utmost attention. He recounted some events of the war, from the branding of his Dark Mark to the final battle itself, and the witches and wizards interjected with the appropriate gasps when fitting. They lingered on his every word, desperate to hear the story they anticipated most, but if they wanted to know more about what happened on the Astronomy Tower, they’d have to read it for themselves. After all, he was still trying to sell copies of the book.

Once he had concluded, a Flourish and Blotts employee did her best to arrange the jostling crowd into some semblance of a queue for him to sign their books. Her job was a bit easier once the people who came out of mere curiosity had left, but the queue awaiting his autograph still snaked through the aisles and out the door onto the cobbled alleyway.

Draco reached into his pocket and looked down at his watch. It was already half past one. Judging by the size of the remaining crowd, he’d still have several hours to go until he could leave. His hand preemptively ached just thinking about how many signatures he would have to produce during that time. Refusing to do all that work, he charmed the stack of books at the edge of the table to automatically open to the title page, followed by an enchanted quill to sign his signature. Draco would be the final portion of the assembly line, adding the finishing touch of the person’s name.

He moved through the queue quickly, barely permitting himself time to acknowledge the patrons as they proceeded down the length of the table. He asked each person for their name before scribbling it above his signature, then handing the book back to the person and immediately moving onto the next witch or wizard so that they didn’t get the impression that chit-chat was permitted.

This process continued for what felt like a never-ending stream of customers. His quill hand was growing quite tired, and rather soon, he’d have to bewitch another to do the names as well. He paused to shake out his hand, and then picked the quill back up to continue. 

“Next,” he called, looking down at what was probably the four-hundredth copy of his book that day. “And who should I make it out to?”

“I prefer that you write Hermione.”

His quill froze. Perhaps there were two sets of parents who had named their child as such, but he highly doubted it. He pried his eyes off the book and examined the woman before him. She was wearing a scarf to cover her hair, a feeble attempt to be somewhat discreet, but it was the unmistakable face of Hermione Granger.

It had been years since he’d seen her in person. The last time he had had a solid look at her, they were in the Great Hall in those early morning hours as the dust was still settling. Since then, he’d seen pictures of her every so often in the Daily Prophet that his father read at breakfast, but Draco had been careful not to let Lucius notice the way his eyes had lingered on her image more than his father would have deemed appropriate.

During his time of isolation in the Manor, he had taken quite an inconvenient interest in her. Consider it a side-effect to having spent so much time reflecting on the war in order to write the book. Time brought perspective, and with it, he had reluctantly accepted that he had been mistaken about his initial judgement about her. The whole wizarding world now fawned at her feet, and while he would never submit himself to such a practice, he was admittedly curious to get to know the real Hermione Granger — the one he had refused to properly acknowledge while they were at Hogwarts.

Someone further down the queue coughed, and he was suddenly aware of the other witches and wizards still waiting.

“And how do I spell that?” he asked, taking hold of his quill just a bit tighter.

“You? Well, you’ve been spelling it G-r-a-n-g-e-r your whole life, but it’s actually H-e-r-m-i-o-n-e.”

He couldn’t resist the quirk of his lips at her retort. The quill met the pages of the book and scratched both her first and last name. When Draco finished, he handed her the signed book, still open to the title page for her to see.

She looked it over and even managed a slight laugh. “A fair compromise.” She placed the book in her bag and gave him a curt nod. “I look forward to reading about the war from your perspective.”

Draco kept his eyes on her until she was out the door, continuing to follow her through the window as she proceeded up the alley. The next witch in the queue had to clear her throat for him to remember the reason he couldn’t chase after her to have a proper conversation. The signing may only be halfway done, but he knew what his mind was going to be focused on for the rest of the afternoon.

~*~*~

A quarter after five, Draco finally finished the last signature. He wasn’t certain he’d be able to hold up a fork, let alone a full pint of beer, but he was in desperate need of a small bite and a drink before he made it back to the Manor for dinner. From the other end of Diagon Alley, the Leaky Cauldron called his name. He thanked the owner of Flourish and Blotts, who assured him that he was the one who should be thanking him for such a successful event, and made his way to the old pub.

He sat down at the bar and was beginning to peruse the menu when he noticed the witch seated across the way from him, scarf no longer serving as a disguise. Her wild hair had never been particularly difficult to spot, and it was especially easy on a Wednesday before the post-work rush. She was seated alone, a plate of chips and ketchup before her. The thing that caught Draco’s attention the most, however, was the fact that she was actually reading his book and appeared to already be halfway through it.

Without a second thought, he strolled across the pub in her direction. He leaned against the bar and snagged one of the few remaining chips, taking an overdramatic bite.

She looked up, using the dust-cover flap as a placeholder as she shut the book, and gave him a sharp glare, evidently displeased at his interruption. “Who said you could have one of those?”

Draco shrugged and stole another. “No one, but I’ll buy you another plate if that’s what you’re so concerned about, Granger.”

“Hermione,” she corrected. “We’re adults now.”

“Fine. I’ll buy you another plate, Hermione.”

A quick wave of his hand and a couple of seconds later, the barkeep stood before Draco, ready for his order. As he told the barkeep what he wanted, Draco watched her from the corner of his eye as she returned the book to her bag. Apparently, she was smart enough to realise that she wasn’t going to get any more reading done now that he was there.

It didn’t take long for the barkeep to return with a freshly poured pint for him and a hot serving of chips for them both. He positioned the chips between them and she picked one up, blowing on it to cool down.

“This wasn’t necessary,” she said, smothering the chip in an overly generous amount of ketchup.

“Seeing as you bought my book, and I get a portion of those profits, consider this the spending of that money.” He reached over and grabbed a chip for himself. “And now you can’t complain about how many I take.”

He swallowed it down with some of the beer, all the while, keeping his gaze on Hermione. He hadn’t gotten enough of a proper look at her earlier in the day, too consumed with the surprise that she was there in the first place, but now she was right beside him, and nothing was barring him. Most of her hadn’t seemed to change in the past few years; her hair was the same unruly mess and her brown eyes were just as rich, but there was a general softness that he was unaccustomed to.

Perhaps that was just what she looked like without the constant stressor of war. It suited her.

But enough with the small talk and the irrelevant observations. Draco took another swig of his drink and got right to it. “So what were you doing there today?” he asked. It was an innocent enough start, suffice to get her talking.

She leaned back on the barstool and took the bait. “I read Rita Skeeter’s review in last week’s Prophet, and even though I take very little stock in what she has to say, I thought your book sounded interesting. I intended to purchase a copy eventually, but when I noticed the sign in the window this afternoon, I figured I might as well hear your perspective firsthand.” She shrugged and picked up another chip, swirling it around in the vat of ketchup. “I suppose work is probably wondering where I am right now, but I finished my tasks for the day, and I didn’t have any meetings, so they won’t mind.”

“And what exactly is it that you do nowadays?” he asked. The last he had read in the Prophet, she had just left her post at the Ministry.

“I recently started with a small education firm, creating a pilot program for wizarding families that integrates more streamlined education standards for young witches and wizards prior to them entering Hogwarts,” Hermione explained. “Our goal is to introduce a universal ten hour a week at-home program that focuses on fundamental reading, basic maths, and Muggle history.”

Draco snorted.

“What?” she snapped.

“I’m sorry, but that’s just about the most Hermione Granger thing I’ve ever heard.”

Hermione's cheeks flared red. “Do you have a problem with it?” She glared at him, seemingly ready to jump into a long lecture justifying her program, but she need not bother.

“No need to get so worked up,” Draco said with a laugh. Part of her was just as he had remembered from their school years, especially the staunch certitude that she was always in the right. It had annoyed him as a child, but he supposed there was an aspect of it that was mildly endearing.

“Believe it or not, I think it sounds like a worthwhile program,” he continued, much to her apparent surprise. ”Although, if I may put in my two Knuts, ten hours a week may be a bit much for some parents, especially those who work. And I am rather curious how you think your reading program would be different from what wizarding families already do on their own. Wizards are entering Hogwarts with the ability to read, so I don’t know what changes you hope to bring.”

A smile stretched up to her cheeks, and without pause, Hermione launched into what was essentially a full-blown business pitch in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron. She detailed every aspect of the program, from the curriculum to the resources, and even the funding. When she was still only about halfway through, she already had Draco considering whether or not he should offer to invest in the firm.

By the time she finished, the Leaky Cauldron was starting to fill with witches and wizards who had just gotten off the clock, coming in for their own after-hours pick me up. He pulled out his watch and saw that it was now past six. His mother would be expecting him home soon, and if his childhood had taught him anything, it was that he did not want to endure the wrath of Narcissa Malfoy when someone was late for dinner.

Draco drained the rest of his glass and took one final chip. “I have to get going,” he said, nodding his head in farewell. “It was nice seeing you again.”

And he meant it.

He had barely taken a step away from her when he felt a warm presence on top of his sleeve. Draco froze at the sensation, surprised to see her hand carefully rested on his arm.

“Surely you can stay for just one more beer. We haven’t even discussed your book yet.”

She looked up at him with those large brown eyes, and Draco felt a strange pang at the idea of actually leaving. Sticking around for another round couldn’t hurt. Besides, his family didn’t typically start dinner until closer to seven. He could spare a few extra minutes.

He’d stay. But only for one more beer. Or until Hermione ran out of questions. Whichever came first.

~*~*~

Draco waved his hand in the air, and the barkeep placed yet another round of beers in front of them, taking away what was probably his fifth and her third or so empty pint. 

“No, no, no,” Draco said. “You’ve got it all wrong. It was Crabbe who accidentally knocked the moondew into Nott’s cauldron!” He snickered at the memory. “The poor bloke was never able to tell the difference between moondew and moonseed!” 

Hermione appeared to be in stitches as they recalled the incident from third year Potions. Their conversation had long since moved past the topic of his book, the notion of dinner with his parents now nonexistent in Draco’s mind. All he could focus on was the memory of the thick potion exploding in Nott’s face, leaving a series of marble-sized boils above his right eyebrow that had taken weeks to disappear despite several visits to the hospital wing. Draco could still picture the furious look on Madam Pomfrey’s face when he had escorted Nott there.

“I don’t think I had ever seen Snape upset with a Slytherin before that day!” Hermione said through the laughter. “You… bumbling... idiot!” she said in her best attempt at a Snape imitation.

It wasn’t very good, but it still caused a fit of laughter from Draco. He reached for his beer, yet he couldn’t stop long enough to take a sip. He eventually gave up as a new memory popped into his mind.

“You should have seen Snape fourth year when we had to take those dance lessons for the Yule Ball,” he said, wiping away a tear that was starting to form. “Of all people, he picked Tracey Davis to model with, and I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my life. You remember her, right? She hated Snape, and we all knew it except for Snape apparently. Or maybe he did, and this was his way of torturing her. Either way, she kept her arms stick straight so she could be as far away from him as possible, and everyone just sat there in silence, watching the pained expression on her face as Snape twirled her.”

Hermione burst into another bout of laughter, her smile pushing her eyes into small crescents. In all the years that he had known Hermione, he couldn’t remember a time that he had ever made her laugh. Oftentimes, he had pushed her to the far opposite side of the spectrum. But watching the way she clamped onto her sides as the giggles poured out of her, he regretted not doing this more when they were younger.

Her face lit up, pausing to collect herself, and that bright smile returned. “Oh, goodness, you should have seen our lessons. McGonagall picked Ron!”

Draco barely paid attention as Hermione recounted the tale. He couldn’t care less about Weasley. He’d much rather hone in on his companion’s expressive nature and the excited sparkle in her eyes. Just as he had suspected, he rather enjoyed the real Hermione.

His blissful haze was broken with the bellow of the barkeep.

“Last call!”

Draco looked around the room, and to his surprise, there was barely anyone left in the dining area of the Leaky Cauldron. Was it really that late? He dug into his pocket and pulled out his watch once more, shocked to see that it was nearing midnight. Merlin’s beard, had he and Hermione seriously been sitting there for over six hours? Draco returned the watch and counted out seven Galleons from his pocket.

Hermione paused at whatever point she was at in her story and tilted her head. “What are you doing?” she asked, looking at the currency in his hand.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he said as he placed the coins on the bar. “Typically payment is encouraged at restaurants.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No need to get smart right now. I was referring to how much you put down!”

“Well, we did have quite a few beers.”

“And I intend to pay for mine.”

She turned to reach into her bag, but Draco stopped her. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “It’s on me.”

After a few more attempts to pay her own way, Hermione eventually surrendered and let Draco win. He wasn’t sure why he had insisted, especially considering how much of a fuss she made over it, but he had. It wasn’t as if that was a significant sum of money, just a few Galleons.

They gathered their belongings and exited the Leaky Cauldron, the last two patrons to leave the dining area for the night. The door had just shut behind them when Hermione turned to Draco.

“I had a surprisingly good time tonight,” she said, beaming up at him. “I’m glad I decided to go to your talk.”

Draco couldn’t agree more. It had been a pleasant evening. One of the best he had had since the end of the war.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Draco.”

She gave him a final smile before she Disapparated, leaving Draco alone on the cobbled street.

He decided to take a short stroll down the deserted alley before making it home himself. His mother was probably waiting up to scold him for not owling her that he wasn’t going to be at dinner, but he’d much rather put that off a while longer and enjoy the fresh fall breeze. It also had the added benefit of giving him time to develop a semi-believable excuse as to why he hadn’t come home in time. His mother wouldn’t be as adverse, but he knew for a fact that his father wouldn’t react kindly to the news that he had spent all evening with a Muggle-born, let alone Hermione Granger.

But what his parents didn’t know, didn’t get him disowned.

Chapter Text

Hermione landed home in her flat, and after quickly patting Crookshanks hello, she headed directly to her bed, only to immediately pull out Draco’s book. She knew that Muggle doctors didn’t recommend reading in bed before falling asleep, but some rules were meant to be broken, and this happened to be one of them. It was late at night and far past the appropriate time for her to have settled in her bed’s warmth, but she was far too interested to call it a night just yet.

She reopened the book to the spot she had been compelled to stop at after Draco’s interruption earlier that evening. She had had half a mind to tell him to buzz off and let her read in peace, but part of her was so shocked that he was voluntarily striking up a conversation with her that she was curious to see where it would lead. Surprisingly enough, it had turned out to be a solid, and quite enjoyable, discussion.

She adjusted the pillow behind her back and forced her eyes to fight off slumber a little while longer. Just one more chapter, then she would resign herself to sleep. She had just gotten to the part where he was explaining what it had been like to return to Hogwarts under Snape’s temporary tenure as headmaster. She had heard the horror stories from Ginny, Neville, and Luna, so she already knew some of the abhorrent details, but she had always gotten the impression that there were some aspects of it that they had purposefully downplayed.

Draco wasn’t so kind.

Her friends’ stories hadn’t prepared her for the gruesome truth of what it had been like to be one of those students who had been expected to participate so willingly in the Carrows’ demented games. He recounted the tales of detentions, watching Crabbe and Goyle perfect their Cruciatus Curses on those students who had dared to defy the Death Eater siblings. He spared no details when describing their screams for home, Hogwarts no longer the magical haven they had dreamed of attending their entire childhoods. And while their cries echoed throughout the classroom, Draco stood there in a corner, faking a smile as was expected.

The scene made Hermione’s stomach churn as she was forced to confront the horrors that had occurred to her former classmates while she, Ron, and Harry had been disconnected from the rest of the wizarding world. While they had been off hunting Horcruxes, students young and old had suffered in the place she used to regard as her home.

Of course, she knew certain students had thrived under this warped regime. As much as she hated the thought of it, several students had agreed with that administration or were too cowardly to say otherwise. Back then, she had always assumed Draco had fallen into the first category, entering that school year feeling as if he had just been named king of the castle. Now she was learning that while he presented himself that way to his half-blood and pureblood classmates, internal turmoil poisoned his actions. 

His account had Hermione completely engrossed, but there was one moment in particular that had her convinced that the Draco Malfoy she knew as a child was not the one who emerged from the ashes of the war. He wrote of one particular Dark Arts class during which Amycus Carrow had taught the proper execution of the Killing Curse. Draco faked a sudden bout of sickness and excused himself from the rest of class, unable to fathom having to perform the spell. He said that his mind had been overcome with torturous memories, forced to recall the dozens of rats he had practised the spell on in preparation for his intended mission during sixth year, the suddenly blanched look on Dumbledore’s face when Snape had performed the deed instead, and the panicked cries from Professor Burbage as he witnessed a second life taken by the green sparks.

No, Draco Malfoy was no longer the same cruel and heartless person she had always assumed him to be, and he was infinitely better for it.

She wished she could keep reading, desperate to finish the book, but the task couldn’t be done at that twilight hour. It was nearly one in the morning, and it had been enough of a struggle to read that one chapter when accounting for her exhaustion and lack of entirely sound mind after a few drinks.

She positioned a bookmark near the edge of the spine and set the book on her nightstand. With a single swish of her wand, she vanished the lights in her bedroom and settled her head on the pillow, letting her heavy eyelids finally win the battle they’d been fighting the past half hour.

As she let the darkness cover her eyes, she reflected on the day and all its pleasant surprises. At first, she had been cautiously sceptical if the words and thoughts reflected in his pages were true, but after spending essentially all evening with him, she had no doubt that he meant what he wrote. A few years ago, they wouldn’t have made it six minutes without him hurling an insult her way, but tonight he had managed to make it nearly six hours being completely and entirely civil. Their discussion about his book had been insightful, Draco leaving none of her questions unanswered, and they had somehow transitioned into a casual conversation that was quite enjoyable. He had been respectful, kind, and even funny, but what was most surprising was that she actually hoped to see him again soon.

Perhaps she’d run into him some time at the Leaky Cauldron or maybe somewhere else in Diagon Alley. Until then, she’d have to settle for finishing his book.

~*~*~

Draco shielded his eyes from the morning sun that shone too bright for comfort through the large window that overlooked the gardens from their dining room. At the head of the table, his father perused the pages of the Daily Prophet, grumbling about something that he evidently disagreed with, while his mother, positioned at the other end, stirred her tea. She withheld her typical morning greeting, apparently still miffed by Draco's absence the night before.

The expectation was that he joined them for breakfast by nine, and he had only barely managed to make it in time. The morning had been an unexpected struggle due to his exhaustion from lack of sleep. That, and his head felt like a herd of Erumpents were pounding their feet into his brain. Five, maybe six beers, may seem like a significant amount, but over so many hours, it shouldn’t have left him scrambling for a hangover potion. Although, his substitution of chips instead of a proper meal may have played a significant role.

Draco’s stomach grumbled to be fed, and he waved his wand over his breakfast to ensure it was at a desirable temperature before sinking in. The knife cut easily through his croque-madame, the yolk of the fried egg still a bit runny, just the way he preferred. He had barely taken a bite when his father scoffed at the newspaper.

“That Granger girl was spotted reading your book,” he sneered.

The breakfast sandwich caught in Draco’s throat, forcing him to cough several times before he was able to swallow properly. He could sense his mother’s questioning gaze, but he opted to ignore it, choosing to pour himself a glass of orange juice to wash down what remained lodged in his throat.

“She, uh, what?” Draco tried to say cooly.

Lucius kept his attention on the paper. “There’s a photograph of her reading your book at the Leaky Cauldron yesterday.”

It was a good thing Draco wasn’t mid-chew or he may have actually choked this time. “What… what else does it say?” His mind raced with the possible additional details that could be documented inside those pages — ones that would result in a much more unfavourable reaction from his father.

“Nothing else of importance,” Lucius responded, and the tension escape Draco’s shoulders. His father set down the newspaper and sipped his coffee. “I suppose even Mudbloods have decent taste from time to time.”

“Lucius!” Narcissa snapped, breaking her silence.

“Just because the war is over does not mean I have to agree with its outcome,” he breezed, undeterred by his wife’s objection.

Narcissa simmered at the response, but she dropped the issue, steering the conversation elsewhere. “Disregarding your father’s indecent language, we should be glad that she was seen reading your book. It only proves how well it’s doing if even she’s reading it.”

“Yes, well, she’d read anything,” Draco said, trying to pass the incident off as nothing of importance.

“It’s still good publicity for you, dear,” Narcissa cooed, apparently willing to let last night’s transgression go as long as it meant avoiding a more unsavoury subject. “Rita’s glowing review did wonders as well. It got everyone talking — especially the pureblood families.”

She took a casual sip of her tea, but the cup couldn’t block his mother’s smirk.

He knew that look. And he most certainly knew what often followed it. Suddenly, he wished his mother’s silent treatment would return and the conversation would revert to Hermione.

“Mother,” he warned, but it was too late. His father had already set down the newspaper, and this blasted topic was being brought up again.

“Many families didn’t consider you a viable option for their daughters after the war,” Lucius said.

“You’ve told me that a hundred times, Father,” Draco sneered through gritted teeth.

“It appears that now that you’re the talk of the literary wizarding world, your options have opened up again,” his mother chimed in.

“Just yesterday, I received a letter from Miss Parkinson’s father.”

Draco groaned at the mention of his ex. If given a choice, he’d much prefer a mountain troll.

Narcissa refilled her tea and added two spoonfuls of sugar. “If you had the decency of coming to dinner last night, we would have told you then, but apparently you had something more important.” She carefully lifted her teacup, not-so-subtly taking another dig at Draco.

He ripped off another bite from the croque-madame to prevent himself from saying something he would later regret having voiced aloud. While their family had regained favourability in the wizarding world as a whole, many pureblood families still resented them. It was no secret that his mother had lied to the Dark Lord about Potter’s supposed death, and his father had provided evidence against several Death Eaters during his trial, leading to multiple arrests. While those choices had helped them evade Azkaban, it had deteriorated any connections they had with the remaining pureblood families.

But now that a few years had passed and Draco’s memoir had proven vastly popular, it appeared as if those animosities were starting to fade. Apparently, all transgressions could be forgiven after enough time and potential access to the Malfoy family fortune. His parents wanted to take full advantage of this newfound change of heart, deeming it the opportune time for Draco to find a proper wife and reclaim their standing in pureblood high society once and for all. And if Pansy’s father had sent a letter, that meant that the courting process had already started without Draco's approval.

His father resumed reading the newspaper and flipped to the next page. “If you want a better selection pool beyond just Miss Parkinson, I suggest you find a more… suitable job.”

Draco’s silverware met his plate with a clink. “What is that supposed to mean?” he spat. His inevitable engagement was infuriating enough, but to insult his profession took things too far!

Lucius’s eyes failed to leave the printed pages as he addressed his son. “This author hobby of yours was a cute little pet project while we didn’t leave the Manor, but now that we have re-entered society, it is time for you to do something of actual value.”

His fingers clawed into his thigh, channelling all his frustration into that one point of contact. Draco waited to hear if his mother would object, but she sat there sipping her tea, seeming to agree with his father.

“In that case, I suppose I better get started with the job hunt, shall I?” he seethed, standing up from the table with no intention of actually doing what he said. He marched past his mother and stormed down the hall, leaving behind his breakfast with only a few bites missing.

~*~*~

“Morning!” Hermione greeted her assistant, Gretchen, that Thursday morning. She bypassed the door to her office and headed directly to the lounge where a selection of tea and an always hot pot of coffee laid ready for consumption. Typically, Hermione opted for a light herbal tea to start her day, but today called for something stronger. She had barely gotten more than five hours of sleep, and while she didn’t regret her decisions, they were making her morning more difficult than usual. 

Hermione returned to her office, gently blowing over the steaming cup of coffee. Gretchen immediately stood up from behind her desk when she saw her drink.

“Is that coffee?” she asked. “I could have gotten that for you!”

“That isn’t necessary,” Hermione kindly assured her. Even after months on the job, Hermione still preferred to do certain things on her own. Not that Gretchen was an incompetent assistant — by no means was that true! — but fetching Hermione’s morning drink didn’t need to be a part of her job description.

“Is everything alright?” Gretchen continued, following Hermione into her office with a roll of parchment in hand. “When you didn’t come back after lunch yesterday, I feared you might be sick!”

“I’m perfectly fine,” she answered, lowering herself into her desk chair. “Something came up is all.”

Hermione took a sip of her coffee, grateful for the much-needed caffeine. Waking up this morning had been more of a struggle than she had anticipated, and she didn’t know whether to blame the alcohol or the late-night reading, but it hardly mattered which was the main culprit. She had responsibilities that required returning to after she had neglected them the afternoon before.

“So what’s on the docket for today?”

Gretchen looked down at the parchment. “Anders is still compiling those literacy reports in children ages seven to nine, the Muggle Studies department is meeting at one to discuss the presentation order of important Muggle historical figures, and your meeting with Weggers has been moved to Tuesday.”

“Tuesday!?” Hermione asked, taking the parchment out of Gretchen’s hand to read herself. “That woman has been ignoring my owls for weeks, and now she has the audacity to delay our meeting? She knows we’re under deadline to get the Ministry to sign off on these preliminary curriculum outlines!”

“Yes, ma’am, but she sends her sincerest apologies and vows that the meeting will be her top priority that day.”

Hermione scoffed. That was likely. “If that meeting’s no longer this afternoon, then what exactly does need to be done today?”

Gretchen shuffled another parchment. “We can’t proceed with the finalised reading curriculum until we get those numbers back from Anders, so I suppose you could check in on that, but perhaps you could get started on the list of Muggle books you recommend for young witches and wizards?”

Hermione scrunched her eyebrows, wanting to make sure she understood correctly. “You mean, there isn’t anything that needs to get done before the Muggle Studies meeting at one?”

“I suppose nothing pressing,” Gretchen started to stutter, “But if you want me to find something—”

“No, that’s okay,” Hermione said, cutting her off with a reassuring smile. “I know what I’m going to do.”

She handed the parchment back to Gretchen who nodded.

“Yes, ma’am. If you need anything at all, I’ll be right outside.”

“Thank you, Gretchen. Just close the door on your way out.”

The moment the door clicked shut, Hermione began rummaging through her bag. She didn’t have anything to do this morning? That had to be a first! And while typically she wouldn’t hesitate to get started on that list of Muggle books, it didn’t need to get done that exact moment. Besides, she had been forming a preliminary list in her head since the day she had stepped foot in Hogwarts. There was an entire world of literature that they were closed off to. How had her classmates made it through their childhoods without following the adventures of Winnie the Pooh and the rest of the Hundred Acre Wood, or experiencing the wild ride of Mr Toad in Wind in the Willows, or picking up a single Roald Dahl book? All children should be exposed to the special kind of magic of reading a wonderful book, but she would save that for later. Right now, there was a different book on the forefront of her mind.

She pulled out Draco’s memoir and opened it to where she had left off. Personal reading on the job was hardly permitted, but she couldn’t resist what other stories he detailed in those last hundred pages. The next few chapters were bound to be about what happened those final months of that school year, including the decisive battle, but she was much more interested to read his perspective on what had happened that first time they had seen each other since the end of sixth year. She imagined not very many people knew much about what had transpired in Malfoy Manor that day, least of all the lie he told to save her, Ron, and Harry’s life.

After checking that the door was still closed, Hermione dove back into the book.

~*~*~

Draco dropped a handful of Galleons on the counter, and the cashier counted them out as the other shop worker secured the parcel around a great grey owl’s leg for delivery. Did Draco really need a such an ornate inkwell? Absolutely not. But he also didn’t need new dress robes or the latest racing broom either. 

His only regret was not being home when the owls delivered his purchases to the Manor and his parents were confronted with how he had opted to spend his morning after their disagreement. There would be no doubt that Draco wasn’t out on Diagon Alley looking for employment — that is unless they considered a shopkeeper a “serious” job. In which case, he had done loads of research on potential places of employment.

By the time he exited Scribbulus Writing Implements, the sun was already high in the sky, and the alley was bustling with witches and wizards out on their lunch hour. The shops were now much too crowded for his taste, and after so many hours of reckless spending, he had sufficiently cooled down. He still wasn’t pleased with the situation, but at least he was no longer tempted to do something rash like sweep his breakfast plate to the floor or set the dining table on fire. After all, he had known since childhood that he would one day be expected to marry a pureblood — he had never considered any other option. He merely hadn't expected it to be so soon.

It was nearing time for him to head home. He had already essentially skipped the past two meals, so he would need food rather soon anyway. Thankfully, lunch at the Manor was far less regimented than the other two meals, meaning he wouldn’t have to endure more comments from his parents for the time being. He was free to mosey in whenever he deemed fit and enjoy his meal in blissful solitude.

Before returning home, Draco decided to make one final stop at Flourish and Blotts to pick up his own copy of the Daily Prophet. If he was going to be alone for his meal, then he’d actually get to read the paper on his own terms without fear of his father’s judgement. He wouldn’t mind reading the entire segment about Hermione and his book, despite his father deeming its contents as “nothing of importance.” When he was finished with that, he could gloss over the classified section and circle the most preposterous positions and “accidentally” leave it out for his father’s displeasure.

That plan, however, was jostled out of his head when he pulled the shop’s door open and immediately collided with a distracted witch who had come barreling out. Draco tumbled onto the pavement, arse bound to be bruised from the harsh impact. He scrunched his eyes together in pain.

“Perhaps if you waited to read that book until you had exited the store, then you would have—”

He opened his eyes.

Curly hair. He should have known.

A smirk replaced his sneer. “Another book so soon?”

Draco pushed himself off the ground and held out his hand to help Hermione up. He half expected her to berate him for being so careless, but where he presumed to see a scowl, he couldn’t find one. Granted, she still didn’t look thrilled, but since when had Hermione Granger ever been thrilled to see him?

“Yes, well, I finished yours already, so I needed another,” she said, smoothing out the skirt of her robes.

“Why am I not surprised?” he chuckled, but then stopped. “Wait… How? We didn’t even get home till near midnight!”

She looked down for a second, and for a moment, Draco thought he saw a faint blush colour her cheeks. “I finished it during work today,” she confessed. “Not to feed the dragon that is your insatiable ego, but I couldn’t put it down.”

She couldn’t put it down? He had been quite pleased when Rita Skeeter had described his book as a page-turner, but it was significantly more satisfying hearing the same sentiment out of her lips. “I venture that’s the highest compliment I could get from you.”

Hermione reached into the bag that rested on her shoulder and pulled out her copy of his book. It looked impressively worn for only being in her possession for about twenty-four hours. “Yes, well, you managed to pique my interest with your talk, and then only more so after our conversation last night, so I really couldn’t concentrate on much else until I finished.”

That definitely earned his book the Hermione Granger Seal of Approval. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was rather proud that his memoir was able to captivate her attention. It made him curious as to what else she was reading, and more so, what book she deemed fit to read immediately following his. Draco reached out and examined the new book that she held in her hand, the one she had been so interested in that she didn’t even wait until she was out of the store to begin.

“The Toadstool Tales by Beatrix Bloxam?” Draco raised an eyebrow. That was probably the last title he expected to discover in her possession. “After reading my memoir, you’re reading an outdated collection of children’s stories?”

The sound of her soft laughter filled the surrounding air, and while that hadn’t been his intended response, he smiled, remembering just how good it had felt to make her laugh the night before.

“It’s for my work,” she explained, her eyes sparkling from her resulting smile. “We’re in the process of collecting titles of Muggle children’s books for young witches and wizards to read, but in the meantime, I’ve been trying to educate myself on what books are currently available for children. I’ve read The Tales of Beedle the Bard more times than anyone should ever have to in their life, but I’d much prefer that to this load of rubbish!”

Draco chuckled. He was all too familiar with The Toadstool Tales. His father hadn’t approved of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, taking particular offence to The Fountain of Fair Fortune and the presence of a Muggle love interest in the story, so he had been forced to endure Beatrix Bloxam’s “sanitised” versions. Even as a child, Draco had hated those bland attempts at “wholesome” stories. If he had had that reaction as a mere child, Draco could only imagine Hermione’s repulsion at its thinly veiled agenda.

“You know there are other children’s books out there other than bedtime stories that we outgrew by the time we were six,” Draco remarked, not wanting to waste even one more second remembering that awful book. “Once you’re done poisoning your brain cells with that flaming heap of rubbish, I can think of at least fifteen books that would be much more suitable for your needs.”

He held the copy of The Toadstool Tales out to her, and Hermione tucked it into her bag.

“I’d appreciate that,” she said. “I’ve gotten a few titles from my colleagues, but it would be valuable to get a pureblood’s opinion as well. We anticipate they’re going to be the hardest demographic to adopt our pre-Hogwarts education program.”

That was an understatement. Even after the war, purebloods were still notoriously reluctant to adopt anything remotely Muggle related. What they often excused as “tradition” was really just an overall aversion to anything new or foreign. Most of them sufficiently faked acceptance in public in order to save face in the post-war culture, but behind their opulent locked doors of old money, it was a different story. Resentment towards Muggle-borns still far outweighed any similar feelings towards the Malfoys, especially in the older generations.

While Draco had spent his time hidden in Malfoy Manor trying to better himself, he couldn’t say the same about his parents. His mother was mildly more accepting, especially considering the shift in her vernacular to avoid a certain word, but that was primarily for social reasons. To use the word in public would be a sure-fire way to destroy any social standing their family had managed to maintain after the war, and Narcissa wouldn’t dare risk that. She did her best to ensure that Lucius didn’t let his true beliefs slip around the wrong people, and so far, they had proven successful. But Draco seriously doubted that there was anything that would change his father’s mind on the subject.

And soon enough, they’d have a pureblood wife lined up for him.

Draco pushed those thoughts away. He had come to Diagon Alley to forget their conversation from breakfast, not to recount his parents' ideology and how they were continuing to force it upon him.

“I'm afraid I must get back to work,” Hermione interrupted his thoughts. “My lunch hour is almost over, and I have things to do this afternoon. But I expect an owl from you in the near future with a list of those books!”

She started her way back up the cobbled path, but Draco wasn’t ready for her to leave. His stomach growled so loud that he thought Hermione might be able to hear it, but it would have to wait a little while longer before being satiated. He broke into a short jog and caught up to her, completely disregarding his original plan to purchase a copy of the day’s Prophet. Besides, who needed to see the picture of Hermione in the Leaky Cauldron when he had the real thing just a few feet away?

“Didn’t I just get rid of you?” she teased when she noticed him come up next to her.

Draco released a short laugh as he slowed his pace to match hers. “You can’t get away from me that easily, Granger."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow. “I thought we agreed that it’s Hermione now?”

“Can’t expect a man to change overnight,” he played along. “Some things take time to sink in. But I’ll warn you in advance that in some cases, you’ll always be Granger.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, but he could still detect her mild amusement as she did. “When it comes to you, I suppose I’ll just have to take what I can get,” she decided. “But you only get one Granger for every ten Hermiones!”

“Deal,” he said, reaching his hand out to solidify their agreement which she readily accepted.

She shook her head at the ridiculousness of it all, pursing her lips together to conceal what seemed to be a smile trying to force its way to the surface. “If that’s all settled,” she said, “what else do you want, Malfoy?”

Draco couldn’t resist his own smile at the way she drew out his last name, as if she thought it would irritate him as much as his usage of her last name seemed to incite her. Back at Hogwarts, hardly any of his friends had used his given name, so he was rather accustomed to it. But he couldn’t dwell on the topic long, having to brainstorm a reason for chasing after her.

“You finished my book, but you have yet to tell me your thoughts on the rest of it,” he quickly justified. “Considering the onslaught of questions I got yesterday, there’s no way you made it through those last few chapters without at least a couple hundred more.”

“Don’t you worry,” she said, stopping in front of a set of stairs leading up to a brick building. “I have an endless stream of questions just waiting for you to answer, but a casual run-in at Flourish and Blotts isn’t nearly enough time to cover it.”

Draco looked up at the building that he assumed to be her office. It was a relatively large structure, but based on everything she had told him the night before about the education firm, they probably didn’t take up the whole building — maybe a floor at most. But it was a prime location in the middle of Diagon Alley, so they must be doing well enough to afford the real estate.

She took a step towards the building, and Draco knew that his time with her that afternoon was coming to a close. There was an odd sensation at the bottom of his stomach at that thought, but he must just be getting hungry again.

“We’ll have to save your interrogation for some other time then,” he concluded. “Next time you see me, I give you permission to question me until your brain can’t think of any more.”

Hermione snorted a quick laugh. “That sounds like my kind of challenge, so I accept.” She turned and motioned towards the door. “Well, this is my office, and I’ve got to go. It’s almost one and—”

“No need to explain. Get going, Granger!”

“Hermione!” she shouted back as she jogged up the stairs.

“Yes, yes,” he dismissed. “Consider this an IOU for ten uses of your given name!”

She flashed him a parting smile, her slight chuckle audible even from where Draco stood.

“Goodbye, Malfoy,” she said as she disappeared behind the door.

Draco lingered on the pavement while the last sight of her through the glass panel vanished up the stairs. He had now managed to spend two significant chunks of time with Hermione Granger, and both times had left him feeling happier and more at ease than any of his days spent at the Manor in recent memory. There was an easy enough explanation for that — he simply enjoyed the company of someone his age. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Goyle — their friendship, or whatever word one would use to describe their relationship, hadn’t been the same since Crabbe died. It had been ages since he'd reached out to Theo Nott or Blaise Zabini, and now that he and Pansy had gone their separate ways, he didn’t even have her to rely on in desperate times for companionship.

Draco groaned, once again remembering the letter that his father had received from Pansy’s father. Gods, he could only imagine what a marriage stuck with Pansy Parkinson would be like. He’d almost prefer Azkaban. Just the thought of her shrill voice waking him up each morning sent a shiver down his spine and a scowl across his lips. Thankfully, Narcissa had never cared for Pansy’s mother, or Pansy for that matter, so he was fairly certain he would be spared from that eternal hell. But Draco would be willing to wager his entire inheritance that her letter would be far from the last his family received.

Draco turned on his heels and stalked down Diagon Alley, any lingering bliss from his time with Hermione now tainted by the resentment that had resurfaced. He could complain about his parents’ plans for his future until he was blue in the face, but he knew that it wouldn’t do him much good. Knowing his father, he would have a marriage contract drafted and awaiting Draco’s signature within the next few months regardless of Draco’s feelings. At least his parents were going to let him provide input on who would be his future wife — as long as she met that one, non-negotiable requirement.

His stomach grumbled louder than before, and he couldn’t postpone lunch any longer. His foul mood back in full force, he Apparated home, ready to appease his ravenous stomach. But when Draco landed in the sitting room, his father was already there, awaiting his return.

Great. The last person Draco wanted to confront right now.

Lucius sat carefully poised in an ornate armchair with one of his ankles rested on top of the opposite knee, a teacup in his hand, and a displeased expression on his face. Before him laid a massive stack of parcels. Lucius blew on his still steaming cup of tea.

“Care to explain?” he snarled, gesturing to the evidence of Draco’s shopping spree.

Draco took one look at the pile and his grimace deepened. “Not really.”

Without any further statement, Draco proceeded into the dining room, ignoring the fuming look of his father as he left.

Chapter Text

Draco laid sprawled across one of the lounge chairs in the Manor’s library, staring blankly up at the elaborately painted ceiling. It couldn’t be much past eleven in the morning, but he was already bored out of his mind. Breakfast had been better than the day before, but that was an incredibly low bar to set. Each one of the Malfoys had sat there in silence, Draco eying his father carefully as he flipped through the paper, fearful that there might be some mention of his run-in with Hermione the day before. When Lucius reached the final page, Draco let out a discreet sigh. It seemed as if he had managed to dodge that curse. He ought to be more careful than to be traipsing across Diagon Alley with her like that. The last thing Draco needed was another reason for his father to be upset, and being caught associating with a Muggle-born — especially this particular witch — would incite his father like no other.

Fortunately, breakfast had passed without major incident, and Draco had the rest of the day to himself until his presence was required at dinner. Only problem was, he had no clue how to spend it. After so many countless weeks and months stuck within the confines of Malfoy Manor, he had run out of ways to pass the time. Even now that they had broken their self-imposed house arrest, he didn’t know what he would want to do outside of those walls either.

One would think that testing out the just-released racing broom he had purchased the day before would be an enticing way to pass the hours, letting the gentle breeze blow through his hair as he soaked in the final rays of sun before fall fully kicked in, but the thought of playing Quidditch all alone for the thousandth day in a row was horribly unappealing. There were only so many times a man could chase a Snitch before it lost any ounce of excitement it had once held. It was no fun when there was no competition.

About a year ago, Draco had gotten so desperate for a partner, he had considered trying to teach a house-elf how to fly a broom just to give him something to do, but he quickly reconsidered. He could only imagine the dismay on his father’s face if he had seen such a preposterous scene. So he forfeited the idea. It wasn’t as if any of the house-elves would have been able to give him any sort of challenge, but at least it would have been something.

The boredom was going to drive him mad if he didn’t come up with something to do other than lay around doing nothing. He had wandered into the library, hoping one of the books would pique his interest, but reading was just as unappetising as everything else inside the Manor. The mahogany bookshelves must have contained thousands of books, of which Draco must have read ninety per cent of, and those that he hadn’t read yet, he had no intention of ever entertaining.

It was when he had run out of books to read that he had ultimately decided to write one himself. He supposed he could do the same again, although inspiration wasn’t striking him. The first book was easy — just write about his life during the war. Everyone wanted to read that, and it had given him the much-needed opportunity to reflect on everything that had occurred. But what would he write about now? The trials and tribulations of a young man in his massive mansion with nothing to do? Oh sure, the wizarding world really wanted to read about that.

Maybe his father was right and he should get a “proper” job. At least it would give him something to do during the daylight hours. After all, everyone else his age was working during that time. It wasn’t his fault they weren’t as wealthy as him and needed a consistent income to survive. Hell, it didn’t even make a difference if the person had helped win a bloody war — even Hermione Granger had to work.

Draco looked up at the old clock mounted on the wall, the pendulum swinging as the seconds slowly ticked on. Three of the hands on the clock pointed to where in the massive Manor each one of the Malfoys was, but the other two still told the time. Why any clock was designed not to tell time was beyond Draco, but that sounded like someone else’s problem. The hour hand was nearly at the twelve, and Draco finally had an idea of what to do that day.

He pushed himself off the uncomfortable cushion and made his way to a distant corner of the library that he hadn’t frequented in years. The books on these shelves were dusty, not having been touched in a solid ten years, but glossing over the titles on their spines made Draco smile at the memory of reading them. He grabbed his three favourites, and after checking the clock to make sure that his parents were far away from the library so they wouldn’t hear the distinct cracking noise, he Disapparated.

Seconds later, Draco landed outside the brick building, the books safely cradled under his arm. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long.

“Three days in a row?” Hermione greeted him as she stepped out onto Diagon Alley. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”

He couldn’t believe he was thinking this, but it was bloody good to see her again. The past twenty-four hours, he had been stuck wallowing around the Manor as he avoided his father, but the instant he saw her, all that faded into the distant crevices of his mind.

She joined him on the pavement, and he stretched out his books for her to see. “I figured I could owl you my recommendation list like you said, but what good’s a list if you don’t have a physical copy to read?”

Hermione took the books in her hand and started to look them over. “Thank you,” she said, skimming the back of the first book. “I’ll have to read them this weekend.”

“No need to rush through them so quickly,” Draco said with a taunting smile. “Not all books can be as captivating as mine, so these might take you a bit longer.”

He chuckled as she peered up from the back cover to give him a sharp glare before wedging the books into her bag. While she did, another wizard came out of her building, nearly bumping into them as he joined the lunch hour crowd.

Suddenly, Draco stood pin-straight, much more aware of his surroundings. Here he was again, standing in the middle of Diagon Alley at peak traffic, talking publicly with Hermione Granger. They needed to get out of there before word got back to his father. Even if there weren’t any Prophet photographers, he still couldn’t risk someone telling someone who told someone who ultimately got him in a world of trouble.

“Why don’t you show me your office?” Draco suggested, taking the stairs two at a time towards the building’s front door, but Hermione remained firmly in place.

“This is my lunch hour!” she countered. “I’m more than willing to give you the tour some other time, but right now, I need something to eat.”

Draco rushed back down the stairs. “Great, then let’s go someplace.”

“There’s a place right over here, next to—”

“I know a better one.”

Before she could argue, Draco grabbed onto her hand, and he Apparated them to the farthest restaurant he could think of on the far opposite side of England.

The moment they landed safely on the pavement, Hermione yanked her hand away and glowered. “You can’t just Side-Along Apparate people without their permission!” Hermione scolded. “I could have splinched!”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

Hermione frowned. “No, but that’s not the point!”

She continued to rant about how unsafe unauthorised Side-Along Apparition was, but Draco tuned it out as he held the door open for her into the restaurant. He didn’t need a lecture to know that what he had done was dangerous, but he had needed to get out of Diagon Alley as quickly as possible. If he had included her in the decision-making process, they would have been stuck debating where to go for at least five minutes, giving hundreds of witches and wizards ample time to notice them together. Her temporary frustration was infinitely more preferable than the other potential outcome.

“This better be the best restaurant I’ve ever been to if we couldn’t just go to a place on Diagon Alley,” Hermione said as she took the seat Draco held out for her at one of the tables.

Draco rolled his eyes as he settled in the seat opposite. Honestly, he couldn’t remember much about the place, but it wasn’t in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, so it was perfect for his purposes.

“I’m sure you’ll like it just fine,” he said as he glanced over the menu. “There’s a sufficient range of sandwiches, so there’s bound to be something that meets your standards.”

They read over the menu in silence, but it only took Draco fifteen seconds to select his meal. He may be a man of good taste, but he was fairly consistent in what he found most delectable. Hermione, on the other hand, read the options so carefully, one would believe there was going to be an exam at the end on what ingredients came on each sandwich. How was it that the witch put that much effort into everything she did? It was just lunch!

Their waiter came and even after Draco gave his order, Hermione was still contemplating her decision.

“If it’s that difficult, just order whatever two sandwiches you’re stuck between,” Draco eventually said, growing rather tired of watching her finger waver between two items. “It’s an extra, what, twenty-two Sickles?”

Hermione peered up from her menu. “That’s easy for you to say! Some of us don’t have vaults filled with gold to aimlessly toss away.”

“Lucky for you, I do, so get whatever you want so we can get this ordered already. I’m getting quite hungry.”

Hermione gave him a quick glare. “You’re not paying for me again, Malfoy.”

Draco rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward, a grin stretching across his lips. “I thought we agreed that it’s Draco now?”

Her glare turned more menacing, not appreciating Draco’s repurposing of her earlier complaint, but Draco merely laughed. Gods, she could be so predictable. Back at Hogwarts, it never failed to entertain him whenever he got a rise out of her. Nowadays, he only did it in good fun, still enjoying the way her nose twitched and her eyebrows came together when she disapproved of something. It almost bordered on being cute.

“I’ll have the croque-monsieur,” she eventually settled, keeping her pointed gaze at Draco as she handed the menu to the waiter.

“You can’t be serious,” Draco said the moment the waiter left them alone.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “What now?”

“How can you prefer a croque-monsieur over croque-madame!?”

“Are you serious?” Hermione said in disbelief. “All that complaining about how long I was taking and now you’re criticising my choice?”

“The fried egg is the best part!”

Hermione rolled her eyes once more and shook her head. “Then it’s a good thing that’s what I ordered and not you! If you think croque-madames are so superior, I’ll be more than willing to call the waiter back over here so you can change your order.”

“Dear Merlin, don’t you dare do that,” Draco dismissed. “All I want right now is for our meals to come relatively soon.”

Hermione tilted her head, a teasing smirk starting to appear. “If that was your priority, I know a great place on Diagon Alley that has much faster service. In fact, it’s right next to my office. But someone decided—”

“Oh, just drop it already,” Draco said. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “We’re here, we’ve ordered, and soon we’ll have our lunch.” He paused as he took a brief sip from his water glass. “I believe I promised you a Q and A session, and judging the time, you have around forty-three minutes before you have to be back at work. Let’s see who wins, the clock or Hermione Granger’s insatiable curiosity?”

“I assure you that forty-three minutes will barely begin to cover my questions,” she said, dipping down under the table.

Draco lifted himself out of his seat to see what exactly she was doing, but it really shouldn’t have come as a surprise to him. A few seconds later, she pulled a two-foot long parchment out of her bag, its entire length filled with questions.

“You actually wrote them down?”

“I have a lot of questions!” 

Draco leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “I believe that’s considered cheating.”

“No, it’s considered careful preparation.”

Draco scoffed, but a small smile briefly appeared. “I guess I’ll allow it. Well, go ahead. What’s your first question?”

Hermione rested the parchment on the table and let her finger wander down its length as she internally debated which question to ask. Draco released a short laugh to himself. She was quite terrible at making quick decisions. It was as if every single option needed to be weighed equally in order to produce the best results. It couldn’t just be a simple selection of which sandwich to eat or which question to ask. It had to be the best one.

“Okay,” she announced, seeming to have come to a consensus in her mind. She pushed the parchment to the side and rested her elbows on the table. “Why did you write the book?”

Draco shrugged. “I was bored.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow. “You can’t just provide short answers to speed through my questions!” she criticised. “That’s cheating.”

“No, it’s strategy.”

There was that expression on her face again — the one in which her lips pressed together into a tight scowl, her gaze grew dark and threatening, and she appeared ready to pull out her wand at any moment. That very look had probably intimidated Weasley and Potter to do a whole slew of things back at Hogwarts, but it merely amused Draco. If she was really going to hex him, she would have done it already. Besides, doing so would only prevent her from getting the answers she craved.

“Fine, fine,” Draco surrendered, chuckling to himself as he did. After all, he did promise to answer her questions, and he would play fair for once. “As you know, my family had laid low the past few years while everything settled after the war. The Manor may be large and exquisite, but it was never the most joyful or entertaining of places, especially after the Dark Lord used it as his headquarters. We spent the first few months renovating the place, trying to make it feel like home again, but after that was finished, there wasn’t much else to do. The war was still fresh on my mind, and even after all the changes, memories of what had happened there still haunted me. It was like I could still hear his voice whispering down the corridors wherever I went. I thought that writing down what happened would potentially help squash them.”

He wasn’t entirely certain why he was being so honest with her, but she had read his book, so it wasn’t as if he was giving her entirely new information. As he spoke, Hermione nodded along, paying just as much attention to him as she had to their professors. Hell, he half expected her to get out a blank piece of parchment and start taking notes.

When he finished with his response, she didn’t bother to look at her parchment for the follow-up.

“What else did you do while you were in the Manor?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Is writing a book not enough?”

“I mean, obviously that took up a major portion of your time, but surely you didn’t spend every waking hour scribbling away on parchment.”

“And why do you care?”

She shrugged. “I’m simply curious. The book told me plenty about what happened during the war, but not much about what happened since.”

“That’s because not much did happen,” Draco explained.

“I find that hard to believe,” Hermione contended. “After all, something significant must have happened if you and I are friends now.”

Draco nearly choked on the sip of water that he had been taking between questions. Since when had he and Hermione Granger become friends? Sure, he had seen her the past three days, but that didn’t justify the use of the term. They had known each other for over a decade, and while he hadn’t seen her in a few years, it wasn’t as if that passage of time had miraculously erased the bad blood that had flowed between.

Yet despite his protests, Draco found that he didn’t actually hate the fact that she had referred to them as friends. He had been bored out of his mind that morning, and the only thing that had pulled him out of his slump was grabbing lunch with her.

Come to think of it, he hadn’t had someone to call a friend in a while, and those he had, had fallen more along of the lines of henchmen than mate. Crabbe and Goyle had served Draco’s purpose at the time, but he had never been entirely convinced that they knew how to string two coherent sentences together. As for Pansy, he never bothered to use her lips for conversational purposes, fully aware that any words that came out of her mouth would be both vapid and dull, ruining any sort of attraction he had to her to begin with. Blaise and Nott had been the closest things he had to proper mates, but he hadn't bothered to reach out to either of them since the end of the war. It was easier to disassociate himself from anyone or anything who reminded him of that time in life.

That was, until a few days ago.

Spending time with Hermione was refreshing. Although it could just be that he had been cut off from his peers for so long, he would find anyone other than his parents a welcome companion. Then again, if he had realised one thing by writing his book and confirmed over the past few days, it was that Hermione Granger wasn’t the person he had assumed her to be because of her blood status.

“Okay, fine,” Hermione huffed when Draco still hadn’t given her any more of a response. “I won’t wait forever when there are so many more things to ask.”

Hermione continued with her questioning for the better part of an hour, far after the waiter returned with their meals. Her questions came in such rapid succession that Draco barely had time to chomp down a few bites of his lunch while she freely chewed away as she listened intently to his every word.

When he finished his response to what felt like the fiftieth question, Draco glanced down at his pocket watch. “It looks like you’re running out of time,” he announced. “Your lunch hour is almost up.” Draco removed the napkin from his lap and waved his hand in the air for the check.

“We can’t leave yet,” Hermione said as the waiter placed the bill on their table. “I still have one final question!”

Draco cocked his head. “I highly doubt you only have one more.”

“Fine,” Hermione said, folding her arms across her chest. “One more for now, and I want an honest answer.”

Draco leaned back in his chair. “Fire away,” he said, motioning his arm for her to proceed. He supposed he could entertain her inquisitive nature for another minute.

“Why did you lie in the book?”

Draco stiffened. “What makes you think I lied in my book?” he sternly asked, masking the pit that was starting to form in his stomach.

Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out his memoir. Did she just carry it around with her wherever she went nowadays? There was a piece of parchment sticking out from the top of the book, and she opened to that page and started to read.

“The three prisoners were thrown to the ground before me, Fenrir Greyback prowling behind them like a wolf protecting his freshly hunted prey. Upon first look, I knew they couldn’t be much older than myself and must therefore be current Hogwarts students on the run or relatively recent graduates, but their clothes were so dirty and their faces so bruised, that they didn’t look like anyone I had seen before. I stood there in concentration as my father pressed my face up to the black-haired prisoner, urging me to identify the man. His features were so distorted that I doubted even his own mother would recognise him — that is if she was still alive. But as much as I searched for the lightning scar on his forehead, none was to be found. I could not be certain the man before me was, in fact, Undesirable Number One himself, Harry Potter.”

Draco could feel his pulse quicken as she reiterated the words of the scene he had spent weeks deliberating over. How many times had he written about that fated day in the drawing room, only to then discard the draft and start again?

“I know you’re lying here, Draco.”

He had opened his mouth, ready to defend the words published on the page, but the soft way she said his name made him reconsider. As much as it didn’t bother him when she referred to him by his last name, he quite liked the sound of his given name coming off her tongue.

“Everything else in the book holds up, but this moment here…” Her voice trailed away as she shook her head. “I know you recognised us.”

She knew. Of course she knew. She had been there. She had seen it happen. And she wasn’t foolish enough to believe otherwise.

“Of course I bloody well recognised you,” he said in no more than a whisper. “You three showed up, and who else would it be other than you, Potter, and Weasel-face?”

“Hey,” Hermione warned.

“Fine,” Draco corrected, albeit a bit unwillingly. “You, Potter, and Weasley. You’re one thing, but there’s a fat chance you’ll ever convince me to call either of those two by their first names.” 

Hermione sighed. “Yes, I know, you still don’t like them, but that doesn’t answer my question. Why didn’t you say in your book that you knew it was Harry?”

Draco took in a deep breath and let his shoulders rest on the chair’s back. He hesitated to answer, Hermione waiting silently for his response. He had been honest with her about everything else so far, so there wasn’t any use maintaining this facade when she already knew the truth.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he drew in another breath. “You realise what I risked by lying that day?” he said, his voice low and even. “If I had told them it was Potter, right now, I’d be living in a world in which the Dark Lord was crowned triumphant, my father would be back inside his inner circle, and you and your friends would be six feet under. But that’s not our reality, all because I said I don’t know instead of yes.”

Hermione swallowed. There was no way she wasn’t smart enough to have already figured that much out for herself, but hearing him say it must have been another thing entirely.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” she cautioned. “Don’t you want the world to know what you did?”

Draco shook his head. There was so much she didn’t understand.

“The world already knows that my mother lied to the Dark Lord in order to save Potter, and my parents lost enough friends as a result of that,” he started to explain. He looked down at his hands, watching his thumb brush over his knuckles. “But at that point in the battle, my mother was willing to do anything to make sure I was safe, so she considered it worth the consequences. But that wouldn’t have been necessary if I had turned you three in.”

He paused to look up at Hermione who was studying him carefully, probably over-analysing each one of his actions. He only let his gaze linger on her for a moment before he reverted to the repeated motion of his thumb.

“Yes, I lied in my book, but I swear that everything else in there is nothing but the truth,” Draco said, his voice starting to regain its strength. “I don’t have to explain to you the significance of that day and the lasting effect it had on the outcome of the war.”

Her fingers instinctively brushed over the faded scar that was still visible on her neck, but she quickly drew it away and returned it to her lap.

Draco opted to carry on, pretending not to notice. “My parents probably suspect it, but they don’t know for sure that I lied that day, and I don’t intend to ever confirm it. On top of that, if the rest of the pureblood community ever discovered that I, too, had lied to the Dark Lord, the Malfoy family would lose what little social standing with them we have left.”

“I don’t see how that’s a bad thing,” she mustered.

Draco straightened himself out and cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I don’t exactly either, but my parents still care about this, and seeing they were willing to risk it all to make sure I made it out of the battle alive, the least I could do was not tarnish what they have left.” Hermione opened her mouth to interrupt, but Draco continued. “I very well know that you don’t like them, and while I may not always agree with my father, he is and forever will be the only father I have. Believe it or not, I still care for him even if I spend the majority of my day cursing half the things he does.”

He paused, letting his final words sink in. He arched an eyebrow when she didn’t immediately respond. “Satisfied?”

Hermione shifted in her seat. “Somewhat.”

Draco took in a final breath and peered down at his pocket watch once more. Now she was going to be late returning to work. Draco would feel guilty, but it was her own fault for leaving such a loaded question for last.

“Look, you need to get back to work, and…” He reached across the table for the parchment rested on the table, his eyes growing wide as they scanned it over. “Merlin, woman! How many bloody questions do you have?”

“It had been a few years since I had seen you!” she defended. “The book hardly covers all the things I’ve wanted to ask you all those years!”

A small smirk found its way across his lips. “Thought about me a lot while I was gone, have you?”

“Don’t you start trying to read anything into this,” she quickly dismissed. “It’s just that you were off the radar for so long, I naturally was curious what was going on inside your brain.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Draco teased, but then stopped, scrunching his eyebrows in confusion. “Wait. Off the… what’s a radar?”

Hermione snorted. “Muggle expression. Sometimes they still slip out.”

Draco considered commenting further, surprisingly curious to learn whatever a ‘radar’ was, but her time was now far overspent. “Regardless, you need to get going, and I can’t believe I’m volunteering to do this, but I will write out my responses to the rest of your questions. I’ll have your answers for you Monday afternoon when we grab lunch.”

“Who said we’re getting lunch on Monday?”

Draco laughed. “I am, because I know you, and you won’t rest until you have the answers you want. Besides, I have an inkling you’ll want someone to discuss those books with after you spend all weekend reading them. Now get back to work before they notice you’re late!”

Hermione had only made it a single step towards the door when she looked back at the table.

“Wait, but we need to—”

“I’ll settle the bill,” Draco assured her.

Hermione frowned and reached into her bag. “No, Draco. I said I wouldn’t let you—”

“For the love of all things magic! Get out of here! I’ll let you pay for Monday’s meal if it makes you feel better!”

“You better!” Hermione responded as she scrambled out the door.

Draco dug into his pocket, fishing out a few Galleons to leave on the table, as he watched her Apparate away from beyond the window. An hour wasn’t enough time with her if she was going to squander it by going over things that happened in the past. He’d already written an entire book on the subject. He was ready to move on.

He glanced over her parchment and then rolled it up so that it was easier for him to carry. Hopefully, if he answered these questions, she’d be satisfied, and they could finally talk about something else. He wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of handwriting his responses, but he could always enchant a quill to scribe it for him. Besides, it wasn’t like he had any better plans for the weekend.

For a brief second, he wondered what she’d be doing on her days off from work. Would she really spend all weekend reading the books he recommended? They may be for children, but three full-length novels still required considerable time to get through, regardless of their age of interest. Or maybe she’d be off gallivanting with Potter and Weasley, doing something with her other friends.

Other friends. Because she somehow considered him to be one of her friends.

Draco snorted to himself and a small smile crept its way across his lips as he exited the restaurant. It was going to be another long, boring weekend, but at least he’d see her again on Monday.

Chapter Text

The crisp, fall air breezed through Hermione’s hair as she gripped her jumper tighter around her torso. It was significantly cooler at the Burrow than it was in London, and yet, Harry, Ron, Ginny, and George still insisted on playing two on two Quidditch in the open elements. They had begged her to join them for the friendly competition, and on another occasion, Hermione may have considered accepting, but she wasn’t interested today. Besides, if she joined, the teams would be uneven — not that she would have been that much help to whoever’s team she ended up on.

Instead, Hermione sat on the sidelines like she preferred, only half paying attention to the game. She kept her nose down as her eyes carefully scanned the lines of the chapter that she was reading for the third time that day.

A broom whizzed past her, and Hermione’s head snapped up at the sudden interruption, Ron continuing to play as if he hadn’t just come within inches of knocking her out. The game was in full force, the former Gryffindor players thoroughly enjoying their Saturday afternoon. Ginny bumped into George who slammed into her in return but not before she managed to throw the Quaffle to Harry. He easily tossed it through one of the goalposts, earning him and Ginny a point. Ron let out a groan while Ginny zipped her broom around in celebration, stopping in the middle of the playing field to give Harry a high five.

“You see that pass?” Ginny shouted down to Hermione.

“Nicely done!” she cried back before returning to her book.

The game continued for at least thirty more minutes until Molly called for George and Ginny to help her with the final dinner preparations. They tried to bargain for a few more minutes of play, but even though all the Weasley children were full-grown adults, they still promptly followed directions as soon as they got any indication that Molly had reached her limit. They all landed on the grass below them, Ginny dragging her broom across the ground as she made her way to the kitchen.

“Guess I’m lucky you two are here,” Ron said when George closed the back door behind him. “Otherwise I’d probably get roped into helping out as well.”

Hermione mindlessly nodded along, her focus still on the book. “Have either of you read this?” she asked now that the three of them were alone.

Harry and Ron looked at each other. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Hermione,” Harry said.

Hermione closed the book so they could see the cover. “Malfoy’s memoir.”

Ron’s jaw dropped. She didn’t know why she had bothered. She had known the answer before she'd asked it; Ron’s reaction merely confirmed her assumption.

“That’s what you’ve been reading all afternoon?” he asked in disbelief. “Of course we haven’t read it! Why would we want to read about anything, let alone the war, from Ferret Face’s perspective?”

For as much as Ron and Draco notoriously disagreed about everything, their insults for one another were surprisingly similar.

“It’s actually quite interesting,” Hermione said, trying to engage them further. “Just because we were on the winning side of the war, doesn’t mean we can’t learn valuable things by reading about it from their side. Winston Churchill said that ‘History is written by the victors,’ and I believe—”

“Look, Hermione,” Harry said, clearly not in the mood for a long-winded lecture. “I’m not saying that there isn’t stuff to be learned by thinking about the war from their perspective, but this is Malfoy we’re talking about. You know he’s just going to twist the words to make him sound better.”

“That’s the thing,” Hermione tried to reason with them, refusing to drop the subject until they heard her out. “He doesn’t distort it. There are several instances in which he admits to doing some terrible things, and he’s overall quite honest. The only time he lied is when he contends that he didn’t recognising you that day in Malfoy Manor when we all know that isn’t true. It would change a lot of people’s opinions about him if they knew what he had done! Doesn’t that prove that he’s not doing this to make him look good?”

Ron wiped some of the lingering sweat off his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “C’mon, Hermione,” he said. “You know the bloke. Malfoy’s not that deep. He was just scared. Doesn’t mean we should share our Order of Merlins with him because he managed to do something not completely terrible for once.”

Hermione shook her head. “You don’t understand. Something’s different about him.”

Ron chuckled and elbowed Harry in the side. “Yeah, he doesn’t have his two cronies to boss around all the time.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Honestly, she loved Harry and Ron to death, and they’d always be her two closest friends, but it could get tiresome when they wouldn’t at least try to see things from a different perspective.

“Look,” she said more firmly, hoping they’d take the hint that she was serious. “Something about him is sincerely different now. I don’t know what happened in Malfoy Manor the past few years, but I can tell you that he’s… Well, I don’t know how to word it exactly, but he’s relatively nice to me.”

Ron and Harry shared a confused expression.

“Hold up,” Ron said, evidently processing what Hermione had just said. “What do you mean he’s nice to you? Have you seen him recently or something?”

Hermione shrugged. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we’ve hung out a few times.”

Their confused expressions shifted into shock, dumbfounded to learn that Hermione had spoken to Draco at all, let alone done so repeatedly.

“Hermione, I know he and his family got pardoned and all, but they still used to be Death Eaters,” Harry tried to rationalise.

“Used to?” Ron interjected. “If given the option, I’m fairly certain good old pop would more than willingly hop back on that Knight Bus straight to hell.”

“We’re talking about Malfoy, not his father,” Hermione hissed, her frustration growing evident. For a moment, she considered using his first name like she had grown accustomed to using the past few days, but she figured it would only make Harry and Ron more sceptical of the situation.

“I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that you’ve hung out with Malfoy,” Harry stepped in before things got too heated between her and Ron. “I know Ron and I are busy with work, but I didn’t think you’d be that desperate for friends! I mean, you still got Crookshanks, right?”

Hermione gave Harry a sharp look, ready to scold him for even joking that Crookshanks was her only option outside the pair of them, when Molly stuck her head out calling them in for dinner. Hermione promptly held Malfoy’s book tighter to her chest and stormed into the kitchen where she convinced Ginny to switch seats with her so she wouldn’t have to sit next to either Ron or Harry. It would be better to end this conversation before it could escalate much more. She should have known it would go this way. Of course they hadn’t read Draco's book, and had no intention of ever doing so! Sometimes they could be so stuck in their biases!

But in the end, their opinion on the matter hardly mattered. Just because they were too dense to try to see how Draco had grown, didn’t mean it needed to affect her decisions. By no means was she saying the Draco was suddenly a perfect person — he certainly still managed to irritate her from time to time — but as a whole, she quite enjoyed his company. And if she enjoyed the other two wizard children's books even half as much as she enjoyed the first one he had let her borrow, then they were bound to have another quality lunch on Monday.

~*~*~

Draco slipped the final button through the top loop of the collar on his newly purchased dress robes. It was Saturday evening at the Manor, which meant he was expected to dress up for dinner with his parents. He never quite understood why his mother insisted on such an absurd tradition — it wasn’t as if anyone other than his parents were going to be in attendance — but then again, ‘tradition’ might as well be the Malfoy family mantra. 

He stepped into the formal dining room where Lucius and Narcissa sat on opposite ends of the table, both of them clad in their finest robes. Draco withheld a scoff as he took his seat in the middle of the elongated table, several empty seats between him and either parent. Another ridiculous tradition. What was the point of sitting so far away from each other? Wouldn’t it be easier if they congregated at one end of the table? His father could remain at the head if it meant that bloody much to him, and Draco and his mother could sit on either side. Isn’t that what a normal family would do?

But no. This was tradition. This is how it was always done. And therefore, that’s how the Malfoys would do it.

The first course appeared on their plates, and Draco silently picked at his salad while his mother and father discussed the events of the day. His ears perked up when he heard his mother mention that she had met an old friend on Diagon Alley for lunch, but his beating heart settled when he remembered that it was a Saturday so his recent lunchtime activities were still safe and secret.

He would have much preferred if he had been the one having lunch on Diagon Alley that afternoon, but at least his Saturday hadn’t turned out to be as dull as he had predicted. His typical morning routine had been the same, but once breakfast had concluded, he had returned to his room where Hermione’s parchment had laid locked inside a drawer of his desk. His parents hardly ever bothered to visit his wing of the Manor, but he had figured he better keep it somewhere secure just in case circumstances changed.

Alone in the safety of his room, Draco had pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and a Self-Writing Quill and charmed it to start. Draco had paced across the room as he dictated his answers to Hermione’s endless stream of questions. It had been easy to talk on end, not worrying about how much time he was taking in fear that it would eat away at the only hour he managed to get with her. And she certainly wouldn’t mind his lengthy responses. If she managed to read his whole book in less than a day, she could easily handle a few feet of parchment.

By the time his answers were complete and Draco had sufficiently reviewed what the quill had transcribed, he had headed into the library, back to the distant corner of his youth. It had been over a decade since he had read The Perilous Adventures of Bartimous the Brave or a single book in the Ghastly Ghouls and Haunting Hags series, but after his conversation with Hermione, he had been feeling unusually nostalgic and was itching to dive back into the pages that had brought him so much joy when he was younger.

He had spent nearly all afternoon revisiting the stories that had kept him so engaged as a child, and while he had still thoroughly enjoyed them, some of the naive excitement was gone. Maybe he was being too cynical as a result of the war, but now he saw the novels for what they were — simplistic children’s stories. Ghouls and hags weren’t nearly as frightening when he had come face to face with a real monster, and Bartimous’ supposed bravery was nothing compared to the real courage he had witnessed other witches and wizards his age exemplify.

A tapping on the window drew Draco out of his thoughts and back to the formal dining room.

“I wonder what that could be,” Narcissa said with a knowing smile as she popped out of her seat.

Draco dropped his head into his hands and groaned. They all knew exactly what it was. The same thing had happened at dinner the night before.

Narcissa opened the window, and a small scops owl landed on the sill and proudly dropped the letter that he held within his beak. Narcissa gave the owl a curt appreciative nod before the owl turned around and flapped its wings into the night sky.

“Who’s it from?” Lucius asked when his wife returned to the table and had already begun to read its contents.

“It’s from the Fawley family,” Narcissa announced with a pleased expression. “Their daughter Helena recently turned of age.”

Draco did his best to stifle another groan. As expected, it was a proposition letter. He didn’t know much about Helena Fawley except for the fact that she was a few years below him in Ravenclaw and that she was pureblood, but he would still wager that she was his best prospect so far. Almost anyone was an improvement over Pansy — except for Millicent Bulstrode. He would not be marrying Millicent Bulstrode!

“The Fawleys,” Lucius drawled, considering the familial name. “A solid bloodline, although I don’t know the father very well.”

“That’s because her father wasn’t a Death Eater,” Draco grumbled before he could catch himself.

Both Narcissa and Lucius’s heads snapped in his direction, and suddenly Draco was quite grateful that they weren’t the type of family that sat next to each other at the table.

“Care to say that louder?” Lucius sneered.

Draco hung his head to mask his snarl. “No, Father,” Draco immediately backtracked.

Lucius turned away from his son. “That’s what I thought.”

The tension lingered in the air as Narcissa read the rest of the letter, while Draco and Lucius returned to the first course. Draco pierced his fork through a tomato and tore a bite through it. Family dinners were always such a joy.

“This Fawley girl seems like a perfectly respectable option,” Narcissa said, finally breaking the silence. “It says here that Helena was named prefect of Ravenclaw and graduated with respectable N.E.W.T. marks. She’s currently training to be a Healer at St. Mungo’s.”

“Now that’s a proper job,” Lucius said, directing his gaze once more upon his son, as if testing him to fire back some sort of retort.

Draco’s upper lip twitched, the words on the tip of his tongue just itching to slip out, but he swallowed them, leaving nothing but the taste of dissatisfaction in his mouth.

“At least she is a much more acceptable choice than those first two,” Narcissa said, trying to suppress the obvious friction between the two males. “While she may not be your first choice, Draco, it has only been a few days. If my suspicions are correct, this letter is a sign that word is starting to spread that you are looking for a wife. I can all but assure you that by this time Tuesday, you’ll have at least ten more letters.”

Oh, good. Then he’d have thirteen women to choose between. Unlucky him.

Narcissa rose from her chair and placed Helena Fawley’s letter inside a jewelled box where Pansy and Millicent’s letters already rested inside. Those letters could keep stacking up, but he doubted any of those girls would ever truly strike his fancy.

~*~*~

Hermione pulled back the bedspread and settled into the Engorgio-ed bed in Ginny’s childhood room. Every time Hermione visited, Molly still insisted that she stay over, citing that she would always be as good as family even though she and Ron had gone their separate ways. Hermione understood how quiet the Burrow must feel now that all the Weasley children had graduated from Hogwarts and dispersed throughout the country. The least Hermione could do was spend the night every once and awhile. Besides, waking up to Molly’s cooking was never a bad way to start a Sunday.

Things had calmed down since her tiff with Ron and Harry. While neither one of them had shown any sign of apology, the three of them had mutually agreed to move past it. Back at Hogwarts, a disagreement like that would have likely prompted a two-week silent treatment from her, but she had long since learned not to react so rashly. She had also finally learned to accept that she couldn’t control every aspect of their lives, and sometimes they were just going to be flat out wrong about things.

She leaned back against her pillow and pulled out the second book Draco had lent her, trying to get a few more pages in before Ginny came back from brushing her teeth. The first book had been thoroughly enjoyable, a historical fiction piece set in the early 1500s about a young wizard who was accused of setting the local Cathedral on fire after a Muggle had caught him with his wand, thinking it to be kindling when really he had been trying to use it to put out the flames. She had rushed through it the night before, completely immersed in the drama and suspense of whether or not he would be found innocent (which thankfully, he was). The second book was much different, focusing on a more modern plot of a young wizard who found a wounded niffler near his home and began taking care of it in hopes that one day his parents would let him keep it as a pet. It was a heartwarming tale, and while she couldn’t help but note how terrible of an idea a pet niffler would actually be, she still hoped the boy would ultimately have his happy ending.

She had only gotten a few paragraphs in when there was a knock on her door. A ginger head peeked it’s way inside, except it wasn’t Ginny.

“Hey,” Ron said softly, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Mind if I stay here for a bit? Ginny decided to stop by my room, and one thing led to another, and now I’m—”

“Sexiled?” Hermione completed with a smile.

Ron groaned as he sat down at the foot of her bed. “Please never use that word again. It’s weird enough as is that he’s dating my sister.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s time you get over that. They’ve been dating for several years.”

“Yeah, but she’s been my little sister my entire life!”

They shared a quick laugh, and then he noticed the book on her lap. “Is that Roger’s Golden Secret?” Ron reached across the bed and began to look it over with a wide grin. “I remember this book!”

Hermione sat up in bed, mildly surprised that he recognised the title. “Have you read it?”

Ron chuckled. “Well, sort of. Mum read a chapter a night to me, Ginny, Fred, and George back when we were the only lot left around here. Although Mum must not have thought through her choice in book too much cause right after we finished it, Fred and George thought it would be funny to try to trick Mum into thinking they had a different magical creature hidden somewhere in the gardens. They really tried to sell her on it, coming back all muddied with scratches up and down their arms.”

“That does sound like something they’d do,” Hermione laughed along.

“Oh, yeah,” Ron said. “Of course, Mum wasn’t a fan of it. She’d scold them and tell them to knock it off already, but I think she secretly feared that one day they wouldn’t be joking anymore.” He smiled at the memory. “But that had to be back when I was no more than eight. What are you doing reading it as an adult?”

“I’m trying to brush up on wizarding children’s literature for work,” Hermione explained. “We’re compiling Muggle book recommendations for young children, so I thought it would be beneficial to have a background in these books as well.”

Ron nodded. “Fair enough. Although, I suppose I really shouldn’t be complaining about whatever it is you’re reading. I’m just glad it’s no longer Malfoy's book!”

Hermione’s smile disappeared as she straightened herself up even further, their disagreement from earlier coming back to her. “I’ll have you know that he’s the one who recommended this book,” she said bluntly. “This is even his copy.”

“Blimey, Hermione!” The book instantly dropped from his hands. “Warn a guy next time!”

“It’s just a book, Ron,” she said disapprovingly. “It’s not going to hurt you!”

“Tell that to Ginny."

Hermione glared at him. “Would you like to check it for dark jinxes or something?”

“Kinda!”

Her glare intensified, and Ron caved under the pressure of her stare. “Fine,” he surrendered, although he didn’t sound pleased. He pressed his fingers against his temple as he shook his head back and forth. “I just don’t get it. You’re really… friends with him?”

Hermione sighed. “Yes, Ron. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Well, yeah!” he promptly responded. “Last I checked, we fought on opposite sides of a war!”

“I can assure you that I haven’t forgotten,” Hermione said, maintaining a calm and steady voice. Starting another fight wasn’t going to do them any favours. “But that’s why you ought to read his book. It gives a lot of insight into what he really felt and how he’s changed since then.”

Ron groaned and fell back onto the bed. “I’m just going to take your word for it,” he said with a sigh. He turned his head to face her, a resigned half-smile appearing. “I never was good at convincing you of anything, was I?”

Hermione snorted. “No, and you’re not going to change my mind on this either.”

The bedroom door swung open, and Ginny entered, her hair tousled and her lips slightly swollen.

“Looks like I finally have my own bedroom back,” Ron said, staring disapprovingly at his sister.

“Oh, get over it,” Ginny said, running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to straighten it out.

“Get over it!?” Ron cried. “It’s my bedroom! You two seriously couldn’t go one night without…” His cheeks flared red. “Well, you know!”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Without what? Without me—”

“Hermione’s friends with Malfoy!”

Ginny’s head snapped towards Hermione. “What?!”

“Night!” Ron said as he quickly left the bedroom.

Ginny’s shocked, confused gaze lingered on Hermione.

“I can explain,” Hermione groaned, slamming one of the pillows against her face and leaning back onto the mattress. It was going to be a long night.

~*~*~

Monday rolled around, and Draco paced the length of his bedroom, counting down the minutes as noon drew nearer. He swore he could hear the ticking seconds taunting him from the watch that rested inside his robes’ pocket. All morning, he had been squandering time, waiting for the minute and hour hands to finally collide at the twelve. Now, he only had a few more minutes to wait.

He pulled out his watch for the umpteeth time. 11:48 am. Still too early for him to arrive. He didn’t want to seem overeager.

The seconds ticked on, and it had nearly reached an appropriate time for him to depart for Diagon Alley when his head snapped up at the sound of a knock on his door. It couldn’t be one of the house elves. Their small bodies couldn’t produce enough force to result in a knock that loud. And if it wasn’t a house elf, that didn’t leave many other options for who could be on the other side of that door. So that warranted the question — what in Salazar’s name would prompt one of his parents to venture to his wing of the Manor?

His head turned to the two scrolls of parchment that laid waiting on his desk for him to bring to his lunch with Hermione. Quickly, he pulled out his wand and had just barely managed to vanish them when his door began to open.

“Afternoon, darling,” Narcissa cooed, permitting herself entry.

Draco tried not to gawk at the sight of his mother in his bedroom. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her in there. It must have been when he was still a child, back when she used to tuck him in and kiss him goodnight. But those practices had ended years ago.

His room must seem quite different to her nowadays, provided all the changes Draco had made since it had become his permanent residence upon graduation. The Quidditch pennants were long gone from the walls, and the deep green curtains and matching bedspread that he had insisted upon as a child in hopes that he would be a Slytherin just like his beloved father had been changed to a dark grey. But if Narcissa noticed, she didn’t comment.

“And to what do I owe the visit, Mother?” he said, trying to mask the anxiousness in his voice. He had been free all morning and yet she somehow chose now to speak with him? Hermione would be expecting him any minute.

“I was thinking that you and I should do something this afternoon,” she said with a self-assured smile, one hand gently rested on top of the another near her waistline. “It’s been far too long since you and I have had a proper tea together.”

“That sounds fine,” he agreed, although she could have suggested that they spend the afternoon giving a Hippogriff a bath and he still would have been amenable. Whatever it took to get her out of there so he could get to his lunch already.

“Lovely,” Narcissa said. “Then I’ll go freshen up, and we’ll head to Rosa Lee Teabag in around fifteen minutes.”

Draco’s heart plummeted as his mother turned her back to him and started to head out. “Wait,” Draco called after her, his pulse starting to quicken. “What’s with the rush? Surely we can do later in the afternoon? Say... after one?” he stammered, doing his best to keep his voice level. “Besides, Rosa Lee is bound to be packed at this hour with all the witches and wizards on their lunch break.”

Narcissa politely laughed. “Of course, it will, dear, thus making it the prime time for you to be seen in public.” She raised an eyebrow. “Unless you have other plans for this afternoon?”

Draco kept his lips pressed together, knowing quite well he couldn’t answer the question honestly. His mind raced, trying to quickly create some other viable excuse for why they had to do it later, but he couldn’t think of anything close to believable. Besides, he doubted it would do him much good anyhow. Her mind was already made up.

“Oh, and do wear those navy robes I got you last Christmas. They photograph better.”

Narcissa closed the door behind her as Draco made his way to his wardrobe and yanked her preferred robes off the hanger, trying not to picture Hermione’s dismay when he was a no-show.

Chapter Text

Hermione fluttered out of her office as the clock neared noon, taking Draco’s books with her as she prepared to make her way out of the building. She had thoroughly enjoyed all of them — although the first book was far and beyond her favourite of the three. She must admit, Draco had good taste in books, even as a child.

“You’re in a particularly good mood today!” Gretchen said, noticing the wide smile on Hermione’s face as she closed her office door and stepped into the open space. “Did the numbers come back already?”

“No, we’re still waiting on them,” Hermione replied. “Just a lunch date is all.”

“Oooo!” Gretchen cooed. “Who’s the lucky man?”

“Oh, it’s not that kind of a date!” Hermione dismissed. “Just a lunch plan. A lunch... companion. You know what I mean. Not a date.” 

Gretchen pressed her lips together and nodded, but her eyes remained wide, not seeming to believe Hermione.

As a consequence of being her assistant, Gretchen knew more about Hermione’s personal life than most. She kept control of her schedule which meant she was well acquainted with Hermione’s propensity to work through lunch and stay late, barely giving her time for social engagements. It was quite rare that Hermione took her full hour for lunch, but having done so the past few days, Hermione had come to realise that she quite enjoyed the break in the middle of the workday. It gave her the opportunity to take her mind off things, even if just for a short period of time, and then she could return to the office refreshed and ready to power through whatever she needed to accomplish the rest of the day. It just so happened that the person that she was meeting with was a male.

“Anyway, he’s probably already outside waiting for me, so I should get going.”

“Sounds like a date to me!” Gretchen called after her.

“He’s just a friend!” Hermione cried as she swung open the door to the stairwell.

Honestly, it really wasn’t a big deal. Hermione’s closest friends had always been males. She had never quite gotten along with the other females of her year at Hogwarts, so it just made sense that she’d easily strike up another male friendship. They were just easier, no drama involved. And now she was off to have a perfectly casual lunch with a friend.

~*~*~

Draco kept looking over his shoulder as he and his mother made their way down Diagon Alley towards Rosa Lee Teabag. According to his pocket watch, it was now eleven minutes past noon, and Hermione was without a doubt losing patience with him. There hadn’t been enough time for him to send an owl or even to stop by her office to warn her that he wasn’t going to be able to make it. Somewhere down the street behind him, Hermione was probably standing in front of her building, her arms crossed against her chest in frustration as she waited for him to show up. He’d have to settle for sending an apology owl after the fact; it was the best he could do at this point.

They arrived at the shop and Draco held the door open for Narcissa to enter. As expected, the tea shop was filled with witches and wizards grabbing a small bite during the middle of the workday. The tables were packed and the low buzzing of mindless chatter filler the air. Of course, the Malfoys didn’t have to wait to be seated. There was a table already reserved for them in the front window — the prime location for every witch and wizard to see him out with his mother. Leave it to Narcissa to have all this planned and to not tell him until it was too late for him to stop it.

“You sit down, dear,” she instructed. “I need to check with the owner about something.”

He pulled back the chair and settled in the seat facing the door so that he could easily see everyone walking in. Ever since the war, he never felt comfortable leaving his back exposed in public spaces. Call it learned precaution. Things couldn’t attack him by surprise if he could see them coming.

He picked up one of the menus left on the table for his perusal and had started to skim it over when the front doorbell chimed. His attention shifted towards the sound, his defensive instincts taking control, but he calmed when he recognised the familiar wild mass of brown hair that made its way through the door. For a second, his heart lifted at the sight of her, but immediately fell when he thought of the potential ramifications.

“Fuck,” he grumbled under his breath, ducking behind the menu. As much as he wanted to, now was not the time or place for them to talk. His mother could not see them together! Merlin knew it would only result in an endless stream of questions as to what he was doing speaking with her.

His leg bounced up and down at a rate that challenged the speed of his rapidly beating heart. The vase of flowers on the surface of the table rattled at the disturbance, causing a few of the surrounding patrons to look his way. Draco clamped his hands around the edge of the table, forcing the shaking to stop and then flashed a half-hearted apologetic smile to the glaring onlookers.

Of all the places on Diagon Alley, she chose here to dine after he stood her up?! Well, not that he stood her up exactly. That was what you called it when someone failed to show up on a date, and what they had planned most certainly was not a date. They were merely two former enemies who casually got lunch on occasion. All they did was chat about their lives. That wasn’t a date; that was catching up… or hanging out… or something else along those lines. But regardless of what one called it, she could not see him there!

He peeked ever so slightly over the top of the menu. Thank Merlin. She was standing in the take-away line so he wouldn’t have to spend all tea dodging her. A few minutes more and she’d be out of there.

He shouldn’t have looked, though, because now he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked particularly nice that day, her work attire a step up from the usual, as if she had put in a little more effort. But his attention was quickly consumed by the sour expression on her face. Just as expected, she did not appear pleased, and he doubted that it was because the queue to order was taking too long. There was a grimace plastered on her face and her arms were crossed against her chest, her foot tapping impatiently. She could have had a rough morning at work, but it was fairly safe to assume that something else had sparked her irritation.

Draco was just about to return to safety behind the menu when his vision caught sight of his books peeking out of her bag, little scraps of parchment sticking out from between the pages. As if Draco didn’t already feel bad enough about ditching their lunch plans, knowing that she was prepared to discuss the books only made him feel guiltier.

Hermione huffed at something and looked at her watch, then back towards the window. Her face deadpanned when her eyes connected with his.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He had been so distracted by the bloody books that he lost sight of how critical it was that she not see him!

Abandoning her original purpose for coming to the shop, she moved furiously in his direction, a fire in her eyes that made him scoot back in his chair. He’d only been on the receiving end of that glare once before, and he prayed that he would not have to experience another slap in the face in the middle of Rosa Lee Teabag. That would not be good publicity. Plus it would really hurt.

Defensive instincts taking control once more, Draco threw his hands up in surrender before she could get too close.

“I can explain!”

“Did we or did we not have lunch plans?” she fumed. “I waited fifteen minutes for you to show!”

“Something came up,” he tried to reason, but she evidently was in no mood to listen.

“You know, for some reason, I was actually looking forward to our lunch! But I guess I was the only one!”

She continued to rant at him, and Draco’s eyes only left hers when he caught a glimpse of his mother coming back from the owner’s backroom. Hermione had every right to berate him, and she could do that all she wanted, just not now.

“I swear I’ll make it up to you,” he bargained, anything to make her stop. “Lunch. Tomorrow.”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow, her anger not diminishing. “How do I know you won’t just ditch me again?”

Draco tipped his head in his mother’s direction. Hermione narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what he meant, but eventually looked and recognised Narcissa.  When the witch caught sight of his mother, her expression neutralised, her clever mind probably able to deduce at least some of the negative implications of her presence.

“Lunch tomorrow. I’ll explain everything then,” Draco said, one final plea for her to leave before his mother returned.

“You better,” she snapped, her tone evening out but still maintaining its bitterness. “And you’re back to being the one paying.”

She hitched her bag up farther on her shoulder and stormed out of Rosa Lee’s just seconds before Narcissa returned to the table, Draco finally releasing the breath it felt like he had been holding for the past five minutes.

“What was the Granger girl doing talking with you?” Narcissa asked, her eyes following Hermione as she passed them on the opposite side of the window. “And switch seats with me, dear. I prefer the lighting on this side.”

Draco hesitated for a second, not enthralled with the notion of moving, but ultimately followed his mother’s direction. When it came to the Malfoy family, things were easier if he obeyed his parents’ commands.

He repositioned himself in his new seat, ignoring the prickling sensation that washed over him in this more vulnerable spot and instead focusing on creating a viable excuse for Hermione’s presence. “She was just complimenting my book, Mother,” he casually lied. “Said she finished it.”

“That didn’t look like a very pleasant conversation.”

“Yes, well, apparently she had some qualms about some of the ways I portrayed her,” he tried to justify, hoping that his mother wouldn’t find another flaw in his growing deceit.

“That’s curious. I thought your portrayal of her was rather… flattering… when you consider who she is.”

Draco bit his tongue to prevent himself from asking what exactly she meant by that comment. Because she’s Hermione Granger and she could be a bit of a know-it-all? Because she’s Hermione Granger and she was the brains behind every one of Potter’s plans that just so happened to work out for him? Or because she’s Hermione Granger and she is a mudblood and could never amount to anything more?

“Look who just arrived!” Narcissa cooed, dropping their conversation. She raised a gentle hand in the air at whoever just walked through the door.

A shiver travelled down his spine. This is precisely why he preferred the other seat! Draco twisted his neck to determine whether or not he should be alarmed by the recent arrival and groaned. Suddenly everything was infinitely clearer. This wasn’t casual tea with his mother, and it wasn’t even a mere publicity stunt. No, it was something infinitely worse.

Narcissa stood up from her chair and kissed Eleanor Flint on both cheeks, her daughter Victoria, standing beside her.

“Eleanor, dear, it’s so lovely to see you again!” Narcissa said in her superficial voice. “Oh, and Victoria is here, too. Draco, you remember Victoria, don’t you?”

Draco feigned a smile as they proceeded with the pleasantries, all the while, his mind filled with the sound of a seemingly never-ending groan. He should have predicted that there would be more to his mother’s plan! All this was just an elaborate scheme to trick him into a date with someone of his parents’ approval.

“What a shame. We don’t have enough seats at the table for the four of us,” Narcissa said with painfully obvious fake sorrow.

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was like his mother wasn’t even trying to be subtle. She could have easily asked the server to pull up two extra chairs or even conjure two more seats herself, but that would defeat her purpose, wouldn’t it?

“Why don’t you have my seat, Victoria, and your mother and I will sit elsewhere. I’m sure you and Draco have plenty to catch up about.”

Narcissa flashed them a pleasant smile and then proceeded with Eleanor to another table in the shop that just so happened to be free during the middle of the day rush. How many Galleons had Narcissa promised the owner so that her little game could be played?

Not forgetting his manners, Draco stood up and pulled back the chair for Victoria to sit down across from him. He didn’t know Victoria well in school, despite her having only been a year below him in Slytherin, but he was well acquainted with her brother. Lucky for her, she was much easier on the eyes than her older sibling, not inheriting nearly as crooked teeth. Although, that could also be because she hadn’t been hit in the head so many times by a Bludger.

As he returned to his seat, Draco looked down at the navy robes his mother had directed him to wear, claiming that they photographed better. Any second now, there was bound to be a Prophet reporter, cameraperson in tow, to document their tea. Leave it to his mother to try to expedite the arrival of proposition letters by announcing his eligibility to the entire world via a newspaper article.

A server arrived with a pre-selected arrangement of finger sandwiches and treats, undoubtedly another thing that his mother had coordinated. Draco picked one of the cucumber and mint sandwiches off the second tier and tore into it as Victoria started to speak. The less he had to talk, the better.

He ensured that their conversation was pleasant enough — he’d never hear the end of it from his mother if he dared to act anything less than a proper gentleman — but each time she opened her mouth, Draco wanted nothing more than to bang his head against the table. It was sincerely a miracle that this witch had managed to graduate from Hogwarts. Draco had always assumed that Flint had achieved low marks in his classes due to a lack of interest or too much time spent on the Quidditch pitch, but now Draco was convinced that it was merely bad genetics. Was it too much to ask that his parents at least try to match him up with someone with a decent head on her shoulders?

His parents could say all they wanted about Hermione’s blood-status, but at least she was able to hold a proper conversation. He had yet to be bored during a single one of their interactions. Maybe if they finished their pot of tea early — Jasmine, Victoria’s choice — then it wouldn’t be too late for Draco to squeeze in a few minutes with Hermione. Sure, she was probably still upset, but he had a hunch that if he got her talking about the books, she’d probably move past it quickly enough.

He smiled to himself remembering that in her rage, Hermione had confessed to looking forward to their lunch. Okay, so in the same breath, she had also accused him of not feeling the same, but how could she have known that the promise of their luncheon had been the one thing that had gotten him through the weekend?

Victoria laughed about something, and Draco feigned a matching smile. He really ought to be paying closer attention to whatever mindless nonsense she was going on about, but she had been off on her tangent for a few minutes now, and Draco hadn’t bothered to stop her. Granted, Hermione often fell into the same tendency, but at least he was interested in what she had to say.

“And what do you think about it?”

It took a few seconds for Draco to even process that she had asked him a question. He honestly had no idea what she was asking his opinion about, so he decided to play it safe. “I find it rather interesting, but hearing you talk about it only makes it more so.”

A blushing smile crept up her cheeks. Some witches were predictably easy to please.

~*~*~

Hermione clamped onto her take-away bag from the Leaky Cauldron as she strolled back up Diagon Alley. Was she disappointed that she and Draco weren’t getting lunch that day? Of course. Had she spent a significant chunk of her weekend reading the books, even staying up later than usual to make sure that she finished in time? Perhaps. Was she upset? That was harder to answer so simply.

When Hermione had initially spotted Draco in Rosa Lee, naturally, she had been furious.  How dare he not show up just to have lunch elsewhere on Diagon Alley! But when she saw his mother, she forced herself to take a step back from the situation to think about it more rationally.  While she still wasn't pleased with the situation — or with Draco — maybe there was more to the story that she didn't know. If she correctly interpreted the panicked expression on his face when his mother had appeared, it seemed like there was. 

Yet, Hermione couldn't help but be more than slightly offended that Draco had pushed her away so insistently before his mother returned. Obviously, there was strife between his family and herself, but seeing as she was supposed to be his friend and he was supposed to have lunch with her, the decent thing to do would have been to invite her to stay. Did Hermione want to join him with his mother for tea? Not one bit. But that wasn't the point. 

Admittedly, Hermione could all but guarantee that Narcissa Malfoy wouldn't have wanted her to join them for tea either.  While Hermione could tell that Draco’s mindset had shifted over the past few years, Draco had shared enough about his parents for her to infer that they hadn't come to the same realisation.  Based on what he had told her Friday about their continued preference of pureblood culture and the fear that flooded his eyes when he motioned towards his approaching mother, she could logically conclude that their prejudiced beliefs were just as strong as always despite everything that had happened. Although, that really shouldn’t come as much of a shock. Older generations were always slower on the uptake of new social norms, especially when those beliefs had defined them for so long.

Hermione sucked in a breath and slowly released it, a process she had been repeating the past several minutes to maintain a semblance of calmness.  She really wanted to believe Draco when he said that he could explain why he had abandoned their lunch plans without warning.  It was an odd feeling putting that much trust in someone who used to be her sworn enemy, but she was determined to give this friendship a decent chance.  It had been going so well until an hour ago.

As Hermione neared her office, she realised that she was only a few paces away from Rosa Lee. She debated crossing the street so she wouldn’t have to see Draco and Narcissa seated next to the window but ultimately decided against it. She may not be thrilled at the mother-son tea that was happening within those walls, but considering that her building was on the same side of the street, it would be silly to go out of her way just to avoid the sight of them.

She continued on her current trajectory, but as she was about to pass the shop, Hermione noticed that a man was standing outside the window, his camera’s flash going off several times a minute. Hermione let out a short scoff.  Leave it to the Daily Prophet to find a casual tea between a mother and son newsworthy! They’d probably find some way to sensationalise it, fabricating the most extraordinary tale out of such a mundane event.

Hermione adjusted her path just enough so she wouldn’t collide with the intruding photographer. She picked up her pace as she passed the window, trying to pretend as if she had blinders on to prevent her eyes from straying from the pavement ahead of her, but her naturally curious subconscious betrayed her resolve and shifted her attention through the glass pane. It was only a glimpse. What harm could a glimpse do?

A lot.

Hermione’s heart dropped when she caught sight of the table on the other side of the window. Draco was no longer in the same seat that she had left him in. He was now on the opposite side of the table, and his original chair was occupied by a pretty young witch, a vibrant smile stretched across her full, pink lips as Draco took a casual sip from his tea.

Her frustration from before returned in full force, and there were no breathing techniques that would calm Hermione now.

What happened to tea with his mother? Hadn’t that been the reason why he hadn’t shown up?  But when Hermione thought about it again, she remembered that he had never actually said that Narcissa was the person that he would be dining with. In fact, all he said was that ‘something had come up.’ What? Was her company not good enough for him once he had another, better option?

Hermione’s feet failed to move, frozen behind the still snapping away photographer, her brain too consumed with the vision before her to continue back to her office. Hermione thought she recognised the witch from Hogwarts, although she must have been a year or two below them because she didn’t recall seeing her in any classes. She had long black hair that ended just above her waist and was clearly well maintained, hardly any stray hairs visible. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at Draco, twirling a lock of her pin-straight hair around a finger as he spoke.

Hermione was all too familiar with body language like that. She had had to endure it nearly every single morning sixth year as Lavender Brown drooled over Ron. This witch was infatuated with Draco; it was written all over her face.

Draco was harder to read. He had always been better at masking his emotions and now wasn’t an exception. His lips remained tight as she took control of the conversation, him taking the opportunity to take another sip of tea. As he set it down, there was another flash, and Draco looked out the window at the continued interruption, his expression immediately falling when he looked past the photographer and caught sight of her.

Their eyes met for only a brief second, just barely giving Hermione enough time to register the connection before she tore herself away and forced her back to him, sucking in a deep breath as she finally resumed the path toward her office. Her grip tightened around the paper bag still in her hands, thankful for the thin barrier preventing her nails from digging into her skin. She didn’t know what to think about the scene she had just witnessed, but one thing was certain — she did not like it.

She threw open the door to her firm’s level of the building, Gretchen greeting her upon her return.

“Back so soon?” Hermione’s trusted assistant asked, tilting her head in confusion. “How was your—”

“Fine,” she grumbled, even though she felt anything but.

Hermione continued to walk right past Gretchen and slammed her office door, spending what remained of her lunch hour in solitude.

Chapter Text

DRACO MALFOY UP FOR GRABS?

Get excited ladies! It seems like one of Wizarding Britain’s most desirable bachelors is out on the prowl! Draco Malfoy, author of the best selling book and Rita Skeeter’s top choice for Juiciest Reads of Fall, Behind Gilded Gates: Inside Malfoy Manor During the Wizarding War, was spotted yesterday having tea with Victoria Flint, fellow Slytherin and Hogwarts alumna. The two were spotted canoodling on a date at Rosa Lee Teabag on Diagon Alley Monday afternoon, but our source assures us that the young Malfoy heir isn’t committing to anyone just yet.

Draco crumpled up the newspaper and threw it halfway across his bedroom, not willing to read past the first few sentences. The whole thing dripped of his mother’s meddling hands. “One of Wizarding Britain’s most desirable bachelors?” Please. Not that Draco didn’t think that he was a damn bloody catch — not every wizard could be as devilishly handsome or as instinctively clever — but to call him that was a bit of a stretch even by his definition.

The general population may have accepted the Malfoys back into society, but he highly doubted most wizarding families would jump at the opportunity to get their daughter hitched to the former Death Eater. And besides, it wasn’t as if his parents would consider any of those “lesser families” as viable options. The expectation was clear — his wife to be was to be pureblood, and it was the pureblood families who remained sceptical of his “desirability.” His father had been repeatedly telling him that for months.

But hadn’t that been the point of this blasted scheme of his mother? To hype up his appeal? Just how much money had Narcissa invested in this carefully calculated PR stunt?

Naturally, she and Lucius had been thrilled when the morning paper had arrived, Draco and Victoria’s photo plastered on the front page just below the fold. Seriously, did the wizarding world have nothing better to report that the Dark Lord was defeated? Surely there were more pressing news matters than his fabricated dating life. Then again, Narcissa wouldn’t have skimped on payment if the publication could assure such a prime spot.

If he didn’t know any better, it’d be easy to believe that yesterday’s outing really had been a sincere social affair. The article was short — seeing as there really wasn’t anything to report — but the picture spoke for itself. Even from the black and white reproduction, Victoria’s genuine interest was apparent. She was leaned in so close, any further and she would have been lifted off of her seat. Draco had managed to pull off a convincing enough facade, his image smiling and nodding in the picture — the expression he had made sure to maintain once the photographer had arrived. He had tried to turn up the charm for appearance’s sake, and while he had ultimately succeeded, it had been bloody hard, his mind stuck in an infinite loop of wishing that the witch across from him had been Hermione instead.

He crashed down onto his mattress and closed his eyes. Within seconds, the betrayed expression on Hermione’s face from the other side of the glass flashed in front of the sea of black. He hadn’t been able to shake the image from his mind. Her eyes had been devoid of all their usual warmth and her typical bright smile had been traded in for a downward curl of the lips. He had vastly preferred when she had been mad at him for ditching their lunch.

He was going to have a hell of a time digging himself out of this hole. He wasn’t certain what he’d say to her at lunch that afternoon, not wanting to dive into the politics of pureblood society. Their friendship was too new, too fragile. But he needed her to know that he hadn’t lied to her, and he really had been looking forward to their lunch just as much as she had been, if not more so.

~*~*~

It was nearly ten in the morning, but Hermione had already been at work for hours. Her slumber had been unusually difficult that night, constantly tossing and turning in bed, unable to keep her eyes shut for more than two hours at a time. When she had awoken for the fourth time just shy of six, she had surrendered herself to the restlessness and gotten ready for work. It wasn’t ideal, but it wouldn’t be completely terrible to get in early. Things were starting to pick up now that Anders had finished the literacy reports, providing Hermione with the firm data on the range of educational needs of wizarding children, so she had plenty to do that day.

Hermione’s fingers drummed against the wooden surface of her desk as she shuffled between the various parchments spread out in front of her. The reports were promising, with the majority of children demonstrating proficiency in various levels of literacy across the board, but their general knowledge of Muggle literature proved to be just as lacking as she had expected, even in Half-blood families with Muggle-born parents. That was obviously something that needed to be fixed, and she had no doubt, if implemented correctly, their program would be successful in mending that gap.

There was a knock on her door, and Gretchen stepped inside, a warm cup of tea in her hand. “I thought you might want a second one this morning,” she said as she gently set it on Hermione’s desk. “You look a bit tired.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, grateful for her assistant’s astute observation. She picked up the fresh cup and took a sip before returning it on top of the saucer.

Gretchen placed a copy of the Daily Prophet next to the cup. “Also, I’m not sure what time you arrived, so I figured you’d need a copy of today’s paper. There’s an article on page five about the decline in book sales in rural communities that you’ll probably find interesting.”

Another thoughtful gesture from Gretchen. Granted, part of her job was making Hermione’s job easier, but it was small moments like this that went above and beyond that Hermione was particularly grateful for. As Gretchen had guessed, Hermione had left home so early that morning, her copy of the Prophet hadn’t arrived yet. She supposed she could set aside Anders’ reports for a few minutes to flip through the day’s news.

Hermione rubbed her palms over her eyes and then stretched out across the desk to pick up the paper and unfold it. She took a moment to scan over the front page, telling herself that she’d return to it properly after she’d checked out the article Gretchen had recommended, but her eyes froze when they landed on the image of Draco and the witch from yesterday. She swallowed harshly at the reminder, her heart dropping at the sight she had spent all of last night trying to forget.

Of course it was plastered on the front page! How had she not expected to see it? Hermione wished she would just turn the page already, but just like the day before, her attention was drawn to it, unable to tear herself away. The witch was even prettier than she remembered, her long black hair and shining eyes taunting Hermione from the printed page. When Hermione saw the witch’s hand subtly reach across the table to place it on top of Draco’s, she finally forced her attention elsewhere, bringing it to the caption below the picture, ignoring the way her stomach lurched at the sight.

Pictured: Draco Malfoy and Victoria Flint on a date at Rosa Lee Teabag.

Hermione felt her pulse start to quicken. Now she had a name for the witch Draco had abandoned her for. Her resentment from the day before came boiling back. It had been bad enough when she had thought that Draco had left her standing there alone just so he could get tea with his mother, but the discovery that he had opted to spend his lunch with Victoria had Hermione even more incensed.

Hermione slowly drew in a breath and released it, trying to maintain her composure in the workplace. It was natural to be upset when a friend cancelled last minute. Surely she’d be just as annoyed if Harry, Ron, or anyone else that she was close with had pulled a similar stunt, so it wasn’t as if she was reacting any differently because it was Draco. But this was more than just that. He hadn’t warned her of his absence and then got lunch with someone else. A date, no less!

Nearly every piece of her wanted to remain bitter and never agree to lunch with him again, but her insatiable curiosity was fighting its way to the forefront. For some blasted reason, she was still interested in hearing what he had to say for himself. If there was even a slight chance he could properly explain, he deserved the opportunity to prove himself. That’s what she would do for any of her other friends, right?

And yet, why were her fingers clamped so tightly around the edges of the paper?

“Also, don’t forget about your meeting today.”

Hermione pulled herself away from the newspaper, having completely forgotten that Gretchen was still in her office. She gave her head a quick shake to wipe away her thoughts and return to the present. She pressed her eyelids shut, trying to think. “Remind me which meeting this is?”

“The rescheduled meeting with Ms Weggers from last week? To discuss the preliminary curriculum outlines?”

Goodness! How had Hermione forgotten! She had been waiting weeks for this meeting to happen, and she had somehow managed to let the new date slip from her list of priorities. It was absolutely critical for her firm that the Ministry approved these curriculum outlines or there really wouldn’t be much use in them moving further with their current trajectory. Thankfully, Hermione had had everything for the meeting prepared since last Monday, and all she had to do was grab the right file of parchments.

Hermione collected Anders’ report, making a mental note to finish her analysis of the results after the meeting, and placed it on the corner of her desk. “What time is she expecting me?”

“Half past ten, ma’am.” 

So she still had just a little under thirty minutes to refresh herself with the details of what she wanted to say to Weggers. She would have preferred more time, but she’d just have to make do.

Gretchen excused herself, and Hermione pulled out the preliminary curriculum outlines file, opening it to the talking points parchment that rested on top. She rehearsed some of her prepared statements under her breath, determined to make this an efficient and productive meeting.

If everything went as planned, the meeting shouldn’t take more than a half hour, an hour max, leaving her plenty of time to return to the office before lunch where she would hopefully get the explanation she deserved. And for his sake, it better be a good one.

~*~*~

Hermione huffed as she sat in the waiting room, growing more and more frustrated as the seconds ticked on. When Weggers had postponed their meeting last week, the woman had told Gretchen that her meeting with Hermione would be her “top priority” that day. Ha! Hermione had already been waiting for over twenty minutes and her tolerance for this unnecessary waste of her time was growing smaller by the minute. It wasn’t as if Hermione didn’t have other things to do!

Hermione kept her eye on the clock, the minute hand moving past the twelve and her patience reaching a new low. This was unacceptable! If Weggers was going to be late, then she should have owled! Honestly, did no one have common decency any more?

Her chair scratched against the tiles as she pushed it back and got to her feet, stomping to Weggers’ assistant. “How much longer is she going to be keeping me waiting?” Hermione demanded.

“She’ll be with you as soon as possible,” the man responded, parroting the meaningless words he had probably been trained to say regardless of the situation.

Well, “as soon as possible” didn’t work for Hermione when she had plans in less than an hour! Unlike some people, she had every intention to keep her lunch plans.

“I’m sure Ms Weggers is a busy woman, so she should more than understand that my time is equally valuable,” Hermione snapped, placing her hands on her hips. “I was told that my meeting was at 10:30, and it is now past eleven!”

“I apologise for the inconvenience, ma’am, but she’ll be with you as soon as possible,” the impossibly unhelpful assistant repeated.

Hermione had half a mind to storm into Weggers’ office and demand the start of their meeting, but that would ultimately be detrimental to her end goal. As much as it pained Hermione, she would have to resist the growing temptation. If she wanted the meeting to be successful, she needed to stay on Weggers’ good side, regardless of her desire to do otherwise.

Hermione returned to her seat with a frown, her foot dancing in the air impatiently. The minutes continued to pass, each one without any sign of Weggers.

After twenty more minutes, Hermione had had enough.

“I have now been waiting for nearly an hour!” Hermione sniped at the assistant.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, ma’am, but I assure you that she will be with you—“

“As soon as possible. I know.” Hermione withheld a roll of her eyes.

“I understand your frustration,” he said, although it didn’t sound very sincere, “but she’s with an important client.”

“Well, I have an important” — Hermione paused to consider her wording — “prior commitment that I’ll be late to if we don’t start soon.”

The man remained unsympathetic. “If you need, we can reschedule.”

He began to flip through Weggers’ appointment calendar, and for a second, Hermione considered taking him up on the offer, but quickly came to her senses. She couldn’t postpone this meeting again just so she could get lunch with Draco, regardless of how much she wanted to hear his explanation. Work came first, even if it meant delaying getting answers.

“That won’t be necessary,” Hermione surrendered. “Although that does mean that I need to send an owl to my next engagement. If Ms Weggers becomes available while I am gone, you can tell her that I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

In a huff, Hermione left the waiting room and proceeded to the Ministry lifts where she pressed the button for the fourth floor. When the gates opened, she wandered down the familiar halls from when she used to work for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and stopped at her old assistant’s desk.

“Miss Granger!” Samantha said, surprised to see Hermione in front of her. “I didn’t know we were expecting you today!”

“I’m down on the first level meeting with the Minister’s office to discuss educational reform,” Hermione quickly explained, her focus elsewhere. “But if you’re not busy, I need a favour.” 

Samantha smiled. “I’ll help however I can!”

Hermione felt a tinge guilty for asking Samantha to do something considering she hadn’t been her assistant for several months, but Hermione was pressed for time and this seemed like the most efficient solution. At least not all Ministry assistants were as unhelpful as that man who worked for Weggers! 

Hermione grabbed a piece of parchment off Samantha’s desk and picked up a quill and started to write. “I need you to go to the nearest owlery and have this delivered outside my office on Diagon Alley. Tell the owl to wait for the recipient to arrive. He should get there around noon.” Hermione folded the note and pulled out her wand to cast a Sealing Charm. She then flipped it over and wrote a small D.M. on the blank surface before handing it to Samantha.

“Is that all?” Samantha asked, not pressing for any details about its contents, for which Hermione was grateful.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Thank you. I sincerely appreciate it.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

Hermione wished her a good day and then returned to the lifts. As the gates closed, Hermione knocked her head back and groaned. She would sincerely hate if she really did have to postpone her lunch with Draco just because she was stuck waiting for a meeting that was supposed to start an hour ago, but her job would always come first, and she would wait in that stupid room all day if that’s what it took.

Though, that didn’t mean she’d be happy about it.

~*~*~

The early October sun broke through the clouds and shined on the cobblestones of Diagon Alley as Draco landed outside of Hermione’s office just before noon. He wouldn’t dare be even a minute late after yesterday’s disaster. He jumped up the steps two at a time and stood on the stoop in front of her office building’s door, balancing his hand over his eyebrows to block the rays of light from obstructing his vision, when an owl swooped down and landed on the railing beside him.

Draco ignored the bird at first, assuming its presence to be nothing of personal importance, but for some reason, this particular owl kept its large black eyes plastered in Draco’s direction, continuously staring at him.

“Can I help you with something?”

The owl merely tilted its head as if assessing Draco and after a few seconds of consideration, dropped the note that had been in its beak before expanding its wings and flying away.

Draco watched curiously as its shape grew smaller into the distance until he looked down at the note that it had left behind. Not very many people contacted him nowadays — his publisher essentially the only one besides the recent influx of proposition letters — but even then, those correspondences typically went directly to the Manor. Perhaps the owl had confused him for someone else. But yet again, how many white blond purebloods were out there in the world?

Draco looked closer and noticed his initials on the parchment. He promptly picked it up and started to read.

May not be able to make it — stuck waiting for a meeting. If I’m not there by 12:15, consider your debt slightly repaid and assume we’ll have to reschedule.

P.S. This is how you notify people of your absence.

Draco snorted. While he was disappointed to learn that she would be late or perhaps not come at all, he smiled despite it. There was just enough of her signature spark evident in the words. Leave it to Hermione Granger to find room to criticise him in a three sentence note.

He pulled out his pocket watch. He could wait fifteen minutes. In fact, he could wait longer if need be. It wasn’t as if he had other plans. And if that meant waiting all afternoon just so he could make up for his error from the day before, then it would be more than worth it.

~*~*~

Draco’s back rested against the brick facade of her building, his head bobbing backwards as he drifted in and out of a nap, when he felt a sudden kick against his foot prompting him awake. He rubbed his fists over his eyes, and when he opened them properly, he saw Hermione looming over him, a bag of take-away in her hands.

“I hope there’s enough in there for two,” he said, his voice rough.

“What are you still doing here?” Hermione asked as Draco slowly pushed himself off the concrete floor and stood up properly.

“You waited fifteen minutes for me yesterday, so I figured I deserved a taste of my own healing potion,” he responded, still trying to come back to his full senses. “What time is it anyway?”

“It’s a quarter til two!”

“An hour and forty-five minutes, huh?” Draco cracked his neck and stretched his arms over his head, attempting to get all the kinks out of his bones. “Think I’ve repaid my debt?”

“Not even close!” Hermione answered sharply. “First of all, I warned you I’d be late; second of all, I told you that you could leave after fifteen minutes; and third of all, this situation is completely different because it was for my work and therefore unavoidable!”

“You mean to tell me that sometimes things come up last minute? Perhaps unexpectedly?” Draco initially challenged but quickly thought better of it. He was here to apologise, not antagonise. “Nevermind. Now get rid of whatever it is you purchased to eat, and let’s go somewhere proper. I owe you lunch.”

He only made it a few steps down the stairs before he realised that Hermione wasn’t following him.

“I don’t have time, Draco,” she said. He thought he detected a trace of remorse in her tone, but it could have just been wishful thinking. “My meeting went way beyond the expected end time, so I need to get back to work.”

“Oh, the woes of the employed,” Draco said in what he hoped was a teasing manner to mask his disappointment. Even when he had suggested still getting lunch, he knew it was a longshot provided that she had already picked up her own meal and that it was rather late in the afternoon, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t held out hope for a different response. “But before you disappear on me, I better give these back to you.”

Draco reached into his robes and pulled out two scrolls, the first one containing Hermione’s questions from Friday, the second his responses. It wasn’t much of a peace offering seeing as he intended to give them to her regardless, but if he was lucky, his extensive answers would somewhat appease whatever remained of her anger.

Hermione took the scrolls out of his hand and raised an eyebrow. “Thank you, but seeing you brought that up, I believe there’s something else that you owe me?” She folded her arms across her chest and waited.

Here? Now? Draco knew she expected him to provide his explanation, and he had every intention of doing so — he just envisioned that he wouldn’t have to say it while still standing in front of her office building minutes before she returned to work!

Draco cleared his throat and tried to give her the short version. “While I do admit that I owe you quite the thorough explanation as well as an extensive apology for yesterday, let me first clarify what you saw. You see, I really didn’t… My mother… I didn’t know…”

Sweet fucking Merlin, he sounded like a babbling idiot! This was exactly why he wanted to wait until they had time to discuss it properly! But Hermione continued to raise her eyebrow, so that didn’t seem like an option.

Draco took in a deep breath, and after regaining his composure, decided to start from the beginning like he had originally intended. “My mother came into my bedroom mere minutes before I was about to leave to meet you yesterday. She suggested getting tea that afternoon, and I assumed she meant later that day, so I agreed before I understood the time conflict, but by that point, it was too late to back out, and if I tried to owl you, it wouldn't have made it in time.”

Hermione wasn’t impressed. “So far, not a great start, Draco Malfoy. Seems to me like you could have just been honest and told your mother you already had other plans.”

Gods, if only it was that simple! Hermione didn’t get — didn’t understand — what it meant to come from a pureblood family. Generations of familial traditions and expectations had been instilled in him since the moment he could form memories. Malfoys came first; everyone else came second.  

It was this very belief that had motivated so many of their decisions during and after the war. The reason why his mother had gone behind the Dark Lord to make sure that Snape kept an eye on him sixth year. The reason why Draco had seriously considered Dumbledore’s offer to protect him and his parents when he couldn't bring himself to kill the Headmaster. The reason why his mother had lied to the Dark Lord about Potter. The reason why he continued to lie about what really happened in Malfoy Manor.

Family came first, even if he had grown to resent many of the implications that came with it.

Salazar knew Draco wasn’t thrilled at the future his parents envisioned for him, but he never considered that there was any other option. His entire life, he had been trained to listen to everything his parents said, and even though that mentality hadn’t exactly worked out great for him so far, he was still finding it difficult to stray far from that path. He may not like admitting it, but at the end of the day, his father’s approval still meant a great deal to him.

But the more and more time Draco spent with Hermione, the more he found himself questioning if all that was really worth it.

While Draco had been busy thinking, Hermione had carried on with her beratement. “While I’d love to dive into greater depth the approximately ten things you could have done differently, let’s jump to the real issue here. Who exactly is Victoria Flint and why did you find it so important to go on a date with her over me!?”

Hermione's last few words echoed in his ears, and he merely blinked at her as a streak of red coloured her cheeks. “That came out wrong,” she stammered. “Obviously you weren’t choosing between going on a date with her or going on a date with—“

“I know what you meant,” Draco cut her off, opting to move past her mixup without addressing the way his heart plummeted the second he heard her say that word. “But it wasn’t a date.’”

“Oh, really?” Hermione pressed. “Then how do you explain what I saw? Or that picture?”

His heart managed to find a way to sink even deeper. So she had seen the Daily Prophet article. Of course she had. He’d be crazy to believe there was even a slight chance that Hermione Granger wasn’t the type of person to commence her day by reading the morning paper. 

He shook his head. “You know not to take everything the Daily Prophet says at face value,” Draco tried to reason without diving into his mother’s scheme. Now wasn’t the time to get into all that.

But naturally, she wasn’t satisfied with his response. “That doesn’t answer my question!” she snapped, her chest puffing slightly. “But if you’re not going to explain yourself, then I guess there’s nothing left for us to discuss, so I suppose I’ll head back to work now.” 

She turned away and Draco couldn’t bear to see her leave while still upset with him. If he didn’t resolve things now, he doubted she would give him much of a second chance.

Hermione was almost to the door when he reached out for her hand and stopped her in her tracks. He couldn’t help but note how small her hand felt in comparison to his, her gentle skin cool to the touch against his contrasting warmth. She had already stopped her trajectory away from him, yet he didn’t want to let go. There was something strangely calming about simply having her hand in his, even if she was presently displeased.

Realising that he had been holding on for too long, he forced himself to drop their connection and took in a deep breath, giving his explanation one final shot. “I sincerely had no idea Victoria was going to be there. My mother had the whole thing set up without my knowledge. Almost as soon as you left, Victoria and her mother arrived and it became blatantly obvious that this wasn’t a mother-son tea. The second she sat down across from me, I wanted out, but for reasons that I won’t get into at the moment, I couldn’t. Or rather, I didn’t. I’m not proud of it, okay? But my point is, you’re going to have to take my word for it when I say that it was not a date, regardless of what rubbish and lies the Daily Prophet is spewing.”

He paused to take a breath before closing his eyes for a brief second, reopening them so his focus was solely on Hermione. “I wanted to have lunch with you, and that remains, whether that’s today, tomorrow, or some other time this week.”

At his final words, Hermione seemed to loosen, but she did her best to maintain her firm ground. “What if I don’t want to anymore?”

“Then I’d be quite disappointed,” Draco said, some of his own tension starting to diminish as it finally felt like Hermione was starting to come back to his side. “After all, we still need to discuss those books.” He smiled as he looked down at her bag, his copies still peeking out from the top. “We can’t have you forgetting what you read, can we?”

“I can assure you that won’t be an issue.”

“Let’s not risk it,” Draco countered, his confidence growing stronger by the second. “Lunch tomorrow. No cancelling or even showing up late this time. It will be both of our top priorities.”

“I can’t make any promises,” Hermione said, and Draco tried not to focus too much on the return of his disappointment. “My meeting this afternoon went well, which means we’ll now have a lot more things to do around the office, so I’m not sure what my availability will be.”

Draco feigned a carefree smile. If she was busy tomorrow, that would make this his first weekday afternoon since last Wednesday that he didn’t have her presence to look forward to. He didn’t like the sound of that, but it didn’t seem like he had any other option other than to accept that some people’s jobs were more inflexible with the hours.

“Then you’ll just have to owl me your availability, and I’ll clear my schedule,” he eventually resolved.

At that, she lightly snorted, lowering her head and looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Fine, but if you ditch me again, this friendship is over.”

He could tell that she was trying to come off as mildly threatening, but he got the impression that she wasn’t totally sincere — or at least he hoped so.

Draco took his chances and shot her a teasing smirk. “Please, you wouldn’t dare devoid yourself of my companionship.”

Hermione squeezed in a farewell roll of her eyes before she headed up the last few steps to her building and twisted the doorknob. “Goodbye, Draco.”

“Bye, Hermione.”

At the sound of her name, she looked back at him, and for the first time all conversation, she smiled. It was so genuine and bright, he swore it was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen.

When Draco Apparated home, he did so feeling infinitely lighter knowing that Hermione seemed to be on the path towards forgiving him, or at least letting this incident stay in the past. Now that she was giving him a second chance, he wasn’t going to waste it.

~*~*~

“What has you in such a good mood?” Gretchen asked the moment Hermione stepped foot back inside the office.

Hermione’s hand snapped up to feel her cheeks. She hadn’t realised that she had been smiling so broadly!

“I’m guessing this means the meeting with Ms Weggers went well?”

“What? Oh, yes! Ms Weggers!” It couldn’t have been more than a half hour since their meeting had concluded, and it already felt like hours ago. “She kept me waiting for nearly an hour and a half, so I decided to return the favour by making her sit through an hour and a half of my presentation. But she approved it!”

“Perfect!” Gretchen said, sharing in her boss’s excitement. “I’ll send a memo to the rest of the department with the good news so that we can start coordinating the follow up departmental briefings. Do you need me to do something with those parchments?”

Hermione followed Gretchen’s gaze to the two parchments in her hand that Draco had given her. “These? That won’t be necessary. They’re for me,” she said with a soft smile as she headed towards her office door. “But I’ll come out in a few minutes with some things I need you to do. Just need to eat my lunch first!”

Back at her desk, Hermione pulled out the salad from her take-away bag and unrolled the two parchments, laying them out next to each other. She really did need to get back to work, but she could spare five minutes while she ate to take a brief look at what he had written. From first glance, it was evident that Draco must have taken ages to respond, even if he had used a Self-Writing Quill, which she assumed was the case based on the perfectly neat script. Some of Draco’s responses were several paragraphs long, evidently sparing no detail to answer her questions completely. She wasn’t sure if he had done all this over the weekend or yesterday afternoon as a form of apology, but she appreciated his effort nonetheless.

Her eyes wandered off the parchment and over towards the front page of the Daily Prophet that still laid on top of her desk. She picked up the newspaper and examined the picture of his and Victoria’s so-called ‘date’ more closely. Victoria certainly seemed to think that this was more than a casual tea. But the more Hermione watched the picture repeat itself, the more she started to notice that something with Draco seemed off. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was, but his smile wasn’t quite right and his expression wasn’t as sincere. Perhaps her brain was starting to imagine things after watching the picture on loop at least two dozen times, but he simply did not look as engaged with Victoria as he did during their conversations.

Seemingly against all odds, Hermione truly believed Draco when he said that his tea with Victoria wasn’t a date — or, she supposed more importantly, that he had no knowledge of it beforehand. He had previously admitted to lying in his book, and since then, he hadn’t given her any reason not to trust that he wasn’t continuing with this same trend of honesty.

And yet, she could tell that he was still holding something back from her. She had restrained herself from asking what exactly he meant by "for reasons that I won’t get into at the moment," but she had forced herself to accept that not all of her curiosities could be answered at once.  Perhaps in time, he’d tell her about it. After all, their friendship was still so new.

Give him time. This was a new experience for both of them. 

Chapter Text

A massive stack of files collided with Hermione’s desk with a loud plop.

“More reports from Anders,” Gretchen explained as she straightened out the parchments. “They’re the latest we have on language acquisition patterns, nationwide statistics on average reading levels per age group, and baseline scores for basic Muggle history.”

Hermione ran two heavy hands under her eyes before she picked up the first few pages and gave them a cursory look over. This most recent collection of data would most certainly be a valuable reference, but as glad as Hermione was to have the resource, it only reminded her just how much work she had due to the three new projects she had recently been assigned.

Gretchen studied Hermione carefully, only breaking her concerned watchful gaze to look down at her boss’s schedule for the day. “I also wanted to remind you that your meeting with the Literacy department regarding critical analysis questions has been moved up to 10:30, and directly after that, the Muggle Studies department has requested your feedback on their lesson on Muggle inventions and innovations, and then at 1:00, Michaels and Nubley will be in the conference room to discuss finances for funding literary resources prior to the acquisition of Ministry funding, but then you are free until six when the board is coming in for a progress update on the Muggle reading list.”

Just listening to all that made Hermione feel significantly more tired. It had been constant go, go, go in the office ever since Weggers had given her approval on the preliminary curriculum outlines last Tuesday. Since then, high levels of stress had filled the corridors as everyone in the firm helped coordinate their next steps. For the past week, Hermione had been pulled in and out of meetings, hardly giving her time to tend to her personal assignments until the stars were bright in the sky and she was essentially the last person in the office.

Hermione draped her arms onto her desk and dropped her head over them. “Please tell me the end to all these meetings is near."

“Almost, ma’am,” Gretchen tried to assure her, although she didn’t sound too convincing. “But if we’re going to stick to that December 31st deadline that Mr Tillman has set for us, then we need to get this all settled as soon as possible.”

A guttural groan escaped Hermione’s lips. She was all too familiar with the deadline that the owner of the firm had created for them, having been a part of that meeting as well. She had tried to convince him that he was running the risk of burning out his employees with such a short window, but Tillman was more concerned with getting the pilot version of the program into selected households as soon as possible. That way, he rationalised, the oldest of those children would still have nine months to immerse themselves in their curriculum before boarding the Hogwarts Express. Hermione had to agree with his motives, but his good intentions didn’t make her job any easier!

Hermione wasn’t sure how much longer her body could withstand working at this unsustainable rate. Thirteen was already an unfortunate number, but it was even more so when it referred to how many hours someone worked in a typical day. Hermione may love her job and believe in everything the firm strived to achieve, but she still required a healthy step back from the insanity every now and again. After all, work wasn’t the only thing in her life.

And yet, when Harry and Ron had invited her to drinks that Friday evening, she had regretfully declined. She really did want to see her friends, but her brain simply wouldn’t have been capable of handling a single human interaction after such a draining week. The only two things Hermione had planned for her few days of freedom were reading with Crookshanks nuzzled in her lap and sleeping with Crookshanks nuzzled against her side. Either way, Crookshanks was the only company she wished to have. And for the most part, she had stuck to that plan. Over the course of the entire weekend, the only time she had stepped foot outside of her flat had been when she had gone to the store and picked up more cat food and a bottle of wine — and even the brief conversation she’d had with the cashier had pushed her limits.

Now it was a new week, but despite having just had the weekend to supposedly recuperate, she was already struggling that Tuesday morning.

“Can I help you with anything else?” Gretchen asked, seeming to sense Hermione’s early exhaustion.

“Coffee,” Hermione said, forcing herself to sit up straight and pick up the first file of parchments. “Black.”

Gretchen left to complete the request, and while she waited, Hermione began reading through the language acquisition charts. It didn’t take long for Gretchen to return, but even in that short span of time, Hermione had already yawned twice and had to reread one of the charts three times because she hadn’t properly paid attention the first two attempts. She really shouldn’t have stayed at work until eleven last night and still insisted on coming in before eight!

Her assistant set the hot cup of coffee down next to Hermione, and when Gretchen took a step back, her concerned gaze had returned. “I hope I’m not crossing the line by saying this, ma’am, but you’re working too hard. Perhaps you ought to take a break?”

Hermione shook her head without taking a moment to entertain that idea. “As lovely as that sounds, you know that’s not possible. You just said why yourself — we have a deadline. We have loads to get done, especially before this board meeting tonight.”

“I know, but if you keep trudging along at half-speed, you'll only be doing both the firm and yourself a disservice. At least take your lunch hour today.” Her face lit up. “Whatever happened to that lunch ‘companion’ of yours?” 

Hermione’s head snapped up at the reference towards Draco. Another unfortunate consequence of her hectic work week was that she hadn’t found time to see Draco since their second failed lunch last Tuesday. When he had suggested finding another time that week, she hadn't been lying when she said that she wasn’t sure what her availability would be — and much to her regret, it turned out that the answer was ‘none at all.’

“I haven’t seen him recently,” she answered with a resigned sigh. “But you know I haven’t had time for lunch. I barely have time to scarf something down between meetings!”

Gretchen took in a breath as she started towards the door. “I respect how much you put into this company, but you need to make time for yourself as well. If my opinion is worth anything, I think you should see him again. Anyone who gets Hermione Granger to actually take her lunch break must be someone special.”

“I already told you it’s not like that! He’s not—”

But with a parting smile, Gretchen had already closed the door behind her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Obviously there was nothing going on between her and Draco! If Gretchen knew even half of their backstory, she’d understand that it was a big enough feat that they had somehow made it to the level of being friends. Besides, he was seeing other people — or at least he was according to the Daily Prophet. Even if it wasn’t actually a date between him and Victoria Flint that she had unwillingly witnessed, it didn’t change the fact that Draco was probably out there having dates with other witches. She highly doubted she was the only person he was spending so much time with.

But now that Gretchen had brought it up, it really was true that it had been too long since she had seen him. Unfortunately, it was also true that she still didn’t have time for a proper lunch. Even if she did, there was no guaranteeing that an owl would get to him in time.

Although, they didn’t necessarily need to get lunch. There were other activities out there in the world…

An idea hit Hermione. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best solution she could think of so she could still finish what she needed to get done before the board meeting, while also hopefully getting to see Draco.

Without delaying any longer, Hermione pulled out a blank piece of parchment and started to write him a letter.

~*~*~

Draco fell back onto his mattress, throwing a Snitch in the air and catching it before the small golden ball had the chance to open its wings. Here he was again, stuck in what was bound to be another painfully uneventful day, just like every other day had been for the past week. By now, he had given up hope that she was ever going to write him and turn that prospect around.

It had all begun last Wednesday, prior to when things had turned south. Draco had awoken before the sun and anxiously waited by the large window that overlooked the gardens for the Daily Prophet to arrive. The house elves had been baffled when they saw the young master up that early and assured him that they could do whatever he needed, but Draco knew that he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep until he was certain that there wasn’t any indication of his most recent venture to Diagon Alley anywhere inside the newspaper.

Now that his name, photograph, and supposed dating life had been plastered across the front page, he highly expected at least some mention of the outing. There was no way he had laid asleep on her office stoop for nearly two hours without getting noticed! And yet, after he tore through the pages and safely reached the back page, he had been shocked to discover that he was somehow in the clear. There was remarkably no need for him to perform any alteration spells.

Draco had breathed a sigh of relief as he returned to bed. He had managed to get away with another afternoon with Hermione. He was either supremely lucky or a sighting of him with a Muggle-born wasn’t as controversial as his parents had always made it out to be. Either way, as long as it meant that his parents remained none-the-wiser to his near-daily luncheons, it was good news for Draco. And whenever she owled him with her availability for them to see each other next, perhaps he could do so without feeling as overly cautious the entire time.

But she had never owled.

Every second of that first day, Draco had kept his eyes fixated on the sky, waiting for any glimpse of an owl arriving from the distance — half out of anticipation, half out of apprehension. The Daily Prophet he could easily enough predict the arrival of in order to intercept the newspaper before his parents got their hands on it, but he had no idea when something from Hermione would appear, thus forcing him to be on constant lookout. He had hardly paid any attention to his parents’ conversation that morning over breakfast, and he had been so distracted during his Wizard’s Chess match against his father that Lucius was able to checkmate him within the first twenty moves.

For a while, his heart had lifted with a gut-wrenching mixture of fear and optimism with each new speck that appeared over the horizon. He would immediately drop whatever it was he was doing and dash to make sure that he was the one who greeted the owl upon its landing, but after the sixth owl that arrived with nothing more than another bloody proposition letter, Draco had learned to stop wishing for a different outcome.

As his mother had promised during that previous Saturday's dinner, there was no longer a shortage of letters from potential suitors. Word spread quickly after the Prophet’s vignette. Since its publication, an owl seemed to arrive every few hours with a new witch for Draco to groan over. With each envelope that Draco had torn open, the more it had felt like he was ripping away another piece of hope that Hermione would contact him. By then, it was Friday afternoon, and there were no more possible lunches to be had that work week.

Perhaps he had been too naive to believe that she had forgiven him for ditching her on Monday. Or maybe his real naivety had been believing that they really had become friends.

Come Monday, Draco had resolved to move on and chalk the whole experience up to a failed experiment between a war heroine and a former Death Eater. And yet, his heart had still practically raced out of his chest when his father appeared in front of him with a grimace deeper than Draco had seen in months, a letter clenched tight in his fist.

“This came for you,” Lucius had scowled as he thrust the parchment in Draco’s direction. “I assumed you smart enough not to have correspondence like this sent to the house.”

Draco’s eyes had grown wide as they met his father’s sharp gaze, fear flooding through his system. The already opened letter shook in Draco’s slightly trembling hands. This was precisely what he had spent the past several days hoping to avoid! He had assumed that Hermione wasn’t going to contact him, so he foolishly hadn’t been watching the windows.

But as he held the correspondence that he had spent all those days waiting to receive, a different thought had crossed Draco’s mind. He was a grown adult and he didn’t need his father’s permission on who sent him letters. And his father certainly had no right to open his mail.

Draco had straightened himself out and looked Lucius dead in the eyes. “You can’t control everything I do, Father.”

Lucius had glared down at his son in shock, but he had maintained his sharp glare, refusing to forfeit his upper hand. “Perhaps not,” he had retorted, “but certain expectations continue to hold true while you live under this roof. You may have received the family crest ring, but you know very well that your right over any portion of the Malfoy estate will not go into effect until you sign your marriage contract, so until then, this house remains entirely in my name. And if you intend to continue down this foolish path that you seem so keen on following, it appears as if that may never happen.”

Draco had felt his cheeks flare red. “Everything keeps coming back to this marriage contract doesn’t it?” he had fumed, the blood his father deemed so superior starting to boil. “Just because I want to spend a few afternoons doing something else doesn’t mean I’m endangering this perfect pureblood fantasy you maintain!”

“Watch your tongue!” Lucius had snapped. “Or do I need to remind you what your mother and I risked to keep you safe? Now you write that editor back and tell him you won’t be writing a second book!”

Before he could see Draco’s confused expression, Lucius had turned on his heels and stormed out of the room, his black robes billowing behind him as he sternly paced away from his son.

Once his father was safely out of sight, Draco had unfolded the parchment, disappointment sinking in yet again. The letter hadn’t been from Hermione; it was just his editor asking if he had any ideas for a follow-up book. But that was the problem with writing a tell-all book — Draco had already told it all. He was still struggling to come up with what he could write about next.

After that incident yesterday evening, tensions had run high between the Malfoy men the rest of the night and continued this morning as well. Breakfast had been another silent affair, and now Draco was glad to be alone in his wing of the Manor, far away from his father’s menacing stare.

Draco was still rather surprised that he had managed to stand up to his father about something, even if it hadn’t been for what he had expected. Despite the mix-up, he had no regrets. He was well past the legal age, and it was high time his parents took his free will into consideration. They may maintain a firm grip on certain aspects of his life, but some choices were entirely his own for the choosing, even if his parents didn’t recognise it.

Draco once again tossed the Snitch up in the air, this time releasing it to flutter free around his bedroom. Enough with letting his parents dictate every aspect of his life and enough with waiting for Hermione to contact him. He had waited more than ample time, and if she thought that avoiding him was an option, then he had finally found something that Hermione Granger was wrong about.

He pushed himself off the mattress, but his attention was quickly drawn to the distinct sound of a beak tapping against his bedroom window. Draco let out a groan. Just what he needed — another ruddy owl with yet another blasted proposition letter! Who was it now? The Burkes? The Selwyns?

Draco unlatched the window, and the owl landed on the sill, dropping the letter into Draco’s hand. He turned the envelope over to identify the family crest on the seal, but to his confusion, there was none. After ripping his finger through the crease and pulling out the contents, Draco’s heart stopped the moment he recognised the handwriting.

She had finally owled.

If he had known that mentally threatening to contact her would summon a response, he would have done that days ago!

Draco wasted no time reading the top piece of parchment.

I hope you’ll forgive me for not getting back to you sooner. It seems like our friendship had a rough week from start to finish. Work has been quite busy, but I’d rather tell you more about it in person.

I still have quite a few things that I need to get done for my job but would like to see you if you have time this afternoon. I’ll be at the address on the back starting at three and will most likely be there for an hour or two if you can join. I’ve given you directions from the Leaky Cauldron, as well as a map, to guide you. Once inside, meet me in the children’s section.

Owl me back letting me know if you can make it. And you better not take this as an opportunity to give me a taste of my own healing potion! Let’s pretend our transgressions of the past week never happened and just get back to seeing each other.

Hermione

P.S. For the record, I managed to make it just fine being ‘devoid’ of your companionship, but I guess a week is my limit.

If he had the time? Draco had nothing but spare time, especially when it came to her.

He shuffled the parchments to look at the second page, a detailed list of turn by turn directions with a hand-drawn map below. As soon as he read the first step telling him to exit out of the Leaky Cauldron through the Muggle street side entrance, it became obvious that wherever she was leading him was not a part of Wizarding London. She didn’t bother to tell him where exactly he was supposed to meet her (that would make things too easy for someone so unfamiliar with the Muggle world!), but knowing her and her line of work, it was bound to be either a Muggle bookstore or a Muggle library. He hadn’t been to either one before, but she could have said they were having a picnic at Azkaban and he still would have willingly agreed.

The waiting owl pecked his hand. The bird must have been instructed not to leave until Draco had given his response, but that part was easy. Of course his answer was ‘yes.’

~*~*~

Draco gave himself one final glance in the mirror to make sure his hair was in place before starting his trek downstairs towards the fireplace. He pushed back the front few strands one more time until he was satisfied with his appearance. He obviously always looked good, but he’d venture to say he looked even more so that afternoon. Although, it could just be the fact that he was smiling for the first time in several days.

He took the steps down two at a time, not paying much mind to his surroundings, and nearly collided with his mother at the bottom of the stairs.

Narcissa glared at her son disapprovingly for his carelessness and eyed him sceptically. “Where are you off to in such a hurry? And what happened to your robes? What are you doing wearing Muggle clothing?”

For Merlin’s sake, did his parents need to be involved in every aspect of his waking moments? Sometimes he wondered if he had more freedom back at Hogwarts.

“I’m off, Mother, but rest assured that I’ll be back before dinner,” he settled, not bothering to divulge any more details. He may be practising his right to make his own choices, but that didn’t mean he was dumb enough to openly admit where he was going and who he was going with when it was none of their bloody business to begin with. “That is unless you have any more last-minute surprise dates you want to spring on me?”

Narcissa’s jaw dropped slightly at his unexpected retort, but she quickly regained her composure. “You should be thanking me for that,” she criticised, straightening herself out even further. “Victoria Flint is a lovely girl. When her mother mentioned at lunch last Saturday that Victoria was single, I figured you would be delighted, especially considering you got along with her brother.”

“Please,” Draco scoffed. “Don’t act like that was for me. You only wanted the publicity.”

“That may have played a role,“ Narcissa admitted, not pretending to be ashamed of this confession. “Merlin knows you aren’t doing your part to help the family in this process. You’ve gotten over twenty letters since that article, and you have yet to pick even one other witch to meet with.”

Draco released the now instinctive groan whenever the proposition letters were mentioned. The stack of letters had been growing nightly, and every time a new one arrived, Narcissa proudly added it to the collection inside the jewelled box that sat on the chest in the formal dining room. Each one served as confirmation of the Malfoy’s slowly growing re-establishment in the pureblood community despite Draco’s continued disinterest in acting on any of those letters.

But that was an issue he didn’t have time to think about right now. Hermione was somewhere in Muggle London, and he had learned his lesson not to keep her waiting.

“Feel free to berate me about that some other time, Mother,” he dismissed. “But I have somewhere to be. If you have a problem with what I choose to do in my infinite amount of free time, then you can get in line behind Father.”

With that, he left his dumbstruck mother behind in the corridor as he proceeded to the fireplace to use the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron.

~*~*~ 

Draco kept his eyes on the map as he navigated through the unfamiliar streets of Muggle London. He had gotten lost a few times along the way, even resorting to asking a few Muggles for guidance, but up ahead, he could see the stone building with a banner hanging off that read “Library.” Draco chuckled to himself. He had correctly assumed that this would likely be his destination, but he still found it quite humorous and predictable that of all the places in London, Hermione Granger had led him to a public library.

He pulled open the door and was immediately taken aback by its interior. Some of the aspects of it were the same as the libraries he was familiar with — namely the fact that there were books organised on shelves — but beyond that, the entire atmosphere was off. The walls were a shockingly sterile white and long rectangular things with cylindrical tubes inside hung from up above, from which light seemed to be coming out. Where were the long oak tables for studying with lanterns on top for your personal usage? How was one supposed to concentrate on a book under such harsh white light? If this were what the Hogwarts library had looked like, he never would have stepped foot in there!

But Draco wasn’t here to criticise Muggles and their terrible taste in reading environments. He asked the librarian at the place marked “Help Desk” for assistance, and she guided him to the second floor where the children’s section was located. As expected, Hermione was already there, sitting cross-legged in front of a shelf, a pile fifteen books high next to her.

A smile graced itself across his lips, and a slight tingling erupted inside of him. It was damn bloody good to see her again. He was so excited, he could kiss her.

Not literally, of course. Just a figure of speech.

Draco slowly approached, the witch remaining oblivious to his presence, her attention much too focused on the wide selection of children’s books.

“You better not have made me come all this way so that you could give me Muggle books to read when we still haven’t discussed the ones I lent you.”

She looked up at him from over her shoulder and greeted him with that bright smile he had grown rather fond of. “You found it!”

Draco gently laughed. “Did you expect me not to?”

“Honestly, I didn’t know if you’d ever been out in Muggle London, so I wasn’t sure,” she said, pushing herself off the ground and standing up beside him.

“I could probably count the number of visits on one hand, but it’s not my first time.”

“What a shame,” she said, bending down to pick up her stack of books and starting to make her way to the next aisle. “Here I was, thinking I was taking your Muggle London virginity!”

She disappeared down the row of bookshelves, but Draco remained in place. Hearing Hermione make a teasing reference towards something sexual had taken him by surprise, causing his insides to go temporarily fuzzy. It was just that — well, he supposed he just wasn’t accustomed to thinking of her that way.

He shook away the strange jitters and met her halfway down the aisle, two new selections already added to the top of the teetering stack of books that was rested against her chest.

“Let me help you with that,” Draco offered, taking most of them into his arms so that it’d be easier for her to browse.

She thanked him, and when her brown eyes met his, Draco couldn’t help but notice that they were missing some of their typical shine and were now accompanied by complementary dark shadows underneath.

“Dear Merlin, woman, how little are you sleeping nowadays?” he asked. “A baby dragon could make its home in those eyebags!”

Hermione sighed as her fingers traced over the spines of the books. “Is it that obvious?” she asked resignedly. “Even my assistant made a comment today that I’m working too much.”

“Say it’s not true!” Draco mocked. “Hermione Granger is working too much?”

Hermione pulled one of the books off the shelf and knocked him on the shoulder with it, only prompting Draco to laugh.

“Fine,” Hermione surrendered, a smile starting to appear. “Perhaps I have a small propensity to get swept away in my work.” Draco raised an eyebrow, but Hermione quickly dismissed it. “Don’t give me that look! It’s been completely justifiable this week! We recently decided that we want to finalise the whole curriculum by the end of the year, so naturally, things have been a bit chaotic around the office.”

Draco’s sceptical expression didn’t fade. “Am I correct in assuming that you’ve taken on more than necessary?”

Hermione set her stack of books down on top of the bookshelf and folded her arms across her chest. “More than necessary is a subjective term,” she defended. “What you consider too much may be perfectly acceptable in my opinion.”

“Ah, so in other words, yes.” Draco chuckled as he shook his head. “You know you’re a workaholic, right?”

Hermione raised her own eyebrow, but the traces of her smile remained. “You say that as if it’s news to you.”

Draco shrugged. “Maybe not news per se, but it’s funny how some things don’t change even when it feels like everything else has.”

The conversation took a momentary pause as Hermione continued to browse while Draco placed the rest of the books on top of the bookshelf and skimmed the unfamiliar titles.

“I take it these are some of the Muggle books you’re planning on recommending for children?” he asked. He picked up the one titled Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and read over the synopsis on the back.

“Mhmm,” Hermione responded. “I’ve been narrowing down my choices all week in preparation for my meeting tonight with our board. I figured I could just hand them my recommendation list like they asked, but what good’s a list if you don’t have a physical copy to read?”

“That’s solid advice,” Draco said, recognising his words from what felt like forever ago. “I wonder what brilliant person came up with that idea.”

“Oh, just some wizard,” she returned with that damn bright smile yet again. “He says some clever things from time to time.”

Draco laughed. “You’re going to regret admitting that, Granger,” he teased, feeling his own smile reach the edges of his lips. “I’ll never let you forget you said that.”

~*~*~

Hermione spent the next hour weaving through the aisles, picking up the various books that she needed for her meeting. They probably could have gotten it done in ten minutes if it wasn’t for the fact that each time she pulled a new title off the shelf, Hermione would go into a mini-lecture about why that particular book was so good. With every new selection, her face would light up with enthusiasm as she dove into her explanation. Her excitement was so genuine, it would be easy to believe that any of those books was her favourite book ever written. And all the while, Draco happily stood there and listened to each and every word that came out of her lips.

By the time they were finished, Hermione had near upwards of fifty books, including some tale about a girl named Alice, a collection of poems about a stuffed bear named Winnie, and something about a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe that Draco doubted would be very accurate about what witches were actually like. She had even managed to convince Draco to choose a few adult Muggle books to read, to which he had no objections. He’d already read his way through the Manor’s library, and the book about some Lord of Flies sounded quite interesting. Well, that and he’d agree to virtually anything she suggested if it gave her a reason to stick around longer.

Once Hermione had checked out the books (of course she had a Muggle library card — add it to the list of things that were just so predictably Hermione Granger), she paused and turned to him.

“I want you to pick three of these books and read them,” Hermione said. “I read three from your childhood, so it’s only right that you now read three from mine.”

Draco looked at her in disbelief. “What were the first words out of my mouth this afternoon?” he asked. “No reading any of your books until we’ve discussed mine! And don’t you need them for your meeting?”

“The board won’t notice a few missing titles,” she reasoned. “Come on, Draco. It’s just three books!”

“No way,” he retorted, determined to hold his ground. “Besides, you already got me to agree to read those two books about Lords!”

“Lord of the Flies and Lord of the Rings are not related in the slightest!” she said with a laugh.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know that yet, because I haven’t gotten to read them!”

She looked at him with those warm brown eyes, the evidence of her exhaustion still apparent, but her pleading nature found a way to crumble his resolve. If she had managed to find time to see him despite her busy schedule, the least he could do was submit to this simple request.

“Fine,” he surrendered, grabbing the book about the fake witch. “I’ll take one for now, and when I’m done, you can pick the second. Expect my full report on everything this C.S. Lewis guy gets wrong about magic.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Hermione said. “When you finish, I promise to get you a Turkish Delight — although I’ll warn you now to keep your expectations low.”

After checking their surroundings for onlooking Muggles, Hermione discreetly deposited the rest of the books into a small beaded bag that must have had an Extension Charm added to it. Their business at the library now complete, Draco and Hermione exited the building and started walking back towards the Leaky Cauldron, the sun hanging low in the early evening October sky.

“Why do you care so much about my opinion on these Muggle books anyway?” Draco eventually asked.

Hermione shrugged. “I suppose it’s because you grew up so differently from me. It would be interesting to hear a new perspective, especially from someone who’s not only a wizard but also a pureblood and a writer himself.”

“I only wrote one book. That hardly makes me qualified to be the supreme judger of all Muggle literature,” Draco countered.

“One book is still one more book than I’ve ever written,” Hermione reasoned. “Do you think you’ll write another?”

Draco drew in a deep breath, thinking back to the letter from his editor and his father’s adverse reaction. “I don’t know yet,” he settled. “Things are a bit complicated on that front, and inspiration has been a bit… lacking.”

“You’ll think of something eventually,” Hermione assured him. “I mean, you’ve essentially got no choice in the matter. With the talent that you have, it’d be criminal for you not to write something else!”

Draco snorted. Of all the things he’d done, that’s what she’d consider criminal?

“I appreciate that, but it’s not that simple,” he resolved. “There are other factors involved.”

“Like?”

Draco shoved his hands into his Muggle trouser pockets. “Let’s just say my father isn’t the biggest fan of my career choice,” he confessed.

Hermione released scoff. “I can’t say I’m surprised. He and I always did tend to disagree on things.” She turned to him and smiled. “This isn’t the first time your father is wrong, and it most certainly won’t be the last.”

Chapter Text

Hermione caught sight of her best friends seated at the bar of the Leaky Cauldron and waved at them to capture their attention as she weaved her way through the crowded pub. Harry beamed at the sight of her and pulled out the empty stool beside him for her to join them.

“Look who finally managed to make it!” Ron greeted her, raising his glass in the air. “Although, I am a bit shocked to learn they don’t actually keep you locked in that building until sundown.”

“Not today. Only on Tuesdays and Thursdays,” Hermione said with a grin as she flagged down the barmaid to take her order.

Harry took a sip of his beer. “We’re just glad to see you’re still alive. After not hearing from you all week, we were a bit concerned,” he said.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “For a moment there, I thought the books might have finally swallowed you whole!”

Hermione laughed, grateful to have left the office at a semi-reasonable hour for once and having a chance to step away from her work and spend time with her dearest friends. When the barmaid returned with Hermione’s after-hours pick-me-up, the three clinked their drinks together in cheers.

“To Hermione finally seeing daylight!” Ron pronounced before they all took a sip of their drinks.

Hermione snorted as she set her glass down on the bar. “I missed you guys,” she said with an easy smile. “Catch me up on everything since Quidditch at the Burrow the other weekend. What have I missed?”

Harry and Ron took turns sharing updates from their lives, most of their latest stories centring around their work. Harry regaled tales from his recent Auror missions including busting a group of Goblins selling counterfeit Goblin-made artefacts, while Ron lamented about how despite how exciting the Auror missions were, he was more than tired of all the accompanying paperwork.

“I’m honestly surprised you haven’t asked me to do it for you,” Hermione joked once Ron was done with his mini-rant. “You’ve been complaining about this since the day you two started there!”

“I swear Robards gives me three times more paperwork than Harry or anyone else in the department,” he groaned. “One of these days, I’m going to march into his office and slam my resignation notice on his desk and join the joke shop like George offered!” He took a massive swig from his drink, and the now empty glass hit the counter with a thunk. He then shook his head as if trying to shake away his grievances. “But enough about our lives. How are things going for you at the firm?”

“Good, but impossibly busy,” she answered after a calming deep breath. “The past week has been nothing but back to back meetings, but things are finally starting to slow down after last night. We met with the board to review the Muggle reading curriculum, and they seemed to be quite impressed with the selection of books I picked up with Malfoy yesterday afternoon.”

Harry started choking on his drink mid-sip while Ron gaped at her in disbelief.

“Hold up,” Ron said, his eyebrows knitting together and his forehead starting to wrinkle. “I must have heard you wrong, cause there’s no way you made time to see Malfoy before you saw us!”

Hermione paused to take in a breath before responding. “Not that I need to justify my actions, but it was a work errand, and he happens to be free during the work day,” she explained. “Or would you have preferred I stopped by the Ministry and dragged you two halfway across London to go to the library with me?”.

“I think I’ll pass,” Ron promptly responded. “We more than filled our quota for that years ago!”

“Precisely.”

Hermione could have said a lot more on the matter, particularly that they shouldn’t read anything into the fact that she only happened to see Draco before she saw either of them, but she decided to drop the issue and continue with her story. “Anyway, we met with the board and—”

“Wait,” Harry interrupted, confusion still etched across his features, apparently not as ready to move on as she was. “Did you take Malfoy to a Muggle library?”

Hermione sighed. Of course it wasn’t going to be that easy. “Well, we weren’t going to find them in a Wizarding library, were we?”

“But, like, a real Muggle library?”

“As opposed to what, Harry? A fake one?” she asked with a subsequent roll of her eyes, her patience reaching a new low. “Of course a real Muggle library!”

“Huh.” Harry paused to seemingly consider Hermione’s revelation and then said with a teasing grin, “Guess I’m just surprised Malfoy managed to step foot in a Muggle establishment without the Auror department getting involved.”

Ron snorted and Harry looked rather pleased with himself for his retort. Hermione, on the other hand, was not as easily entertained.

“Was that really necessary?” she scolded.

“Come on, Hermione,” Ron said, his amused smile from Harry’s statement still spread across his face. “Even you’ve gotta admit that this whole” — he paused to add air quotes — “friendship thing between you and Malfoy is still pretty unbelievable.”

Hermione folded her arms across her chest, diving into defence mode. “I don’t have to admit anything of the sorts! When was the last time either of you saw him, let alone had a conversation with him?”

Harry and Ron shared a quick dismissive shrug, not all off-put by Hermione’s growing frustration.

“Gotta be, what, three years ago? Around the time of his trial?” Harry answered first. “That’s not entirely our fault, though. His whole family was hiding out in their manor all those years. It’s not like we were invited over for tea.”

Another snort came from Ron’s direction. “Could you imagine?” Ron pitched his voice up an octave higher and put on a faux, lofty voice. “Oh, hello, Lucius. Long time no see. I believe the last time I saw you, you were running scared for your life away from the final battle. Joined another cult lately?”

Harry burst into laughter, and Hermione bit her tongue to prevent any rash comments from slipping out. So much for casually mentioning Draco’s name in conversation and hoping that would make any sort of positive impact! But as much as it was currently paining her, she was determined to be the bigger person in this situation.

“Are you quite finished?” she asked once the boys started to calm down.

“For the moment,” Ron said with a grin.

Hermione breathed in deeply through her nose, letting the air fill her lungs to full capacity and then slowly exhaled. She made sure to maintain her forced composure as she said, “My point is that you two clearly aren’t keeping an open mind about him if you haven’t seen him in so long and you refuse to read even a sentence of his book.”

“Hard to say which part of that I hate more,” Ron not-so-secretly said to Harry. “Malfoy or the idea of actually reading a real book.”

Hermione glared at him disapprovingly, not thrilled with his continued disregard and flippancy towards the real matter at hand, and Ron finally seemed to get it through his head that she was no longer in a joking mood.

“Okay, okay,” he said, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Lighten up, Hermione. We’re just messing with you.”

Hermione huffed, and Harry eyed her cautiously.

“You seriously care this much about what we think about Malfoy?” he asked, a sense of disbelief apparent in his tone.

“I’m not saying you have to be friends with him,” she clarified while maintaining a firm voice. “Merlin knows he probably doesn’t want to be friends with you either. Given your reactions the past two times I’ve brought him up, I can’t say I would blame him. But I should be able to bring him up in conversation without us having to spend five minutes debating the merits of his and my friendship.”

“At least we can agree with him on something,” Harry grumbled under his breath but failed to say soft enough so Hermione couldn’t hear. He grimaced a bit, his distaste apparent, but then said, “Alright, fine. If it really means that much to you, Hermione, we won’t make any more comments, okay?”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, waiting for one final quip or perhaps a catch, but neither ever came. She slowly exhaled, releasing some of the tension she hadn’t noticed had built up in her shoulders. She wasn’t naive enough to believe this meant the end of Harry fighting her on this, but it was a step in the right direction.

Her best friends may be hesitant, but after all these years together, she could always rely on them and trust that their meaningful friendship would always come before animosity towards someone else. Ron didn’t look thrilled, but Hermione knew that his loyalty towards her would ultimately win. If the three of them could survive a war together, surely an insignificant thing like her newfound friendship with Draco wouldn’t come close to spoiling that.

Harry elbowed Ron in the gut. “Yeah, yeah. No more comments,” he reluctantly agreed. “But if he calls you a you-know-what, you let us know, and we’ll be there faster than a niffler that caught sight of a gold necklace! And Malfoy can expect a lot worse than slugs this time!”

A smile found its way across Hermione’s lips again, the memory from second year coming back. “I think you’ve conveniently forgotten that you were the one who—”

“Nope! Not the point!” Ron cut her off, traces of his own smile returning as well. “It’s what I intended to happen that counts! And Malfoy better watch out, cause this time I won’t have a broken wand!”

The three friends shared a laugh, and just like that, their momentary disagreement started to fade away. But as the evening continued, thankfully without any further snags, thoughts of Draco continued to sneak their way into her mind. Each time they popped up, Hermione forcefully shoved them away and returned her focus to her friends in front of her. Anything pertaining to Draco would have to wait for later. Tonight was all about her, Ron, and Harry.

~*~*~

For the first time in weeks, months, perhaps even a year, Draco was perfectly content in the Manor. The books that Hermione had checked out for him from the Muggle library laid out on the table next to his favourite chair in the Manor’s library, just waiting for Draco to continue reading them. He settled into the broken-in cushion and made himself comfortable in the spot he didn’t intend to move from until the morning sun had risen into the afternoon sky. Typically, Draco preferred to read in his bedroom, but he decided to make an exception this time. There was something oddly satisfying about bringing Muggle literature into a room filled with centuries of books written exclusively by half-blood or pureblood wizards.

Since getting home the previous evening, Draco had spent every waking moment that hadn’t been trapped in a meal with his parents reading. Lord of the Flies hadn’t even taken him the night to complete, devouring it all in one sitting before the clock in Malfoy Manor library hit eleven. It had been easy enough considering that the book was barely more than two-hundred pages long, but Draco had been surprised by how much the Muggle story had engrossed him.

At the beginning, he had enjoyed it for its seemingly simple plot of a young group of boys stranded on an island without adult supervision and their youthful excitement towards a life without rules. The boys quickly voted on a leader, but much to Draco’s dismay, they chose the boring stick in the mud Ralph over the clearly superior choice Jack. Draco had initially been preoccupied with their rivalry that vaguely paralleled his and Potter’s, but as the book carried on, it became obvious that the situation on the island was not the paradisal escapism he anticipated.

After tearing through the final few chapters and crying an unusual amount of tears for the death of a boy named Piggy who reminded him a disturbing amount of a young Longbottom, Draco no longer cared about who was in charge. His heart pained for this Jack character, and it wasn’t until the end that Draco realised just how much he saw of himself in him — a mere boy who thirsted for influence over his peers but once given the opportunity, let it consume him and cause him to do things that he would later regret. In the end, Draco sympathised with the loss of his boyish innocence due to the savage choices he had made when thrown into a difficult situation.

The book had been emotionally taxing, but as a whole, Draco was rather fond of it. He hadn’t anticipated feeling quite as strong of a connection with a Muggle character in a Muggle book, but he supposed that was the magic of literature — no wands required. Human experience was more universal than he had been raised to believe.

Since last night, Draco had moved on to reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. After Lord of the Flies, a simple children’s book would be a welcomed change, especially if it meant he could laugh at the preposterous way the author portrayed witches.

He had only gotten through the first few chapters, but he was already intrigued by the tale of the Pevensie children. He was curious to learn more about this winter-trapped Narnia place, the evil White Witch that ruled over the land, and the mysterious wardrobe that transported Lucy there — that is once he got over how much that last piece reminded him of the Vanishing Cabinet. So far, he’d encountered both the witch and the wardrobe, but the lion part of the book’s title was still unknown. If a bloody lion ended up saving the day, Draco was never going to forgive Hermione for recommending this novel!

Hours passed and the sun’s beams progressively crept their way higher until they intruded Draco’s vision. It must be nearing midday at this point. Typically by this hour, Draco was already begging for something interesting to do, but the books were continuing to be more than enough enjoyment. He wasn’t even sad about the fact that he wasn’t meeting with Hermione for lunch that day. She was most likely busy, and he had no doubt that she would owl him whenever her availability opened up again. Besides, reading the books she recommended almost made it feel like she was with him.

He was a little over halfway through the book when he heard footsteps pattering across the wooden floors. That was odd. The house elves always made sure not to disturb his reading, and his parents hardly ever entered the room. Much like many other rooms in the large manor, they mostly used the room for show, taking pride in their collection of rare wizarding texts but never taking the time to actually open them. The library had always been one of Draco’s havens specifically because he knew he would likely be alone.

And yet, here was Narcissa Malfoy, visiting their library.

Draco maintained a curious eye on her as she headed directly to the back wall of the library where the centuries-old clock was mounted. On its face showed the time — a quarter past noon — and the location of the Malfoy family members within the manor — Lucius in his study and the other two in the library. Narcissa perked up with an alarmed startle when she turned around and discovered Draco in the chair.

“Spying on my location, Mother?” Draco asked, setting the book down on the table and quirking an eyebrow in her direction.

“Not spying. Merely looking for you, darling,” she corrected as she headed towards him. “I was simply curious if you’d like to join me for lunch downstairs.”

Draco narrowed his line of vision. The last time his mother had invited him somewhere, it hadn’t ended well for him.

“Let me guess,” Draco retorted with the beginning traces of a grimace. “There’s some young pureblood witch waiting in the dining room, isn’t there?”

“Nothing of the sorts,” she breezed flippantly, dismissing his question with a blasé wave of the hand. Her eyes then settled on the books laying out on the table. “Reading again, are you, dear? I thought you were bored of all these books?”

Narcissa picked up the top book and slowly traced a finger over the cover. Draco’s heart hammered for a few beats on the off chance that his charm on the book hadn’t worked, but as Narcissa returned the novel to its original place, Draco faintly smiled to himself. He may be exerting more of his freedom, but he wasn’t daft enough to publically flaunt around a Muggle book on the off chance his parents would see. There was no need to stir unnecessary drama when he was already getting what he wanted.

“Thought I’d brush up on some Wizarding history,” Draco lied when Narcissa looked at him curiously.

Narcissa stared at her son as though not completely convinced, but then said, “Yes, well, I suppose you always did enjoy that topic.” She straightened herself out and lightened her gaze. “Anyway, would you care for lunch?”

Draco eyed her suspiciously. Something was off. “Not hungry,” he warily stated while trying to determine his mother’s true intentions. If there wasn’t a witch downstairs, surely his mother had other motives for wanting to dine together, and he wasn’t about to agree without knowing what she truly intended. He’d made that mistake before and wouldn’t repeat it.

He waited for his mother to insist, but it never came. Instead, she merely said, “Understandable. Then I will see you at dinner.”

With that final remark, Narcissa picked up the end of her robes and let him be in the library. Draco maintained a keen, watchful eye on her as she exited through the heavy wooden doors.

He still couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about the interaction hadn’t felt right. He supposed there was an infinitesimally slim chance that Narcissa really had come in hopes of a casual mother-son lunch, but that didn’t seem likely. She had been much too surprised when she had actually found him and had too readily accepted his rejection of her invitation. They already ate breakfast and dinner together on a daily basis. Wasn’t two meals already ample?

Draco decided not to let it bother him too much. Whatever her real reason was for wandering into the library no longer seemed to be an issue, so he was now free to return to his book in blissful solitude. The story had just shifted to Edmund’s point of view, and he much preferred wondering what Edmund would do next over pondering what his mother was really up to.

~*~*~

It was turning out to be quite the average Thursday at the firm. As was now Hermione’s typical routine, she came in an hour early, continued on a few of her projects, met with three different teams, and worked through lunch all before two in the afternoon. At this point, the fast-paced nature was becoming so second nature, it almost didn’t faze her anymore.

She was seated at her desk, labouring over the reading curriculum, when suddenly, her office door flung open and revealed a man with platinum blond hair and three books cradled under one arm.

“Draco? What are you—"

“Muggle library card,” he demanded, sticking his free hand out as he approached her desk.

Gretchen followed closely behind, an only semi-apologetic look on her face. “Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but he asked if this was your office, and I said yes, and then he—”

“It’s fine, Gretchen,” Hermione assured her. “He’s a friend. Although, I prefer when my friends knock before storming into my office!”

“Yes, well, no time for formalities,” Draco dismissed, dropping the books on her desk and placing both hands on the edge of the oak surface. He slowly pushed his chest forward. “Muggle library card, now, Granger.”

“That’s not how we get what we want,” Hermione teased with a wide smile as she rested her back in her chair. “You didn’t say the magic word.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine. Muggle library card, please.”

Hermione tsk-ed. “I’m afraid that’s the wrong magic word. The correct answer there was, ‘Muggle library card, now, Hermione.’”

Draco leaned in closer from across her desk, his eyes narrowing in on her as he decreased the gap between them. “Oh, no. I warned you that in certain instances, you’ll always be Granger, and seeing as which I’m currently frustrated with you for recommending not one but two books that left me on a cliffhanger, your name right now is Granger. Now, if you’ll so kindly hand me that Muggle library card, Granger, please.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she stood up from her chair and slowly made her way towards him. “Let’s presume for a moment I do give you my library card. How exactly do you intend on figuring out which books come next in the series if you don’t know how to use a Muggle library catalogue?”

“You don’t give me enough credit,” Draco said, pushing himself off the wooden desk with smug confidence. “I managed to find your office, didn’t I? I can easily ask one of those Muggle librarians for assistance. But what I can’t do is sign up for one of those little plastic cards, so that leaves me with two options. Either you give me yours, or I’ll have no other choice than to throw you over my shoulder and bring you there with me.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” 

Draco smirked. “You want to try me?”

He took two paces towards her and Hermione once again found herself with Draco in very close proximity to her. Her heart picked up speed as she felt the traces of his hot breath whisper over her skin, his intense gaze staring down at her. She couldn’t remember ever being this close to him before, or at least she had never really taken notice of how deep a shade of grey his eyes got when there was something that he truly wanted. The look was all consuming, and Hermione felt her breath instinctively hitch before her senses returned to her and she pulled herself away.

“If you want to go with me, you’re just going to have to wait,” Hermione hastily said, starting to aimlessly shuffle the parchments on top of her desk. “I have a meeting in thirty minutes that—”

“That’s just been cancelled!”

Hermione and Draco’s heads both snapped towards the door where Gretchen was still standing. Had she been there the entire time?

Hermione gave her head a quick jerk. “What? But I thought Rutledge said—”

“Something else came up last minute,” Gretchen cut in, a smile starting to tug at the edges of her lips. “In fact, your whole afternoon is free.”

Hermione eyed Gretchen suspiciously, but that didn’t last long once Draco started speaking again.

“Would you look at that? Guess you’re stuck with me, Granger,” he said with a satisfied smirk. “Now, you wrap up whatever it is you’re doing in here, and I’ll wait in the lobby. But if you take longer than ten minutes, I’m coming back here and carrying you out of this office as promised and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

The second Draco closed the door behind him, Hermione turned to Gretchen.

“Rutledge cancelled?” Hermione asked. “That’s not typically like him.”

“I never said he was the one who cancelled,” Gretchen returned with a grin. “As I said, something else came up last minute, and it looks to me like you have a more important engagement this afternoon.”

Gretchen shot her a wink as she made her way to the door.

“You can’t be serious!” Hermione exclaimed to little avail. “You’re imagining things, Gretchen! He’s just a—”

The door closed behind her before Hermione had a chance to finish. There Gretchen was again, assuming things to be more than they really were! Friends. She and Draco were friends.

Even so, Hermione supposed she could take the afternoon off. Merlin knows she deserved a break. And she’d never turn down an excuse to go to the library.

She pulled out her wand and briskly flicked it so all the parchments sorted themselves out into their proper piles, then ignoring the pleased expression on Gretchen’s face as Hermione walked past her.

“Alright, Draco, you win,” Hermione surrendered when she joined him in the lobby. “But we’re stopping to get you a Turkish Delight on the way.”

Chapter Text

Draco shoved his hands into the pockets of his Muggle London appropriate jeans where his recently borrowed books from the library had already been discreetly shrunk and stowed away. The sun that had previously peeked through the typical cloudy England sky was now obscured, and the early evening breeze wove its way down the narrow streets. He and Hermione had been aimlessly walking for over half an hour, but Draco didn’t mind in the slightest. It wasn’t as if he was in a rush to get home.

“I’m just pointing out that it’s quite interesting that war is such a central aspect of all three books,” Draco continued with the discussion that he and Hermione had been engaged in since they had stepped out of her office. The only lull had been when the Muggle librarian had stared them down for speaking too loudly in the otherwise silent atmosphere, but now that they had left the establishment, they were free to proceed completely unbridled.

Hermione briefly glanced up at him and grinned before returning her focus to the pavement in front of her. “This may come as a shock to you, but war isn’t wizard-kind exclusive,” she retorted, her mocking manner instantly apparent. “One could even argue that the wizarding style of war is outdated due to all the Muggle technological advances.”

Draco snorted. “I understand that you have a tendency to believe that people always know less than you and therefore feel the constant urge to educate others, but I had actually figured that first part out for myself,” he joked as they rounded a corner, their strides matching one another. “Yet that doesn’t mean I expected the topic to come up in three separate books, so a little warning would have been appreciated! Especially since there’s a character referred to as the Dark Lord.”

“Believe it or not, Voldemort didn’t invent the term. In fact, Tolkien is often credited for coining it,” Hermione informed him, clearly not heeding to what he had just said. “Ever since the publication of The Fellowship of the Rings in 1954, that title has often been used to refer to a villain who seeks to control the world around them through the assistance of their loyal followers. Which, if you think about it, is quite the fitting name for Voldemort to choose for himself.”

Typically, Draco was uncomfortable with any mention of the man his family used to blindly follow, but in this instance, he merely laughed in amusement. “Are you suggesting that during those years that Tom Riddle laid low after Hogwarts, he was off reading Muggle literature?”

Hermione chuckled, her own laughter joining his. “Of course not! Even he wasn’t that big of a hypocrite! Probably just overheard the name somewhere. But it does conjure up a funny thought, doesn’t it?”

The mental image made Draco laugh more audibly, picturing a young Tom Riddle, pre-downward spiral into complete maniacal tendencies, casually kicking up his feet and reading Lord of the Rings in his spare time between Horcrux creations and Dark Arts training.

“Okay, I’ll give you that one,” he conceded, snorting a final short laugh through his nose. “Although, I will have to take away a point for you still being an insufferable know-it-all, so I’m afraid you’re back to a net of zero.”

“That’s not fair!” Hermione said, intentionally bumping into him with her shoulder, her smile never flickering. “You clearly enjoyed the factoid, so I demand my point back!”

“Absolutely not,” Draco maintained. She arched an eyebrow at him, but he merely shrugged it off. “Sorry, Granger. I don’t make the rules.”

“Liar,” she taunted with a gentle elbow knock into his side. “Admit you found it interesting, and give me my point back.”

Draco shook his head. “I will never admit such a thing,” he retorted, determined to stand his ground even though they both knew that she was right. His grin widened as he peered down at her and soaked in the warmth of her glimmering gaze. “Guess you’ll have to learn how to control your pesky temptation to share random tidbits of knowledge whenever they pop up into that clever brain.”

Hermione turned around and started walking backwards, dropping her jaw in feigned disbelief. “Clever?” she repeated. “My, my, Malfoy. Is that a compliment I detect?”

“Alert the Daily Prophet! Draco Malfoy spotted complimenting a Muggle-born!” he proclaimed, his booming voice echoing off the surrounding buildings. Hermione swatted her hand against his shoulder, trying to get him to lower his voice, but his words were mere gibberish to any passersby, so there wasn’t any harm. “I can see tomorrow’s headline now! ‘Breaking News: Malfoy Heir Compliments War Heroine.' Then, underneath, an exposé of every single witch I’m supposedly dating followed by a short paragraph speculating if Hell truly has frozen over.”

Hermione made a show of rolling her eyes, but her amusement remained apparent as she returned to walking in a normal direction. “You sure do think you’re funny don’t you?”

“Correction. I know I’m funny,” he said with an assured grin. “But the real question is do you find me funny?”

Hermione smiled at him tauntingly. “I will never admit such a thing.”

~*~*~

There were few things that Hermione enjoyed more than a quality literature discussion, and so far, Draco had proven to be quite the intellectual counterpart — and a rather humorous one at that. She had always known him to be just behind her academically in Hogwarts — the brunette having secretly taken additional pride in beating him on nearly every exam — but doing well in school didn’t necessarily mean that someone also had the capacity to hold a stimulating conversation, let alone one that had lasted so long.

Whenever Hermione mentioned to Ron or Harry a book she had read, they typically made snide remarks about how she was the only person who cared so much about the novels. Was it that unusual that she craved someone to discuss her books with? Half the fun of reading was sharing your thoughts once you had finished that final page. Yet after so many years, she had learned to accept that this would always be her two best friends’ reaction. Compared to that, talking to Draco was a refreshing change. Not only had she found someone who shared her appreciation of books and could engage in a deep, meaningful conversation, but he also kept her laughing along the way.

She and Draco lazily strolled through the Muggle London streets until they arrived at Hermione’s favourite square only a few blocks away from her flat. The autumn leaves had begun to turn subtle shades of red, orange, and yellow, and the soft breeze rattled a few loose, causing them to slowly cascade down onto the grass below. Several other people were scattered across the square’s lawn, all savouring one of the final pleasant afternoons of the year.

Not too far away, Hermione spotted a patch of open grass underneath one of the nearby trees. “Why don’t we sit for a bit?” she proposed.

“About bloody time!” Draco instantly responded, appearing all too relieved at her suggestion. “My feet started aching around fifteen minutes ago, and I’ve been seriously contemplating if it was worth the risk to cast a Cushioning Charm on them!”

Hermione had barely stepped off the pavement and onto the square when she felt the sudden pressure of Draco’s fingertips pressing into her waist, jerking her closer to him. Hermione’s heart temporarily faltered at the unexpected touch and once she had regained her footing, looked up at him in a mixture of shock and bewilderment. But as quickly as his hand had gripped her, it was gone.

“Careful, there, Granger,” he warned, motioning his chin towards the evidence of where a Muggle hadn’t cleaned up after their pet. “You’re lucky I’m more observant than you, or else you’d have a proper mess on your shoes right now.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said earnestly but then glanced up at him. “Although, I hope you don’t expect a medal for being considerate.”

Draco beamed at her. “No medal necessary. Your gratitude is sufficient.”

When they reached the shaded spot under the tree, Draco removed his jacket and spread it out on the ground. He then sat on the grass and leaned back so that his blond head rested directly in the green blades, missing the jacket completely. Upon first assessment, Hermione stared at the untouched jacket with confusion, determined that Draco was going to adjust his position so that his head rested on top of the fabric, but it never came. He simply remained in his reclined position, his eyelids slowly falling shut.

Then it became clear to her — he had laid out the jacket for her.

After waiting a few more seconds just to make sure that really was Draco’s intention, Hermione finally took her seat. She supposed being raised in a Pureblood family came with certain expectations and one of them was that he was always a proper gentleman. Making sure that she didn’t step in anything unsavoury and offering his jacket as a blanket were merely extensions of those old-school manners. It was slightly antiquated and fell a bit too strictly along traditional gender roles for Hermione’s usual taste, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate the simple gestures.

Draco’s eyes slowly reopened as he began to fish around in his pocket for something. A few moments later, he revealed a small confectionary bag, pulling out his third Turkish delight of the afternoon.

He extended the bag in her direction. “Want one?” he asked, even though she had turned him down both of the previous times he had offered.

“Still no,” she passed. “You’re just about the only person I know who actually enjoys them,” Hermione commented with a short laugh and a shake of her head as she looked down at him from her seated position. “I was convinced you’d think they were a disappointment after how much they were built up in the book!”

Draco swallowed his bite and then shrugged. “Perhaps not ‘betray my family’ good, but delectable nonetheless.”

When he finished the rest of the sweet, his eyes fell closed once more and he released a gentle hum, presumably savouring the fresh fall air sweeping over him. As he blissfully laid there, a peaceful silence fell between them for the first time that day. Hermione considered filling it with one of the many thoughts that ran through her always busy mind, but she peered down at Draco and reconsidered, taking a moment to simply appreciate his presence instead.

It really was nice spending so much time with Draco. With work being so perpetually stressful, she was grateful to have someone who pulled her away from the insanity. Of course, she could always rely on Ron and Harry to serve a similar role, but there was something different about Draco — and it was more than just the fact that they sometimes discussed books together. Being with him made her feel more… herself. Like she didn’t need to be concerned about what he thought about her or her opinions, which was a rather odd thought when one considered that he used to torment her solely because of who she innately was. But he had clearly moved beyond that antagonistic nature — a fact Hermione didn’t take for granted.

Sitting there with him in the park in the middle of the square, Hermione was completely content, and it appeared as if Draco was too. A small part of her wondered what it would have been like if there had never been a war and the two of them had gotten to be friends during their time at Hogwarts. Or did the war need to happen so that Draco could come to his senses and realise the grave consequences of his mistakes?

In the end, she supposed it didn’t make a difference contemplating what could have been. All that mattered was that they had managed to move past their turbulent history and had become friends.

Draco still seemed perfectly at ease, and for a brief moment, Hermione considered laying down beside him. He certainly made it look relaxing. She could even ball up his jacket for them to share as a pillow. But if she dared closed her eyes, Hermione would likely fall asleep in the middle of the square. Her body was still operating on minimal sleep, so she ultimately couldn’t risk it, even if he did make it look so incredibly tempting.

So instead Hermione settled on her second choice. The witch pulled out of a couple items from her trusted beaded bag and began writing down some of the highlights from their conversation. Over the past hour or so, Draco had made a few comments about the books that she thought were particularly perceptive that even she hadn’t thought of. Granted, she hadn’t read any of them in several years and had never read them in such quick succession like he had, but she was still impressed by his ability to cross-analyse characters and point out related themes among all three novels.

And then there were the moments of the conversation that she merely enjoyed because of the fire Draco had spoken with when he had said it. He’d gone on for ten minutes arguing that C.S. Lewis was either a Squib or had a wizard friend with loose lips, because there was no way that the author just happened to be so eerily accurate with his use of magical elements, citing that the wardrobe was clearly inspired by Vanishing Cabinets and that the use of prophecies was similar to that in the Wizarding world.

But her favourite part of the afternoon had been when he had ranted about how ridiculous it was that a lion always saves the day. Hermione had full-heartedly laughed as he got particularly heated about the subject. Apparently, it was easier to get over his qualms of blood status than it was to forgo old house rivalries.

There was a rustling from beside her as Draco began to stir, resting both hands over his eyes. “Whatever it is you’re mulling over in your brain, I need you to stop. I can practically hear you thinking,” he complained, but his subtle teasing tone made it apparent that he wasn’t totally sincere.

Hermione shushed him, deciding to give him a hard time in return. “Now that you’ve distracted me, I’ll have to think twice as hard to remember what it was I wanted to write down,” she toyed. “I can’t concentrate if you’re talking!”

“And I can’t relax if you’re thinking so loud!”

Hermione playfully kicked him, prompting Draco to curl onto his side and clamp a hand around the point of contact.

“Hey!” he cried. “I’m trying to rest here!”

“Too bad,” she tormented.

She repeated the motion, but Draco was much more prepared to respond this time. He grabbed hold of her leg, prompting a squeal out of Hermione as her back fell onto the ground with a thud. Not accepting defeat, Hermione twisted and turned until she wrangled herself free and was able to continue with her short jabs.

Not long after, Draco, now fully awake, threw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay! You win!” he declared as he propped himself up. “Geez, Granger. That’s not a very nice way to treat the man who helped you skive out of work this afternoon!”

“Please,” Hermione dismissed, ripping a handful of grass out of the ground and throwing it at him. “You insisted on me leaving early!”

Draco chuckled as he brushed a blade of grass off his shoulder. “I’m not denying it. I’m just saying you should be more appreciative of the fact that you’re here with me instead of that boring meeting you initially had scheduled.”

He lifted an eyebrow as if daring her to argue otherwise. Hermione did her best to ignore his piercing grey stare and distracted herself by sweeping her fingers through his hair to help remove a few stray pieces of grass that remained lodged in his fringes. But as she pulled away, his gaze still lingered, and Hermione had to bite down on the inside of her lip to prevent her smile from giving her agreement away.

He may have a point. But, of course, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him so. The man was already too smug as is.

His attention flickered away from her, curiosity coming over him as he noticed the items rested next to Hermione’s knees. “Is this what you’ve been writing in? And what is that grey tubular thing?”

Hermione looked down at her notepad and pen. Sometimes it was easy to forget how little he knew about the Muggle world. “This is a notepad. Muggle version of blank parchment that’s been bound together,” she explained, picking up the spiralled stack of papers. “And this is a pen. It’s one of the tools that Muggles use to write. They’re much more convenient to travel around with than a quill and inkwell, so I keep one on me. See?” Hermione turned to a blank page in her notepad and doodled swirls across the page. “The ink is already inside the plastic tube, so there’s no need to re-dip every other word.”

Hermione extended the pen in his direction, and Draco brought it close to his eyes to examine. When he handed it back to her, he gave an impressed nod. “Got to hand it to the Muggles. Some of their inventions aren’t complete rubbish.”

Off in the distance, six dings of a nearby church bell travelled towards them. Draco’s head snapped in their direction, his eyes turning wide at the sound.

“It can’t be six already?”

“I guess so,” Hermione answered, equally surprised to learn that it was so late. Surely it hadn’t been that long since they had left her office!

Draco fell back into the grass and groaned. “I don’t want to go home,” he griped.

“Then don’t,” Hermione said simply. “No one’s forcing you to leave.”

Draco’s groan grew louder, running both hands down the length of his face. “Perhaps not physically, but my mother would likely send out a search party if I dare miss dinner again.”

A million questions crossed Hermione’s mind, but now didn’t feel like the time to inquire about the inner workings of the Malfoy family and their apparent dinner expectations. She’d just have to save that for a future date.

As in a future day on the calendar, she clarified to herself, imagining the ridiculous comment Gretchen would assuredly say if she had heard Hermione utter that word.

Draco drew in a deep breath and pushed himself off the ground. When he had stood up, he extended a hand down to Hermione to help her to her feet.

“I guess this means I’ll just have to drag you out here again someday soon,” Draco concluded as Hermione brushed off the trousers she transfigured from her work robes. “At the rate I’m going, I’ll be barging into your office the same time Monday afternoon demanding another trip to the library.”

Hermione looked at him incredulously. “I know these novels aren’t terribly long, but how in the name of Merlin are you getting through them so quickly?”

Draco chuckled in amusement. “Says the witch who finished my book in less than twenty-four hours.”

“That was different,” she defended, feeling a sudden wave of heat flush her cheeks. “Your book was about a topic that personally affected me. And that was a one time thing!”

Draco arched a pale eyebrow. “You mean to tell me that Bookworm Granger wouldn’t spend all day reading if she had no other obligations?”

“Of course I would spend some days doing that, but not every day! Surely you have better things to do besides only reading the books I recommend!”

“One would think, especially with me being a first-class, best-selling author and whatnot,” he quipped with a carefree grin. “And yet, in some ways, I’m a mere peasant, wasting half my day just waiting until I get to see you.”

Hermione snorted. As if there was even a chance she’d believe that!

But as she prepared to make some sort of snarky remark, her eyes briefly met his. Hidden beneath his teasing facade, Hermione could just barely detect a subtle hint of sincerity and swallowed her comment before it left her lips.

Come to think of it, she really didn’t know what Draco did outside of their recurring rendezvous. When their conversations hadn’t been consumed with the discussion of books, they had been primarily focused on either her work or his — but never on what he did outside of that. Did he still play Quidditch? Keep in contact with any of his old housemates? Hermione sincerely didn’t know.

“If that’s true, then we need to get you a hobby,” she concluded, praying that her response sufficiently addressed his sentiment. Meanwhile, in the back of her mind, she found herself increasingly hoping that this wasn’t just another example of him messing with her.

But to her relief, Draco carried on with the conversation, oblivious to the questions darting across her brain. “I expect a full list of options the next time we meet,” he said. “I would entertain your recommendations now, but I really do need to get back to the Manor, and knowing you, you would prattle on for twenty minutes, so we better head back to Diagon Alley before you get carried away.”

He had barely finished his thought when he began walking towards the Leaky Cauldron, presumably expecting Hermione to follow, but he quickly noticed that she was no longer at his side. He turned back at her in confusion, the witch still standing in the same spot in the middle of the square.

“I’m actually headed in this direction,” she said, pointing the opposite way.

His eyebrows knitted together. “You live in Muggle London?”

“Well, yes,” Hermione answered. “I know that’s not typical, but after the war, I wanted to return to some of my Muggle roots and make it easier for my parents to visit,” she explained with a single shrug. She then gave Draco a smile. “Plus it has the wonderful perk of allowing me to have a Muggle library card.”

“In that case, I don’t have any objections,” Draco returned with a grin of his own. “How far away is it from here?’

“Only about three blocks or so.”

Draco pulled a pocket watch out of his robes, only glancing at it for a fraction of a second before returning it. “Eh, I’ve got time. I’ll walk you home.”

“That really isn’t necessary,” Hermione insisted. “I am perfectly capable of walking a few blocks on my own.”

Draco smiled. “I have no doubt you are. But just because you can, doesn’t mean you have to.”

~*~*~

“Well, this is me,” Hermione said when they reached the front of her building. Hermione dug into her beaded bag a tad longer than usual and eventually retrieved the set of keys to her flat. The metal jingled as she mindlessly fiddled with them between her hands.

“I had fun today,” she said, brushing some of her curls behind her ear as the breeze picked up. “But the next time we do this, I may have to introduce you to a Muggle bookstore.”

Draco immediately shook his head. “Absolutely not,” he countered. “That’s a dealbreaker.”

“Why’s that?”

“Simple,” he responded with a taunting grin. “Once you take me to a Muggle bookstore and teach me how to use Muggle currency, I’d be able to go there myself, thus eliminating my need to pester you for your library card, and where’s the fun in that?”

Hermione kept her focus on her keys and pressed her lips together to hide her amusement. No, she supposed that wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining.

She may have given him a hard time for the way he had stormed into her office earlier that afternoon, but she was ultimately glad that he did. And as strange as it was to admit, she really didn’t want to say goodbye to Draco. His promise of another outing on Monday seemed so far in the future.

“Well, I suppose I can’t delay this dinner much longer, can I?” he said with a tinge of remorse, but his expression quickly shifted into a smirk. “But I assure you, Granger, that you can’t keep me away from you for too long.”

He shot her a parting wink, and Hermione bit down at her bottom lip as he turned away from her and started back towards Diagon Alley.

Monday was definitely too far away.

“Draco, wait!”

He paused in his tracks, and once Hermione caught up to him, she reached into her beaded bag, pulled out her pen, and then grabbed his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked as the pen’s tip connected with the palm of his hand.

He flinched at the unfamiliar tickling sensation of the ballpoint running over his skin as Hermione wrote her message. When she pulled away, he examined the finished product.

“‘Tomorrow: Lunch with Granger,’ huh?” he read with a pleased look. “What happened to your insistence that I call you Hermione?”

“Well, isn’t that what you’ve been calling me today? All because someone was frustrated with me because he couldn’t handle waiting a few hours to know what happens next in the books?”

Draco chuckled. “Yes, but I have the books now, so I suppose I can let you off the hook.” He then returned his attention to the words on his hand, momentary concern glossing over him. “This isn’t permanent, is it?"

“Don’t worry. It comes off fairly easy with soap and water,” Hermione assured him. “But be careful if I ever introduce permanent markers to you!”

“Let’s just stick to one Muggle writing instrument at a time,” he remarked. “Now, if you don’t stop distracting me, my mother will venture into Muggle London and personally track me down, and I can promise you that’s the last thing either of us wants!”

And with that, they once more exchanged their farewells, and Hermione watched Draco as long as she could until he disappeared around the next block.

Only eighteen more hours until she got to see him again.

In the meantime, she better get started on that potential hobby list.

Chapter Text

The green flames settled into the embers below Draco’s feet as he brushed the lingering ashes off his robes and stepped into the manor. He hadn’t been daft enough to keep his Muggle jeans on before returning home — his mother didn’t need any more reasons to be suspicious of his afternoon activities. Yet if she caught sight of him now, he’d have a difficult time justifying the wide grin that was plastered across his features.

Even the prospect of his parents’ disapproval about his tardy arrival couldn’t squash the extra spring to Draco’s step. His afternoon with Hermione had been perfectly blissful, and the best part was, the promise of lunch with her tomorrow meant that his high spirits would remain through then and into the weekend — as long as he survived dinner first.

As the distance between him and his parents crept towards nonexistent, Draco brainstormed what he would say if his parents pressed for a reason for his lateness. He could easily pretend that he had lost time reading a book — a believable enough lie considering that his mother had recently spotted him in the manor’s library. Perhaps he’d even indulge his father and claim that he had been researching potential job leads. If all else failed, Draco could rely on the timeless classic that he had taken a pre-supper snooze and hadn’t woken up in time.

But regardless of what he said, one thing was certain: Hermione’s name would not escape his lips.

At dreaded last, Draco reached the large ebony doors that led to the dining room. He gripped the brass handle, the cool metal reminding him of the unappealing atmosphere that awaited him on the other side. No longer was he surrounded by the serene Muggle park with Hermione next to him, her contagious smile enough to erase any other thoughts from his mind. He’d give nearly anything to steal a couple more hours with her, but he didn’t much feel like enduring his father’s inevitable wrath if he dared defy one of his parents’ expectations. Merlin knew he was already pushing the limits by risking being friends with Hermione, but as Draco had thought after the Leaky Cauldron just two weeks prior, what his parents didn’t know, didn’t get him disowned, and so far, his parents remained blissfully unaware, and Draco had every intention of keeping it that way.

So with a deep breath, Draco tucked away his smile and resolved to secure the happy memories of his afternoon locked inside. Whatever happened during the meal, he refused to let it ruin his mood.

The second Draco pulled open the doors, he was greeted with the sharp synchronised turns of his parents’ heads and two accompanying glares.

Ah, yes. Family dinner as usual.

“You’re late,” Lucius promptly criticised, staring Draco down as he took his usual seat in the middle of the elongated table.

“Just a few minutes, Father. Nothing to get your wand in a knot about.”

If his father said something in return, Draco didn’t bother to register it, instead directing his attention to the first course of the meal that was already served. As his fork pierced through the leaves of lettuce, he could feel his father’s menacing glare, but Draco ignored it as if it was a mere fly that wouldn’t stop pestering him. The further he engaged in the situation, the more sparks it would incite, so it was best to leave it alone and retreat back into his thoughts while his parents resumed whatever they had been conversing about prior to his arrival.

Draco faintly smiled to himself as he tuned out his surroundings and placed a gentle hand over his pocket where the two Muggle library books were still safely shrunk and stored. It reminded him of the childish thrill of disobeying his parents when he had been no older than five and had routinely convinced one of the house elves to sneak him an extra sweet before dinner, which Draco would keep in his robes pocket for later. As soon as the meal concluded, he would then race up to the room and devour the sweet, infinitely pleased with himself for successfully tricking his parents.

Yet that paled in comparison to the secret he now so dearly held.

Once the final course was cleared, Draco would be free to return to his room and spend the night immersed in the fantastical worlds that Hermione had introduced him to. Naturally, he was eager to read the books and discover what the future held for the Pevensie children as well as Frodo and Sam now that they had embarked on their adventure to Mordor, but if he was being honest, he was more excited to finish them. The quicker he reached the last page, the sooner he would get to discuss the books with Hermione.

Maybe he’d surprise her and already have one completed before lunch tomorrow so that they could spend another afternoon discussing a novel. Or perhaps it’d be better if he only read part of the book tonight so they could go into greater depth, getting to focus on a smaller portion rather than trying to cram an entire book’s discourse into an hour-long break. Then they could meet again on Monday to discuss the latter half of the book. Or even Saturday if she was free. There was no rule limiting them to weekdays.

“Draco Lucius!”

The sharp hiss of his mother’s tone dragged him back to his present company. It had never boded well when his mother used both his first and middle name, and the annoyed expression on her face indicated that this was not the first time that she had tried to get his attention.

Any trace of Draco’s joyous mood promptly faded when he noticed the envelope she held in her hand.

Merlin’s fucking tit. Another bloody proposition letter.

How trapped in his thoughts had he been that he hadn’t even noticed the arrival of an owl?

“Who is it this time?” He did his best to ask without making his disdain too apparent.

“Alesia Burke. Apparently their family was out of the country on holiday, so they are just now receiving word of your availability,” Narcissa returned as her eyes grazed down the parchment. When she reached the end, the now predictable subsequent grin stretched across her lips. “This is another respectable prospect for you, dear. Do me a favour and hand me the box?”

Draco begrudgingly made his way to the chest and retrieved the jewelled box containing the rest of the letters that had accumulated over the past week and a half. If given an option, Draco would much rather pull them all out and throw them into the fire one by one and watch the parchments wither into ashes. Yet he resisted this growing urge and followed his mother’s directions.

He placed the box next to her dinner plate, but as he tried to pull away, his mother’s slim fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“What’s this written on your hand? ‘Tomorrow. Lunch with Gr—”

Draco tugged his arm out of her grasp before she read too much, but he feared it was already too late. Narcissa’s eyebrows came together as she peered up at him curiously while Draco frantically licked his thumb and rubbed the Muggle ink off the palm of his hand.

“Who exactly are you getting lunch with that you’re trying to keep from us?” Narcissa asked, though it sounded more like a demand than a polite question.

“I’d like to know as well,” his father’s voice echoed from the other end of the table. “Care to explain what all that was about?”

Draco’s heart and brain were both thrust into equally panicked frenzies. He knew he had every bloody right to have lunch with whichever damn witch he pleased, yet the pressure from his father’s stern glare and the potential of his resulting reaction reminded Draco why it was vital that he keep his luncheons private. Everything else from the day that had led up to this moment had been perfect, and he’d be damned if he was going to risk losing lunch with her tomorrow or any other day.

“Gringotts,” Draco scrambled to justify with the first logical explanation he could supply. “I have an informational lunch meeting with them tomorrow to discuss potential employment.”

Silence filled the room for several seconds as both parents kept watchful looks on their son as if making their own personal assessments on whether or not he was telling the truth, until Narcissa finally spoke.

“Shame,” she said with an unnaturally heavy sigh. “For a moment, I thought there was a chance you had reached out to one of the Greengrass daughters and were considering one of them.”

Lucius scoffed. “Of course it’s not a date with a witch. That would require Draco to actually do something on that front.”

And that would require Draco to actually want to do something on that front.

But as much as Draco itched to say something spiteful in return, he once again forced himself to swallow his resentment, remembering all too clearly his father’s reaction when Draco had let slip the comment about Helena Fawley’s father not being a Death Eater. Some things were better left unsaid.

“Your father’s right, Draco. It’s far past time for you to make initial decisions, and there are plenty of lovely options here for you,” Narcissa said as Draco bitterly returned to his seat. She shuffled through the stack of parchments, none of which Draco had ever bothered to read for himself. “I believe it’s the younger Greengrass that her father sent a letter on behalf of. Astoria, if I’m not mistaken?”

She continued to flip through the letters and list off names, yet not a single one caught Draco’s interest until he detected his mother's tone shift to that of pitied amusement.

“Oh, I forgot that Sylvia Selwyn sent a letter. I don’t know who they think they’re fooling. I suppose you have to give them credit for repeatedly trying.”

Lucius’s scoff was even louder this time. “I must disagree. They’re wasting our time even bothering to owl something. They should know better at this point.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Draco piped up with his first sincere interest in one of the letters, even if it was only because he was curious what would warrant such a dismissive reaction from his parents.

“The rest of the Selwyn family may be considered a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but everyone knows her great-great-grandfather on her mother’s side was a blood-traitor,” Narcissa explained as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Draco couldn’t resist the roll of his eyes or the next words that slipped out of his mouth. “Surely that’s pureblood enough.”

His statement was met with the clink of silverware falling onto fine china followed by another bout of uncomfortable silence.

The sound of wooden legs scraping against marble floor broke the stillness as Lucius shifted in his chair, his firm glare plastered in Draco’s direction. “What did you just say?” he demanded.

His father’s commanding tone sent a chill down Draco’s spine, but the words were already out in the open, and there was no taking them back. 

“I said, surely that’s pureblood enough,” Draco repeated, his words stronger the second time around.

“Draco!” Narcissa exclaimed with clear shock.

Lucius rose from his seat and placed two firm hands on the edge of the table. “Since when has the definition of pureblood been so fluid to you?”

Draco casually shrugged to make it appear as if debating this topic was of no great consequence, but it was merely an attempt to maintain the illusion that his heart wasn’t hammering faster than it had during any Quidditch match he’d ever played. Draco couldn’t remember ever vocally disagreeing with his father before, let alone on something as important to their family as blood status, but the words had tumbled out, and now that the floodgates were open, it was near impossible to rein it back in.

“Forgive me if my maths are a bit off, but even if her great-great-grandmother was a Muggle-born, that would make her only a sixteenth Muggle-born, which seems fairly infinitesimal to me.”

“That’s not how this works,” Lucius snapped in response.

Maintaining any semblance of casualness was becoming increasingly difficult, and Draco could feel his pent-up anger and frustration boiling to the surface. “So that’s it then?” he spat. “I need to pick my lifelong partner and future mother to any children I may have out of these twenty-some-odd witches? And what if I meet with every single one of these women and none of them strike my fancy? Or should I reach over now and pick one at random just to get this ordeal over with?”

Lucius’s upper lip curled in obvious dismay. “You wouldn’t know if any of these witches were of interest seeing as you haven’t bothered to meet with a single one of them! Your mother and I can only do so much if you’re not putting in the effort to help.”

“To help with what?” Draco near shouted. “Get me married against my wishes?” He gripped the roots of his hair and any pretence of ambivalence was thoroughly shattered. “Don’t act like you’re doing me some big favour! We all know why you’re really doing this.”

“Draco!” came the shocked utterance of his mother, but Lucius held up a firm hand before she could say anything more.

“No, no,” the Malfoy family patriarch snarled. “Let the boy say his piece.”

Draco had had enough.

Enough of sitting by idly saying nothing. Enough of holding back his opinions.

“I am not your pawn to regain social standing,” Draco said firmly, clearly enunciating each word so there would be no confusion about his resolve. “Not once have you asked if I want to get married right now. You two made that decision for me, just like this.” He pulled up the sleeve of his robes, revealing the faded serpent that would forever taint his skin.

Narcissa’s eyes grew wide as they fell upon the mark. “That wasn’t our decision either.”

“Perhaps not, but it was your choices that forced me into that situation, wasn’t it, Father?”

The two men glared at one another with pure contempt burgeoning in both of their expressions.

“I think that’s enough of this conversation for the evening,” Narcissa said, trying to placate the situation. “Why don’t we return to our dinners?”

Lucius scowled, not once letting his glare stray away from Draco. “Not yet. It seems your son wants to ruin another meal, so why don’t we let him?”

“Oh, yes! Blame it on me even though every conversation the past two weeks has cycled back to these damn bloody letters!” Draco fumed.

“This really is in your best interest, dear,” Narcissa tried to rationalise, perhaps concluding that Draco was the more likely party to stand down. “If you don’t marry soon, the best options will already be accounted for. As you know, it is common for purebloods to wed young. Your father and I were not much older than yourself when we got engaged.”

Draco huffed, a humourless laugh escaping his lips. “I must have forgotten the part where your youths were ruined fighting a war you didn’t volunteer for and then spent two and a half years hidden away at home, not getting to enjoy your young adulthoods and newfound freedom. Oh, wait, my mistake! That was me.”

The table shook as Lucius slammed his palms against the table, causing the centuries-old fine china to rattle at the disturbance.

“That’s enough!” Lucius ordered, his breaths growing increasingly shallower as he continued to glare at his son. “You are a Malfoy, and there are certain expectations that come with the honour of holding this name. As the last person in the line, you have a responsibility to not only me and your mother but to everyone else who came before you. You will marry a pureblood — an actual pureblood, not one that suits your definition.” He narrowed his eyes as he leaned across the table. “Do I make myself clear?”

“And what if—”

“This is not a discussion,” Lucius maintained. “This is and always will be the expectation.”

Draco felt his fingernails claw into his palm while he watched his father reclaim his seat at the head of the table and casually return the cloth napkin over his lap — the clear indication that he considered the conversation to be over. Yet Draco’s head was still spinning with a myriad of thoughts and emotions, none of which were helping to suppress the animosity that was building inside of him like a volcano about to erupt. It didn’t matter that Draco still had plenty he wanted to say. As was another beloved Malfoy family tradition, what Father decided was the law of the household, and Lucius had already made up his mind.

Draco was bloody sick of it.

Unable to bear being in the same room as his father any longer, Draco forcefully pushed back his chair and slammed his napkin next to his barely touched salad before storming towards the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Lucius demanded.

“Anywhere but here,” Draco concluded. “Apparently I’m just ruining dinner, so you’ll now be free to enjoy the rest of your meal in peace.”

He only caught a glimpse of his mother’s incredulous expression before Draco yanked open the ebony doors and proceeded down the candlelit corridors, up the stairwell to his bedroom. Once inside his room, Draco locked the door with a Sealing Charm and released his pent-up anger with a long, frustrated groan and a sharp kick to his dresser. The framed photograph of him and his parents at the Quidditch World Cup that typically rested on top of the dresser teetered off the edge and crashed onto the wooden floorboards, causing the glass to shatter.

Draco ignored the mess and kept two clenched fists at his sides as he paced back and forth across the length of his bedroom, his mind in disarray. How foolish had he been to think there was even a chance he’d be able to change his father’s mind? Of course Lucius wouldn’t waver on the expectation that Draco marry a pureblood! Draco had known and accepted (and originally agreed with) this his entire life, so why was this the thing he had felt the need to fight his father on?

Yet Draco couldn’t squash the rage that lingered in every inch of his body. He was furious — furious with his father for continually refusing to listen to him but also with himself. Despite Draco’s initial resolve not to let whatever happened at dinner affect him, his father had still gotten under his skin and was on the verge of spoiling his entire day.

But Draco couldn’t let his father have that control over him.

He tried to cling onto his memories of that afternoon and leave that disastrous dinner at the other end of the Manor where it belonged. He desperately needed to suppress his anger and return to that happiness that had consumed him the entire time he had been with Hermione, but that was proving easier said than done. Not even crashing onto his mattress and reading the first few pages of The Two Towers had been able to erase the thundercloud that obscured his thoughts. So Draco resigned himself to resuming his pacing when suddenly there was a knock on his door.

“We need to talk,” said the voice from the other side of the locked barrier.

Draco sucked in a breath and clamped his eyes closed. “I’m not in the mood, Mother.”

He retrieved his wand to put a Silencing Charm on the door, but his mother’s response was quicker.

“You don’t honestly expect me to believe you really have lunch with Gringotts tomorrow, do you?”

The heated feelings that had been coursing through his veins finally dissipated but was promptly replaced with apprehension. Draco opened his mouth to formulate another credible lie, but Narcissa continued before he was able to utter a sound.

“I know there’s something you’re not telling me and your father,” she said. “You may think you’re clever enough to get away with these secret luncheons of yours, but you forget who raised you.”

Draco’s heart froze. She knew about the luncheons.  And if she hadn't yet found out who with, it wouldn't take her long to piece it all together.

Before Narcissa could ask any more questions or Draco said anything that would further incriminate him, he flicked his wand towards the door so that no further words could come in or out.

He fell back onto his bed and placed both hands over his eyes, trying not to let the panic consume him.  For a flicker of a moment, Draco considered cancelling his and Hermione’s plans for tomorrow but quickly dismissed the idea. No, he wouldn’t let fear dictate his decisions.

Nothing would stop Draco from attending his lunch with Hermione. Right now, he needed to see her more than ever.

Chapter Text

Hermione had only recently returned to her office after the several hours long meeting with Rutledge when Gretchen appeared in her door frame. 

“Someone didn’t come back yesterday afternoon,” she teased.

“You told me the rest of my afternoon was free!” Hermione defended, setting down the parchment she had been reviewing.

Gretchen tauntingly grinned as she stepped fully into Hermione’s office and closed the door behind her. “Yes, but a trip to the library doesn’t take three hours. Knowing you, I would have bet my last Knut that you would come back here whenever you finished. Unless you were otherwise engaged?”

She quirked a suggestive eyebrow, and it took a few seconds for Hermione to realise what she was insinuating.

“Absolutely not!” Hermione rashly asserted, her cheeks involuntarily flushing red at such a ridiculous thought. “How many times do I need to tell you? Draco and I are just—”

“Let’s talk about that shall we?” Gretchen pressed. “Draco Malfoy is your lunch companion, huh?”

Hermione huffed. “If you’re going to make some comment about his and my past, I’ll let you know that—”

Gretchen threw her hands up to indicate her good intentions. “I get it! The war was years ago, and you both have moved on. You don’t need to defend anything to me. I read his book, as I assume you have as well. Who in the Wizarding World hasn’t?”

Besides Ron and Harry? Hermione thought.

“Yes, well, the book did sell quite well,” she said bluntly before returning her attention to the parchment she had been reading before Gretchen came in. Hermione hoped Gretchen would get the hint that Hermione would prefer to drop the subject, but if she caught on, Gretchen decided to ignore it.

“I’m just surprised to discover he’s the one you’re spending so much time with considering he’s supposedly out there looking for the future Mrs Malfoy.” She smirked. “Or perhaps he’s already found her.”

“Gretchen!” Hermione cried, blindsided by the remark. She knew that Gretchen enjoyed pushing the limits when it came to teasing Hermione about her and Draco’s friendship, but that crossed the line!

“What!” Gretchen returned with an unapologetic smile. “Surely you saw that Daily Prophet article as well. It was plastered across the front page. And you must admit that he is quite the pretty wizard!”

Hermione felt the heat spread from her cheeks down her neck. “While I can see how some witches find him attractive, it is not like that between us. He and I are—”

“Let me guess. Just friends?” Gretchen rolled her eyes. “Keep telling yourself that, but I know what I saw yesterday, and I don’t have any friends who look at me the way that he looks at you.”

Thankfully, there was a knock on the door, and Hermione had never been more relieved for an interruption in her life. To her surprise, it was Harry who opened the door.

“Sorry, is this a bad time?”

“Not at all,” Hermione said. She raised an eyebrow in Gretchen’s direction. “We were just wrapping up.”

Gretchen appeared to be biting back another smile as she made her way to the door. “The denial will end eventually,” she cooed as she gave Harry a nod and exited Hermione’s office.

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh while Harry settled in the chair on the opposite of her desk. “What was that all about?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hermione eschewed. “Gretchen’s had a bit of an imagination issue lately, and it’s proven to be quite difficult to control.”

“On a scale from one to Luna insisting that Nargles are real, how imaginary are we talking?”

Hermione laughed. “I’d defend the existence of Nargles before I’d consider what Gretchen’s saying!”

“That bad?”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said with a chuckle. “And before you ask, trust me when I say you don’t want to know.” She shook her head back and forth, dismissing the absurdity of Gretchen’s claim. “Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure of The Chosen One stopping by my office?”

Hermione relished in the resulting groan that came out of Harry. She knew how much he resented that title, especially now that the war was over and all he wanted was a calm life out of the spotlight, but it was fun to tease him about it from time to time.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to grab lunch, but now I’m having second thoughts!”

Hermione snorted as she adjusted some of the parchments that were spread out across the surface of her desk. “In that case, it’s a good thing that I can’t today.”

“C’mon, Hermione,” Harry insisted. “It’s Friday! Surely you can put aside whatever world-saving education plan you’re developing and escape work for an hour.”

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I have to take a raincheck,” she said. “I already have plans with Draco.”

She hadn’t noticed anything amiss with her statement until Harry’s eyes grew wide and he stared at her in disbelief.

“Draco?” he repeated, his eyebrows knitting together. “Since when is he”—Harry shuddered—“Draco?”

Hermione released a deep sigh. She had been so careful making sure to refer to him as ‘Malfoy’ around Harry, but she supposed she bound to slip eventually. 

“If I’m not mistaken, that’s been his name since birth," she returned, but Harry wasn't impressed.

“You know what I meant."

With another sigh, Hermione dipped her head before looking back up at Harry. “Draco and I are friends, and you’re just going to have to get used to that." she plainly resolved so there was no mistaking her intention not to budge on this issue.

Her eye caught sight of the time on the wristwatch Molly had given Harry for his seventeenth birthday and was startled to see how late it had gotten. She knew the meeting with Rutledge had gone on for several hours, but she hadn’t expected it to already be a quarter till noon. Although, she supposed it was only logical that it was that hour considering that Harry was currently asking if she wanted to grab lunch.

“How about drinks tomorrow instead?” she suggested, hoping that would be satisfactory to get him out of there as soon as possible. Not that she didn’t want to get drinks with Harry! But if it were nearly twelve, then Draco would be there any minute now, so this seemed like the best compromise.

“Sure that won’t conflict with any of your plans with Malfoy?” he asked.

Hermione could tell that Harry was trying to remain lighthearted, but she could still detect the annoyance and mild hurt in his tone. Apparently her being friends with Draco was one thing, but it was another thing entirely when it interfered with her potential plans with Harry.

“Tomorrow night, I’m all yours,” she promised him. “Now get out of here before—”

There was a knock on her door, and the handle began to twist open.

~*~*~

The night’s slumber hadn’t been particularly easy. While Draco didn’t regret anything that he had said to his father over the shortly-lived dinner, he had woken up at several points in the middle of the night, his mother’s words seeming to echo in the otherwise silent Manor. Each time the memories from the night before had sprung up, Draco had slammed his pillow over his head and forced himself back to sleep, refusing to let these thoughts prevent him from dreaming.

By the time Draco awoke, the sun had already risen far above the horizon and the peacocks were out of their sheds and roaming freely across the front gardens. Draco couldn’t remember the last time that he had slept in so late. With the expectation that he always be downstairs by nine for breakfast, he had never had the luxury of sleeping in. Yet, after the events of last night, Draco hadn’t felt compelled to attend another family meal, and evidently his parents hadn’t come upstairs demanding his presence. It seemed as if there was an inherent understanding from all parties that it was for the best that they keep their distance after the harsh words that had been exchanged.

With the morning now completely his own, Draco went to his desk and pulled out a piece of parchment, and for the first time in weeks, the words easily flowed out of him, releasing the emotions he had been storing inside him for so long. It wasn’t anything he could turn into a book, just mindless stream of consciousness, but that didn’t diminish the sense of pride that radiated through Draco, savouring how good it felt to create something, even if it was only for himself.

Draco glanced at his pocket watch and returned his quill to his still relatively new ink canister from the other week as a pit started to form at the bottom of his stomach.

It was nearly noon.

Typically, the prospect of lunch with Hermione brought him nothing but unadulterated joy, but now it was tainted with the lingering question of how much his mother knew.

He closed his eyes. No. His parents wouldn’t ruin this for him.

Draco slipped on his favourite set of robes and exited his bedroom, carefully scanning the corridors for onlookers as he proceeded to the library. He half expected to find his mother waiting in front of the fireplace to confront him, but to his relief, no one else seemed to be in the room. Draco looked up at the mounted clock on the far wall, not as focused on the time as he was on the direction of the three hands that pointed to the Malfoy family members’ locations. Draco’s hand was pointed to the library, Lucius’s to his study, and Narcissa’s to ‘Not Currently in the Manor.’

Another wave of relief rushed through him. He was free to go.

A puff of green flames and a cry to Diagon Alley later, Draco made his way up the cobbled street to the now familiar brick facade and pulled open the door that led up the stairs towards Hermione’s office. He stopped when he recognised Hermione’s assistant taking her seat behind a desk.

“Look who couldn’t stay away for long,” her assistant said with an amused tone. “Can I help you with something, Mr Malfoy?”

He greeted her with a polite nod. “Hermione. She in?”

“Just got back from her morning meeting,” the woman replied. “Although, I will warn you that she’s currently—”

“If she’s working, I’ll see to it that she stops,” he said with a grin. “If memory serves me right, a threat to carry her out of there over my shoulder ought to do the trick.”

Before the assistant could finish her thought, Draco knocked on the wooden barrier once before he twisted the handle and started his way inside.

“Wrap up what you’re doing, Granger. It’s lunchtime, and you promised me—”

He paused when he caught sight of the raven-haired man he hadn’t had the displeasure of encountering in more than two years. Based on the grimace on the other man’s face, it was apparent that the feeling was mutual.

“Potter.”

“Malfoy.”

Potter then turned to Hermione, doing a poor job of disguising his disdain. “You call him Draco, but he still calls you Granger?”

“Of course not, Harry. He knows better than to call me that.”

Draco’s heart involuntarily fluttered at the sound of her voice. He had been so consumed by the unexpected presence of Potter that he hadn’t had the chance to look at her yet. He shifted his attention away from the man, and his focus fell solely on Hermione, and at once, any resentment towards the other wizard quickly dissipated from the forefront of his mind.

Merlin, it hadn’t even been a full day since he’d seen her, but damn if she wasn’t a sight for weary eyes. Her strands of curls that usually framed her face were pulled back into a clip, making her delicate features more noticeable than usual. She was presently raising an eyebrow at him in apparent annoyance and her arms were folded across her chest, but that only made Draco smile.

“Yes, yes. Ten Hermiones for every Granger or whatever I agreed to,” he airily agreed with her. “But the note you so kindly wrote on my hand very clearly stated that I have lunch with Granger, and I wouldn’t want to disrespect our lunch plans again, would I?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

He placed his hands on the edge of her desk and leaned in. “Yet you still want to have lunch with me.”

Beside him, Potter shifted uncomfortably, and even though they had barely exchanged more than a word, Draco had had enough of the man. This was Draco’s time with Hermione, and he didn’t feel like wasting any more of it in the presence of Potter.

“Scram, Potter,” he announced, maintaining his eye contact with the witch in front of him. “Hermione and I have plans, and they very much don’t include you.”

If Potter was uncomfortable before, it only increased ten-fold at the sound of Hermione’s given name rolling off his tongue. A satisfied smirk found its way across Draco’s lips. He had forgotten just how much fun it was to press his buttons.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hermione said to Potter. “But thanks for dropping by. You and I can do lunch some other time soon.”

Draco snorted a short laugh. Not if he had a say in the matter.

Potter lingered longer than necessary, apparently needing a few moments for anything to process through his thick skull, before he gave Draco one final glare and hesitantly wished Hermione a good day.

When the door click closed behind Potter, Draco once more let his eyes fall upon Hermione, now fully able to soak her presence in without Potter stifling his thoughts. She didn’t have to say another word, yet Draco already felt infinitely lighter just being alone in the same room as her, far removed from his woes at the Manor. What was it about this witch that seemed to make everything better?

Hermione tilted her head at him curiously. “What’s that look for?”

Draco hadn’t intended to make his admiration so obvious, but he didn't mind that she had noticed. “Just happy to see you,” he said earnestly.

Hermione seemed to blush slightly, her wide-eyed gaze momentarily falling to the ground and then back up at him through her eyelashes. “Those are five words I never expected to hear Draco Malfoy say to me.”

“Well, get used to it,” he returned with a grin, taking a step closer to her. “Enough with the chit-chat. Where do you want to eat?”

Hermione folded a piece of parchment and tucked it into her robes pocket. “Actually, I have something else in mind.”

“Something other than lunch?”

She nodded.

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

She pressed her lips together and pretended to zip them closed.

Draco bit down on the inside of his lip to prevent his amusement from becoming too apparent. “And you won’t be hungry later?”

She motioned her head towards the floor, and Draco noticed the sacked lunch that rested beside her desk. Draco couldn’t help the chuckle that promptly followed. The witch had thoroughly planned whatever she had in mind, so who was he to say no?

“Fine,” he surrendered, even though his stomach was rumbling due to the fact he had skipped breakfast and most of dinner. But he could delay eating for one more hour if it meant indulging Hermione in her wishes. “Lead the way.”

She reached out her hand and intertwined their fingers, and Draco startled at the easy way her fingers meshed with his. He looked down at their connection and then back up at her where he was greeted with Hermione’s ever bright smile.

After a nod of approval, he felt that always jarring pull near his belly-button as Hermione Apparated them onto a narrow street that he presumed to be in Muggle London.

“I sure hope your grand plan isn’t to take me to a Muggle bookstore,” he said as Hermione pulled out her wand and transfigured her robes into a casual dress. “I haven’t even started the new books, and I already warned you that was a dealbreaker.”

Hermione laughed. “I swear that’s not it. But hurry up and turn your robes into something less conspicuous. We haven’t got much time.”

A few minutes later, Draco found himself in front of a massive stone structure with hoards of people coming in and out of it.

“Time to explain where in Merlin’s name you’re taking me,” Draco said, scanning the column-lined building.

Hermione reached into her dress pocket and pulled out the folded piece of parchment which she then handed to Draco.

He read it before turning it over twice, not sure he understood.

“What is this?” he asked.

“As promised, your new hobby list.”

After everything that had happened the night before, Draco barely remembered her offer to come up with things for him to do instead of being consumed by perpetual boredom at the Manor. But Draco was still confused. “All it says on here is the word ‘museums.’”

“Exactly!” Hermione returned, looking infinitely pleased with herself. “I did a lot of thinking about it last night, and since you seem to enjoy Muggle books, I thought you’d also enjoy learning more about Muggle culture in general.” She outstretched her hands to present the big reveal of her plan. “Welcome to The British Museum! Come on, I want to show you a few things before I let you loose on your own, but I only have an hour!”

Before Draco could respond, she once more took him by the hand and rushed them past the black iron gates, up the front steps, and through the entrance, barely giving Draco time to take in his surroundings. Once inside, Hermione darted across the brightly lit circular atrium and ushered him through a variety of rooms, all highlighting different cultures that were very clearly not British like the museum’s name implied.

The visit was quite the hurried whirlwind, but with each new artefact that Hermione stopped in front of and rapidly explained the history of before moving on, Draco’s contentment only grew. While it was all quite fascinating, he probably only absorbed around a quarter of what Hermione was spewing, but that hardly mattered. He merely enjoyed soaking in her genuine enthusiasm and the way she bounced slightly onto her toes each time she recalled another pertinent fact. It was perhaps the most precious thing Draco had ever witnessed.

“Now for the grand finale,” she said as she led him into a Muggle-filled room.

The gallery was by far the most crowded of all the ones they had been to, although there didn’t seem to be as many items on display. All Draco could see were large marble figures that looked as if they had been blasted a few times by a poorly aimed Bombarda. Yet clearly these statues were of some great historical importance if all these people were clamouring to take pictures of them with their Muggle cameras.

“These are the Elgin Marbles, although many people prefer to call them the Parthenon Marbles,” Hermione explained, although neither term gave Draco much more insight about why they were so famous. “They used to sit on top of this Ancient Greek building called the Parthenon that was a temple built in around 447 B.C.E. in honour of the Greek goddess, Athena.

“You remember what the front of this building looks like? It was kind of like that, only without the extended wings on the side. Picture the columns and the pediment — that’s the triangle part — and inside that triangle were these statues that were each carved out of a single block of marble and then placed on top. Imagine that! One solid block! There was no room for error!”

She tugged him by the hand and brought him closer to one of the headless statues.

“Look at the detail of their dresses and the way the fabric seems to cling to their figures even though this is all just marble. They’re exquisite!”

Hermione sucked in a deep breath, and for the first time since they had stepped foot in the museum, she stood there quietly, simply admiring the statues. Draco supposed that was what he ought to be doing as well, but his attention lingered on the witch. He had barely gotten two sentences in over the course of the past half hour, yet he had no complaints. He could listen to Hermione ramble on about Muggle history all day. Not that he understood half of the references she had made, but even if she lectured for an hour straight about the anatomy of flobberworms, he would still listen with keen interest.

Hermione took a few steps to her left and was now leaned over to examine a reclined nude figure. Despite part of her hair being clipped back, a few loose strands fell into her face and she brushed them behind her shoulder to prevent them from obstructing her view. She must have felt Draco’s gaze on her because, in the same motion, she glanced up and gave him a demure smile before returning her attention to the statue. 

Merlin, what he’d give to have her show him the rest of the museum that afternoon! But he knew there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in a dragon’s den that she’d take off two afternoons in a row. Damn her stupid bloody job!

Draco kept his attention glued on her as she fluttered to the adjacent wall where more items were on display. The hem of her transfigured dress danced a few inches above her knees as she walked, and for some reason, Draco’s heart started to pick up speed.

He couldn’t remember ever seeing Hermione in a dress before. Well, he supposed there was that time at the Yule Ball, but he had spent that entire evening actively trying to avoid looking at her after Pansy had berated him for gaping at Hermione when she had first arrived. But that had been years ago, so it hardly counted.

And yet, Draco couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly was making it so difficult for him to tear himself away. The fact remained that he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. The casual material was far from anything fancy, but there was something alluring in the way that the fabric nicely clung around her waist. He had never paid much mind to it before, but he supposed one could say that Hermione had an appealing figure.

He shook his head and tried to return his attention to the statues, but his mind was too cluttered with thoughts of Hermione. He barely lasted ten seconds before he reverted his gaze in her direction, admiring the way she was so deeply engrossed. She seemed so entirely and perfectly at ease, and at that moment, Draco wanted nothing more than to step directly behind her and wrap his arms around that delicate, little waist and balance his chin on her shoulder so that Hermione’s lips would be right next to his ear as she softly divulged more details about the work. And when she had inevitably reached the point where he couldn’t consume any more information, he could turn her around, rest a hand upon her cheek, lean in close, and shut her up with one gentle, soft—

Draco inhaled a sharp breath through his nose and his eyes opened wide in alarm, trying to ignore the rest of that thought, but it was too late. The image was already implanted in Draco’s mind. His mouth grew dry and his heart started hammering harder than he ever thought possible, easily beating the record it had set the previous night when Draco had debated his father.

Suddenly, Draco’s outburst from dinner was starting to make a bit more sense. He was so quick to defend that half-blood witch because he—

Wait, no! This was ridiculous!

Draco was a logical man, and this simply didn’t make sense.

There was absolutely no chance—

Draco had never—

He and Hermione were just—

Hermione looked back at him from over her shoulder, and all she had to do was give him another subtle smile for his whole world to come crashing down.

Fuck.

There was no use denying it. He really wanted to kiss her.

Draco pressed the balls of his hands into his eyes and tried to drown out his surroundings. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Matters with his parents were already complicated enough, and he didn’t need to exacerbate that issue by showing any sort of interest in a Muggle-born.

But would it make that much of a difference? Draco had already made it clear that he didn’t intend to marry a witch just because she was a pureblood. He was his own man, and he didn’t need to obey his father’s every command. Yet despite this, he couldn’t help the way his stomach churned at the memory of his father’s outrage towards the idea of Draco with a half-blood. If his reaction had been that bad for someone with mostly magical ancestors, how bad would it be if Draco dared to even consider a Muggle-born?

And none of this touched on the fact he doubted Hermione even wanted to kiss him.

She had never shown any romantic interest in him, and he couldn’t blame her. It was surprising enough they managed to develop such a strong friendship in such a short period of time considering, well, everything. And he relied on that friendship too much to risk ruining that by pushing things too far.

What felt like far off in the distance, he heard the sound of his name.

“Draco?” Hermione must have left her spot in front of the art because she was now standing right before him, her head tilted in concern. “What’s the matter?”

Draco quickly jerked his head, hoping to rid himself of this newfound feeling, but it was proving incredibly difficult. He swallowed his emotions and forced his lips into a carefree smile. “Nothing. Just getting a bit hungry is all.”

“Oh, Merlin! Of course!” Hermione piped. “It must be getting late, and I completely lost track of time!”

She scanned the room for a clock, but there was none to be found. Then, without warning, Hermione reached deep into one of Draco’s transfigured trouser pockets, and Draco nearly had a heart attack at the sensation of her hand brushing up against his thigh through the fabric, just inches away from his—

“Here it is!” Hermione pulled out Draco’s pocket watch and looked down at its face. “Shoot, I need to be back in ten minutes,” she said with a heavy sigh, but her disappointment didn’t last long. “That’s actually just enough time for us to squeeze in the Rosetta Stone. It’s on our way out anyway!”

Without so much as taking a moment to breathe, Hermione once more intertwined their fingers and dragged Draco back past the other Parthenon pieces, through a couple of galleries, and paused in front of a big black stone with tiny etchings on it. But as much as he tried to focus on Hermione explaining why this was one of the most important historical finds of all time, all Draco could think about was how totally and utterly fucked he was.

Chapter Text

Hermione practically skipped down Diagon Alley. Although her and Draco’s visit to the British Museum had been rushed, even the brief delve into the rich history there had left her feeling invigorated and ready to return to work. She probably should have tried not to ramble as much as she had, but she couldn’t help it. There was just so much Muggle history he didn’t know!

It was still a tad hard to believe, but her lunch hour with Draco was quickly becoming her favourite part of the work week. As she stepped back into her office, Hermione was finding it difficult to erase the broad smile from her face.

“Good afternoon,” Hermione practically sang to Gretchen when she walked past her assistant’s desk and entered her office.

“Afternoon,” Gretchen returned, following closely on Hermione’s heels. “I made a list of the things you need to get done before the weekend. Would you like me to go over them with you?”

Hermione nodded and grabbed a few pieces of parchment and a quill to take notes. Gretchen began outlining the rest of Hermione’s workday, but within a few seconds, Hermione’s mind inadvertently started to tune Gretchen out and wandered back to her afternoon with Draco. Her heart warmed recalling the way he had attentively stood by her side, the beginning traces of a smile stretching its way up his lips as an endless stream of facts rolled off her tongue. It was impressive how he had remained so engaged the entire time.

Well, not the entire time.

Something had been off once she had shown him the Elgin Marbles. He claimed it was due to hunger, and initially, she had readily accepted that excuse. But what if it was something else? What if she had gone too in-depth with her explanations? Or what if he wasn’t ready for that much Muggle culture?

“Earth to Miss Granger!”

“Huh?” Hermione pulled herself back to the present and found Gretchen looking down at her expectantly. “Oh, sorry,” Hermione stammered in apology.

That was odd. It was so unlike her to lose control of her thoughts like that — especially when she was supposed to be actively listening to someone else. She glanced at the parchment she had intended for notes and was surprised to find that it was instead covered with swirled, mindless doodles. Hermione shuffled the order of her parchments so that a fresh piece was on top.

“I lost track of our conversation,” Hermione confessed. She sucked in a brief breath and regained her focus. “What were you saying?”

But instead of continuing, Gretchen merely raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to tell me what happened during lunch today?”

“What makes you think something happened?” Hermione promptly countered, perhaps too quickly.

“Come off it,” Gretchen retorted. “First, you were practically floating when you returned to the office, and now you’re daydreaming?” A smirk stretched across her lips. “They may call you the ‘Brightest Witch of Her Age,’ but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you once again had lunch with a certain blond haired wizard.”

Hermione’s cheeks impulsively heated, and she felt the urge to defend herself. “I did not have lunch with him."

“Oh, really?” Gretchen returned. “Then why is it that you’re turning redder than one of those Muggle telephone booths?”

“He and I did not get lunch,” Hermione firmly reiterated. Reaching towards the floor, she grabbed her sacked lunch from home and held it up as proof. “As you can see, I have not yet eaten today." She placed the bag on her desk while her expression slightly stiffened. "And while I value the relationship you and I have developed, I do not appreciate you questioning whether or not I am telling you the truth. Need I remind you that you are first and foremost my assistant?”

Gretchen tensed at the shift in the tone of the conversation. “Yes, ma’am. I know, ma’am. I just—”

“And since we’re on the topic,” Hermione continued on, “I will also advise you to think twice before making more wise comments about my friendship with Draco. I have made my stance on the situation unmistakably clear, and it’s time that you drop the notion that he and I will ever become anything more than friends. Is that understood?”

Gretchen nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“Good,” Hermione said, satisfied with the healthy dose of fear she had instilled in her assistant. Her smile returned. “But now that we’ve got that settled, I'll have you know that Draco and I went to a museum together, not lunch.”

The light in Gretchen’s eyes returned. She opened her lips to say something but appeared to think better of it and swallowed whatever it was she had intended to say. It was clearly torture for her not to make some sort of retort, and Hermione delighted in watching Gretchen forcefully hold it in.

“No comment?” Hermione taunted.

Gretchen shook her head while simultaneously fighting the grin that was trying to break through the tension of her sealed lips.

“That’s what I thought,” Hermione said with a pleased grin of her own. “Now shall we start back at the top?”

They were halfway through the list when there was a repeated soft tapping on the opposite side of Hermione’s office door. When Gretchen opened the barrier, in zoomed a folded parchment aeroplane that landed swiftly on the desk. Hermione blinked at it a few times before glancing up to see Gretchen’s equal surprise.

Most people in the office didn’t bother with interdepartmental memos, instead opting for face-to-face interactions. But one person in the firm did — and he was also the only one who used periwinkle parchment.

“Did you know Tillman was here today?” Hermione asked while she picked up the memo and started to unfold it.

Gretchen shook her head. “It wasn’t mentioned anywhere in today’s office calendar.”

That only heightened Hermione’s curiosity. Despite being the firm’s owner, Tillman rarely came into the office, saving his presence almost exclusively for board meetings and major announcements. Seeing there wasn’t a board meeting planned, that suggested that he was there for the latter.

Hermione smoothed out the parchment and read the note. Tillman wanted her to meet him in his office. In five minutes. 

“Gretchen, revise my schedule accordingly,” Hermione instructed once she had shared the change in plans. “We’ll have to push everything back at least a half hour, but try to make it an hour just to be safe.”

Having settled that, Hermione proceeded towards the head office, mind flooding with potential topics that Tillman wanted to discuss. With all the new developments lately, it could be any number of things.

Before she could fall deeper into a seemingly endless pit of possibilities, she reached Tillman’s office where the door was already open. The firm’s owner was reading over a file while he awaited Hermione’s presence. In the few seconds before he noticed her, she tried to glean whatever she could from his body language — perhaps then she could determine if the reason for their meeting was good or bad.

Tillman’s glasses were perched low on the edge of his nose as he reviewed the piece of parchment. He was a fairly large man with impressively straight posture, which only added to his commanding presence. Looking at him now, his firm determination and focus were instantly recognisable. Yet any other emotion remained indiscernible and didn’t help her on her inquisitive mission.

Knocking on the doorframe, Hermione announced her presence and Tillman perked up.

“Ah, Miss Granger,” he greeted, setting down the parchment. “Thank you for coming despite the short notice.” He motioned to an empty dragon-hide leather chair. “I realise your time is valuable, so I will make this as brief as possible, but please, do sit.”

Hermione did as instructed and Tillman got straight to business.

“As I needn’t remind you, we are quickly approaching our deadline to finalise our pilot early childhood education program by the end of the annual year,” he began. “However, I have vital information that I must share with you.”

Her stomach lurched. That was not how one typically introduced good news.

He selected a scroll from his desk and stretched it out for Hermione to read. She had barely begun unravelling it when Tillman broke the news first.

“I met with the Minister’s support staff this morning. They’re requiring that we decrease the number of weekly hours for our program.”

Hermione’s fingers froze, the parchment left unread, as her lips fell open. “How can they do that?” she protested. “Weggers gave us the Ministry’s approval just the other week! Now they’re rescinding it?”

“That seems to be the case,” Tillman returned. “Unbeknownst to us, the Ministry has been conducting their own research to determine the best means for implementing our program on a widespread scale and have concluded that ten hours is too much.”

Ten hours was too much? For an entire week? Where was everyone’s priorities on trying to better wizarding society through education?

In a distant corner of her mind, Hermione vaguely recollected her conversation with Draco at the Leaky Cauldron. When she had told him about the program, his immediate reaction had been that ten hours was too much, especially for working families.

Merlin, she could already imagine his response once she told him that the Ministry agreed with him. First he’d grin that devilish yet charming grin and then he’d taunt and tease her until he forced her to admit that he was right and she was wrong. Even after all that, without a doubt, he’d continue to bring it up throughout the evening, or even weeks later, just to rub it in further.

Gods, he was going to be positively insufferable about this! Yet despite these complaints, she found that she was slightly smiling for some reason.

Until she remembered where she was.

For Merlin’s sake, her mind had started to wander again! The meeting! She had to stay focused on the meeting!

Hermione snapped herself out of her reverie and pulled her attention back to Tillman.

She replaced her smile with a look of concerned frustration. “But seven and a half hours is only an hour and a half each day. A half hour each for maths, Muggle Studies, and reading!”

“I share your sentiment,” Tillman attempted to assuage her. “While this is not our ideal, it will still be an improvement from what is currently in place, which is nothing. Many families already have their own traditions of educating their children, so pushback was to be expected. My hope is that in a couple of years, we can start offering a more time-intensive option. But in the meantime, we will have to accept this change.”

Hermione wasn’t pleased, but knowing Tillman, he had already argued in their favour, so as much as it pained her to concede to the Ministry’s demand, it didn’t sound as though she had much of a choice. She’d simply have to view it as a challenge — how to best condense ten hours of content into three-quarters of the time.

“Although, that is not the main reason I asked to speak with you,” Tillman continued, peering at Hermione more intently now.

Hermione blinked. She really hoped it wasn’t more bad news!

But the small appearance of a smile pulling at the corner of Tillman’s lips eased her apprehension.

“Considering this decrease in hours, we will have to be more purposeful with the allotted time, meaning I anticipate a need for more interdisciplinary lessons between the Literacy and Muggle Studies Departments.” His smile was now full. “Which is why I am appointing you the liaison to make this happen.”

Hermione’s heart lifted. “Of course, sir!” she accepted without even a moment’s hesitation. It would most assuredly mean more work, but how could she pass down the opportunity to work more closely with a department she felt so strongly about?

“It’s settled then,” Tillman declared with a note of finality. He stretched his hand out for Hermione to shake. “I will have a briefing on your desk first thing Monday morning with more details about your new position and revised expectations.”

“I won’t fail you, sir.”

“I have no doubt I selected the right person for this,” Tillman said with a chuckle. “Now, I suggest you take the weekend to situate yourself and prepare for the weeks ahead. With our deadline looming ever closer, we must continue to push ourselves. And we can all sleep and return to our social lives in the new year.”

Hermione laughed. “That’s the plan.”

When Hermione made her way back to her office, she could feel herself radiating with pride. For the time being, she wasn’t going to think about the additional work that had just been put on her. All she cared to focus on was the rush of ideas she had about how she could further integrate Muggle Studies with literacy. 

There was now an extra spring to her step. Oh, she simply couldn’t wait to share the news with Draco! Now the focus of their conversation could be on her new position instead of letting him gloat too much about being ‘right’ about the number of instruction hours. He wouldn’t be able to help with the formation of her plans, but as this afternoon had proved, he would be an attentive listener for her to bounce ideas off of. The only question was when  she’d get to see him again. Tonight seemed so soon and tomorrow she had already agreed to get drinks with Harry.

Oh, yes! Harry! And Ron! She’d have to share the good news with them as well. Yes, all her friends. They’d surely all be excited for her.

But why was Draco the one she wanted to tell the most?

~*~*~

It was baffling how Draco could be surrounded by so many people but feel so utterly in his own world. For hours, he had been aimlessly wandering around the crowded pavements of Muggle London, his mind stuck in a cluttered fog. After he and Hermione had parted ways at the British Museum, he had been in desperate need for fresh air and time to think. He hadn’t even bothered to stop for lunch — the mere thought of food only sent more uneasiness pulsing through his stomach.

He was still struggling to navigate his realisation from that afternoon. Regardless of how he looked at it, there didn’t seem to be any good outcome. It didn’t matter how he felt about her. Even if by some odd stroke of luck Hermione liked him, too, his parents would disown him in a heartbeat if he dared considered being with her.

He and Hermione would have to remain friends. That was the end of that.

Yet his brain continued to conjure up memories from that afternoon, and he was once again reminded of the way Hermione had flitted down the museum galleries, her playful smile invading his thoughts and sending a flutter straight through his heart.

Draco buried his face in his palms. Fuck. He couldn’t let this keep happening.

Friends, friends, friends.

Maybe if he said it enough, he could convince himself that it was true.

What was it again that he had so despised about her growing up? Perhaps if he recalled some of the things he had resented about her at Hogwarts, it would help deter these feelings.

Draco kept his focus straight ahead at the surrounding Muggle buildings as he tried to think. The first thing that came to mind, of course, was how her blood status had so irrationally offended him as a child, but he had long since outgrown that irrelevant factor.

There had to be something else…

She was a know it all! Yes, yes. That had always bothered him! Every class they had had together, he had secretly tallied how many times she had raised her hand and groaned in aggravation when she subsequently had the correct response. There was nothing the witch didn’t know, and she had a stellar talent of making that blatantly obvious to anyone within earshot.

But come to think of it, he really didn’t mind that nowadays. In fact, it was rather endearing. He had quite enjoyed hearing her ramble on about everything she knew about Muggle history. The way she lit up with enthusiasm and radiated excitement and—

Stop! Something else. Something else he didn’t like about her…

She was a workaholic. Okay, perhaps not the worst thing in the world, but it was something. Back at school, she had essentially lived in the library, and not much about her had changed in that regard. Even now, she tended to work too much. Just last week she had been so caught up in her job, that he had spent all week waiting, hoping, longing to see her. And when they had finally reunited at the Muggle library, his first thought had been that he was so excited to see her, he could have ki—

Oh, for Merlin’s sake! This wasn’t helping!

Her hair! Yes, that was a failsafe. He had always enjoyed poking fun of that tangled mess of curls and the way her chestnut locks somehow seemed to have a mind of their own. While they had been at the museum, she had used a hair clip to keep it partially in control, and still, some loose strands had fallen into her face. Were they really that impossible to manage? Hell, if she couldn’t do it herself, he could easily do it for her. Honestly, all it took was combing his fingers through those wisps of hair, and then gently tuck them behind her ear, close his eyes, lean in, and—

Fuck, shit, dammit, fuck! Get that stupid, bloody thought out of his mind!

An audible groan escaped his lips, and a few of the passing Muggles paused to glance at him. It was only then that Draco took a moment to look at his surroundings and recognised where his feet had unconsciously led him. Before him was the familiar kaleidoscope of autumn leaves that adorned the grass of the same park square that he and Hermione had spent the better part of an hour just the day prior.

Draco stepped foot off the pavement and wandered onto the grass, settling under the same tree. Merlin, how had that just been yesterday that he had been there with her? He reached into his trouser pocket and unwrapped the final piece of Turkish Delight, reminiscing the simplicity of the day before. He had laid there blissfully as they sat there in comfortable silence. They didn’t even have to say a word for him to enjoy her company. He just liked her being there.

Who did he think he was kidding? There was no denying how fond he had grown of her. And if he had his way, she’d be by his side that very moment.

But it wasn’t that simple.

He liked her. That much was certain. Now he was stuck in a terrible predicament.

He closed his eyes and with a heavy heart, recalled the dinner conversation from the night before. His father had made his dismay painfully clear at the mere idea of Draco having any form of relations with a half-blood. This was a Muggle-born he was considering; and of all the Muggle-borns in the world, Hermione Granger.

It had taken all the courage Draco had in order to stand up to his father and defend his right to pick whoever he wanted as a potential wife. But those had been just words.

It was one thing when it was just the idea of defying his parents’ wishes, but to act upon it was a different matter entirely. He may talk a big game, but when it came down to it, Draco knew that he had a tendency to back out — a fact the war had made him all too aware of about himself. He desperately wanted to change, but that was easier said than done.

What he needed now was time. Time to figure this out. Or hope these feelings would fade away. As much as it pained him to even consider, perhaps what he needed most was distance from her. At least until he had this better sorted out.

Draco scrunched his eyes tighter closed and forced himself to clear his mind. He hadn’t realised he had fallen asleep until he was startled awake by the sound of the six o’clock bells.

Calmed by the knowledge that dinner would soon be starting at the Manor without him, Draco took his time walking back to Diagon Alley. It wasn’t long before he had returned to the bustling environment of wizarding shops, but only one building maintained his attention. His focus settled on the brick facade he was becoming far too acquainted with and the sole window whose pane was still illuminated.

Draco faintly smiled to himself. Of course she was working late on a Friday. That was the nature of a born workaholic.

For a brief moment, Draco considered going up the stairs and squeezing a few parting words to her before he sentenced himself to forced separation. Problem was, he didn’t trust himself not to do anything stupid if he risked being in that close of proximity to her.

Draco only lingered a few seconds longer before he tore himself away and found the next closest Floo to return home. By now, his parents must have started dinner without him, and Draco was all too pleased about skipping another meal in their company. The thought of food still wasn’t appealing to him, but he knew he had to eat. If he stopped by the kitchens, he could ask one of the house elves to prepare him something before he headed to his room and did anything other than read Hermione’s Muggle books.

But that plan shattered the moment he stepped out of the Manor's fireplace.

“We’ve been waiting for you.”

Draco stiffened at the sound of his father’s commanding voice.

Lucius returned the book he had been browsing onto the closest shelf and slowly paced towards Draco. “Care to explain where you’ve been all day?”

Draco’s heart started hammering harder with each step closer, but he made sure to maintain a stern expression, refusing to reveal the rocky current that coursed through his veins.

“I already told you yesterday. I had an informational meeting with Gringotts.”

“Oh, yes,” Lucius drawled, almost to the point of sounding bored. “But I imagine that didn’t take six hours. So I’ll ask you again. Do you care to explain where you’ve been all day?”

Lucius stared at him, waiting for a response.

Draco mustered the little courage he had left to stare his father dead in the eyes. “The rest of my afternoon activities are none of your business.”

“They are very well my business when you are neglecting your familial responsibilities,” Lucius carefully articulated.

His seeming indifference to Draco’s opinions prompted him to snarl. “I thought I made my thoughts on that matter clear last night.” His right hand settled into a clenched fist by his side.

“You may have voiced your disagreement, but that does not change the expectation. Seeing you have made it abundantly clear that you are not taking this seriously, your mother and I have taken matters into our own hands.”

It didn’t take long for Draco to figure out what his father meant. “Who do you have waiting downstairs for me?”

“Miss Astoria Greengrass,” Lucius replied with a blasé breeze. “Your mother thought she would be the most appropriate choice after reviewing the letters this morning over breakfast. Now I’ll give you five minutes to change and meet us downstairs, and I expect you to be on your best behaviour. Do I make myself clear?”

Draco’s snarl deepened. “What if I refuse?”

Lucius took a step closer. “I don’t think you want to try me.”

The harsh glare of his father’s gaze rattled Draco as he searched for the strength to respond, to be a man of action, not of empty words. But Lucius’s menacing tone had always had the power to unnerve him, and any resolve Draco had died within him. He couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

A pleased smirk dawned on Lucius’s lips. “Good,” he settled. He had barely started to make his way out of the Manor’s library when Lucius turned back around for one final comment. “Oh, and a word to the wise. If you didn’t want me to be suspicious, you should have changed out of those Muggle clothes before returning home. Now go put on proper robes. We have guests.”

Chapter Text

Draco fiddled with the sleeve of his dress robes as he prepared himself to enter the formal sitting room. His stomach was as unsteady as a four year old riding a toy brooms for the first time. From just beyond the door, he could hear the muffled conversation between his parents and the Greengrasses.

Not that he would ever utter the sentiment aloud, but he wouldn’t mind a bit more of that trademark Gryffindor courage instead of succumbing to the intimidation of his father. It wasn’t too late for him to turn around and seal himself away, pretend his father had never confronted him in the library and that Astoria Greengrass and her parents weren’t waiting for him to join them. All it would take was finding the internal strength to will his feet in the opposite direction.

But as Draco entertained these thoughts, he recognised that there was now another issue at hand. His father had noticed Draco’s absence from the Manor that afternoon and had spotted him in Muggle clothing. Turning back now would only make his father more suspicious, and Lucius prying further into his personal life wouldn’t make matters any easier. If Draco had any hopes for figuring out this new Hermione-induced predicament, he couldn’t afford his father asking any more questions, which meant he didn’t have much choice on what he did next.

So with a sense of revulsion towards his own actions, Draco masked his displeasure and twisted the doorknob open.

In the centre of the sitting room were his parents with Nathaniel and Josephine Greengrass and their daughter Astoria. The collection of witches and wizards were politely chatting with one another, Lucius attending to Mr Greengrass, as the women conversed in a separate discussion.

Several years had passed since Draco had seen any of the Greengrasses. When the Malfoys had secluded themselves inside the manor in the aftermath of the war, they had ceased all sightings of their old pureblood acquaintances. It must have been summer before fifth year that Draco had last interacted with either of the elder Greengrasses — the last time he could recall his parents holding a formal function at the Manor when he hadn’t been away at Hogwarts. Needless to say, matters became more… complicated… after fifth year, and the Malfoys hadn’t hosted large groups of guests since.

Except for ones whose members bore that dark, twisted serpent etched into their skin.

Draco approached the company, poised to greet the Greengrasses with the gentlemanly manner he had been instilled with since birth, but his stomach plummeted when his attention settled on his mother. His memory flashed back to the night before when Narcissa had confronted him from outside his bedroom after the disastrous dinner.

“I know there’s something you’re not telling me and your father. You may think you’re clever enough to get away with these secret luncheons of yours, but you forget who raised you.”

His mouth grew dry. In the emotional whirlwind of that afternoon, he had forgotten about his mother’s warning. Now both of his parents were starting to catch onto his time outside of the Manor.

He needed a drink.

But before he could call on a house elf to get him something, Narcissa caught sight of her son and arose from her seat to greet him.

“Draco, dear,” she cooed. “We were getting worried about you.” She delicately took his hands into hers and kissed him on one cheek, whispering in his ear, “Say you just got back”—kiss on the other cheek—“from Gringotts.”

Narcissa’s grip tightened around his fingers before she donned a polite smile and returned to her chair as if her welcome hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary. Lucius had paused his conversation with Nathaniel Greengrass and was now staring at Draco expectantly. All eyes were on him.

“Apologies,” Draco announced, feeling his fingers twitch. “I just got back from Gringotts. My meeting with them went longer than expected.” He resisted the snarl that itched to creep up his lips, hating the way the lie so easily rolled off his tongue. But he knew he had to play along.

Draco first addressed Mr Greengrass and shook the man’s hand. “It’s good to see you again, sir.”

Mr Greengrass returned the sentiment with a firm nod. “You as well. I presume you remember my daughter, Astoria?”

Draco hadn’t realised that he had been avoiding looking directly at the young witch until her father introduced her. Astoria stood up and slightly curtsied, tilting her head down before she looked back up at Draco through her eyelashes. While Draco was familiar with her older sister, Draco had never bothered to get to know Astoria. She was two years younger, which meant that by the time she had entered Hogwarts, Draco had already solidified his friend group and was much too roped into Pansy to pay attention to other witches.

As much as Draco hated everything about the courting process, he had to admit that Astoria was rather pretty. Her dark blonde hair was neatly fashioned so that her high cheekbones and blue eyes were in plain sight. It was evident that the witch had taken a lot of consideration into her dress that evening, her robes freshly pressed and perfectly accentuating her slender figure. She had also put on a fair amount of makeup, which didn’t seem necessary. Hermione hardly ever wore makeup, and yet she—

Draco shoved any thought of Hermione away while he kissed Astoria’s hand. Now was not the time. Now was not the time.

Narcissa smiled as she placed her hands together. “Now that we’re all here, shall we head to the dining room?”

~*~*~

“Your father tells me that Gringotts is interested in hiring you,” Mr Greengrass said shortly after the first course had arrived.

As was the Malfoy fashion, they were stretched across the length of the formal dining table, Lucius and Mr Greengrass at one end, Narcissa and Mrs Greengrass at the other, and Astoria and Draco in the middle. His parents’ insistence of maintaining this seating pattern felt even more ridiculous when guests were in attendance.

“He had an informational meeting with them his afternoon,” his mother clarified. “We don’t know yet if that’s the direction that Draco will choose to go in.”

Mr Greengrass nodded. “Regardless of his choice, it’s good to hear that he’s considering the institution. That’s a much more respectable career path than his current one.”

Draco could feel his father’s cruel grin.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“What is it that Astoria is doing nowadays?” Narcissa queried, having the good sense to change the direction of the conversation before Draco could spoil how well it seemed to be going.

“She’s an assistant apothecary consultant for a herbology company,” Mrs Greengrass supplied proudly.

“Oh, that’s right. I vaguely remember you mentioning that in your letter,” Narcissa said. “You must forgive me, for we have gotten so many that it can be hard to keep track.”

Draco scoffed under his breath, seeing right through his mother’s obvious intention to make Draco seem more in demand. But when he was finished, he noticed the lull in the conversation. He lifted his head to determine the cause, only to discover his mother raising an eyebrow at him.

“I said, Draco, dear, will you retrieve Miss Greengrass’s letter for me?” Narcissa tried to appear casual, but Draco could detect her dismay that he hadn’t heard her the first time.

Submitting to the request, Draco pushed back his chair and walked across the room to the chest on which the jewelled box rested while the conversation continued without him. He lifted the lid, and his heart faltered when he saw what rested on top.

Instead of a letter, Draco was confronted with an image — of him. The picture version of Draco was leaned against a brick building, his head rolling lazily as his eyes were closed in slumber while two rolls of parchment stuck out of his robes. It had undoubtedly been taken when Draco had waited outside Hermione’s office after he had neglected their lunch plans the first day and she was running late the next. He recalled waking up ungodly early the subsequent morning to check the Daily Prophet and make sure that no photographs of him had shown up in the paper.

Originally, he had been relieved when neither his name nor picture was within the pages. He had naively believed that meant he was in the clear.

This only further confirmed his fear that his mother knew far more than he would have preferred. Now she had photographic proof of him outside Hermione’s office. 

His eyes flitted in her direction and found that she was already looking back at him, a concerned expression washed over her, but he didn’t buy it for a second.

“Is something the matter, dear?” Narcissa asked during a brief pause in the conversation.

Draco swallowed. Right now, it felt like just about everything was the matter. His preferred career. His disinterest in signing a marriage contract. His feelings towards a certain witch he had inconveniently grown too fond of. More and more, Draco was torn between following his parents’ expectations and following his own desires. Thus far, his parents were winning the battle.

He reminded himself why he bothered with attending this dinner in the first place — he didn’t need his father asking any more questions. It appeared the same was now true about his mother. She obviously knew something, and there was no telling what she planned to do with the information.

The distaste building on his tongue, Draco uttered, “I’m fine. Just got distracted,” before moving past the photograph to the stack of letters laid beneath.

After handing her the letter, Draco returned to his seat, his mind reeling with the implications of his discovery, but one thing was painfully certain. Narcissa had intended for him to find that picture.

~*~*~

The rest of the meal continued without any other surprises, but regardless of how much Draco ate, the pit in his stomach remained. He went through all the motions his parents expected of him, answering questions when addressed and supplying witty comments when appropriate, yet his thoughts kept reverting to the picture tucked away in the jewelled box.

Where did Narcissa get the photograph? Were there others? How much did she know? Had she shared any of it with her husband?

What remained of everyone’s main course disappeared from their plates, allowing for the fifth and final course to be served. The golden glazed crème brûlée materialised onto the small plates, the caramelized top torched to perfection. As Draco picked up his spoon to crack the hard surface, he felt Astoria’s eyes lingering on him, but he maintained his attention on the dessert.

All evening, the witch had hardly spoken a word unless directly addressed, which wasn’t often. She had mainly sat there in silence, seeming to share the same reserved nature of her older sister. Draco didn’t care either way about it — it wasn’t as if he had any actual interest in the witch, so what did it matter? He just needed to make it through this meal and hope that it was enough to temporarily appease his parents' demands for him to meet with one of the pureblood witches.

Before long, the meal concluded, and the remaining plates vanished from sight. Lucius and Mr Greengrass headed into the parlour to converse in private, and Narcissa turned to Draco.

“Why don’t you show Astoria the grounds while her mother and I talk?” she suggested. “I believe some of the flowers in the greenhouses may be of interest.”

Draco didn’t particularly want to spend more time with Astoria, but he readily accepted. At this point in the evening, he had already played his role so aptly, he might as well finish it without arguing over something so easily accomplished. Besides, he was glad to have an excuse to step out of the Manor and return to the fresh air. Astoria was quiet enough that he doubted he would even notice her presence too much, so it would be a welcome opportunity for Draco to be alone with his thoughts.

Draco directed Astoria through the Manor and out one of the backdoors that led to the estate’s extensive gardens. The crisp mid-October air was refreshing on his cheeks. He closed his eyes as he sucked in a deep breath, savouring the solitude of the peaceful, cool night.

“I am so relieved to be out of there!”

Draco’s head twisted towards the witch beside him, eyeing her in disbelief.

Astoria pulled a series of bobby pins out of her hair, and the dark blonde locks fell past her shoulders. She combed her fingers through the tresses before settling her gaze at Draco. “That was so dreadfully boring, don’t you think?”

Draco had to shake his head to make sure he wasn’t imagining the conversation. “You hated that too?”

Astoria laughed. “Oh, Merlin, yes! I wasn’t certain how much longer I could sit there listening to all that meaningless rubbish.”

They began walking down the stone-lined path, Draco’s strides matching hers.

“I don’t understand,” he said, still looking at her curiously. “If you were so appalled by the conversation, why didn’t you contribute very much?”

“I’m sure I could ask you the same question,” she returned with an arched eyebrow, but without pausing to see if Draco would respond, she continued, “It was my father’s idea. Thought it would make your parents more receptive towards me or something. Or maybe it’s just another one of those pureblood traditions.”

Draco impulsively scoffed. “I hate that word.”

“Tradition?” Astoria smiled. “Merlin, me too. It’s just a fancy way of saying ‘outdated.’”

Draco snorted; he quite liked that way of phrasing it.

They roamed through the extensive grounds and made their way to the greenhouses. The large glass enclosures were each enchanted to maintain a different climate so the Malfoys didn’t have to worry about which species were considered in season.

Draco led them to the first greenhouse and held the door open for Astoria. She thanked him as she entered the space. Her face lit up as she stepped into the sea of green, evidently intrigued by the eclectic collection of exotic plants.

“Is this Pritcher’s Porritch?” she asked, her eyes alight with fascination. She cautiously reached out towards the oozing blue substance seeping out of one of the pods.

“I’d advise you not to touch that,” Draco said with a mild grin. “As I'm sure I don't have to tell you, Herbologists still haven’t come to a conclusion on just how dangerous they think it is.” 

Astoria withdrew her hand and instead leaned in to examine it closer. “This plant is incredibly rare. How did your family manage to get one?”

Draco chuckled. “Being a Malfoy sometimes has its perks.”

“So I’ve been told,” she returned with a teasing smile. “Why else do you think I’m here?”

Draco let out a full laugh at that. “And here I thought there was a chance you were different from those stereotypical pureblood witches.”

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. You’ll just have to wait and see for yourself.” Astoria winked as she disappeared around a corner and explored the rest of the greenhouse.

Draco took a moment to smile to himself before following her. Perhaps Astoria wasn’t as bad as he had originally assumed.

They roamed around the greenhouses, Astoria asking questions along the way about the Chinese Chomping Cabbage and the Cobra Lilies, all of which Draco happily answered. Astoria was unexpectedly pleasant to talk with, and by the time they exited the third greenhouse, their conversation had shifted away from the subject of plants. They exchanged stories from their time at Hogwarts, conveniently neglecting any tales from Draco’s final year. It was odd how in a school so relatively small, he had previously interacted with her so seldom. Their conversation flowed as they strolled around the grounds until they approached the large fountain located in the centre.

“Now I feel foolish for having never spoken to you when we were younger,” Draco concluded as they both settled onto the concrete edge around the fountain.

Astoria briefly blushed, but she casually adjusted her hair to keep it from being too apparent. “I don’t blame you. Even in a shared living space, it was easy not to know everyone. But I’m glad we’re getting to know each other now.”

To his surprise, Draco quite agreed. Their time together since the dinner had been enjoyable. If his parents had simply suggested him spending time with Astoria one-on-one instead of having to go through the whole ordeal of inviting her and her parents for a formal meal, perhaps Draco wouldn’t be as opposed to this whole courting process.

Astoria was everything his parents could hope for in a future daughter-in-law; she was well mannered, intellectually curious, and of course, pureblood. She would be the perfect candidate to rectify and reestablish the Malfoy’s status in the social circles his parents cared so deeply about.

Their pause in the conversation perpetuated, and Draco let his vision focus on the witch seated beside him. The moonlight illuminated her features, causing the wisps of her dark blonde hair to shine more vibrantly than he had noticed previously. The thought didn’t completely settle well with him, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Draco agreed to pursue Astoria. She was pretty. She was interesting to talk to. She didn’t seem to subscribe to the typical pureblood mentality. And submitting to this would make his life so much less complicated.

Astoria glanced down at her lap and then back up at Draco, her eyes wide as she gazed at him. Draco’s heartbeat started to quicken, and the next thing he knew, Astoria was leaned over, kissing him.

Draco closed his eyes and engrossed himself in the sensation of her lips pressed against his. They were a welcomed, warm contrast to the surrounding cool air, and yet something was off. All day, he had been consumed with nothing but thoughts about kissing, but this was not the witch he had imagined.

Draco rested his hand on her shoulder and pushed her away. “I can’t,” he mustered, recognising the obvious weakness in his voice.

Astoria looked crestfallen as she peered at Draco but then her expression softened. “There’s another witch, isn’t there?" 

His heart skipped a beat. “What makes you say that?”

She half-smiled, but Draco could still read her disappointment. “I figured there must be a good reason you hadn't signed a contract yet.”

“But that doesn’t necessarily mean that there’s someone—”

Astoria raised an eyebrow at him, not convinced in the slightest. Apparently she was more perceptive than he had given her credit.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he grumbled, giving her a sharp warning glare.

Astoria merely laughed. “You sound like Irene Palkins when she told me she fancied Rohit Dogra back in fourth year! Of course I won’t tell anyone. What did you think I’d do? Go blabbing to the Daily Prophet? But back to this witch of yours. I assume she isn’t pureblood?”

Draco let out a single flat huff. “Not even close.”

“That would make things too easy, wouldn’t it?” Astoria said. She adjusted her position so her legs were now tucked underneath her, allowing her to better face Draco. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Draco pressed his hands against the concrete and leaned back. “Haven’t got a clue.” He released a deep groan. “It’s a… recent development, so I haven’t worked much out yet.”

“Needless to say you haven’t told your parents about her,” Astoria correctly surmised. “I know how tricky it can be navigating pureblood families, particularly yours. I certainly don’t envy your situation. These marriage contracts are such an archaic practice, and you clearly don’t want to get roped into one.”

“What about you?” Draco countered, not wanting to talk about it much further in fear of what else he might admit. “If you also think this is all complete rubbish, then how come you’re participating in it?”

“My father and I came to an agreement. I would allow him to formally introduce me to potential pureblood partners while I’m still free to pursue other options. I just haven’t found someone I’m interested in yet.” Astoria paused to shrug. “Well, for a moment there, I thought I might have, but it turns out his heart is already taken.”

In another life, maybe things could have worked between them. But he couldn’t purse anything with Astoria until he properly sorted out his feelings towards Hermione.

“I’m sorry,” Draco eventually muttered.

Astoria sighed. “I am too.”

~*~*~

Back in the Manor, the Greengrasses and Malfoys gathered in the atrium to bid their farewells.

“Thank you for having us, Mrs Malfoy,” Astoria said, her hair carefully returned to its former design. “You have a beautiful home, and the meal was delicious.”

“The pleasure was mine,” Narcissa returned.

The two women shared a kiss on both cheeks before Astoria turned to Draco.

“I had a lovely time tonight,” she said, maintaining her reserved, formal demeanour in front of their parents.

Draco nodded and even managed a smile. “I did as well." 

They had agreed that it was best to end the night by acting as if their conversation outside hadn’t happened. In the morning, they would both tell their parents that they weren’t interested in pursuing it any further. But for now, they kept up the facade for appearances’ sake.

She leaned in and settled a single kiss on Draco’s cheek before whispering, “Don’t risk losing your witch.”

As she pulled away, their eyes met for a brief second, the sincerity of her words apparent in her gaze.

Beside them, their fathers exchanged a firm handshake.

“We’ll be in touch,” Lucius said to Mr Greengrass, who nodded his agreement.

A few moments later, the Greengrasses departed the Manor, leaving Draco alone with his parents.

“That went well,” Narcissa said, resting her hand on Lucius’s shoulder. “Was that really so bad, Draco?”

“No, Mother,” he mustered, willing the evening to be over so he could finally return to his room. He wasn’t in the mood to argue.

“That’s a good match,” Lucius declared, fixing a stern expression at his son. “I advise you not to mess it up.”

They wished him a good night, and Narcissa and Lucius began walking towards the staircase up to their bedroom. After a few paces, Narcissa looked back at him with an all too satisfied grin that made Draco’s stomach churn.

At last, the long day was coming to a close. Draco stood in the atrium, running his hands down his face, still trying to wrap his mind around everything that had happened since he had woken up. The museum with Hermione, the revelation of his feelings, the dinner with Astoria. His brain didn’t know where to begin with processing it all. Yet, amongst all the chaos, Astoria’s parting words stood out in the crowded chambers of his mind.

Don’t risk losing your witch.

Draco would laugh if he wasn’t so emotionally exhausted. Hermione would have some rather choice words for him if he ever declared her as ‘his,’ and that was assuming there was any chance she felt the same about him. But that didn’t mean he wanted to lose her, in whatever capacity that could be. His relationship with Hermione meant something to him, even if matters ultimately resulted in them remaining friends.

Draco called for the nearest house elf who soon returned with a tumbler and a bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhisky. It had been a long, mentally draining day, and it was far past time for that drink.

Finally alone in the solitude of his room, Draco sat at his desk chair and poured a hefty glass of the cinnamony drink. He took a generous sip before returning the vessel to the wooden surface with a thunk. Just one drink and then Draco would go to bed and pray for a better day tomorrow. At least tomorrow was Saturday. Even if he wasn’t currently trying to put space between him and Hermione, it wasn’t in their routine to see each other on the weekends.

Draco picked up his glass again and drank.

Damn, Granger. How had he let her get into his head like this?

Two solid gulps and the glass was empty.

Every day. He wanted to see her every bloody day.

He refilled the glass.

Why couldn’t he have settled for Astoria? Then he and Hermione could have remained friends, and he wouldn’t be stuck in this mess.

This glass didn’t last much longer than the first.

Friends. He was quickly starting to despise that word.

Two more glasses later.

What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he denying himself from seeing her?

The last amber drop from the bottle dripped into Draco’s glass.

Fuck it. If he wanted to see Hermione, he was going to damn bloody well go see Hermione. And why wait when he could see her right now?

A few minutes and a lot of stumbling while putting on Muggle clothes later, Draco focused on the memory of standing outside Hermione’s flat and channelled all his energy on Apparating to that location.

Chapter Text

Several loud thunks echoed through Hermione’s flat, and she startled at the disruption of her sleep. She looked at the time. It hadn’t even been an hour since she had slipped into bed. After a long evening at work, slumber hung heavy on her eyelids, and Hermione opted to ignore the disturbance. 

The thunks continued only now they seemed to be getting closer. Dear Merlin, who was causing such a commotion this late at night? If she wasn’t already so comfortable in bed and her wand wasn’t so far away, Hermione would have cast a Silencing Charm to block the noise. She scrunched her eyelids closed, trying to ignore the sound, but it didn’t seem to be stopping.

The loud yells of her neighbour seeped through her windows.

“Oi! What do you think you’re doing! My kids are sleeping in here!”

Hermione tried to drown out the argument with her pillow, but the muffled cries were making it too difficult for her to return to her peaceful state. Highly irritated by the situation, she shoved off the covers to give the offenders a piece of her mind.

The glass pane slid open, and Hermione stuck her head out in irritated dismay. She took in a breath, preparing to chide both parties and insist that they cease their late-night tirade, when she glanced down at the street and recognised the patch of blond locks.

“I said I want to see Granger! G-r-a—" 

“Draco?”

The wizard in question’s face lit up when he saw her, and the rock in his hand fell to the ground.

“You know this bloke?” her neighbour snarled out of his bedroom window.

Though she doubted Draco would be able to see it from that distance, Hermione raised a dissatisfied eyebrow anyway. “Unfortunately.”

“In that case, tell your boyfriend to stop throwing rocks at the wrong window!”

Heat rushed to Hermione’s cheeks, but before she could correct the man, he slammed his window shut.

Draco pointed a lazy finger in her direction, his balance teetering. “I found you!”

A mild smile threatened to reveal itself across Hermione’s lips as she shook her head at the absurdity of the scene. Discovering Draco calling for her from outside her flat window past eleven on a Friday night wasn’t exactly how she had imagined seeing him next. Yet despite how much she knew she should be annoyed, she couldn’t shake the jitters fluttering inside her stomach. Suddenly, sleep no longer felt important.

“Stay right there, Draco. I’m coming down.”

Crookshanks purred his disapproval at whatever had dared disrupt his slumber as Hermione shoved her slippers on. A calming pat on Crookshanks’ head later, Hermione slipped out of her bedroom and ran downstairs.

“What precisely was your plan?” Hermione asked by way of greeting. “Continue throwing rocks at the windows until I appeared?”

Draco stumbled over something on the pavement as he approached the door. He pressed both hands against her cheeks, his cool touch sending a short tingle pulsing through her body.

“It worked, didn’t it? I had to see you.”

His breath was contrastingly hot and reeked of alcohol.

Hermione surveyed his wobbly state. “Merlin, Draco. Are you drunk?”

Draco knocked his head back and laughed. “Out of my bloody mind!”

He removed his hands, and for a moment, Hermione missed the sensation of his skin against hers, until Draco reached down and intertwined their fingers. She barely had time to note the way their hands so easily fit together before he dragged her out of the building.

She let out a surprised squeal at the sudden movement. “Just what do you think you’re doing now?” she asked with an accompanying laugh. Drunk Draco Malfoy was much more handsy than she was accustomed to.

“Let’s do something,” he proffered, and then his eyes grew wide with an idea. “Show me another museum.”

He tried pulling her farther away from her building, but his intoxicated state made it easy for Hermione to hold her ground.

“You do realise it’s after eleven, don’t you? Or have you not noticed that the sky is pitch black and that I’m standing here in my pyjamas?”

Draco eyed her up and down, and his lips instantly curled into an amused grin. Apparently he really hadn’t noticed her matching top and bottom pink flannel pyjama set with little white cartoon figures that read “Molar Bear” underneath.

He held a fist in front of his lips to try to block the ever-growing grin, but it did nothing to stifle the chuckles that broke loose.

Hermione knocked him on the shoulder. “They were a birthday present from my mother!” she defended, feeling the warmth beginning to prickle once more against her cheeks.

“That doesn’t mean you actually had to wear the atrocious things.”

“Yes, well, they’re extremely comfortable,” she opposed with a huff. “And it wasn’t as if I was expecting company tonight.”

She raised an eyebrow at her drunk companion who merely stared at her with that stupid grin which ran the risk of becoming permanently plastered across his features. He really could be a total pain in the arse, be it drunk or sober. Yet despite her grievances, Hermione was sincerely glad to see him — although she would much prefer to continue their late-night meeting in the warmth of her flat.

“If you’re done trying to drag me through London in the middle of the night, let’s get you upstairs and sober you up.”

That statement was much easier said than done. Even getting Draco up the first flight of stairs took significant effort and guidance. At first, Draco was adamant that a Sobering Potion wasn’t necessary, but his attitude shifted significantly after he tripped over one of the steps and collided with the wooden panels.

“You win, Granger,” he grumbled, face twisted in pain.

“I haven’t seen anyone this drunk since Seamus at Dean’s birthday party last year,” Hermione remarked with a snigger as she helped Draco return to his feet. His knees began to buckle and Hermione rushed to drape his arm over her shoulder for added support. “I don’t know whether I should be more shocked or impressed that you managed to get here all the way from Diagon Alley in one piece.”

Draco released a short puff of air. “Diagon Alley? Who said anything about Diagon Alley? I Apparated from the Manor.”

“What?!” Hermione paused on the step they were on to stare at Draco. “How could you think that was a good idea? A Muggle could have seen you! Or worse, you could have splinched!”

Draco shrugged, slightly swaying closer towards her. “Floo makes me nauseous when I’m drunk, so that didn’t leave me with another choice.”

“That still wasn’t a good decision,” Hermione reprimanded as she resumed their journey up the stairs.

But Draco wasn’t fazed. “It was if it meant I got to see you.”

After a few more stumbles and some readjusting of her grip so that Hermione had a better hold on him, they reached her flat. The moment she opened the door, Hermione became instantly aware of just how modest her home was compared to the opulence of Malfoy Manor. The space was small, but that had never bothered Hermione who always preferred to keep things simple and neat. All she needed to be happy were the bookshelves that contained her hundreds of volumes, the television that was her favourite perk of living in a Muggle unit, and the “well-loved” sofa that her parents had given her when she had moved in. As Ron would always say about the Burrow, it wasn’t much, but it was home.

Not letting this temporary concern distract her from her mission, Hermione proceeded into the kitchen where she kept all her potions supplies. Draco followed at her feet like a loyal puppy dog.

“Why do you have to live on the third floor?” he remarked while Hermione began rummaging through her cabinets for the necessary ingredients. “Did you desperately miss that long trek up to Gryffindor Tower or something?”

Hermione laughed as she pulled out a jar of Boom Berries. “We can’t all live in a fancy manor,” she playfully quipped.

Draco half-chuckled, half-scoffed. “It’s not as great as it’s made out to be.”

Hermione peered at him curiously, intrigued by his retort. Although he played it off casually, Hermione got the sense that there was more behind the statement. From the little that Draco had previously shared with her, she could reasonably infer that his relationship with his parents was complicated. He had complained about attending family dinners and mentioned his father’s dismay at his author career, and yet Draco had willingly lied in his book to maintain the story that he hadn’t recognised them that fated spring day. She was naturally curious to know more about what exactly was happening inside Malfoy Manor nowadays.

Meanwhile, Draco was lost in fascination at all the unfamiliar Muggle instruments. He began fiddling with the dials of the oven, watching in amazement as the illuminated neon-green digits fluctuated as he rotated the knobs. Hermione carefully removed his hand, not trusting him around anything that could burn him, and gave him a digital timer for him to examine instead.

Now clearly wasn’t the time for her to bring up such a potentially sensitive subject. Draco was drunk beyond belief, and she didn’t want to take advantage of his intoxicated state by prying further than he would be willing to share sober.

Instead, she moved past the remark and returned her focus to the creation of a Sobering Potion. Hermione continued to search through her cabinets until she had assembled all the ingredients on the counter as well as a mortar, pestle, and standard sized cauldron. She wasn’t in the habit of getting so drunk that she required a Sobering Potion before bed, but now she was starting to think twice about not keeping a spare vial around for unforeseen circumstances. Luckily, it was a fairly straightforward concoction and shouldn’t take her too long to brew.

The clinking sound of the glass jars echoed through the small space as Hermione measured out the correct amount of each substance and returned the containers to the granite surface. She was in the process of crushing the snake fangs when Draco interrupted her concentration.

“You’re going to want to add three pinches of dried Willybig stings,” Draco remarked while pulling back on one of the metal loops of the whisk that now captivated his attention. 

Hermione set down the pestle and pried the whisk out of his grip before returning it to the utensils holder. “I assume you mean dried Billywig stings?” Hermione repeated, raising a taunting eyebrow at him. “I’ve never heard of them being used in a Sobering Potion.”

“Close enough,” Draco retorted with a swat of his hand. “You know what I meant. Trust me, it will make it more effective.”

Not putting much faith in his current mental state, Hermione opted to ignore Draco’s suggestion and returned to the crushing of the snake fangs. It wasn’t long, however, before Draco shuffled behind her and leaned over her to reach into the potions ingredients cabinet. His firm chest pressed against her back as he stood on his tiptoes to dig deeper into the space.

“What are you doing now?” Hermione asked, giggling at the unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, sensation of Draco rubbing up against her.

“You need the Willybig… Billywig stings,” he said as he pulled one of the vials from the cabinet and brought it directly in front of his face in order to properly read the label. He scrunched his eyes to make the print clearer before returning the first vial into the cabinet and pulling out another.

Hermione couldn’t help but be amused by Draco’s efforts. “You know, this would be ten times easier if you just asked me to do it,” she said, her body flush with the counter so Draco could better access the cabinet.

“Got it!” he announced, lifting one of the vials up in triumph. He set the vibrant blue substance onto the counter. “Dried Bil-ly-wig stings,” he made sure to clearly state this time. “Three pinches.”

Under normal circumstances, Hermione would have respected Draco’s potions advice, but this situation called for a guaranteed solution. Yet Draco looked far too proud of himself for Hermione to flat out reject his suggestion, so she decided to at least pretend to go along with the idea.

“Okay, Draco,” Hermione said with a soft smile. “Three pinches.”

Draco keenly observed her every movement as Hermione finished with the snake fangs and smashed the Boom Berries to create enough juice. Once she was done with the rest of the preparations, Hermione mixed together all the ingredients in the cauldron until they turned a deep shade of plum. Feeling Draco’s awaiting gaze, Hermione picked up the vial of dried Billywig stings and pretended to add three pinches.

The potion was nearly finished, and she was in the midst of completing one of the final clockwise rotations when Draco pulled the wooden spoon out of her hand.

“You didn’t put in the dried Billywig stings.”

“Of course I did,” Hermione lied, grabbing the spoon and setting in on the counter. “You just saw me do it.”

Draco’s grin returned as he looked at Hermione with an expression that one could easily mistake as fondness. “It’s cute that you think you can lie to me.”

Hermione felt her cheeks instinctively flush at his particular choice in words, but Draco continued before she could linger too much on the thought. 

“If you put the dried Billywig stings in, then why is the potion still plum and not mauve?”

She opened her lips to come up with some retort, but before she could utter a sound, Draco raised a challenging eyebrow and she knew whatever “explanation” she came up with wouldn’t work.

“Alright, you win, Malfoy,” she surrendered, mirroring his words from when they had been in the stairwell. “No, I didn’t put them in. But can you blame me? You’re not what one would consider a reliable source right now.”

She cocked her head and folded her arms against her chest, daring him to find the flaw in her logic, but Draco merely chuckled.

“You underestimate my abilities, love,” he retorted, taking a step closer so he couldn’t be more than a few inches away from her. His grin shifted into a smirk as his fingertips brushed the traces of her hairline and he tucked one of her curls behind her ear. “Even drunk, I’m better at Potions than you. Or have you forgotten that Potions was the only class you were never able to beat me in?”

Hermione over-dramatically rolled her eyes at the presumption of his remark, paying no mind to the way her heart was beating unusually fast for the given scenario. “That’s only because Snape liked you,” she taunted in return.

Draco’s smirk only grew larger as he leaned in closer. “And what about you? Do you like me?”

Hermione couldn’t hold back her snicker. “I would think that was obvious,” she said with a grin.

His teeth grazed his lower lip. “What would you say if I said I like you?”

“I mean, I already assumed as much!” she promptly replied. “That’s kind of a necessary part of us being friends, right?”

Draco immediately pulled back, his face turned alarmingly pale. “Right,” he answered, his eyes now looking anywhere but at her. “Friends.” His footing faltered as he tried to take a step back. “Sorry, I, uh, I need—”

Without any more of an explanation, Draco turned from Hermione and located the bathroom, sealing the door behind him with a piercing thump.

Hermione only paused a few seconds before she followed closely behind him and knocked on the door. “Draco? Are you okay? What just happened?”

There was silence for a few moments until he finally mustered, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Hermione lingered on the other side of the door, trying to listen for any indication of what he was doing in there. Faint, distressed mutters made their way through the barrier, but Draco’s exact words were indiscernible. If she had to guess, the excessive amount of alcohol had become too much for his body, and Draco was grumbling to himself while he awaited the impending purge. What else would warrant him becoming so instantly pale?

Not wanting to invade more than she already had, Hermione returned to the kitchen where the almost-finished Sobering Potion sat on the counter. After completing the final few clockwise rotations, Hermione filled a glass for Draco and then proceeded to the sofa, setting the Potion on the coffee table. She knocked her head back and sunk into the cushions while she waited for Draco to re-emerge.

Tiredness once more started to wash over her, but Hermione fought it off. Merlin, Draco was lucky she liked him as much as she did. She couldn’t think of many people she’d be willing to tolerate at such a highly intoxicated level, let alone actually enjoy their company despite their inebriated state. Over the past two weeks, their friendship had become unexpectedly important to her. Hermione had yet to regret a single second she spent with him, which was quite an impressive feat when one considered that they saw each other near daily! Then how was it that after everything they had done together lately, Draco still had even the slightest doubt that she honestly and sincerely liked him?

The bathroom door clicked open and Draco slowly trudged his way across the sitting room until he plopped down next to her.

“Feeling better?” she asked, trying to stay positive even though all signs pointed to ‘no’.

Draco grabbed one of the throw pillows and smothered his face. “Not really,” he grumbled, followed by a muffled, deep-chested groan. “Just... it’s been a long day.”

“You seemed fine when we left the museum.”

The pillow fell to his lap as he shook his head in the opposite direction of Hermione. “A lot can happen in twelve hours.”

“Like what?” she gently pressed.

Draco remained silent as he mindlessly played with the tasselled fringes of the pillow, his attention fixated on the item. Hermione observed him carefully, trying to discern what was bothering him so much, but that was difficult when he refused to look at her. Evidently whatever he had tried to do in the bathroom hadn’t helped.

Hermione scooted closer and removed the pillow from his lap. “Whatever it is, you can tell me, Draco,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’m your friend.”

She placed a reassuring hand on his thigh, but he instantly pushed it away.

“Yeah, I fucking know,” he snarled, snapping his head up and fixing her with a hard stare through his bloodshot eyes. Behind the harsh gaze, however, was a trace of anguish that Hermione couldn’t quite place.

“I’m just trying to help,” Hermione defended, fighting the wave of disappointment that pulsed through her at his dismissiveness. Something was evidently hurting him, but there was no need for him to shut her out like this, even if he was still drunk.

Remembering the untouched Sobering Potion, Hermione handed it to Draco. “Take this. Maybe then you will actually talk to me.”

Draco hesitated, contemplating whether or not he really wanted to rid himself from this drunken state. His weary eyes temporarily met Hermione’s, and the witch quirked an eyebrow, urging him to drink it already. A moment later, Draco lifted the glass and chugged the thick, plum liquid. As he set the empty glass back on the table, his face twisted in disgust, and a shiver rippled down his body, the sign that the Potion had taken effect.

“Better now?”

“Somewhat,” he grumbled, keeping his head low as he raked his fingers through his hair. Hermione could barely make out the brief smile he forced to his lips. “Perhaps my head wouldn’t still be throbbing if you’d added the dried Billywig stings like I said.“

Before Hermione could respond, he pushed himself off the sofa and strolled towards one of her bookcases, his steadiness back to normal. His fingers grazed over the spines and Hermione couldn’t help but think he was purposefully keeping his back to her.

“I didn’t mean to come off so harsh just then,” he uttered, continuing to skim the collection of Muggle and Wizarding titles. “I— I've got a lot going on in my head right now.”

“I think I’m owed a bit more of an explanation than that,” Hermione pushed. “You drunkenly showed up at my flat in the middle of the night, and you have yet to explain why it’s me that you needed to see.”

Draco took a deep breath and shook his head. “It was foolish. I shouldn’t have come.”

“No, that’s— That’s not my point.” Hermione stammered to respond. “I like spending time with you Draco. Just… maybe a bit of warning next time?” she added with a small smile even though she knew he couldn’t see it. “As much as I enjoyed witnessing Drunk Draco Malfoy, I like you better like this.”

Draco turned back around, a resigned smile finding its way across his features. “Because we’re friends?”

“Of course we are,” she assured him once more. “I don’t know why you keep asking that. What else would we be?”

His chest slowly rose and fell as he released a long, tired sigh. “Nothing I suppose.”

He left the bookcase and returned to the sofa, leaving a full couch cushion between them.

Hermione criss-crossed her legs and turned her body so she could properly face him. “So are you finally going to tell me what caused you to get so drunk in the first place?”

Draco folded his arms across his chest as he considered the question, his tongue nervously darting across the seam of his lips. “Let’s just say that my parents and I are at an impasse about my future.”

“About your writing career?” Hermione logically deduced.

She took his silence as a yes.

Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Sometimes I want to sock your father in his snooty Pureblood nose.”

This at least got a mild chuckle out of him. “I’d quite enjoy seeing that, actually.”

“What does your father think is so wrong with you being an author?” Hermione asked, curious to learn more. “And what does it matter to him what career you choose? It’s not like your family needs the money.”

Draco closed his eyes and rested his head on the back cushion. There was a long pause before he finally answered.

“It’s a status thing,” he explained. It was evident that he was choosing his words wisely. “Everything with my parents is about perception. Ever since I was young, I’ve been instilled with certain expectations — a respectable career being just one of the many things.” He paused to take a breath. “I hadn’t intended for this to happen, but there are some things you just can’t help.”

“The writing bug bit you that hard?” she teased, trying to lighten the mood, even if only temporarily.

He tilted his head so he could briefly smile at Hermione. “Believe it or not, after two years stuck in the Manor, reading can get boring.”

Hermione dropped her jaw in mock offence. “Say it’s not so!”

“Guess you’ll just have to take my word for it,” he taunted in return. Draco bit down on his lower lip as a grin started to spread, but it quickly faded, replaced instead by another sigh. “Anyway, that’s the situation. I don’t know what to do about it because what I want and what he wants are no longer aligned.” 

Hermione didn’t quite understand. “If that’s the case, why are you letting your father’s opinions influence you?”

Draco released a long, heavy groan as he sank further into the sofa. “Because as much as I disagree with him, he’s still my father.”

Their conversation during that first lunch together at the sandwich shop came back to her, and Hermione recalled what Draco had said when she asked why he had been willing to lie in his book in order to maintain his parents’ status in the pureblood community.

While I may not always agree with my father, he is and forever will be the only father I have. Believe it or not, I still care for him even if I spend the majority of my day cursing half the things he does.

Hermione softened her gaze as she looked at Draco, starting to better understand his perspective even though she still didn’t approve of the approach.

“You have the right to make your own decisions, Draco,” she cautioned.

Draco stared at the ceiling. “I am very much aware of that. But sometimes things are a lot easier said than done.”

“Would it help if you moved out of the Manor?”

His attention quickly shifted to Hermione, his eyebrows coming together in confusion. “Why would I move out of the manor?”

Hermione hoped she hadn’t crossed a line with her suggestion, but she answered anyway. “If they’re trying to control your life, it would probably be beneficial to put some physical distance between you and your parents. Moving out can be the first step in establishing your own life.”

Draco merely blinked. “But Malfoy Manor is my home. Every member of the Malfoy line since the eleventh century has lived within those walls their entire life.” Draco released a defeated sigh as he shook his head. “I know how insane this sounds considering everything they’ve done, but I don’t want to lose my parents. They’re the only family I’ve got.”

Hermione tucked her legs up onto the sofa and wrapped her arms around her knees. “I get it. Family is important to me too,” she said, striving to maintain an even tone despite the nerves that had suddenly washed over her. She worried her bottom lip and kept her gaze downward, not sure if she could stomach looking at Draco when she confessed the next bit of information. “Did you know I Obliviated my parents’ memories during the war?”

Hermione didn’t need to look up to feel Draco’s shocked reaction.

“I had no idea,” he mustered.

His fingers twitched by his side. She knew that bringing up anything pertaining to the war was risky, but it felt necessary to share this piece of her past so he could truly understand.

She slowly drew in a deep breath, letting the air fill her lungs. “That’s part of the reason why it’s so important to me that I live somewhere where it’s easy for them to visit. I’m forever grateful for the Mediwitches who made it possible for me to still have them in my life.” She began fidgeting with the sleeves of her pyjamas. “I know what it’s like to risk everything for the safety of your parents, so I, perhaps more than anyone, understand your fear of not wanting to lose them, because we’ve both come terrifyingly close before. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But even though I knew it could potentially mean losing my parents forever, I did what I had to do if it meant keeping them safe.”

Hermione half-heartedly shrugged. “Perhaps this wasn’t the most eloquently put, but my point is, sometimes we prioritise what’s better for our family members even if it’s not what we personally would prefer. I Obliviated my parents’ memories. You joined the Death Eaters. We did what we thought we had to do, even though it wasn’t our preferred choice. But if you were willing to do that for your family, why aren’t your parents just as willing to sacrifice something they’d prefer if it means making you happier?”

When Hermione finally looked up, Draco was staring at her with a mixture of sympathy and disbelief. He opened his mouth a few times to try to speak, but no words ever came out. Not that it was necessary; her question didn’t have an easy answer.

Tiredness once more fighting its way to the surface, Hermione laid across the sofa, her head gently landing in Draco’s lap. He seemed to tense at the unexpected sensation, but after several moments, his fingers began cautiously carding through her curls.

“I’m glad your parents got their memories back,” he whispered.

Hermione sighed, relaxing under his soothing touch. “I am too.” She closed her eyes as she laid there contentedly. “Let’s talk about something else,” she proposed, not wanting that conversation to be how they finished the evening. “Have you started The Two Towers yet?”

“Haven’t had the chance,” Draco said, still running his fingers through her hair. He hesitated a moment and then continued, “How about you just tell me about the rest of your day?”

Hermione perked up, once again finding herself sitting upright. An instant smile graced her lips. “I can’t believe I haven’t told you yet!” Her chest warmed as she proudly shared, “We had a meeting with the head of the firm, and I’m now going to be working as a liaison between the Literacy and Muggle Studies departments!”

She beamed at Draco’s resulting smile.

“Congratulations,” he said. “Although, this better not mean I’ll be seeing less of you, or I might just have to throw more rocks at your window now that I know which one is yours.”

“Only if you’re not drunk the next time!” she returned with a laugh. “But I will warn you that things are going to be hectic around the office again. The Ministry decided we need to scale back the program’s number of hours a week.”

Draco leaned in and pinched her side, eliciting a squeal out of Hermione as she wriggled at the touch and threw herself back into his lap.

“Was that or was that not precisely what I said?” he proclaimed, his grin growing ever wider. “Admit that I was right and you were wrong!”

Hermione giggled, Draco’s reactions exactly what she had predicted. His grey eyes twinkled with delight as he gazed down at her, and Hermione felt the urge to nibble on the edge of her bottom lip. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and as she peered up at Draco, Hermione had no doubt she looked equally happy, perfectly content with how their evening had turned out.

Chapter Text

When the world slowly came into focus the next morning, Draco was immediately confronted with two gleaming yellow eyes surrounded by matted ginger fur. Forever suspicious of anything with red hair, Draco forced himself fully awake but settled as soon as he recognized the animal for what it was. He vaguely recollected seeing the unsightly beast stalking through the halls of Hogwarts, but he had never connected that the ugly feline belonged to Hermione. Now it seemed obvious that only she would be able to love such a creature. 

It took a few more minutes for Draco to piece together what he was still doing in Hermione’s flat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spent an entire night asleep on a sofa; in fact, Draco highly doubted he had ever done such an act before. But after he and Hermione had stayed up until past one in the morning continuing to chat, she had insisted on him staying over. Despite Draco’s protests that he was perfectly fine to Apparate home, Hermione refused to hear it. At least she hadn’t suggested them sharing her bed. There was no way Draco would have been able to sleep a wink if they had.

Draco’s attention shifted to the closed door that led to her bedroom and a tightness clamped inside his chest. Fuck, he had nearly slipped too far into dangerous territory last night. Coming to Hermione’s while drunk wasn’t the brightest decision he had ever made, but it was true that he had desperately wanted to see her. Too much had happened the day before and even though his newly discovered feelings towards her were part of that problem, she was still the person he could rely on to make everything seem better.

The ginger cat arose from its seated position and paced atop the glass coffee table, it’s bushy tail swaying with the movement. It leaned down and with its nose, began nudging a piece of parchment in Draco’s direction until the wizard read it.

Good morning Sleepy Head,

Wanted to get a jump start on the day and already headed into the office. Don’t you dare say anything about it being a Saturday. I told you that things are back to being hectic at work! But I will say that I had fun last night, even if you were a drunken mess half the time.

Your friend,

Hermione

P.S. Did you know that you snore?

Momentary relief flooded through Draco when he started reading Hermione’s note. She had fun. He hadn’t managed to drunkenly bollocks up their relationship. And if she was at her office, then he was spared from her morning-after interrogation to pry deeper into why he had shown up at her place so late. But all those thoughts were quickly superseded by the disappointment that settled in his stomach when he reached that blasted word.

‘Friend.’

Seriously, was the universe trying to rub it in at this point?

Draco knocked his head back against the old, ragged, upholstered sofa that his mother would never dare touch, let alone sleep on. He grimaced as he recalled what was by far the worst moment of the night before, cringing at the memory of how he had so drastically misinterpreted part of their conversation. He had so desperately wanted to believe there was even the faintest possibility Hermione liked him, too, that in his drunken haze, he had clung to any indicator that she felt the same.

And she did like him. Just not like that.

Matters certainly would be easier if he and Hermione remained friends and nothing more, but damn if his heart hadn’t faltered when she had rested her head in his lap. He had prayed to Merlin, Agrippa, and whatever deity Muggles believed in that body wouldn’t betray him and reveal how much the simple gesture affected him. But that concern felt irrelevant compared to the significance of what Hermione had just shared with him about her parents. All that had mattered was comforting her.

As he combed his fingers through her curls, Draco fended off the thoughts about how easy it would be for him to lean in and taste those lush lips that had been taunting his fantasies the past twelve hours. But despite how much he wanted it, then had not been the proper moment. Hermione needed the comfort of her friend, regardless of how much that pained him to say.

The set of yellow eyes resumed its staring at Draco, likely curious what this unfamiliar man was still doing in his home when its owner had already left. Draco had to admit that it was a valid question. Yet Draco wasn’t prepared to leave. The sun was just beginning to peek through the gaps in the building so by Draco’s estimations, it couldn’t be much past nine. Breakfast in the Manor must have just started, and he ought to get home and tell his parents that he wasn’t interested in pursuing Astoria. But he needed a few more minutes of peaceful solitude before subjecting himself to that impending conversation.

Draco pushed himself off the sofa and the cat jumped off the coffee table to follow him. Taking advantage of the extra time in Hermione’s flat, Draco roamed around the small space, soaking in the little pieces of Hermione that he had overlooked while intoxicated. Most of the decorations were modest yet homely. The windows were adorned with deep grey curtains that matched the sofa, and the throw pillows complimented the floral landscape painting that hung on the main wall. There were a few objects that Draco didn’t understand, primarily the large black rectangle that was in front of the sofa. He was about to press one of the buttons on its side when he became distracted by the two framed photographs rested on one of the side tables.

The first one was in an intricate silver frame and piqued Draco’s interest because, for some reason, the people in the picture did not move. He picked it up and shook it to see if it was frozen, but upon closer examination, Draco realised that the people in the photo must be Hermione and her parents. Hermione was significantly younger in the picture, perhaps just before they had entered Hogwarts. Her hair was somehow bushier than he remembered, but what caught his attention the most was her massive smile. He had forgotten how much larger her front teeth used to be before he had accidentally hit her with that hex instead of Potter, only to then laugh in her face as her front teeth extended beyond her lower lip and towards her chin.

A tinge of remorse settled in his gut. There were so many things he’d do differently if he had to experience Hogwarts all over again, his treatment of Hermione one of many.

His attention then shifted to the second photograph of her, Potter, and Weasley. Unlike the photograph with her parents, this one was much more recent. If Draco had to guess, the photo couldn’t be more than a year old. The three of them appeared to be laughing at something while Hermione had her arms draped around her two best friends.

There was that word again. He was stuck in the same category as Potter and Weasley: Hermione Granger’s Friends. That thought alone made his resentment towards the word even more significant.

But there was still a chance she could grow to like him more than that, right? After all, it hadn’t even been three weeks since they had begun spending so much time together. Considering their strained history, he couldn’t reasonably expect her to feel that way about him so suddenly. Provided that Draco did, in fact, build up the courage to refuse to go through with a marriage contract, perhaps their friendship could one day blossom to something more. Just look at her and Weasley. They had been friends for six years before they started dating.

Revulsion lingered on Draco’s tongue. If Draco hated being in the same category as her two Gryffindor sidekicks, he detested that he hoped for a similar destiny as her red-headed ex.

Having had enough of staring at Potter and Weasley, Draco stepped away from the side table and regarded Hermione’s closed bedroom door. What more could he learn about Hermione if he got a glimpse inside?

But he wouldn’t cross that barrier. It was her private space, and he wouldn’t intrude.

The ugly feline sat on the hardwood floor right at Draco’s feet, tilting his head and still eyeing him curiously.

“Okay, Cat,” Draco said. “You win. I’ll leave you alone now.”

Draco sucked in a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to return to the manor. He doubted his parents would have noticed his late-night disappearance, especially if he arrived in time for the end of breakfast. But the idea of stepping foot in the Manor made him feel uneasy, remembering Hermione’s suggestion from the night before.

Move out? He had never even considered the idea. It was unheard of for a Malfoy to live anywhere other than their ancestral home.

Just like how it was unheard of for a Malfoy to consider anyone other than a pureblood as their spouse.

Great. Precisely what he needed. Another thing to muddle up his already cluttered mind.

Nothing needed to be decided now, though. For the time being, he still lived in Malfoy Manor. First things first, he needed to tell his parents that he wasn’t interested in Astoria.

~*~*~

“I wasn’t expecting you to show up.” His father’s vision lingered on Draco for only a fleeting second before he returned to the morning edition of the Daily Prophet.

“Good morning, dear,” Narcissa greeted him in a much more pleasant tone. “Did you sleep well?”

“Fine enough,” Draco returned as he took his usual seat in the middle of the elongated table. His breakfast appeared on the plate before him and a teapot floated over to fill his cup. He mixed in a single spoonful of sugar before blowing on the hot surface and taking a sip.

“I imagine you’re quite exhausted after the day you had yesterday,” Narcissa said from behind her teacup.

You only know the half of it, Draco thought.

“Since you’re here,” his mother continued, “we should schedule a second meeting with Miss Greengrass and her parents.”

His teacup rattled as he returned it to the saucer. It was earlier in the conversation than he would have preferred, but that was as good of an opener as he was going to get.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, playing it off as casually as he could. Below the table his toes were tapping the inside of his shoes and his left hand was clenched around his knee. But he had made his decision, and now he just had to utter the words. He swallowed and finished, “Astoria and I have decided not to see each other again.”

The silence he had come to expect after any sign of disagreement with his parents once again filled the dining room. Lucius set down the newspaper to glare at his son, while Narcissa blinked at him in disbelief.

“And when did you two come to that conclusion?” Lucius demanded.

“While we were out in the gardens,” Draco replied, his whole right leg starting to bounce. “We realised that we don’t have much in common and mutually agreed that it is for the best not to proceed with one another any further in the courting process.”

Lucius shook his head as he returned his attention to the newspaper. “You’re making a grave mistake, Draco,” he said, his voice flat and apathetic. “But I suppose that’s just what I’ve come to expect from you nowadays. Disappointment after disappointment.”

Draco’s nose wrinkled at his father’s remark, fighting not to reveal how much the insult affected him. His fingers dug deeper into his skin, convinced they would leave a mark. On the surface, however, Draco remained resolute.

“If I recall correctly, you two gave me say in which witch I ultimately marry,” Draco said through clenched teeth.

“As long as she’s pureblood,” his father added, not bothering to lift his eyes away from the paper.

“As long as she’s pureblood,” Draco bitterly repeated, despising each syllable that he forced out his lips. But now was not the time for that argument.

One step at a time, he reminded himself.

“Just because it wasn’t instant sparks between you and Miss Greengrass does not mean that you shouldn’t see her again,” Narcissa supplied, not letting the topic remain on the sore subject of blood status. “Your father and I required several meetings before we decided to sign our contracts, and even then our relationship took time to build.”

“Why can’t I just build a relationship the normal way?” Draco countered. 

“This is the normal way,” Narcissa said, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Pureblood families have been doing it this way for centuries.”

Draco leaned back in his chair and knocked his head back so he was staring at the ceiling. “In other words, it’s another beloved tradition?”

“Watch your tone,” Lucius sneered, taking a small, vicious pause before pressing, “If you’re so much wiser than us, what do you propose instead?”

Draco stiffened, refusing to succumb to the temptation of mindless compliance, and rubbed his temples. “I don’t know exactly, but there’s certainly a better way than a surprise dinner with a witch of your choosing and her parents,” he contended. “How can you expect me to get to know someone on any sort of intimate level when our parents are flanking us on either side?”

Lucius glared at his son. “Because it’s tradition.”

“And some traditions ought to be ended,” Draco spat in return, no longer able to withhold his bitterness. “Or have you learned nothing from the war? The war that we lost.”

Draco could feel his mother gaping at him, but his harsh stare fixated on his father who was staring back at him with equal disdain.

“I am not interested in entertaining your childish insolence,” Lucius snarled. “War or not, the expectations of this family have not changed. You are a Malfoy. Start acting like it.”

With that, Lucius pushed back his chair and discarded his napkin on the table. Seconds later, the dining room door slammed closed behind him.

Draco returned to his breakfast, embracing the silence. His heart was still hammering, but all things considered, it wasn’t the worst argument he’d had with his father.

Logic reminded him that this was far from the end of the conversation and that they were no closer to a resolution. And yet, an inkling of pride burrowed itself in Draco’s chest. It was a minor victory, but at least he had voiced his opinion and his parents hadn’t forced him to see Astoria again.

What would they try next, though? Draco didn’t want to know.

Meanwhile, Narcissa was observing her son, her eyes not once flickering away from him.

“Can I help you with something, Mother?” Draco eventually asked.

“You can start by explaining what has gotten into you lately,” she said, her eyes tracing the length of his body. “You’re acting as if all this is a surprise when you’ve known since you were a young boy that this is the expectation.”

“Maybe my outlook has shifted since then,” Draco grumbled. He had hoped that his father’s departure would mean the end of this topic. Clearly he wasn’t so lucky. He set down his fork as he continued, “Is it so insane that I ask for a bit more say in my own future? I have had more than enough of you and Father making my decisions for me.”

“Oh, yes,” Narcissa said with a raised eyebrow. “Because you’ve been making such wonderful decisions on your own.”

The implied reference behind his mother’s words caused a pit to settle in Draco’s gut, the memory of a particular photograph from the night before returning to the forefront of his mind. 

“What exactly do you know?” Draco said in a low voice.

“Enough,” Narcissa replied, straightening herself further upright.

“And where did you get that photo?”

“Having connections inside the Daily Prophet can be beneficial in more ways than one,” she retorted, taking a careful sip from her tea. “It took a considerable amount of Galleons to ensure that your picture wasn’t on the front of the paper two days in a row, but we couldn’t let the entirety of Wizarding Britain see you sleeping out on Diagon Alley like a poor bum.” Her glare became piercing. “That was careless of you, Draco.”

“It’s not as if I fell asleep there on purpose."

“That isn’t the point,” she declared, her lips pursing together. “You’re getting sloppy. Even your father is starting to catch on.”

Draco perked up. “You haven’t told him?”

“Not yet,” Narcissa remarked, “but if you keep being so obvious, it’s only a matter of time before he figures it out himself.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “Sleeping on Diagon Alley with your hair a mess and parchments sticking out of your robes, constantly slipping out of the Manor without telling us where you’re going, coming back hours later in Muggle clothing?”

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but Narcissa cut him off.

“Yes, your father told me about the clothing,” she said, seeming displeased at the thought of her son in such attire. “I covered for you, but only because I did not want to ruin how well last night went. Which, apparently, was all for nought because you have once again decided to dismiss a perfectly viable option.”

“Astoria and I were never going to work out,” Draco snarled.

“Only because you refuse to put any effort into this process,” Narcissa maintained. “Either way, do not expect me to do it again,” she warned, leaning in so Draco could see the severity in her eyes. “And most certainly do not take me as a fool to think that you really met with Gringotts. If you’re going to lie to me, do not make it something so easy to check.”

“Would you have preferred I told you where I really was?” he challenged, all the while hoping she didn’t say yes.

The question seemed to take Narcissa by surprise. She leaned back in her chair and pressed her lips into a thin line, seeming to consider her response before concluding, “Do not confirm anything or else I will feel obligated to tell your father, which I am certain you do not want to happen.” She paused to place her napkin on the table before peering at Draco with unexpected lenity. “I hope you are prepared for the potential consequences when your father inevitably pieces this all together,” she said, her voice firm as she spoke. “You and I both know he will not approve.”

Narcissa dismissed herself and was nearly at the door when Draco uttered the question that had been grating on him since Hermione had implanted it in his mind.

“Do you want me to be happy?”

Narcissa turned back and assessed him curiously. “How is that a question?” she asked, a wrinkle in her forehead. “Of course I do.”

Draco swallowed, praying to Merlin he wasn’t pushing his luck too far. “Has it ever occurred to you that this is what makes me happy?”

His mouth grew dry as he awaited his mother’s response, the seconds feeling like hours as she continued to stare at her son, the question seeming to turn over in her head several times as she considered her response. Eventually, Narcissa drew in a slow, steady breath, and addressed Draco cautiously. 

“If this is really that important to you, then I suggest you find a better way of going about it,” she said. The rigidity of her words sent a shiver through Draco. “Sneaking around behind your father’s back will only make things worse. Unless you want this to end in disaster, you best ease him into it. And stop making matters so difficult around here. Fighting with him is not the solution.”

Without another word, Narcissa exited the dining room, leaving Draco alone in the cavernous space.

His father didn’t know. And whatever his mother did know, she wasn’t telling him. Yet, at least.

There was hope.

Then why did Draco still feel so uneasy?

He needed someone he could talk to about this. Someone who wasn’t Astoria. Someone who would listen to his woes and only mildly judge him for it. Someone who understood his predicament.

It was time to reconnect with some old friends.

Chapter Text

As expected, the Leaky Cauldron was suffocatingly crowded. Apparently, Hermione and Harry were far from the only people who had selected the pub as their Saturday night locale. Hardly a single chair was available, and Hermione had to strategically manoeuvre her way through the hordes of young witches and wizards so her pint of beer didn’t spill as she searched for her long-time friend.

“Over here!” Harry shouted over the chattering masses. He waved a hand in the air so she could better spot him at one of the high top tables.

“You couldn’t have picked a less busy pub?” she asked, giving Harry a one-armed hug when she reached their spot for the evening.

Next to Harry was Ron, an expected addition to their night’s plan. At this point in their friendship, it was assumed that whenever two of their trio were doing something, the third was automatically invited as well.

“You look tired,” Ron commented as they exchanged their own short hug. “Tell us you didn’t work today!”

Hermione pushed herself onto the free chair Harry and Ron had saved for her. “I worked today,” she admitted. “But only for a few hours. Although I did get less sleep than usual.”

“Only seven and a half hours instead of your typical nine?” Ron teased. “Couldn’t fit in that extra REAM cycle you’re always talking about?”

Hermione laughed. “They’re called REM cycles!” she corrected. “And actually, I barely got six. I was up until nearly two in the morning.”

“You? Up past midnight?” Harry remarked, sharing in the enjoyment of poking fun at Hermione’s habits. “It must have been a special occasion!”

Hermione took a sip from her drink then shrugged. “Not particularly. Draco just happened to stop by, and—”

A spray of beer spewed out of Ron’s lips. The half-filled glass met the table with a clunk as Ron gawped at Hermione.

“Yes, Ron, I call him Draco now. Get over it,” Hermione sharply retorted. She had already had to endure a similar conversation with Harry yesterday in her office, and she was not in the mood for her friend to make a scene over something so trivial.

Harry eyed both of his companions cautiously. “I don’t think that’s what he’s reacting to,” he said, a hint of concern and scepticism hidden in his tone. “Or at least what I want to know is what the hell Malfoy was doing at your place until two in the morning?”

“It’s nothing,” she dismissed, conveniently leaving out the part that Draco hadn’t actually left at that time. 

Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow while Ron continued to stare at her blankly.

“Honestly!” she defended. “It was nothing. He merely got drunk after what sounded like a rough day and wanted to be with a friend.”

Ron managed to find his words again. “Doesn’t mean he had to go to your place. What happened to Goyle? Or Parkinson?”

Hermione sucked in a breath, a similar question having crossed her mind the other day when she and Draco had been in the park.

“I’m not sure,” she finally responded. “He never mentions them. But that could just be because he doesn’t want to bring up any of his old housemates around me.”

Even as she said it, Hermione wasn’t convinced that was the reason. Something about their interactions had given her the impression that he wasn’t in contact with any of his Hogwarts friends anymore. She sincerely hoped for his sake that wasn’t true. Everyone needed friends to rely on, and while she valued her recently blossomed friendship with the former-Slytherin, he needed others as well.

~*~*~

Draco watched the amber liquid swirl around the tumbler before he ceased the movement to take another swig of whiskey.

They were late.

Doubt started to trickle into his mind. After sending them both an owl that morning, each had agreed to join him at the recently-opened, quiet pub on Knockturn Alley. Draco wasn’t in any mood to deal with the drunken crowds that packed Diagon on Saturday nights, and most witches and wizards still avoided the infamous street despite the Ministry’s attempt to reverse its sullied reputation.

He kept his eye on the door, waiting for his two friends to arrive, becoming more anxious every time it opened to reveal someone else. What if they stood him up? They had no obligation to him anymore; he hadn’t communicated with them in years.

Draco had initially considered contacting Goyle, but the bloke had never been one for words, let alone coherent, meaningful sentences. He wouldn’t be much assistance in helping Draco sort this out. The other two, however…

The front door swung open, and in stepped the older, but still familiar faces of Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott. It took them no time at all to locate Draco and join him at the bar.

“I don’t believe it,” Theo said, poking Draco’s cheeks to make sure he was real. “Look who ventured outside his famous gilded gates in order to grace us with his presence!”

Blaise pulled out a handful of Galleons and placed them on the bar beside Theo. “You win, mate. Turns out he really isn’t too much of a big shot author to associate with us anymore.”

The old friends exchanged brief, sincere grins before Theo and Blaise took turns embracing Draco with a short hug and firm pat on the back. Three years out of Hogwarts, and they were the same taunting pricks he was proud to call his friends. All it took was a few seconds into their reunion for Draco to already feel infinitely lighter. Why hadn’t he done this sooner?

“So what have you been up to?” Draco asked once Theo and Blaise had settled onto the stools next to him. 

“Oh, you know, living the Wizarding dream,” Theo casually replied, his grin still wide across his features. “Now that I’ve got the whole Nott Manor to myself, I can’t complain.”

Blaise gave him a side-eye. “That’s only because your father’s in Azkaban.”

Theo shrugged. “Doesn’t matter where he is. Amsterdam, Australia, Azkaban. Just as long as it’s not anywhere near me.”

Draco laughed despite the strange twinge of jealousy that coursed through him. They had both grown up under the harsh expectations of their Death Eater fathers, and while Draco was still battling his, Theo had avoided all that when his father had been sentenced to Azkaban in the aftermath of the war. Draco couldn’t help but wonder how his life would be different if he, too, had the same freedom.

He pushed away his mild resentment. “What about you, Blaise?” Draco continued with the conversation. “Got a new witch you’re pursuing, I presume?”

“Camille. Just graduated from Beauxbatons in June,” he answered with a suggestive smirk. “Nothing serious, of course.”

Draco chuckled. “It never is.”

“And how about your love life?” Theo asked, a single eyebrow raising towards his hairline. “You really didn’t think you could escape us discussing that Prophet article, did you?”

Any remaining sentiments of jealousy were promptly replaced with unease. He had hoped to avoid this topic for at least a few minutes longer, and when it did come up, that it would be broached under his terms.

“Victoria Flint, huh?” Blaise said, drawing out her name for effect. “Pretty witch but dumb as flobberworms.”

“But hey, it’s your life,” Theo supplied, throwing his hands up in the air as if that excused him from any challenging comments. “Should we be expecting best man offers any time soon?”

Draco drew in a slow breath. “That’s actually why I asked you here today,” he said, staring down at his half-filled tumbler.

Blaise and Theo exchanged incredulous looks.

The momentary silence was broken when Blaise uttered, “Shit, you mean you really signed a contract?”

“What?” Draco asked, pulling his attention away from the glass to stare at his friends. “Gods, no!” They seemed relieved at his remark while Draco braced himself for his next statement. “Quite the opposite, actually,” he said, nervously carding his fingers through his pale locks. “In fact, I need your help.”

A wicked grin stretched across Blaise’s lips. “Those are my favourite words to hear from a Malfoy.”

“What's the matter?” Theo jokingly queried. “Getting cold feet before there’s even ink on parchment?”

His friends smiled as they awaited his response, but Draco couldn’t think of what to say. He darted his tongue across his lips before picking up his glass and finishing what was left of the whiskey. When the glass clunk down on the bar, he peered at Blaise and Theo, his gaze undoubtedly pitiful.

They stared at him with curiosity until realisation dawned across Theo's expression.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Who’s the girl?”

~*~*~

“He threw rocks at your window?”

“Not my window, but that was the intention.”

Somehow, Ron and Harry had gotten Hermione to expand on the details of the night before. Normally she was the one with an endless stream of questions, but tonight it appeared that her two best friends were the ones with insatiable curiosity.

Ron shook his head. “I just don’t get it,” he resigned, taking a long pull from his beer.

Harry, on the other hand, still didn’t seem satisfied. “You seriously don’t see anything strange about all this?” he asked. “Draco Malfoy. Completely pissed. Throwing rocks. Late at night.”

Hermione’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “I mean, it probably wasn’t the smartest idea he’s ever had. If he hadn’t been careful, he could have easily caused one of the windows to break and—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry interjected. “Come on, Hermione. You’ve seen Muggle films. Under what circumstances does a male throw rocks at someone’s window?”

He quirked an eyebrow, and it took a few moments of careful thinking before Hermione’s jaw dropped at the implication behind her friend’s question.

“Oh, not you, too!” she cried. “You’re overthinking it!”

Harry narrowed his gaze. “Am I?”

“Yes!”

“Then what other explanation is there?”

“He just wanted to see me!”

Ron glanced back and forth between them. “Anyone care to fill me in?”

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. “Harry’s under the impression that all this somehow signifies that Draco fancies me.”

“Like fucking hell!” Ron exclaimed. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you two are friends!”

“You have nothing to worry about, Ron,” Hermione assured him. She turned to Harry as she finished, “Draco and I are just friends.”

“You say that now, but you and Ron started off as just friends,” Harry contested.

“And you and I have remained just friends! It’s entirely possible for people of different genders to have nothing romantic between them.”

Yet Harry still didn’t seem convinced. “I wasn’t going to bring this up, but if you and Malfoy are just friends as you so emphatically contend, then what was that in your office yesterday?”

Ron lit up in a mixture of alarm and revulsion while Hermione remained simply confused.

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

“Are you serious?” Harry asked as if it should be obvious. “Watching you two interact— I can’t really explain it, but I’ve never been more uncomfortable in my life. It was like I had walked in on something between you two even though Malfoy was the one who walked in on us.”

Hermione racked her memory, trying to recall if anything between her and Draco had been unusual during their pre-lunch interaction, but even after replaying it in her mind, she couldn’t fathom what could have disturbed Harry so much.

“You must have just been surprised to see us together,” Hermione finally concluded. “It was your first time ever seeing him since his trial. I’m sure that alone was jarring.”

Harry shook his head. “I know what I saw, and trust me, that’s not how friends interact.”

Hermione sighed. Clearly, arguing with him about the events in her office wasn’t going to convince him that he was imagining Draco’s supposed feelings towards her. She needed to take a different approach. But how could she prove something when there was no evidence to suggest it existed in the first place?

The idea hit her.

“The Daily Prophet the other week!” she said. “Certainly you saw that article about Draco!”

The blank expressions on both Ron and Harry’s faces suggested that neither one knew what she was referring to.

“I haven’t picked up a single Daily Prophet since the end of the war,” Harry explained.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed. “It’s important to keep yourself informed!”

Harry shrugged, a small smile gracing his lips. “Anything important I figure I’ll hear about at work, or you’ll just tell me.”

Hermione reached across the table and swatted him. “That’s not good enough!” She shook her head in displeasure. “I’m getting you a subscription for Christmas.” She quirked an eyebrow at Ron. “Both of you.”

Ron gaped at her. “How did I get roped into this?!”

“Do you know what article I’m talking about?”

“No.”

“Then you need a subscription as well!” The boys groaned, already dreading their Christmas presents, while Hermione returned to her original point. “Anyway, there was a prominent article the other week about Draco being on a date with Victoria Flint. See? He’s dating other people.”

As Hermione finished the thought, her stomach churned at the resulting recollection she had blocked from the forefront of her mind. She recalled the unsettling feeling that had burrowed into her gut when she had seen him and the pretty witch through the window at Rosa Lee Teabag. Even though Draco had assured her that it  hadn’t really been a date and that it was all something of his mother’s concoction, the thought still wasn’t agreeable. But that was because it spurred memories of how he had cancelled their lunch plans without informing her, not because she was by any means jealous!

“Has he mentioned Victoria Flint to you since? Or any other witch?” Harry challenged, still not accepting her reasoning.

“I don’t know how else to say this,” Hermione huffed, having reached her limit for her tolerance for this topic. “Draco and I are friends. Period. That’s it. We confirmed it last night.”

“Confirming that you’re friends with someone isn’t typically something you have to do.”

Hermione frowned. “Well, maybe our friendship is just atypical.”

~*~*~

“Granger?” Theo echoed, his eyes threatening to bulge out of their sockets. “Of all the witches in Britain — no, of all the witches in the world — Granger?”

Blaise took a long sip from his recently arrived whiskey. “How in the name of Salazar did that happen?”

“She showed up to my author talk at Flourish and Blotts, and later that evening, I ran into her again at the Leaky Cauldron. We got to chatting, and we’ve been spending time together ever since.”

Theo stared at Draco. “No bloody way. Tell me you two aren't dating.”

Draco choked on his drink. “No,” he clarified. He coughed a few times to properly clear his throat before continuing, “Everything's been innocent so far. I only figured it out yesterday that I actually like her.”

Blaise looked sceptical. “Have you considered that this is a temporary thing? Your subconscious trying to stick it to your old man and what not?”

Draco tipped his head downward and shook it back and forth. “Merlin, would that make things easier, but I see her near daily, and it’s still not enough.”

“Damn, you’ve got it bad,” Blaise concluded.

“I sodding know.”

“Your father’s going to lose it when he finds out,” Theo said with an amused snicker, his attempt to lighten the dampened mood. He then faced Blaise. “Who do you think would win in that duel, Granger or Lucius?” 

“My money’s on Granger!" the other wizard promptly returned.

Theo slapped his hand against the bar. “And here I was, hoping you’d say Lucius so I could get more Galleons out of you!”

“You’re both prats,” Draco half-chuckled, grateful that his friends weren’t letting him stay in his melancholy state for too long. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I need your help.”

“Whatever you need, mate,” Theo replied. “Unless it’s murder. Can’t end up in Azkaban with my father.”

Draco snorted despite the war that was beginning to build inside his mind again. He hated discussing the subject, but he needed his friends’ advice. He drew in a deep breath before asking the question that he desperately craved the answer to.  “How do I avoid getting roped into a pureblood marriage?”

Theo and Blaise looked at one another, and Theo shrugged in defeat. “You’re not exactly asking the best people on this one. With Father locked up and Mum long gone, I’m essentially a free agent.”

“And my mother doesn’t exactly have much say in who I marry when she’s on husband number nine.”

Draco groaned. “I figured as much, but I don’t know who else to ask. At least you two understand what my parents are like. They’re the quintessential pureblood couple who conjoined two powerful families and still managed to love each other.” He took a sip from his third glass of whiskey. “Hell, I’m not saying I want to marry Hermione. I just don’t want to be forced into something else right now. If it wasn’t for my parents, marriage wouldn’t even be on my radar.”

Theo peered at Draco in confusion. “What’s a radar?”

“It’s a Muggle expression,” Draco responded with a sigh. “Hermione used it once, and I think I’m using it properly?”

“Salazar’s balls, you’re enamoured!”

Draco’s head fell into his hands at Blaise’s remark. “I know,” he said, beginning to rub circles at his temples. He stayed in that position for a few seconds before lifting himself back upright. “Trust me, I wish I wasn’t. Things would be far less complicated if Hermione and I remained friends.” He ran his hands down the length of his face. “My parents even had me meet with Astoria Greengrass yesterday, and she was great...”

Theo quirked an eyebrow. “But?”

Draco chugged the rest of his drink.

“But she’s not Hermione.”

Theo laid a single pat on Draco’s back. “You, my friend, are fucked.”

Draco glared at him. “Thanks for the reassurance.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Blaise asked. “And for the love of Merlin, stop moping. It makes you look… sad.”

“That’s the issue,” Draco said, only sounding slightly less miserable. “My mother seems to know something is going on, and my father is getting increasingly suspicious that I’m hiding something. I’ve tried broaching the subject of me searching beyond the pureblood pool, but each time I have, my father only gets angry, and it ends in a large blowout.”

“We may be prats, but you are an idiot,” Theo retorted, eyeing Draco with half-pity, half-disbelief. “What did you expect to accomplish with that?” 

“For my parents to accept my wishes like the adult that I am.”

Theo laughed. “Oh, you sweet, naive, pureblood prince,” he said with a taunting grin. “Of course that wasn’t going to work. Their opinions on Muggle-borns or even half-bloods aren’t going to change just because you batted your long lashes and nicely asked. They need to see you interacting with her.”

“So what precisely are you suggesting? That I invite Hermione over to the Manor for dinner?” Draco scoffed. “You’re barking.”

“Perhaps not,” Blaise countered. “Dinner at the Manor? Terrible idea. Not enough witnesses to prevent someone not making it out of their alive. Some other excuse for your parents to meet her, though?” Blaise shrugged. “It could work.”

Draco wasn’t completely convinced, but he didn’t dismiss it either.

“My mother does want me to be happy,” he said just above a whisper.

“Then you gotta show her that this is what makes you happy,” Theo concluded. “As for your father, fuck him. He’s the one who got you into that whole Death Eater mess. If he doesn’t approve, so what? He kinda owes you one.”

~*~*~

“I can’t believe we’re still discussing this!” Hermione cried, several minutes having passed since she thought she had successfully ended this conversation.

“Okay, let’s think about it, Hermione,” Harry said, refusing to drop the supposed issue. “How often do you see Malfoy?”

“I don’t know. Three or four times a week?”

“That’s two or three times more than you see us!” Ron exclaimed.

“That’s not my fault,” Hermione defended, feeling her cheeks flush red. “You two are working!”

Ron huffed. “We have lunch breaks too.”

“And neither of you would want to spend your lunch breaks going to a Muggle museum!” She rolled her eyes, far past the point of regretting bringing up Draco in the first place. “There’s nothing going on between me and Draco. And if you think otherwise, you’re insane.”

“Oh, really?” Harry blurted. “In this scenario, we’re the insane ones?”

Hermione opened her mouth to object, but Ron beat her to it.

“You know, I’m actually starting to take Harry’s side on this one,” he said. “Imagine if one of us showed up at your place drunk and woke you up by throwing rocks at your window? You would have stormed downstairs and yelled at us that whatever it was could wait, not invite us inside and stay up talking until two in the morning!”

The heat continued to rush to her face. “It’s different,” she further defended, pushing past the spark of doubt that temporarily flickered in her mind. “We’re still developing our friendship, so rejecting him like that would have been rude.”

“Oh, right, cause Malfoy’s never been rude to you before,” Ron said with a dismissive scoff.

“I really don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Hermione concluded, leaving no doubt that she was done discussing Draco for the evening. “I haven’t seen you two all week, and if you don’t mind, I have other things I would like to share with you.”

“Like what?”

Hermione grinned. “Like the fact that I just got promoted to work with both the Literacy and Muggle Studies departments!”

The conversation finally diverted away from Draco as Harry and Ron congratulated her on the achievement at work, and yet, there was an unfamiliar nagging feeling in the back of her mind that she would never voice to either of them.

Certainly there wasn’t any truth behind Harry’s belief. Although, come to think of it, he wasn’t the first person to say that there was something more between them... But this was absurd! She and Draco were just friends.

Right?

Chapter Text

Draco’s head pulsed as he downed the vial of Hangover Potion he had been forward-thinking enough to set on his bedside table in anticipation of his outing with Blaise and Theo. The sun had only recently crept above the horizon, no more than a handful of hours after he had finally managed to fall asleep, having laid awake for what had felt like hours contemplating what to do next.

They made it sound so easy — just introduce Hermione to his parents. Psh. How exactly was Draco supposed to do that without arousing more suspicions? And none of this considered whether Hermione would even be willing to meet with his parents.

After the things his family had done in the war, it would be understandable if she didn’t take too kindly to the idea of being in their presence again. But it wasn’t entirely impossible either. Since she had forgiven Draco, there was a solid possibility that she would be agreeable to meeting with his mother given that the older witch had shown hesitation towards the Death Eater cause at the final battle. His father, however, would be a different issue. Draco wouldn’t blame Hermione if she vowed to never see the wizard again. Even Draco could hardly stand being in the same room as him nowadays.

And yet, Draco still forced himself to tug on a pair of Muggle trousers and a button-down shirt for Sunday breakfast. His choice in attire was bound to irritate his father, but Draco hoped it would divert the older wizard’s suspicions about Draco’s activities on Friday afternoon. If he was lucky, perhaps Lucius would believe this parting from traditional Wizard clothing to be nothing more than Draco harmlessly challenging his parents’ expectations. It was worth trying. At the very least, Draco would get mild satisfaction out of ruining his father’s morning.

His parents’ conversation ceased the moment Draco stepped into the dining room. Lucius merely looked at his son with ardent disgust in lieu of greeting before hiding his stern expression behind a copy of the Sunday morning Prophet. This reaction to Draco’s presence was seeming to become a part of his father’s morning routine, which was to no complaint from Draco. At this point, the less he and his father interacted, the better.

Narcissa sat at her end of the table and Draco leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “Good morning, Mother,” he stated but became immediately distracted by the array of far-too-familiar proposition letters splayed beside her plate. “Don’t you have those all memorised by now?”

“Just making sure we didn’t forget anyone,” she cooed.

Draco didn’t like the sound of that. “Forget anyone for what?”

From behind the newspaper, Lucius silently lifted his wand so a cream coloured scroll of parchment floated across the length of the table. It paused mid-air, and the emerald seal with the Malfoy family crest pressed into the wax undid itself, allowing the parchment to cascade free for Draco to read.

The Malfoy Family

cordially invites you to

the return of their annual

Halloween Soirée

Before Draco had finished reading all the details, Lucius partially lowered the newspaper so Draco could see the indifference in his expression as his deep voice filled the dining room. “Your mother thought it necessary to entertain your suggestion that we find some other way for you to initially meet with prospective witches,” Lucius drawled, his eyes still scanning the lines of the article.

“And it’s high time that we host something formal in the Manor again,” Narcissa added as she dipped her spoon into her tea, careful not to clink the metal against the china edges. “Since Halloween is only a week away, this Friday will be the perfect opportunity to mark our proper return to society.”

Narcissa avoided Draco’s gaze as she placed the wet spoon on the edge of the saucer and picked up a clean spoon to remove a wedge of her grapefruit half.

Draco watched her curiously, attempting to glean any additional hints from his mother’s expression about her true intentions for the soirée, but she revealed nothing more. The question remained: how much did his mother know about him and Hermione? And how much freedom would she be willing to give Draco to ultimately make his own decisions? He was still unsure. Compared to his father, though, Draco supposed he should just be grateful to have his mother on his side — to whatever extent that she was.

A plan started to form.

“That’s a fine idea, Mother,” he agreed. “Although, I will require a few invitations of my own.”

Narcissa peered up at her son, eyeing him with a glint of suspicion and warning at Draco’s condition, while Lucius continued to appear displeased (not that Draco expected his father to be pleased with anything he said anymore).

“Who precisely do you plan on inviting?” Lucius commanded.

“A couple friends,” Draco responded with a lazy wave of his hand. “Blaise… Theo… others…”

Draco looked down at his mother to once more see if she had any notable reaction, any indication that she suspected who else he meant, but she revealed nothing.

“Just as long as Mr Nott remembers that this is a formal event, so he should keep his crass comments to a minimum,” she said as she dug out another spoonful of grapefruit. “And while you’re at it, advise Mr Zabini that this gathering is for you. We don’t need him gallivanting around, trying to pick up witches for himself.”

With the matter settled, Draco tapped the tip of his wand to the invitation, prompting it to duplicate. He tucked the copy into his trouser’s pocket and left his mother’s side. He could make the other two necessary copies later.

When he finally took his seat in the middle of the table and started his meal, Draco began to contemplate the details of his plan. This Halloween Soirée could be the answer he had stayed awake searching for. There would likely be upwards to a hundred witches and wizards in attendance, and even his parents wouldn’t dare to spoil their precious evening reintroducing themselves into society by causing a scene at Hermione’s attendance. If Draco planned this right, he could steal just enough moments of his parents’ time to properly introduce Hermione to them. What else he would dare mention to them he would still have to determine, but at least this would be a start.

Now he just had to convince Hermione to attend.

~*~*~

Hermione scanned through what had to be her twelfth document of the afternoon. While Tillman had told her during their meeting on Friday that she did not need to worry about her new responsibilities until Monday, Hermione couldn’t wait until then. Come tomorrow morning, she wanted to be as knowledgeable as possible about everything that the Muggle Studies department had already planned for their curriculum and what was left to be done. This was a huge opportunity for Hermione to further demonstrate her ambition at the firm, and she was not going to take her new liaison appointment lightly.

She was halfway through making notes on a lesson about how Muggles use technology to transport themselves when a knock at her office door disrupted her thoughts. She hadn’t heard anyone else come in that afternoon. Who else was there on a Sunday?

Hermione kept her quill poised in her hand while she hastily scribbled down a suggested change before it slipped from her mind as she called for the person to enter.

“Only a through-and-through workaholic like you would come into the office not only first thing Saturday but all of Sunday as well.”

The quill dropped from her grip at the sound of her guest. “Draco!” she said, not for a moment upset at the interruption even if it was unexpected. “What are you doing here?”

A sense of ease and lightness seemed to be radiating from him, and Hermione was relieved to see it. Friday night, he had been quite the drunken mess after his apparent struggles of earlier that day, and it was nice to see him returned to a more chipper mood. She doubted much had been resolved since then — after all, what little she knew about his struggles with his parents didn’t sound like something that could be fixed in the matter of a short day — but however Draco had spent his Saturday night and Sunday morning seemed to have alleviated his distress.

She motioned for him to come inside, and Draco joined her in one of the chairs opposite her desk.

“I first stopped by your flat and buzzed a button on that box mechanism outside the building’s entrance, but when you didn’t answer, I made the only logical conclusion that you were here instead,” Draco replied, his pale skin aglow from the tendrils of afternoon sun that basked through her window. A grin stretched across his lips. “For a brief moment, I did consider checking a Muggle library, but I knew you wouldn’t dare visit one without inviting me along.”

Hermione returned her quill to her inkwell. “So every time I go to a Muggle library now, I have to make you aware of it beforehand?” she teased.

“That’s only common courtesy,” he taunted in return. “Although, despite my interest in discovering just how alarmingly often you frequent Muggle libraries, there is a purpose for my being here.”

Draco reached into his trouser’s pocket — fleeting curiosity flashing across her mind over his choice in Muggle attire — and he pulled out a tight scroll of parchment. Hermione took the proffered item and paused when she recognised the crest in the wax. A large script ‘M’ was prominently featured in the middle, surrounded by intertwining snakes and flanked by a dragon on either side. The words in the flags below were not legible on such a small surface, but Hermione knew they were intended to read “ Sanctimonia Vincet Semper ” — “Purity Will Always Conquer.”

Hermione tucked her finger under the lip of the parchment and slid it under the wax seal until the parchment opened free. She smoothed out the scroll and read what appeared to be an invitation.

“I wanted to deliver this to you in person,” he said, sensing Hermione’s hesitation as a finger hovered over the location of the event. “I understand your likely concern at the prospect of returning to the Manor, but I wanted to be here to guide you through that decision.”

Hermione glanced up from the invitation to find Draco’s gentle gaze already peering down at her, but it did little to settle the nerves that had quickly spread through her system.

“This is very kind of you to invite me, but—”

“Hear me out,” Draco said before Hermione could reject the invitation. “I know I told you this weeks ago, but in case you forgot, we had the Manor completely renovated following the war. I felt similar dread at the idea of being in a space that the Dark Lord once called his home.”

“But you weren’t tortured there,” Hermione mustered in a faint whisper. Her skin crawled at the memory of the jolts of unfathomable pain that had invaded every cell in her body.

Draco’s expression fell as a heavy pause began to suffocate the space. “No, I was not,” he eventually stated, his words hardly louder than Hermione’s. “Which is why I won’t push you to attend, other than to say how much it would sincerely mean to me if you did.”

She lifted her gaze, some of the tension in her shoulders dissipating. “Really?”

Draco swallowed. “Yes.” For a moment, it seemed as if he was going to reach for Hermione’s hands, but he grabbed the invitation instead. “I know we’ve only been… spending time together… the past few weeks, but it would be a great honour if you would be my personal guest at this soirée.”

Hermione blinked in rapid succession. Draco’s personal guest? That sounded suspiciously close to asking if she would be his date to the function.

Flashbacks to the conversation in which Harry had insisted that Draco fancied Hermione flooded her memories. Could there really be validity in Harry’s claim? Had she really been so blind?

But Draco was not done speaking yet.

“Of course, if you’d feel more comfortable attending with a plus one, I’d be more than willing to amend your invitation.”

If Harry was there right now, Hermione would have raised an eyebrow to underscore that she was right. See? Draco wasn’t inviting her as his guest like that. They were merely friends!

And yet, unfamiliar disappointment clenched inside her chest. No, not a disappointment. Jitters. Fear? She was still anxious at the idea of stepping foot inside Malfoy Manor. That was all it was. There was absolutely no way that she had been hoping that Harry was somehow right in his assessment. That would have been absurd! And besides, what did Harry know anyway? He had barely seen them interact for more than a few minutes.

No. She and Draco were just friends. Honestly.

“Hermione?”

She jolted back to attention. “A plus one?” Hermione repeated, doing her best to calm her nerves and to not sound too frazzled. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s not as if I have time to be dating anyone right now. The only man in my life at the moment is you.” She hesitated for a moment, then rushed to clarify, “And Ron and Harry, of course!”

For some indiscernible reason, there was now a subtle quirk to Draco’s lips. “I never said your plus one had to be romantic,” he said. “Bring Potter or Weasley. Although, if I may, I suggest you bring Potter. I don’t have much faith in Weasley’s ability to hold his own at a formal function.”

Hermione raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “And I don’t have much faith in your and Harry’s ability to not break out into a duel in the middle of your formal ballroom!”

“Fair enough,” Draco surrendered, lifting a cavalier shoulder. “But I promise to be on my best behaviour if Potter agrees to be on his. I’ll even make an unbreakable vow with you not to touch a single strand of his unruly hair if that’s what it takes.”

Hermione continued to stare at him, waiting for the catch, but it never came. “You’re serious?”

Draco nodded. “We managed not to hex each other in your office on Friday, didn’t we?”

It was a valid point, but she still wasn’t entirely convinced. “And what about your parents? What would they think of my attendance if I’m your guest? Based on what you said Friday night, there’s already enough tension between you and your father, and if it would be better that I don’t attend—”

“Hermione.”

She couldn’t quite place it, but something was different in the way he said her name that sent a tingle down to the tips of her fingers. There was an undeniable firmness, enough to prompt her to stop mid-sentence, and yet there was a hidden softness that warmed her core and compelled her to listen.

“I’m tired of constantly concerning myself with what my parents think,” he sternly stated so there was no denying his resolve on the matter. “I want you there. It’s as simple as that. Any potential fallout with my parents I will handle on my own.” He rested his elbows on the edge of her desk and leaned in, a scheming smirk spreading across his lips. “Besides, would you really pass up the opportunity to ruffle a few snooty pureblood feathers?”

The comfortable easiness she had grown accustomed to around Draco returned as she released a giggle. “I was unaware that the famous Malfoy family peacocks were also going to be in attendance.”

“Only if you ask nicely.”

“Then I accept,” Hermione said with a carefree grin. “But only because of the peacocks.”

Draco beamed at her. “I shall ensure that they are in their finest dress robes.”

He slid back his chair, his intended mission now complete, and he started to make his way for the door, but Hermione wasn’t ready to return to work just yet. A few more minutes with him. That was all she needed.

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

Draco paused his departure to face Hermione. “Thought I might finally crack open The Two Towers. Unless you have other plans for me?”

He raised a hopeful eyebrow, and Hermione prayed that the heat that prickled at her cheeks wasn’t obvious. “I thought I might suggest you visit another museum since you’re already dressed in Muggle clothing. There’s so much left for you to see in the British Museum, although, if I may, the V&A is quite enjoyable as well.”

Draco took a step back towards her desk. “Depends. Can I tear you away from your office to join me?”

A pang of sorrow tugged inside of her as she looked at the stack of documents that still laid untouched. The offer was tempting. She certainly hadn’t regretted abandoning her work to spend time with him in the past. But today couldn’t be one of those days.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” she resolved with a sigh. “I really ought to finish reviewing these lessons before Monday.”

“Ah, yes.” Draco smiled despite her rejection. “Big day for you tomorrow. First day as the liaison between the Literacy and Muggle Studies Departments.”

Inexplicable happiness coursed through her that he had remembered. “Yes, it is.”

“In that case, I shall not distract you any longer,” he said with a note of parting finality. “Best of luck, Granger. Not that you’ll need it.”

With one last glimpse of his genuine smile, Draco closed the door behind him, but that did little to block the new thoughts about him that now rushed to the forefront of her mind.

A dimple. When Draco smiled at her, he had the distinctive crescent of a dimple in his right cheek. How had she missed it before?

A frenzy of follow up questions forced their way to the surface, but one curiosity begged to be answered first. Hermione threw open the drawers of her desk, certain she hadn’t disposed of it. She had been so distracted by the front page that Hermione hadn’t read the article Gretchen had recommended before she had to set it aside and prepare for her scheduled meeting with Weggers. She was certain she had tucked it away somewhere in her desk. Now it was just a matter of remembering where she had placed it.

After a few more moments of searching, Hermione found the two weeks old Daily Prophet article, Draco’s image still prominently featured on the front page alongside Victoria Flint. Hermione spread the paper flat against her desk and leaned in to properly examine the picture.

No dimple.

Not that it meant anything that Draco had a dimple when he smiled around her and didn’t when he was with Victoria Flint. The photographer could have just missed the moment. Or perhaps it only revealed itself on the rarest of occasions. Not that she was looking for any sort of significance in the difference between his two smiles, of course. She was merely an observant person who found pleasure in finding meaningful trends. There was no other reason. None at all.

Then why was her heart starting to beat all a flutter?

Hermione shoved the thoughts away. No. Not now. She couldn’t be questioning this when she had work to focus on.

Yes, work. Her job. And her new responsibilities that started tomorrow. That was what she needed to be focusing on.

And yet, as Hermione tried to return her attention to the lesson on Muggle technology, it became instantly apparent that her mind refused to comply. It kept flickering back to thoughts of Draco and his stupid dimple.

Okay, so Draco had a nice smile. So what? That didn’t mean anything. And perhaps she could even admit that Draco was attractive. That still didn’t mean anything.

But it was more than that. It was the fact that he had only left a few minutes ago and she already wished he would come back and distract her some more. That she could talk with him for hours on end and never grow tired. That every moment that she had spent with him since their evening at the Leaky Cauldron had felt like the highlight of her week.

She didn’t want to believe it. Keep denying it was possible. Fight the notion all day long. But there was no use. And while she still wasn’t convinced that Draco liked her, it had become impossible for her to ignore the signs any longer. She liked Draco.

Chapter Text

Hermione,

I have no doubt that your first day in your new position will be a success. Consider this present a small trinket of my warm regards.

I won’t bother asking if you’re free for lunch this afternoon. I know you far too well at this point to know that you’ll be working straight through the day. Besides, I predict I’ll be a bit too preoccupied reading The Two Towers for me to notice your absence too much — that is until I’m aching to discuss it with you.

Try not to work too late. I need you alive and well for Friday.

DM

Dear Draco,

It was a hectic first day balancing between the two departments but equally exhilarating. On top of that, my day was made all the better when I received your gift. People were quite intrigued by my new snow-white peacock feather quill. Do I want to know what you did to those poor peacocks to get this? It’s perfect.

And it’s about time you finally started reading it! For a man who had to drag me out of my office on Thursday to take him to the library that very instant, it sure did take you long enough! Where are you in the book? Just because I’m stuck working doesn’t mean we can’t discuss over owl.

Hermione

No, no. I’m saving my thoughts until we can properly exchange our opinions in person. You know very well that we cannot capture the fire of our conversation over paragraphs of text. It just wouldn’t feel right if I don’t have you jumping to cut me off mid-sentence to add your assessment.

Any chance of lunch today?

DM

P.S. Let’s just say a lot of chasing around the Manor’s gardens was involved.

As much as I’d love to see you, I’m afraid not. I have back-to-back meetings scheduled all week long as I become fully integrated into the Muggle Studies department. You’re just going to have to keep those thoughts to yourself a few more days. But come Friday, I promise my night is all yours.

Hermione

You best believe I’ll hold you to that. I suppose I’ll just have to find a different way to fill up my days if I don’t have your lunches to look forward to. As much as I enjoy diving into your Muggle books, I crave more than just sitting and reading all day long.

What was that museum that you mentioned on Sunday? Perhaps I really ought to take you up on that hobby suggestion.

DM

Yes! The V&A. It stands for the Victoria and Albert Museum. I’ve attached another map to help you navigate there from the Leaky Cauldron. I’m so tempted to join you, but I’m simply too busy to steal even a half hour away from here. But you must go to their Cast Courts room! It’s filled with copies of some of the most famous Muggle sculptures in the world. It takes my breath away every time.

Hermione

Per your recommendation, I went to the V&A yesterday. The sculptures were quite impressive, although I fear some of their significance felt lacking when I didn’t have a certain witch standing by my side, rambling on about their historical value.

Any update on Potter also being in attendance tomorrow night? I require at least twenty four hours notice that I’ll be in his presence.

DM

I suppose that means I’ll just have to drag you back there so we can do the museum properly. And, oh! In my constant rush of the week, I forgot to tell you. Yes, Harry has agreed to come. Ron’s a bit miffed that I chose Harry over him, but I think he’ll get over it if I bring him back a plate of hor d'oeuvres.

Relatedly, I’ve been so preoccupied with work, I haven’t had a moment to consider what I should wear to something like this. Believe it or not, I haven’t been invited to many formal soirées. I’d hate to wear something inappropriate and draw even more attention to me than I predict there already will be.

Hermione

Think of it like the Yule Ball. Formal and elegant. But I’m afraid there’s nothing neither you nor I can do to prevent you from drawing attention. If memory serves me right, which I know it does, you were utterly captivating that evening back in fourth year. Regardless of what you ultimately choose to wear, I have no doubt that you’ll once again steal the attention away from every other witch in the room.

Draco

Hermione bit her lower lip, reading over Draco’s most recent note for what had to be the tenth time since it had arrived Thursday evening. Every time in the past week that she had spotted his massive great horned owl pecking at her window, Hermione had immediately dropped her new quill and rushed to push the window open. Her heart had consistently hammered in girlish anticipation as she undid the scroll and read his now instantly recognisable script. Each short missive had temporarily drawn her away from the constant chaos of work, a reminder that she had a life outside of these four walls.

But with that came the other reminder of what she had finally come to realise Sunday afternoon.

While she truly had been busy with work all week, she was admittedly more than a tad nervous to see Draco again. How would things be different now that she realised that their friendship meant more to her than just that? Did Draco really feel the same?

She had spent more time than she cared to admit over-analysing every word in his letters. Indications that he possibly felt like-wise were present in nearly every note. He ached to discuss the book with her. He missed their lunchtime ritual. He felt her absence at the V&A.

But this latest note had sent a flush to her cheeks like none of the others had. 

Captivating.

The word stood out like a glimmering star in an otherwise pitch-black sky. Even in the midst of their antagonism towards each other, Draco Malfoy had found her captivating.

There was a knock on her office door and Hermione slipped Draco’s note under the parchments she should have been focusing on as Gretchen let herself in.

“Do you need anything else before I leave for the weekend?” Gretchen asked, barely stepping foot inside.

Hermione scanned the final few documents that were laid out on her desk. “Nothing I can think of,” she said. “I won’t be staying much later anyway.”

“That’s good. You deserve a break,” Gretchen returned with a smile, somehow having maintained her constantly cheery attitude despite the countless hours she too had stayed at the office this week. “Any plans for Halloween weekend?”

Hermione made sure to keep her gaze down at her parchment as she responded, “Not much. I have an event tonight, but that’s it.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be attending the Halloween soirée at Malfoy Manor, would you?”

Hermione’s head jerked up. “What?”

A grin now stretched wide across Gretchen’s features. “I overheard a couple of witches talking about it as they exited Madam Malkin’s earlier today.” Her gaze then fell to Hermione’s peacock feather quill resting in her inkwell. “And I had a feeling they weren’t the only witches invited.”

The rustling of parchments filled the empty silence as Hermione shuffled them around while she quickly considered her response. “If you must know, then yes, that is where I will be tonight,” she eventually settled, fighting hard to sound casual as she said it. “Before you ask, Harry and I are going together, so no, there is no date involved. Draco and I are still just friends.”

Mild discontent weighed inside her stomach at the voicing of that sentiment, a fact she wasn’t confident had gone unnoticed. But even if Hermione’s feelings towards Draco had changed, the statement was true.

Hermione drew in a deep breath, only partially appeasing some of the nerves that had started to spread inside of her. “Now, is there anything else?”

Gretchen paused, seeming to consider her response for several moments before she ultimately shook her head.

“Alright then,” Hermione concluded. “In that case, I hope you have a lovely weekend, Gretchen.”

Hermione returned her attention to the parchments below her, but when she didn’t hear Gretchen leave, she lifted her head back up to find her assistant still standing in the doorframe.

“Just… If I may, ma’am?” she asked, hesitation in her voice. Her expression was soft as she gave Hermione a comforting grin. “Regardless of whatever you and Mr Malfoy are, it’s evident that spending time with him makes you happy. With things so stressful around here lately, I’m glad you have someone who makes you feel that way.”

Without waiting for Hermione’s response, Gretchen clicked the door closed behind her, leaving Hermione staring at the wooden grains.

“Me too,” Hermione surrendered with a half-hearted sigh.

It was shocking how fond she had grown towards the wizard in the three short weeks since she had attended his book signing. Even if nothing more ever resulted between her and Draco, she was still glad to have him in her life. Gretchen was right; being with him made her happy.

Yet that didn’t change the fact that the more she thought about it, the less she liked the idea of maintaining their relationship under the present circumstances.

She dug back under the parchment and reread Draco’s note for the eleventh time.

Regardless of what you ultimately choose to wear, I have no doubt that you’ll once again steal the attention away from every other witch in the room.

The warmth of his words began to melt away her concerns. Perhaps Draco liked her, perhaps he didn’t. And perhaps he just needed something to help him come to the same realisation she had.

The six o’clock gongs of the bell echoed in the far off distance, and with a flick of her wand, Hermione cleared her desk of all reports, lesson plans, and other documents. Work could wait. It was the weekend, and she had a soirée to get ready for.

~*~*~

“Mother, Father, you remember Hermione Granger.”

Draco stared at his reflection in the mirror, once again rehearsing one of the lines he had prepared for the evening. Even after uttering countless variations of those words, his fingers still twitched in nervous anticipation. But there was no use spending any more time attempting to predict and plan for his parents’ potential reactions. The night was here.

He took a deep swallow as he adjusted the high collar of his dress robes and mentally reviewed the plan. Enter the ballroom. Greet the necessary people. Down two flutes of champagne. Find Hermione. Talk with Hermione. Wait for his parents’ inevitable shock. Pray to whatever deity was out there for the best.

Simple enough, right?

The repeated drumming of his fingers against the vanity echoed in his dressing chambers. His parents would soon be expecting his presence. Guests had already been arriving for the better part of an hour, but in proper Malfoy fashion, his mother had advised that he wait sufficient time before he personally appeared. Better to build the anticipation or something. Draco hadn’t protested. The less time he had to be there without Hermione, the better.

His heart lifted at the thought that he’d soon be seeing her again. It had been an excruciating week without her. Exchanging owls simply wasn’t the same.

Thoughts about the book and the museum that he longed to properly discuss with her flooded his mind. As soon as he had appeased his parents’ expectations of making his polite greetings, he’d be free to find Hermione and ramble with her about them on end. With enough luck, his parents would witness just how happy their conversations sincerely made him.

After fixing his collar one last time, Draco left his dressing chambers and proceeded down the curved staircase to the ground floor, joining the handful of other witches and wizards also making their way to the soirée. Distant chatting mingled with the dulcet tones of stringed instruments became clearer as Draco approached the entry to the ballroom, the doors open for guests to freely enter.

If his mother and father had been nervous about whether or not people would attend due to their still questionable social status, they needn’t have worried. At least a few hundred witches and wizards were already in the room with more continuing to enter. Draco wondered how many people had opted to attend out of genuine care and desire and how many were merely curious to be in the presence of the controversial Malfoy family. But just like with his author talk at Flourish and Blotts, it hardly mattered why the people had decided to come. It once again proved that the Malfoy name was, and forever would be, highly regarded and revered.

But in the sea of purebloods and Half-bloods, Draco sought out one sole witch.

He knew it wasn’t time to talk with her yet; he still had to do his hostly duties. But one glimpse of her — enough to appease his yearnful heart and tantalize his thoughts — would be sufficient for now.

Weaving his way through the guests, Draco scanned the crowd for her distinctive curls. A few paces away, his mother was the perfect picture of a hostess, all smiles as she fluttered from guest to guest to welcome them into her home. On the far other side of the room stood Blaise and Theo, the former already chatting up some witch while Theo was undoubtedly inserting snarky remarks at Blaise’s expense. Catching Draco’s gaze, they gave him a brief nod in greeting before returning to their conversation.

All expected parties were accounted for except for Hermione and—

“Ah, Draco. I was just talking about you.”

His father.

Draco turned to find Lucius standing next to Llewelyn Avery and, surprise, surprise, his eldest daughter, Lianne.

Despite the predictableness of this sort of introduction happening that evening, the bottom of Draco’s stomach still plunged to the floor at the remembrance of his parents’ intentions for the soirée. More than ever, he had no desire to meet with any of these witches. But that wasn’t an option tonight. He needed to remain on his father’s good side; he couldn’t afford to lose sight of his own endgame.

Slipping on his mask for proper pureblood society, Draco greeted Avery with a firm handshake and then leaned in to give Lianne a polite kiss on the hand.

They exchange pleasantries before Lucius and Avery took control of the conversation, an action Draco was all too agreeable to letting happen. He made sure to speak when appropriate, yet whenever possible, Draco surveyed the crowd, still hoping to catch sight of Hermione.

After several minutes of lacklustre conversation and no sign of the witch he craved to see, discontent began to sink in. A serverless tray floated past them, and Draco picked up a champagne flute. It was time for step three — down two flutes of champagne — to commence a bit early.

And if he was stuck waiting for Hermione to show, he might as well entertain his father’s desires and at least pretend to consider these other witches. It wasn’t like it would take all night.

~*~*~

Her feet landing on solid ground, Hermione smoothed out the skirt of her outfit as Harry attempted to flatten the few strands of jet black hair that never cooperated even on the best of days. They were later than she would have preferred, but Harry had been delayed finishing some paperwork for an Auror report, and she refused to arrive without his support.

Taking a harsh swallow, she lifted her gaze and braved the sight before her. It had been three and a half years since she had stood in that very same spot but under severely different circumstances.

Draco had assured her that the interior of the manor had been renovated, yet that did nothing to change the structure itself. The same looming peaks of the turrets that had cast long, ominous shadows across the front gardens upon their forced arrival. The same high hedges that had lined the driveway that they had been dragged down towards what they feared would be their end. The same gates that were now the only barrier between her and the home in which she had been tortured.

Hermione fiddled with the lace sleeve that presently covered the scar. Most days it hardly bothered her, the worst of it masked by a Concealing Charm. But tonight it itched and burned at the memory of the pain.

“You sure you want to do this?”

Hermione shifted to see Harry looking at her, his eyes soft but filled with concern.

She drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Yes,” she said, returning her vision to the dim glow of the candlelight that illuminated the manor’s windows. “It’s just… odd being back here.”

“‘Doesn’t exactly feel great to be here myself,” he confessed, fleeting vulnerability in his tone. It faded when he bumped her side with his elbow. “But hey, at least we’re coming voluntarily this time, right?”

Hermione snickered. “A very valid point.” Her apprehensions slightly appeased, she turned to give Harry a soft smile. “Thanks again for coming with me.”

His lips curled into a grin. “You helped me with the war, I agreed to go to a stupid soirée at Malfoy Manor. I can now consider us even.”

A full-hearted laugh filled the space around them, the rest of Hermione’s apprehensions falling forgotten. “Deal. Although, you and I both know you’re really only here so you can try to prove me wrong about Draco.”

“The man went out of his way to personally deliver your invitation!” Harry cried. “C’mon, Hermione! I know you’re all about logic and stuff, but can you really not see how obvious it is? He wants you here so bad, he’s even willing to put up with me for an evening.”

“Or maybe he just wants to extend an olive branch to you as well,” she offered as another potential explanation, not allowing herself to merely take Harry’s word for it.

“Sure, and the Dursleys are inviting me to tea next weekend to catch up.” Harry snorted. “I’m telling you, Hermione. Malfoy likes you. And if for whatever reason he doesn’t already, he will after he sees how you look tonight.”

Hermione gnawed the inside of her lip and hoped her blush wasn’t too apparent in the darkening night sky. That was what she was secretly hoping. She didn’t dress up often, not usually finding it worth the time and effort required, but after receiving Draco’s most recent letter, Hermione had dug into the back of her wardrobe to find the bridesmaid dress from her cousin’s wedding last January. 

With a few spells, she made the necessary modifications so that the dress better resembled robes. The flowy maroon fabric danced just above the ground and was cinched around her waist to accentuate her gentle curves. From the front it was modest, lace adorning the bodice and then extending down the length of her arms, but she hoped the open back wasn’t too much for a formal soirée.

Her stomach fluttered as she looked back at the now famous gilded gates, remembering what, or more specifically who, awaited her inside. A demure smile tugged at her lips. She wanted to believe Harry, but she had never been one to accept matters as fact because someone else told her it was so. She needed to see it, to feel it, for herself.

Hopefully, tonight would be that night. 

She looped her arm through Harry’s. “Let’s go inside. I’m starving.”

~*~*~

Hermione kept a tight grip on Harry’s arm as they navigated through the corridors of Malfoy Manor, her heart hammering more than she’d care to admit. Nerves. Jitters. All around anticipation. As much as she wanted to claim that it was because of her setting, she knew she couldn’t lie to herself about the true cause.

Entering the ballroom, they navigated their way through the sea of witches and wizards. Hermione recognised plenty of faces from when she used to work at the Ministry but hardly any that she knew by name. She greeted them with passing nods and polite smiles, all the while keeping her eyes open for one wizard in particular. But for each person that seemed surprised and delighted to see her and Harry, there was an equal number of frowns and glares.

“I don’t think everyone is pleased to see us here,” she whispered to Harry with a short laugh.

Harry chuckled. “I expected as much.” He craned his neck to survey the crowd. “Is that Cornelia Yaxley? I remember personally bringing her husband to Azkaban. Think I should go over and say hi?”

Breaking through to the other side of the crowd, they settled around an empty table in a distant corner of the room. Hermione filled her plate with various hor d'oeuvres from the floating serving trays, yet the food remained mostly untouched despite the fact that she had only had a small dinner earlier that evening. Her stomach was too uneasy.

Instead, she mindlessly sipped champagne as she and Harry kept to themselves and chatted about their weeks. His work was busy and things were still good with him and Ginny, but any details beyond that, Hermione wasn’t confident she would be able to accurately recite back. While she did her best to listen to her old friend, every few minutes, she would become distracted, searching the crowd for any sign of pale blond locks.

“So, you want to talk about it?”

Hermione jerked her head and blinked to refocus her attention on Harry. “Hmm?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “The fact that you’ve spent the entire evening so far looking for Malfoy?”

Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t intended to be that obvious!

There was little Hermione could do to hide her resulting blush, but she carried on as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “I just think that it’s a bit rude is all,” she said with a seemingly dismissive breeze. “If you personally invite someone to your event, the least you can do is stop by and thank them for coming.”

Then, finally, no more than a few paces away, she spotted him. Her heart lifted. In his jet black dress robes, he was the perfect picture of a wealthy gentleman, but she cared more about the wizard underneath the clothes.

As in who he was as a person! Not what he physically looked like without—

Her frantic thought was interrupted when she noticed who Draco was with. Beside him was his father, a man Hermione wasn’t keen on seeing again. The years since the war seemed to have been kind to Lucius Malfoy, the constant stress of war no longer etched across his features. He much more resembled the younger version of himself that she had once run into a Flourish and Blotts the summer before her second year. Smug. Proud. Oozing self-assuredness.

It was unsettling.

But what disturbed her more was what she witnessed next. Draco bent over and kiss the hand of some young witch she vaguely remembered to be a Ravenclaw named Helena Fawley. The weight of Hermione’s stomach plummeted to her feet. Draco hadn’t approached her yet because he was busy talking with other witches.

Disappointment intertwined with jealousy coursed through her veins. Memories of the torment of watching Ron with Lavender invaded her thoughts and then the more recent incident of Draco’s tea with Victoria Flint. Merlin, how long had she been fooling herself into thinking that she only liked Draco as a friend? 

“Hermione? You okay?”

Harry followed Hermione’s gaze and then looked back at her.

“Fine,” she lied. “I suppose Draco’s just busy at the moment.”

The wavering in her voice was obvious and there was no chance Harry had missed it.

She peered down at her champagne flute to avoid Harry’s concerned gaze. “Oh, look, we’re nearly out,” she remarked even though her glass was barely less than half empty. “I’ll go get us a refill.”

Before Harry could protest, she slipped into the crowd, heading the opposite direction from where Draco stood.

~*~*~

Draco was growing irritated. For the greater part of an hour, he had been trying to slip away from these seemingly never-ending introductions, but each time Draco had tried to leave, his father had pulled him back. Even worse, Draco had yet to spot Hermione. The only reason he had agreed to this evening was because of the benefit he hoped it would provide when it came to his parents and Hermione. But things weren’t going as planned.

So far he was stuck on the “greet the necessary people” part of his plan. Although, if it was any consolation, he had more than completed the “down two flutes of champagne” step. Something had to help him get through these indistinguishable and tiresome conversations.

“I must thank you again for inviting us,” Fabian Fawley said to Lucius, admiring their surroundings. “You have a truly beautiful home. Although, if I may, I’m quite surprised by some of your choices in guests.”

Lucius raised a subtle eyebrow, a tightness in his jaw. “Oh?”

“I don’t think my father means any offence!” Helena Fawley rushed to explain. “Merely, with your family’s… history… and such, we simply didn’t expect Harry Potter to be here.”

Draco perked up, suddenly much more interested in the conversation. He whipped his head in the direction Helena Fawley was looking, expecting to finally catch a glimpse of Hermione by Potter’s side, but to his utter disappointment, the wizard was alone.

But it confirmed that Hermione was here. Somewhere. He just needed to find her. And he was tired of waiting.

Draco opened his lips to excuse himself but was interrupted when his father’s hand clenched around his wrist. He tried to jerk himself free, but the grip only tightened.

Lucius kept his gaze on the Fawleys, a fake smile stretched across his lips. “What better way to underscore how far the Malfoy family has come than to have the war hero himself in attendance,” he easily explained while his fingernails began to dig into Draco’s skin.

Draco inhaled a sharp breath through his nose at the pain but maintained his outward composure.

“Forgive me, but as I said, I was simply surprised,” Fawley commented. “I was unaware that your family’s beliefs had shifted so significantly since the end of the war.”

Draco could tell that it was growing harder for Lucius to maintain his unperturbed facade. “Just like after the first war, it’s all about adaptation. We must learn how to fit in again and proceed with our lives.” He gave them a grin that did not reach his eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, there are many more guests that Draco and I must welcome.”

They exchanged goodbyes, but even after they were complete, Draco’s wrist was still locked in his father’s grasp.

“Follow me,” Lucius growled.

Making sure not to cause a scene, Lucius led Draco into one of the side rooms and placed a Silencing Charm on the door.

“I give you invitations and you dare invite Harry Potter?” Lucius snarled, his words low and sharp as he glared at his son. “Tell me, do you find joy in making a mockery of our family?”

“A mockery?” Draco huffed at the irony. “If it wasn’t for my book, half these people wouldn’t be speaking to us!”

“There are certain families that matter more than others, and they do not need reminding of the role our family played in the ending of the war!” Lucius hissed. “Yet you are flaunting it in their faces by inviting him.”

Draco scoffed, having had enough of entertaining his father’s resentment. He had tried to appease his wishes all night, and it had gotten Draco nowhere. His patience had run dry.

“Technically, I didn’t invite him. I invited Her—”

“I don’t care about your technicalities,” Lucius dismissed before Draco could get it out. “You are the one responsible for his presence, yes?”

“Yes, because he came here with—”

“I submit to your request and you pay me back by pulling a stunt like this?”

Draco seethed. “This soirée was Mother’s idea, not yours, so don’t act as if this is something you graciously planned for me! You haven’t listened to a single request of mine!”

“I have listened but opted to ignore,” Lucius countered. “And since when have you decided that Harry Potter is someone worthy of being in our home?”

“Since the last time he was here and I had to stare him in the eyes and make the decision on whether or not to lie about recognising him.”

Draco’s confession echoed in the room as a cruel snarl twitched across Lucius’s lips. “So you did know.”

“Of course I did,” Draco said with a scoff. He eyed his father up and down with an air of disdain. “And for the first time in my life, I made my own decision and opted not to be responsible for my classmates’ deaths, even if you did believe it would make you look so much better in the Dark Lord’s eyes.”

Draco started to exit, but Lucius once more grabbed ahold of him.

“Do you even care about this family?”

Draco tugged himself free. “Every day, a little less.”

Chapter Text

Draco stormed out of the side room, his blood boiling. He had had more than enough of his father. But the night was still salvageable.

He scanned the crowd and spotted Blaise and Theo.

"How's it going?" Theo asked as Draco approached them, but when he responded to the question with a menacing glare, Theo retreated. "Apparently, I shouldn't have asked! What happened?"

Draco wasn't in the mood to rehash the night's disastrous events — not when he had a mission he still intended to complete. He peered back out at the masses of witches and wizards that surrounded them. "Have you seen Hermione? I need to introduce her to my mother before this night is completely ruined."

A smirk tugged at the edges of Blaise's lips. "Oh, we've seen her alright."

His old friends chuckled to one another, prompting Draco to pause his search. "And?"

Blaise winked. "Let's just say you're in for a treat."

Draco was about to ask when and where they had last spotted her, when Theo motioned his chin in the direction behind Draco's shoulder.

"Looks like you're in luck, mate. Here she is now."

Draco spun around, and the whole world seemed to freeze except for the witch walking past him just a few feet away. She was an absolute vision, more than he ever could have dreamed. If she had been captivating at the Yule Ball, there were no words to describe the way she looked tonight.

Stunning. Enchanting. Breathtaking. Nothing sufficed.

The typically untamable mass of curls that he had come to appreciate had been relaxed, the front strands twisted and gathered in an elegant clip. The rest of the ringlets cascaded down the bare skin of her back. What appeared to be dress robes were like none he had ever seen before, lace lining the length of her arms and the maroon fabric hugging her waist in just the right spot. As she moved, the fabric flowed with her, painting a portrait of perfection.

After a whole week without her and the recent argument with his father, Draco would have been satisfied with seeing her in Muggle jeans and a jumper. But this...

Simply put, he was overwhelmed by her in the best way possible.

"Blimey," Theo said, snapping Draco out of his reverie. "I take back any questions I had after last week. You're not smitten; you're completely head over heels."

Draco visually followed Hermione back to the same table he had seen Potter at earlier, the witch handing a full champagne flute to her companion before taking a sip from hers.

He blinked and forced himself back to his present company. "I already told you I like her. What more do you want me to admit?"

Theo whistled in amusement and clapped a hand on Draco's shoulder. "I've known you my entire life, and you've never looked at anyone the way you're looking at her now." He raised a challenging eyebrow. "Clearly this is more than a simple fancy if you're willing to risk this much with your parents."

"Call it whatever you want," Draco dismissed, finding it difficult to deny Theo's claim. "What I care more about is whether or not you two are going to help me."

Blaise and Theo affirmed their support.

"Good," Draco solidified with a nod. "Then this is what we're going to do. Blaise, you find my father and keep him busy. The last thing I need is more interference from him. Theo, you go over to Hermione and make sure she stays there, and I'll bring my mother over. It may be best to first introduce her when we have you as a buffer, and after a few minutes, find a reason to bow out if it seems to be going well. But get Potter out of there. He'll just complicate things further."

With their plan established, the men went their separate ways, but Draco lingered for a few more moments, unable to tear himself away from Hermione's radiance. He needed to find his mother, his last hope for an ally in this ever-growing mess. But that could wait ten more seconds, right?

He sensed someone approach him.

"She looks very pretty tonight."

Draco startled at the sound of the witch's voice. "Astoria! I wasn't expecting you to be in attendance."

Astoria lightly snickered. "It appears our fathers would still like for us to consider one another." She paused and looked back in the direction she had caught Draco staring. "So, Hermione Granger is the witch who has captured your heart," she said with a taunting grin. "You really went as extreme as you possibly could when challenging your parents' wishes."

Draco huffed, threading his fingers through his hair. "Trust me. This wasn't what I ever intended to happen."

"The beloved war heroine with the repentant Death Eater," Astoria continued with her observation, an amused ring in her tone. "That's quite the romantic tale."

"Only if I can convince my parents not to sign me off to one of these so-called 'acceptable' witches first."

Astoria lifted an eyebrow. "They can't without your signature on the contract as well."

Draco knew that much was true. It was likely the sole factor preventing his father from choosing a witch for him and considering the matter dealt with. But Draco still had final say. The problem was that he couldn't delay the process much longer without giving his parents a reason why. And that reason was presently standing less than twenty feet away from him.

"Who's that talking with her right now?" Astoria queried.

"Not sure if you've ever heard of him before," Draco said, a grin finding its way across his lips, "but that wizard with the terrible hair and unsightly scar on his forehead is named Harry Potter."

Astoria nudged him in the side as her laughter rang in his ears. "Not him, you lovesick fool! The other wizard!"

"Ah, my mistake." Draco chuckled, relieved to have found something to lessen the tension in his shoulders. "The other one is Theo Nott. I felt inspired to reconnect with some old friends after our meeting last Friday."

Astoria lit up. "Theo Nott," she said, testing out his name on her own lips. "I don't remember him from school."

Draco shrugged. "He kept more to himself our later years once the war started picking up. But he's a great bloke."

"Must be if he's helping you out with this." A small smirk appeared on her lips. "Not bad looking either."

Astoria canted her head up towards Draco and the wizard grinned.

"I happen to know he's not seeing anyone at the moment."

Astoria grazed her bottom lip with her teeth. "Good to know. Perhaps I'll have to find him later this evening."

Draco peered back at the sight of Hermione talking with Theo and watched as Potter left the table. The plan was in motion and he still hadn't found his mother.

"Astoria, it's been great seeing you again, but I—"

"Need to go get your witch?"

Draco chuckled. "Exactly."

She lifted herself on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. "Best of luck, Draco. I really hope it works out for you."

And with that, Draco left to locate his mother.

~*~*~

"Look who we have here! The big surprise guests of the evening."

Hermione set down her champagne glass, surveying the wizard who had interrupted her and Harry's conversation.

"Theodore Nott. Can we help you with something?"

The man merely grinned. "Quite a mouthful saying both first and last names, don't you think? Call me Theo and I'll call you Hermione. Draco uses your given name now, so we might as well follow suit." He then turned to Harry. "Though, you're still Potter."

Harry groaned. "You won't hear me complaining."

"See?" Theo said, his grin growing wider. "Feels better already. But now that that's settled, how about you do us a favour, Potter, and take a walk? I'd like a few moments with Hermione alone."

Harry opened his lips to protest, but Hermione assembled her words first. "Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Harry."

She brusquely folded her arms across her chest, but Theo didn't look the least bit swayed. Instead, he quirked an eyebrow.

"No need to be so defensive. I just thought it would be nice if you and I had a chat. You know, as two of Draco's closest… friends."

Theo's eyebrow rose higher, inching closer to his hairline as the three former classmates stood around the table in momentary silence. Harry awaited Hermione's response while she was stuck processing.

Was that her imagination or did Theo purposefully draw out the word 'friends?' At the very least, it appeased her concern that Draco wasn't in contact with any of his old housemates. And she'd much rather be speaking with Theo than Goyle. Or worse, Pansy. Compared to her other options, Theo wasn't bad. But he was still a Slytherin, and Slytherins usually had a motive.

Curiosity winning her over, Hermione submitted. "You have five minutes."

"Ten."

"Seven."

"Deal."

After Hermione assured Harry that she could manage a few minutes without him, he slipped elsewhere in the crowd, leaving them alone as Theo had requested.

"So what is this about?" She wasn't in the mood for wasting their time with mindless small talk.

Theo set his glass on the table and chuckled. "Can't a bloke want to get to know the witch his mate has spent so much time with recently?"

The familiar heat of her cheeks returned. Draco had told him about them — enough that Theo was interested in speaking with her. And yet, despite Draco inviting her as his 'personal guest,' she still hadn't spoken with him that evening.

"In that case, shouldn't Draco be here with us as well?" she said with a huff. "Or is he too busy with other witches to bother?"

The bitter words slipped out of her lips before she could stop them, much to Theo's apparent amusement. Delighted intrigue stretched across his features. "Jealous he hasn't come over to you yet?"

"Of course not!" Hermione responded perhaps too eagerly, even if it was admittedly true. She scrambled to reclaim her sense of indifference. "I'm just… surprised to learn that the Daily Prophet was right for once."

"Ah, yes," he said, though he didn't sound even partially convinced. "What did that article say again? Something about one of the Wizarding World's most eligible bachelors being out on the prowl? I recall Blaise being quite offended that he wasn't the one called that by them." Theo snorted then waved a dismissive hand in the air. "But I wouldn't worry yourself too much about it. Knowing what I know, that whole thing was likely some big publicity stunt orchestrated by Draco's mother."

A vague memory of Draco assuring her that the tea between him and Victoria Flint had been his mother's concoction pushed itself to the forefront of Hermione's memory.

Her forehead wrinkled, her curiosity once again sparked. "And what exactly is it that you know?"

Theo lifted a cavalier shoulder as a small smile graced his lips. "Let's just say Draco's not entirely sold on his parents' insistence of him signing one of those pureblood marriage contracts and is more interested in keeping his options… open."

"What?"

A marriage contract? Draco had never said anything about a marriage contract. In all their time spent together, why hadn't he at least mentioned it?

And then her attention fixated on the second part of Theo's statement.

Keeping his options open.

Her heart hammered in her chest, working through every possible meaning of Theo's words. Surely he just meant that Draco didn't want to commit to anyone when they were still so young. There was absolutely nothing for her to read into. She was overthinking this.

But right as she was about to move past it, Theo winked and took a long, slow sip from his champagne, his amused grin still fully apparent through the clear glass.

And just like that, the past three weeks with Draco flashed before her.

His excuses to keep up their luncheons.

His waiting for two hours to apologise for ditching her.

His unannounced appearances at her office.

His honesty about their past.

His willingness to explore Muggle things.

His dimpled smile when they were together.

His drunk admission that he liked her.

His drunk admission that he liked her.

Gretchen had teased. Harry had insisted. And now Theo was all but confirming.

Her mind was swirling, trying to comprehend everything all at once.

Draco. And her. But his parents. And a marriage contract.

Then something else hit her.

What if it hadn't been his author career that he and his parents had been fighting about last Friday?

"Oh my god."

She needed a quiet place to think.

Without so much of an explanation, Hermione turned on her heels and started making her way out of the ballroom.

"Wait!" Theo called after her. "Where are you— But you still owe me at least five more minutes!"

She could hear him trying to chase her, but she managed to lose him in the crowd of guests. Before he could find her again, Hermione was gone.

~*~*~

Draco exhaled a long, impatient huff, his toes nervously dancing inside his shoes. His mother had assured him that she only needed a moment to wrap up her conversation with Beatrice Burke, but that had been several minutes ago. His patience wouldn't last much longer.

There was a tap on his shoulder, and Draco spun around to discover Theo. Alone.

"Where's—"

"We have a problem."

Draco's nose twitched. "What happened?" he growled. His father better not have managed to muck this up further during the time that he had been stuck waiting!

"I may or may not have gone off-script."

"There was no script," Draco fumed, not liking where this seemed to be going.

Theo cautiously carded his fingers through his hair. "Alright, so I improvised, and…"

"And?"

"And now she's gone."

All of Draco's frustrations channelled into his piercing glare. "You had one job!" He scowled at his friend as his fingernails dug into his palms.

"Yeah, well, I thought I was helping!" Theo defended, but it did nothing to squash Draco's increasing irritation.

"Do you at least know where she went?"

"Haven't the slightest," he resigned. "Lost her in the crowd and now she isn't anywhere in here."

Great. As if this evening needed to get any more complicated.

Draco peered back at Narcissa, still engrossed in conversation with Beatrice Burke, and then returned his attention to Theo. "Keep your eyes on my mother," he hissed, his menacing glare not wavering in the slightest. "Think you can manage to keep her in this room?"

Not bothering to wait for Theo's response, Draco stormed past him and made his way to exit the ballroom. If he had any luck, Hermione was still somewhere on the manor grounds.

The night is still salvageable, he repeated to himself, but it was seeming less and less likely.

At the front of the ballroom, Draco craned his neck over the crowd, and for the first time in his life, he was relieved to see Potter. He was still here, making it all the more likely that Hermione was too. Draco just needed to find her — wherever she had disappeared to.

But there was no one in the front entry. Or in any of the first floor corridors. Not even in the gardens. He hoped for success in the kitchens, only to learn that all the house elves were accounted for and none of them had been lectured about their rights.

Growing desperate, Draco unlocked his greatest fear, daring to look inside the drawing room for the first time since the end of the war. The dark purple walls had been painted burgundy and the shattered chandelier had been replaced with a new one, yet that did nothing to prevent the icy shiver that travelled down his spine at the memories of what had occurred in that room. The horrors. The chaos. The screams. Her screams. But the room was eerily silent now. Hermione wasn't there either.

That momentary wave of relief didn't last long. He was running out of places to look, and he still hadn't spotted her or those maroon dress robes anywhere.

Draco was losing hope. Did she really leave before he had the chance to speak with her? Had she been in such a rush that she hadn't taken Potter with her? And what in the name of Merlin had Theo said that had her scrambling to leave?

But he knew Hermione. Or at least, he liked to believe he did. And something told him that she was still here.

Suddenly, it became obvious where she was. Why was that not the first place he had looked? Draco ran up the stairs to the third floor and yanked the doors open.

"When in doubt, search for Hermione Granger in the library."

From her seated position on the floor in front of a bookshelf, the witch turned around, sending his heart aglow.

There she was, just as exquisite as when he had previously seen her that evening. Only now, there was no one standing between them.

"Hi," Draco said, all concerns he had leading up to this moment no longer relevant.

Hermione got to her feet, gnawing at the inside of her lip as a slight smile graced her lips. "Hi."

"And how is it that you found our library?" Draco paced towards her, his heart warming with each step closer. "Wait. Let me guess," he taunted. "You've somehow developed the ability to sniff out libraries wherever you are?"

Hermione suppressed a snicker. "I asked one of your house elves and they guided me."

"Ah. And is this now the part where I have to endure Hermione Granger spewing out reasons why it's so wrong that my family still has house elves?"

"I considered it, but I think I'll spare you from that speech. For the night at least." She raised an eyebrow. "Was that word choice purposeful?"

Draco grinned, glad his subtle tease hadn't gone unnoticed. "Of course."

She rolled her eyes. "That's seriously the best you could do?"

"Didn't exactly have much time to prepare," Draco playfully retorted. "At least I still made you smile."

But as soon as he said it, her smile flickered from sight.

Draco's heart plummeted. That was the opposite of what he had intended to happen. "I'm really glad you're here," he rushed to assure her, but whatever was bothering her had already taken over.

Hermione shifted her gaze away from him, her mind apparently going elsewhere.

"Hermione, what—"

"There's not a single Muggleborn writer in here, is there?"

The ease and lightness of their conversation were swiftly stolen with just one question. He should have anticipated that something pertaining to that strained portion of their past would somehow come up that evening. Had something Theo said accidentally reminded her? While she had only been in the Manor once before, the circumstances had been the farthest from ideal. It was only natural that those memories would find a way to cloud her thoughts.

Hermione played with the lace of her sleeve, her focus still avoiding Draco. She didn't have to say a word for him to know the horrors that were presently replaying in her mind.

He stepped closer, eliminating the space that had been left between them. He delicately removed her hand from her sleeve and rolled up the lace, exposing the mangled writing etched into her forearm. His gut twisted upon the sight of what his aunt had done, the faint scarring of the wretched word still legible.

"A thousand apologies will never be enough," Draco said, his soft words barely loud enough for her to hear. "But I need you to know that I don't believe in any of that anymore."

Hermione swallowed. "I know, Draco." She brushed his hand aside and returned the sleeve back down to her wrist. "But what about your mother? Or even your father?" Her tone turned unexpectedly sharp. "How do they affect things?"

Revulsion bubbled in Draco's stomach. "I am not bound to my parents' opinions."

"It didn't sound that way last Friday."

Memory of his drunken escapade from the weekend prior and the careful way he had skirted around what had prompted his distress came rushing back. The topic needed to change. Quick. Before the real reason was revealed. He wasn't ready for Hermione to know the truth just yet. Was it too much to ask for him to be able to explore his feelings without those outside complications? He had waited all night to be with Hermione, and he was not going to let it be spoiled by that.

He took her by the hand. "I have something to show you."

Draco led her to the far corner of the library, trying not to get too distracted by the sensation of his fingers wrapped around her grip. When they neared the intended destination, Draco dropped their connection and guided her with a gentle hand on the small of her back. One touch of the bare skin and Draco was instantly transported. He forced away the lustful desires. Now was not the time — regardless of how much he craved them.

Draco lifted the charm that disguised the top shelf and pulled down the first of three books. "There may not be any Muggleborn writers in here yet, but there is a Muggle one."

Her eyes widened as she grazed a finger over the cream white dust cover and across the black print of the title, The Fellowship of the Ring. Draco became all the more pleased with her reaction when she opened to the copyright page. Her jaw fell slack. "This is a first edition," she gasped.

Draco grinned. "Would you like to see the other two?"

Hermione eagerly nodded, and Draco relished in her resulting excitement when she flipped through the decades-old copies.

"These are incredibly rare," she said after several minutes, her expression still filled with awe and amazement.

Draco snorted, well aware of how rare the books were. "If I was going to purchase my own copies, I figured they ought to be versions I couldn't get in a library," he reasoned, a cheeky smile stretched across his lips.

Hermione quirked an eyebrow as she handed the books back to him. "I thought you were opposed to Muggle bookstores?"

"I was," Draco said, returning them to the top shelf. "But after I finished The Two Towers, I had to give in. You were undoubtedly busy with work, and as you and I both know, I'm a terribly impatient man." He recast the charm to keep his new possession private from his parents' prying eyes. He stepped towards Hermione, his heart beginning to pick up speed at the closing proximity. "Do you know how hard it was to figure out Muggle currency without you?" he said with a taunting grin. "Those coloured banknotes were so odd, I had to speak French so my confusion with the salesman was more justifiable."

A glimmer of surrounding candlelight twinkled in her eyes. "You speak French?"

"There are a lot of things you still don't know about me yet, Granger."

With a mind of their own, Draco's fingers ran themselves through the front wisps of her hair, taking both him and Hermione by surprise and rendering them speechless. A hard swallow travelled down his throat as he met Hermione's stunned gaze, but the tension disappeared from his shoulders when she didn't reject his small gesture of intimacy.

She was beautiful. Not just tonight. Every day. Inside and out. And all he wanted to do was continue to peer into those chocolate irises.

That now familiar longing he had first experienced at the British Museum once again began to consume him.

He craved it more than anything he could ever remember longing for in his life. To feel her lips pressed against his. To know that warmth. That comfort.

One kiss. Nothing more. A test.

To put his feelings out there. To see if she felt the same. To determine if risking all this with his parents was worth it.

Nerves pulsed through him. This was it.

His eyelids fluttered closed and he leaned in — until a firm hand pushed against his chest stopped him.

"Theo told me about the potential marriage contract."

The world stopped.

"What?" Hesitation and pain tainted her features and his heart shattered. This was not happening. Not now. Not when they had been so close. "What exactly did he tell you?"

"Hermione?"

As if the night couldn't get any worse, Potter's voice echoed from the entrance to the library. It didn't take long for their intruder to find them.

"Not a good time, Potter," Draco growled when he came into sight. "Come back in five minutes."

The insufferable wizard didn't leave.

"After she disappeared following her conversation with Nott, I'm not letting her out of my sight again until we're out of this place."

Draco snarled. "I'm not asking. Give me and Hermione just—"

"Actually, I really ought to get home."

Draco's head whipped towards Hermione. He didn't know how to react anymore. His head swirled as everything he wanted from the evening slipped farther from his grasp. "It's hardly past ten," he protested as calmly as he could manage.

She refused to make eye contact with him. "I know, but it was a long week at work, and I really need to rest."

Hermione motioned to leave, but Draco caught her hand before she slipped away.

"Don't go yet," he begged, her back turned to him. Hell, he'd get on his bloody knees if that's what it took. Panic started to take over. "Or at least say goodbye to my mother first. Just for a few minutes. It's only proper that you thank the hostess before leaving."

She tensed at the mention of his mother. Slowly, she looked back at him from over her shoulder. "I don't think that's a good idea right now."

Remorseful wavering glossed over her concerned gaze, and his heart lurched. She wanted this too; he felt it in his core.

"Hermione, please," he pleaded. They couldn't leave it like this.

She dropped their connection. "We'll talk later, Draco."

The door clicked closed behind her and Potter, and Draco kicked his foot into a nearby chair.

Chapter Text

The opulence of the ancestral Malfoy family home hardly registered as Hermione hurried down the corridors, away from the library.  Every step further, the clenching in her chest tightened. 

“Hermione?” Harry called after her, but she hardly listened.  She needed to get out of the Manor, far from the thoughts that were starting to suffocate her.

She had wanted to kiss him. Dear Merlin, had she wanted to kiss him!  

The moment Draco had stepped into the library, she could almost ignore everything else and get lost in the bliss of his company.  All it took was a playful quirk of his lips and a taunting greeting.

But almost wasn’t enough.

She couldn’t ignore what Theo had said.  And when Draco had leaned in for the kiss, something broke inside her.

They couldn’t.  Not until she knew for sure where his intentions laid.

There was no denying now that Draco liked her.  But it wasn’t a simple matter of wizard likes witch and witch likes wizard when said wizard’s parents didn’t consider her deserving of the name.  Not that she gave two toadstools about what Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy thought about her or anything else for that matter. The problem was, Draco did.

Before Draco had found her, Hermione had replayed their late-night conversation from last weekend over and over again in her mind.  

At an impasse about my future.  Been instilled with certain expectations.  But what I want and what he wants are no longer aligned.

All of it took on a new meaning now that she knew the real reason behind Draco’s struggles.  And yet, Hermione’s perspective on it hadn’t changed.  

Draco had the right to make his own decisions. He had the right to do what made him happy.  And from what she could deduce, signing a marriage contract didn’t fall into either of those categories.

So that begged the question: how long would he continue to entertain his parents’ desires before he stood up for himself? Or would he eventually cave and submit?

“Hermione!”

It was only when she recognized the crunch of pebbles from underneath Harry’s approaching feet that Hermione realised she had reached the Manor’s front gates.  The crisp air filled her lungs, but it did little to placate her still racing mind.

Harry closed the gap between them. “So are you going to tell me what I missed, or are you going to force me to guess?” When Hermione didn’t immediately respond, Harry continued, “Or at least tell me which one I need to kill, Malfoy or Nott.”

A brief snort flared her nostrils. “That won’t be necessary.” 

Harry canted his head as an eyebrow lifted even higher above the rim of his glasses.  “Then do you care to explain why we just left in such a rush?”

“You already heard me tell Draco,” she tried, even though she could already tell Harry hadn’t believed her excuse the first time either. “It’s been a long week, and I ought to get to bed.”

He sighed.  “C’mon, Hermione.”

Hermione drew in a deep breath before releasing a sigh of her own. She appreciated Harry’s concern, especially considering she had specifically asked him to join her that evening for support, but she wasn’t prepared to talk about this with him when she herself was still grappling with what to do with the newfound information. 

“I just want to go home,” she eventually settled, hoping the pleading softness of her gaze would convince him to drop it. 

Harry paused for a moment before he mercifully accepted. “Alright, then, Hermione,” he said, his voice still filled with concern.  “But promise me one thing? This shouldn’t need to be said since it’s a Saturday anyway, but don’t go into work tomorrow. You deserve a day off.”

Hermione considered protesting, but if agreeing meant ending this conversation, then it was not worth the argument.

“Good,” Harry said with a smile once Hermione gave him her promise.  “Then how about we do another afternoon at the Weasley’s? You know how Molly gets if we go too long without visiting.  Plus, a day with your friends at the Burrow’s always a good place to get your mind off work… and whatever else may be bothering you.”

The stillness of the nighttime sky was all the more apparent as Harry awaited Hermione’s response.  She wasn’t fooling him one bit. But at least he wasn’t currently trying to pry more out of her. Tomorrow, however, she may not have the same luck.

But perhaps a day away from everything, surrounded by her second family, was exactly what she needed.  

~*~*~

“Nott!” Draco’s booming voice echoed in his friend’s estate as he fought through his sleep-deprived grogginess.  “Get down here before I Apparate myself to Azkaban and bring your father to drag you out of bed himself!”

For the past ten minutes, Draco had been calling for the wizard to no avail.  Apparently, Theo was an impressively deep sleeper. Must be nice to have not spent the entire night tossing and turning after the witch you fancied left you dejected and alone.

Five more minutes passed and still no answer.  Frustration and irritation bubbled under Draco’s skin.  This was becoming ridiculous! Knowing Theo, he must have pieced together why Draco had barged in through his Floo at eight in the morning and was now avoiding the confrontation.  Unfortunately for Theo, Draco wasn’t in a patient mood.  

Storming up the stairs, Draco navigated his way through the corridors until he found Theo’s room.  “Open up, Nott!” Draco commanded, his fist colliding with the barrier between them. “You and I need to have a little chat!”

After a few more moments, the door cracked open, revealing a sliver of a boxer-clad Theo.  “Now’s not exactly a great time, mate,” he said, but Draco ignored the other wizard’s protest.

The door collided against the adjacent wall as Draco slammed it all the way open. Draco pushed Theo aside, allowing himself entry, but he had barely taken two steps inside before he froze at the sight before him.

“Good morning to you, too, Draco.”

Seated on the edge of Theo’s bed was Astoria, dressed in what he presumed to be one of Theo’s shirts.  She casually combed her fingers through her messy hair into a high ponytail, seemingly undisturbed by their early morning intruder.

Draco looked at Theo in shock.

“Told you now wasn’t a good time,” Theo returned with a pleased grin.

Draco recalled Astoria expressing interest in Theo, but he hadn’t anticipated something actually happening between them that evening!  At least a dozen questions flashed across Draco’s mind on how exactly this scene had come to be, but they were quickly beaten out by surmounting jealousy.  Not because Theo had evidently spent the night with the witch Draco had kissed a week prior; Draco didn’t have any feelings for Astoria, and the discovery of her in one of his mate’s beds only confirmed that further.

But as he watched Astoria lift herself off the bed and place a kiss on Theo’s cheek, that envious fire raged higher.  

He pictured himself in Theo’s shoes, a different witch in Astoria’s.  What would it feel like to wake up beside her? To welcome the morning by peering into the warmth of her gaze? To run his fingers through her curls before starting their day with a gentle kiss?

Memory of the night before and how close he had finally been to knowing the feel of her lips now consumed Draco’s thoughts.  If only the night had ended differently, it could have been him and Hermione waking up like this. Instead, he had spent all night replaying everything that had gone wrong at the soirée, once more all alone in his bed.

And just like that, Draco remembered why he had stormed into Nott Manor in the first place.

“Excuse us, Astoria, but Nott and I need to talk,” Draco growled, maintaining sharp eye contact with his friend as he said it.  “Now.”

Theo raised a contesting eyebrow, not appearing the least bit pleased.  “Last I checked, this was my house, not yours. So if you want to talk, you’ll just have to wait.”  A devious quirk of his lips then graced his features. “I’ll more than happily have Talby prepare a tray of tea for you down in the sitting room.”

The urge to ignore this request and start fuming at Theo right then and there pulsed through Draco.  Bitter words about how his whole evening had gone to shite were on the tip of his tongue, ready to be released into the room for all parties to hear, but they instantly died when he once more looked at his friend and Astoria.

Astoria had wrapped her arms around Theo’s waist, a playful glint in her eyes as she peered up at him from over his shoulder.  Theo, meanwhile, hadn’t lowered his eyebrow, still urging Draco to leave them be.  

Whatever had happened between them the night before clearly hadn’t concluded yet.  And just because they got what Draco so deeply desired didn’t mean he could ruin it for them.  At least someone in this room ought to feel happy.

“Tell Talby I prefer my tea loose leaf,” Draco surrendered, fighting another roar of jealousy from the green-eyed dragon inside his chest.  “And that I wouldn’t mind something to eat as well.”

Draco left before he had to endure the ache in his chest at the sight of them together for one more second.

~*~*~

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do,” Draco said once Theo joined him in the sitting room nearly an hour later.  

“When two grown witches or wizards fancy one another—”

“Not you and Astoria!” Draco exclaimed.  That topic could wait. “What happened with Hermione?”

Theo settled in the armchair across from Draco.  “I already told you what happened when I last spoke to her,” Theo responded.  His tone was irritatingly calm compared to the frustration that hadn’t dissipated from Draco’s system.  Theo reheated the teapot that rested on a tray in the middle of the table between them before levitating it to fill a cup for himself.  “Unless I missed something?”

Draco clenched his fingers into the upholstery of his seat.  “Yes, you missed something,” Draco managed through gritted teeth.  “Were you not concerned when I didn’t return to the party? Or were you too distracted flirting with Astoria to notice?” 

“Of course, I noticed!” Theo defended.  “But I didn’t see Hermione ever come back, so I assumed it was because you two found each other and were otherwise preoccupied!  It wasn’t until Astoria and I were awoken this morning by the dulcet tones of your oh, so pleasant greeting that I figured out that something else must have gone wrong.”

“Well, some of us don’t have it so easy,” Draco snarled, reminded of how his friend’s night had gone compared to his.  “So start talking, Nott, because I need to know precisely how your conversation went.”

Draco waited impatiently as Theo blew away the steam rising from his teacup and took a sip.  When he finally set down the cup, Theo started, “I did precisely what you asked. Went up to her and Potter, told Potter to scram, and then got to chatting with Hermione.”  Theo paused to snort, an amused smile gracing his lips. “You should’ve heard her. As soon as I mentioned you, it became obvious she was jealous you hadn’t come over to speak to her yet. And considering you two are some of the most stubborn, over-thinkers in the world, someone had to be the one to nudge you two in the right direction.”

Heat rushed to Draco’s cheeks.  “And what exactly did you tell her?”

“Hell, mate, I didn’t think I was going to get quizzed on this!”  Theo appeared to rack his memory. “Can’t remember how the topic came up, but I believe I said something along the lines of you not being sold on your parent’s idea of a marriage contract and wanting to keep your options open?”

Pain shot through Draco as he clenched both hands into a fist, his fingernails digging into his palm.  “And why the fuck would you tell her about the contract?”

Theo gaped at him.  “Wait. You hadn’t?”

“Of course not!” Draco fumed.  “You think Hermione Granger would take kindly to even the possibility that I might sign one of those things?”

“Alright, fine,” Theo conceded, apparently having not considered that, “but come on!  After all that time you’ve spent with her, you really never brought it up?”

Draco would laugh at the absurdity of the idea if he wasn’t so angry.  “Could you imagine how that conversation would go? I’ve managed to befriend the witch I spent my entire childhood fighting a war against because my family and I saw her as inferior, but ignoring how fragile our friendship is and how fucking head over heels I’ve fallen for her, let me tell her all about how my parents want me to sign my heart away to some pureblood witch all because I don’t have the balls to tell them no!”

A taunting grin appeared on Theo’s lips. “I mean, I wouldn’t word it like that.”

“Gah!” Draco erupted with a harsh pounding of his palms against his thighs, not amused by the quip.  “This is not a joke, Theo!” Draco rose from his chair and glared at his friend. “This big disaster is my life!  But you wouldn’t understand what it’s like because some of us don’t have the luxury of our fathers being locked away in Azkaban!”

The darker haired wizard blankly stared back at him for several moments as boiling blood continued to pulse through Draco, his chest heaving as he drew in shallow breaths, awaiting a response. 

“You’re right,” Theo eventually stated, wise enough to subside his taunting nature.  “If my father was still here, I’d be stuck with the same expectations, so I get the pressure you’re under.  I certainly don’t envy your position.” Theo paused to run his fingers through his hair and take a deep breath.  “But if you don’t want to lose whatever this is between you and Hermione, you’ve got to make a decision on which path you’re going to take, cause this isn’t going away.”

Draco sank back into his chair with a resigned huff.  “Don’t you think I know that?” he grumbled. He knocked his head back and closed his eyes, letting the disappointing memories from last night once again flood through him.  “All I wanted was for my parents to interact with her. See that there could be another option for me.”

Theo released a long sigh.  “I know, mate. But maybe the time for that has passed.”

A sinking feeling burrowed its way into Draco’s gut.  That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

But before their conversation could continue, the distinctive tapping sound of a beak against glass broke the momentary silence.  Theo pushed the window open and a tawny owl swooped in, dropping a scroll into Draco’s lap before fluttering away.

Draco sucked in a breath as he gazed at the parchment waiting to be read.  Had his parents noticed his absence and were now demanding that he attend breakfast in proper Malfoy fashion?  He wasn’t ready to face his father’s wrath for ditching the rest of their carefully planned soirée.

But when Draco unravelled the message, he was relieved to see that it wasn’t in one of his parent’s handwriting.  Although, he didn’t particularly care for this sender either.

Meet me at the address below. We need to talk. 

~*~*~

Draco rotated his map and made a right onto the next street.  In the past two weeks alone, he had frequented Muggle London more times than he had the rest of his life combined.  At this rate, the map he had purchased earlier in the week to help him get to that Muggle book store would be well-worn in just a few months time.  That is, if he wasn’t an engaged man by then.

No. That wouldn’t happen. 

The numbers on the fronts of the buildings decreased until Draco stopped in front of a coffee shop. From beyond the window, Draco spotted the black haired wizard at a table for two, drumming his fingers beside a white coffee mug while he waited.  

Draco groaned. Was he really going to do this? 

He tucked away the map into the back pocket of his Muggle trousers and retrieved Potter's note for him to reread.

We need to talk.

Potter better not be there to tell Draco to leave Hermione alone.  He wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it.  

If it came to it, he’d make sure Potter understood that wasn’t a possibility.  Hermione had assured him with her parting words that they would talk later. And he deserved the right to properly explain himself. 

With this resolve in mind, Draco flung open the coffee shop’s front door, the bell above tinkling as he entered.  

Potter’s head knocked up.  

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.”

Draco drew back the chair across from him.

“I figured it’d be better if we met somewhere outside of Diagon,” Potter unnecessarily explained.  “So you and I could have more—”

“Yes, yes,” Draco dismissed, even if he did appreciate that they were away from anything wizarding.  After his father’s reaction last night, he really didn’t need to be spotted having coffee with Potter.  “Let’s get this over with,” he continued, not caring to be there any longer than needed. “What do you want?”

“We need to discuss last night.  About… what I walked in on.”

Bitterness bubbled inside Draco, recalling how it was only after Potter interrupted them that Hermione made her excuse to leave.  “It is my understanding that those glasses of yours prevent me from needing to explain what you can see for yourself. So what more explanation do you need?”

Potter rotated his coffee cup but failed to take a sip.  “I’m not here to be difficult,” he contended. “I only suggested we meet because my best friend is distraught, and I have a hunch it has something to do with you.” 

Distraught.  Not just sad, or upset — distraught. That thought alone unsettled Draco, knowing that something he had done had caused Hermione to feel that way.

Draco decided to concede a bit, his tone growing (only mildly) softer.  “What has she told you?”

Potter leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.  “Absolutely nothing,” he stated. “So whatever it is, that’s your business.  I’m just here to tell you to fix it.”  

“And what precisely do you think I was trying to do last night?” Draco hissed.  “I told you to come back later so I would have had time to explain!”

“I understand that,” Potter said, much to Draco’s surprise. “Which is why I’m here to help you.”  

Help?  Potter was here to help him?  And were the Chudley Cannons just announced the winners of the Quidditch Cup?

Draco’s scepticism must have been apparent because Potter continued, “Look. I get it.  I don’t like you, and you don’t like me, but this isn’t about us.” He leaned in and rested his elbows on the edge of the table. “I’ve been friends with Hermione for over a decade, and she tends to stick to her close group of friends.  And yet, in the past three weeks, essentially all I’ve heard about from her is you.”

For the first time all day, a lightness temporarily washed over Draco.  But it didn’t last long, once more confronted with the memory of the hurt in Hermione’s eyes as she brushed him away. 

“That didn’t stop her from leaving.”

Potter’s gaze softened.  “I know, but if you ask me, it seemed like whatever happened between you two, she needed time to process on her own. And if you really do like her—”

“Who said—”

Potter raised a sharp eyebrow, and Draco knew there was no use denying it. Potter wasn’t there to tell him to stay away from Hermione or even to argue with him. He was actively there to help. And right now, Draco needed all the allies he could get.

Draco glanced out the window before looking directly at his former rival, settling, “How does the almighty Harry Potter plan to get me my second chance?”

A grin began to appear across Potter’s lips. “It just so happens that I know where Hermione will be for the rest of the day.”

Great.  Draco was officially getting involved in one of Potter’s infamous schemes. Voluntarily. But at this point, he’d do whatever was necessary to resolve this matter between him and Hermione before she over-thought it too much.

So with a sigh, Draco submitted. “Alright, Potter. Where am I headed to?”

~*~*~

When Hermione arrived mid-afternoon, the Burrow was brimming with life as usual. Dirty plates floated from the kitchen table into the sink where someone, presumably Molly, had charmed a sponge to clean them.  Errol, miraculously still alive, was merrily dozing from his spot perched on the back of an armchair, enjoying his “retirement” now that the Weasleys had purchased a new owl, Aegis. Ron and Ginny were standing near the door leading to the garden, in the midst of what sounded like a disagreement.

“I can’t believe he came.”

“You did agree to this.”

“Yeah, but that was before I thought it would really happen! Now I actually have to spend time with the bloke!”

“Oh, suck it up, Ron. He’s clearly willing to let it go for the day. Think you can make nice for a few hours?”

Their bickering stopped when Ginny noticed Hermione dusting Floo Powder off her jumper, the younger witch elbowing Ron in his side to prompt him to stop as well.

“Everything okay?” Hermione asked.

“It’s alright,” Ron grumbled, although he still didn’t look pleased about whatever, or apparently whoever, he and Ginny had just been discussing.  

Ginny gave her brother a side-glare, before saying to Hermione, “Don’t mind Ron. He’ll be fine once we start playing Quidditch.” She then asked Ron, “Will you go tell them that Hermione’s here?”

Ron muttered something under his breath as he left, the door closing harder than usual as he exited.

“What has Ron’s wand in a knot?” Hermione asked once he was actually out of sight.

Ginny rolled her eyes.  “You’ll find out soon enough.  But more importantly, how was the soirée? Harry only told me bits and pieces.”

“It was... fine,” Hermione said, struggling to come up with a better word without going into too much detail.

Since arriving home the night before, Hermione had done nothing but think about what had happened at the soirée. Problem was, thinking about it had only made her feel more conflicted. As much as it still tormented her memories, she stood by her decision not to kiss Draco.  Yet, she was burning to know what he would have said if she had stayed.

But she had come here to get away from all that.  What had Harry said again? A day with her friends at the Burrow to get her mind off things?

As Hermione should have expected, Ginny wasn’t satisfied with such a simplistic answer.  “No more details?” she taunted. “Not even the fact that Harry caught you and Malfoy inches away from each other?”

Hermione’s cheeks heated up.  Had they really still been that close to each other when Harry found them?

Ginny must have noticed her blush because a glint now shone in Ginny’s eyes that Hermione didn’t trust.  To Hermione’s relief, however, she didn’t ask any more questions.

“You’re going to need a broom,” she said instead.  “You’re playing with us today.”

“Oh, I was planning on watching on the sidelines again,” Hermione tried to get out of it.  “I assumed George was here, so if I play, the teams won’t be even.”

Ginny merely smiled.  “George is here, but the thing is, if you don’t play, the teams won’t be even.”  

With a parting wink and no more explanation, Ginny slipped through the door and joined her brothers and Harry in the backyard.  

But Ron, George, Harry, and Ginny only accounted for four players.  Who else was playing with them today? Was Luna also visiting home and joining them for the match? Or had either Bill or Charlie come home as well? Or maybe George had invited Lee?

Hermione stepped outside and examined the sky, curious to figure out their sixth player. Brooms whizzed overhead as they were all already immersed in their flying warm-ups. Hermione trained her vision to identify the players. Two glimpses of red hair… one glimpse of black… another red, and... her heart stopped.

Blond. Male and blond. 

As if sensing her arrival, Draco paused mid-flight as he peered down at her, a weak smile across his lips. The lips she had been so close to kissing the night before. And if she was being honest, the lips she still longed to taste.

Her focus on Draco was snapped short when Harry landed on the ground beside her.

“What is Draco doing here?” she immediately asked.  

Harry stepped off his Firebolt and grinned. “I said a day at the Burrow with your friends, didn’t I? And Draco’s your friend, right? Just a friend?”

Harry’s grin shifted into a smirk, and Hermione narrowed her vision towards him.

“What do you think you’re doing, Harry?” she harshly whispered, but Harry remained unfazed.

“Just trying to prove that I’m still better than Malfoy at Quidditch,” he returned with a look that she knew meant he was up to no good. “But I’m gonna need another Chaser to help.”

He picked up Fred’s old Cleansweep Five and outstretched his arm for Hermione to take hold of the broom.

Hermione looked back up at the sky where Draco was still watching her, and pixies began to flutter in her stomach.  

Shaking the jitters, she tore the broom out from Harry’s grip. “Your Slytherin side is showing.”

Chapter Text

The broom scarcely wobbled underneath Draco despite the sudden gust of wind. Even though he had purchased it over three weeks ago during his temper-induced shopping spree, this was Draco’s first time flying his new racing broom. A Firebolt Turbo, the brand’s latest redesign — now with top-of-the-line anti-jinx protections, improved stabilization for a smoother ride, and a maximum speed of 175 miles per hour. 

As soon as Draco had mounted the broom, he had felt a pulse of excitement. For the first time in ages, he was going to be playing Quidditch against someone else. Granted, that “someone else” was Potter and a bunch of Weasleys, but at the moment, he didn’t have much grounds to complain. In some twisted turn of events, he supposed he should consider himself fortunate to have been invited. Not that he would ever voice that sentiment.

Around him, the rest of Draco’s company for the day zoomed around the open expanse of the Weasleys' backyard. The two Weasley boys had been passing the Quaffle back and forth for the past few minutes and Girl Weasley had just flown up to join them in the pre-game exercise. Potter, meanwhile, was zipping across the sky, practising moves and techniques that might prove helpful on his quest for the Snitch.

Draco followed Potter’s example. The wind gushed through his hair as he cut through the air towards the ground, executing a perfect spiral dive. His heart soared at the adrenaline of the move but immediately faltered when he pulled out from the plunge.

Below him, standing a mere ten feet away, was Hermione.

Their eyes fell on one another, and Draco had to grip the ash broom handle tighter to make sure he didn’t plummet to the ground from the sheer sight of her. She was wearing a casual jumper and Muggle jeans, a stark contrast from last night’s formal attire, yet it managed to affect him all the same. He was just happy to see her.

Question was, how happy was she to see him?

He offered the best attempt at a smile he could manage, and to his relief, Hermione didn’t pull out her wand and hex him with the first spell she could think of. That said, she didn’t look overly thrilled either — more surprised than anything.

Even that look from her stung. He could hardly remember a time in the past few weeks when Hermione hadn’t glowed the moment they saw one another. At least, not since they had moved past that misunderstanding at Rosa Lee Teabag.

And now, here he was again. Having mucked up so poorly that he had to explain himself to Hermione before everything they had built between them crumbled beyond repair. But just like last time, he would do whatever it took to rectify his errors. Sleep on her office’s stoop, spend the afternoon with Potter and a clan of Weasleys, slay a Hungarian Horntail. She name it, he’d do it.

Potter must have noticed Hermione’s arrival as well, for he soon landed next to her, breaking Hermione’s focus on Draco. That didn’t stop Draco from continuing to look at her, the impending Quidditch match now far from his top priority.

“You’re staring.”

To Draco’s chagrin, his least favourite Weasley was now hovering beside him. “And that affects you how?” It was the nicest retort he could manage. Older Weasley and Girl Weasley he could handle, which was good considering they were the ones on his team. But this Weasley was another thing entirely.

Weasley glanced down at Hermione and then back at Draco. His expression turned stern. ‘Just know that if you hurt her, you’ll have a lot of people to answer to.”

Fucking Merlin. First Potter and now Weasley? Did he miss a Daily Prophet article announcing his feelings towards Hermione? Or was it that bloody obvious?

Still, Draco wouldn’t let Weasley see him waiver. There was only so much he could manage in a single afternoon, and being at the Weasleys’ home was testing him enough. 

“As you and I both know, Hermione would have no problem defending herself, so don’t consider your threat necessary,” Draco said instead. “But even in the worst case, what do you plan to do to me, Weasley? Attempt to hex me with more slugs?” He tauntingly grinned. “I recall that going so well the last time.”

Weasley’s cheeks turned vibrant red. “That wasn’t my fault!” he defended. “My wand was broken!”

Older Weasley called for Weasley to come back and toss the Quaffle some more, granting Draco the return of his solitude. His attention immediately returned to the witch below. Within a matter of moments, she once more looked up at him, his heart lifting even higher when he noticed the broomstick in her hand. She had agreed to play.

Potter left her side to join everyone else, while Hermione remained safely on the ground, her eyes transfixed on Draco. 

An anxious stir swirled in his gut. Should he go down and talk with her? Did she want him to go down and talk with her? He wasn’t sure. But one thing was clear — he ought to do something other than continuing to hover over her without saying anything.

Yet Draco still didn’t move, his limbs unable to find the willpower to direct himself elsewhere. So instead he stayed, softly snorting at each of Hermione’s failed attempts until she successfully kicked off the grass and flew up towards Draco. 

“Hi,” she said, sweeping away a few loose hairs she must have missed when putting her hair into a ponytail.

Mild relief filled Draco at the sound of her voice. “Hi.”

“So,” she began. She glanced over at the Weasleys and Potter who suddenly stopped their conversation and resumed throwing the Quaffle. “Draco Malfoy is playing Quidditch at the Burrow. That’s a sight I thought I’d never see.”

She cracked a small, teasing smile, and the apprehensions in Draco’s chest faded nearly entirely.

Hermione was mocking him. As if it was a normal day between them.

They still needed to talk, but right now, he’d take it.

Draco returned the smile. “Now that I’ve finished your Lord of the Rings series, I had nothing better to do.” He quirked an eyebrow while Hermione lightly chuckled at his remark. “But since we’re on the topic of surprises, what a shock to see Hermione Granger out of her office on a weekend.”

The broom below Hermione teetered as she shrugged. “Harry made me promise not to go in today. Said I needed a day off after last night.”

Just like that, the pang in his heart returned.

“Look, Hermione, I can explain…”

But apparently, the universe was not done with its cruel streak of interrupting his time with her, for at that precise moment, Girl Weasley called for their attention.

“C’mon, you two! We got a game to play!”

Draco’s grip tightened around his handle as Hermione gave him a semi-sympathetic look.

“We’ll talk later, Draco.”

This was later. She had already told him that last night!

But Potter had advised Draco to be patient. To not push the conversation if Hermione didn’t seem receptive. The last thing Draco needed was for her to give him the silent treatment, which apparently Potter had been on the receiving end of multiple times throughout their years at Hogwarts.

Crisp fall air filled his lungs as Draco drew in a deep breath. Fine. He could wait until after the game. Besides, it would feel good to finally snatch the Snitch before Potter.

“Alright, listen up!” Girl Weasley said once Draco had joined them in the circle they had formed in the centre of the makeshift Quidditch pitch. “We’re playing three on three today. Harry, Ron, and Hermione on one team. Me, George, and Malfoy on the other. Boundaries are designated by the enchanted line on the field. Bludgers will be in play, but there are no Beaters to direct them, so be on the lookout for those. Harry and Malfoy are obviously Seekers, and the rest of us can switch between the roles of Chaser and Keeper as we see fit. Time outs are only permitted after a half-hour of play, and for the love of Merlin, will everyone keep it civil?” 

Girl Weasley lifted an eyebrow at the younger of her two brothers, and Weasley pretended as if he hadn’t heard anything. She knocked her broom into him, prompting him to grumble his understanding.

“Good,” she settled. “Then, if there are no objections, let’s play.”

With a simple flourish of her wand, Girl Weasley released the set of balls from the crate rested directly below. The Bludgers were the first to soar into the air, nearly knocking Draco off his broomstick before he even had a chance to register that the game had begun. The temporarily charmed Quaffle leapt upward, and Older Weasley grabbed ahold of it, his brother zooming after him. Within seconds, everyone was scattered across the field.

Draco knew his focus ought to be on locating the Snitch, but his attention was pulled elsewhere. In all their years at Hogwarts, he had never seen Hermione play Quidditch. He recalled a few lessons during their first year in which he had seen her fly, but there was something different about seeing her play his favourite game.

She wasn’t terribly good — not that he expected her to be when compared to everyone else who had played for their house’s team -- but she wasn’t terrible either. She and Weasley made a decent duo, a notion that felt wrong to even think. But it was the truth. Ten years of friendship between them had to have some benefits.

Weasley would pass the Quaffle to her, Hermione would fly it towards the goal posts before tossing it back to him, and then Weasley would secure the points. When it came to defence, Weasley would zoom to act as Keeper while Hermione attempted to block Girl Weasley and Older Weasley’s paths. She completed each play with relative ease, all the while a smile broad across her cheeks, even if she did sometimes struggle to keep hold of her broom.

Then something glimmering appeared in the far corner of Draco’s eye. On the far opposite side of the field, down near the bushes, fluttered the Golden Snitch.

Almost directly across from him was Potter. They barely registered eye contact with one another before they both leaned over and darted towards the Snitch.

Bursts of wind surrounded Draco as his Firebolt Turbo raced against Potter’s outdated model. For several moments, they went back and forth on who was edging farther ahead until a Bludger crossed directly in front of them. They both jerked their brooms away from the danger, but while Potter took a few extra seconds to redirect himself, Draco was able to recover much more quickly. Guided by his new broom and a boost of exhilaration, Draco tested the limits of his Firebolt Turbo and sped ahead, widening the gap between him and his opponent.

He clenched one hand around the broom handle as he outstretched the other, the Snitch only feet away. All those days in which he had been alone in the Manor, passing the seemingly endless time by practising catching the Snitch, were nothing compared to this. The stir of anticipation. The thrill of competition. The expectation of victory. He was so close, he could nearly feel the fluttering wings fighting for freedom against his clasped grip.

And then, he seized it.

Draco soared around the field, the Snitch raised high in his hand as Girl Weasley and Older Weasley flew alongside him, joining in the celebration of his catch. Weasley had his arms folded across his chest, displeased by the results, but Draco hardly revelled in the wizard’s dismay. All he cared about was the sight of Hermione fighting the smile from spreading too much across her lips.

“Congratulations,” Potter said once they had all landed on the ground. He held out his hand for Draco to shake. “Although, I do demand a rematch.”

Draco grinned as their hands met in a firm hold. “You’re on, Potter.”

~*~*~

The second match took significantly longer than the first. Several times, Draco and Potter chased one another as the Snitch fluttered in the near distance, only for it to disappear before either one caught it. But Draco didn’t mind. Each time the Snitch escaped his clutch, it gave him an excuse to soar higher above the field and “search” for it again, when in reality, he paused and took a moment to focus his attention elsewhere.

The longer they played, the more comfortable Hermione seemed on a broom. She was keeping longer hold of the Quaffle and even made a few goals of her own. Playing Quidditch again was exhilarating, but it was nothing compared to the surge of insurmountable happiness that pulsed through Draco after her first goal. Hermione had immediately looked up to catch his gaze. Her smile radiated as Draco clapped to her success, even if it did mean ten points for the other team.

Play continued, and Draco became so immersed in the game, he hadn’t registered that the sun had nearly faded from sight by the time Potter managed to steal the Snitch and secure his team’s victory.

Everyone’s feet had barely landed on the grass when the Weasley matriarch came out from within the home.

“About time your game ended!” she called from the doorframe. “A heating charm can only keep dinner warm for so long. Now, if your last name is Weasley, I expect you to come inside this instant and help with the final preparations!”

“But we don’t live here anymore,” Weasley cried as he returned the Quaffle to the box.

His mother gave him a sharp glare. “I fed you and made sure you were clothed for seventeen years, Ronald Weasley!” Mrs Weasley berated her son. “When you are here, you are not a guest.” Weasley began to open his mouth, but she cut him off. “No arguing.”

Weasley grumbled to himself as he sulked inside, while Older Weasley fought with one of the Bludgers so he could secure its locks, and Girl Weasley chatted with Hermione as they walked towards the door together.

Forgetting everything else around him as his eyes watched the gentle bouncing of Hermione’s hair as she walked away, Draco was taken by surprise when he felt a firm clap of a hand against his back.

“That’s one each,” Potter said. “Guess you’ll have to come back some other time so we can determine which one of us is actually better nowadays.”

Hermione glanced over her shoulder and offered Draco a small smile before she stepped inside.

“If there is a next time,” Draco said, keeping his voice low. “Still need to see how things resolve with Hermione first.”

Potter followed Draco’s gaze and shrugged. “She’s a processor. She may still need time. But I think the afternoon went as well as we could have hoped.”

Draco drew in a breath. While true, his day at the Weasleys' was coming to an end, and he and Hermione still hadn’t spoken much more than the few words they had exchanged prior to the first game.

All her smiles had to count for something, though. He only hoped she wasn’t planning on taking a step back with her feelings towards him. She liked him. He felt it in the very depths of his magical core. But if all this thinking left her wanting to keep things platonic, Draco wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it.

Waiting a few more minutes before he departed, Draco followed Potter into the Weasleys' home, which the other wizard had previously informed him was referred to as “The Burrow.” He had so far managed to withhold any questions as to why any family would voluntarily compare their home to that of a small animal, but despite the moniker, it was admittedly rather… welcoming.

The dwelling was small and seemed to threaten to collapse from the resulting movement of a hard enough sneeze, yet there was a general comfort to it that he had never experienced at the Manor. Everything about it was lively. Each of the red-haired Weasleys was bustling around the kitchen, dishes and silverware floating through the air as they set the table. Commotion filled the space as they spoke over one another, Mrs Weasley directing her children this way and that, but even when she raised her voice to tell Older Weasley to stop folding the napkins into Hippogriffs, her underlying care was still apparent.

Draco overheard Hermione asking how she could help, but Mrs Weasley insisted it wasn’t necessary. Seeing an opportunity for him and Hermione to have a few final moments to speak before he left them all to their dinner, Draco approached her side.

“You played well today,” he said, leaning up against the counter to appear more casual than he actually felt. “In fact, I think you might have fared better than Weasley fifth year.”

He grinned at Hermione’s resulting snort. 

“Going to make a song for me too?” she taunted.

Draco’s heart lifted at the playful glint in her eyes. “Only if you ask nicely.”

She peered down at her shoes, a genuine smile stretched across her lips, and Draco felt a sudden urge to pull her out of that kitchen and have her all to himself. He just wanted to talk with her. Explain everything so there were no more doubts in her mind. Because Draco wanted this. He wanted her. And every minute longer that he had to wait, the surer he was becoming.

Temporary silence fell between them as Hermione lifted her gaze, her eyes once more meeting his.

“I’m glad I got to see you today,” Draco eventually said.

“Me too,” Hermione returned after a slow intake of breath. “Especially after the way we left things last night…”

Her gaze softened, but it did little to obscure her lingering concerns.

Without thinking twice, Draco took her hands into his, not caring if anyone around them saw. He needed her to understand. To truly feel how much he meant this.

“Hermione, I—”

“Dinner’s served!”

With the sound of her call for everyone to join around the table, Mrs Weasley quickly became his least favourite Weasley.

Hermione dropped their connection. “Later, Draco.”

Fucking when later?

But one thing was now painfully obvious: the conversation wouldn’t be happening that night.

Hermione pulled back the chair at the end of the table next to Potter as the rest of them took their seats. Draco was about to wish them all the good night when he noticed something unexpected.

There was a place setting left unclaimed.

He searched around the table, certain someone else must not have taken their seat yet, but Mrs Weasley along with everyone who had played Quidditch today was already there. Mr Weasley wasn’t accounted for, but come to think of it, Draco hadn’t seen him all day.

Potter raised an expectant eyebrow. “Are you waiting for a formal invitation?”

Draco blinked. Certainly, they didn’t intend for him to stay for dinner. Potter had invited him for Quidditch. That was it.

But apparently, Quidditch at the Weasleys was more than just an afternoon affair.

Mrs Weasley motioned her arms for Draco to join them. “Sit, sit. Food’s getting cold. Everyone serve yourself.”

A swarm of hands reached for the variety of dishes scattered across the table. A freshly roasted chicken. Fluffy, whipped mashed potatoes. Still steaming steak and kidney pie. A vast variety of vegetables. It was a feast to rival Hogwarts.

Mrs Weasley handed a bowl to Older Weasley before pausing her serving to address Draco who still hadn’t moved. “You didn’t expect me to send you home without a proper meal, did you?”

Warily, Draco took the one empty seat — the one next to Weasley… and directly across from Hermione. 

“I didn’t expect you to be so… welcoming of me,” Draco cautioned.

“Don’t be silly,” Mrs Weasley dismissed. “I’ve read your memoir, dear. You were a child. You all were. It wasn’t fair to have so much put on you.” She reached across the table to grab the basket of bread. “And after what your mother did for Harry, I can only show you the same care. It takes a significant amount of a mother’s love to risk something like that for her son.”

Draco tensed at the mention of his mother. Across from him, Hermione seemed to have noticed.

“But I must say, I was quite impressed by your book,” Mrs Weasley continued, fortunately, not letting the conversation dwell on that topic. “Do you have plans for a second?”

Draco purposefully avoided looking in Hermione’s direction as he served himself part of the roasted chicken. “Not currently,” he replied. He could still feel Hermione’s gaze directed on him, the witch fully aware that this was just as sensitive of a subject. “I’m letting the success of the first book settle before deciding what course to take next.”

“Where’s Arthur tonight?” Hermione interjected before Mrs Weasley had a chance to say anything else on the matter. “Did the Ministry need him for something?”

Much to Draco’s relief, the conversation diverted away from anything pertaining to him, Mrs Weasley now detailing the Muggle plumbing convention in Bournemouth that her husband was spending his weekend attending. Draco mouthed Hermione a silent “Thank you” before she offered him a closed-lipped smile and they both returned to their meals.

Throughout the rest of the dinner, Draco mostly kept to himself, simply listening to the conversations surrounding him. It stunned him how different the atmosphere was compared to what he had grown up with. They laughed. They exchanged stories about their weeks. They were genuinely happy to be there.

This was a family.

Draco then remembered that it was a Saturday evening, meaning that he was presently skipping a formal meal at the Manor. Right now, his parents were dressed in fine robes, seated on the far extremes of their long dining room table, undoubtedly infuriated that Draco wasn’t there.

But he didn’t need to concern himself with that now. His parents would have to wait. Matters with Hermione came first.

When the meal came to a close, Draco had hoped to pull Hermione aside and finally talk with her, but he couldn’t get her alone the rest of the night. First she helped Molly clean the dishes. Then she played a few rounds of Exploding Snap with Older Weasley and Girl Weasley. After that, they had all come back together in the sitting room and simply chatted.

Draco wasn’t sure how much longer he could maintain small talk with Hermione and company when his mind was stuck elsewhere. All day he had waited for them to talk. Was it “later” yet?

Eventually, Draco surrendered to the fact that maybe she still wasn’t ready to talk with him despite her being the one to bring it up before dinner. Maybe mentioning it had been all she had intended to do. 

Soon enough, it neared time for them to go to bed. The rest of them had already planned on spending the night at the Burrow, so when Mrs Weasley extended the offer to Draco as well, he figured why the hell not. He didn’t exactly want to return to the Manor. And perhaps he’d have better luck in the morning once Hermione had had another night’s rest to process it.

That said, Draco doubted he’d be getting much sleep.

~*~*~

Hermione buttoned up her flannel pyjamas as Ginny reentered her bedroom, her teeth already brushed. She was just about to ask if Ginny was ready to turn off the lights and go to sleep when Ginny turned to her expectantly.

“So, are we going to talk about it or…?” She lifted an eyebrow, already anticipating Hermione’s response.

Of course going to bed wouldn’t be that simple.

“How much did Harry really tell you?” Hermione asked after a resigned sigh.

“Enough.” The mattress sank as Ginny sat on the corner of the bed. “But I’d rather hear what you have to say about it. Last you told me, you and Malfoy had just become friends.”

Hermione crashed down on the bed, letting her hair splay out across the comforter. “We are friends.”

“But is that all you want?”

Hermione stared up at the rafters in Ginny’s bedroom ceiling as she considered the question. What she really wanted right now was to stay upset at him. He had kept something major from her, be them friends or… otherwise. But his presence at the Burrow had muddled her emotions. She had tried to interact with him like she would normally, pretend as if he was just another friend joining her for a relaxing day at the Burrow like Harry had promised, but it was hard. She couldn’t forget what Theo had told her the night before — and the ache that had weighed on her heart ever since.

Darkness fell over her vision as Hermione closed her eyes. She knew the answer to the question. It was the reason every interaction with Draco today had still made her smile even when they had so much to discuss.

“No,” Hermione eventually said, unable to look at Ginny as she confessed what she hadn’t yet confirmed to anyone else. “That’s not all I want.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” Ginny asked in return. Hermione reopened her eyes to see Ginny canting her head in her friend’s direction. “He didn’t spend all day here because he and Ron are suddenly best mates.”

Ginny nudged Hermione’s side with her elbow, warranting the smallest snicker to escape Hermione. “I know,” she said. “But matters between us are much more complicated than I imagined they would be.”

“Then uncomplicate them,” Ginny said as if it was that simple of a solution. “You’re Hermione Granger. Find a way to fix it.”

~*~*~

Hermione tried to sleep after that, but she couldn’t. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw a montage of different scenes. Draco soaring at the victory of his catch. Draco grabbing her hands in the kitchen. Draco faltering when she left him alone in the library.

Careful not to disturb Ginny from her slumber, Hermione pulled back the covers of the Engorgio-ed bed they were sharing and closed the door behind her as quietly as possible. The stairs creaked under the weight of her feet in the early hours of the morning. All she intended to do was get a glass of water from the kitchen and return to bed in hopes for better results, but her plan changed when she caught a glimpse outside.

Out in the backyard, under the twilight stars, was Draco, flying on his broom while the Snitch shone under the basking glow of moonlight.

Hermione made sure to gently close the backdoor as she stepped outside, silently watching Draco. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one who was having trouble falling asleep. He whizzed through the air like he had all afternoon, only now, Hermione could properly admire it. Back at school, she had always been so fixated on Harry during Gryffindor versus Slytherin matches that she had never taken much time to observe him. But Draco was a fine flyer. He had bragged about that since their first day at Hogwarts. Yet there was something even more remarkable about it as he zoomed after the Snitch, his blonde hair more vibrant than usual from the shine of the moon.

It was only after Draco caught the Snitch that he noticed her. 

“How long have you been here?” he asked when he landed on the ground beside her.

“A few minutes.”

Draco considered her response, but soon a grin stretched across his lips. “Glad to see your horrendous pink pyjamas are back.”

She glanced down at the matching flannel set, the cartoon “molar bears” adorning the print he had seen her in last Friday. “They’re what pyjamas I own,” she defended, giving Draco a subtle shove for good measure.

Draco chuckled. “Doesn’t make them any less ridiculous.” 

Their taunting faded into the darkness of the night, and they were left staring at one another. The moment seemed to stretch on for hours, though it couldn’t have been more than a few passing seconds. A soft breeze washed over them, causing a stray curl to fall over her cheek. Draco reached out to brush it away, but before he could, Hermione tucked it behind her ear herself.

Draco broke the contact and she already missed the coolness of his grey gaze. He stepped a few paces away and returned the Snitch to its home with the rest of the Quidditch balls.

“So,” he said as he slowly stepped back towards her. “Is it finally later?”

Hermione swallowed before nodding. There was no use delaying the conversation. Now that they were properly alone, she needed to hear his side.

She peered out into the dark distance of the night before returning her gaze to Draco. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Draco settled onto the grass, and Hermione joined him, their fingertips no more than an inch away as they kept themselves propped upright.

“It’s something I’ve been trying to navigate on my own,” Draco said, staring out in front of them. His chest rose as he drew in a long breath. “I didn’t know how… involved you should be until I had a clearer sense of where I wanted any of this to go.”

Hermione’s mouth grew dry as she processed his words. “You don’t need to do this alone, Draco.”

“I know that,” he returned. “Which is partly why I recently reconnected with Theo and Blaise. I realised I needed them.”

“I’m glad you did,” she said, even though that wasn’t entirely the response she had hoped for. But then, a more pertinent question crossed her mind. A pit formed in her stomach, fearing she already knew the response. “Do your parents know that we’re friends?”

Draco hung his head as he shook it. “No.”

Hermione clamped her eyes shut. The answer stung more than she had anticipated.

She turned her back to him as she pushed herself off the ground, but Draco quickly got to his feet.

“I wanted to tell them last night,” he rushed to clarify, a general panic in his tone. “It’s the only reason I agreed to the soirée in the first place. All night, I was waiting for the opportunity to introduce you to them.”

Hermione fought the tears that were beginning to gloss over her eyes. She forced a sneer as she glared at Draco from over her shoulder. “But instead you let your father parade you around to prospective pureblood partners.”

The colour drained from Draco’s face. His eyes turned pleading. “It’s not that easy.”

“And why not?” Hermione demanded, now fully turned to once more face him. “If it’s not what you want, then why don’t you tell them?”

“Just tell them?” Draco stared up at the sky as he shook his head in disbelief. “You should know by now that it’s not that simple for me! My parents have expectations.”

“But what do you want?” Her commanding voice rang clear in the otherwise silent night. “Your writing career. Your future partner. Merlin, even your friends. You have the right to make those decisions for yourself!” She shook her head as she glared at him with a pointed stare. “And I won’t be your dirty Mudblood secret.”

Draco’s jaw fell slack. “You’re not,” he stammered. “Hermione, I would never—”

He stepped towards her, but Hermione took a step back.

“I’m up against generations of Malfoy family tradition,” Draco argued, begging for Hermione to still listen. “I don’t have to explain to you what happens to someone who dares defy them.” He paused to recompose himself. “I understand your frustration, and trust me, I feel it myself. Every bloody day. But there’s a lot that I’m trying to navigate here. Your parents are important to you, as mine are to me.” 

“But at what point will it become too much?” she challenged. “Is it worth losing a part of yourself just to satisfy them?” Hermione swiped away a tear that had beaten her resolve. She closed her eyes as another harsh swallowed bobbed down her throat. “Look, Draco,” she said, straining to keep her voice as even as possible. “I only want you to do what you think will make you happy. After everything we went through during our childhoods, don’t you think that’s what we all deserve?” 

Draco grabbed her hands and took them into his. “Being with you makes me happy.”

Hermione’s heart leapt. She stared down at their connection, wanting so hard to give in. But she couldn’t. Not until she had no more doubts.

“This problem with your parents isn’t going to go away,” she said, searching his face for any sign of what he was thinking. “As much as I want something to happen between you and me, you can’t make this decision based on us.” She worked through the lump in her throat as she pushed herself to finish. “If you think you’ll solve everything by submitting to your parents’ wishes and foregoing what you really want, then fine. Be my guest. But don’t expect me to support it. You and I will just have to forget anything that could have happened between us and continue on as we have, remaining friends, and—”

The rest of the speech fell short as Draco crashed his lips onto hers, effectively forcing her silent. One hand was now wrapped firmly around the small of her back while the other was on her neck, just under her hair, locking her in place. 

The sudden sensation took Hermione by surprise, her mind taking several seconds to process what was happening, but it slowly began to catch on. Draco’s lips. Against hers. Capturing them with a firm, unrelenting kiss.

A small voice in the back of her mind urged her to pull away. They hadn’t yet come to a resolution to their conversation. But the longer he kept his lips pressed to hers, the less that seemed to matter. His lips were warm, like a hot butterbeer on a cold winter day. And they were soft — softer than she had expected — but hard in their intent.

Slowly, all of her misgivings faded away, and before long, Hermione was lost in the kiss. She draped both arms around his shoulders and deepened their connection, taking in the smoothness of his lips as they brushed against hers again and again. Nothing else mattered. Not his parents. Nor the marriage contract they wanted him to sign. Just the wizard himself.

She leaned into his chest, needing him ever closer. Her fingers swept up his neck and settled themselves in his hair. The gentle hum of Draco’s approval rippled over their kiss as he clenched his hold around her waist tighter.

The tip of his tongue swept across the seam of her lips, and she willfully parted them. She met his tongue with her own, sending a jolt to her heart and a rush of euphoria through the rest of her system. This. This is what she wanted. Draco. With his arms wrapped around her body and her every sensation ignited by his kiss. Whatever he needed to work out with his parents, they would resolve together.

When they eventually pulled away, Draco rested his head on her forehead, his shallow breaths ghosting over her skin.

“I’ve made my choice,” he said in a low, husky voice. His lips then curled into a mischievous grin. “And don’t ever refer to me as just your friend again.”

Chapter Text

Draco stared at the vast night sky, soaking in the sight of the twinkling stars.

He had done it. He had kissed Hermione.

His eyes drifted closed as he relished the lingering feeling. While it had barely been more than a week since that first treacherous thought in the British Museum, every waking hour since then had been fraught with longing and indecision. But that was no longer true.

He had kissed Hermione.

The blades of grass tickled his skin as Draco slowly inhaled, at peace for the first time in what felt like ages. His problems were far from resolved — in fact, they had just become even more complicated — but at the moment, none of that mattered. All he could focus on was the flutter that had yet to fade from his heart, much like the lasting sensation of her lips that still warmed his own. He didn’t want either to cease.

From behind his eyelids, Draco pictured the perfect way Hermione’s features had glowed beneath the moonlight when they had pulled away from the kiss. It was as if she, too, had been lifted of a heavy burden. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was more of a mess than usual, but damn if he hadn’t wanted to immediately kiss her again.

But that could wait. Now that he and Hermione had taken that leap, that one kiss was going to be far from their last. Nothing could change his mind. He had had a taste of what he truly wanted, and he was not going to lose it.

Draco returned his vision to the sparkling light of midnight, the myriad stars as clear at the Burrow as they typically were at the Manor.

After Draco had made his intentions with Hermione clear, she had bit down on her lower lip in the most tantalizing fashion before she graced a soft smile. No other words needed to be stated.

She had later asked if he was ready to come back inside, but Draco had declined. Sleep now seemed even more impossible. So instead he laid under the stars and did what he always did when he couldn’t sleep: think.

The vibrant stars of the Dipper portion of Ursa Major were easy to spot. Draco focused on the upper corner star and then tracked his vision slightly leftward until he located the dim tail marker of his constellation. He followed the winding imaginary path of the dragon’s body up and down to the head.

The Draco constellation. The one he had been named after.

For generations, the Black family had drawn inspiration for their children’s names from the celestial bodies. Add it to the never-ending list of traditions. Only, Draco actually liked this one. Whenever he had missed home during Hogwarts, he would search the night sky, finding peace in the idea that his parents could look up at the same splattering of shimmering specks and find a reminder of him. It was as if the stars somehow kept them connected.

Except, as Draco peered up at them now, he felt nothing.

In those untroubled days of his youth, he and his parents had loved each other unconditionally. When had that changed?

Not far from the Draco constellation was that of his maternal grandfather, Cygnus. And simple to spot in the Orion constellation was the Bellatrix star. But the collection that drew most of Draco’s attention tonight was neither of those. Instead, he fixated on Andromeda.

He had never met his aunt. She hadn’t been mentioned in the Malfoy family household in years. They acted as if she didn’t exist, all because she had married a Muggle-born.

Was that to be Draco’s fate? Was one kiss with a Muggle-born enough to have him sentenced to the same treatment?

The pads of his fingertips brushed across Draco’s lips. The answers to those questions were still to be determined. And yet, Draco didn’t feel the least bit remorseful.

Happy. He just felt happy.

~*~*~

The unrelenting sun glared through the window, waking Draco far earlier than he would have preferred. Grogginess tempted his eyelids back closed. Whatever his reason for the lack of sleep, Draco was already beginning to regret that decision.

Trying to steal a few more minutes of slumber, Draco hid beneath a pillow to block the intruding rays. He stretched himself out across the bed but froze when his limbs extended beyond the width of the mattress.

That was odd. His bed was normally much bigger than this…

But then he remembered. He wasn’t at the Manor. He was at the Burrow. Where he had spent his Saturday and—

Draco bolted upright, tiredness no longer relevant. He tugged back on the jeans and shirt he had worn the day before and located the mirror hanging on the two oldest Weasley brothers’ bedroom wall. Several hairs were out of place, but it was nothing a simple rummaging of his fingers couldn’t fix.

He examined his smile in the reflection to make sure there wasn’t anything in his teeth. Good. At least that was in check. But when he tested his breath, he winced at the results. Not good.

Retrieving his wand from where he had left it on a bedside table, Draco transfigured a nearby useless knick-knack into a cup and filled it with water. He swished the fluid back and forth inside his mouth before spitting into the cup. Typically, he would never get ready in such an unrefined fashion but provided today’s circumstances, he’d make an exception.  

Deeming himself passingly-presentable, Draco creaked open the door and listened for her voice.

Nothing. So far, the Burrow was quiet. 

Still being cautious, Draco proceeded up the two flights of stairs to where the sole bathroom for seven children was located. He finished the rest of his morning routine, including using what he prayed wasn’t Weasley’s mouthwash, and made to return to the bedroom where he would wait until he heard everyone else stirring. 

That plan changed, however, when he reached the second floor, a certain heart-stirring witch now standing in his path.

They stared at each other in startled surprise, before both of them slowly smiled.

“Morning,” he said, admiring how her eyes glimmered from the rising sun.

“Morning,” Hermione returned. From the way her hair was already relatively contained, Draco could logically conclude that she, too, had done some pre-bathroom preparations in case they had run into one another. “Did you sleep well?”

Draco snorted at her obvious small talk. “Slept fine. You?”

She shrugged. “Well enough. Although, I did spend a lot of time thinking before I could fall asleep.”

“Yeah?” Draco asked — not that her admission came as any surprise. He moved closer, already predicting the answer to his next question. “What were you thinking about?”

She glanced down at her socks and then back at Draco. “Us.”

Satisfaction fluttered inside his heart at the mere notion that there was even an ‘us’ for them to consider. A smirk tugged at his lips at the thought. “And what about ‘us?’”

Concern glossed over her as her expression turned more serious. “Now that we’ve… taken that step…” she began as Draco chuckled in amusement at her deliberate evasion of the word ‘kissed’, “we need to discuss what happens next.”

“That’s simple,” he stated, refusing to let her overthink this now. With another pace forward, Draco closed the space between them, allowing his fingers to sweep across the curve of her chin. “You and I get lunch,” he said, savouring the feel of her delicate skin. “No more working through your break. I want to see you every… single… day.”

He guided his hand behind her neck and closed his eyes as he leaned in, his heart racing at the anticipation of repeating their kiss, but was instead confronted by her hand against his chest, once again pushing him away.

She raised an eyebrow. “I meant in terms of your parents.”

Draco released a heavy sigh, unable to hide his disappointment. He had foolishly hoped she would drop that topic after last night.

“I’ll handle it,” he said, but his attempt at assurance was promptly dismissed.

“Not good enough,” she retorted. “We kissed last night, and that’s all well and good, but it means nothing if you’re still going to run off and sign a marriage contract with someone else.”

His stomach sank at that thought. “That’s not going to happen.”

He took her hands into his, but she promptly dropped their connection. Where he expected to find frustration, however, he only found doubt.

“But how do I know you won’t change your mind. That you won’t...”

Her words trailed away, but he knew how to complete them.

“Surrender to my parents’ wishes?” Draco finished, despising even the idea of that possibility. He paused as he drew in a deep breath. “Sometimes the answer isn’t going to be explicitly spelt out for you,” he said in as calm a voice he could manage. “But I told you last night. I made my choice. You’re just going to have to trust me.” 

He could tell that she wanted to say more, but she stopped when his expression softened.

“I promise, Hermione.” A warmth settled in his chest, having never meant a promise so much in his life. He once more took her hands, and this time, she let him. “Trust me.”

Hermione stared at their connection where his thumb gently grazed over her knuckles. A swallowed bobbed down her throat before she peered up at Draco.

“I do trust you,” she eventually stated, sincerity streaked across her gaze. “But as I told you last night, you don’t have to do this alone. Let me help.”

Draco subtly grinned. “I’m not doing it alone,” he said, giving her hands a quick squeeze. “Knowing I have you is enough.”

Yearnful longing winning out, Draco lifted one hand and rested it on her cheek as he leaned in and once more found the welcome warmth of her lips. It started soft, no more than a brush, but when she kissed him back, he pressed their connection firmer.

Her fingers trailed to the nape of his neck and began to travel upwards into his hair. Each touch ignited his heart and fueled his desires all the more. When she captured his bottom lip between her teeth and gently sucked before releasing, Draco could hold back no longer.

He pushed her backwards, forcing her against a wall as his chest rested against hers. Ghosts of her breath wisped across his skin during those few, brief moments he allowed himself to pull away, only to promptly return his lips to hers.

Every taste, every sensation, only confirmed all the more how much he craved this. How much he needed this. His head was flooded with nothing but thoughts of Hermione. The feel of her body beneath his. The rush of excitement from her willing embrace. The surge of bliss that coursed through Draco from her sole existence.

She had her doubts, and while understandable, he’d prove them wrong. He wouldn’t risk losing this. Losing her. Losing them.

The fervent beating inside his chest increased as he swept his tongue across the seam of her lips, keenly anticipating the flicker of her tongue against his, when a loud cough pulled them apart.

With an aggravated groan, Draco withdrew himself from Hermione and turned to face Potter who was presently standing a few steps above the landing.

“So,” the other wizard said with a taunting grin. “You two still just friends?”

A delicious blush coloured Hermione’s cheeks. “Shut up, Harry.”

The door to Girl Weasley’s bedroom flung open, revealing the newly awoken red-head. She took one glance at Draco and Hermione, still in close proximity to one another, before staring directly at Potter and sticking out her hand. “I win. Cough it up.”

Potter, already dressed for the day, went down the remainder of the steps and dropped a handful of Sickles into her waiting palm.

Pushing herself off the wall to stand upright, Hermione watched the exchange and then glared at her friends. “What precisely was that for?”

Girl Weasley released a short laugh. “Harry bet me you two would be together by the end of the week.” She counted out the silver coins before tucking them into her pyjama pockets. “I said you wouldn’t last the weekend.”

Harsh annoyance rippled through Draco, feeling the return of childhood animosities as he faced Potter. “Is that the real reason you offered to help me speak with Hermione?” he demanded. “In an attempt to win a bet with your girlfriend?”

“Everything I told you at the coffeeshop was true,” Potter defended. “My best friend was distraught and it needed to be fixed.” A grin reappeared across his features. “Sometimes two people just need a little shove to stop overthinking it and let what’s obvious to everyone else happen.”

Potter winked as he placed a hand on Girl Weasley’s waist, and they proceeded down the steps towards the main level. 

“Typical Potter,” Draco said with a brief chuckle once they had disappeared from sight. “Always believing he has to be the one to intervene and save the day.”

He turned to see if Hermione was at all amused by his remark, but she didn’t seem to be listening. Instead, she was blankly staring at the space Potter had just been occupying.

Draco moved behind her and wrapped his hands around her waist. Gently, he asked, “What are you thinking now?”

She slowly twisted in his embrace so she was now looking up at him, their chests once more pressed together.

“I wasn’t overthinking it,” she stated, disagreeing with what Potter had said. “I have valid concerns. And you can’t keep kissing me to avoid giving me the answer that I want.”

She sucked in a breath, all the while, never letting her gaze leave Draco’s. There was still a subtle trace of concern hidden in her expression, but most of all, he saw determination.

“I need a deadline from you,” she clearly resolved so there was no mistaking this as something Draco could negotiate. “A promise of when you’ll tell your parents you aren’t signing a contract.”

Draco considered her request for several moments, her gaze remaining steadfast the entire time she awaited his response.

A deadline made things real. It was a commitment that he would do it. Not that he hadn’t intended to follow up on his promise. But setting a firm timeline meant he couldn’t put it off any longer.

Which was exactly why he needed one.

For too long he had delayed this with his parents. Drawn out a process that he never wanted a part of even before his feelings had grown for Hermione. Yes, he was doing it for them, but more importantly, he was doing it for himself. For what he wanted.

“Give me a week,” Draco said. “By this time next Sunday, I’ll have told my parents I want no part of their marriage contract nonsense. And if I haven’t by then, I give you full permission to storm into the Manor and let my father experience what it’s like to be slapped by Hermione Granger.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up as she did her best to conceal a snort. “I would very much enjoy that.”

“And I would very much enjoy witnessing that.” Draco smiled. “But until that becomes necessary, I don’t want you to concern yourself about my parents. I will handle it. And in the meantime,” he tucked a curl behind her ear, “let’s just enjoy us.”

Hermione bit the inside of her lip, eliciting a stir in Draco’s heart.

He smirked. “Now can I kiss you?”

She had barely begun her nod when Draco crashed his lips onto hers. Even though it hadn’t been more than a few minutes since they had last kissed, the euphoric rush of the sensation was still the same. He hoped he never tired of this feeling. The kiss was perfect, as was she.

When Draco eventually pulled himself away, he admired the way Hermione’s eyelids remained close a few extra seconds before fluttering back to life. Her vision settled on him, and Draco smiled so big, he swore it was going to leave permanent creases on his cheeks. He wanted to stay like this all day, Hermione never farther than an arm’s length away, but the time had come.

“I better leave before I get roped into breakfast,” Draco said, smelling the food being prepared downstairs. “I already feel like I’ve overstayed my welcome.” He chuckled. “That, and I’d prefer not to be here when Weasley finds out.” He twined their fingers together as he prepared to leave. “But tomorrow. Lunch?”

Hermione nodded. “And the day after that.”

Draco grinned. “And the day after that.”

He placed a simple kiss on her cheek and departed. He only made it down three steps, however, before he turned back around and gave her a proper farewell kiss.

A sparkling smile stretched across her lips, only increasing the happiness that continued to soar in Draco’s chest.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He took in one final sight of her before actually leaving this time.

Draco went down the rest of the stairs, and after thanking Potter and Girl Weasley for their help, he located the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and was about to call for the Manor when he changed his mind. There was different stop he wanted to make first.

~*~*~

“Theo!” 

For the second morning in a row, Draco welcomed himself into his friend’s home. Only this time, he wasn’t there to berate the wizard.

“Theo!” Draco called again.

“In here!” came the response from what sounded like the informal sitting room.

Draco navigated his way there, successfully finding Theo.

And Astoria.

“Look who’s back,” Draco said as he took a seat in one of the chairs across from them. 

“I could say the same thing,” Astoria returned, thankfully, already properly dress this morning.

Theo assessed Draco, amusement tugging at the curve of his lips. "Someone seems to be in a better mood today.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Something you care to share?”

Draco couldn’t withhold his smile, the warmth of a few minutes ago still radiating throughout his body. “I did it,” he beamed. “I kissed her.”

Astoria clapped in delight. “I’m so happy for you!"

“Good for you, mate,” Theo chimed in, but his light-hearted tone wasn’t as long-lasting. “Now that you’ve finally done that, though, how are you going to handle your parents?”

Draco shushed Theo. “Not now,” he said, closing his eyes as he laid his head back against the chair and replayed the past twelve hours in his mind. “Let me savour this a bit more first." 

Theo snickered. “With the way you’re acting, one would think you’ve never been kissed before.”

“I can tell you myself that’s not true,” Astoria tauntingly remarked.

Even in his blissful daze, Draco could sense Theo’s mock offended expression.

“You really want to bring up the fact that you kissed him first?”

“But who did I kiss most recently?”

“Can’t remember. Why don’t you remind me?”

Draco fake gagged. There was only so much he could handle overhearing.

“I’m still here,” he grumbled.

“Says the wizard who keeps barging in on us,” Theo commented. “But fine. If you’re going to interrupt us, then let’s talk about this. You got Hermione. Now what?’ She’s not the type of witch to wait around while you pretend to consider a marriage contract.”

“I know,” Draco said. He drew in a slow inhale as he shifted upright. “Which is why I promised to tell my parents within the week that I wouldn’t do it.”

Astoria and Theo both blinked at Draco. Apparently, neither had expected that to be his response.

Theo released a long whistle as he rested his hands behind his head. “Shit. You’re really going to do it.”

Draco nodded. “I am.”

“That’s huge, Draco,” Astoria said after a few more moments of silence. 

Theo’s gaze hadn’t left his friend. “Have you decided how?”

“Not yet,” he replied with a small groan. “Can’t I just have one day to relish the fact that I actually made a choice here?”

Theo chuckled. “Suppose you’ve earned that.” He reached over and mockingly patted a hand on Draco’s knee. “But when this whole thing inevitably blows up in your face worse than one of Finnigan’s Potions, we’ll be here to pick up the pieces.”

Draco tried to laugh. It would be funnier if there wasn’t a near-guaranteed chance that he’d have to take Theo up on that offer.

“Let’s save that conversation for later,” Astoria said, seeming to sense that Draco had had enough of that topic. She rested an elbow on her knee and leaned in. “So you got your witch. Tell us how it happened.”

A grin formed across Draco’s lips as the now familiar warmth returned to his chest. That he’d be happy to discuss.

~*~*~

By the time Draco concluded at Theo’s, it was already nearing noon. It was hard to believe that this time yesterday, he had been meeting with Potter, that desperate to resolve things with Hermione. Every struggle leading up to now had been worth it if it meant eventually getting to have her locked in his kiss again and again and again.

Draco clung to those memories as he stood in the Nott fireplace. Whatever happened at the Manor next wouldn’t ruin his day. He was too content to let anything his father said or did impact the way he felt.

The wall of green flames surrounded Draco, and as expected, when he arrived at the Manor, his father was patiently waiting in one of the armchairs.

“Where have you been?” Lucius commanded.

Draco walked right past him, not bothering to answer.

“I asked you a question,” the older wizard’s voice boomed, but Draco still ignored him.

Draco reached the doors and pulled them open.

Lucius was losing patience. “We need to discuss your disappearance from the soirée.”

Draco turned back to his father and smirked. “Rather not.”

The doors fell closed with a heavy thud, leaving Lucius alone in the room, far from Draco’s thoughts and concerns.

Chapter Text

Hermione had barely stepped into the office before she had to face Gretchen.

“Good morning,” her assistant greeted with an almost too-cheery smile. Without pausing for Hermione to return the salutation, Gretchen posed the question she had no doubt waited all weekend to ask. “Did you have a good time at the Malfoys’ soirée?”

Hermione combatted a chuckle as Gretchen handed her a stack of parchments that must have accumulated over the weekend.

“It was quite disappointing, actually,” she answered truthfully.

Hermione feigned nonchalance as she shuffled through the parchments, pretending not to watch Gretchen’s reaction from her periphery. Already, she could sense Gretchen trying to infer as much as reasonably possible from the tidbit of information Hermione had given about the evening.

Deciding to have some more fun with the present scenario, she playfully added, “But I’m not too perturbed. The rest of my weekend managed to make up for it.”

Hermione turned away from her assistant and grinned, knowing how much that small snippet would likely spur several theories inside the witch.

For the past three weeks, Hermione had endured countless comments from Gretchen about her and Draco being “more than friends.” Granted, that presumption had ultimately been proven true, but that was beside the point. Hermione would prefer not to hear the taunting coo of “I told you so” before nine a.m. on a Monday. That, and the fewer people who knew about her and Draco before he confronted his parents, the better. 

Even so, a little harmless poking at Gretchen’s curiosities would make the workday a tad more entertaining.

Sensing Gretchen’s desire to pry for details, Hermione changed the topic before she had the chance. “What’s on my schedule for today?”  

Gretchen took several seconds to register the question before grabbing a parchment off her desk. Hermione listened as the other witch began citing the long list of meetings that would take up the vast majority of her morning. With November a couple of days away, the company’s end-of-year deadline was approaching fast. There was still plenty to get done if they intended for the education program to be completed in time. And Hermione didn’t believe in missing due dates.

With a small dose of wandless magic, the door to Hermione’s office opened so its owner could continue reading the parchments while Gretchen followed closely behind. 

“And then at ten thirty, Michaels will be stopping by to pick up your revisions on the Muggle Studies introductory science unit before your eleven o’clock meeting with the Reading department for an update on—” 

A snorted laugh filled the space instead of the end of Gretchen’s sentence.

“Well, well, well,” Gretchen said, delighted intrigue now dripping from her tone, “what do we have here?” 

Hermione’s head snapped up. A remark like that did not bode well.

Temporarily disregarding the parchments, Hermione made to assess what had prompted the question. She followed Gretchen’s gaze to her desk and instantly caught on, her heartbeat jumping at the sight in front of them.

“White roses,” Gretchen toyingly observed, “that just so happen to match a certain white peacock quill you received last Monday.” A taunting smile now stretched wide across her features. “What a coincidence.”

With her free hand, Hermione snatched the envelope that peeked out from between the sea of petals from the fresh bouquet.

“I don’t see the connection,” Hermione attempted to dismiss Gretchen’s baseless assumption, even though she was undoubtedly correct. “The flowers must be from…”

But Hermione’s brain failed her. She couldn’t think of a single other person she could logically say had sent her an arrangement of white roses. There was little chance she could explain her way out of this one.

An undeniable blush reddened Hermione’s cheeks while Gretchen pressed her lips together, obviously fighting a whole slew of taunting quips. Thankfully, for both their sakes, she was smart enough to keep those thoughts to herself. Instead, Gretchen approached the desk and merely laid down the parchment with the rest of Hermione’s schedule for the day. 

“I’ll just let you review this yourself,” Gretchen settled, a knowing smirk revealing itself on the edges of her lips. She took one more glance at the bouquet before turning on her heels and heading for the door.

The moment Hermione was alone in her office, she tore open the envelope. Her mind was scrambling with thoughts, but one desire pushed all concerns aside. She removed the enclosed note and promptly read it.

Something to brighten your morning while you’re stuck counting down the hours til you see me.

He didn’t bother signing it.

Hermione fell into her chair, only letting her vision leave the note so it could return to the sight of the flowers. A flutter replaced the apprehensions in her chest. The unexpected gift may have all but confirmed Gretchen’s suspicions, but when Hermione lost herself in the calming fragrance of the roses’ bloom, that didn’t seem important. 

For now at least. But she could worry about the possible implications of that later.

The edges of the note pressed into Hermione’s fingertips as she reread Draco’s note, a demure smile growing ever brighter. After the fifth time, she tucked it into her pocket before grabbing a stack of files for her first meeting of the day. But now that the idea of seeing him again was in her head, she couldn’t wait for it to be noon.

~*~*~

As if by clockwork, there was a knock on Hermione’s door as soon as the hour hand reached the twelve.

Gretchen peeked her head in, that knowing smile yet to fade. “Your lunch companion is here.”

“Yes, well, it is lunchtime after all,” Hermione calmly stated despite the jitters of anticipation already starting to stir. “You can send him in. There’s just a few things I want to wrap up before I leave." 

Gretchen snorted, not convinced in the slightest. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”

When Draco appeared in her door frame, Hermione knew there was no hiding her massive grin. He returned the smile, and Hermione took note of the clear crescents of his dimples that adorned his cheeks.

The door had barely clicked closed behind him before Hermione wasted no time in welcoming him with a kiss. Just as it had Saturday night and Sunday morning, the connection sparked the same fluttering thrill to tingle inside of her. After endless back to back meetings all morning, this was precisely what she needed to rejuvenate her spirits and cast away all stressors.

“Hello to you, too,” Draco said when they pulled away from the kiss. His vision trailed to her desk. “I see you got my flowers.”

Hermione teased the inside of her lip, his lingering taste still barely there. “They’re beautiful,” she said. She then raised an eyebrow. “My assistant thought so, too.”

“Your assistant has good taste then,” he returned with a cocky grin.

“That’s not the point,” she challenged. There was something about his look that made Hermione want to ignore her concerns, but this was bigger than her desire to kiss away that smug expression. So instead, she canted her head disapprovingly and proceeded with her question. “Have you told your parents yet?”

The topic promptly weakened Draco’s self-assuredness. “It’s been one day,” he defended. “I still stand by my promise that I’ll tell them by the end of the week.”

“And you better,” she warned. “But until then, for your sake, it’s safer if we continue to keep matters between us more discreet. The last thing you want is word somehow getting back to your parents about us before you have the chance to tell them yourself.”

He raised a taunting eyebrow. “So are you saying you didn’t like the flowers?”

A flaring blush prickled her cheeks. “Of course I liked the flowers.”

“Then I see no issue here,” Draco contended. “I didn’t even sign the card.”

Hermione wasn’t satisfied. “Doesn’t mean she wasn’t able to figure it out!” she argued. “Gretchen is highly observant and has been suspicious of us for weeks.”

Draco appeared confused. “But we’ve only been together two days.”

“Yes, well, apparently she catches on faster than either of us!”

An amused snort flared his nostrils, Draco undoubtedly enjoying the vehemence in which Hermione spoke.

“Alright, fine,” he conceded. “No more gifts until I’ve told my parents. But I insist on still meeting you at your office or else I’ll never get you to leave this place on your own.” He outstretched his hand for Hermione to take. “Now, if you’re done chastising me, shall we get lunch?”

Hermione looked down at his hand, not immediately accepting its offer. “Actually, I had another idea.”

One of Draco’s chuckles rang in the air. “And just what have you planned for us this time?”

She took his hand. “You’ll see.”

~*~*~

Draco should have expected this was what being with Hermione Granger would be like.

For the next several days, Hermione turned their lunchtime meetings into adventures exploring Muggle London. That first day, she dragged him to the British Library, which, it turned out, was more of a large space with exhibits than a place where one could check out books. On Tuesday, they roamed around a place called Camden Market where they patronised a range of stalls with an eclectic mix of goods. The day after that, they strolled along the River Thames while Hermione explained the history of every landmark they passed. And come Thursday, she brought him back to a museum, this time, introducing him to centuries of unmoving paintings at the National Gallery.

Each afternoon, he relished every minute he had with her, an hour still never enough time. But their days together no longer included just her lunch break. When Hermione would leave to return to work, Draco would stay in Muggle London, continuing to explore the area. Then, as soon as Hermione got off for the night — whatever time that may be — she would find Draco at their designated meeting spot to discuss the rest of their day before they headed home.

Which was how Draco ended up presently sitting in the middle of a bustling Trafalgar Square, directly beside an obnoxiously large bronze lion.

“Did this have to be our meeting place?” Draco asked once Hermione came into sight. “Or do you enjoy forcing me to sit beside these monstrosities?”

Hermione gently snickered before greeting him with a short kiss. “Don’t like the lions?”

“Of course I don’t like the bloody lions!” he quipped. “They’re like a shrine to Gryffindor.”

He interlaced their fingers as they began walking through the square.

“Actually, they’re intended to commemorate Admiral Horatio Nelson, who died at the Battle of Trafalgar, hence the name of this place,” Hermione began to explain. “I’m not certain why they chose lions to be at the corners of the plinth, but I suspect it has something to do with lions traditionally representing strength and courage — not just the symbol of Gryffindor.”

Draco considered the information. “Like that lion in The Chronicles of Narnia?”

Hermione smiled. “Precisely like that lion in The Chronicles of Narnia.”

They continued to peruse the streets of London until it neared dinner time. Following their undiscussed routine, Draco walked Hermione back to her flat before they said goodbye for the evening.

As they stood outside the door to her building, he could see Hermione fumbling with her keys longer than necessary. Taking the hint, Draco pulled her away from the lock and into his arms.

“Don’t go inside,” he said. “Not yet.”

He pressed his lips to Hermione’s. Even after several days together, the initial exhilaration of the softness of her kiss never failed to amaze him. His hands settled in the delicate curve of the small of her back as she placed her arms around his neck, beginning to thread her fingers through his hair. She tugged him downward, deepening the connection. The simple movement was enough to send his heart ajolt, not sure he’d ever get over the fact that he had somehow managed to be the one kissing Hermione Granger.

A single hand slid up the length of her back to lace itself within her curls while the other remained nestled on her lower back. When his tongue swept across the seam of her lips, she willfully parted them, allowing their tongues to brush together.

She arched into him, and Draco stepped backwards so he was now flat against the wall. Hammering heartbeats echoed in his ears as her body pressed against his, limited to no space left between them. He pulled her in even closer, her chest flush with his own. All the while, their kiss never broke.

The overall sensation consumed every fibre of his being. Undeniable happiness, unparalleled ecstasy, unmatched —

“Look whose boyfriend is back.”

The sneering tone of Hermione’s neighbour ripped them apart. Vibrant red coloured Hermione’s cheeks as they faced the same man who had chastised them for causing a commotion when Draco had drunkenly shown up at Hermione’s place in the middle of the night.

Hermione expressed her apologies, but the man seemed uninterested. He merely wrinkled his nose in distaste before proceeding into the building himself.

“I think we got a bit carried away,” Hermione said before covering her face with the palm of her hands.

But Draco was much more fixated on what the man had said. “Boyfriend, huh?”

Hermione promptly dropped her hands and stared at Draco. “Those were his words, not mine.”

“Perhaps,” Draco began as he wisped away a few curls that had become displaced, “but I must say I like the sound of it.”

His chest warmed, already thinking of the possibilities of getting to hear Hermione call him that, of him getting to call her his girlfriend. But as what was increasingly seeming to be a regular occurrence in his life, the universe had other plans.

A tawny scops owl swooped over them and dropped a small scroll at Draco’s feet before it promptly flew away. All it took was one glance at the trademark emerald green seal for any lingering sense of bliss and easiness to escape Draco.

He crouched down and picked up the scroll. When he unravelled it, he revealed his mother’s script handwriting etched across the parchment.

It’s time to stop avoiding us. Your father wants to speak with you immediately. Delaying matters any further will only make things worse.

Just like that, Draco was officially snapped out of his euphoric haze.

All week, he had continued to avoid the Manor. Consider it one of the benefits of spending so much time with Hermione. The more he explored Muggle London, either with her or by himself, the less he had to be around his parents. The less he had to remember what he still had to resolve.

Last he had seen his father had been when he had returned from Theo’s Sunday afternoon. Draco knew he was only prolonging the inevitable, but he was enjoying his days with Hermione so much, he didn’t want to ruin them.

And now that time was clearly coming to an end.

“Your parents?” Hermione correctly surmised.

He drew in a slow breath, his mind already trying to determine his next step. “My father wants to speak with me.”

“Now are you going to tell him?”

Draco sighed. “If it feels right.”

As expected, that was not the response Hermione wanted to hear.

“Your time is running out.”

Draco knocked his head back against the wall, not caring about the pain of the resulting thud. 

“I know I’m avoiding it, alright?” He let his eyelids fall shut. “I still have every intention of telling my parents before Sunday. But it’s difficult.” He paused, inhaling deeply. “A few snide remarks here and there is one thing, but telling them this…”

He felt Hermione lean up beside him. Her fingers found his and twined them together. “It’s not going to get any easier,” she stated, her tone more comforting than sharp. “Are you sure you don’t want my help? Or anyone else’s?”

Draco shook his head. There wasn’t much Theo, Astoria, or even Blaise could say that he didn’t already know. He had briefly considered reaching out to his Aunt Andromeda, but that woman was as good as a stranger to him. How much could she realistically help? He already knew the consequences of being a blood traitor, so whatever she had to say wouldn’t be beneficial.

He knew what he had to do. He just had to muster the courage and finally say it to his father’s face.

“How about I make you a deal?”

At the sound of her question, Draco returned his vision to Hermione, his cool grey eyes locking with her warm chestnut. The witch grinned at him, her eyes glimmering. One glimpse of her and Draco was reminded why it was so critical that he end this insane charade with his parents. He’d never be happy if he knew he wasted the chance to properly be with her.

“I’m listening.”

Hermione pushed herself off the wall and stood before Draco. “You tell your parents that you want no part of their marriage contract business…”

She paused, the glimmer shining brighter in her eyes.

Draco stood upright. “And?” 

She smirked. “And you can call yourself my boyfriend.”

The promise renewed a fire within him. “Really?”

“If that’s what it takes to give you the extra push to do it, then yes.”

Reignited elation returned inside his chest. “You, Granger, have an absolute deal.”

He grabbed hold of her blouse and pulled her in, sealing their agreement with a kiss. But he didn’t let this one last long.

Lucius was expecting him. And Draco had a newfound purpose for telling his father that he had no intention of signing a marriage contract. Not now. Not ever.

~*~*~

Narcissa was waiting by the fireplace when he arrived back at the Manor.

“Look who decided to come home.”

Draco only half-registered his mother’s comment, much too set on his mission. He glanced at the library’s clock and saw that Lucius’s location hand was pointed at his study.

“Your father is expecting you.”

Only then did Draco focus on his mother. “Are you not joining us?”

Narcissa rose from her seat and smoothed out the fabric of her robes. “Your father believes it best that this be a conversation you two have privately.”

He seriously doubted that meant anything good. But that didn’t change his resolve. It was time to tell his parents. No more delaying.

“Mother, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Handle your father first.”

Draco tried not to let his disappointment show. Addressing his father would be significantly easier if he knew he had any ounce of support from his mother. There was still a minuscule chance that she could be swayed. After all, she had said that she wanted him to be happy. Was that enough for her to side with him?

He’d have to wait to find out. Right now, he had his father to confront. 

His mind raced as he proceeded down the staircases and across the length of the Manor towards Lucius’s study. He mentally recited what he needed to say. Prepared for the argument that would ensue. Repeatedly reminded himself why he was doing this.

He was his own man. He could make his own decisions. He had made his own decision. And he chose Hermione.

Draco stood outside the study, his fist looming less than an inch away from the door. All he had to do was knock. Knock, and then tell his father. But one step at a time.

He could do this.

A hard bob travelled down his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut and knocked.

The door flung open. Poised behind his desk was Lucius, long blond hair draped behind his shoulders as he peered down at a small, open box, a diamond ring glittering inside. At the arrival of his son, Lucius snapped the ring box closed and placed it in one of the desk drawers.

“Draco.”

“Father.”

Draco pulled back the chair across from his father and took a seat. He schooled his features so he appeared nothing more than indifferent despite the pulsing nerves that raged through him.

“I did not appreciate your comment the other day,” Lucius began, his expression stern as he addressed his son.

Draco forced away his apprehensions, mustering as much courage as he could summon. “And I did not appreciate your treatment of me at the soirée.”

Lucius sneered. “When you make a selfish decision like inviting Harry Potter into our home, it deserves my disapproval.”

Selfish? After all the sacrifices Draco had made during the war in the name of their family, after all the things his father expected him to still do, Lucius was daring to call him selfish?

Anger boiled inside of him. “I already told you—”

“I’m not interested in hearing why you thought it necessary to invite him,” Lucius dismissed, further fueling Draco’s ire. “You opted to be an immature brat and react by disappearing halfway through the party, making the evening an unacceptable failure. But if that night and the days following have confirmed anything, it is that you clearly do not intend to pick a future partner for yourself.”

Draco outwardly scoffed, while a trickle of relief internally washed over him. At least his father was smart enough to recognise that now undeniable truth — which meant that what Draco had to say next shouldn’t be as much of a surprise.

He braced himself. The time had come.

“For once, Father, you are correct,” he said, the words low and clear, his resolve unmistakable. “But you can’t force me into signing a contract either.”

A smirk edged up Lucius’s lips. “I thought you might say that,” he carefully articulated. He even sounded entertained. His vision narrowed as his stare pierced directly at Draco. “Which is why you have left me with no choice but to proceed accordingly.”

“And just what precisely—” 

Draco struggled to complete his question, to demand what his father meant by that, but the effort provided futile. A tight clenching had gripped around his vocal cords. Words were impossible.

He glared at his father, chest fuming. In Lucius’s hand was the silver-headed serpent base of his sleek black elm wand, its tip aimed straight at Draco’s throat.

“I’ll be the one doing the talking here,” Lucius said with a pleased, cruel grin. “I’ve had quite enough of your remarks and no longer care to entertain your insolence.”

Lucius glanced at the scroll resting on the corner of his desk, and Draco’s heart plummeted.

“I spoke with the family’s estate attorney. There’s another way to make this contract happen.”

Chapter Text

Panic.

There was no other word to describe the unsettling feeling that coursed through Draco.

His fingertips gripped the wooden arms of his chair, his knuckles blanching white. Shallow breaths harshly released in and out through his nose while Lucius merely stared at his son with resolute intent.

A clicking noise broke the silence, the indication that Lucius had magicked the door shut. At the sound of his entrapment, Draco considered getting out his wand and doing something — anything — but he was too frozen in crippling shock and desperate curiosity. Whatever his father planned to do about the contract now, he needed to know.

Lucius arose from his seat. The heels of his shoes echoed in the space as he ambled to the other side of the desk. He settled on its edge so he was now even closer to Draco.

“Your entire life, you have known the expectation,” Lucius stated, not a drip of compassion in his tone. “After graduating from Hogwarts, you were to wed a pureblood witch. And not once did you ever oppose.” He sneered. “Until recently.”

Draco’s upper lip twitched, itching to snarl out a snide retort, but any effort on that front was still futile. All he could do was glare at his father with as deep of disdain as humanly possible.

Lucius, however, remained entirely unfazed.

“Matters, of course, became more... complicated after the war,” he continued with a sneer. “And while I permitted the postponing of the proper courting process until after you were done publishing your book, you have shown no indication that you intend to move forward.”

Where there should have been mild satisfaction in the announcing of that statement, Draco felt none. Lucius recognised that his son didn’t wish to proceed any further. And yet, there was no remorse from the older wizard. Which could only mean that Lucius did not plan for this to stay true.

There’s another way to make this contract happen. 

Lucius once more glanced at the scroll at the corner of his desk but did not move to retrieve it. That only deepened Draco’s concerned suspicion about what it was.

“Since the soirée, the estate attorney and I have reviewed several documents and old laws, and it turns out that I don’t need your signature,” Lucius explained with no trace of shame or regard. “All the contract requires is the passing of Malfoy blood. And since you still live at the Manor and do not have a full-time position at a credible establishment, you can qualify as a dependent, thus allowing the marriage contract to be completed by me, the patriarch of the family.”

The surroundings seemed to fade away as Draco’s world came crashing down. He didn’t have the energy to mask the terror that now undoubtedly painted his features. His jaw hung slack. His skin paled. His eyes stared blankly.

Despite Draco being a legal-aged wizard, Lucius had managed to find a way to still exert power over him. The small amount of control he had temporarily seized over his own decisions was slipping away.

“Now,” Lucius continued, pacing back to his chair on the other side of the desk, “I would obviously prefer it to not come to that, so I advise that you listen very carefully.”

A daze clouded Draco’s head. He had to strain to focus on his father, attentive to every single word, intent to find any way to avoid a contract happening without his consent.

The scratching of chair legs against wooden floorboards filled the space as Lucius returned to his seat. He leaned in and addressed his son with stern conviction. “I suggest you make a final decision on who you would like to pursue. Immediately.”

Draco wished he could scoff. This clearly wasn’t a mere friendly “suggestion.” It was an order.

Lucius’s expression turned sour as he proceeded with the diatribe. “If you had been wise, you would have continued relations with Miss Greengrass, but since you decided to fool around instead, that opportunity has passed. According to her father, she is now involved with Theodore Nott.”

As she should be, Draco wanted to retort. But with the Silencing Charm still in place, all he could do was sneer as his father remained entirely indifferent to Draco’s dismay. 

“This further underscores how your inaction has negatively impacted not only you but our family,” Lucius persisted. “You lost us a perfectly respectable prospect.”

Every word that left Lucius’s lips only deepened the angered frustration that boiled inside Draco. Lost us a perfectly respectable prospect? Wasn’t it his wife Draco was supposed to be trying to find? Last he checked, a marriage was between two people — neither of which, in this case, was his father.

But this had never been about finding Draco a loving partner. It was about restoring the Malfoy family name in pureblood circles. This whole ordeal was merely a means to an end. 

“Fortunately for you,” Lucius stated, the beginning traces of his triumphant grin once more creeping across his thin lips, “you have one more chance to correct this gross negligence.”

Lucius reached for the scroll still resting on the corner of his desk and began to unroll it. Draco watched with nervous anticipation, only exhaling his held breath when he saw enough to deduce that it wasn’t a marriage contract. Although, it wasn’t much better.

It was another sodding prospect letter.

“Your mother and I received this in the post yesterday evening,” Lucius articulated while he smoothed out the curled edges of the parchment. “It’s from the Beaufort family.”

Draco’s gaze promptly snapped up to meet his father’s at the sounding of that name.

Lucius’s grin widened. “Yes, I thought that might be of interest to you.”

The older wizard extended the letter across the desk for Draco to read. When he took it into his hands, Draco scanned the entire document, his mind racing. For as long as he could remember, his family had spent their summer holiday in the outskirts of Paris, close to where the Beauforts resided. And for nearly as long, Draco had fancied their daughter, Aimée.

It had never been anything serious between them — nothing more than a few fleeting summer flings before he returned to Hogwarts and she to Beauxbaton. But the foundational connection and attraction were there.

A tangle of memories crossed over themselves in his already too cluttered mind. Had this been a month ago, he likely wouldn’t have protested the match. But too much had changed since then. And his current thoughts about the contract and towards Hermione weren’t wavering. 

Draco pushed the letter back across the surface of the desk.

“I have arranged a Portkey to Paris for me and your mother to spend tomorrow and Saturday with the Beauforts and further discuss the possibility of this match,” Lucius said as he returned the parchment to the corner of his desk. “If you are wise, you will also be in attendance. But regardless of whether or not you come, I expect a final decision from you by the end of Sunday night. Either you select a pureblood witch yourself, or I will move forward with the Beauforts. I’m not waiting any longer.” He peered directly at Draco, his gaze pointed and unrelenting. “You may think I am being unreasonable, but I am only doing this because I care about the family.”

Draco turned away from his father as he released a huffed snort. Theo was right. The time for hoping for anything different from his father had long since passed. Lucius had decided his priority. It wasn’t the members of the family; it was the idea of the family name. A desperate attempt to cling onto what he had had before the war.

But Draco wouldn’t be his pawn.

Lucius had made his choice. Draco had made his. And it was now clearer than ever that the two would never align.

He had until Sunday to give Lucius his final decision? Fine with Draco. He had already promised Hermione that he would stop this madness before then anyway.

Yet Draco kept his expression neutral, withholding all reaction from the man he once respected more than anyone in the world. Now, he felt nothing. For so long, Draco would have given anything for his father’s approval. But that seemed so trivial compared to everything else he now desired.

Even if he wasn’t presently silenced, Draco had no words for his father. Just disappointment. 

Lucius, too, appeared done with the conversation.

“That is all,” he declared with dismissive breeze. “You may go now." 

With a firm swish of the black elm wand, the study door flung open and the chair Draco was seated in propelled backwards. When he was out of the room, the door shut and his voice finally returned.

Still, not a sound escaped his unmoving lips. Draco merely shook his head at the closed door, hammering heartbeats pulsing inside his eardrums. It didn’t matter what Draco had to say. Lucius was going to do whatever he wanted regardless. But Draco was done playing his game.

It took all his self-control not to barge in there right now and tell his father no. Tell him that his heart belonged to someone else. That ardent desire practically dripped off his tongue, imagining the disgusted shock on Lucius’s face when Draco revealed not only that he had no intention of submitting to this most recent attempt to control his life, but that he was falling for a Muggleborn — Hermione Granger, no less.

But that would be counterproductive.

If Draco blatantly refused his father now, there was no stopping Lucius from signing a contract before Draco had the opportunity to change the circumstances that still constituted him as an alleged dependent. Come Sunday, though, that would change.

It was time for him to leave the Manor.

Draco drew in a breath before turning away from his father’s study. As he ambled through the corridors, he soaked in every bit of his surroundings. The flawless sparkle of the lavish chandeliers. The ornate details of the crown molding. The intricate structure of the vaulted ceilings. For the past twenty-odd years, this had been his home. Besides Hogwarts, it was all he had ever known. But not for much longer.

He continued to wander around the corridors until he once more found his mother, the witch presently seated in one of the sitting rooms.

Narcissa didn’t seem to notice his arrival. Her focus remained on the series of parchments scattered before her. When she eventually saw him standing in the entry, she gathered them into a pile and addressed her son.

“How was your talk with your father?”

Draco stepped fully into the space, but he didn’t bother joining her in one of the opposite chairs. “About to be expected,” he answered with a frown. “Were you aware that Father was speaking with the family estate attorneys?”

Narcissa paused to assess her son. “He mentioned it.”

Draco huffed. “And how do you feel about what he plans to do?”

“I believe that your father is doing what he deems best for the family.”

That only deepened Draco’s scowl. “I asked how you feel, not for a meaningless rehashing of what he thinks.” 

Narcissa once more contemplated her answer before clearly stating, “I stand with your father.”

A different type of disappointment now clenched inside his chest.

“But what about what I want?” Draco demanded. He refused to accept his mother’s answer so easily, too in disbelief that she was actually siding with Lucius on this. “Am I nothing more than a Malfoy heir to you? The next in line to continue our so-called family legacy?” He huffed as he shook his head back and forth. “What happened to considering my ambitions? What makes me happy?”

Narcissa merely blinked. “I don’t see how you can’t have both." 

Both? Under what circumstances did she believe he could have both?

“As long as it remains something… on the side.”

Draco’s heart plummeted. There was his answer.

If it wasn’t such an absurd notion, it would almost be humorous to imagine Hermione’s reaction to him suggesting that they keep everything between them “on the side.” Oh, yes, he could just picture it now. He would go get married to some “respectable” pureblood witch while Hermione idly accepted being the willful mistress.

There wasn’t a chance in the world.

“It’s all or nothing, Mother,” he firmly stated. He started to leave the room before turning around to say, “You can tell Father not to expect me to accompany you to France. I’ll have my own plans.”

He was nearly gone before his mother’s voice stopped him.

“This really means that much to you?”

Draco kept his back to his mother as he answered, “More than I care to presently admit.”

With nothing more to say, Draco left the sitting room and proceeded up to his bedroom.

When he emerged from beyond its doors the following morning, his parents were already gone. The next two days were officially his — and he had every intention of making the most of those final hours in the Manor. But first, he needed Hermione. 

Chapter Text

The scratching of her quill’s tip against parchment was the sole sound in Hermione’s office until Gretchen interrupted her mid-Friday-morning concentration. 

“Your boyfriend is early today.”

Hermione only partially processed the comment, too enraptured in her work to fully register what Gretchen had said.

“Already?” she asked, her focus still elsewhere. She flitted her gaze towards the time. “But it’s hardly past ten.”

A playful grin stretched across Gretchen’s lips. “Ah, so Mr Malfoy is your boyfriend?”

Hermione instantly caught her mistake.

“No, he is not,” she quickly corrected. Although, if things went the way Draco said they would, then that would change by the end of the weekend. But until then, she was determined to keep their relations primarily private. “He and I just like spending time together.”

Gretchen snorted. “Oh, I am well aware,” she tauntingly returned. “Today’s visit officially makes it every day this week that he’s come to see you.” She quirked an eyebrow, an amused glimmer in her eyes. “And I noticed that this time, you didn’t contend that you two are just friends.”

An instinctive blush threatened to reveal itself while Hermione indignantly folded her arms against her chest. “Yes, well, I noticed that you are making Mr Malfoy wait an unnecessarily long time.”

Another snort flared through Gretchen’s nose. “We can’t have that, can we?” Her grin widened. “In that case, I shall send him in.” Gretchen began to close the door, but she then turned around to coo, “You still haven’t denied that you two have finally become more than friends!”

Hermione couldn’t fend off the blush any longer. She didn’t want to lie, but evading the topic would soon turn impossible if Gretchen kept bringing it up. By Monday, though, Hermione hopefully wouldn’t have to hide it any longer.

Which was good, because the moment she spotted Draco, she was fairly certain the entire office could hear the fervent pounding in her chest.

Her only saving grace was that he promptly closed the door and tugged her out of her chair, muffling the hammering heartbeat against the firmness of his embrace. Work faded from the forefront of her mind as he leaned in and pressed his lips onto hers.

Every touch, every kiss, was as welcome as it always was, but something about it this morning felt different. More earnest. More urgent.

With a gentle push to break the connection, Hermione searched his eyes as budding concern began to tangle itself inside her gut.

“What happened during your conversation with your father?”

Disgust tainted his features. “I’d rather not discuss it right now,” Draco said, the shine in his eyes not nearly as bright as it had been a mere handful of seconds earlier. 

That only made her uneasiness swell. “At least tell me whether or not it was pertaining a marriage contract,” she asserted.

He flicked his gaze away before answering, “It was.”

Hermione concealed the way her stomach plummeted to the floorboards. “Did you tell him you won’t sign one?”

“I began to.”

“And?”

Draco’s upper lip twitched into a sneer. “Believe me,” he grumbled. “Then was not the proper time.”

“There won’t be a proper time,” Hermione argued. She was growing tired of his excuses.

But Draco didn’t back down. “I have it under control,” he insisted. “There was a recent… complication, but I know exactly what to do, and it’s all going to be fine.”

When Hermione shot him a sceptical glance, he took her hands into his.

“Before Sunday,” he said, not a trace of doubt in his resolve. His grey eyes locked with hers. “I still promise.”

Nagging uncertainty pestered her thoughts. She didn’t have much faith that this newfound ‘complication’ would be as easy to handle as Draco seemed to think. Lucius Malfoy had always been a vile man and had only proven more so from what Draco had told her the past few weeks. 

Instinct was begging her to ask him to divulge more about the conversation, let her provide insight into the situation, but she already knew what his response would be. Draco had made it plenty clear that this was something he wanted to resolve on his own. 

In a sense, she understood. For as long as she had known him, Draco had been independent. An only child herself, she, too, had always been fiercely self-sufficient. But while she eventually developed a close friendship with Ron and Harry, Draco had Crabbe and Goyle — neither of whom she suspected was much help in trying times. 

Yet it was more than that. When tasked with his mission sixth year, Draco had rejected the advice of others, even from Snape. He had insisted on doing it alone.

Perhaps it was a matter of pride. Satisfaction in knowing that he was capable of solving things himself. And when it came to this present predicament, with his father trying to control him as though he were still a child, his pride most certainly was at stake. 

So against her better judgement, Hermione held her tongue. She just hoped she wouldn’t regret it.

“Alright,” she settled, switching topics before she changed her mind. “Then to what do I owe the pleasure of you being here before noon?”

For the first time since arriving, Draco smiled. 

“Do I really need a reason for wanting to see you?” 

Hermione huffed. “You do when it’s the middle of my workday!” 

“Then let’s change that,” Draco stated with the smug confidence she had grown to appreciate. “Take the rest of the day off,” he proffered. “Spend it with me.”

He began to pull her away from her desk, but Hermione’s feet remained firmly in place.

“You know I can’t do that!” she promptly opposed. She waved a hand over the disarray of parchments stretched across every inch of her desk. “There’s still so much I have to do if I’m going to stick to my schedule!”

Draco snorted as he observed Hermione’s minor dive into frenzy. “Would it be that terrible to delay those action items until Monday?”

“Yes!” she snapped in response, almost offended that he would even think that a possibility. “We only have eight weeks until our deadline. Fifty-nine days. And that’s including Saturdays and Sundays!” She outstretched the parchment outlining her day for Draco to read. “Unless you think you can somehow assist me with this list, you’re just going to have to wait until noon like we agreed!”

She made to pull back, but Draco held onto the parchment.

“Not yet,” he said, his eyes scanning the page. “I haven’t decided which one of these I’m going to do.”

Hermione blinked. “What?”

“That’s what you said, isn’t it?” he returned with a grin. “Either help or leave?”

She still stared at him. “But I didn’t mean it seriously.”

“And why not?” Draco challenged.

“Because you don’t work here!” 

“So?”

“So you don’t know what you’re doing!”

“I’m a quick learner,” he said, entirely unfazed. He snatched the list fully into his hands. “You need to write a unit introducing the concept of theme in a story? I see no reason why I can’t try my hand at it.”

“But—”

“But what?” he contested before Hermione could protest further. “Do I not have enough expertise in the area?” An assured smirk graced his lips. “I am an author, am I not?”

“You wrote one book.”

Draco briefly chuckled. “I vaguely remember a witch once telling me that number wasn’t a limiting factor.”

She couldn’t decide to be frustrated or flattered that he had remembered their conversations well enough to use her words against her. 

“Give me a file of some of your other lesson plans so I can see what you’ve already done,” Draco contended, no sign of backing down. “And if what I produce while you work on something else is rubbish, then you’re no worse off.”

That was a valid point…

Hermione paused and considered his offer, but despite her best attempt, she couldn’t find any logical reason not to concede. Accepting defeat, Hermione retrieved a stack of parchments from within a nearby set of drawers.

“This is the previous unit on identifying character traits in fiction books,” she said as she dropped the file in his awaiting hands. “Use this as a starting point for what skills the students have previously mastered and for how to structure a lesson. Provide concrete examples from familiar stories, and whatever you do, do not get these lessons out of order!”

Satisfaction marked his features. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

~*~*~

Whatever adventure in Muggle London Hermione had planned for them that afternoon would have to wait. While this wasn’t how he had intended to spend his day with Hermione, Draco found that he didn’t mind. There was something calmly pleasurable about working beside her, even in pensive silence. And he quite enjoyed the challenge of lesson planning.

Admittedly, it wasn’t as easy as he had assumed. Determining how to guide children into finding deeper, universal meaning in fictional tales was a more difficult concept than he had anticipated. But after carefully reviewing Hermione’s other lessons and reflecting on his own learning, Draco seemed to get the hang of it.

The hours slipped away like an owl disappearing into the dark night sky, yet their mutual focus remained. Draco perused her notes, examined her common techniques across lesson plans, and referenced her bookshelves of Wizarding and Muggle children’s books. He engrossed himself with the task, intent on impressing Hermione with the end result, yet every now and then, he let his attention shift to the witch on the other side of the desk.

Bushy curls were gathered in a sloppy bun atop her head. Seemingly permanent creases of concentration adorned her forehead. Meticulous fervour glossed over her features. But every now and again, he would catch her attention straying from her parchment to meet his gaze. Each time, a tinge of pink would streak across her cheeks as she offered him a subtle smile before returning to work. While it wasn’t much, it was all Draco needed to confirm once again how much he valued her.

With his parents away until tomorrow evening, Draco intended to spend every moment in her presence. Bask in the reminder of what he stood to gain by risking so much. The inevitable falling out with his parents was looming on the horizon, hardly more than twenty-four hours away. But that was for later.

Despite his best attempts to remain focused on the current moment, Draco couldn’t shake his memories from the night before. The unwavering resolution in his father’s expression as he told Draco about his intentions. The honest confusion in his mother’s eyes when Draco rejected her “compromise.” The wrenching disappointment in his gut by his parents’ reactions that had haunted him since.

The situation with his parents had grown more convoluted than he ever imagined possible. But today wasn’t about that. Today was about him and Hermione — and making his final night in the Manor count.

If they ever finished her to do list.

It wasn’t until half-past seven when Hermione finally returned her quill — the white peacock feather one, he happily noticed — to its canister. She softly blew on the still drying ink before setting the parchment aside.

“Are you done?” she asked. It was perhaps the first words they had exchanged in two and a half hours.

“Still wrapping up the final lesson in the unit, but the other ones are complete.” He selected the scroll containing the first lesson plan and stood up to join Hermione on her side of the desk. With a smirk, he taunted, “I suppose this means I’ll just have to come early for lunch on Monday and finish it up for us.”

Hermione shot him a brief, challenging glare before a snorted laugh got the best of her. She unravelled the parchment and started to read.

After several moments, she handed it back to him, sincere surprise in her gaze. “You’re not terrible at this.”

A smug grin curled the edges of his lips. “I’m offended you thought there was a chance I would be.”

She merely rolled her eyes. “Don’t let it inflate your ego too much,” Hermione returned. “There are still several parts that require revisions, but it’s a good start.” 

She grabbed the fabric of his robes and pulled him down until she softly brushed her lips against his. 

“Thank you for your help today.”

Draco smiled. “Of course.”

Hermione’s list for the day still rested on the corner of her desk, all but the theme unit marked off. 

“Think we can consider this one close enough to being done?” Draco asked, motioning his head towards the parchment. 

Hermione reclaimed her quill and crossed off the final item. “I suppose so,” she accepted. “But only if you really do come in on Monday and finish it!”

“It’s another promise.” 

This time, Draco was the one to pull her in for a kiss. Short and sweet, it took considerable willpower not to disregard the fact they were still in her office and snog her proper. But there were other things Draco had in mind for their evening.

“Now that your work is settled,” Draco said, “it’s my turn to pick what we do next.”

Hermione easily accepted. “Just what do you have planned for us?” she asked, an expectant glint in her gaze.

He twined his fingers with hers. “Considering my parents are away for the evening,” Draco began, assured confidence finding its way into his chest, “I was hoping I could properly show you the Manor since I didn’t have the chance last weekend.” He grinned, already anticipating her reaction as he continued, “Particularly since this will be my last night there.”

Astonished hope ignited in her eyes. “You’re moving out?”

Draco nodded. “You were right,” he said, knowing just how much she’d enjoy hearing those words come from his lips. “I should have moved out weeks ago.”

“Better late than never, I suppose,” she returned. Her shocked amazement had yet to disappear. Part teasing, part serious, she continued, “What prompted this overdue epiphany?” 

A light chuckle filled the space between them. “I’ll explain later,” Draco replied, maintaining his grip on their interlocked fingers. “But what do you say to getting some takeaway first? There’s something I’ve been wanting to do.”

~*~*~

Half-filled containers laid spread across the surface of the Manor’s formal dining room table; Hermione and Draco sat on top, directly at its centre.

Draco swallowed another bite of his dish. “Not a chance,” he firmly stated. “That’s where I draw the line.”

“With the Tube?” Hermione asked, her expression alight with disbelief. “The Eye you’d consider, but not the Tube? It’s hardly different from the Hogwarts Express!”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Draco argued. He grabbed one of the white boxes of Chinese takeaway Hermione had selected for dinner that evening and shovelled another serving of lo mein noodles onto his plate. “First of all, one is magical and the other relies entirely on Muggle engineering. And more importantly, one remains above ground while the other one does not.”

Hermione lifted an eyebrow. “So you trust the free-standing four-hundred-foot tall circle more than the elaborate train system that millions of people take every day? All because one of them goes underground?” She laughed. “Did you or did you not live in a dungeon for seven years at Hogwarts?”

“That’s different,” Draco dismissed, pointing at her with the tips of his fork. “Last I checked, the Tube isn’t reinforced with magical enchantments to ensure nothing goes wrong.”

Despite his very valid explanation, Hermione continued to laugh at him. “Who would have guessed that Slytherin’s high and mighty prince was afraid of being underground?”

Draco balled up one of the thin paper napkins and threw it at her. “That’s not what I said.”

“But that’s what I heard,” she taunted.

Her giggles continued, and even Draco managed a chuckle. “You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”

Hermione grinned. “Not until you ride the Tube with me.”

“Then I expect to hear about this until my dying day.” 

He continued to smile at her, but Hermione’s similar affection promptly faded.

“Or until something happens and you and I—” 

“Hermione, don’t.”

He could already tell where she was going with that thought, and he couldn’t bear hearing it as even a slight possibility.

But as he had long ago learned to expect from her, Hermione proceeded as intended.

“You need to tell me what happened during your conversation with your father yesterday,” she cautioned. She pushed around the few remaining grains of rice on her plate as she continued, “Because knowing you, it’s likely why you’re now choosing to move out.”

A slow, sharp intake of air filled his lungs. “It is.”

“Then what did he say?”

What little hunger remained swiftly left any portion of Draco’s mind. He set aside his plate and contemplated where to begin. 

“Pureblood families have always valued tradition.”

Hermione adjusted her cross-legged position on top of the table so she fully faced him. She blinked, waiting for Draco to continue.

“With our magical lineages dating back centuries, we are raised to blindly follow what our ancestors have made a signature part of our bloodline. Some I quite like, such as Black family members being named after constellations, while others, such as insisting on having nightly family dinners while sitting on opposite ends of this comically long table, are relatively harmless.” A dry swallow travelled down his throat. “Then there are the ones like maintaining blood purity.”

Intent focus pierced in Draco’s direction as nothing but silence resonated from Hermione. She was listening harder than he had ever seen her do back at Hogwarts — if that was even humanly possible. 

He briefly closed his eyes before continuing, “I don’t have to explain to you what my family lost in the aftermath of the war. My mother jeopardised everything to ensure my welfare, a fact I’m not certain my father has forgotten. Our status was vital to him. While we’ve managed to maintain an overall positive perception from the general wizarding public, he hasn’t been able to regain our previous status level in Pureblood circles.”

“What about the soirée?” Hermione asked. Her forehead wrinkled from genuine curiosity. “There were plenty of important Pureblood families there.”

“True,” Draco accepted, “but that wasn’t until after I published my memoir.” He drew in another slow breath, realising something for the first time. “Perhaps the reason my father is so resentful towards my writing career is that he’s bitter my memoir has done more to reestablish our family name than anything he’s done. And he wanted to be the one to fix things. Get our family name back on track. Yet here I am, the chess piece he has protected the entire game in order to sacrifice for his ultimate win, switching teams right before he can make his final move.”

Hermione hugged her arms around her legs. “That’s certainly a strong possibility,” she stated, her eyes soft as she peered at him. “But most of these are things you already knew. So what changed last night? What’s the new complication?”

Draco lifted himself off the surface of the table and found his footing on the ground. He walked over to the chest along the room’s perimeter and retrieved the jewelled box. When he rejoined Hermione back atop the table, he opened the box for her to see.

“For the past month, my parents have been receiving proposition letters from prospective Pureblood partners expressing interest in joining our families,” Draco continued to explain.

Hermione shuffled through the range of letters. Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Victoria Flint, Helena Fawley, Alesia Burke, Lianne Avery, Astoria Greengrass… The list of names went on. But there was only one witch Draco cared about. And she would never have a letter in that pile.

“There must be at least twenty letters here,” Hermione said, faint incredulity in her tone. “This many Pureblood families still care that much about signing their daughters away for the sake of tradition?”

“Not all of them,” Draco answered. “Or at least, from what Astoria told me, her father is open to her pursuing other options. She chose Theo Nott all on her own.”

“He’s still Pureblood,” Hermione pointed out.

“But at least she got to make that decision for herself.”

Hermione made to return the letters to the box, but Draco took them into his own hands before she could set them down. For the first time, he actually looked at them.

He had never bothered. Never cared. They represented everything he despised. The symbol of his father’s attempt to control his future.

The mere act of holding the parchments made his stomach churn. His father expected him to pick one of these witches by the end of the weekend. As if selecting a life partner required nothing more than reading a resume of qualifications.

That was no way to find a meaningful connection. Sure, he could be lucky. A marriage with Astoria wouldn’t have been bad. One with Aimeé wouldn’t be either. But Draco wasn’t looking for “not bad.” He wanted happiness. And he had already found it.

He couldn’t stand looking at the letters for one more moment. Not giving it a second thought, Draco pulled out his wand. Its tip met the edge of Pansy’s letter — one of the first proposition letters they had received just four weeks earlier — and within seconds, the entire stack of parchments was engulfed in flames until nothing but a pile of black ashes remained.

His gaze met Hermione’s.

“I want to be with you,” he declared, relishing the way her eyes still seemed to glow despite the flames having already extinguished. “And my father won’t stop that.”

Elation filled his chest as Hermione took his hands. 

“I want to be with you, too,” she echoed. He only had a moment to revel the sentiment before her illuminated glow diminished. “But you still haven’t told me what this newfound complication is.”

Draco fleetingly glanced at the wall and then back at Hermione. 

“Before I tell you, I remind you that I already have it under control,” he said, not needing to experience what her explosive reaction would be if he didn’t provide that necessary disclaimer. He braced himself anyway. “But my father found a way to sign a contract without my authorisation.”

As easily predicted, Hermione still erupted, her anger flaming red.

“How dare he! Just how does he think—”

Draco held up his hand to stop her before she spiralled into a full-blown tirade.

“Apparently, I still constitute as a dependent because—”

“You still live in the Manor.”

He chuckled. Of course she was smart enough to piece that together so quickly.

She released an exaggerated scoff, fiercely crossing her arms across her chest. “And that’s why you’re moving out.”

“Precisely.”

Straight loathing adorned her features as she huffed. “The fact that a parent can have so much control over their child, dependent or not, in this century is completely barbaric!” Hermione seethed. Draco could practically see the wheels in her mind continuing to process. “But if preventing him from being able to complete the contract for you is as easy as you moving out, then why would your father tell you?”

“Because I don’t think he believes I’d consider it,” Draco cooly explained. “As I previously told you, every member of the Malfoy line since the eleventh century has lived within these walls their entire life.” He sneered. “Another beloved tradition.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “And just because you still live at home, you constitute as a dependent?” Evidently, she had moved past her outrage and was now fixated on its potential implications for them and their present situation. “What about your writing career? Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Supposedly not,” Draco replied, answering the same questions he had asked himself the night before. “Since it was a one-time book deal, technically speaking, I presently do not have a contracted job, thus further qualifying me as a dependent. That, and I’ve only been spending the family’s money. The book’s royalties are sitting in a separate vault in Gringotts, completely untouched.”

“Is that account solely in your name?”

Draco nodded. “Which is why if I leave the Manor and live on my own Galleons, this absurd loophole should no longer apply.”

“Should?” Scepticism flared within Hermione’s gaze. “You want to risk your future on what ‘should’ work?”

“What other choice do I have?” Draco countered. “My father gave me until Sunday to make a decision. Either I pick someone from this charred up pile of parchment, or he’ll proceed with an old family friend of ours.”

Hermione scoffed, undeniable disdain etched in every muscle on her face. “And he expects you to simply submit to his will?”

“Why not?” Draco said, his voice turning faintly weaker. “I took the Dark Mark for the sake of the family, didn’t I? So in his mind, how is this different?”

“Because everything’s different now,” she returned, matching his tone in softness. She scooted closer. “Your father may be intent on sticking with his outdated mindset, but the rest of us have moved on. After back to back wars, I don’t think any of us want to go through that again. So we’ve learned. We’ve changed.” She rested her hand on this knee. “Look at you. Look at us. You and I… We used to hate each other. And now…”

A small smirk graced Draco’s lips. “Now that couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

He placed his hand next to hers and gently grazed his thumb over her knuckles. Hermione’s eyes focused downward to watch the repeated motion.

“Where will you go?” she asked after several moments of comfortable silence. 

“Theo’s,” Draco said. “I owled him this morning. I’ll stay there until I can find a more permanent place.”

Hermione considered the information. “Are you sure this will be enough?” she pressed. “Or should you also get a contracted job? At least to be safe? After the work you did today, I’m sure I could talk to the head of our company and arrange something for you, even if temporary.”

Draco lifted an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “Sure you aren’t offering just so you can see my oh, so delightful face in your office every day? Are our daily lunches not sufficient?”

A sharp but playful swat of her hand snapped against his knee while Draco merely laughed.

“I’m serious!” 

“As am I,” he said with a chuckle. “Face it, Granger. You just can’t get enough of me.”

Hermione overdramatically rolled her eyes. “Remind me again why I like you?”

“Perhaps it has something to do with my irresistible charm?”

She snickered. “It certainly doesn’t have to do with your modesty!”

“Modesty is for Hufflepuffs,” Draco off-handedly dismissed. He then leaned in. “You knew what you were getting into when you got yourself involved with me.”

Hermione briefly caught her bottom lip between her teeth before also leaning in and whispering, “Yes. Yes, I did.”

She bridged the remaining space and connected them with her kiss. Draco rested his hand against her cheek, absorbing the warmth that radiated from her. On the surface, the kiss was just a simple, lingering peck, but to Draco, it was so much more.

For in that moment, he was kissing Hermione Granger in his ancestral home. The place he had been raised to believe that witches and wizards like her were inferior. The place the Dark Lord had made his headquarters. The place she had been tortured.

But now this place’s meaning to Draco was shifting. It was here that he realised Hermione felt the same about him. Here that he began to defy his father. And here that would soon be nothing more than a place he used to live.

When Hermione pulled away, the curious glint in her eyes had returned.

“Can I ask one more thing?”

Draco snorted. “Even if I said no, I doubt that would stop you.”

She paused for only a moment before asking, “Why wait until tomorrow to move out of the Manor? Why not move out tonight while your parents are gone?”

It was a valid question. It certainly would be the more practical approach. While Draco had to admit that a major part of him wanted to witness the dumbfounded shock on his father’s face when he learned that his son had bested him, there was another reason.

“Closure,” he answered simply. “I need this one final night. Here. With you.”

Draco took her hands into his. He met her gaze and stared into the chocolate warmth.

“I’m not certain about a lot of things in my life right now,” he said, gripping her hands tighter. “Since the end of the war, my life has been in a constant state of limbo. A question of how to move on with my life now that everything has changed. And then this past month happened...”

A small choke broke in his voice as he pushed himself to continue. “Starting tomorrow, I will be faced with more questions. More changes. My life as I presently know it will disappear.” He paused to offer her a faint smile. “But that doesn’t scare me. Because I know one thing for sure.”

Confidence swelled inside him when he caught the expectant glimmer in her eyes.

“I like you, Hermione,” he said, though the words felt insufficient to truly capture the unbridled joy he experienced whenever he was in her presence. “And I want to see where this goes. With us.” He smiled bigger than he ever thought possible. “Because you’re the best damn thing that’s happened to me in a very long time.”

Nothing else but the witch in front of him mattered as she peered back at him, her entire presence aglow. She flitted her gaze to where their hands connected and then looked at Draco.

“Even better than your memoir?”

“Far better,” Draco didn’t hesitate to reply. “Fame, Galleons. I already had those. And yes, the memoir helped me reflect on my mistakes and become the man I am today, but the best thing about my memoir, without a question of a doubt, is that it brought me to you.”

Hammering heartbeats echoed inside his chest. With the confession of his sincerest emotions, it wasn’t long before Hermione once more had their lips sealed together. 

The kiss was firmer this time, both of her hands gripped to the fabric of his shirt as she tugged him closer. With their chests pressed against one another, Draco threaded his fingers into her curls, intent on keeping her in place. Soft lips collided with his, a wordless confirmation that his unyielding feelings were reciprocated.

When she drew away, hot breath ghosted across his lips as they temporarily rested their foreheads against one another before diving in again. The resulting force of her second kiss motioned Draco backwards. Carefully avoiding the food containers and plates, he planted one hand on the surface of the table to stabilise himself. But with each deepening kiss, the farther down he slipped. 

Before long, his back was flush against the table with Hermione’s lithe body rested atop his. Slender fingers traced his jawline as their tongues met. Draco kept his eyes shut, basking in the sensation of her gentle touch and smooth curves. One hand slid down the length of her torso while the other remained buried in her hair.

He yearned to explore every inch of her skin. Savour as much of her as humanly possible. She was exquisite, and he longed to feel more.

Taking the small step, he slipped a hand under the bottom hem of her blouse. He rested his hand on her lower back, allowing him to subtly guide her movements as she further melted into their kiss.

Delicate fingers made their way down the length of his neck and danced over the exposed skin of his chest before grazing the fabric of his shirt. The simple contact sent his heart ajolt as building need began to surge inside of him.

He directed his attention elsewhere, leaving soft kisses in the sensitive curve of her neck. Her breathing hitched as a faint gasp escaped her lips. Draco revelled in the contented sound but quickly became distracted when the first button of his shirt was pulled free.

The kissing stopped. He focused solely on Hermione as, one by one, she released the buttons from their loops. Shallow breaths half-filled his lungs. When she reached the final button, she peered up at him with a small grin before fully exposing his chest.

He let out a hiss as her hand wandered up his torso, across his chest, to the collar. She took hold of the fabric, slid it down his shoulder, and—

Draco grabbed hold of her hand and sat upright before she could go any further. She blinked at him in confusion before understanding sank in.

“I know what’s there.”

Before he could protest, she removed the rest of his shirt, exposing his left forearm.

There was no disillusion between them about who he used to be. But showing her the evidence of his wrongdoings felt different. Years after Voldemort’s defeat, the scarred tissue had yet to heal, a permanent reminder of his greatest regret.

He winced as her fingers grazed the faded outline of the intertwined serpent and skull.

“I don’t see this as an entirely bad thing,” she said, her gaze fixated on the Mark. “It proves how much you’ve grown these past few years. A testament to the fact that when a person sincerely wants to, they can change for the better.”

She dropped his arm and then made to cup his cheek. 

“And it’s because of that change, Draco, that I like you, too.”

He kissed her, a symphony reaching its crescendo inside his chest. Amid the chaos in his life, she was his constant source of light and reassurance. The promising beacon that, regardless of how his parents reacted tomorrow, he had her.

Slow, languid kisses quickly became more urgent, more fervent. The tips of her fingers gripped the skin of his back in fervid desire as Draco kept her firmly pressed against his bare chest. The desperate pounding in his ribcage increased with each new touch, imagining what it would be like to have that burning contact elsewhere on his body. Cool palms gradually gliding over his skin. Slender fingers closely wrapped around his length. All before he plunged himself deep inside her.

The thought alone was enough to send pulsing need to surge in his core. 

He wanted her. Today. Tomorrow. As long as she’d have him.

But things still weren’t resolved with his parents. And he knew how important that was to her before their relationship proceeded any further.

“We need to stop,” Draco forced himself to say, “or I’ll end up shagging you on this table.”

Hermione grazed her fingers down the muscled length of his arm, leaving gooseflesh in her touch’s wake. She reached the end and interlaced their hands together.

“Then you better show me where your bedroom is.”

Draco blankly stared. He must have heard wrong. Imagined what he wished she would say instead of what she had actually said. Because it was too good to be true.

But when he felt the tug on her grip, encouraging him to follow her off the table, he knew it was real.

“Are you sure?”

Hermione squeezed their connection tighter before nodding. “I said I want to be with you, Draco, and I mean that. In every sense.”

His heart lifted, but he still needed to make sure. “I hope you don’t think that’s why I brought you here tonight.”

“I know it’s not,” Hermione assured him. “But if this is your last night in the Manor, we better make the most of it.”

An impish glint shone in her eyes, and Draco’s apprehensions instantly escaped from consciousness. He couldn’t agree more.

Their fingers laced together, Draco kept his gaze on Hermione as he led her out of the formal dining room, up two flights and across the length of the Manor, to his bedroom. Every step set his heartbeat faster. Uncontrollable, jittered anticipation pulsed to his farthest extremities. And when she laid down and peered up at him from the comfort of his bed, the rest of the world froze.

Slightly trembling fingers brushed through her curls. “I haven’t done this in a while,” he confessed, his words a whisper.

“Neither have I.” Her gentle eyes locked with his. “But I want to. With you.”

Draco brought his lips to hers with an ardent kiss. Their tongues met, and he lost himself in her every sensation. His hands fiddled with the hem of her shirt and slipped themselves underneath. Warm skin radiated against his fingertips as they roamed along the silken curve of her waist.

Sensing his desire, Hermione propped herself upright and guided Draco to remove the blouse. He pressed kisses along her exposed collarbone while his hands slipped behind her back and released the clasp of her bra. He slid the straps down her arms, and when he dropped the bra beside him, Draco pulled back to take her in.

Everything about her was beautiful. From her unparalleled intellect to her untamed hair. He cherished every bit of her. He only wished he hadn’t wasted so many years ignoring it.

With a firm but tender hand upon her chest, Draco pushed Hermione down against the mattress. When his mouth found her nipple, Hermione released a shaky whimper. Her hands gripped his muscled back, urging him closer as his tongue darted across the peak.

“Draco,” she gasped, and he could swear he had never heard a sweeter sound. Her fingers fumbled with the buckle of his belt, fighting it free. She pulled the dragon-hide leather through the loops and soon left the belt forgotten on the side of his bed.

His hands wandered down her smooth skin and under her waistband, meeting the knickers waiting underneath. The pounding against his ribcage intensified as he ran two fingers over the thin layer of fabric, Hermione’s hips arching off the mattress at even the slightest of touch. He inclined his head to steal another kiss as his fingers slipped past the material and ran along her slick wetness. Her resulting moan reverberated against his lips as he stroked the seam of her slit, his cock aching in anticipation. 

As he continued his ministrations, Hermione returned to ridding him of his trousers, until layer by layer, they were both freed of their clothing. And when Draco sheathed himself inside her warmth, he discovered a new level of pleasure he didn’t think possible.

The heat of her shaky exhales wisped against his shoulder as he began to move. Another gasp escaped her lips and he quickly sealed it with a hard kiss. His eyes fluttered closed as her tightness enveloped him, eased by the evidence of their mutual need. Lustful fingers threaded themselves into his hair, soft pants and erratic breathing filling the air around them.

All else faded from consciousness but the feel of Hermione’s skin against his own. His movement grew faster, and she began to tense beneath him. Desperate need built inside him, unsure how much longer he’d be able to last. But when his fingers slipped between them and rubbed circles against her sensitive spot, Hermione arched into him, releasing a cry of heightened pleasure. Draco met the same release, and when he was fully spent, he collapsed beside Hermione — the witch he’d give up everything for.

Chapter Text

Daylight broke through Draco’s bedroom window. Eyelids still closed, Hermione remained blissfully at ease under his covers. Perhaps it had been slightly sudden to take such an intimate step with Draco, but she didn’t regret it one bit. She knew how she felt about him, and he knew how he felt about her. And after the solidifying and voicing of those feelings last night, the moment had felt right. Well, that, and her vindictive side found quite significant pleasure in knowing how enraged Lucius Malfoy would be if he ever learned what she and his son had done within the ancestral home. 

But she didn’t want to think about Lucius Malfoy right now or any of the other implications that risked ruining what she and Draco had together. This morning was entirely theirs.

All other thoughts drifted from consciousness as Hermione melted into her wizard’s embrace. The warmth of his body enveloped her as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in tighter.

“Morning.” His voice was groggy, deeper and gruffer than usual.

Hermione peered over her shoulder and smiled. “Morning to you, too.”

Faint trails of Draco’s fingertips skimmed over the length of her bare thigh. “Did you sleep well?”

“Perfectly.”

“Me too.” 

They laid there in contented silence, the repeated movement of Draco’s light fingers the only thing that prevented the bedroom from seeming entirely frozen. The past few weeks had already proven that she and Draco could talk for hours and never run out of things to say, but even in near-total stillness, Hermione appreciated his presence all the same.

Within these walls, nothing else mattered. Not his father, not the threat of a marriage contract, not even her job. Just the two of them. They could remain like this all day, and Hermione wouldn’t have a single complaint.

But, of course, the world outside had other plans.

A sharp tapping broke their tranquil bubble. Flapping its massive wings just beyond the nearest window was a great horned owl.

The deep rise and fall of Draco’s chest brushed against Hermione’s back as the heavy sigh of his exhale breezed over her neck. With what seemed to be significant effort, Draco removed himself from behind Hermione and pushed himself off the bed. He tugged on his pants before opening the window.

The owl landed on a table and dropped the scroll. Even from her position on the bed, Hermione could see the same emerald wax seal that had been on her invitation to the soirée. Draco stared at the parchment. He didn’t pick it up.

“Bonjour, Achille. Ça faisait longetemps,” Draco said to the bird. “Our owlery has food for you. You can rest there before your long journey back.”

The owl released a short hoot in understanding before expanding its wings and flying out the window. Even after its departure, Draco still stared at the untouched scroll.

“Your parents?” Hermione eventually asked.

Draco nodded. “They’re in France meeting with an old family friend they want me to consider.”

“Aren’t you going to read what it says?”

He shook his head. “It’ll only make me mad, so why bother?”

Hermione sat up. “Because it could say something important.”

“I doubt it,” Draco said with a groan. “Probably just a reminder that my father gave me until tomorrow to choose someone.” He briefly smiled. “Little does he know that I already did.”

A lightness filled Hermione as the mattress bounced beneath her and Draco rejoined her on the bed. He swiftly kissed her, threading his fingers through her tangled curls.

Her brain knew that matters weren’t resolved, but in her heart, they felt like they were. Draco had chosen her. And today he was going to move out of the Manor. If all went as planned, this whole convoluted marriage contract business would soon be behind them, and they could wake up like this whenever they wanted.

When Draco pulled away from the kiss, the soft glow of morning sun illuminated his features. His bright smile exposed the dimples in his cheeks. “Is your hair always his messy when you wake up, or would that be the aftermath of last night?”

A cheeky grin replaced his smile, and Hermione shoved him with the ball of her hand. “Must you ruin such a sweet moment?”

“Couldn’t resist,” Draco said with a chuckle before he kissed her again.

They fell back and once more relaxed in the bed, and Hermione rested her head upon Draco’s chest. The comfortable silence returned, but it didn’t take long for the burgeoning thoughts swelling inside her mind to become deafening. Now that the morning kisses had ceased and the sweet bliss of ignorance had shattered with the arrival of the letter, Hermione’s brain had regained control of her emotions. As much as she wanted to play the happy couple, she could no longer pretend as though Draco wasn’t about to make a life-altering decision.

“Are you nervous to tell your parents?” she quietly asked.

Draco drew in a long, slow breath. He waited several seconds before responding, “I wouldn’t call it nervous.” His fingers laced with hers and settled on the curve of his torso. “It just feels odd knowing that everything’s about to change but not knowing how.”

Hermione knew that feeling. She had felt similarly at the end of fourth year when Voldemort had returned. While the two situations were clearly different, the uncomfortable sense of apprehension was undoubtedly the same. At least Draco was the one in control here, and the change that was about to happen, while jarring at first, would ultimately be for the best.

She tried to give him a reassuring look. “Perhaps there’s a chance your parents will one day come around. They were willing to risk everything for you during the war.”

But even as Hermione said it, she knew what a slim chance there was of that. Draco’s dismissive snort only confirmed it.

“Both of my parents have made their stance on this matter very clear,” Draco said with a resigned groan. “I used to think there was hope that my mother would ultimately side with me, but the last time we spoke, she said that she stands by my father and his decisions.”

That alone made Hermione want to find wherever Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy currently were in France and give them a firm talking to about respecting people’s free right to choose! But for now, she settled for an aggravated huff. “I don’t understand how your parents can prioritize something as inconsequential as blood status over their son’s happiness.”

“Trust me,” Draco sneered. “I’ve been asking myself that same thing for weeks.” His muscles relaxed as he stared at the ceiling. “I suppose they’re too deeply ingrained with their pureblood education."

“In what way?” Hermione asked when he didn’t expand any further.

Draco considered the question for a few seconds before saying, “It’ll be easier if I show you.”

~*~*~

A few minutes later, Hermione was standing beside Draco outside a closed set of double doors.

“Wait here,” he instructed. “I’ll be right back.”

Careful not to let the door open wide enough for Hermione to steal a glimpse within, Draco slipped inside the room. Naturally, Hermione was impatient to learn what he wanted to show her — particularly if it required that he do something before letting her see. 

That curiosity was quickly answered when Draco returned moments later and led her inside. 

Everything instantly made sense. Over a hundred pairs of painted eyes pierced her direction, each one seeming to be more disapproving than the next. Menacing scowls. Pursed lips. Clenched jaws. 

Many figures travelled to neighbouring portraits to share in the demonstration of their dismay, and not a single one of them seemed pleased to see the witch that had stepped into their presence. It didn’t take much to conclude that these portraits somehow knew and recognised who Hermione was — including her blood status.

And yet, they didn’t say a word. Or rather, couldn’t due to the Silencing Charm Draco had undoubtedly cast on them. 

Hermione tore her vision away from the portraits to look at Draco. “I assume these are your ancestors,” she easily surmised.

“Pleasant lot, aren’t they?” Draco returned with a twitch of his upper lip. His eyes wandered across the display of ornately framed portraits. “I could tell you the name and history of every single one of them.”

The echo of his shoes bounced off the walls as Draco paced in front of the lowest tier of portraits. The inhabitants could do nothing but disdainfully glare at the youngest member of their bloodline.

“A young pureblood’s early education is different from other wizards’,” Draco began to explain. “As you already know, there currently isn’t an established education system for parents to follow before their child reaches Hogwarts.”

“But not for long,” Hermione promptly interjected.

Draco chuckled. “Not for long,” he accepted. “Though I suspect the reason it took until now is that pureblood families didn’t want any regulations about what they taught their children.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and ambled back towards Hermione. “Sure, I learned my basic maths and reading, but like many other pureblood children, the vast majority of my early education was centred around memorising my family history. Learning to be proud that I’m a Malfoy.”

He surveyed the room. “I spent countless hours here, forced to listen to every witch and wizard regale tales from their lifetime. My father would then repeatedly instil the inherent prestige of being a Malfoy and a pureblood. And that one day, I’d be expected to achieve just as great things as my ancestors and join them on these walls.”

“You are doing great things,” Hermione made sure to comment. “While your father may not think so, your memoir is a significant achievement that brings new meaning to the Malfoy family name.” 

Draco scoffed but still offered her a small smile. “A memoir recounting my heinous crimes as a teenager wasn’t exactly what I imagined my legacy would be.” He shifted to face the expanse of paintings. “Not that it matters anymore. I can all but guarantee that after today, my portrait will never hang on these walls. But I no longer care to associate myself with these witches and wizards. The older I get, the more I realise that they’re nothing more than pureblooded bigots.”

A grimace tainted Draco’s features, and Hermione rested a placating hand on his shoulder.

“It’s not because you’re getting older,” she said, her voice firm but gentle. “It’s because you’re no longer blindly accepting what you were told as a child.” 

He huffed. “Only took me twenty years.” 

Hands still in his pockets, Draco seemed to be tinkering with something. Was he more nervous about telling his parents than he was letting on?

But her mind was working so fast, Hermione hardly had time to fully consider that question. A new curiosity had taken the forefront.

“Would you be the first Malfoy to not marry a pureblood?”

There was a slight moment of silence.

“First?” Draco shook his head. “No, not the first. But it’s more complicated than that.” He paused to consider a thought, and then said, “Let me show you something else." 

His hands withdrew from his pockets, and Draco led Hermione to an adjacent room, not pausing to unmute the portraits when they left. This second room was smaller than the other and had significantly less decor. All it contained was a single tapestry — though a significantly large one at that. Gold embroidered threads of tree branches spread across the fabric alongside countless names and dates. On top read "Sanctimonia Vincet Semper.” Purity will always conquer.

Hermione tentatively approached it. “It’s just like the Black family’s,” she said with shocked amazement. Her fingers hovered over the branch of a long-deceased ancestor. “I thought that was the only one of its kind.”

Draco snorted. “You clearly don’t visit many ardent pureblood family homes.”

The Malfoys’ family tapestry was in much better condition than the one still hanging in Grimmauld Place. No sign of fading, and certainly no evidence of Doxy gnawing. But the more noticeable difference was the complete lack of disowned descendants.

“If you wouldn’t be the first one not to marry a pureblood, then how come no one has been removed from this tapestry?” Hermione asked. “Sirius Black, your mother’s sister… both were burned off the Black family tree by your great-aunt. Yet everyone here seems to be intact.”

“Because, believe it or not”—Draco stepped beside Hermione and joined her in front of the tapestry—“there used to be a time when Malfoys didn’t only marry purebloods.” He pointed to one of the Malfoys from the mid-seventeenth century. “You won’t find his portrait in that gallery, but this is Caeso Malfoy, the last Malfoy to marry a Muggleborn.”

“That was over four hundred years ago."

“Right before the Statute of Secrecy went into effect,” Draco added, “a law that the Malfoys initially opposed because it limited their ability to engage in social affairs with high-status Muggles. But once the law was passed, the seventeenth-century Malfoys became staunchly supportive of the clear divide between Muggles and Wizards. They even refuted any claims that they had ever felt otherwise.”

“Thus beginning the start of the Malfoy family’s pureblood supremacy mindset?”

“Precisely. While there were a few periods during which certain Malfoys were permitted to marry half-bloods to avoid excessive inbreeding, that practice promptly ceased with the formal creation of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and the deeming of the Malfoys as one of the designated ‘pureblood’ families.”

Hermione considered the information. “Which is why you’re now expected to maintain that status?”

“Especially since I’m the sole male heir,” Draco confirmed. He then turned to face Hermione, taking her hands as his pewter gaze bore into hers. “But I’m tired of blood status being the only thing that seems to matter in this family. It’s already gone on for far too long.”

Hermione glanced at the tapestry before lingering her attention on Draco. “Somewhere down the Malfoy family line, all the prejudice needed to stop.”

He grinned. “And now it has.”

~*~*~

Draco gripped the cool object still stashed inside his pocket as Hermione stood just beyond the fireplace’s hearth.

“Are you sure you don’t want anyone else here with you?”

“Positive,” he told her for what must have been the fourth time in the past hour. “This needs to be a conversation between me, my parents, and no one else.”

It was now far past noon, and Draco had already risked keeping Hermione at the Manor so late. His parents would undoubtedly come back in time for their traditional formal Saturday night dinner, meaning that they would likely be home within the next few hours. By that time, Draco needed to be packed and ready to leave the Manor as soon as their conversation concluded. So as much as he wanted Hermione to stay, it was better that she left.

Yet there was one more thing Draco wanted to do before she did.

His clench around the object in his pocket tightened. “I hope you aren’t doubting whether or not I’ll go through with it.”

Hermione didn’t hesitate. “After last night, I don’t doubt you in the slightest.”

Good. He suspected as much, but having the confirmation made him all the more confident in what was about to happen.

Today he was making one of the most important decisions of his young life. The only other event that could possibly rival this one was his taking of the Dark Mark — though to call that a decision of his own doing was questionable.

His whole life, Draco had always done what was expected of him. Followed his father’s desires in hopes of gaining his approval. But that no longer held true. He felt no loyalty to his father or any of the other Malfoys that had come before him.

“There’s something I want you to have before you leave.”

Hermione tilted her head curiously, and Draco pulled the item out of his pocket, revealing the centuries-old Malfoy crest-adorned ring.

“Most wizards get a watch for their seventeenth birthday,” Draco began to explain, his eyes transfixed on the platinum ring. “In the Malfoy family, they pass on this. But due to… circumstances… it didn’t come into my possession until later that summer when my father returned from Azkaban.” 

He frowned as the unpleasant memories came rushing back. “The ring is supposed to signify becoming a Malfoy man, but under the control of Voldemort’s reign, I never felt right wearing it. So I never have.” He released a humourless laugh. “Which is quite ironic when you consider that my father is now threatening to take advantage of my ‘dependent’ status.”

Draco closed his palm around the ring. It was cold and unfamiliar. He had never cared to wear it and now he never would. While getting dressed this morning, he had rediscovered its box in the back corner of one of his drawers — which was how this new plan for the family heirloom had sprouted.

With his free hand, Draco opened Hermione’s palm and placed the ring upon its centre. “I want you to have it,” he said, peering up to meet her eyes. “As a thank you for helping me reach this point.” 

Hermione blinked several times, and Draco smiled in amusement at the way her mind must be spinning. 

She snapped herself out of the apparent daze and raised an eyebrow. “And just what exactly am I supposed to do with a Malfoy crest ring?”

Draco full-heartedly laughed. “Throw it away. Sell it to a wizard artefact collector. Take it to Mordor and drop it in Mount Doom for all I care.” Hermione snickered, and he relished in the sound. “The point is, I don’t want it. This family doesn’t care about me, so I don’t care about it. I’m devoted to you now.”

A hopeful glimmer shone in Hermione’s eyes as nothing but pure contentment swelled inside Draco’s chest. He meant what he said. The feelings he had for her seemed to grow deeper every chance he had to see her. Once nothing was in their way, Draco had every intention of committing himself fully to this witch.

Hermione examined the engraved crest before she slid it on one of her fingers. The band automatically shrunk to the proper size. She lifted her hand higher in the air and assessed the look of the ring on her hand before taking it off.

“I’m afraid it’s a bit too pureblood-chic for my taste,” she teased once she had slipped the ring into her own pocket.

Draco chuckled as he stepped forward and closed the space between them. “In that case, I fully endorse the Mordor option.”

He leaned in and collided their lips together. If there was more time, he’d drag her back to his bedroom and repeat their actions from the night before. But that could wait. There would be plenty of opportunities for that in the upcoming weeks, months, years...

Hermione cupped her hand against his cheek. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

She interlaced their fingers. “Owl me as soon as you arrive at Theo’s?”

“Of course.”

Minutes later, Hermione disappeared behind a wall of green flames. Green embers faded into black and silence refilled the Manor.

Draco had barely made it to his room to begin packing the few items he’d be bringing with him to Theo’s when another tapping interrupted him. It was a different owl this time, but the emerald seal was the same.

“Shoo,” Draco told the bird. “I’m not opening that.”

He hadn’t wanted to read what his father had to say in the first letter, and he certainly didn’t want to read it this second time either. He’d had enough of his father’s disparaging words. The next time Draco saw him, he’d tell him precisely that.

Now, all Draco had to do was wait.

~*~*~

Dinnertime came and went with no sign of the older Malfoys. Draco remained in the Manor’s foyer, anticipating the moment his parents would return with their Portkey. Finally, at a quarter past ten, they appeared. Their feet had barely landed on the ground when Draco addressed them.

“Mother, Father. We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

The words echoed in the foyer alongside Draco’s pulsing heart. 

Every decision he had made these past few weeks had built to this moment. The moment he would finally tell his parents—his father—that he wouldn’t succumb to the burdening pressure of their expectations. 

It was surreal to think that only a month had passed since Hermione had attended his talk at Flourish and Blotts. Yet he could still perfectly picture that early October evening when they had spent hours together at the Leaky Cauldron — the evening their longstanding resentments had begun to wither to nothing. 

Though, there was something else about that night that wedged itself to the forefront of his memory: the final thought Draco had had after parting ways with Hermione and before returning to the Manor.

What his parents didn’t know, didn’t get him disowned.

That fear had controlled him. Tainted his decisions. But the prospect of disownment no longer scared him. Their adverse reaction was inevitable, and Draco now welcomed it.

“Can this not wait until your father and I have had the chance to settle?” Narcissa asked as she set down her luggage. The bluntness of Draco’s statement did not appear to have registered much significance to her.

The same was not true for Lucius. He directed his seemingly permanent scowl towards his son. “I assume this has to do with why I didn’t get a response to either of the owls I sent you today?”

Narcissa shot her husband a glance of confusion. “What owls?”

But Draco didn’t wait for his father to answer. There was no point dragging out this conversation longer than necessary. 

He stiffened his posture, resolute about everything that was about to unfold. “It does,” he affirmed without a single drop of cowardice. “I never even opened them.”

Genuine bafflement continued to etch across Narcissa’s features as she shifted her attention between the two wizards, yet Lucius’s expression remained unwaveringly stern.

“You clearly don’t understand the severity of this situation.”

“The severity?” Draco scoffed, agitated annoyance beginning to boil. “No, I don’t think you understand,” he spat back. “I’ve tried telling you this for weeks, but you refuse to listen. I won’t sign a contract, nor will I let you sign one for me. Period. Not with Aimée, not with Astoria, and not with any other witch.”

Lucius sneered, but before he could snarl his retort, Narcissa spoke.

“Your father and I have been exceedingly flexible to your desires, giving you multiple opportunities to meet and choose someone.”

An instinctive huff broke from Draco at the audacity of her argument. “Flexible?” He glowered as something inside him snapped, no longer wishing to skirt around the underlying reason he and his mother both knew was prompting his indignation. “Is that how you would describe your recommendation that I keep the witch I truly care about ‘on the side’?”

Blind outrage at the memory of Narcissa’s absurd suggestion prevented him from catching her reaction. He had already switched his attention to his father, ready to be done with this once and for all.

“You gave me until the end of the weekend to make my final decision, and I’ve done precisely that,” Draco said before a mocking smile cracked his lips. “Although, I’m afraid I may have neglected the part where you said she must be pureblood.”

His father’s glare hardened as Draco took an assured step forward, the final blow about to strike.

“I believe you may know her?” He stared his father dead in the eyes. “After all, there’s not a single person in the Wizarding World who isn’t familiar with the name Hermione Granger.”

Shock and ardent disgust instantly rippled across Lucius’s features — a sight that Draco hoped he would have forever ingrained in his memory. Years of instilling toxic beliefs in his son had backfired. A conviction he had devoted his adulthood towards was now being outwardly defied by his sole heir. 

Draco waited for his father’s backlash, bracing himself for one final beratement before he bid the Manor farewell, but to his surprise, it was his mother who broke the strained silence.

“I convinced myself that you were smarter than that.”

Draco whipped his head in her direction. “Than what? Smarter than choosing my own happiness over the path I was being compelled to follow?” He huffed. “I learned my lesson not to do that after I was so graciously marked with that terrible serpent.”

“You know I never wanted you to take the Dark Mark,” Narcissa quickly countered. “All I have ever wanted is for you to be safe and happy.”

Draco couldn’t withhold his scoff. “Your actions lately beg to differ.”

Mild hurt mixed with pained offence flashed across her gaze. “I have assured you many times throughout this process that your happiness is important to me,” she firmly contended. She looked her son up and down, as though he were a stranger. “But I never dared to think you had gone so far as to actually date some other witch behind our backs.”

Waves of confusion crashed over Draco. His mother wasn’t making sense. What did she mean she didn’t dare to think that? She had been suspicious of him for weeks, and yet she was acting as though all this was somehow a massive surprise?

Initial instinct suggested that perhaps his mother was lying, covering for herself in front of her husband for keeping this information from him. But as Draco assessed his mother’s sincere astonishment, his gut assured him that this wasn’t the case. She hadn’t known.

So that begged a different question — what did she think he had been hiding?

He retraced every confrontation she’d had with him over the past few weeks. The questioning about his lunchtime whereabouts. The lurking in the library to check for his location. The hiding of the photograph of him sleeping outside Hermione’s office.

“I know there’s something you’re not telling me and your father.”

“You and I both know he will not approve.”

“Sneaking around behind your father’s back will only make things worse.”

Everything had indicated that his mother knew, and Draco had held onto that sliver of hope that she would be his ally once he had openly revealed his feelings for someone else. Yet all that had been crushed the moment she had suggested that he keep things “on the side.”

But if his mother hadn’t been referring to Hermione or any other witch he was secretly dating, then what in Merlin’s name did she think he found so important to hide from his parents?

Barely a second had passed before realisation loomed over him like a disheartening raincloud.

“Was a cute little pet project.”

“Time for you to do something of value.”

“A much more respectable career path than his current one.”

The more Draco tossed over the evidence that his mother had used to draw her conclusion — him sneaking off to have lunchtime meetings, him resuming his reading in the library, him sitting on a stoop on Diagon Alley with scrolls of parchment — the more it began to point towards something else.

“You thought I was writing another book.”

One glimpse of the woeful shine in his mother’s eyes confirmed his theory.

“It was the only explanation that made sense,” Narcissa replied, her voice distant in lingering disbelief. “It was only after I got ahold of that photograph of you with those parchments tucked inside your robes and your father told me about that letter from your editor asking about a second book that I became suspicious of your continued lunchtime disappearances.”

Draco had completely forgotten about that letter. It had been weeks ago, back when his friendship with Hermione was still developing and he was stuck wondering if she was ever going to owl him for them to meet up again. 

A sharp scoff interrupted Draco’s thoughts, Lucius finally breaking his enraged silence.

“Of course that wasn’t what he was hiding.” His bitter hiss sent a chill through Draco. “It became obvious he was pursuing someone else as soon as he tried to assuage us into thinking that Helena Fawley was ‘pureblood enough.’” A snarl spread across his hard features. “I just assumed he was off sneaking around Muggle London with a half-blood.” His disgust deepened. “Not a Mudblood. And certainly not that Mudblood.”

“Lucius!” Narcissa snapped. “We have discussed this!”

But his mother’s dismay at Lucius’s use of what she had previously deemed “indecent language” did nothing to diminish Draco’s outrage. He pulled out his wand and aimed it square at his father’s chest. 

“Don’t you dare call her that.”

Lucius released a humourless laugh, unfazed by his son’s threat. “As though the specific wording I use will change the way I feel about her,” he spat, his menacing glare tearing into Draco. “Under no circumstances would I ever permit you to sully the Malfoy name in such a disgraceful manner.”

Draco’s wand remained steady as ire and outright hatred fumed inside him. “We clearly have very different definitions of what sullies this family name,” he sharply sneered, his cheeks turning red with fury. “We fought for the wrong side of the war — a fact my memoir helped me come to terms with and move on from. It’s far past time you come to accept that for yourself as well. For if you’re that determined to live in the past, you might as well be living in a Pensieve.”

The tight grip around his wand remained even as Draco lowered it. “But it no longer matters what you think,” he said, straightening himself upright. “You’ve made your decision and now I’ve made mine.” He swished his wand and the single suitcase he had prepared earlier that evening appeared by his side. “I’m moving out, meaning you no longer have any control over me. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

Narcissa gawked speechlessly as Draco prepared to Apparate to Theo’s. A temporary flicker of guilt washed over him for leaving his mother in such a state of shock, but it was what had to be done.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” he said, addressing her one final time. “Though, I did warn you. This really does mean that much to me.”

A swallow bobbed down Draco’s throat as he soaked in one last look at his childhood home. He closed his eyes, focused on the front stoop of Nott Manor, and— 

His father’s mocking laugh interrupted his concentration.

“Don’t you see, boy?” Draco peeled open his eyes to reveal Lucius’s cruel stare. “You’re too late.”

Three simple words and Draco’s plans came to a crashing halt. 

The clasp on Lucius’s luggage undid itself to allow a cream coloured parchment to slip through the narrow opening. It was only then that Draco noticed the not-entirely sealed gash in his father’s palm, the lingering wound from a blood binding handshake.

Draco seized the parchment as soon as it floated close enough for him to grasp. He didn’t have to read it to know what it was. As he scanned the finely scripted words, his fear was confirmed, his fate seemingly sealed. For there at the bottom was his father’s freshly-inked signature, right alongside Monsieur Beaufort’s.

His hands shook as he clenched the document. This entire conversation, Lucius had known that he had signed his son away to someone else, and yet he had waited for the most crushing moment to break the news — the moment Draco had almost believed he had won.

But it appeared he wasn’t the only one to just now learn about the signed contract.

Narcissa glared daggers at her husband. “When did this happen?”

“After dinner this evening,” Lucius dismissively stated, no sign of uneasiness at Narcissa’s severe tone.

“It was my understanding that the purpose of this trip was to discuss a potential pairing, not sign anything.”

“It was,” Lucius agreed. “But then Bernardin informed me that they had another suitor meeting planned for tomorrow morning for Aimée and he wouldn’t await our decision.” He then turned to glare at Draco. “After we already lost a suitable match with Miss Greengrass, I wasn’t going to risk losing another. If your son had been wise enough to open his post at any point today, he would have read my final warning for him to give me the name of any other pureblood before I signed this contract.” Lucius released a mock sigh. “But he and I both knew he would never do that. So he left me with no choice.”

Draco glowered. “That’s where you’re deeply mistaken, Father,” he hissed. “You had a choice. A choice to respect the agreement you made with me. To respect my right to be involved in this decision even in the smallest bit. But the only opinion you’ve ever considered throughout this entire process is your own.”

Anger coursed through Draco, but soon a different emotion took over. Disappointment. The sad truth was that Draco should have known better than to naively trust his father’s word that he would wait until Sunday. Time and time again, Lucius had demonstrated one clear priority, and it wasn’t his son.

All the years of effort that Draco had invested in gaining his father’s approval had been a waste. But that desire no longer dictated his actions. Instead, he had someone else on his mind.

Memories from that morning flashed before him. Of waking up to the tickling wisps of her curls beneath his nose. Of showing her the long line of prejudiced beliefs he had overcome. Of the commitment he had made to be with her. 

He would fight for her. For them. And most of all, he would fight for himself. 

Draco reread the contract, committing to memory as much of it as possible. There was a way out. There had to be. Even the most carefully worded documents must have a flaw. An error. Some sort of loophole.

But the conditions were clear. Draco was to wed Aimée within sixty days of the signed agreement. Their engagement commenced immediately, and with it, their obligation to remain faithful to one another. Consequences of breaking said contract were ominous and vague, but Draco knew better than to implicate himself in such affairs. He didn’t trust whatever dark magic Aimée’s father — or even his own father — had imbedded into those words.

But hope wasn’t lost. He still had sixty days. And he was not giving up.

“This isn’t over,” Draco vehemently resolved. With a firm flick of his wand, the contract folded itself into quarters and slipped into Draco’s pocket. “I will find a way out of this.”

Lucius whipped out his wand to stop him, but before he had a chance to ward the Manor, Draco had already Disapparated.

Chapter Text

Hermione sat in her armchair, leg bouncing as a book laid forgotten in her blanket-covered lap. It was growing close to midnight and she had yet to hear from Draco.

Her eyes were transfixed on the ink black sky. Soft glimmers of starlight speckled the dark expanse, still no sign of an approaching owl. Draco had told her his parents would be back at the Manor in time for their traditional family dinner, but that should have been hours ago.

Knots twisted in her stomach. She didn’t know what that meant.

Suddenly, there was a pounding on her door, and Hermione jumped in her seat. Pulling the book and blanket off her lap, Hermione rushed to the door.

Her heart stammered when she opened it and revealed Draco on the other side. The fringes of his hair were in unusual disarray, and his eyes were dark and distant. He didn’t say a word as he allowed himself entry, dropping his heavy luggage with a thunk.

A hundred questions raced through her mind. How had he gotten into her building? Had he followed someone inside? Apparated directly to her flat door? What was he even doing here? This wasn’t the plan. He was supposed to go to Theo’s. What had happened with his parents? Why the change?

Concern built inside Hermione like layers of hundred-pound bricks. She doubted his presence meant anything good.

Draco marched into her sitting room, gripping the roots of his hair. “I can’t believe him!”

Hermione gave him space as he began to randomly pace, like he was unable to settle upon a path or direction. She could practically hear for herself all the awful, disparaging things his father must have said in the conversation leading up to his departure. The cruel words that were festering inside his mind. The final comments his father may ever say to him now that Draco was most-assuredly disowned.

“I can only imagine how terribly your father reacted,” she attempted to comfort him, seeing the boiling outrage in his eyes, “but it’s over now.”

Draco froze, facing away from her. Blanch white fists clenched by his sides.

Silence.

Hermione’s stomach dropped. 

Throat running dry, Hermione took a single step forward. Fraught tension stiffened Draco’s shoulders.

“It is over, isn’t it?”

But even as she said it, she knew what the response would be. 

“No, it’s not.”

For a fleeting moment, Hermione feared that Draco had once again avoided broaching the subject, but his tone was too clipped. His demeanour too rigid. And when he started to pull a folded-up parchment out from his pocket, the floor of her stomach completely gave way.

“He didn’t,” she gasped.

Draco slowly turned around. A thin veil of glossiness sheened over his gaze, but his words were still tight. “He did.”

Everything went numb as Draco outstretched the parchment for her to read. With each new word of the signed marriage contract, disgust amassed even greater inside her, like a toxic bile. The past few weeks had only further demonstrated how loathsome and despicable of a man Lucius Malfoy was, but this seemed low, even for him.

Hermione thought back to the night before. It had been too good to be true — a night with just her and Draco in the Manor. She should have suspected something. Expected Lucius not to uphold his supposed promise to wait until Sunday for Draco to make a decision.

And then she remembered the owl.

“He tried to warn you, didn’t he?” she asked, her mind a tangled web of enraged thoughts. “That letter this morning...”

Draco looked away, his nose wrinkling. “And the one he sent after you left.”

“He sent you two?” Hermione gawked in disbelief. “Yet you didn’t think it wise to read what your father found important enough to owl you twice?”

He whipped his head in her direction, a redness creeping up his neck. “I thought I could trust him, alright?”

“He had already proven that he was willing to stop at nothing to get you married to some pureblood,” she said with a huff. Hermione lowered her head as she shook it, disappointed in both herself and in Draco for not seeing this coming. “I should have insisted you opened that letter. I had a feeling it was important!”

“Well, congratulations. You were right!” Draco bitterly snapped. “Happy?”

Her heart shattered at the spiteful anger marking his features, directed fully at her. For a splinter of a second, she felt like she was back at Hogwarts, on the receiving end of one of Draco’s antagonistic taunts. But when the tears broke free from the corners of his eyes and he collapsed on her sofa, she rushed to the side of the wizard she knew to no longer be that cruel boy.

He cradled his head in his palms, voice weak as he repeated, “I thought I could trust him.”

Gently, Hermione rested one hand on his back and the other on his knee as the tears turned into sobs. 

“I know you did,” she whispered. “I know you did.”

A clamp tightened around her heart, watching Draco endure such agony. While Hermione had never liked his father, she had always known how much younger Draco had revered Lucius. He had thought the world of him. She couldn’t begin to fathom how much such a betrayal stung. 

When the crying started to subside, Draco lifted his head and sat upright. Puffy redness ringed his eyes. “I deluded myself into believing my father would keep his word. That I could trust him that infinitesimal amount,” he choked. “Clearly, I was wrong.” 

The bob of a thick swallow travelled down his throat before he turned to Hermione. “I understand if you’re upset with me. I’m upset with myself. But this contract is signed now, and if you and I want the chance to truly see what this could be between us, then I’m going to need your help.”

Us.

The full weight of everything began to sink in. Her mind had been so focused on what this meant for Draco, she hadn’t yet considered what it meant for them. They had only recently realised how much they meant to one another, and now Draco was legally committed to another witch. Sure, they could keep their mid-workday visits and endless chats about books. The explorations of Muggle London and mindless wanderings of the streets, as well. But the heart-stirring, all-consuming feeling behind it — that would have to change.

Hermione searched the face of the man she had grown to care about so deeply. The blond hair that had splayed in the grass of the Muggle park that one afternoon. The grey eyes that twinkled with delight whenever she made an insightful remark or teasing comment. The cheeks that she knew revealed a dimple only when he was happy enough to be with her. And the lips. The lips she wanted so desperately to kiss right now but couldn’t.

“I’m not upset,” she managed, her voice softly breaking. “We always knew this wouldn’t be easy. Now it’s just a bit harder. But we’ll find a way out of this.”

Draco weakly chuckled. “That’s precisely what I told my parents we’d do.”

Their eyes met, and the aching in Hermione’s chest ever-so-slightly dissipated. She had helped Ron and Harry get out of countless problems in the past. That’s all this was. Another problem for her to help someone overcome. And she wouldn’t stop until a solution was found.

Sniffing back her own tears that had threatened to reveal themselves, Hermione cleared the fog from her mind and attended to the new task at hand.

“There must be books on pureblood marriage contracts, right? I can’t remember ever reading about them before, but it’s not as though it was a subject I was particularly seeking out.”

But to her disappointment, Draco shook his head. “Purebloods keep certain traditions private, especially ones so integral to maintaining blood purity.”

“Okay,” Hermione settled, though a bit taken aback that this wouldn’t be something she could so easily research. “Then we’ll just have to talk with whoever we know inside pureblood culture who would be willing to help us. Theo? Astoria? Blaise?”

“I doubt they’ll know much more than me,” Draco returned. “We were taught the expectations, not the intricacies of what the contracts themselves contain.” He let out a long sigh. “What we really need is someone who successfully avoided this whole rubbish business.”

The words had barely left his lips when Hermione instantly lit up, the same person seeming to cross Draco’s mind as soon as he himself had said it.

“But I’ve never spoken to her.”

“I have. Multiple times,” Hermione said. A spark of hopefulness started to swell inside of her. “She’s raising Harry’s godson.”

“So you know where she lives?”

Hermione nodded.

Draco pushed himself off the sofa, a new wave of determination radiating off of him. “Then we better get going.”

~*~*~

Draco’s feet landed on soft grass, the outline of a quaint, one-story home not too far up the path. The moon illuminated their surroundings, no longer anywhere near London. He shifted his gaze upwards, finding minimal peace in the vibrant stars that he used to find such comfort in. 

Only a week had passed since he had searched the night sky from the Weasleys’ backyard. In the moments following his first kiss with Hermione, the constellations he used to cherish had left him feeling devoid of any deeper connection. He knew then that his bond with his family and its long line of traditions would never be the same. Now his best hope for future happiness laid with the only other living family member who had dared to defy expectations in the same way.

The cool touch of Hermione’s fingers interlacing with his pulled him out of his thoughts. She offered him a soft smile that did little to move her cheeks. A tightness gripped his heart as he gave her hand a squeeze and they began walking up the path and towards the home.

Darkness cloaked the windows, everyone inside assumedly asleep. But when the knocks of Hermione’s fist echoed within, it wasn’t long before the front door swung open.

From the shadows, the Black sister resemblance was terrifying. With her strong jaw, thin lips, and heavily-lidded eyes, there was a brief, heart-stalling moment when Draco actually thought she was his Aunt Bellatrix. But as she stepped into the moonlight, he recognised the soft brown hair of the Black sister he had only heard mention of in clipped passing.

Similar shock marked Andromeda’s features, undoubtedly able to identify him from his trademark family features as well. His pale blond hair and cool grey eyes would make it obvious who he was, even if she had never seen one of the dozens of photos of him that had been plastered in the Daily Prophet since the end of the war. 

Her stunned expression grew even more confused when she noticed Hermione by his side. She blinked once, twice, and then looked down to see their fingers still laced together. 

The wariness in her expression promptly faded, replaced with instant understanding.

“Come in,” she said. “I’ll put a kettle on.” 

 ~*~*~

Andromeda silently sipped her tea as Draco and Hermione recounted their past few weeks together. 

They started at the beginning, sharing how their feelings had quickly developed for one another while Draco’s parents played puppet-master in the background, trying with increasing ferocity to lock their son into a pureblood union. Draco spared no detail, ranting about the stream of proposal letters that would spoil his meals and the soirée his parents had orchestrated in an attempt to shove as many potential wives into his unaccepting arms. How all he wanted that night was to introduce Hermione to his parents, to open the small sliver of a crack at the possibility of them accepting a Muggle-born, only for the night to end in disappointment in more ways than one. Their first kiss the next night. His father’s threat and unyielding deadline. The events of earlier that evening.

“And now, all thanks to my father, I’m bound to this stupid, bloody contract!”

Draco shoved back the fringes of his hair that had fallen over his eyes while he had raged. Hermione sat beside him on the couch, her hand firmly planted over his knee — a steady reminder of her solidarity while the anger rushed through his veins. 

Andromeda sat across from them, one leg aristocratically tucked behind the other as she delicately blew the steam away from her recently re-heated cup. It may have been decades since she had associated with her pureblood past, but subtle traces of her upbringing remained highly visible. 

She took a short sip before gently returning the cup to the saucer. “I’m afraid I understand your predicament all too well, Draco,” she said. “I wasn’t much older than you when I endured similar challenges.”

“So what did you and Ted do?” Hermione asked.

Andromeda paused, a rigidity straightening her posture even further upright. Subtle sadness glazed her eyes as she averted her gaze to a framed photograph sitting on a nearby table.

Three smiling figures beamed in the picture, a younger version of his aunt, a wizard around the same age, and a teenage witch who laughed while her hair shifted from bright pink to deep purple. Draco remembered hearing snippets about his cousin. Even Voldemort himself had made occasional snide comments about her, particularly after she had married the former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Draco also remembered seeing her lifeless body lying next to her husband in the wake of the final battle. And the mention that her Muggleborn father had been murdered by a group of Snatchers.

“I was about your age when Ted and I began dating,” Andromeda began, hands twisting in her lap. “He was a few years older than me, so we didn’t interact while at Hogwarts.” She shortly laughed. “Not that I would have spoken to him if our paths had crossed. It was only after I left Hogwarts that I began to see the errors of my family’s ways.”

Draco couldn’t contain his curiosity. “What changed?”

Andromeda smiled. “I met Ted.”

The sadness faded from her vision, joyful memories seeming to win control. “We met through a mutual friend, and from that very first night, I was completely enamoured.” Happiness sparkled in her gaze. “He was so kind and loyal and unlike any of the pureblood males my parents had begun trying to set me up with. It wasn’t until after our third date that I learned he was a Muggle-born. But by that point, I didn’t care. I already knew Ted was the one for me.”

A sharp pang seized inside Draco. The story felt far too familiar.

“So what happened?” he asked. “How’d you avoid getting roped into a contract.”

“I left,” she answered simply. “My father had already signed away my older sister into a loveless marriage with Rodolphus, and I didn’t want to risk a similar fate. Ted and I had only been dating a couple of months, but I loved him. With all my heart. So as soon as I learned that my father had sent out a proposal letter on my so-called behalf, Ted and I eloped.”

Draco dropped his jaw. His mother hadn’t told him any of this. “How did your parents react?”

Andromeda chuckled. “I’m sure I needn’t go into much detail about how displeased they were. My mother was horrified that I would bring such shame to the family name. My father stormed into the Ministry and made every attempt to bribe or blackmail whoever he could into nullifying our marriage. I found out years later that they even went searching for me and Ted to kill him and drag me back home. But we had already feared and anticipated the worst from my parents. Ted and I remained hidden at his parents’ home in Leeds until enough time had passed and the rumours of me having married a ‘Mudblood’ had successfully damaged my pureblood reputation beyond repair.”

Stunned silence settled over both Draco and Hermione. His Grandfather Cygnus had passed away when Draco was young. It was hard to imagine the elderly man he knew to be his loving grandfather to be so cruel to his daughter. But then again, nothing should surprise Draco after what his own father had done. Apparently, some things were considered more important than the happiness of one’s child.

Hermione, however, seemed to be focused on something else. She had that scrunched wrinkle in her forehead, the tell-tale sign that she was deep in thought. 

“Then you never had to get out of a signed contract,” she eventually concluded.

Andromeda shook her head. “Fortunately, I did not, so I’m afraid I won’t be of much assistance getting you out of one if that’s what you hoped out of this visit.”

Draco hadn’t yet made that connection, too wrapped up in the family history he had never been privy to. But that didn’t seem to be what concerned Hermione the most.

“And even though you were married to someone else, your parents still made every effort to eventually rope you into a pureblood marriage, going so far as trying to find you and bring you back?”

Mutual understanding of whatever Hermione was getting at seemed to dawn on Andromeda’s features. “To many pureblood patriarchs, the appropriate marriage of their child is the most important thing. It preserves the family legacy.”

Draco finally caught on, comprehension numbing his system. “You think my father will come looking for me?”

Hermione glumly nodded. “It makes sense.”

Draco didn’t have a retort. Of course Lucius would come looking for him; he had signed a legal agreement to have Draco marry Aimée. The man had too much self-respect to let the contract go unfulfilled — especially if he saw the marriage of his son to a witch of another strong pureblood family as the key to revitalising the Malfoy family name.

“Then we’ll go into hiding,” Draco said, determined not to let his father win. He took Hermione’s hands. “You and I will find a place to hide until the sixty days are up. If they can’t find me, they can’t conduct the marriage bond. And in the meantime, we can research how to undo the contract.”

The possibilities swam through his mind but were promptly shattered when Hermione slipped her hands out of his grip. 

“I can’t,” she said, regret heavy in her voice. “I have work.”

“Of course you do,” Draco returned, not sure how that was relevant. He wouldn’t dream of tearing Hermione away from her job. “You’ll go to work, and then after, you can come to wherever I am, and we’ll work together until—”

Hermione was already shaking her head. “I can’t know where you’re hiding, Draco, in case your father attempts to get your location out of me.”

“What do you think he’ll do?” Draco refuted. “Torture it out of you?”

But Draco immediately knew he’d said the wrong thing. Her face blanched, undoubtedly remembering what his other aunt had done.

She swallowed thickly. “Don’t think he isn’t capable. He’s proven to be a deluded man who has already gone to such extreme lengths to ensure this contract goes through.” Hermione regained her full composure. “Even if he doesn’t resort to that, there would be other means of using me to find you. Latching onto me while Apparating. Veritaserum. Memory extraction. It’s too risky.”

Draco’s head was spinning, the severity of the situation fully sinking in. It stung to accept, but Hermione was right. They couldn’t risk it. He’d have to hide alone. 

Sixty days of hiding without seeing Hermione? It would be agonising.

But sixty days without her was better than a lifetime married to someone else.

“I can set up a safe house for you,” Andromeda offered in what felt like the distant background. “We’ll protect it with a Fidelius Charm, and I’ll be the Secret Keeper.”

His gaze swept to Hermione who was already looking at him, awaiting his response. 

“If you’re worried about your father coming after me, don’t be,” she said, tone strong with resolve. “I’m capable of protecting myself.”

Draco couldn’t resist his resulting chuckle. “I’m more worried about what you’ll do to him if he even dares approach you.”

Hermione shared in his laughter. “See? Nothing for you to worry about!” 

But their laughter was short-lived and reality quickly caught up to them. The tears that he could tell Hermione was fighting desperately to hold back reflected softly in the candlelight as one began to trickle down her cheek. With the brush of his thumb, Draco swept it away.

“I’ll do it,” he said, not leaving his gaze from Hermione for even a second. “But we’ll start tomorrow. I highly doubt my parents are out looking for me past midnight. And I need one more night. Just one.”

From the corner of his eye, he could sense Andromeda’s slight nod. “I’ll cast protective wards around the home. We have a guest bedroom down the hall that you two can stay in tonight.”

“Thank you, Andromeda,” Hermione said, breaking her and Draco’s eye contact. She offered a faint smile. “For everything.”

“You’re most welcome,” the older witch returned before addressing her nephew. “I’m sorry that you’re going through, Draco. I only wish you had come to me sooner. Perhaps then I could have been of more assistance.”

Draco wished he had too.

Chapter Text

This wasn’t what Draco had in mind when he had requested they spend one final night together, but after the mess his pride had gotten them into, who was Draco to deny Hermione of what she wanted?

The marriage contract drifted mid-space for both her and him to review. For nearly an hour, they had been dissecting every sentence, analysing each word, unpacking all aspects of the document. He would have rather been doing literally anything else, but he also understood that Hermione’s analytical brain wouldn’t have been able to enjoy their last few hours together until she had properly studied its contents.

Problem was, neither of them was feeling any better. The clean, precise wording was meticulously fashioned, leaving no room for interpretation. To make matters even worse, the voice that boomed in Draco’s mind as he read those definitive words was the antagonistic sneer of his father.

“This is bad, Draco,” Hermione lowly whispered beside him.

“I am fully aware.”

“Your father seemed to consider everything when crafting this.”

Draco grimaced. “I refuse to believe that.”

“I do as well,” she returned with a sigh. “But the wording here is very clear. ‘All parties shall withhold to the terms of this agreement directly upon signing, and the terms will remain in effect until the passing of one member of the union.’ That doesn’t leave much room for a loophole.”

A brief, semi-sincere smile cracked Draco’s lips. “Ah, see, that’s where you’re wrong. That exactly is our loophole.”

Hermione shot him a sidelong glare. “We’re not killing her, Draco.”

“Yet.”

“Draco!”

“I’m just saying, come day fifty-nine…”

"Draco.”

She canted her head all the more disapprovingly, and Draco threw his hands up in mock defence, a few chuckles involuntarily escaping in the process.

“Only kidding.”

“It’s not funny,” she remarked, yet the faint upper curl of her lip indicated otherwise. “Next thing I know, you’ll tell me we should Romeo and Juliet it.”

“Romeo and who?”

Hermione’s feeble snicker did little to break the heaviness that still loomed overhead. 

“This is precisely why you can’t get married to someone else,” she said, eyes glossing over despite her attempt to sound lighthearted. “There’s still so much Muggle literature I have to introduce you to.”

They tried to hold each other’s gaze, but Hermione didn’t last long. She tore herself away, eyes clamping closed, and turned her back to Draco, sucking in a lung-filling breath. Within seconds, the choked sounds of her tears filled the small space of Andromeda’s guest bedroom. 

Draco wasted no time rushing to wrap her in his comforting hold. The dampness of her tears soaked into his shirt as Hermione pressed herself into him as deeply as she could manage. He longed to lift her chin and press a reassuring kiss to her lips, the promise that he was and always would be there for her, but as the contract so kindly stipulated, that wasn’t an option. 

Glum agony plucked away at Draco’s heartstrings. He had done this to them. His naive, unfounded trust in his father after weeks of inaction despite the obvious warning signs. Soon, he wouldn’t even be able to hold her when sorrow inevitably threatened to overtake her.

“Please forgive me.” His words were a soft, strangled plea. “I should have done something weeks ago. I’ll live every day regretting that until we get this resolved.”

Blotches of redness scattered across Hermione’s cheeks as she lifted her head and swiped away the moisture beneath her bloodshot eyes. 

“I know you were hoping to find something tonight, but it’s time to put the contract away,” Draco said, brushing his thumb over her cheek to catch one of the lingering tears that she had missed. “We’ve had more than enough for one night.”

Nodding her acceptance, Hermione sniffed back the last few traces of remorse and followed Draco into the bed where they curled into one another. Draco pressed a soft kiss into her hair before wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her tighter towards his chest. It wasn’t much, but it was about the most they could do.

Draco’s eyelids drifted closed, trying to focus on the simple things. On Hermione’s slow and steady breathing. The floral scent of her hair. The small dip of her waist as he trailed his fingertips over the fabric of her robes. 

What he’d now give to go back and listen to Hermione the first time she told him to move out — even before anything deeper had truly developed between them. Or at least done something more drastic when his father had threatened to sign the contract without his consent. Draco knew then how much he cared for Hermione. It had been pure vanity in wanting to have a dramatic departure that had caused this for her. For them.

Disappointment with himself settled deeper in his bones as he thought back to their conversation with Andromeda. If only he had come to her earlier instead of insisting on doing everything himself. Though, even if he had, he wasn’t sure what more she could have done to help. After all, she had ended up disowned, the same as him. The only way she had avoided having her heart signed away had been by running off with Ted before her parents had the chance.

A sinking question now consumed him.

His vocal cords felt like ash as he tried to assemble the words that laid heavy on his tongue. But he needed to know.

“Would you have done it?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper. Yet the rest of the question died before he could push it past his lips.

Hermione’s eyebrows were scrunched as she peered over her shoulder to look up at him. “Would I have done what?”

Draco thickly swallowed, nervous to know her answer. But he had to know if that would have been an option for them. 

“Would you have eloped with me?”

A cloud of suffocating silence filled the bedroom. In his arms, Hermione didn’t move. 

“If… if we knew that was our only option, of course,” Draco added when she still hadn’t answered.

It was several more excruciating moments before Hermione finally spoke. “We only kissed a week ago.”

“I know,” Draco croaked, relieved he didn’t have to see her face as something seemed to shatter inside of him. “But knowing what we know now…”

His heart thundered, and Draco had to remind himself to breathe while he awaited her response. Finally, it came.

“I would have had to think about it.”

The answer stung more than it should have. Not that Draco could blame her. Feelings aside, it would have been asking too much. After all, he was the one with significantly more to lose. But the more he considered the question, the more confident Draco became of his own answer.

He would have.

His hand shifted until it found the familiar lacing between her fingers, like two pieces that instinctively fell into place. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“I assume you know I expect you to owl every day,” Draco said, moving past the mild disappointment that lingered in his chest. “No excuses about being busy at work. Something has to make your day brighter if I’m not physically there to drag you to lunch.”

Hermione weakly chuckled. “I promise. Every single da—”

The remainder of the thought trailed away as a massive yawn interrupted her. It was late. And while it felt impossible to believe that their evening at the Manor had only been the day prior, Draco also knew she hadn’t gotten much rest that night either. 

He settled another kiss atop her curls. “Go to sleep. You’re tired.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Me neither.”

Draco fought slumber as long as possible, relishing every last breath he had with her within his arms, until sleep finally won and he drifted off into the mindless night.

~*~*~

Saying goodbye would have been impossible.

The mere notion of having to assemble a coherent thought while stinging emptiness weighed on Hermione was utterly unfathomable. Words so rarely failed her, but today was one of the exceptions. 

What more could they say that hadn’t already been expressed? How many more tears must be shed before their souls had suffered enough?

It was better to leave before he awoke. Let his last waking memory with her be them falling asleep in each other’s arms, not another instance of them succumbing to heartache.

Hermione faintly smiled as she peered down at Draco still fast asleep. He looked so peaceful. Eyelids rested shut. Pale hair splayed across the pillow. Subtle grin quirking up his lips, even in his state of unconsciousness.

In the contented stillness, Hermione could almost make herself believe that they were a normal couple, waking up beside the person they cared about. But they seemed fated to never have anything so easy. What even were she and Draco? Could they call themselves a couple now that the contract was in effect? 

She had told Draco that he could consider himself her boyfriend once he had informed his parents that he wanted no part of their marriage contract business, and he had upheld that part of the agreement. Yet how could she call him that when she couldn’t kiss him goodbye? 

Hermione brushed her fingers through a few low hanging strands of blond hair, heart seizing at the simple movement. Merlin, how much she didn’t want to leave him. But she had to. She had obligations outside of them that were equally important to her. For the betterment of future generations of witches and wizards.

With one final look over, Hermione memorised every last inch of the man she so desperately didn’t want to lose. She pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek before heading downstairs for Andromeda to lower the wards for her to Disapparate. It may still be the weekend, but it was time for her to get to work. 

~*~*~

Andromeda had fortunately been able to provide her with the location. The close-knittedness of the pureblood community had some advantages. She didn’t know the wizard well — in fact, her conversation with him the other weekend was probably the only time she had ever actually spoken with him — but if Draco trusted him, she trusted him. Which was how Hermione had ended up in front of a new set of gilded gates that impeded her from entering yet another unnecessarily large manor.

With forcibly pressed together lips, she reserved comment about the house-elf that led her inside. That was a battle for another day. Today she needed help, not more enemies. 

“Master has a guest!” the little house elf announced, but when the dark-haired wizard hurried into the entry, his expression immediately sunk. 

“Where’s Draco?”

Hermione sucked in a sharp inhale. “We have a problem.” 

Theo Nott closed the remaining space between them, a hard frown pulling down his features. “I surmised as much when he didn’t show up here last night. The owl I tried to send this morning just returned this.”

Reaching into his pocket, Theo retrieved a scroll of parchment and handed it to Hermione. It was a note. For Draco. 

“It came back undelivered,” Theo further explained, traces of similar worriment that had pained Hermione the night before now weighing on him. “Is he… Do you know what happened?”

Hermione harshly swallowed before scarcely nodding her head. “He came to me right after speaking with his parents.”

Mild relief seemed to relax Theo’s rigid composure. “At least he made it out of there alive,” he said, the remark only half-heartedly kidding. “I assume this means he held up his promise and finally told them he won’t sign a contract?”

She once more nodded, but the gloominess in Hermione’s heart made it difficult to feel much joy in the fact that Draco had finally taken such an important step towards his independence. Especially when it was so short-lived. 

“Then what happened? Why are you here instead of him?”

Hermione briefly closed her eyes, the reality of the situation still sore. But the time for being sad was over. What was done was done. There were no time turners here to correct the past; their only option was to move forward. And to do that, Theo had to know.

“His father signed a contract first.”

Stunned silence rippled through Theo before he snapped out of it and dove into a dozen subsequent questions. Apparently, Draco hadn’t mentioned anything to him about Lucius’ intention to use his power as patriarch to control his son like a choiceless puppet. All Draco had said was that he needed a place to stay once he had broken the news to his parents and moved out of Malfoy Manor. Once the initial shock had begun to dissipate and the gravity of Draco’s forced commitment to someone else sunk in, Theo was ready to spring into action.

“Alright, Brightest Witch of Our Age. Where do we start?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at his taunting use of the nickname she truly abhorred. She supposed she would just have to grow accustomed to his jokes if they were going to be working together.

“Show me your family library,” she said, already feeling more like herself now that a plan was setting into motion. “We need to learn everything we can about pureblood marriage contracts.”

~*~*~

Dozens of tomes laid spread out across a table in the middle of Nott Manor’s library. The Right and Proper Way by Farilus Flint. Promises and Pacts by Rylen Avery. Lifelong Bonds by Silo Selwyn. All of them were written by members of pureblood families and all pertained to pureblood marriages or magical oaths, and yet not a single one mentioned anything about the magic behind marriage contracts.

Hermione slammed shut another unhelpful book. “How is it that there is nothing useful in a single one of these?” she lamented. “It’s not like the magic came from nowhere!”

“I can’t say I’m surprised. Purebloods have always had a tendency of keeping the details of their sacred traditions on the quiet side,” Theo explained, voicing a similar sentiment about pureblood secrecy as Draco had the night before. “Anything put in writing could be potential ammunition against pureblood traditions if the Ministry ever decided to actually do something about it.” 

Theo leaned back in his chair as he continued, “For generations, the Ministry has turned a blind eye to a lot of things pureblood families have done that may be considered antiquated or even unjust. It’s not as though resentment towards Muggle-borns suddenly started when Voldemort showed up. It’s been present for centuries. But with so many pureblood families using their money and power to influence Ministry officials, they’ve gotten away with things they otherwise wouldn’t have.”

“It shouldn’t work like that,” Hermione said with a huff. “Ministry officials are supposed to represent the entire Wizarding population. Not just the ones with money.”

“I’m not disagreeing,” Theo quickly defended. “I’m just telling you how it’s been. How do you think people like Lucius Malfoy and my father avoided Azkaban the first time around? People knew they were Death Eaters. But bribes and connections to the right people can go a long way, so they remained free men.”

“At least your father’s locked in there now,” Hermione grumbled below her breath.

“Trust me, I whole-heartedly agree,” Theo returned. “For Draco’s sake, I wish his father had been sentenced to the same fate. But the Malfoys were always one of the most powerful pureblood families, and it certainly helped their case that Narcissa’s lie ended up saving the war. So Lucius Malfoy gets to continue his life as though he did nothing wrong.”

It made Hermione sick. Lucius Malfoy had done many terrible things, even outside his Death Eater alliances. He was the one responsible for the Chamber of Secrets being re-opened, not to mention his terrible treatment of Dobby and countless other house elves. His demeaning treatment of Draco was merely the most recent cruel act in a long string of ill-intended actions. Yet he had paid minimal consequences for most of them.

“There has to be a way for us to learn something about these contracts,” Hermione insisted. “These patriarchs are still enacting the magic, so the answers are out there somewhere.”

“I know,” Theo said, “but I must warn you that even if we do discover something, it won’t necessarily work for Draco’s situation.”

“Why not?”

“Each pureblood family has slightly different rituals, so what works for a Nott family contract won’t necessarily work for a Malfoy family one.”

“Different rituals?” Hermione asked. “What other kinds of rituals are there?”

“Whole bunch,” Theo answered. “The most ancient families have maintained some of the spells their family created from before the establishment of Hogwarts. Or some are just embedded in the magic of their homes.” He now smiled. “Like the Queen of the Night flower.”

Hermione tilted her head in curiosity, and Theo easily kept talking.

“In the Nott Manor gardens is a rare patch of Queen of the Night flowers that only bloom for a single night each year. Family lore says that if the Nott male clips one at full bloom and presents it to a witch and she accepts, it creates a magical bond between them that’s everlasting.”

“And you believe that?”

Theo shrugged, a grin creeping up his cheeks. “Guess I won’t know for sure until I try it for myself. The flowers aren’t supposed to bloom until some time between July and October, so I still have time to decide.”

Hermione pieced together whom he was considering offering the flower to. “Astoria?”

Theo’s grin widened. “Draco told you about us?”

“He mentioned it,” she said, remembering Draco’s remark about them the other evening. “He said you two chose each other all on your own.”

Pride seemed to swell in Theo as he said, “That we did.”

At his comment, the sullenness in Hermione’s heart promptly returned. Draco had also made his choice all on his own. Only his choice had been ignored.

Theo appeared to catch on to her change in mood.

“You and Draco will figure it out,” he tried to assure her. “Between your brains and his stubbornness, there’s no way you won’t find a way out of this thing.”

Hermione forced a smile. “I know we will.”

~*~*~

Her feet poorly landed on the front stoop of her office building before Hermione rushed inside and ran up the steps. In her determination to end the day finding at least one thing helpful, Hermione had stayed up halfway through the night reading the books Theo had let her take home. Yet once again, she had found nothing but vague ramblings and insufficient details — a disappointment made all the worse now that her fruitless research had made her late for work. 

“Morning!” Hermione hurriedly greeted Gretchen as she hastened past her assistant and into her office. Half-past nine and she was already behind schedule!

She blew her more-untamed-than-usual curls out from her eyes and plopped her bag beside her desk before straightening out the fabric of her robes. Her mind was a cluttered mess as she tried to push aside the drama of the weekend and sift through what she needed to tend to now that she was back in the workplace. 

Work. Her job. Yes, it was time to focus on that.

Footsteps entered through the doorway, but they stopped several paces away. Hermione glanced up from the stack of parchments she had been refamiliarising herself with, thankful to see Gretchen waiting with the schedule for the day tucked beneath her arm and a cup of hot coffee in her hands.

“You are a godsend,” she said to the woman as she manoeuvred around her desk and accepted the still-steaming drink. 

For a few brief seconds, her mind shut off as she took several long sips, in dire need of something to help get her morning back on track. She imagined this would be far from her only cup of the day.

Setting down the drink, Hermione returned to her chair and swiped the visible tiredness from her eyes.

“Alright, then,” she said to Gretchen, mentally preparing herself to take on the day. “What’s on my schedule?”

But when Hermione looked up to address Gretchen properly, she realised that the parchment lodged beneath her limb was much too thick to be just her daily schedule. It was several parchments all together, creased at the bottom from where they were folded in half. 

“Are you alright, ma’am?” Gretchen tentatively asked, ignoring the fact that Hermione had asked a question first. 

“I’m fine,” she asserted, perhaps too forcibly. “I just didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

But Gretchen didn’t raise her typical disbelieving eyebrow nor was there a single trace of taunting scepticism. Somehow, that was even more disconcerting. 

“Is there something you’d like to add?” Hermione pressed, but her attention was promptly pulled elsewhere when she caught sight of a familiar face below a header of blocked black letters and a single golden 'P.'

Gretchen failed to keep a tight enough hold to prevent the copy of the Daily Prophet from wriggling free and responding to Hermione’s Summoning Charm. A few seconds was all it took for the newspaper to land on her desk and flatten itself out — and only a few more seconds after that for Hermione’s entire morning to crumble into greater ruin.

For there, on the front page, was a photo of Draco, alongside a separate photo of a beautiful witch Hermione didn’t need to read the caption to know who it was. 

Her heart sunk even deeper when she read the headline.

DRACO MALFOY UP FOR GRABS NO MORE!

Hermione couldn’t bring herself to read the article. No doubt this was his parents’ doing. Draco’s consent or not, they clearly intended to proceed with the impending nuptials as planned. Why wait to announce the promise of their son to a respected pureblood when they could start benefiting from the publicity now?

Seeing it plastered for the entire Wizarding world hurt more than Hermione could have anticipated, made all the worst by seeing how pretty Aimée was. With long golden hair and dazzling eyes, she was precisely the type of witch who would look good on Draco's arm at all the proper pureblood functions.

Gretchen stood frozen on the opposite side of Hermione’s desk.

“I… I know you don’t like my prying, ma’am, but I thought… you and Mr Malfoy…”

Hermione swallowed the thickness lumping in her throat, a numbing haze seeming to wash over her as she forced out the words she didn’t want to say. “I told you he wasn’t my boyfriend.”

But Hermione knew there was no fooling Gretchen. The woman had figured out her and Draco when they had still been fooling themselves. 

“Ma’am—”

Her words were soft, but Hermione was in no mood for sympathy, pity, or whatever else Gretchen intended to offer.

“I really ought to get to work,” Hermione interrupted before anything more on the subject could be said. “If you’ll just leave my schedule for the day, I’ll review it myself, and—”

“Ma’am…”

“Please.”

The crack in her voice expressed everything her words did not.

Eyes soft, Gretchen gently dropped Hermione’s schedule on the desk before backing away. “Whatever you need.”

When the door clicked closed, Hermione blinked back the forming tears and resumed shuffling through her paperwork. But it seemed that the powers that be were determined to prevent that from happening.

In a corner laid the series of lessons that Draco had drafted Friday evening — the ones he had promised he’d come to finish before they had lunch together today.

Taking them into her hands, Hermione brushed her fingertips over his script handwriting, a faint smile twitching up her lips at the memory of how hard he had worked on them. She set the parchments down and scanned the rest of her office. The lessons were just one of the many reminders of him in the space. The stack of books they had picked up at the Muggle library. The peacock feather quill. The bouquet of white roses. Traces of him were everywhere.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy could do their best, but they couldn’t take those things away from her. And they wouldn’t take away her and Draco either.

With the casting of an Everlasting Charm, the white roses sprung back to their original brilliance. The sharp sting in her heart remained, but the vision of the renewed flowers made the sorrow start to fade. It was like a piece of Draco was there with her.

Yet the most significant piece laid carefully tucked beneath her robes, hidden from everyone else’s knowledge but her own. Pulling out the silver chain she had strung it on, Hermione clamped her hand around the Malfoy crest ring he had given her as one of his final acts of defiance towards his familial expectations — the reminder of his devotion to her, and now, her devotion to him. 

Loosening her grip, Hermione returned the ring to its new home just above her heart, her mind never too far from thinking about him as she set to work.

Chapter Text

For the second day in a row, the mattress beside Draco was cold when he awoke. At least today he expected it.

Waking up yesterday with no one left in his arms had felt like a betrayal. He hadn’t been ready. But would he have ever been? Still, it felt like something had been stolen from him. A final embrace, some parting words, one more chance to look at her. 

The question of when he’d get to see her next suffocated the air in his new home for the indeterminable future. Andromeda had taken him to the safehouse shortly after he had made his way downstairs the previous morning. It was the former home of Alastor Moody. With no family of his own, Moody had left it in his will to Nymphadora Tonks, his former Auror trainee. The house had then fallen into Andromeda’s possession after the premature death of her daughter.

Hardly any belongings remained besides the basic furniture. The living space had a couch and a few chairs around a table, while the bedroom was no more than a bed and a wardrobe. It was far from the fine living Draco had grown up in at the Manor, but under the present circumstances, he was in no position to complain. He was simply happy to have a safe place to live.

Tucked away in a Muggle neighbourhood in some part of England Draco didn’t know, the chances of his father finding him seemed slim. But that wasn’t what presently concerned Draco the most.

His eyes cast out the front window, lost in the gloomy mid-morning sky. The rational part of his brain tried to assure him it was nothing, yet the clench of anxiety twisted his stomach. He hadn’t received any owls from Hermione.

It had been one of the final things she had said to him before they had fallen asleep — a promise to write every day. But the sun had set and risen without a word. Knowing her, she had likely gotten wrapped up in something else, but what if his father had gone to find her when he couldn’t locate him? They both knew it was a possibility. 

If Lucius laid a hand on Hermione, hurt her in any single way, Draco would never forgive himself. She’d already suffered more than enough by the actions of his family members. While it was the last thing Draco wanted, if it came to it, he’d surrender and marry Aimée as long as it meant keeping Hermione from further harm.

Except here he was, hiding, like a cowardly Mooncalf, only to leave this place when the coast was deemed clear. He hated hiding. It made him feel powerless. But this was the plan he and Hermione had agreed upon, so regardless of how much he would rather be out there taking a stand, he would remain a man of his word.

He roamed into the kitchen to prepare breakfast with the groceries Andromeda had left for him, but the single additional item he had requested, now resting on the table, caught his attention first. The leather cover was a deep walnut that tugged at the memory of the warm eyes he already missed. Draco undid the thin strap that bound the front and back covers together and thumbed through the pages of the blank notebook. 

If there was any upside to this situation, it was that he’d now have infinite time to write with hardly any distractions. Or rather, without any distractions that he could presently do anything about. It was time to get back to his chosen career. He had to act as though they would find a way to get him out of this marriage contract, which came with the inevitable permanent disownment and loss to his claim on his family’s wealth. He couldn’t live off the royalties of a single book forever.

After summoning a quill and an inkwell, Draco tucked into a chair and opened to the first page of the notebook. Ink waited on the tip of the quill, but Draco didn’t make a scratch. He didn’t know what to write.

Stony silence surrounded Draco as he tried to think. Where to begin? What did he even want to say?

He had always had a knack for storytelling, that was for sure. The other Slytherins used to crowd around him as he would regale stories of what had happened to him. He had thrived on the attention it had garnered, losing count of how many times he had told them all about the story of Buckbeak attacking him. But what if that’s all he was? A reteller of his own stories? 

Draco was now reminded of the dilemma that had stunted his writing weeks ago. He’d already written his tell-all book. What stories did he have left to tell? 

The blank page tormented him as the itch to write something pricked at his fingertips. Yearning desire to brainstorm a topic for a second book tormented his thoughts, but it wasn’t a fair expectation to put on himself. It had been weeks since he had written a word; it would be a good start to simply write.

Pressure dissipating, Draco thought about the one thing he truly wanted to record right now. And without waiting a moment longer, he started at the beginning — the day a certain curly-haired witch attended his author talk.

~*~*~

After a bumpy start with Gretchen and the Daily Prophet, the rest of Hermione’s morning passed without significant incident. Her focus was admittedly lacking compared to her usual standards, but she still managed to mark off everything she had originally aimed to accomplish by the start of the afternoon. The right revisions were changed, the proper approval was given, and the mandatory meetings were attended. Work kept her busy. Work kept her mind off worrying about other things. Work kept her sane.

Until the owl she used last night to send Draco a letter appeared at her window with the same parchment still tied to his leg.

A ripple of concern immediately coursed through her, fearful that the return of the note meant something horrible had happened. That feeling only lasted a moment, though, immediately disappearing when she remembered that Theo’s owl had also come back undelivered before Hermione had left Draco.

Foolishness for having not pieced it together earlier suddenly flooded through her. Of course their owls had come back undelivered! The protective concealing enchantments Andromeda must have cast around her home and Draco’s safe house would obviously prevent owl post!

It was smart. Necessary. If the owls couldn’t find him, it meant it was unlikely Draco’s parents would be able to find him either. It was a good thing. But it also restricted her communication with him.

Sixty days.

It was unfathomable to imagine going that long without seeing neither Draco nor a single word in his handwriting. She had grown too accustomed to his company. To not have him walk through her door directly at noon and demand that she drop what she was working on and come to lunch was already hard enough.

But noon had already come and gone with no interruption.

She had already accepted having a dismal rest of her day when at half past noon, a different wizard walked in.

“Is it true?”

Hermione didn’t look up from her work, emotions already spent for the day. “I’d rather not discuss it, Harry.”

“Not an option,” he said, pulling back a chair and slamming a copy of the Daily Prophet on her desk as he plopped down in the chair across from her. “This isn’t something you can ignore by sinking into work and pretending it doesn’t exist.”

Hermione dropped her peacock feather quill. “Ignore?” She let out a disbelieving huff. “You honestly think this is something I’m just ignoring?”

His hands shot up in defence. “Alright, fine, you’re not ignoring it,” he quickly accepted. “But why is it that despite the fact that I willingly spent half my weekend last week helping you and Malfoy get together, I find out through a newspaper that he’s now engaged to someone else?”

No matter how many times Hermione heard it, the blow to her heart still felt the same. Yet Harry had a point. Gretchen was one thing, but she knew she couldn’t push away Harry. Not after everything he had already done to support her with Draco.

Hermione let out a long sigh. “I should have told you,” she conceded. “But don’t think for one minute that I’ve been sitting here doing nothing! I have a job, Harry, and I intend to do it right. But that doesn’t mean this whole disaster isn’t constantly toiling in the back of my mind! You think this is what Draco wanted? Of course not! You saw us last weekend. We—” Her words faltered, heart mildly seizing before she finished, “We had just started to figure things out when his parents went and did this behind his back.”

Harry frowned. “Sounds more like something his father would do.”

“It was only Lucius’ name inked on the contract,” Hermione confirmed. “But from what Draco’s told me, his mother’s been fairly complicit with all of it.”

“The same woman who was willing to lose a war to make sure her son was safe?”

Hermione sucked in a breath and sighed. “I don’t know, Harry. All I can tell you is that the last Draco said to me about it was that she stands by his father and his decisions.” She picked up her snow white peacock feather quill and dipped it back in the inkwell. “Now is there something else I can help you with?”

“Yes, in fact, there is.” He stood from the chair. “C’mon. You need a break. We’re getting lunch.”

~*~*~

“That’s a terrible idea, Harry.”

They had chosen a familiar café both of them enjoyed in Muggle London — away from where any witches or wizards would be able to overhear their conversation.

Harry set down his glass of water. “Why so?”

“Because if I do some sort of retaliation article revealing my side of the story, it will only incite the Malfoys further, possibly prompting them to speed up the process or who knows what! The risks don’t outweigh the potential benefits.”

“Well, we gotta do something!” he argued. “What have you done so far?”

“I went to Theo Nott’s place yesterday, and we spent hours digging through books, trying to find a lead about what type of magic is involved in Pureblood marriage contracts. But so far, we’ve found nothing,” she said, still disappointed from the day before. “Everything is so secretive.”

“Of course it is,” Harry said with a short grumble. “I can ask around the Aurors and see if anyone there knows anything?”

Hermione faintly smiled. “Thanks,” she said, though she doubted anyone at the Aurors would have much information. The Aurors were good with catching criminal behaviour, but technically, nothing Draco’s parents was doing was illegal — just rotten.

“What do you think his parents will do when they realise he’s gone into hiding?”

“I suspect come and find me,” Hermione plainly stated, having already accepted this outcome. “They know that Draco and I are together. It’d be the most logical next step.”

Harry’s eyes went dark. “That can’t happen.”

“Why not?” Hermione promptly countered. “I am more than capable—”

“Of protecting yourself?” Harry laughed. “Trust me, I know. But do you really want to risk anything right now?”

Her lips opened, tongue poised to defend herself, but she stopped before she did. Harry was right. One of Draco’s biggest flaws in all this had been his refusal to accept help from others. She wouldn’t make the same mistake.

“What do you have in mind?”

Harry snapped immediately into Auror mode. “I’ll coordinate with the Department of Magical Transportation to give you permission to Apparate directly into your office so you don’t even have to step foot onto Diagon Alley. We’ll also have to put a special protection ward around your building so only authorized employees can enter. And I imagine I don’t have to tell you to put wards around your own flat?”

“Already done.”

“Good,” Harry said with a nod. “If you restrict your travel to between those two places, you should be good. But just to be safe, I’ll also get you an emergency Portkey straight to my place in case something comes up and you need a quick escape. We could disguise it on a necklace and—”

“No!” Hermione interjected, perhaps too forcibly. “I mean, Can it actually be a bracelet? More accessible that way.”

Harry looked at her, slightly confused, but he didn’t argue. “That works as well.”

Hermione peered down at her hardly touched meal, the cool metal of Draco’s family ring hidden beneath her robes brushing against her skin. She pushed her fork around a few of the items on her plate, but her appetite was non-existent.

She could feel Harry’s concerned gaze bearing into her.

He shifted in his seat. “You know, we’ve talked so much about the situation, I haven’t actually gotten to ask how you’re doing.”

A sharp ache gripped her chest. She didn’t like showing when things hurt her. She much preferred when she could maintain her strong facade. But this wasn’t one of those times.

Her eyes clamped closed. “It’s hardly been more than a day, and I already miss him.”

She could feel the pressure building behind her eyelids, but the calming presence of Harry’s hand reaching out for hers eased her resurfacing heartbreak.

“It’s hard when we can’t be with the people we care about most,” his voice broke. “You and I are already far too familiar with that pain.”

Hermione swallowed. It had been something she and Harry had silently acknowledged during their time hunting Horcruxes just the two of them. They never explicitly discussed it, but she knew she hadn’t been able to hide how much it had hurt her when Ron had left. But this was different. Ron had left on his own volition — influenced by the locket, but still on his own volition. She had begged him to stay. Begged him. It wasn’t that easy for Draco.

“You really care for him, don’t you?”

She faintly nodded. “I know it’s hardly been over a month since he and I started talking again, but it feels like so much longer.” The prongs of her fork played with one of her chips. “There’s just something… natural… between us.”

There was a long silence before Harry spoke again.

“Do you love him?”

Her head snapped up. 

“What?” Her mind was in a daze. “How could you think I love him? We aren’t even officially dating.”

Harry mildly shrugged. “And you’re saying you weren’t in love with Ron years before you two started officially dating?”

A heat rushed to her cheeks. “That was different,” she scrambled to justify. “We’d been friends for years.”

“You’ve known Malfoy for years.”

“And we hated each other for the vast majority of that!”

Harry leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Fine. So you don’t love him. Just really care for him and are willing to do whatever it takes to make sure he doesn’t get married to someone else?”

“Precisely.”

Harry snorted, his head gently shaking back and forth. “If you insist.” He drew in a deep breath. “But I’ll just say this. When we were camping, there wasn’t a night that went by that I didn’t think about Ginny, hoping she was safe. It nearly drove me mad. Being away from a person can put a lot of things in perspective. A taste of what it’s like if they weren’t in your life. And I knew then that if I survived the war, I’d do anything to be with her.”

Hermione blinked. “Anything?”

“Without a doubt.” 

The chips on Hermione’s plate were now scattered across the surface, her heart threatening to leap out of her chest as the word ‘anything’ replayed in her head on constant loop.

~*~*~

Two knocks echoed through the door. Pause for five seconds. Three more knocks. Pause. Another.

Recognizing the pattern, Draco blew on the ink to dry and set aside the notebook. A few seconds later, the front doorknob twisted open and Andromeda stepped inside. As discussed, she had come to check-in on him that evening. Draco was glad to have the company. At least he didn’t have to endure two broken promises that day.

It was still strange to be in his aunt’s presence — a woman who looked so familiar but was hardly more than a stranger. The worst was her eyes. They were the same shade of blue as his mother’s and yet they looked at him so differently. Lacking was the motherly compassion he had grown up with, but at least he didn’t have to face the stinging hurt he’d been confronted with the last time he’d seen her.

Two wrapped parcels were cradled in Andromeda’s arms, and she set them on the table.

“Hermione dropped these off for you.”

The cloud that had fogged Draco’s heart all day instantly lifted, and Andromeda’s smile — uniquely her own amongst the Black sisters — brightened the room.

“Yes, I thought that might cheer you up,” she commented. “She said she tried owling you last night but it came back this morning undelivered. For a witch of her brightness, she should have better predicted that I’d prevent owls from finding you. That poor owl must have been searching for you for hours!”

Draco released a single chuckle. They both should have predicted that! Of course Andromeda’s protection wards restricted owls; the last thing they needed was anything that could risk exposing Draco’s location. But if he and Hermione couldn’t exchange owls…

“What are you waiting for? Open them!”

Typically, Draco wouldn’t appreciate being told what to do, but he was so eager to see what Hermione had delivered for him that he didn’t care. He tore off the brown parchment and upon seeing the cover, he instantly snorted.

“It’s a copy of Romeo and Juliet.”

Even under the present circumstances, Hermione was still giving him Muggle literature to read. He briefly leafed through the pages of what appeared to be a play before handing it over to Andromeda to see.

“Ah, yes, Ted told me about this story,” she said, a blend of reminiscence and amusement in her tone. “Something about star-crossed lovers?”

Draco once more chuckled. “Sounds fitting.”

He let Andromeda continue to peruse the book while he turned his attention to the second wrapped parcel, which turned out to be another notebook.

The cover was beautiful, etched with thin gold strands that laced together in an intricate woven design, yet Draco couldn’t help but feel a small sting of disappointment. The gift was thoughtful, but he already had a notebook. What he craved were her words.

He was about to set down the notebook when a hum of vibration pulsed from its cover. Confused, Draco examined the surface, but nothing appeared different. He flipped to the first page, and there, he saw the words actively being formed.

I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting for my message. I cannot believe we didn’t anticipate owl post not working! How daft of us? But that’s no matter now. After work today, I bought a pair of notebooks and charmed them so anything we write in them will instantly appear in the other notebook. Honestly, I should have thought of this earlier!

Theo’s worried for you. I went to him yesterday to do some research, but no luck. Harry’s also set up some precautions to make sure I’m safe from your father, so you needn’t worry about me.

I hope you’re getting settled in your new home. How is it?

The writing paused for several seconds before, down at the bottom, Hermione added one last line.

I miss you.

The final sentence was like a Stunning Hex straight to the chest. All day, he had been recording their memories together from the past few weeks as a way of keeping a piece of her with him. It had brought him a dose of comfort when trying to drown the disappointment mixed with concern at her lack of correspondence. Yet it all washed away with the harsh reminder that nothing he could do would replace actually being with her.

His fingers reached for his quill.

I miss you too.

He was about to write more when Andromeda’s voice interrupted him.

“Draco, I believe there’s a note in here for you.”

She retrieved a short strip of parchment that he had somehow missed tucked beneath the front cover. It didn’t take long to read — after all, it was only three words — but those three words hurt worse than having a dragon claw open his chest.

The parchment slipped from his fingers, and Draco had to steady himself on a chair.

Andromeda picked up the note, her forehead scrunched with incomprehension.

“She would have what?”

Draco’s mouth was dry. “She would have,” he said, voice breaking as his knees gave out and he fell into the seat. “She would have eloped with me.”

Chapter Text

Late fall’s first frost clouded the windows while Draco laid in bed, flipping through the hundreds of pages they had already filled while he waited for Hermione's response. A weak smile found its way across his lips as he skimmed their conversations from the past several weeks.

November 6th

Things are settling in here, though there’s one thing missing I’d say… Any chance you managed to solve the rest of Wizarding education’s problems in the past forty-eight hours and can hide away with me yet?

November 8th

I don’t think I’ve ever had a longer week of work, and it’s only Thursday. I know in reality that matters were just as hectic last week, but it’s not the same without our lunch breaks…

November 10th

I finished reading your Muggle play, and absolutely, under no circumstances should we ‘Romeo and Juliet it!’ Do I make myself clear?

November 13th

Theo came over and we had yet another research session after work today, but still no luck. I’m starting to fear there really is nothing recorded on the magic embedded in marriage contracts... Any other ideas?

November 13th

Try getting in contact with a Pureblood estate attorney. My father mentioned using one when finding the lovely little loophole of my ‘dependent’ status that made all this possible in the first place.

November 17th

Ugh! Crookshanks managed to get his paws into my inkwell and prodded all over the lesson plans I’ve been working on all Saturday! Now I have to start over!

November 21st

Merlin woman, how many more Muggle children’s books did you give Andromeda to deliver this week? Next time, perhaps send me copies of Theo’s books so I can see if there’s anything of potential value that you two missed? Or at the very least, give me some adult Muggle literature to read! And for what it’s worth, believe it or not, I do have other means of filling my days besides reading. 

November 25th

We’ve been trying for nearly two weeks now, but it’s looking like we may have another dead end with the Pureblood estate attorneys. All of them have rejected Theo’s request for a meeting, as well as Astoria’s and Blaise’s. Chances your father is paying hush money to keep them quiet?

November 28th

Andromeda stopped by again today. Apparently, she now feels comfortable enough to bring her grandson. Were you ever going to warn me how much energy he has? And his hair! I don’t know how Andromeda manages him!

December 4th

Working late again. Even Tillman didn’t leave here until 9. Can hardly keep my eyes open, but I couldn’t sleep before writing you. I miss you terribly.

The pad of Draco’s forefinger brushed over those final words. Thirty-two days had passed since he’d seen her last — nearly eight hundred hours trapped inside this safe house. 

The days were long, but he managed to fill them. Between reading the Muggle books that Hermione continued to have Andromeda deliver, scouring the countless volumes about Pureblood traditions on the off-chance Hermione missed something, or the recent addition of engaging with the rambunctious Teddy on a now daily basis, Draco kept his days fairly busy. He hadn’t resorted to insanity… yet. But he mainly attributed that to two things: his consistent correspondence with Hermione and hope.

Hope kept alive the spark inside his heart despite the passing days threatening to turn it to heavy stone. When they had crossed the halfway point on the too-quickly approaching sixty-day deadline, it had been a dreadful day for both him and Hermione. With the weeks of November having already drifted away like the long ago fallen leaves, December had snuck up on them. So far, none of their leads had produced any valuable information, and research was only going to become more difficult now that Hermione’s office had entered its final weeks before their own deadline. Hermione needed to prioritise her work, and Draco understood that. He had his own priorities as well.

Flipping back to their present conversation, Draco reviewed his last written message.

I obviously appreciate all that you continue to do for us, but don’t exert yourself too hard. You need to sleep. All this will be for nothing if you work yourself to death in the process.

Her reply was now scribed below.

I’ll do what I have to do, Draco. And if that means a month without sleep, it’ll be worth it. I’m not losing you.

Draco let out a sigh. He expected that to be her response, the determined witch that he knew her to be, yet the pang of guilt still tore at his insides. She should be solely focused on her job right now, but instead, she was spending exorbitant hours at work, only to go home and dedicate what little energy she had left to try finding a way out of this contract. She was putting herself under considerable pressure, and all Draco could do was witness it from afar.

It pained him to know she was under this much stress. She hardly complained about it, but he could sense her exhaustion in the slower formation of her words and the lengthened time between responses. Now more than ever, he wished he could wrap her in his arms and hold her until they drifted off into a dreamless sleep where nagging uncertainty of their future couldn’t taunt them. Just the thought made Draco feel mildly better, but the sorely empty space beside him was still cold.

Sitting up in bed and resting the notebook in his lap, Draco dipped his quill into the inkwell located on the nightstand and formed his response.

Only if that means you agree to then spend the next month exclusively in bed with me. Because once all this is over, I’m never sleeping without you again. Understood? Though, I do have one condition...

Her answer came immediately. Oh? And just what might that be?

Draco grinned. You have to get new pyjamas.

Hundreds of miles away from her, he still knew she was rolling her eyes at him. 

After a few more seconds, her neat handwriting once more appeared across the page. You, Draco Malfoy, have a deal.

Ideas of what he would buy her to replace those horrid flannel “molar bear” pyjamas began to clutter his mind — or better yet, no pyjamas at all — until a new message arrived.

I’m awfully tired. Another long day tomorrow, so I’m heading off to bed. I miss you.

Draco picked up his quill. I miss you too.

Since their very first exchange in the notebooks, they had ended every night with those same words. She missed him; he missed her. On the surface, they were just a handful of simple words, but the significance behind them felt like so much more. It was the daily reminder of what Draco was holding on to and what he stood to lose. A reassurance that all this was worth it because even after over a month apart, their feelings for each other hadn’t dwindled. They’d keep fighting.

Draco set the charmed notebook on his nightstand, but instead of also surrendering himself to slumber, he grabbed the other notebook that now found its home next to his bed. Opening to the bookmarked page, Draco read the next recorded memory with Hermione in the series of anecdotes he had transcribed his first week and a half inside the safe house. One day, he’d have new memories of them to fill more notebooks. Until then, he had this.

After finishing his reread of the retelling of their day at the Muggle park, Draco returned the few inch long scrap of parchment that he used as a bookmark — the one with three words that still swam through Draco’s thoughts on an hourly basis.

It had been weeks since Andromeda had discovered the note, yet he had never discussed it with Hermione. What was there to say? It wasn’t as though they could go back and change anything. But that wasn’t what mattered. She would have eloped with him, and knowing that was enough.

Tiredness kicking in, Draco rested the memory notebook on top of the charmed one and called for the lights to fade. When his eyelids covered the world in darkness, he thought of her, like he always did. 

~*~*~

Loose curls fell into Hermione’s face as she hustled from one side of the firm to the other. Her meeting with the Muggle Studies Department had run over, and now she was late for the most recent update from the Literacy Department regarding yet another revision to the curriculum before the finalised version was sent to the Ministry for approval. Weeks ago, it had felt like an honour to be asked to serve as a liaison for the Muggle Studies Department, but in the final stretch, the mounting stress and pressure was getting to her.

Breathe, she reminded herself. You can manage this. 

Meeting after meeting, Hermione hardly had time to let the information from one session settle before she was pulled into the next. Tension in the office was high, but Hermione powered through. She had to. If she paused too long to think, she might break.

Yet, there was always one time of her schedule that Hermione told Gretchen was off-limits. Whenever the clock struck noon, Hermione would wrap up or plan to reconvene whatever meeting she was in, or she would pause her work and return her quill to its holder. No matter how busy her day was, there was one thing she consistently ensured she had time for.

Slipping back inside her office, Hermione settled into the desk chair and reached into her bag. The smooth, familiar spine easily found its way into her hand, and Hermione pulled out the charmed notebook. She opened to the next blank page, his first note of the afternoon already there.

Hello, gorgeous. Ready for our lunch date?

Just like that, the strain of the workday dissipated from her shoulders. Yes, she was most certainly ready.

A few weeks back, when Hermione had first mentioned missing spending her lunch breaks with him, Draco had suggested they still do so through the notebooks. Hermione was initially wary of committing to daily, but Draco had insisted. He had passed it off as flirty, a mere desire to prove that he could still steal her away from her work, even when he wasn’t physically there, but Hermione suspected the building strain of solitude also played a factor. She didn’t argue. So their routine remained the same as it would if he were able to come in person. When the clock struck noon, the next hour was hers and Draco’s.

Selecting her white peacock feather quill from its new location inside a drawer (conveniently hidden from Gretchen’s still occasionally curious gaze), Hermione began to scribe her response, not paying much attention to the packed lunch she had brought with her from home. She could always eat it later while she put the finishing touches on a unit about Muggle Government systems and their similarities and differences to those in the Wizarding world. 

The bustle of the office on the other side of the door seemed so distant during the small window of time she had with Draco. Retelling the story of how Teddy had spent the morning fingerpainting the bathroom for over twenty minutes before either Draco or Andromeda noticed, Hermione relished in the way he still managed to make her laugh over the smallest of things. 

She was so immersed in their conversation, she nearly jumped out of her chair when someone entered the room.

“Merlin, Harry!” Hermione chastised as she promptly closed the notebook. “A simple knock would have been appreciated!”

“I did knock,” he said with a snorted chuckle. “Three times to be exact.”

“Then you should have knocked louder!”

Entirely undeterred, Harry brushed off her comment and approached her desk, eyes catching the notebook. “So how’s Malfoy?”

“Not much new to report. A lot of the same,” she began with a small shrug. “But I must warn you, he's been spending a lot more time with Teddy lately, so if you’re not careful, you might lose your place as his favourite wizard!”

Harry dismissively scoffed. “I’d like to see him try.”

But they both knew there wasn’t actually any antagonism in his retort. Harry knew how important Draco was to her, and his support the past month had been instrumental in helping her get through it — particularly with her travel limited between her flat and work. Harry dropped off groceries to make sure she was fed and continued to maintain the protective wards around her office building (something that still stirred office gossip about what could warrant such strict security at an education firm). More importantly, though, he checked in on her on a consistent basis to see how she was doing — and perhaps most importantly, deliver the books she requested.

Noticing the package from the small used bookstore on Knockturn Alley, Hermione gasped and reached out for it.

“Oh, I’ve been waiting weeks for this to come in!”

She tore away the wrapping and revealed the copy of Tried and True Traditions by Celestia Cattermole.

“Do you really think the answer’s in there?” Harry asked.

Hermione ran her fingers over the copy of the book she knew to be over a hundred years old. “I can only hope,” she said, trying not to get her optimism too high. She had already experienced far too much disappointment over the past few weeks.

Harry gave a faint smile. “Then let’s hope this is the one.” 

Hermione’s fingers twitched to start reading the book, but the clearing of Harry’s throat pulled her attention away from the worn emerald cover.

“I’m leaving in a couple of hours for an Auror mission, and I won’t be back for a few days,” Harry started to say. “But if you need anything, you can owl Gin or Ron.”

Hermione smiled. “I know.”

Harry returned the expression. “Right.” His eyes fell back on the charmed notebook. “Well, if that’s all settled, I’ll let you get back to Malfoy.”

The door had only hardly closed before the notebook was already reopened, Hermione’s quill rapidly etching across the page as she updated Draco with the small glimmer of good news. 

...

The rest of the work day was just as hectic as the morning, and it wasn’t until past seven when Hermione finally had the chance to actually open her newly acquired book. She tried to hold back her anticipation as she opened to the first page, only to be met with disappointment. 

The whole thing was in runes. They appeared similar to one she had seen before but with enough variation to make it difficult to translate. Even worse, Hermione was fairly certain she had seen this class of runes before in a book at Flourish and Blotts, but she had made the irrational decision not to purchase it despite her intuition that it might be helpful one day. (Though, admittedly, she thought that about nearly every book she found interesting.)

Peering out her office window, Hermione located the weathered storefront of the popular bookstore. Temptation began to dance inside her veins. Surely it wouldn’t be so terrible if she paid the store a quick visit. She knew exactly where to find the book she needed; there was no need to waste either Ron or Ginny’s time getting it for her. Plus, it was dreadfully monotonous being stuck between one’s house and office. She longed for the lung-filling scent of fresh books. After already working so hard this week, this could be a small little reward.

Hermione considered the situation. One stop wouldn’t be so terrible, right?

~*~*~

The rapping against the front door rattled Draco from his sleep. 

Two knocks. Pause for five seconds. Three knocks. Pause. Knock.

His brain was still gathering consciousness. Surely it wasn’t already morning?

Two knocks. Pause for five seconds. Three knocks. Pause. Knock.

Merlin, would Andromeda give him a moment? It was only—

His heart froze when he saw the time. 3 am.

Tearing away the covers, Draco was out of bed in an instant, running to the door. A tangle of dread knotted his stomach. Andromeda would only come this late if it was an emergency. 

The pulse of his heartbeat rang in his ears as he swung open the door, dreading what had demanded such a late night visit. He felt the colour drain from his face when he saw the emotionless look of his aunt, but his breathing near stopped when he saw his mother standing next to her.

“Draco, dear. We need to talk.”

Chapter Text

Blind surprise boiled into blazing outrage as Draco's vision bore into his mother.

"Where's Hermione."

"Draco—"

"Tell me Hermione's safe."

Narcissa started. "I know nothing about Miss Granger."

Only a trickle of relief eased his tension.

"In that case, I have nothing to say to you and father," he coldy stated, beginning to close the door.

She reached out a hand to stop it. "Then what about just to me?"

Still, Draco had nothing. The gentle whirring of the chill night breeze was the only sound as Draco shifted his glare to the other witch in front of him. Ire thickened inside his chest at the betrayal of the aunt he had grown to trust the past few weeks. The deception, the audacity—

"Your father doesn't know I'm here."

Draco huffed. As if that made much of a difference. The last he had seen of his mother, she had stood complicitly by Lucius's side while Draco's hope for happiness had been signed away, with or without her prior approval.

Narcissa stiffened. "In fact, I'm not presently residing in the Manor."

Only then did Draco's attention fully revert back to her, now meeting her eyes with an incredulous stare.

"I don't believe you," he managed, his body blocking the entry so his mother and Andromeda were still forced to stand outside. Yet foolish curiosity prevented him from closing the door.

"I also thought the same thing at first," Andromeda supplied from her sister's side. "But she's telling the truth."

Sincerity shone in Andromeda's gaze, but the hard scowl on Draco's features did not change.

"He didn't just betray you when he signed that contract. He betrayed me as well," his mother insisted. A gust of wind blew past them, and Narcissa clenched the fabric of her travelling cloak. "If it's no difference to you, I suggest we move this conversation inside so I can properly explain. And if you're fearful that this is some sort of ruse, you'd be wise to consider that I could have easily hexed you the moment you opened the door."

Draco hesitated. Everything from the past few weeks had told him not to trust either of his parents, even his mother. Who was to say that she wouldn't owl his father as soon as she left the safe house? Yet the memory of the dismay on Narcissa's face when Lucius revealed the signed contract gave him pause.

All I have ever wanted is for you to be safe and happy.

With a weary step backwards, Draco granted them entry. He just hoped he wasn't proving himself a naive man.

Narcissa stepped inside first, then Andromeda. While Narcissa removed her cloak and began to silently scrutinise the space Draco had been calling home the past month, Andromeda moved to the kitchen and set a kettle to boil.

"It's… quaint," Narcissa said after several seconds.

With a mild trace of hesitancy, she assessed the status of the sofa before seeming to deem it passable enough for her to sit. Draco, meanwhile, hadn't moved from his spot just beyond the threshold of the door.

"Start talking, Mother."

From her sour expression, he could tell that Narcissa did not appreciate being spoken to like that, but Draco held no remorse. He didn't appreciate being in his present situation.

"I've never been as much of a staunch believer in the value of pureblood lineages as your father, nor Bella and my parents," she carefully began. With her hands gracefully positioned on her lap, her demeanour was more fitting for entertaining guests at the Manor than a post-midnight visit to the plainly decorated home of a long-deceased Auror. "I did as was expected of me, as is the tradition for most pureblood witches. I listened to my parents' teachings, and when old enough, married your father. It then became my marital duty to remain loyal to my husband and support his decisions." She wavered for a moment. "But it is also my motherly duty to protect my son."

Andromeda returned from the kitchen with a tray holding a tea selection and the appropriate mix-ins. Draco counted only two cups, which was fine by him. He wasn't in the mood, anyway. The last time he had been obliged to a proper tea with his mother, it had been a trick to get him on a date with Victoria Flint — the true start to this entire mess.

Taking a seat on the adjacent cushion to her sister, Andromeda matched Narcissa's poise. Narcissa added two spoonfuls of sugar to her drink, careful not to let the spoon clink against the edges, before gently blowing away the steam and taking a sip. The second cup remained untouched.

"I assure you, Draco, I had no knowledge of your father's intentions to sign that contract," his mother continued once she had set her cup on the table, nose wrinkling slightly when she'd been compelled to do so without a saucer underneath. "But you also never outwardly shared your true reasons for not wanting one signed until it was too late."

Draco sneered. "The reason shouldn't have made a difference. My simple desire to not sign a contract should have been enough."

It took a few moments of processing before Narcissa responded. "I suppose that is fair," she eventually accepted. "But you must understand that I was brought up with the expectation that children did what was told of them, no questions asked." Her eyes glanced towards Andromeda. "Which is why I so willingly accepted my estrangement with Dromeda for so many years."

Andromeda rested a hand on Narcissa's knee and offered her sister a small smile, as though years of hostility towards her were already forgiven. But Draco wouldn't submit so easily.

"Empty words do little to help me, Mother," he tightly returned. "Especially considering you already waited over a month to find me."

"A month?" Narcissa shook her head. "No, Draco. I sought you almost immediately."

Draco opened his mouth to retort again, but Andromeda spoke first.

"She arrived at my house only a few days after you and Hermione. I feared she was there looking for you, but to my surprise, she didn't even mention you."

"I was not there with nefarious intent, and I needed her to know that," Narcissa explained. "I'm not so foolish as to believe any of your friends or Miss Granger would divulge your location. I didn't even anticipate it from Andromeda. But while I was searching for you, I realised that I must reconcile the first relationship I had let deteriorate as a result of differences in view on blood status before I had any chance of proving myself to you."

Draco's eyes darted to Andromeda. "You didn't think it prudent to mention any of this to me?"

"I needed to trust her first, make sure that her intentions were sincere in renewing our relationship and not some ploy to find you. You already had more than enough concerns as is." Andromeda let out a soft sigh. "But as much as I'd like to tell you everything that's happened since Cissy's first arrival, I'm afraid I must get going. I can't leave Teddy alone much longer, even if he is sleeping."

A sea of uncertainty swirled in Draco's stomach, unsure how he felt about being left alone with his mother, but Andromeda was already halfway to the door.

As she walked past Draco, she placed both hands on his arms and addressed him with concerned eyes. "Listen to what your mother has to say," Andromeda softly spoke. "She's likely your best chance."

When his aunt left, Narcissa began fixing the second cup of tea, only one spoonful of sugar this time — the way Draco preferred. She motioned for him to take the spot that Andromeda had just vacated, but Draco remained rooted in place.

"What's presently happening with the contract?"

Narcissa maintained her emotionless composure as she set down the denied cup of tea. "To my knowledge, your father is proceeding with the Beauforts as planned and has not told them anything about your refusal to marry their daughter. As would have been expected regardless, her family is doing all the planning, and a date is set for the first Sunday of the new year, right when the contract is scheduled to go into effect."

The sickening taste of bile tainted his tongue as he released a harsh scoff. "He's deluded!"

Narcissa sighed. "He's desperate."

The word turned over in Draco's mind. He had no pity for the man. Lucius had avoided Azkaban after the war and been able to keep every Galleon of his wealth. Compared to the wide range of problems that plagued so many others, the fact that his son refused to be trapped in a marriage with a witch he didn't love hardly qualified as something to be "desperate" about.

Yet, despite those thoughts, flashes of his father fresh out of Azkaban soiled his memory. He recalled the dark rims that had aged his father ten years in the span of thirteen months. The pride that had puffed Lucius's chest had been squashed, now seen as a failure by his esteemed peers. Even Voldemort had lost faith in him, a fact Lucius had been so recklessly determined to rectify that he had compelled Draco to condemn his classmates to their inevitable deaths.

Desperate.

"Your father is still trying to rebuild his status after it was so severely damaged the last few years of the war," his mother now needlessly explained. "I thought the house arrest would be good for him — at least he wasn't going back to Azkaban. But I think it only made him feel isolated. You know better than anyone else how Malfoy men are raised. Proud. And while I have never doubted his satisfaction with my decision to prioritise you over the winning of the war, it left an undeniable social strain on us that he is still trying to compensate for."

"That's not my burden to right," Draco hissed.

"I recognise that," Narcissa stated. "But it appears your father is willing to do anything to reclaim what he believes is his rightful place in wizarding society."

Draco recalled the lessons Lucius had instilled in him as a child, asserting time and time again how special he was: firstly as a wizard, secondly as a pureblood, and thirdly as a Malfoy. He was raised to believe he was the best because his father believed it as well. They were the Malfoys. Who could be better?

"As soon as you left, your father insisted that you'd be back," Narcissa continued. "He dismissed your actions as temporary foolishness and lack of proper judgment and firmly believed you'd return once you'd come to your senses. After all, he raised you better than that. Which was partially why, despite my expressed displeasure, your father released a statement to the Daily Prophet announcing your engagement."

Draco scowled, remembering the article Hermione had written him about.

"I suspect Lucius expected old friends would reach out and congratulate him on the match, and while there were a few, it was far less than he expected. And as the days passed with no word from you, I could tell he was becoming more and more disgruntled. Our meals returned to tense silence, even with you gone."

"So is that when you left?"

Narcissa nodded. "It was about a week after you. I had already begun to reconnect with Dromeda and didn't want to involve him in my outings. It was safer that way. Though, I did fear what he might do without me keeping him partially in check, which is why I gave him an ultimatum before my departure."

"Which was?"

"That if he dared lay a finger on either you or Hermione, I would divorce him," Narcissa flatly stated. "For nothing would deteriorate his status farther than losing his pureblood wife."

Draco's jaw hung agape. He could hardly believe what he was hearing. Narcissa, however, seemed entirely unfazed by her statement.

"I have no doubt he'd ever dare risk jeopardising our marriage, so it truly isn't a concern. I mostly hope the time alone will force him to re-evaluate what's important to him. But if not…" Narcissa sucked in a breath. "I've sacrificed everything for you once before, Draco, and I'll do it again."

It was a lot to process for half past three in the morning. But as much as Draco wanted to be grateful to learn that his mother appeared to be on his side, a harsh truth remained.

"This is all well and good, Mother," Draco acknowledged, "But it's a bit too late to be having this revelation. Father already signed me into a contract which you assisted him in."

Narcissa gently dipped her chin. "That is, unfortunately, true. While I can only express my regret for my role in this situation, I must reiterate that your father and I were raised a certain way. This is all we've known. After so many years, it's hard to change the way one sees the world."

"You raised me the same way, but I've managed to change."

"Yes, you did," Narcissa accepted, "but you had… other influences, and a deep desire to improve yourself after the war." She released a sigh. "But if you don't want to change, it's impossible, and you're stuck with what you're taught as a child."

Draco shook his head. "Childhood upbringing or not, none of this forgives what he's done."

"No, I'm afraid it doesn't," Narcissa said with a mournful note. "But just as your father believes you'll come around, I believe there's still hope he'll be the one to realise his wrongs."

Draco huffed. "At this point, it's more likely that flobberworms will fly."

By now, he'd had enough with talking about his father. There were more important matters that needed to be resolved.

"The contract," he said, bringing back the only topic he truly cared to discuss. "What can we do to nullify it?"

"I've looked into, and I'm afraid I don't have much authority since my name is nowhere on the document," Narcissa answered. Her face turned somber. "I'm not even sure your father knows a way out of it. Knowing him, he purposefully thought of every potential loophole when forming it."

That's what Draco feared the most.

But he refused to lose hope. "There must be a way."

Yet Narcissa didn't seem certain.

"Let's suppose, for a moment, there isn't," she carefully suggested. "Would it truly be so terrible to marry Miss Beaufort? She's a very good match for you. I quite remember how comfortable you two appeared to be during our summers together. You could do worse."

Draco didn't entertain the thought. "But I could also do better."

"With Miss Granger?"

He nodded.

A veil of sorrow washed over his mother's gaze as she paused before asking, "Is she what makes you happy?"

"She is."

Narcissa acknowledged the comment, though he could see the dash of disappointment in her eyes. For all her words, there was still a part of her that had held onto the minuscule ember of hope that he would still eventually choose to follow the familial expectations. But those days were long gone.

Flattening out the skirt of her robes, Narcissa stood to leave. "Then I will do whatever is in my power to stop this marriage contract from being fulfilled."

Kissing Draco on the cheek, she wished him a goodnight with the promise to provide Andromeda with an update when she had one. Ultimatum or not, it was still for the best to keep Draco at the safe house in case Lucius's desperation got the best of him.

Draco returned to his bed, but despite his tiredness, he found it difficult to fall asleep. There was a certain sense of relief in knowing that his mother was now firmly on his side, yet his mind couldn't stop thinking about something else she had said.

"If you don't want to change, it's impossible, and you're stuck with what you're taught as a child."

That was precisely what Hermione believed, the philosophy that made her so passionate about the curriculum she'd been planning for young witches and wizards. What children learn sticks with them, especially in those early, formative years.

He bolted upright.

Suddenly, Draco knew what he wanted to write for his second book.

Chapter Text

After yet another exhausting couple days of work, Friday had finally come, but the list of things for Hermione to do seemed to be ever-growing. She had another meeting with Weggers scheduled for first thing Monday morning, and if that woman dared to postpone their meeting like she had all those weeks ago, Hermione would storm into the Ministry and sit there until Weggers met with her! But before any of that could happen, Hermione had to finish these final unit plan edits.

The early rays of morning sunshine crept through her office window, not a sound echoing from the other side of Hermione’s door. She had arrived two hours early in an attempt to help her focus before the bustle of the workday inevitably pulled her concentration in six different directions. With only a few hours sleep, though, the extra strong coffee she had made wasn’t helping much on this mission.

Once again, Hermione had stayed up late trying to decode the unfamiliar runes of Tried and True Traditions. Better judgment had so far prevented her from stepping outside the warded safety of her office building and home to pick up the rune translation book herself, but her patience was running low. Harry was still on his Auror mission, Ron had been tied up with his own duties at work, and Ginny hadn’t been available to help either. Hermione’s ability to make guesses based on other, seemingly related runes could only do so much. She needed that book.

Hermione understood that she could ask someone else to do it. Merlin knew Gretchen would be more than happy to help — especially if she knew the reason — but that would just stir questions about why Hermione didn’t do it herself. She could always use the excuse that she was plenty busy with everything else, but with Gretchen’s knack for picking up on small details, her assistant wouldn’t believe that Hermione would pass up a quick trip to her favourite bookstore. And in many senses, that desire was precisely why she hadn’t asked Gretchen…

It was going on five weeks since Hermione had stepped outside, and while it was for her own safety on the chance that one of the Malfoys tried to hunt her down, it was suffocating to be stuck indoors for so long. Her eyes peered out her window and surveyed the uncrowded streets. If she ran out right when the store opened, hardly anyone would be in there, and she’d be back in her office in no more than ten minutes…

Shortly before the clock struck nine, Hermione grabbed her cloak off a hook and slipped out of her office, the rest of the firm still quiet in the minutes leading up to the official start of the work day. The tip of her wand met the top of her head, and with a cool, rippling sensation, a Disillusionment Charm disguised her body as she proceeded down the steps and onto the cobbled pathways of Diagon Alley.

It was refreshing to be somewhere new, but Hermione didn’t have time to think about that. She paced directly to Flourish and Blotts, only removing the Disillusionment Charm once she had located her required shelf.

Immediately, Hermione tugged at the spine of the book she had come there for. The cover flipped onto her arm as she briefly skimmed through it, relieved that the contents were, in fact, the same runes as the ones in Tried and True Traditions. As soon as she was done with work today, she’d now be able to go home and properly translate what the book said.

Hermione started to head to the checkout but paused when her attention got diverted by the table of new releases. Her eyes scanned all the covers, fingers twitching to look at them. She picked up a non-fiction one about the Goblin Rebellions of 1635 — actually by a Goblin author! It was so rare that the rebellions were told from their perspective. Oh, and Tersha Treebaum had a new novel! Perhaps that would be something Draco would enjoy? He’d read so much Muggle literature lately. It would be nice to give him some variety.

It didn’t take much for Hermione to lose her concentration on the array of books. That was, until a voice she’d only heard a few times before startled her from behind.

“Miss Granger.”

The books toppled out of Hermione’s hands, and she promptly spun around to point her wand directly at the chest of Narcissa Malfoy. 

The erratic beating of Hermione’s heartbeat echoed in her ears as she sternly glared at the woman she’d only seen glimpses of the past few months. But she had heard more than enough from Draco to feel a sense of disdain at the finely dressed witch. From the corner of her eye, Hermione caught sight of the emergency Portkey bracelet dangling off her wand-hand wrist, ready to grab it if Narcissa made one suspicious move.

“There is no need for wand-waving,” the woman calmly stated. “I’m here to have a civilised conversation.”

Hermione snorted. Civilised from a Malfoy didn’t necessarily mean it wouldn’t be malicious.

Narcissa looked away and exchanged a brief nod with the man behind the counter. A bag seemingly filled with coins jingled as it appeared mid-air and landed in front of him. 

Hermione immediately felt foolish. Of course the Malfoys had paid someone at Flourish and Blotts to tip them off when she appeared. It was the most predictable spot to find her.

Attention reverted back in front of her, Narcissa peered down at the vine wood. “This really is quite unnecessary,” the woman said. “I’m here to help.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Narcissa suppressed a delicate snort. “Draco had a similar reaction last night.”

Hermione’s stomach dropped at the mention of her son and the apparent news that she had seen him. But Hermione wouldn’t fall for it. Draco was in a safe house that not even Hermione knew the location of.

The other woman’s gaze swept over the books now scattered across the floor. She picked one up. “I presume these books are for my son?”

“They’re for me,” Hermione quickly retorted, her spine stiffening. “I don’t even know where Draco is.”

“Oh, I trust you don’t,” Narcissa said as she set the book down on a nearby table. “But I’m curious. If not from you, then where did all those Muggle books presently resting on my son’s table in his living quarters come from?”

A heat flushed Hermione’s cheeks. “He must have acquired those himself.”

Narcissa sighed. “You’re not a very good liar, Miss Granger,” she said, sounding disappointed by the statement. “Perhaps you ought to learn the art of subtlety from my son.”

Agitation now pulsed inside Hermione. “I promise you, Mrs Malfoy, that I have no idea where your son is, so if this is some trick to get it out of me, I cannot help you,” she snapped, not caring to entertain this conversation much longer. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for work.”

Leaving behind the books, Hermione made to leave the store. She’d just have to tell Gretchen to pick it up for her and deal with the resulting questioning.

“The books are Great Expectations, 1984, and Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.”

Hermione promptly froze. Those were the same books she had sent last week to Andromeda to give to Draco.

“I have no intentions to deceive you,” Narcissa continued, Hermione slowly turning back around to face her. “I truly did see my son last night, and I am here to help.”

Numbing doubt stilled Hermione’s movements. This was the same woman who had tricked her son into a tea date with a pureblood witch and taken her husband’s side even after Draco expressed his disinterest in signing a marriage contract. Under what circumstances would she be there to help?

“Draco had the same hesitancies as you,” she plainly continued, “and I will not needlessly waste my time trying to convince you of my intentions. I suggest you communicate with my son, however you do, and confirm my support. And when you have, owl me. We have the same desires at heart.”

Having said her piece, Narcissa bid Hermione a fair morning and exited the bookstore. It took a few moments for Hermione to regain her faculties, brain quickly working to make sense of what had just occurred, before picking the books up off the floor and proceeding to make her purchases.

Draco had a lot of explaining to do.

~*~*~

In the small handful of hours since Draco had awoken, he had already managed to cover the entire sitting room with books and parchments. The floorboards were littered with ideas and bullet points while the books were opened to various pages for reference. He thought back to the lesson plans he had helped Hermione with the day they had spent together in her office, straining to remember the relevant parts.

He barely registered the sound when the signalled knocks pounded against the front door. His mind focused elsewhere, he flicked his wand, and the door automatically opened.

Still bitter that she hadn’t told him about his mother, Draco didn’t greet Andromeda as she entered. In fact, he didn’t even look up from his parchment. The only way he knew it was her — besides the fact that he got the sense that his mother wouldn’t be returning until matters were hopefully resolved — was the low whistle she made.

“It looks like someone’s been busy this morning.”

Draco glanced up to offer her a short glare of disinterest, but his mood promptly shifted when he saw Teddy running over from her side. The child had no regard for the items on the floor as he rushed to give his distant cousin a hug.

“Good morning to you too,” Draco said with a chuckle, giving the young boy’s mop of vibrant purple hair a tousle. 

Teddy started rambling about everything he’d done that morning, including a detailed list of the groups he’d put all his stuffed magical creatures into, and Draco listened with keen interest. When stuck alone in a house for most hours of the day, one tended to accept whatever company they got. Yet the more time he spent with Teddy, the more Draco sincerely enjoyed his cousin’s youthful energy.

Taking a seat on the couch, Draco swooped up Teddy and placed him on his lap.

“And which one is your favourite?” he asked.

Teddy beamed. “The Phoenix!”

“Yeah? What’s that one’s name?”

“Fireball! Because he’s red!”

Draco chuckled. Oh, the simple joys of being a child. 

He tried to keep his attention on Teddy, but it was pulled elsewhere when he noticed Andromeda return from setting the groceries in the kitchen, now starting to pick up one of his parchments.

“What are you working—”

Before she could read anything or even finish her question, Draco whipped out his wand and summoned all the parchments into a neat pile on the table while the books resorted themselves into a neat pile directly beside it. 

“Those are for my eyes only right now,” he shortly explained.

Teddy tugged on Draco’s jumper. “What are?”

“All those papers you so lovingly stomped all over on your way to hug me!”

He teasingly poked Teddy’s side and the young boy giggled.

“Do you like to draw too?” he asked with wide-eyes once Draco’s poking stopped.

“Not draw,” Draco answered. “Write.”

From the other side of the room, he caught Andromeda’s smile. “Ahhh, so you’re writing something?”

Despite still being partially upset with her, Draco couldn’t hold back his snorted laugh. It was small instances like these that he recognised traces of her Slytherin side, quietly waiting in the background while he divulged the small nuggets of useful information to her grandson. In that sense, he supposed it really shouldn’t have come to his surprise that Andromeda would keep something secret from him until she found it suitable. After all, she was still a Black sister.

Accepting this fact, Draco decided to offer a bit more information. “It’s actually the beginning framework for my second book.”

Andromeda appeared interested. “Another memoir?”

“No, a novel,” Draco said with a smile. “But I’m afraid the rest of the details are a secret. I want it to be a surprise.”

Apparently, his conversation with Andromeda had lasted long enough, for Teddy was yanking on Draco’s jumper again.

“Look! Look! Look what I can do now!” He scrunched up his little face, eyes turning into wrinkled slivers as he puffed out his cheeks. Slowly, the purple in his hair started to fade until it became pale blond. When he opened his eyes, Teddy reached for a strand of his own hair and his expression turned vibrant. “We match!”

Draco laughed. “Careful, or someone might mistake you as a Malfoy!”

But right as Draco said it, his light-hearted nature shifted. No one would ever mistake this child as a Malfoy. He was a Metamorphmagus with a werewolf father. Nothing of the sort would ever be accepted in a proper pureblood family— especially in the traditional Malfoys. What hurt more, however, was the realisation that if Draco had known Teddy as a peer, younger Draco wouldn’t have accepted him either. There wasn’t just one type of prejudice.

Draco couldn’t solve them all, though. At least, not all at once. He just hoped what he planned on doing would have an impact on the next generation of Hogwarts students.

Checking the time, Draco noticed it was nearing noon. He removed Teddy from his lap and reached for the notebook that he never kept more than an arm’s reach away.

Making the same observation, Andromeda went for Teddy. “Why don’t you go play outside for a bit?” 

“But I want to spend more time with Draco!”

“Draco has something important he has to do right now. But I’ll make us lunch, and you can spend more time with him in an hour, okay?”

Draco tuned out Teddy’s complaining as he went into the bedroom for some privacy. He opened the charmed notebook and prepared to write his greeting when he noticed he already had a message from Hermione waiting.

Did you or did you not meet with your mother last night?

Blowing out a breath, Draco dipped his quill into the ink. Yes, I did. She showed up here in the middle of the night with Andromeda. Apparently they’ve been communicating for weeks. Did you know anything about this?

No, I did not! Which is why I was so taken aback when your mother confronted me at Flourish and Blotts this morning!

What were you doing at Flourish and Blotts?! You promised me that you were only travelling between work and home! 

I made one trip there in five weeks. Five! And this is what happens! Fine, lesson learned. Now tell me what is going on with your mother.

The majority of the rest of their lunch conversation revolved around his mother — not exactly the topic Draco would have preferred, but a necessary one. They exchanged accounts of their recent encounters with her, and by the end, Hermione had only one question left.

Do you trust her?

Draco took several seconds to think, but he had already made his decision last night.

I do.

Hermione’s words came shortly after that.

Then I do as well.

Her lunch hour ended much too soon, and Draco was left alone with his thoughts. A month ago, he wasn’t sure he would have so willingly accepted his mother’s offer for help. It was too uncertain. But with their days running out, he and Hermione could use any offer of assistance that came their way.

Forcing himself out of bed and back into the kitchen, Draco was grateful to discover that it was only Andromeda there, Teddy still presumably outside playing. He pulled back one of the kitchen table chairs and slumped into the seat.

His aunt handed him a glass of water and joined him. “How was your chat with Hermione?”

“Spent the whole time talking about my mother,” he said, mindlessly pushing his fingers through his hair. “She approached Hermione this morning. It’s still unclear what her plan is, but it seems she wants to work with Hermione to figure this all out.” 

“Your mother cares very much about you, Draco. A statement I’m sad to say can’t be made about my own mother,” Andromeda remarked. “When I left with Ted, I never heard from my mother again. Her opinions about Muggle-borns superseded her opinions about her own child. But that isn’t the case for Cissy.” 

“It would have been better for her to realise this weeks ago,” Draco couldn’t help but retort.

Andromeda sighed. “Yes, it would have. But sometimes, it takes losing something to realise how much it means to us.” 

A pang seized Draco’s heart. “I can’t lose Hermione.”

Andromeda reached out and took Draco’s hands. “I know you can’t, dear, and I think your mother is starting to realise that too.” She gave his hands a squeeze. “But you also mustn’t take for granted everything that Hermione has been doing for you two. Most witches would have walked away weeks ago.”

Draco snorted. “Most witches aren’t Hermione Granger.” But the ache in his chest didn’t lessen. 

Pulling back, he stared off into the kitchen. 

“Do you remember that note you found inside Romeo and Juliet?”  

From his periphery, he saw Andromeda nod. 

Draco drew in a deep breath. “That was her way of telling me she would have eloped with me.”

It was several heart-pounding seconds before Andromeda spoke. 

“And would you have eloped with her?”

“Without a doubt.”

Andromeda rested a hand on Draco’s knee. “I think that confirms everything you need to know about how you two feel about each other.”

~*~*~

By the time Hermione got home from work, it was already half-past eight — a relatively early night nowadays. But as tired as she was, there was no sleep for her yet. 

After charming her dinner plate clean, Hermione paced to her sitting room window and peered out at the street below. There, standing on the pavement, was Narcissa Malfoy. 

Right on time.

It was mildly entertaining to see the witch in her fine wizard robes standing in the middle of a Muggle street. If the woman was uncomfortable, she surely didn’t show it. It appeared that not even an onslaught of bewildered glances from passersby could squash the pride of a Malfoy. But that didn’t change the fact that Narcissa Malfoy was now in unfamiliar territory, giving Hermione an advantage she planned to maintain.

Hermione was about to head downstairs to let Narcissa in when she considered something. Slipping her necklace out from beneath the warm jumper she had changed into after work, Hermione undid the clasp and glided the Malfoy crest-adorned ring free. The familial heirloom tossed over in her grasp a few times before Hermione slid it onto her right central finger. Now there would be no doubt as to whose Draco’s allegiances laid, should they be questioned. 

She headed downstairs and opened the door to the block of flats. “Mrs Malfoy, if you’ll follow me.”

Hermione kept her back to the witch as she led her up the several flights of stairs to her flat. The dim sound of televisions and chattering residents was the only noise that broke their otherwise silent ascent. It wasn’t until they reached the flat and Hermione granted Narcissa entry that the woman showed any sort of reaction.

Her eyes were wide as she surveyed the room, but Hermione had expected this response. Not because of the simplicity of her home compared to the Manor — Harry, Theo, and everyone else who had stopped by in the past few weeks had shared the same startled look.

All around the walls of the room hung magically tacked pieces of parchments, all filled with her notes and hypotheses. Piles upon piles of books cluttered her counter. The ones she had borrowed from Theo, the ones that Harry had picked up, and the ones she’d been able to get owl delivered from a bookstore in Wizarding Paris. She’d spent countless hours digging for whatever knowledge she could on pureblood marriage contracts, tracking and recording every thought that occurred to her along the way. If it was potentially beneficial to her research, Hermione had kept it. One never knew when something would come in handy.

The soft press of her heels against the floorboard filled the space as Narcissa stepped into the flat and began perusing the notes on clear display for her to see. 

“I see you've done your homework, Miss Granger.” She lifted the bottom of one of the parchments for her to better read before letting it fall back to its resting position. “I’ll be quite curious to learn what you’ve uncovered.”

Not bothering to waste time with the offering of tea, Hermione sat on her couch — one of the few places in the room not littered by research — and Narcissa soon joined her. It took substantial time for Hermione to share everything, including her original meeting with Theo at Nott Manor, their subsequent meetings at her place, and the attempts to meet with a pureblood estate attorney. No detail was left out.

Traces of suspicion and uncertainty still toiled in Hermione’s veins, but she didn’t let her thoughts linger on that long. Draco trusted his mother. And while it was Draco’s blind trust in his father that was partially to blame for this present debacle, something about trusting Narcissa Malfoy felt slightly different. She was the woman who had lied about Harry’s death to grant her the opportunity to return to the castle and make sure Draco was safe. If she was here, in a Muggle flat, willingly speaking with a Muggle-born, something must have shifted inside of her.

Hermione reached for the emerald covered book, still only partially translated despite her earlier purchase of the day. 

“An old Daily Prophet article I read mentioned this book as having prompted significant drama for what it revealed about pureblood society,” Hermione said, eyes cast downward and onto the book she hoped held the answers. She stretched it out towards Narcissa. “Do you know anything about it?”

Narcissa took it into her hands but set it down a moment later, offering no sign of optimism. The now all-too-familiar disheartening wave of disappointment crashed over Hermione.

“I’m afraid that book will be useless,” Narcissa stated. “The Cattermoles had already been expunged by pureblood society three generations prior to the time it was published. And while it did prompt quite a stir for what it revealed, none of it was pertaining to marriage contracts due to the Cattermole’s refusal to participate in the practice many decades earlier.”

Hermione was crestfallen. The book she had placed a week of effort and expectation into had just proven to be yet another false lead.

But with Narcissa there, their options couldn’t have run out yet. Surely she knew something Hermione didn’t.

“What is it that you’ve tried, then?” Hermione asked, restraining herself from sounding too sharp, but it was a difficult task. “What efforts have you made to dissolve your son of the contract you helped get him into?”

Mild remorse for her involvement glazed over her eyes, but ever the composed woman, Narcissa didn’t reveal her emotions any more than that.

“I regret to share that I haven’t had much success either,” Narcissa glumly noted. “I, too, considered meeting with an estate attorney, but purebloods are very traditional, and financial and property matters are exclusively handled by the patriarch of the family.”

Revulsion churned in Hermione’s stomach. How much more archaic could pureblood culture be! But she held her tongue. Arguing now would get her nowhere.

“I have reached out to the Beaufort family, and through carefully worded letters, have determined that there is no intention from the father to not see this contract go into effect.”

A question that had niggled the back of Hermione’s mind the past few weeks now came forward. “What about Aimée? Does she even want to marry Draco?”

Narcissa paused to consider. “I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that, nor do I suspect it would make much of a difference if she didn’t.” 

A small part of Hermione’s heart ached for the other witch. If she had to guess, she presumed Aimée was being coerced into the same familial “obligations” as Draco.

Hermione’s brain had little space to worry over that. She could only attend her focus on so many issues at a time.

“So where do we go from here?” Hermione asked.

Narcissa’s expression drooped. “I’m not sure.”

The answer tore at Hermione’s chest. First her hopes for the Cattermole book had been squashed, and now Narcissa Malfoy didn’t seem to have any suggestions either. 

For the first time in weeks, Hermione let the grim possibility take control of her thoughts. What if there really wasn’t a way out? She’d already read every book on the matter and explored every avenue that Draco, Theo, and everyone else had suggested. She had interviewed Ron’s Great Aunt Muriel, had Astoria ask her parents, and even convinced Theo to send an owl to his father in Azkaban! All had led to nothing, and now every Draco’s own mother seemed doubtful.

The harsh reality she’d been protecting her heart from finally pierced through the walls and stabbed at her chest. Her face fell into her hands as the tears threatened to cascade.

Soft chokes and the sniffing back of emotion strangled her breath while Narcissa sat there silently, a witness to Hermione’s breakdown. And then, it came.

“Where did you get that ring?”

Hermione forced a swallow as she sat upright and swiped away the moisture that had broken free. “Draco gave it to me.”

“Yes, I presumed that much,” Narcissa said, face unreadable. “What I suppose I should have asked is when did you get that ring?”

The tears were gone as Hermione now attended to Narcissa’s question. “The morning before he told you and Mr Malfoy about us, while you two were still with Aimée’s family. We spent the night in the Manor together before Draco’s plan to move out.”

For the first time since arriving, Narcissa smiled.

“Miss Granger, I believe my son already found our way out of this.”

Chapter Text

Hermione’s stomach was knotted, trying desperately once again not to let foolish optimism lead her down another road that ended in a void of despair. But the glimmer in Narcissa’s eyes, like she knew something, made it hard not to hold onto that thin thread of hope.

Narcissa’s eyes remained fixed on the object of discussion. “May I see it?”

Hermione slipped the ring off her finger and placed it in the other woman’s palm. 

“As I’m sure you’re well aware, the Malfoy family is very old. Older than Hogwarts itself,” the woman said as she turned the ring over in her hands. “Back then, it was very dangerous for people of magical descent, so the prominent magical families came up with subtle ways to indicate to one another who was like them. These rings marked who the patriarch was — the male who represented and protected the entire household.” 

With a small exhale, her examination of the ring stopped. “For over a millennium, it has been tradition for the oldest son to be handed the ring on his seventeenth birthday. It marked the symbolic passing of familial duty as the father grew older and the son was expected to begin a family of his own. Remnants of that tradition hold today, though the loss of some family’s rings over time has made certain aspects impossible. The Black family ring was lost around the time my great-great-grandfather was supposed to acquire it. This ring is one of the few that still remains.”

Hermione sat quietly, interested in learning more about the history of the ring, but none of that served her present need. 

“But what does it have to do with the marriage contract?’

The slightest pull at the corners turned Narcissa’s lips upward. “Well, you see, Miss Granger, each pureblood family has its own set of traditions and rituals.”

Hermione gasped. “Like the Nott family and the Queen of the Night flower?”

Narcissa softly grinned. “Ah, I see Mr Nott has already informed you of his family’s.”

The ideas in Hermione’s head were swirling. Flicking her wand, one of the pieces of parchment tacked to the wall lifted from place and dropped in Hermione’s lap.

“He mentioned it during our first research session together,” she explained, looking down at the notes she had recorded afterwards. “He said that the most ancient families had maintained certain magical spells and that some were embedded into the magic of their homes.” She blinked as her mind processed before glancing up to meet Narcissa’s gaze. “But even he wasn’t certain that the magic really worked.”

“There are questions about some of their validity, yes,” Narcissa accepted, “Lucius among those who dismiss these rituals as old wives’ tales that young witches with nothing better to discuss would perpetuate through the generations.”

“So this is something about the family that Mr Malfoy never would have taught Draco?”

“That is correct.”

Hermione still didn’t completely understand. “But if this ring is tied to the Malfoy family, how do you know about it?”

Narcissa politely laughed. “Oh dear, you’ll have so much to learn about being a part of pureblood society.”

The way she said it stirred an odd sensation inside Hermione, almost like Narcissa anticipated there being a need for this in the future.

But the feeling couldn’t last long when Narcissa had continued with her explanation. “One does not join a union with another pureblood family without learning as much as they can about the household that they are entering. When I married Lucius, there were certain things we discussed about each other’s traditions so there would be no surprises. Lucius told me upfront that he only wanted one child, much like the other Malfoy men before him, and I accepted, as long as we could name that child after a constellation, as are so many Blacks.”

Hermione’s patience in waiting for the answer she needed was growing thin. “And the ring?”

“Yes, well, the rest of my knowledge about the Malfoy family traditions had to be acquired over several formal tea’s with Lucius’s grandmother,” Narcissa shared. “One of which pertained to the magic tied to the Malfoy family heirlooms.”

Hermione tucked her feet underneath her body as she sat up straighter and listened.

“As I’ve already told you, Miss Granger, the Malfoy family is very old. And there was a time when diamond engagement rings were not a practise that anyone participated in.”

There was a sudden skip in Hermione’s chest. “What?”

The quirk of a smile once more graced Narcissa’s lips. “The Malfoys are very protective of their familial possessions. To give one to someone outside our lineage is quite significant. And to give a piece of jewellery…” Narcissa’s words trailed away as she stretched the ring out for Hermione to reclaim. “It didn’t necessarily have to be this exact item — according to my knowledge of Malfoy family rituals, any item of jewellery from the Malfoy family collection would have worked.”

Wide eyes stared at the proffered ring. “And since Draco gave it to me that morning, before Lucius signed the contract…”

Narcissa nodded. “By Draco offering it and you accepting, there is the strong possibility that you two have entered a magically binding engagement.” 

Hermione knew her jaw was agape, but she couldn’t seem to close it. Rampant beating pressed against her chest, but her mind was frozen. 

“There is one minor catch, though,” Narcissa continued before Hermione had the chance to finish processing the first bit of news. “In order for the bond to happen, the two parties must have been in love when the ring was exchanged.”

Just like that, Hermione’s heart constricted and a heaviness weighed in her gut. 

Her words faltered. “Mrs Malfoy, I— I don’t love your son.”

“Nonsense, Miss Granger.” Narcissa brushed away the comment. “You needn’t hide it from me. I may not entirely understand my son’s decision to be with you, but—”

“No, Mrs Malfoy,” Hermione said, not caring how rude Narcissa would find it that she interrupted her. Her voice broke, when she uttered, “I don’t.”

Sinking disappointment consumed Hermione as her shoulders fell and her whole body slumped. Another prospect gone — perhaps their last one. Not that she particularly wanted to be engaged to Draco right now. The thought hadn’t ever crossed her mind. Sure, she wanted to get married someday, but she and Draco had hardly started seeing each other when everything had started crumbling beneath them. It all seemed so quick. 

Seated on the adjacent couch cushion, Narcissa’s ice blue eyes observed every movement, attitude unchanged despite Hermione’s admission.

“From my understanding, you’re a logical witch. You prefer your brain over your heart,” the woman stated, voice level and plainly measured. “While you may not see it, I believe there is a high chance you do love my son, even if you haven’t acknowledged it yourself.” Her hands motioned around the array of parchments that covered every available surface. “This is not what one does for something that is just a passing fancy.”

A lump hung in Hermione’s throat at the unwavering confidence in Narcissa’s comment. She dropped her eye contact with Narcissa and assessed the research herself. This wasn’t love. It was just what she did. She would do this for any friend who needed help.

But as much as she had denied it for so long, Draco wasn’t just a friend…

A tingling numbed Hermione’s thoughts. Despite how much she’d had to say to Narcissa at the beginning of their time together, she hadn’t been able to form much of a coherent sentence in several minutes.

After a handful more moments, Narcissa resumed her examination of the ring, still in her hand after Hermione had failed to reclaim it.

“Whether or not you are in love with my son is not something I can change,” the woman simply stated. “And I certainly can’t change whether or not you and my son were in love the day he gave you this ring. But what I can tell you is that whether or not your feelings for each other were genuine that day may be the only way to nullify that contract.”

That hardly made Hermione feel any better.

She asked the only logical question she could think of. “Is there a way for us to know?”

“If you’re in love?” Narcissa laughed. “I’m afraid that knowing if you’re in love is not something you can research the answer to, Miss Granger. You have to be honest with yourself and determine how much my son means to you.” She pressed her hands together. “But to know whether or not the magical binding between you and Draco has happened… I may know a way.”

Narcissa stood from her position on the sofa and smoothed out the fabric of her robes. “It will take me time to acquire the necessary elements, but I will be in contact with you when it’s ready. Until then, I suggest you keep the details of this from my son. We needn’t worry him over matters he cannot change.”

She made to move towards the door but paused after only one step. Her normally straight posture loosened mildly as she kept her back to Hermione. 

“Many things have become clearer to me since my son left the Manor,” she said, voice softer than it had been mere moments earlier. “His reaction upon seeing you at Rose Lee Teabag, why he agreed to the Halloween Soirée, and many other ways that he has acted in the past several weeks.” The sound of her sharp inhale cut through the room. When Narcissa turned around, her eyes pierced right into Hermione. “If you don’t know how you feel about my son, I suggest you figure it out soon, because I have little doubt how he feels about you.”

Setting the Malfoy crest ring on an end table, Narcissa left without another word.

~*~*~

Her ceiling was a smooth, shadowed plane devoid of answers. For the past hour, she had been asking herself the same thing.

Did she love Draco?

Crookshanks jumped onto the bed and pawed at the covers until Hermione lifted them so he could nestle next to her, no doubt sensing his owner’s distress.

Weeks had passed since Harry had asked her the same question, only a handful of days after she had accepted the ring. Yet Hermione’s answer had been the same then. 

No.

A sandy dryness had long ago parched her tongue, making it hard to swallow. There was no doubt she cared for Draco. But that word... Love took months to develop, didn’t it? 

She tossed in bed finding no solace in her thoughts. Harry had said something about it being different since she and Draco had already known each other prior to getting romantically involved, but that didn’t necessarily change things. The circumstances of their relationship for all those years had been anything but love. The exact opposite, even! Antagonism, malice, hostility…

And yet, as soon as Harry had brought up their time hunting for Horcruxes and how he would have done anything for Ginny, something had clicked inside Hermione.

She felt the same about Draco.

It was an odd feeling to realise, that her emotions towards a man she once resented had shifted so drastically that she would now do whatever it required to make things better for him — even if it had meant running off and eloping. But saying she would was different from actually doing it. Then again, when had Hermione ever said something she didn’t mean?

The soft hum of a vibration pulsed from her nightstand, and Hermione reached for the charmed notebook. Summoning the lights back on, she forced away her tangled thoughts and read Draco’s message.

Haven’t heard from you tonight. Everything alright? What happened with my mother?

Hermione sucked in a breath before locating the quill and inkwell she kept on her nightstand. 

It’s been an exhausting day, but your mother stopped by after I got home from work. Only left about an hour ago. The book I was hoping would lead somewhere turned out to be yet another unuseful distraction, but there may be another possibility… We aren’t sure it will work, though.

She expected him to be disappointed, but his response was brief.

A lead is something.

Hermione’s head fell back onto the pillow, eyes unfocused as she stared at the page. Their conversations had been like this for several days now. Once it had hit December, it was harder to maintain their light-hearted conversations when the enactment of the marriage contract was now less than a month away. Their possibilities of loopholes seemed to be running drier than the bottom of a pumpkin juice jug at the end of a Hogwarts feast. 

They were still able to discuss the books she had Andromeda deliver to him, but it wasn’t the same. Something was missing if she couldn’t see the tug on his lips when he thought of something clever or the glimmer in his gaze when she rambled on for minutes at a time. Those things could never be captured over pages of text, no matter how many written words they exchanged.

A hollowness threatening to swallow her heart, Hermione adjusted her grip on her quill, scribing the question she hoped would defeat it.

When was the first time you knew you liked me?

It was a few restless moments before his answer started.

It was the day at the British Museum, standing in the room with all those marble statues. You rambled on and on about how exquisite they were, and I did my best to appreciate them as well, but all I could look at was you. You had transfigured your robes into a Muggle dress which had my mind going into what was uncharted territory at that time. But it wasn’t just the way you looked that day. It was the fact that you had dragged me all over that bloody museum, rambling about Muggle history that I had no knowledge of, and I wanted nothing more than to stay there with you the rest of the day. Well, that, and to snog you senseless.

The firm pressing of Hermione’s lips against one another did little to prevent her stupid grin from spreading. That day felt like ages ago, but she could picture it so clearly.

How about you? When did you know you liked me?

The memory was easy to recall.

No more than a couple days after that. I was working that Sunday, and you came to invite me to the soirée. It didn’t even bother me that you had interrupted me in the middle of work. I never really mind it. Harry had already suggested to me that there was a possibility that you wanted to be more than friends, but I didn’t believe him and kept insisting everything was platonic. But when you left, you smiled at me and there was just something so… genuine about it that struck me. You have a really cute dimple when you smile. Have I ever told you that? I had kept a copy of the article publicising your date with Victoria Flint and noticed that you didn’t smile with a dimple for her, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

Draco’s response was immediate.

Am I hearing that you were jealous of my so-called ‘date’ with Victoria? 

If he was next to her, she would have swatted him. Oh, she could just hear the taunt in his voice!

And I just found out you didn’t actually look at the Elgin Marbles! Which is worse?

She closed her eyes, imagining Draco’s chuckle.

This isn’t a contest, love. If it means that much to you, we can go back to the British Museum and you can trot me through every exhibit and go to Rosa Lee Teabag afterwards. How does that sound?

Perfect. It sounded absolutely perfect.

But there was something else on the page that she couldn’t stop staring at — the same four little letters that had been taunting her for the past hour.

‘Love.’

More words appeared below.

It’s late, and I must head to sleep. You’ll just have to accept that this date is now happening the moment I’m out of here, understood? 

I miss you.

A strangled breath escaped Hermione as she penned their nightly goodbye.

I miss you too.

But as the scratch of the quill’s tip dragged across the page, those words felt insufficient. She missed him, yes, but it was far greater than that. 

‘Missing’ something felt inconsequential. When someone ‘missed’ the bus, they could just wait for the next one. Or, when someone ‘missed’ a certain time of the year, it was okay because it would be back in a few months time. They were all matters that could be fixed or resolved soon enough.

But missing Draco was like having a piece carved out of her. Like she could proceed with life as normal, but only if the colours were less vibrant. She still had her friends, and she still had a job she was passionate about — two things she would always be grateful for — yet when he wasn’t physically there to tell her she was working too insane of hours or to grumble about Harry despite now getting along with him on multiple occasions, it just felt wrong. Yes, something was missing, but if that gap wasn’t filled, she feared she’d never be whole again.

Her hand wandered just above her sternum and grasped the ring she had restrung on her necklace, remembering the words she knew to adorn the Malfoy crest: Sanctimonia Vincet Semper — Purity will Always Conquer. That was certainly what Lucius seemed to believe, but Hermione wasn’t so certain. As the war seemed to prove, the thing that conquered all, was love.

Whooshing the lights gone, Hermione laid in bed, but slumber still didn’t come. She understood now the emotional significance of what it meant to be willing to do anything for Draco. And if her intuition was right, Draco felt the same. After all, how much had he already risked for them? 

Yet it was a different question that prevented her from drifting off into the starlit night.

Did they fall in love soon enough?

Chapter Text

The names of the days seemed irrelevant over the next two weeks. In the final push to meet the curriculum deadline, Hermione was working thirteen hour days, seven days a week. Her brain hardly had the capacity to function, let alone think about the other encroaching deadline. Even her communication with Draco had decreased — a regrettable sacrifice she’d had to make when an hour long lunch was a luxury her schedule could no longer afford. From the little she did have time to write with him, it sounded as though he was doing alright. He didn’t expand much, but he assured her he was keeping his days plenty occupied. Though, a significant part of her suspected he was only saying that to make her not feel guilty.

With Hermione so busy, the contract-breaking efforts had fallen largely on Theo and the small circle of others they trusted with the situation. Yet research wasn’t proving any more useful, and the days were running out. More and more likely, it seemed that their final hope hinged entirely on the possible existence of one particular emotion nearly a month and a half prior.

She just prayed Narcissa was still doing her part.

Fairy lights and strings of fir garlands decorated the department, but Hermione was far from feeling Christmas cheer this year. Unless required elsewhere, Hermione remained hidden in her office, blocked from those festive reminders. The sooner she completed her portion of the curriculum, the sooner she could return her focus to the contract.

The tip of her quill was rapidly scratching across the surface of a parchment when Gretchen let herself in.

“Tricia brought spice cake,” she said, lowering a plate onto the desk. “I thought you might want some.”

Hermione didn’t look up from her work. “I’m not hungry.”

“You worked through lunch again today,” her assistant cautiously continued, clearly not noticing — or more likely, caring — that Hermione didn’t want to be bothered. “It’s Friday, and we all deserve a break. Especially you.”

She shook her head. “Not until this is done.”

Gretchen seemed poised to protest more when the tapping of an owl’s beak against the window cut the silence first. Still intent on her work, Hermione kept writing while Gretchen opened the pane and retrieved the delivery.

Her assistant placed the scroll next to Hermione while she continued speaking, “I’m just saying, ma’am, you’ve seemed off these past several weeks. I know everyone is stressed at the moment, but it will all turn out fine in the end.”

If only Hermione could believe that.

She picked up at the unmarked scroll and unravelled the note, her eyes quickly darting across the single line of text.

It’s ready. Meet tonight.

An influx of conflicting emotions bubbled in Hermione’s gut. She rose from her chair, flicked her wand to tidy her desk, and started gathering her belongings.

“Tell Tillman I had to leave early,” she instructed Gretchen as she lifted her bag over her shoulder. “Something came up.”

Gretchen followed Hermione’s movements with wide-gazed concern. “Is everything okay?”

“I just… have another obligation,” she vaguely justified. 

She crossed the length of her office and pulled her cloak off its hook. Without any further explanation, Hermione Disapparated.

~*~*~

The time was already half past five when Hermione had received the note, but it wasn’t for another anxiety-filled three hours that Narcissa finally arrived. 

As soon as Narcissa entered the flat, they wasted no time getting to business. They both took a seat around the kitchen table while Hermione levitated over the pot of tea she had prepared while waiting. 

The older witch reached into the clutch she’d brought with her and revealed two vials filled with a murky, swirling periwinkle concoction. The combination of those physical characteristics was unlike any potion Hermione was familiar with — or at least, any potion she had ever seen successfully brewed. 

Her forehead slightly puckered. “What’s in it?”

“Dandelion petals, Gurdyroot, frozen Ashwinder egg, Jobberknoll feathers, powdered Moonstone, and Castor Oil,” Narcissa listed while pouring herself a cup of tea. “The frozen Ashwinder eggs took longer to acquire than anticipated, which delayed the brewing by several days.”

“Ashwinder eggs?” Hermione scanned her memory of potion recipes. “Aren’t those often a necessary element of Love Potions? Same with powdered Moonstone?”

Narcissa nodded. “They are,” she confirmed. “They activate the parts of the human essence that are associated with love, something that you will also need to determine whether or not the engagement bond has happened between you and Draco.”

A familiar wrench ached in Hermione’s gut. “I already deduced what this potion is for,” Hermione stated. “Which is why I assume it also includes Castor Oil and Gurdyroot? Common ingredients in Love Potion Antidotes to counteract the properties of the Ashwinder eggs and powdered moonstone that make the Love Potions stir infatuation?”

“It seems your knowledge of magic is not exaggerated, Miss Granger,” Narcissa returned with what could almost be interpreted as an impressed arching of an eyebrow. “I can begin to understand what Draco sees in you.”

She could feel the tips of her ears flush pink. “There’s more to me and my relationship with Draco than intelligence.” 

“I do not doubt that,” the woman acquiesced. “For it must take an incredible witch in more ways than one to compel my son to go to such lengths to be with her.” 

Hermione dipped her chin, the heat of her ears now spreading down her cheeks and neck. “The same could be said about my attitude towards your son,” she said, words soft beneath her breath. Not lingering on the sentiment long, Hermione recomposed herself, allowing the air to rush into her lungs as she straightened out her shoulders. “But back to the potion. How does it work?”

“Most of the reaction is prompted by the Jobberknoll feathers, which are also found in Truth Serums,” Narcissa explained. “The ingredients then work in tandem to reveal the existence of a Love Bond.”

The nerves that bubbled in Hermione’s stomach amplified when she reached across the table and took the two vials into her hand to better examine. If all went as hoped, these potions would confirm whether she and Draco had committed themselves to one another without realising it. The notion that Hermione may have inadvertently bound herself to Draco should have scared her, particularly since she doubted it would be easy to undo the magic of a centuries-old ritual, yet that wasn’t what she was concerned about. 

She had already told Draco that she would have eloped with him. She meant it. The only thing that terrified her was what would happen if the bonding hadn’t occurred.

Hermione trained her gaze on Narcissa. “Tell me what I need to do.”

~*~*~

“Thank you, Mrs Malfoy,” Hermione said as she tucked the two vials into her pocket. A lump hung heavy in her throat while sand laid on her tongue, yet her shoulders remained strong. “I acknowledge that there are aspects about me that you may not approve of, but I need you to know… I do love him.”

Voicing the words aloud stirred a tightness in her chest, like her heart had been lassoed by the Rope-Binding Curse. But the ears that heard her confession were not the ones that deserved to hear it the most.

“I never believed otherwise,” Narcissa returned, her eyes only meeting Hermione’s for a brief moment before looking away. “While this situation is something I am still coming to terms with, all I have ever wanted is for my son to be happy, and since that is with you, I will have to learn to accept it.”

Tension lingered between the two witches before Hermione asked what had been toiling in her mind since replaying her last encounter with Narcissa more than a dozen times.

“I do have one more question about the engagement bonding ritual,” Hermione began. She unlatched the clasp from behind her neck so she could hold the ring properly in her palm. “Why does it require that the people be in love when so many pureblood marriages happen through loveless processes such as parent-orchestrated contracts?”

Narcissa paused for a moment, taking a sip from her second cup of tea and returning it to the saucer. “Things were different back then,” she started to explain. “With the constant threat of persecution looming over witches and wizards’ heads, many families wanted to ensure that their children found partnerships with people who would be their loving spouse if difficult times did arise. Naturally, most witches and wizards tied themselves to other magical partners in fear of exposing themselves to someone dangerous. It was out of self-perseverance and protection, not a hatred of Muggles and Muggle-borns, that sparked the desire to marry someone of similar descent. But if the love was truly there, the Malfoy family was willing to make an exception.”

Hermione recalled the Malfoy family tapestry Draco had shown her in the Manor and the inclusion of long-deceased ancestors who had, in fact, married Muggle-borns. “Yet all that changed when the Statute of Secrecy went into effect?”

Narcissa gently nodded. “After a myriad of witch hunts in the sixteenth and seventeenth century, many wizards had had enough, blaming Muggle-borns for exposing magic to outsiders. The Malfoy family, among others, did not want to jeopardise their social status, so from then forward, they did nothing to risk causing further endangerment of wizards — even if that meant restricting future marriages to within the wizarding community, particularly those who were pureblood.”

Her mind worked fast to absorb the information — including the fact that Narcissa had now twice used the term ‘Muggle-born’ instead of ‘Mudblood’ — as an unsettling realisation coiled inside of her.

“So magical blood became more important than happiness.”

“That is one way to phrase it,” Narcissa cautiously accepted, words tight as she said it. “But the Malfoy family has always cared very much for each other.”

Hermione glowered. “Then explain you and your husband’s actions the past few months.”

It was several moments before Narcissa spoke again.

“I was misguided in my beliefs,” the woman eventually stated. “I thought Draco would find his happiness with one of the many pureblood witches we tried to coordinate for him. The Halloween Soirée was my idea to encourage him to find the witch who I hoped would be his lifelong partner…” She stiffened. “I was so focused on my own thoughts that I did not properly consider Draco’s. It is a regret that has been plaguing my mind for the past several weeks. For as much as you care for my son, I was the one who cared that much about him first.” 

The teacup lifted in her thin fingers, yet it remained poised mid-air before she took another sip. “As for my husband, I am afraid that he lost his way, forgetting the worth of others’ happiness in pursuit of refinding his own.”

Hermione caught herself almost making a snide retort, but she held her tongue to let the witch continue.

“I do not know if Draco told you, but recently, I haven’t been residing at the Manor. I needed my own time and space to process, and I thought it necessary that Lucius be forced to do the same. Despite his recent actions, I still care for Lucius and firmly believe that the best for the family is still at the centre of his desires. It took him several weeks, but Lucius finally owled me the other day. He says that since I left, he’s been taking the time to reflect, and he’s ready for us to talk. I am returning to the Manor tomorrow morning and can only hope this means he’s come to the realisation that there are more important things than blood status.”

Hermione released a doubtful huff, but when she caught Narcissa’s critical glare, she amended her reaction.

“For Draco’s sake, I hope that’s true.” 

Even after everything, she knew how much Draco’s father meant to him. He had revered him for so long, and a lifetime’s worth of feelings was hard to undo. If there was any chance that Lucius had shifted perspectives — even just in the slightest — then at least it would be a start.

But it would all still be for nothing if the contract went into effect.

Hermione glanced down at the vials of potion and took them into her clammy hands, the time for action now overdue. “You’ll have to see yourself out, Mrs Malfoy. There are more pressing matters I must attend to.”

~*~*~

The silver tip of Draco’s quill rested in the inkwell as he paused to shake out his hand. After letting the ink dry, he added the latest parchment to the stack that was now about an inch high. It wasn’t his best writing, but it was more important that he got the ideas down.

Hearing the patterned knock against the door, Draco flicked his wand to open it for Andromeda.

“Just a minute,” he called from the kitchen table while his gaze remained focused on gathering his parchments into a leather folio. He wrapped the thin tie around the latch. “I didn’t think you were coming again until tomorrow.”

“Draco.”

His movements ceased. 

Dropping the folio, Draco jerked his attention to the entry, breath catching as he stared at the witch peering back at him. A glossiness reflected in her gaze and wild strands of hair were splayed in several directions, but hell if she wasn’t the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on. 

It had to be a dream.

Her bottom jaw was quivering, and it looked like her wide eyes were on the verge of shedding tears, but no matter how many times Draco blinked, her image remained.

Pushing past the kitchen furniture, Draco ran across the home and wrapped her in his arms, sealing himself as hard as possible around her body as her face fell into his chest. The gasping of her ragged inhales pushed against him, and there was no denying it — it was really Hermione.

Time seemed frozen. All previous thoughts he’d had the past several weeks slipped from consciousness as Draco clamped his eyes and relished in the one thing he wanted more than anything. Her. The thrashing of his heart threatened to crack open his ribcage, his head a woozy scramble. He feared that if he let go, she’d somehow disappear from his grasp. But when he heard her sobs, a different fear took over.

Lifting her chin up with the crook of his finger, Draco peered into the warm chocolate irises he’d spent the past seven weeks longing to see again. “Hermione,” he uttered, voice breaking as he addressed the witch he cared for more than he knew how to express, “what are you doing here? We promised… Did you find out something about the contract?”

A swallow bobbed down her throat before she nodded, and anxiety twisted Draco’s insides.

“But there’s something I need to tell you first.”

Hermione bunched the fabric of his button down as she drew in a sharp breath, all the while, Draco’s eyes never leaving her face. His mind was numb, incapable of determining if the reason she was there was good news or bad. He relaxed his embrace around the small of her back, refusing to let her even inches away from him.

“I— These last few weeks… I’ve missed you so much,” she choked out. “And I didn’t realise it until recently, but I—”

Her words trailed away again, and Draco cupped her cheek in assurance.

“I’ve missed you more than Frodo missed the Shire.”

The sound of her shaky laughter rushed to Draco’s ears and enveloped his spirit in a thin veil of comfort. He’d make her laugh every bloody day if given the chance.

Pulling away from him slightly, Hermione reached under the cloak she was wearing and withdrew a necklace laying underneath. One glance at it and Draco recognised the object looped through the chain.

“You kept it?”

Her head bobbed. “I’ve worn it every day since you left.”

She made to undo the clasp, but Draco moved her hands aside and did it for her. He pooled the necklace into her palm, and she then removed the chain and slipped the ring onto her left hand — the ring finger. 

Both sets of eyes were locked on the shine of the Malfoy crest now adorning her hand. 

She began twisting the platinum ring. “Harry asked me one of those first days you were gone how I felt about you, but I hadn’t quite figured it out yet. I still wasn’t sure when your mother asked me too. But when I thought about how much I’ve missed you…” Her eyes lifted, a sparkle of amber glistening in her gaze. “I don’t know how I ever doubted it.”

Draco took her hands into his, forehead wrinkling as the pounding in his chest escalated. “Doubted what?”

“That I love you.”

Those words from her lips were like the sweetest symphony of the finest orchestra. Like the morning whistle of birds on a perfect spring morning. Or the pounding of rain after a hundred years of drought.

His lips hung parted, yearning to seal her avowal with the deepest kiss, but the surroundings turned grey as gripping agony weighed on his tongue.

“I can’t say it back.”

The world seemed to shatter in her heartbroken gaze as she retracted her grip, expelling an audible breath. “You don’t...”

She stumbled back a step, and Draco immediately reclaimed her hands.

“No, Hermione, of course, I—” 

A vice strangled his heart as he forced himself to stop before the words he desperately wanted to return toppled out. 

But he couldn’t.

“I can’t say it back,” he repeated, eyes wide and pleading as he begged her to understand. “The contract… I have to remain faithful to Aimée.”

The light in Hermione’s eyes reignited. “You…” 

He nodded.

The traces of tears started to form in the corner of her eyes again before she glanced up at the ceiling and released a series of broken laughs. It only lasted a moment before Hermione’s eyes were back on his, her smile now vibrant as she playfully knocked him with the ball of her hand.

“You, Draco Malfoy, need to be more mindful of your wording! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

He released the most earnest chuckle he’d had in nearly two months. There was the witch he loved.

Because even if he couldn’t say it out loud, he did love her. From her unruly curls to her plain black flats. There was no need to stop and ponder. He loved her.

His smile seemed uncontainable, drowning in the blissful euphoria in the confirmation that his witch loved him back, until the torment of reality came crashing down.

“But the contract,” he stated. “What did you find out?”

Hermione pulled two potion vials out of her pocket.

“Your mother made these for us,” she said as she handed one to him. “And if things go the way that I expect, it means the contract is void.”

Draco lifted a sceptical eyebrow. “All because we drank a potion?”

Hermione released a soft laugh. “Oh, there’s quite a bit more involved than just this potion. But I can explain that bit later.”

Removing the stopper, Draco apprehensively licked his lips while Hermione also unstoppered her vial. Wisps of spiralling steam arose from the unknown potion.

“You sure this is going to work?” Draco asked.

“No,” Hermione answered truthfully. “But I believe in us, and it’s the best chance we’ve got.”

Draco sucked in a breath. “In that case, cheers.”

They clinked their vials together before Draco swallowed the potion in one single swig. A mild burn ached his throat as it travelled down the column but stopped when it reached his heart. Warmth rippled in waves from within his chest, making him feel aglow. He peered down to examine where the sensation was coming from and then up at Hermione who had the same expression of curiosity and wonder.

Suddenly, his attention flickered downward when he caught sight of a luminous yellow radiating from her hands. He released a short gasp in shock, only to then lift his own hands and noticed that they were doing the same.

“Take my hands,” Hermione instructed, and Draco didn’t hesitate.

As soon as their fingers intertwined, the illumination surrounding their grip brightened. A single tendril extended from the glow and began to bind their embrace.

Draco was captivated by the magic of the potion, having never seen anything like it before in his life, but his fascination was cut short.

“The ring!” Hermione cried, her mouth then falling agape.

Once flawless silver, the ring now matched the blaze of yellow radiance. 

Draco stared at it, enthralled by its brilliance, but the shining in Hermione’s gaze seemed to glow brighter.

“Hermione?” he asked, but just as he did, the warmth that had previously resided in his chest pulsed through his whole body, sending a blinding white light to mask his vision. He wasn’t sure if the scream he emitted was out loud or just in his head, but when his vision returned, he and Hermione were separated, the illumination was gone, and the ring was back to silver.

It took a few seconds for Draco to regain proper consciousness.

“Did it w—”

The rest of the question was lost into the void the second Hermione grabbed him and pressed their lips together in a bruising kiss.

For so long he had been deprived of her taste, of the soft plushness of her lips pillowing against his, and oh, how he never wanted to be without it again. Not bothering to try asking any more questions, Draco threaded his fingers into the base of her curls and pulled her in deeper, letting their tongues slip into each other’s mouths. 

It didn’t matter what the potion had done or what it had revealed. Hermione could go into those details later. All Draco cared about was the fact that whatever had happened signified to Hermione that the contract had been broken — and he was now free to lose himself in his witch’s every touch.

The encompassing euphoria of their unrelenting kiss spread through his body like rays of sunshine.

“I love you,” he rasped as his lips started travelling up the curve of her jaw. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I—” 

Open-mouthed kisses found the sensitive flesh of her neck, and Hermione’s words fell short, replaced by ragged breaths at the drag of his tongue against her skin. He knew what she was about to say, and dear Merlin, he wanted to hear her say it again and again. But for now, his mind had other priorities.

Falling back onto the sofa, Hermione straddled his lap as their lips returned to one another. Tongues collided inside their mouths while Draco began undoing the latch of Hermione’s cloak. Moments later, the heavy fabric laid discarded on the ground, and Hermione arched in closer to his chest.

His hands pulled at the hem of her jumper and slipped it over her head, exposing the creamy skin he knew to be waiting underneath. Every inch was a place he yearned to feel, to explore, to worship. Dipping below the cup of her bra, he palmed her breast, ghosting over the nipple with the pad of his thumb.

Her hips bucked at the sensation, pressing into Draco’s lap where the evidence of his growing arousal brushed against her thigh. He brought his free hand into the mess of her curls and stifled her continued gasps into his mouth, two fingers now rolling between the hardened peak.

With hurried fingers, Hermione reached for his buttons and battled them free. His hands only left her long enough to rip the shirt free from his torso before immediately sinking back into her hair, allowing himself to deepen the kiss even further. The soft curves of her body swept over the plains of his bare chest, and Draco couldn’t wait any longer.

Wrapping his arms around her torso, Draco lifted her up from his lap. Hermione squeaked in surprise and quickly made to fasten her legs behind his back and drape her hold over his broad shoulders. Peppered kisses spread down the length of his neck as Draco guided them into the bedroom, dropping her gently at the foot of the bed.

Moonlight struck her form, and Draco marvelled at the witch peering back at him with her lower lip nipped between her teeth.

“How did I ever get so lucky?” he asked whatever higher powers there may be.

Hermione’s eyes were glimmering. “This wasn’t luck,” she answered. “Sometimes you just need faith that what’s right will win in the end.”

Draco now believed that firmly. Despite all the trouble his father had caused, he and Hermione had made it through. And he had a feeling he’d love this witch until his final breath.

Slowly pulling her skirt down the length of her legs, Draco was strongly aware of how his whole body felt hot, his heartbeat rushing into his ears. Spread out in nothing more than her undergarments, Hermione was a vision. The pull of his smirk spread across his features as Draco kicked off his shoes and undid his belt.

When all he was left in were his boxers, Draco leaned over Hermione and ravished kisses along the exposed curve of her breasts before finding her mouth once more. His fingers ran over the knickers, across the already damp fabric between the apex of her thighs, and then slipped beneath the waistband. He was pleased to find her already slick with need and was met with little resistance when a pair of fingers dragged down her soaken slit and found the sensitive spot at the end. He rubbed circles into her clit, prompting a choked gasp from her as her fingertips pressed themselves into the muscles of Draco’s back. 

The sound stirred a jolt inside Draco that went directly to his now throbbing length. After weeks apart, even the subtlest sensations roused his desire and fueled his impatient fervour. But damned if he wasn’t going to pleasure her first.

He slid two fingers inside of her, and she threw her head back against the mattress. The warmth of her sweet heat enveloped his fingers, spurring memories of the only other time he’d been able to experience her fullness. Blood rushed to his cock that dripped with anticipation — an aching need only made more prominent when he felt her fingers wrap around it.

Draco clamped his eyes closed as she stroked his shaft once, twice, three times, a heady bliss clouding Draco’s thoughts. It was perfection — she was perfection — and he couldn’t withhold his impatient longing one second more. 

After peeling off his boxers and her bra, Draco poised himself at her entrance. Sparks of magic hummed in his veins when her eyes met his and her head gave a gentle nod, all the permission he needed to sheath himself inside. As he slowly pushed deeper, the walls of her body clenched around him, prompting a flush at the overpowering ecstasy. The feeling was heaven, and she was the angel who had guided his ascension. Never would he risk losing her again.

Their hands roved over every inch of each other’s skin while Draco found his rhythm, relishing the witch and the electrifying moans she emitted with every thrust. The bite of her fingernails clutched at his hips as he picked up his speed. Wistful whimpers turned into sharp gasps, and when he added the pressure of his finger atop her clit, he felt her channel tremble around him before her climax was realised in a final tremble of transcendent satisfaction. 

It didn’t take long after that for Draco to find his own release. With hard, ragged movements, he buried himself deep into her folds until the building pressure peaked. Black specks dotted his vision as he felt himself jerk inside of her, the height of passion reached as he sealed his pleasure with one last searing kiss.

The moments that followed were spent in contented comfort. Draco trailed a knuckle along the dip in her waist as Hermione curled into him, their bodies once more nuzzled against one another at long last.

“I love you,” he said before pressing a kiss into the soft skin just below her ear. “I love you more than I’ll ever be able to properly express.”

Hermione relaxed into his hold and peered up at him from over her shoulder. “I love you too,” she said, four words Draco knew he would never grow tired of hearing. “With more certainty than there are stars in the sky.”

He rested his arm around her waist and pulled her in tighter, not a single concern afflicting his thoughts.

~*~*~

It wasn’t until early afternoon when Draco and Hermione finally emerged from within the bedroom, having wasted the morning in each other’s touch again and again. Once they entered the kitchen, they noticed a wrapped parcel on the table.

“Andromeda must have stopped by,” Draco concluded, but there was no indication of the contents.

The thin packaging easily ripped away, and his heart seized when he recognised the item — a large jewelled box.

“Isn’t that what your parents collected all the proposition letters in?” Hermione asked.

Draco nodded as he lifted the lid, a short note tacked underneath.

Happy early Christmas.

It was his mother’s handwriting.

His attention then shifted to what lay within the box. Torn shreds of parchment lined the velvet bottom, the fading ink still only slightly legible. Draco dug through the pieces until he found a piece containing a portion of his father’s signature which soon blanched from existence and seeped into the fibres of the parchment.

The contract was destroyed.

Hermione blinked several times. “How did she know?”

“She somehow always knows,” Draco said with a snort before returning the lid to place. “But for right now, the only thing that matters is that it’s over.”

Hermione popped up on her toes and kissed him, a smile stretched wide across her lips. “We did it.”

“Honestly, it was all you,” Draco returned earnestly. “All I did was complicate matters.”

The Malfoy family crest still residing on her left ring finger twisted under her touch. “Actually, that’s not true,” she said with a knowing grin. She pulled him by the hand and guided him to the sofa where she settled herself over his lap and slipped her fingers through his hair. “I have a lot to catch you up on.”

Chapter Text

After Draco bid good riddance to the safe house, he and Hermione returned to her flat where they spent the next several days in a blur of bliss and passion. It didn’t take much to convince Hermione to take the weekend off, and she even agreed to “work from home” the Monday of Christmas Eve — though hardly any time was actually dedicated to her job. She’d already worked more than enough hours the past several weeks to compensate for one day off. Most people weren’t going into the office that day anyway. Besides, she was a tad too occupied with her reunion with Draco to be able to focus on much else. 

Even Christmas passed without them bothering to leave her flat, too enraptured in relishing one another to spend the holiday with their friends or family. While a few presents and greeting cards arrived by post, the only thing Hermione wanted that year was already wrapped in her embrace. 

It wasn’t until after Boxing Day that Hermione returned to the office, the curriculum deadline now less than a week away. As usual, Hermione arrived before most of the other employees, and it was shortly after nine when Gretchen came in for her morning duties.

“Welcome back, ma’am,” Gretchen greeted her, presenting Hermione’s schedule for the day. A cautious smile painted her lips. “Is everything from Friday resolved? I didn’t expect you not to be here on Monday.”

“It was a last minute decision,” Hermione off-handedly remarked while reviewing her schedule. Her eyes paused when they reached mid-day. “I’m afraid I’ll have to reschedule with Jeffers,” she said, returning the parchment to Gretchen. “Noon won’t work. Perhaps see if he can do three?”

Gretchen nodded her understanding. “I’ll see what can be done. Anything else?”

Hermione opened her desk drawer and pulled out her white peacock feather quill. “Not at the moment.”

Leaving her other hand in her lap, Hermione selected a parchment to work on, feigning oblivion at Gretchen’s wide-eyed stare.

She waited for Gretchen to comment on the visible return of the unique quill, but it never came. Nor did any mention of Monday’s Daily Prophet article announcing the dissolvement of Draco and Aimée’s short-lived engagement. Though, that could be because Gretchen hadn’t seen it. 

Suspiciously tucked away on the bottom of page twelve, there was little doubt that Narcissa had used whatever influence and Galleons she could leverage into preventing the story from being the front page headline. Not that either Hermione or Draco was complaining. There would already be more than enough press once their relationship became public knowledge.

But for now, Hermione kept her secret a little longer. 

Only a little.

Hermione hadn’t needed to look up at the time to know when it had struck noon. The sound of her assistant’s excited shriek from the other side of the office door was confirmation enough.

“You have a visitor, ma’am,” Gretchen eagerly shared when she stepped into the space, smile beaming.

As expected, right behind her was Draco, the perfect image of smug assuredness as his tall, lean figure propped against the door frame, the twitching of a smirk revealing the dimple that Hermione adored. Hardly a second had passed before Hermione’s quill was returned to its holder and she pulled Draco in by the fabric of his robes, greeting him with a long, unmistakable kiss. 

When it ended, Gretchen was raising an eyebrow at them. “So… still just friends?”

Hermione cupped Draco’s cheek and grinned. “Not in the slightest.”

She could have spent infinite hours in the cool grey eyes that peered back at her, but Gretchen’s now gawking expression caught Hermione’s attention. Apparently, the witch had just seemed to notice a certain piece of jewelry located on Hermione’s left hand.

“When did— But I thought…”

Hermione and Draco exchanged muted chuckles.

“It’s just a ring, Gretchen,” Hermione stated, all the while, fighting her growing smile. “Nothing to get too worked up about.”

Draco slid his hand into hers and brushed his thumb over the embossed Malfoy crest. “Of course not. Just a ring I gave to her as a thank you. Nothing more than that.”

But of course, Hermione and Draco both knew that wasn’t true. The sparkle in Draco’s eyes hadn’t faded since Hermione had shared the significance of him giving her the ring. Despite all of Hermione’s efforts, Draco had ultimately been the one to save himself from his father’s cruel intentions.

Yet Gretchen didn’t need to know that. 

With no more explanation, Gretchen was left staring at an empty office as Draco and Hermione left for their first public date at Rosa Lee Teabag.

~*~*~

The last week of the year flew by faster than a speedy Snitch. Hermione’s working hours continued to be long, but the peace of mind that she got to go home every night to Draco made the tiring days more bearable. How he spent his time, she did not know, but regardless of whatever outrageous hour she got home, he was always awake and waiting for her. They never broached the subject of him getting his own flat; it didn’t seem necessary. After so long apart, she wanted to spend every waking minute with him — and every sleeping moment as well.

Finally, after the weekend’s push to finish, at half past three on December 30th, every employee huddled shoulder to shoulder while Tillman stood atop a desk for all to see. With a flourish of his wand, the finalised materials were packaged and duplicated dozens of times. Pride beamed in Hermione’s chest as she peered around the office, her colleagues exchanging hugs and congratulations at the completion of months of hard work. In the morning, a delivery crew would come to supervise the execution of the owl post. Soon, the pilot program would be in the hands of every participating young half-blood and pureblood— a new generation to be educated with a solid foundation of fundamental skills and a more open-minded approach to Muggle concepts. The first step towards real change in the mindset of wizards across Britain.

Of course, their work wasn’t done. Now that the pilot would be implemented, the firm would continue working to refine it based on feedback — and inevitable pushback — until the program became more and more widespread. The field of education was always changing, and Hermione intended to keep striving to make learning as purposeful and powerful for as many young witches and wizards as she could reach.

This was just the beginning.

~*~*~

The following evening, Hermione glowered at the mirror. She had spent the last twenty minutes trying to relax her curls with copious amounts of Sleekeazy potion, cursing at her reflection several times over. This was precisely why she didn’t do this more often!

A knock resonated on her bathroom door, and Draco entered, releasing a soft whistle. “Dear Merlin, is my girlfriend beautiful.”

Her cheeks were a radiant glow as Draco pushed back enough hair so he could plant a kiss on the curve of her neck. Hearing him call her his ‘girlfriend’ still sent a flutter to her chest — even if the exchanging of the ring had technically already deemed her more than that. 

“Draco!” she giggled when his knuckles began to brush the curve of her waist. She pulled his hand off of her. “Stop distracting me, or we won’t have time to exchange presents before the party!”

“Forget the party,” he said, lips now teasing the skin around her ear. “Our friends can wait another day or two before seeing us. Besides” — he nipped at her earlobe — “all I can think about is how much I want to rip this dress off of you.”

His hand squeezed her bum beneath the black dress she had selected for the last-minute party they were hosting to celebrate the New Year. Hermione squealed at his touch before spinning around to distract him with a kiss. He easily took the bait, only requiring a matter of seconds for his hands to sink into her hair, which was now undoubtedly more of a mess than it had been two minutes prior.

“You’re going to have to wait until after midnight,” she settled with a coy smile once she pulled away, though the temptation to submit to his offer was certainly there. She pressed her palms against his shoulders and started to push him out the door. “Now go get your gift ready and give me five more minutes!”

There were no more interruptions while Hermione finished getting ready, and a few minutes later, her wrapped present for Draco was resting on her lap as he sat next to her on the sofa, his present hidden under a pillow. 

“Open it,” she said as she stretched the present wrapped in cream and gold striped parchment. It had been her idea to exchange holiday presents today rather than on Christmas so that they both would have time to get something for each other. Presents were hardly necessary, but she wanted an excuse to purchase this for him.

She slipped her legs beneath herself and scooted closer to Draco. He pulled back the thin ribbon on the top and then tore off the paper, revealing the slim rectangular case. She leaned forward, watching his expression as he lifted the lid and revealed the item within.

The confusion on his face was immediate, but that was exactly what she had expected.

“It’s a fancy Muggle fountain pen,” Hermione explained, taking it into her hands and removing the cap. “The tip is similar to that of a quill so it shouldn’t be too unfamiliar, but the ink goes directly into the barrel so you won’t have to constantly re-dip when writing.” 

Draco took the pen into his hand and drew aimless swirls over yesterday’s copy of the Daily Prophet. After experimenting with different strokes, he lifted it up to examine more closely. “It’s different from the pen you showed me in the park.”

“If you like that one better, I can—”

“No.” He set down the pen and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Good different.”

With the pen returned to its case and now set on the table, Draco reached under the pillow and grabbed Hermione’s present. He placed it on the small space of cushion between them. “Your turn.”

A flutter filled her stomach at the mystery of what laid within — particularly since the present was smaller than anticipated. When allowing herself a mental break from work the past week, Hermione had brainstormed what she predicted Draco would get for her, but after all his teasing, she was confident he’d gifted her a new set of pyjamas so she’d stop wearing the pink molar bear ones. (Though, admittedly, they hadn’t gotten much use recently…) Yet the gift in Hermione’s hands was far too slim to contain pyjamas. The weight felt wrong too.

Her eyebrows were scrunched when she glanced up at Draco, expecting to permit him a moment to relish in successfully stumping her, but his eyes were transfixed on the present. One hand was rubbing up and down the length of his leg which was softly bouncing. 

Was he… nervous?

Hermione didn’t stall any longer. She tore away the wrapping and revealed a bound stack of parchments. It was nothing fancy. Just standard parchment, cut into segments around the size of average Muggle paper. The top parchment appeared to be akin to a cover page with the title Pathways New neatly written across the centre. Below was a name.

Draco Malfoy.

She could feel his eyes tracking her every move as she lifted the manuscript out of the box and opened to the first page.

In so many ways, the story was familiar, and yet, it wasn’t. The main character appeared to be a young boy with all the arrogance in the world. The first couple paragraphs were enough to prove that. As the boy perused Diagon Alley with his parents in preparation for his first year at Hogwarts, entitlement dripped off his every word.

And then the boy met a bookish witch perusing titles at Flourish and Blotts.

“It’s just a draft,” she heard Draco say beyond her concentration. “There are several parts that still need to be reworked, but I wanted you to be the person to see it first. It’s about a young pureblood boy who grew up prejudiced but meets a Muggle-born witch who introduces him to the Muggle world, changing everything for him. A bit of a… ‘what if,’ if you and I — or similar children — had become friends when we were younger.” He smirked. “With several creative liberties, of course.”

Hermione’s head seemed to be in a cloud. She didn’t know what to say…

He peeled her fingers off the pages and let her hands cradle into his. “I wanted to write a book that young purebloods could relate to but also open their eyes to the similarities they have with Muggleborns and even Muggles,” he explained. “It’s the type of book my father would have protested being in the Hogwarts library, but if it were to be added to your firm’s future curriculum plans, then perhaps parents like him would have less of a chance of stopping their children from reading it.”

Her eyes were wide as she peered at the man she loved, somehow falling even more in love with him. “It’s perfect.”

“Not yet,” he said with a chuckle. “Not until it gets the Hermione Granger Seal of Approval like my last book did.”

She leaned in and kissed him. “I have no doubt it will.”

~*~*~

The party was small — precisely as they had wanted. News had started to spread about Draco and Hermione’s romantic involvement with one another, and the last thing either of them wanted was to waste the evening answering (slash avoiding) the onslaught of questions toiling in most of their former classmates’ heads. All they needed was the small collection of friends who had assisted them along their journey. After all, there would be far less to celebrate if circumstances had turned out differently.

On the sofa sat Theo, Blaise, and Astoria, while Daphne (the one exception to their invite list’s rules, per her sister’s insistence), was standing in a corner chatting with a goofy-grinned Weasley who appeared to be attempting to flirt. Draco swallowed his feelings on that matter. 

But he didn’t let his vision linger on Weasley’s decreasing distance from the older Greengrass daughter. He much preferred to focus on the gorgeous witch presently speaking with Ginny (Draco supposed he ought to start calling her that) while she examined the ring on Hermione’s left hand with wide-eyed astonishment. 

His father had done everything in his power to prevent him from being with Hermione, and yet Draco had been the one to prove triumphant. Soon enough, every breathing witch and wizard in all of Great Britain would know where the affection of the Malfoy heir truly laid.

“I haven’t seen her this happy in almost two months.”

Draco had been so distracted, he hadn’t noticed Potter approaching.

“And I intend to never be the reason she’s sad ever again,” Draco resolved, features plain as he shifted to face his former adversary. 

Potter nodded. “Good. Because from what I’ve been told, it seems we’re stuck with you.”

The darker haired wizard glanced towards Hermione, clearly having already been made privy to the details of the ring.

“An unfortunate consequence of our relationship,” Draco quipped, but there was no antagonism in his tone. A lighthearted gibe was all that came out. How could he maintain a petty childhood grudge after everything Potter had done to support him and Hermione?

“I read your memoir, by the way.”

An incredulous stare now landed on Potter. “And?”

Potter shrugged. “Just thought you ought to know. Figured it was time for me to read it since it seems to be what convinced Hermione that you’re not a terrible person.” He paused to take a sip from his drink. “It was strange to hear about the war from your side, but it helped put some things in perspective. You’re a competent writer.”

Draco snorted. “Imagine that.”

“Meh, well, consider that the closest thing you’ll get to a compliment,” Harry dismissed. He shrugged again. “And don’t tell Ron I told you, but he also read it once he accepted that you and Hermione were serious about each other.”

“I don’t know which I should be more surprised about,” Draco said with a brief chuckle. “The fact that Weasley read my book, or the fact that he actually knows how to read.”

Draco was now grinning while Potter shook his head, all the while, the flicker of amusement lightening his expression as well. Their animosity may have faded, but the occasional taunts would never end.

Potter laid a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Just don’t give us a reason to use our Auror training against you,” he advised more than warned. “If you hurt Hermione, there won’t be a safe house in Britain that could keep you hidden from us.”

“Trust me,” Draco assured him. “You have nothing to worry about.”

The hours and minutes grew closer to midnight until eventually, Hermione left Draco’s side to open the bottles of champagne for the New Year’s toast. It was then that Draco got his first moment alone with Theo.

“I imagine this wasn’t how you originally expected your year to go,” Theo commented, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Not in the slightest,” Draco returned. “A year ago, my parents and I were still secluding ourselves in the Manor while I toiled away on a book I wasn’t sure would be published. All I wanted was to get out of there and start over.”

Theo knocked Draco’s side with his elbow. “I think it’s safe to say you’ve accomplished that.”

Surrounding music and conversations filled the room while a silence hung between them, both wizards aware of the inevitable next topic.

“So…” Theo cautiously began. “Have you communicated with him?”

Draco drew in a heavy breath. “Not yet. Figured I’d allow Mother to break the news and give him a few days to process before I confronted him myself. The last thing I need right now is an Avada straight to the chest.”

“You don’t think he’d actually—”

Draco shook his head. “Everything my father did was out of delusion and desperation, but he’s not entirely deranged.”

His remark was met with a raised eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“No,” Draco amended earnestly. “But I trust my mother to keep him in check — at least enough to not permit him to kill me.”

Theo snorted into his drink. “The bar really is that low.”

“Considering what he’s done the past couple of months, it absolutely is,” Draco responded before releasing a sigh. “While my mother seems to believe that he’ll eventually change perspectives, I don’t hold out hope.”

“Can’t blame you,” Theo settled with a sigh of his own. “While not entirely the same, I understand where you’re coming from. I have no plans to reconcile with my own father either, but it’s a tad strange, isn’t it? Cutting off contact with the person you once wanted to be like when you grew up?”

It was like a knife twisted inside Draco’s chest. “A relationship isn’t worth salvaging if the other person shows no sign of remorse or willingness to rectify things.”

Theo huffed and lifted his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

They had just finished taking long pulls from their respective whiskeys when Theo let out a groan.

“Is Weasley really talking with Daphne again?”

Draco followed Theo’s gaze to where Weasley was, in fact, chatting with Daphne, her finger grazing over his upper arm as she laughed at something Weasley had said. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes before returning focus to Theo. “So I take it I’m not the only one perturbed by this pairing?”

“Of course not,” Theo quickly retorted. “I know it’s New Year’s and he’s just about the only single bloke here, but Weasley ?”

Draco let out a chuckle. “At least he’s a pureblood?”

Theo shot him a glare, evidently unamused by Draco’s sarcastic quip. “Jokes won't help,” he grumbled. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not end up with Weasley as my brother-in-law.”

“Oh?” Draco asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Already considering marriage with Astoria?”

“Says the man who is now locked into a magically binding engagement!”

Draco snorted, remembering the paragraphs long letter filled with caps and underlines he had received after he and Hermione had shared the good news with Theo and Astoria. 

“Yes, well, our circumstances were slightly different,” he dismissed, eyes now falling on Hermione coming their way with three flutes of champagne hovering in front of her. He smiled. “Besides, sometimes you just know.”

Hermione reached Draco’s side and placed a short kiss on his cheek. Both wizards vanished their current glasses before they each took one of the champagnes and Hermione twined her and Draco’s free fingers together.

“Sometimes you just know what?” she asked.

Draco beamed at her. “That I’m the luckiest man in wizarding Britain.”

A brilliant glow illuminated behind her gaze, and Draco could get lost in her eyes for a hundred years — which was good considering he and Hermione now had the rest of their lives to be together. 

The clock ticked ever closer to midnight, soon to be the start of a brand new year, one in which Draco would no longer burden himself with what his father expected of him. He knew what he wanted. He had fought for what he wanted. And he was never letting go. 

~*~*~

Bacon sizzled in the frying pan as Draco charmed a teapot of water to boil. It was a full hour after he’d woken up before Hermione sauntered into the kitchen.

“I thought we agreed to never leave bed without the other,” her groggy voice greeted him.

Draco grinned. “Am I not allowed to surprise my girlfriend with breakfast on New Year’s Day?”

He tugged her by the hand and pulled her into his embrace, relishing the sound of her unsuspecting squeal. The warmth of her bare stomach pressed against his skin, neither one of them wearing much more than their underthings. He hadn’t bothered telling her, but her flannel pyjamas were hidden at the bottom of his luggage that he still hadn’t unpacked. After all, he’d been rather busy finishing his novel. 

“So what are you making?” she asked after he had spun her around so her back was against his chest.

“Nothing fancy,” he said, checking the fried egg to see if it was ready for Draco to flip over. “I had to teach myself the basics while at the safe house.”

She tilted her head to smile at him. “You could pour a bowl of cereal and I’d be happy.”

He gave a short squeeze around her waist. “I love you,” he said before leaving a kiss atop her curls.

“I love you too.”

Dirty dishes laid spread across the cooker to be dealt with later while Draco and Hermione sat at the table eating breakfast. Their conversation was nothing special — just general recountings of stories from the night before, mingled with curiosities about how the delivery of the education program went and how they might spend the rest of their day — yet all that got derailed when an owl appeared outside the window.

“Oh, I hope it’s not work,” Hermione said, shoulders slightly dropping.

But Draco stood from the table first. “It’s not.”

Even from afar, he recognised the massive bird. It was the same one that had interrupted him and Hermione the first morning they had spent together at the Manor.

“Bonjour, Achille,” he greeted the owl, though his attention was on the roll of parchment tied to his leg. Scripted on the outside of the note was Draco’s given name. He swallowed. At least it wasn’t a Howler.

Achille let out a soft hoot and Draco freed the string around his leg, dropping the parchment into Draco’s palm. Note delivered, Achille wasted no time before expanding his wings and beginning the flight back to France.

“That wasn’t your mother’s owl,” Hermione commented when Draco returned to the table.

“No, it wasn’t,” he replied. “It was the Beaufort’s.”

Draco knew a letter from the family was inevitable. Surely they had something to say to the wizard who they thought was going to be wed into their family in a few day’s time. But the fact that it said only his first name on the scroll… 

He slipped his finger underneath the wax seal and started to read the contents.

Dear Draco,

Though it’s been quite a few years since we’ve spoken, I hope you know I have always thought fondly of our families’ summers together. You were such a handsome boy, and I must admit there were times I wondered if our parents would eventually try arranging something between us. Back then, I wouldn’t have protested. Today, I am relieved.

As much as I respect you as a wizard, you and I were not the right match for each other, though I know that I need not explain that to you. Your mother told us what happened. My father is furious, but I’m happy for you. I wish you and Miss Granger a wonderful life together.

My father has temporarily paused pursuing another marriage contract in hopes that the humiliation of this failed contract will quickly fade. I, however, am hoping that he will now consider partners beyond the limited pureblood pool. It has unsurprisingly been quite a shock to the pureblood community to learn that the once stringent Malfoy line will soon deviate from their traditions. But if a Malfoy can do it, why not a Beaufort? Our family name and legacy is already protected through my older brother and his marriage. If you have any advice on how to broach this subject with my father, I would be most obliged. 

Sincerely,

Aimée

After he finished, Draco passed the letter to Hermione while the printed words bounced inside his head. 

“I had wondered if she really wanted to marry you or if she was another pureblood forced into a marriage contract,” Hermione remarked once she had reached the end. “What are you going to write back?”

“That it’s better to be honest with them from the start,” Draco answered after several moments of reflection. “And to not keep waiting for the ‘right’ time to tell them. We got lucky, but if it hadn’t been for me giving you this ring, there may not have been a way out.”

Hermione’s hand was now cradled in his while the pad of his thumb brushed over the Malfoy family crest, the coat of arms that had meant so much to him for so many years. 

“You are an important young boy,” the echo of his father’s voice swam through his memory. “Firstly as a wizard, secondly as a pureblood, and thirdly as a Malfoy. Never forget that. No matter what happens, those three things cannot be taken away from you.”

“Yes, Father.”

His childhood had been filled with lessons about the Malfoy family and how proud Draco should be that he was the next in a long line of accomplished witches and wizards. In a certain sense, he was still proud of that fact. Not because he wanted to be associated with their blood purity past, but because he had been the one to break the prejudiced pattern. It didn’t matter if his father disowned him. Draco was, and forever would be, a Malfoy. As his father had taught him, that could never be taken away from him. Regardless of whether Lucius approved, this was the new path of the Malfoy family line.

And it was time Draco said that to his face.

Pushing back his chair, he left the rest of his breakfast on the table and headed to the bedroom.

“I have to make a quick errand,” Draco shortly explained once he was dressed in his robes. “I should be back within the hour.”

“Do you want me to come with?” she asked, eyes tracking him as he fastened the final button.

He shook his head. “This is something I want to do on my own.” 

She sighed, gaze softer as she said to him, “Draco, I don’t know how many times I need to tell you this, but you don’t always need to do things alone.”

“At least one more time,” he said before settling a kiss in her curls. “But if it makes you feel better, I have plenty of ideas of things you and I can do together when I get back.”

He peered at her with a suggestive grin, admiring the way his witch bit down on her bottom lip. 

“In that case, I won’t delay you.”

After one final kiss, he closed his eyes, concentrated on the Manor, and hoped that the wards still permitted him entry.

~*~*~

It had only been two months since he’d stepped foot inside the home, yet he already felt like a foreigner. The things it stood for, the atrocities that had occurred there during the war… Draco didn’t want to be associated with any of it. There was one stop, though, he wanted to make before confronting his father.

He travelled through the corridors and paused in front of the desired door. Twisting the doorknob, he entered the space, the large Malfoy family tapestry spanning the entire plane of the wall straight ahead.

The steady sound of footsteps resonated through the room dedicated to the proud and pure ancestry of the House of Malfoy. Since the seventeenth century, generations upon generations had prioritised blood status over potential love found elsewhere. But not any longer.

As he grew closer, Draco’s vision fell on the newer gold embroidered tree branches of the family tree, following the path from his Grandfather Abraxas, his father and mother, and then upon himself. When he was a child, he had spent hundreds of hours staring at this very tapestry, committing to memory every placement in preparation for his father’s quizzes. Except, something about it was different now.

Instead of the branch ending when it reached Draco, there was now a thin twig connecting his image to someone else, her name printed beneath. 

Hermione Jean Granger.

Draco’s fingers stretched out to graze over the addition, already recognised as a part of the Malfoy family — proof of their magical bond. 

“I discovered the same change the morning after I arrived back at the Manor.”

His eyes didn’t leave the tapestry as his mother joined him.

“How’d you know I was here?” he asked once she had settled by his side.

“The clock in the library,” she said. “I had a feeling you’d be returning today.”

He softly snorted. For as wrong as her motherly intuition had been about his reason for sneaking around all those weeks ago, it had certainly returned in full force.

They stared at the tapestry for several silent seconds before Narcissa broke the stillness, voice a wonder as she stated, “Hundreds of years of pureblood ancestry, about to end.”

A tug pulled at Draco’s lips as he recalled the last time he had stood in that spot. “As a wise witch once told me, somewhere down the Malfoy family line, all that needed to change.” He glanced over at his mother. “Some of us just needed to be reminded of what actually matters most.”

Narcissa dipped her head with a single nod. “And I won’t let myself forget it again.”

He watched as his mother’s attention landed back on Hermione’s fabric portrait.

“She cares for you very much,” she said, a graceful air to her as she turned to face Draco. “I expect she’ll make a good name for the Malfoy family.”

He could feel his gaze shining when he locked eyes with his mother. “She’ll be the best of us yet.”

There was immense satisfaction in the knowledge that his mother accepted his decision to be with Hermione. And the fact that she was back at the Manor suggested that she had also accepted whatever Lucius had said in the aftermath of the falling out of the contract. But Draco would be his own judge.

“I presume you know why I’m here,” he stated to his mother.

“Yes, and he’s been expecting your eventual visit,” Narcissa evenly returned. “He’s in his study.”

“Thank you,” Draco said. He started to make his way out of the room when he paused and turned back to his mother. “Thank you for everything.”

She surveyed her son and grinned. “Whatever it takes to make you happy.”

~*~*~

Nerves bundled inside Draco’s stomach. He wished he could say he had no hesitations about entering his father’s study, but that would be a lie. All his life, Draco had been intimidated by the man. But fear didn’t dictate his life — and neither did his father.

His breath caught inside his chest as he lifted his fist towards the door. He knocked.

A clicking noise indicated that Lucius had unlocked the door, and Draco stepped inside, eyesight landing on the man who had done everything within his power to control Draco. The skin beneath his eyes was darker than usual, and gone was the prim shine to his hair. In some regards, it reminded Draco of when his father had returned from Azkaban with some of the life sucked from his body. But Draco felt no sympathy. Lucius had made his own bed.

There was a tightness in Lucius’s expression as Draco moved forward, no sense of warmth behind the older man’s gaze upon seeing his son for the first time in two months. Not that Draco had expected any different. He wasn’t thrilled to see his father either.

“You returned,” Lucius’s stern voice pierced through the room.

“It won’t be for long.”

Unspoken tension suffocated the space at the memory of how they had last left matters. Only this time, Draco was the one in charge.

He inhaled deeply before straightening himself upright. “I have several things to say to you, Father, so it's time you listened to me for a change.”

A firm rigidness stiffened Lucius’s shoulders as Draco took a step closer, staring his father dead in the eyes. 

“You lost,” Draco declared, a fire igniting in his chest. “You did everything in your power to stop me, and yet nothing you did could prevent me and Hermione ending up together. Because I am the one in control of my choices, not you, or anyone else. Me. And you may not approve of the choices I make, and frankly, I no longer give a damn. Not once did you take my desires into consideration, even when I explicitly told you otherwise. I am your son, not your pawn.”

Lucius opened his lips and Draco promptly cut him off.

“No, this is my time to speak,” he clearly articulated so there would be no mistaking his resolve. If he had really wanted, Draco could have placed a Silencing Charm on the man, but he wasn’t his father, and he never would be. 

“You condemned my relationship and belittled my career. But you don’t control me. No one does. I already had to follow the orders of one maniac, and I needn’t remind you how that ended. I won’t lay passive to someone else’s intentions for me ever again.” The prick of tears threatened his eyes, but Draco didn’t break. “I love Hermione and I love my career. And if you love me, then you’re going to have to accept that the pureblood line will end here. But the Malfoy family will not. So you need to decide which is more important to you: blood or family.”

Draco’s jaw was firmly set as he surveyed his father for several seconds, awaiting a response. His chest rose and fell in time with his short, steady breaths, but Lucius’s expression hadn’t shifted. Apparently, this was all he was going to get.

He huffed, shaking his head in disappointment. “I knew you couldn’t change,” Draco said through a snarl. “Have a nice life, Father.”

Draco turned on his heels and walked away, determined that this would now be the last he ever saw of the man. If Lucius still had to think about it, then he hadn’t learned his lesson.

“Wait.”

Draco halted. His eyes narrowed as he looked back over his shoulder. “What do you want?”

Lucius opened one of his desk drawers and revealed a small box Draco recognised from the last time he’d been in his father’s study. With the flick of Lucius’s thumb, the lid flipped open, revealing the engagement ring Aimée must have returned.

The diamonds sparkled as Lucius rotated the ring box in his grasp. A hard, obvious swallow travelled down his throat. “After you left, your mother reminded me how my prioritisation of pureblood ideals already risked us losing you once.” He snapped the lid closed. “And how I had forgotten what is most important.”

He placed the box on the other side of his desk.

“A future Malfoy wife should have this.”

Both men stared at the box, but Draco never touched it.

“I already gave Hermione a Malfoy family ring,” he resolved, standing taller as pride burst in his chest. “And one day, when I propose to her properly, I'll be doing so with a ring I purchase myself.”

His father’s critical gaze scanned him over. Draco didn’t flinch. His father’s assessment didn’t matter.

“You’ve become your own man, Draco.”

There was a level of respect hidden in his father’s words that, for so long, had been precisely what Draco had craved to hear. And while Draco no longer needed that validation, it was still satisfying.

Nothing would ever make Draco forgive or forget what his father had done. But if Lucius was willing to make an honest attempt at accepting Hermione like Narcissa had, then Draco was willing to see where it would lead.

Lucius motioned to the chair across from him and Draco took a cautious seat.

“So,” Lucius began, leaning to rest his elbows on the desk. “Tell me about Miss Granger.”

“Where should I begin?” Draco grinned. “I could write a whole book about her.”